TITLE: Irrelevant Shortcomings

AUTHOR: Darcy

EMAIL: Darcy3011@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: Slash, ER, Humor

PAIRING: Jack/Daniel

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: None

SEASON/SEQUEL: Any season/no sequel

DATE: April 2003

STATUS: Complete

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Jack and Daniel mentally review each others quirks.

Irrelevant Shortcomings

My Quirky Colonel

Shit! I should have called home. Jack's going to be worried about me. He tends to get a little crazy. He can't help it. Worrying is just one of his many idiosyncrasies. I wasn't planning on being here this long. The plan was to stop at the bookstore, pick up the book and go. Time just flew by me. I won't mention THAT to Jack. He accuses me of having a problem with time as it is.

Truthfully, if anyone has time *issues* it's Jack. If an invitation reads 7:00 PM, he's adamant about arriving at precisely 7:00 PM. He doesn't accept my suggestion that the stated time is the official *start* time and it's perfectly acceptable to arrive at any point thereafter. He considers it rude. Rude? And it's not rude to hound me relentlessly from mid afternoon on about an event we don't have to attend until the evening? He starts up as early as 2:00 PM. 'Daniel, what time are you thinking of taking a shower?' That's my first reminder. As the afternoon wears on he needs more details. 'Daniel, what are you planning to wear this evening?' Sometimes, I pretend to have completely forgotten, just to get a rise out of him. He's irresistible when he's trying to be patient.

Damn, I hate the mall. I can never find my car. Better call Jack so he doesn't worry himself into a snit. Oops, cell phone's dead. I won't mention that either. Jack is a little anal when it comes to stuff like that. His cell phone is NEVER dead. Either is his razor, or his digital camera. He won't admit it, but I swear he has them all on some secret recharging schedule. He honestly doesn't think that's the least bit odd.

That's just Jack. At work, he's funny and sarcastic. Sometimes, we forget he's a Colonel. He has a style of command that's quite refreshing. There's never a doubt he's in charge, but he doesn't ram his rank down your throat. He plays the part of the carefree, somewhat bungling, career military man. He's not. He's organized, and prepared, and detail orientated. He makes everyone around him feel safe and confident. And that's great, at work. At home, his organizational skills can get a little…annoying.

The minute we finish eating dinner he's compelled to do the dishes. 'Why wait?' he asks. 'Why not wait?' I reply.

As soon as the dryer finishes its last tumble he has the laundry out and folded, and put away. Jack is subtle though. He goes about these chores with such ease you almost don't realize he's doing them. Which is how he wants it. When I first moved in, I teased him mercilessly about it all until I realized my teasing embarrassed him. I stopped immediately…well, except for the occasional, well-placed smart-ass barb. It's who Jack is and I love Jack. Besides, I have an ace in the hole; I can deter him from any task, at any time…with sex. I deter him as often as possible.

Crap, I'm really late. Thinking of Jack and his *finer* qualities makes me smile, and causes me to drive a little faster.

Jack O'Neill is tough, the toughest man I know. Mentally and physically. He's been blasted with staff weapons, zatted, ribboned, and beaten to a pulp. He's been imprisoned and forced into hard labor…more than once. Jack's been shot with arrows, and was once pinned to a concrete wall by a *stronger than steel* bar pierced through his shoulder. He's had ten broken bones. The language of the Ancients was downloaded into his brain causing all sorts of weird problems. (Okay, secretly I've always been a little jealous of that particular trauma.) My point is…the man is stoic. So I ask you, why does he turn into a helpless, feeble, whimpering, two year old the minute he catches a common cold?

It's starts pretty much with the first sniffle and doesn't end until the last cough. The tissues aren't soft enough, the cough syrup is the wrong brand, he's hot, he's cold, his throat's dry, his nose is sore, he can't breathe and he can't sleep. He spares me no detail of his discomfort while I wait on him hand and foot. Mind you, when I have a cold or allergies he's not all that sympathetic. Why? Because he believes his colds are far worse than anyone else's. That's my guy.

