Things Happen by devra

Manips by JoaG


Momma always told me there'd be days like this.

I can't fault Fraiser's tight-lipped expression as she stops the blood flow and then pokes, prods, X-rays, stitches and despite my very convincing arguments, makes arrangements to have an airmen drive me home. Admittedly, she does have a point. There are a lot of stitches under the bandage, which, Fraiser informs me as she's doling out a rainbow assortment of pills, is going to leave a damn nice scar.


"I'm sorry, sir, but the traffic is heavier than usual."

My pain and I share the passenger seat of the car, making the airman, who drew the 'you need to chauffeur the cranky colonel short straw', even more nervous, because military protocol usually delegates us officer types to the back seat. "Take your time, airman, I'm in no hurry."

Eyes glued front and center, there's a faint blush working its way up the poor kid's neck and right then and there, I decide that maybe ordering him to drop me off at Daniel's home will push the young man right over the edge.

See, this is what happens when SG-1 isn't together. You'd think, that after all these years, we'd have done the math, put two and two together and not even listened to anyone when they mention the equation of four minus one. Forcryingoutloud, SG-1 is comprised of not one but two geniuses, who should've picked up on the fact we need to go through the 'gate as one entity. Peanut butter with jelly. Soup with sandwich. All for one. One for all. When we go our separate ways, things happen.

Like this.

I'm out of the car before the airman has put it in park, shuffling up the walk like an old man. I turn and dismiss him with a salute and just as he's scrambling out of the car, I point down the street from the direction we just came from because the last thing I want him to do is grab my elbow and escort me to the door.


I meant to call Daniel the second my foot was over the threshold and the front door was locked. I really did. I even made it to the kitchen, grabbed the cordless and walked back to the couch. I exchanged the phone for the remote, found a game of some sport somewhere on the TV, sat my ass on the couch and then went to snatch up the phone. I did. Really.

At least I think I did.


Heat is tucked up behind me just bordering on uncomfortable. I move and shift position, but the warmth pulls me from sleep. "Damn." My hand reaches up and I accidentally brush the bandage, reawakening the sleeping pain.


"Stop." The voice is gently persistent and tugs on my hand.

"Daniel? What are you doing here?" He shouldn't be here. He's supposed to be tucked into his bed with a box of tissues, a bottle of water by his side, and watching thoroughly boring, mind-numbing daily game and talk shows, recovering. Daniel had been scratched from the mission because of a good old fashion run of the mill virus overflowing with chills, fevers and nausea. Unless I sleepwalked last evening, this isn't his bed. Not that I'm complaining about Daniel in my bed, mind you, I'm just a tad curious.

"You were sleeping on the couch."

"How did you know I was sleeping on the couch? Did I call you?" I remember the phone. I remember thinking I was going to call Daniel. I guess, because of Fraiser's pain pill, my memory is shot to shit.

"Yes, you did."

Oops. "Sorry."

"No reason to be sorry."

"You shouldn't be here."


"Here, in my bed."

"It's okay." He snuggles closer and rests his chin in the hollow of my shoulder. "I don't mind being here."

"You don't belong here," I stupidly repeat. "You should be home. In bed."

"I am in bed. I'm just not home in my bed. I spend enough time in this bed to consider it my bed away from bed. I mean—"

I sigh. My head hurts, Daniel's chatter is only adding to my ache, time for a subject change. "You've got a fever."

He stops talking and thinks. "I probably do. My head hurts a bit."

"Mine, too."

"Misery loves company." Daniel's fingers skim the outline of the bandage.

"Yes, misery does love company. Though my misery should be loving your misery at a distance, a little further from your arms."

"Just for tonight," Daniel says softly.

"Just for tonight." I give in. "So I called you, told you all about..." It bugs me to think I've lost a portion of my memory, the last time that happened I ended up an old man.

"The stitches? The bandages? The fall?" Daniel's words are slow and lethargic. He's losing the battle to stay awake.

"All of the above."

"I lied," Daniel admits with a chuckle. "Sam. She told me."

"Carter?" So much for the major getting a perfect score on her evaluation.

"Sam. She came by with some dinner for me. Tattled on you." Daniel settles against me.

I settle against Daniel. "Just for tonight," I reiterate. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

"I told Sam to bring breakfast here."

It's a conspiracy, a nice conspiracy, but still a conspiracy. "They're stitches, Daniel. I'm not incapable of making myself breakfast."

"Shut up and just enjoy the company, Jack."

I shut up and wait.

"You know, while SG-1 was off world, I began to think."

Bingo. "You're always thinking."

He doesn't even hesitate, Daniel plows forward as if I hadn't even spoken. "I don't think SG-1 should be separated. Downtime for one means downtime for everyone."

"All for one?"

"One for all."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Great minds," he sighs. "Do you think we—I mean you, can talk to General Hammond about this?"

"I'll send a memo."


"Tomorrow. After Carter brings breakfast. First thing after I finish my egg sandwich."

"How do you know she's bringing egg sandwiches?"

"It's review time, that's why."

"Oh... yeah. Did I get all fives?"

"A perfect score? No one gets a perfect score, not even feverish archaeologists who, against orders, go to their commanding officer's house to make sure they're okay."

"You saw right through my sucking up?"

"Yup, right through. Maybe tomorrow we can address that sucking up thing."

"Will I get a five?"

"If Carter brings egg sandwiches and you suck up properly, I'm seeing a lot of fives in both your futures."


The End!

Author's Comments:

This story is from a zine called You'll be alright, a zine which was a labour of love, put together by devra and I for our wonderful Jmas last year.

If you want to see more of Jmas' ezines, here's her link:

And Darcy made a vid - you may want to check it out on her site here called Stand - by Rascal Flatts


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Since 10 August 2008