Rocky Top Wine

I rather like bad wine . . . one gets so bored with good wine.

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield.

Authors: Gallagater and Charli Booker

Email Address(es): 7j4him@prodigy.net; charli.booker@netzero.com

Author’s website: http://www.frondfic.com/filing/gallagater/swamp.htm
Summary: A series of misadventures await Jack when he makes a simple deal, and no amount of whining will change the outcome.

CONTENT LEVEL : 13+

Category: H/C, humor

Spoilers: none

Season: 5

Warning: Frequent and copious use of strong language due to the extreme nature of the situation; also, it is not recommended that you drink, drive, or operate small machinery while reading this fic.

Disclaimer: They’re not ours, although a rumor, started by us, claims that they’d like to be. Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement in intended. They don’t earn us a dime, just new friends and some time away from RL, and a chance to get even with Karen (Knox). That’s entertainment! The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the authors.

Authors’ notes: Once upon a time in a mythical place called Tennessee, there lived a whiny woman named Karen (Knox). All day long, Karen would whine about honkin’ big fics that Judy and Charli were supposed to be producing. All night long, Karen would incite the other docile, polite list sibs to whine. So one day, Judy and Charli had a wonderfully evil idea . . .

>*<*>*<*><

"Jack, you owe me."

The sanctimonious sneer of supreme confidence made Jack wonder briefly if Daniel had been taking lessons from Hathor on the sly.

It had all started so innocently, just a favor or two. How the hell did I end up in this situation, Jack wondered, his glare wilting ineffectually under Daniel’s superior aplomb.

"I’ll pick you up at eight and, Jack, it’s semi-formal. That means no jeans, no t-shirts, no khakis, and no leather jackets. This party is important to me and I don’t want you looking like some aging hood from ‘Happy Days.’"

"Hey, the Fonz was cool."

"No, Jack. Do I need to remind you we have a deal?"

Jack’s teeth ground as he fought down the urge to tell Daniel just where he could stuff his damn deal. But, he’d never hear the end of it if he welched. So instead, he held his comments and snapped, "Fine Daniel. I’ll be ready."

Throwing one more smug look in Jack’s direction, Daniel left his friend staring into the pristine depths of his bowl of jello.

Jack looked up in ill-concealed irritation as Janet Fraiser waved cheerfully at Daniel and walked over to his table.

"Colonel, I’ve been looking for you."

"Seems to be a popular pastime today. What can I do you for, Doc? I didn’t miss a flea dip treatment or some such important veterinary visit, did I?"

Janet laughed and sat across from the Colonel at the small table. "No, sir, you’re not in the dog house this time." She grinned as Jack raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment of her attempt at humor. "I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow is the day you promised to take Cassandra’s ‘Future Artists Reality Training Section’ hiking up Pike’s Peak."

"‘Future Artists Reality Training Section’? Come on, Doc, you’ve gotta be kidding. FARTs? Cassie belongs to a group called FARTs?"

Janet shrugged. "Junior High, Colonel. Bodily functions are high on the list of amusements." She ignored Jack’s snort. "So you haven’t forgotten, have you, sir? Meet at 0600 tomorrow morning in the main parking lot at the base of the mountain. There’ll be a couple of other parents chaperoning, as well, so you won’t have to worry about keeping the kids out of trouble by yourself."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble? I thought these kids were going to sketch nature and crap like that."

"Come on, Colonel, these are young teenagers. There’ll be at least thirteen or fourteen of them, maybe a few more. This is an art related field trip in theory, but don’t you remember what it was like to be that age?"

"Mixed group, boys and girls?"

Janet’s grin widened. "Yep."

"Teenagers?"

"That’s right."

"Shit."

"You got it, sir," Janet stated, making no effort to hide her amusement.

"Doc . . ." God, did his voice really sound that whiny?

Janet’s arms crossed and her normally pleasant face bore a striking resemblance to one smirking archaeologist who used to be his best friend.

"Sorry, sir, but we . . . "

". . . had a deal," they finished in unison.

"Oh, by the way, Colonel, don’t worry about picking up Cassie tomorrow morning. She’s staying with Kelly and her mom said she’d make sure the girls were at the park. So all you have to worry about is getting yourself there."

Jack waved his hand in apathetic consent. "I’ll be there, Doc."