Making decisions is what Jack does for a living. Huge, important, life and death, fate of the world type decisions. When to stay and when to go. What to bring back to earth and what to leave behind. Who's lying and who's telling the truth. Which planets are worth trading with and which are a waste of time. Hundreds, possibly thousands of decisions made on every mission. The responsibility is overwhelming. Jack handles it with ease. But take the man out to dinner, and for the life of him he can't figure out what to order. He waits until the server is at the table before he starts hemming and hawing. 'Uh, what are you having, Daniel?' That's his favorite restaurant question. He always HATES what I'm having. God, the man can be irritating.

I'm almost home. Hopefully, he's watching some silly hockey game or baseball game, something to keep his mind off of me and my whereabouts. Yeah, right. Jack keeps his cool in all situations. He tries to lighten the mood and be *Mr. Positive* when we're in a jam. He never lets us get too down. 'We've been in tougher situations,' he'll say when things are really bad. 'I've had worse,' he assures us, when the food borders on inedible. When the situation is at its absolute worst, Jack is at his shining best. So why is it whenever I'm late, he assumes I'm dead in a ditch somewhere? Mr. Positive my ass.

The lights are on when I pull into the driveway and hurry inside to confront my quirky Colonel. The house is quiet. Jack's sitting on the sofa in the living room sipping a beer. Seems strange that he doesn't have the TV on.

My Semi-Brilliant Linguist

Where the hell is he? How can someone so smart be so dumb? How many times does he have to let the cell phone run down to nothing before he'll remember to recharge the battery? And gas…can someone please explain to me how a PhD genius cannot grasp the simple concept of running out of gas. 'It could happen to anyone.' That's his defense. Yeah, sure it could…once maybe, but three times? Two of those times Daniel had to call from a pay phone. He not only ran out of gas, but to his huge surprise, his cell phone was dead. I can't even hazard a guess as to what's keeping him tonight.

The worst part is…I can't bring this stuff up to him. It makes him mad. He'll be upset if he finds out how crazy *out of my mind with worry* I've been for him. He's thirty-six years old; he's survived most of those years without me. That's what he'll point out if he finds out how concerned I've been. I have my spies at the mountain. Those loyal to me, sworn to secrecy NOT to *report* me to Daniel. He absolutely hates me checking up on him. Like tonight, if he finds out I called Carter to verify what time he left, he'll be ticked. Really ticked.

The problem is that Daniel does need someone…ME…to check up on him. Desperately. And no, I have no idea how he survived all those years without me. I really don't. The man is oblivious. How he survives ANY day, with or without me, is the real mystery.

Here's the guy who figured out the Stargate. He made it work. He deciphered the Cartouche on Abydos. Daniel's theory that the Ancients built the stargate network turned out to be correct. He's discovered, restored, and catalogued thousands of alien devices and artifacts. Despite all this, I can't trust the man any where near common household appliances. He's downright dangerous. I'm serious. He rarely remembers to turn off the stove. Once, he actually forgot to turn the burner off. That was during a Discovery Channel special on Mayan Culture so I'm not allowed to count that. Who wouldn't be too excited to notice an open flame?

Both the washer and the dryer hate him. I'm not sure what's he's done to warrant their wrath, but I'm convinced he did something. They work fine for me. The washer pounds and rumbles and practically walks across the floor when he does a load of laundry. He swears the dryer is eating his socks. I did mention that it could be retribution for never shutting the door after he takes out his clothes. Since Daniel moved in, I've replaced the dryer light bulb three times. Before Daniel moved in, I didn't realize the dryer had a light bulb. His response to my observation was a patronizing whine. 'What's the big deal, Jack? It's a light bulb.' I won't even go into the electric frying pan incident, suffice it to say it's in the trash and I won't be purchasing another. The only safe appliance in the house is the coffeemaker. The man knows his way around a coffee pot.

