I know where to find him.  Time to get some things settled, once and for all.

Sure enough, there he is, nested in the middle of all that dusty old stuff he loves so much.

"Daniel."

His head comes up, but he doesn't look toward the door—just stares straight ahead.

"Jack."

"You think maybe we have one or two things to discuss?  Like wandering off without clearing it with your commanding officer?"

Now he looks.  Shit; his eyes could freeze Mama O'Neill's best chili.

"How about we talk about alternative solutions?"

"There wasn't any…"

"The hell there wasn't.  I found one; you didn't bother to look."

"You had no guarantee that you could convince that machine to think any way other than how it was programmed!"

"And you had no right to choose between two cultures—to plan to destroy one for the sake of the other!"

"Daniel…!"

"Jack—You killed me today, Jack.  I'll admit that makes it a bit hard to excuse the rest of the crap!"

Damn, damn.  It's really hard to keep up an argument when you know you're dead wrong.

"Don't change the subject—we're talking about you wandering off without telling me what you're doing.  It's a really bad habit, Daniel!"

"So I should have told you what I was planning?  Why…?  So you could tell me to ‘Shut up'?  Once was enough for that experience."

"Goddam it, Daniel!  We're a team…"

"Are we?  Forgive me for believing the evidence in preference to your assurances!  A team discusses things; a team looks at more than one perspective."

"We do look…"

"The hell we do!  The leader of a team doesn't expect his people to just do as they're told…"

" Leader, Daniel!  There is a leader, even if it's a team!"

" There's a difference between a dictator and a leader!"

An alarmed Airman sticks his head through the door, but scuttles away when I give him The Look.

"If you could just get your damned civilian brain around the concept of protocol…!"

"I don't give a damn for your rotten military protocol!  There are things that matter more than The Way It's Done In The Air Force!"

"Not here, there aren't!  -- Get the hell out of here, soldier!--  You can't ever seem to keep the crap that matters in your overstuffed mind!"

"Oh, that's right.  We're out there to find better and better god-damned technology so you can get better and better at killing each other!"

I slam the door as yet another nervous face peeks around the frame.  Didn't those idiots have something better to do with their time than to eavesdrop on a perfectly reasonable conversation?

"In a word, yes!"

"No!  nonononono!  That isn't all!  If that's all, we can just quit now, and give it all to the Goa'uld!  That makes us just like them!"

" The hell it does!"

"How are we different?  How? If all we're doing out there is making pacts with cultures like the Urondans, just for the sake of their bigger and deadlier killing machines?!"

"'Cause we're the good guys, that's how!"

" Yo…! wh…! Arrgh!"

Daniel's arm sweeps half the papers off his desk, sending them swirling through the dusty air.  Spinning, he pins me with furious eyes.  Did I say cold?  What was I thinking? 

Involuntarily, I take a step backward.  Shit.  Danny?

For a moment he just glares, mouth twisted into an unaccustomed snarl, hands clenched, eyes blasting fury.

With an incoherent roar, he launches himself straight at me.  I yelp—I admit it.  Yelp and retreat as fast as I can move backward through the obstacle course of the littered floor.

I don't have a chance.

Two irresistible hands grab the shoulders of my jacket; 165 pounds of outraged archaeologist drive my body rapidly backward.  My shoulders meet the wall an instant before my head snaps back, impacting the wall with a loud thud.  Then…

Then, a hard, demanding mouth covers mine; teeth, lips, and tongue assault—biting, demanding.  After a stunned moment, my own lips relax, giving a stabbing tongue tacit permission.  My own hands find his waist, then slide up to cup the back of his head.

With a frantic little cry, Daniel jerks away, gasping.  Panting heavily, we stare dazedly at each other; I'm sure my face mirrors his—mouth agape, eyes saucered, with not a single coherent thought behind them. 

"Hoooo-leeee buckets."

His brows arch impossibly higher.

Finding my hands ideally positioned, I drag him back for a return engagement.  As my head begins to swim, I take advantage of the wall behind me to slide toward the conveniently placed floor. 

Oh, yeah.

*****

What th…  Floor.  I'm on the floor.

Ah.  And look who's here with me.  Nice how things work out.

"Mmmmm." 

It lives!

"Hey, Danny."  Was that me?

Fuzzy blue eyes flutter open.  A clumsy tongue moistens a luscious lower lip.  Oh, can't have that.

I lean in to help deal with the problem, licking and sucking that poor neglected lip.  Much better.

"jmphck?"

"Hmmmm?"

He pulls a bit away.

"Jack… We haven't solved anything, here." 

Right.  Propping myself up on my elbow, I look down at him.  He looks… odd. Shirt almost off—just one arm still anchoring it to his body.  Pants tangled around knees and ankles, heavy boots peeking out from their wadded mass.  Bare chest adorned with several small bite marks, tummy smeared with interesting fluid.  Odd.  And totally delicious.

I can feel my grin blossoming.  And I'm carefully not taking note of my own interesting state. 

I lean in for another kiss, this one gentle and loving, and blissfully returned.  Then I lie down again, gathering his half-clothed body as close as I can get it.

"Yeah.  But we're gonna have one hell of a good time figuring it all out…"

---

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