>*<*>*<

Daniel was true to his word and promptly at 8:00, much to Jack’s chagrin, he drove up in Jack’s driveway and blew the horn, tapping out his impatience on the steering wheel and checking his watch. He was on the verge of laying it on again, assuming that Jack was stalling, when the door opened and Jack emerged decked out in an elegantly cut tuxedo.

Daniel’s mouth was still hanging open as Jack casually strolled over to the passenger side and slid in, carefully hiding the smirk that threatened to tarnish the image he had carefully donned. Aging hood, my Aunt Alice’s ass. It was worth the rental cost of the tux just to see Daniel’s face.

"Daniel, hope I didn’t keep you waiting."

"Er, no Jack. Ah . . ."

Quagmires of mirth filled the brown eyes. Chalk one up to the master. A linguist at a loss for words. Yes, the evening wasn’t a total wash.

At last, Daniel realized he was staring and made an effort to pull himself together. "Nice tux, Jack. New?"

"Rented it just for tonight. You said to dress up."

"Well that’s nice, Jack, but a tux? Isn’t that a bit overboard? It’s just a wine tasting party at Professor Knox’s home, not a State Ball."

"Never let it be said that I embarrassed you, Danny Boy."

There was silence and then a pained mutter. "Oh, God, I think I’m in deep trouble."

The remainder of the drive was made in silence, but Jack relished the frequent glances Daniel delivered from the corner of his eyes.

The house was ablaze with welcoming lights as Daniel drove through the iron gates, down the winding tree-lined drive and parked beside a gleaming Jag. His dented Ford looked every bit as shabby as he was beginning to feel in his only suit, next to Jack’s stylish trappings.

"Coming, Daniel?"

Daniel suddenly realized he was standing lost in thought. Well, clothes may make the man, but it remained to be seen how Jack dealt with the crowd at this party. After all, this group was known as connoisseurs of the fruit of the vine, whereas Jack was a draft, bottle, or can kind of guy.

His confidence restored, Daniel nodded. "Yeah, Jack, I’m ready."

A middle-aged man sporting a neat goatee and a turtleneck under a tweed sportcoat pushed the door open. "Daniel, welcome to Knox Villa. You remember my wife, Karen, of course."

"Certainly, Stu. Karen, nice to see you again. Thank you for inviting me. Professor and Mrs. Knox, allow me to introduce my friend, Colonel Jack O’Neill."

During the last two days, Daniel had slowly begun to doubt his own sanity in making Jack come with him to the wine tasting. At the time, he’d thought it would be funny. Jack owed him, and he’d decided the best way to make Jack pay was to force him to attend an event his friend normally would have avoided like a Goa’uld larvae-eating festival.

Now, studying Jack’s relaxed smile and easy-going manner, Daniel realized that he was watching the Colonel at play. He also realized that he’d more than likely made a serious tactical error. Whether it was in combat or in a game, Daniel had never met anyone who could be as ruthless as Jack O’Neill. When it came to losing, the Colonel just didn’t know how. He would do anything to win. Failing that, he would do anything to make you wish he had. Sometimes Daniel’s chest swelled with pride that he served alongside the man, but to be brutally honest, nobody could be as embarrassing. Making Jack get dressed up and dragging him to a wine tasting was meant to be a joke, but Daniel suddenly wondered if perhaps the joke was going to be on himself. It was with a sense of impending doom that Daniel watched Jack shake Professor Knox’s hand.

“Colonel O’Neill. A pleasure. My wife.” The Professor gestured towards the woman beside him.

Jack reached over and gently clasped the woman’s hand in both of his, smiling that boyish smile that had been known to work miracles with women and men alike. When Jack ducked his head in a Teal’c-like nod and softly, almost shyly muttered ‘ma’am,’ it was obvious that Karen Knox was immediately and totally smitten. Daniel almost cringed as her eyes lit up and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Colonel.” She smiled sweetly, not even trying to pull her hand from Jack’s. “How very nice to meet you.”

Daniel kept a silly grin plastered on his face. My God, she was gushing. Jack had said one word to her and already the woman was gushing like a damn school girl.

Jack’s long fingers squeezed her hand slightly. “Oh, I beg to differ. The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Knox. All mine.” Almost reluctantly he released her, then smiled over at Daniel. “Dr. Jackson, you should have warned me that our hostess was so beautiful.”