From what Sam said, Daniel left the mountain a while ago. According to my calculations, if he came straight home, he should have been here over an hour ago. Not that he always comes directly home. He may have given someone a ride. 'Fifty miles out of the way -- no, no problem at all.' I can hear him now. Or the library, if he stopped off there he won't be home until it closes. And he'll be completely shocked when it does close because he only intends to stay for a few minutes. I guarantee you that.

That's another thing about Daniel that drives me batty. Being military, Daniel accuses me of being anal about timeliness. What's wrong with being on time? I'm a Colonel for god's sake; I can't just walk into a meeting whenever I happen to roll out of bed. Daniel, on the other hand, does not concern himself with time. If not for our job…and me, I swear he would have no idea what day it is, possibly not even what month. He doesn't appear to have so much as a nodding acquaintance with clocks.

Time is not a factor to Daniel. Even when I spell it out for him. Sometimes, if I present it as a word problem, he'll agree with me. 'Daniel, if we have to be there in one hour, and it takes thirty minutes to get there, and you still need to shower and dress, how can you have time to finish that translation?' Sometimes. Other times he'll tell me to lighten up and relax -- we'll get there. He's right of course, we always do get there. A little late, but not usually as dire as I make it out to be. *I don't care that you're late, Danny…just be okay.*

My brilliant linguist can speak twenty-three different languages. Twenty-three. He can crack codes and translate obscure alien text on temples and ancient ruins. He's made friends with every species capable of being friendly, including a damn Unas. He's written and negotiated trade treaties, and mining treaties, and peace treaties with other worlds. But I swear, the man is incapable of picking up a damn phone to say, 'Hey, Jack, I'm going to be late.'

I'd forgive him, though, if he'd just walk through that door. I love listening to him talk. Twenty-three languages, the premier linguist in the world, yet he has this incredibly sexy little stutter that turns my heart to mush.

Come on, Danny. Where are you? I've resorted to wandering through the house, room by room, like I tend to do when I'm too nervous to sit and watch television.

Seeing Daniel's clothes strewn about the bedroom floor makes me smile. That's from last night. Last night was hot and…good, so good. Did I mention hot? While we were undressing, a tad frantically I might add, Daniel tossed his clothes all over the room and dared me to do the same. 'We'll pick them up in the morning' he said, laughing at me. So I did. I also picked mine up this morning. Daniel's can lie there until the Tok'ra disclose intimate details of top-secret military installations. It just doesn't bother him. And dammit it, it doesn't bother me either. None of it bothers me. Just get your ass home, Daniel.

I'll admit I'm getting a little worried. Okay, maybe more than a little. I'm entitled; he's two hours late and I have a vivid imagination.

A car pulls into the driveway. I run down the stairs, grab a beer out of the fridge, take a huge gulp and dive on to the sofa in an attempt to look casual. Damn, where's the remote?

The door opens. Within seconds he pokes his head into the living room. "Sorry, I'm late, Jack. I ran into the bookstore looking for a copy of…well it doesn't matter of what, but…I - I guess I must have gotten a little…distracted." The hesitant little stammer causes my heart to swell. God, I love him.

"No problamo, Jackson." He seems a little stunned by my generosity.

"Um…Jack…what are you doing in here?"

Must have noticed the TV's not on. "Thinking."

"Really?" Hey, no need to sound so shocked, Danny.

"Thinking about what?"

"Come here." I lure him in close, then grab the front of his shirt and pull him down on top of me for a hard kiss. "About how I love every little thing about you."

He laughs and it's music to my ears. "Let's get these clothes off," I suggest, tugging on his shirt while flinging mine dramatically across the room in an effort to prove my spontaneity. It hits a lamp that promptly crashes to the floor.

Daniel chuckles, pulls off his own shirt and drops it down onto the hardwood. "You're a wild man tonight, Jack. I should come home late more often."

And he wonders why I'm gray.

~~finis~~