“Uh,” Daniel felt a blush warm his own face. God, no wonder the woman couldn’t resist. Hell, even Hammond wasn’t totally immune when Jack cranked up the charm. “Yes. Yes, sorry, Jack.”

As Mrs. Knox led Jack away to introduce him around the room, Daniel listened to the Professor without hearing. Daniel followed his host, meeting and talking to various attendees, some of whom he knew from his faculty days, and others who were absolute strangers. Through it all, he couldn’t stop staring at Jack. Just like watching his friend in battle, it was amazing, humbling and rather scary to see the man in action. Nodding his head and smiling at something Dr. Milburn was saying, Daniel watched as Jack, surrounded by a covey of giggling, middle-aged women, leaned his head back and laughed. Actually, laughed. Out loud. Daniel frowned. Jack never laughed.

As if sensing Daniel’s stare, Jack looked over at him and smiled, his dark eyes twinkling evilly. One of the women touched Jack’s sleeve and immediately he turned his attention back to his circle of admirers. Daniel could almost smell the lust in the air, and he couldn’t help but glance around the room searching for any jealous husbands and lovers. Fortunately, no one else seemed to be aware that a dozen women had simultaneously fallen in love with his smart-assed, irritating, demanding, crass, obnoxious, irritating, juvenile, bossy, clownish, irritating CO.

>*<*>*<

God, Jack hated this. All these hoity-toity people with their fancy cars and houses and clothes who had absolutely no idea how the real world lived. Nor did they care. As far as he was concerned, with the exception of Daniel and himself, you could have lined up all the men alongside his favorite Senator, and you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

And the women? Geez! They were on him like a pack of hyenas on an injured lion – darting in from all directions, trying to knock him off his feet, and laughing through it all. Okay, okay, so he’d started it. Just to irritate Daniel. In fact, that was the only thing good about the evening so far: the look of sheer panic on Daniel’s face as he waited to see what Jack was going to do. The funny thing was, Jack had no plans to do anything – other than to annoy Daniel, that is. So, obviously, his plan was working. Now, all he had to do was come out of this alive, and hopefully unscathed.

“Okay, everyone,” the Professor clapped his hands together for their attention, “why don’t we make our way to the gathering room. We’ve assembled some wonderful wines to share with you tonight.” His wide, phony smile encompassed the entire room.

As the hoity-toity, hot-to-trot pack of females began making their way to the ‘gathering room,’ Jack took the opportunity to slip away from them.

“Daniel.”

The younger man flinched at Jack’s soft voice in his ear. “Jack!”

“Are you enjoying yourself, Dr. Jackson?”

“Um,” Daniel reached up and tugged at the tie suddenly constricting his neck, “yeah, Jack. I am. You?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jack estimated that the look on his friend’s face was, well, priceless. Daniel forced a tight smile as they followed the group.

Funny, it seemed a gathering room was just a rich man’s version of a family room or den, and apparently, the motif here was ‘stuffed.’ Large leather chairs were scattered throughout the room, and huge ‘trophies’ were mounted on all four walls. The largest, a huge elk with a rack of antlers at least seven feet across, took the lead position above the over-sized fireplace. Beneath the dead gaze of the murdered beast, laid out like a pagan offering, was a long table containing row upon row of chilled wine bottles and sparking crystal goblets. Suddenly, Jack wished he’d taken time for dinner.

Okay, O’Neill, you can do this. Just treat it like you would an MRE: sniff before tasting. Yup, nothing to it.

“Here you go, Colonel.”

He smiled and murmured his thanks as one of the women – he couldn’t remember her name, Talula or Twyla or something – handed him a goblet containing a shimmering, blood-red liquid, then claimed a spot at his side so close that their elbows touched. Daniel looked a bit crest-fallen as he stepped up to the table to claim a glass for himself.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen.” Stu raised his glass, twirling it slightly.

The other guests followed suit. A second later, feeling like a dumb-ass, Jack did the same. He smiled pleasantly at Daniel as he sniffed the heady aroma of the wine. Crap! It was so strong and his stomach was so empty, he’d probably get plastered on the fumes alone.

“A toast to our men in uniform,” the woman next to him whispered as she clinked her glass against his.

“Well, thank you, ma’am.”

Jack sipped along with the rest of the group, then forced down the grimace that threatened. A soft, approving chorus of ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ echoed faintly around the room full of dead animals.

Stu’s chest swelled as if he’d grown the damn grapes himself. “This fine Cabernet Sauvignon, my dear friends, is from the Silver Oak Cellars of Northern California. Vintage 1999. Yes, yes, I know,” he raised a hand as if to silence protests no one had made, “late, but you must admit – classic.”

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” The woman – Trudy, that was her name – clutched at his sleeve.

“Mmm.” He smiled at her, wishing he had a bottle of blackberry Turning Leaf, vintage – he looked at his watch – now.

“A mere $200 a bottle.”

At their host’s casual announcement, Jack felt his fingers involuntarily tighten around the stem of his glass. Shit! That was like – what, 100 bottles of beer? Damn! He held the glass up to the light looking for the gold dust that should have permeated the liquid.

“Colonel?”

Startled, but covering it, Jack looked at the Professor.

“Care to comment?”

Jack glanced at Daniel, who was smiling smugly. His young friend took another sip of the red gold, then swallowed and stared back at him, one eyebrow arched Jaffa-style. “Yes, Jack. What do you think?”

Casually, Jack twirled the glass again, sniffed, and sipped. Frowning, he thought a moment. “Very complex. The nose is slightly fruity, yet,” he smiled at Daniel, “I believe I smell a hint of – is that sandalwood, Stu?” He looked at their host, pretending not to see the look of utter disbelief on Daniel’s face. “Full-bodied taste with the merest suggestion of licorice. An excellent choice.” Jack finished by nodding his approval and lifting his glass to his buddy Stu.

As the group moved on to the next choice, Jack smiled over at Daniel, who was still staring at him.

“Okay, Jack, how did you do that?”

“Do what?” He assumed the famous ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’ look. “What?”

Daniel shoved his glasses up higher on his nose, looking around and lowering his voice. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Jack.”

Okay, this was worth every damn minute of being stalked and pawed by Trudy the hyena. Jack leaned close and brushed an invisible piece of lint from Daniel’s shoulder. “Why, Dr. Jackson, what do you think I am? Some aging hood from Happy Days?” Smiling, he turned back to his new best girl, Trudy – no, wait, Tamara. Yeah, that was her name.

The pace was casual, the mood laden with pretentious self-proclaimed mandarin. Conversations laced with expensive cars, boats, high-brow vacations, and designer labels soon had Jack wishing he could chew the crystal goblet he held casually in his hand. So this was a rich man’s version of a pissing contest.

He was well aware of Daniel’s frequent disbelieving glances, which grew exponentially like one of Carter’s math theorems as the evening progressed and Jack failed to make a fool of himself. And that made the torturous conversation he was forced to endure worth it. Oh, yeah, he was aware of Danny-Boy’s astonishment, every bit as much as he was aware of Tabatha’s hand slowly creeping up his thigh in direct proportion to the number of glasses she sampled. God help him if the woman got any more tanked.

Jack found himself at the center of a pack of raging females as several of them vied for his attention, their husbands looking on in amused tedium. Geez, he’d swear that some of these gals had taken Special Ops training on how to corner your quarry. Talula had him pressed firmly against the over-stuffed arm of the couch as she leaned against his shoulder tittering at every word he uttered.

The Merlot he had been sampling lapped against the sides of the goblet when he jumped as another woman leaned over the back of the couch, tickling his ear with her warm breath and showing enough cleavage to make a hooker blush. “That wine is excellent with chocolate, Colonel, if you’re ever in the mood for dessert. I have a terrible sweet tooth.”

If there was an art to equating chocolate with sex then this lady was definitely Picasso, because Jack felt his neck flush under the innuendo. These women could have a locker room full of Marines blushing. Just then he caught sight of Daniel’s smirk as he leaned casually against the hearth of the huge fireplace discussing God knows what with Professor Stuffed Shirt. Time to show Daniel and a few horny women just who was in charge of this little operation.

“Mrs. Knox, the ambience you have created tonight is matched only by your obvious good taste in decor.” He raised his glass in silent apology to Rambo Bambi who stared at him from his home above the mantle. “It has been far too long since I have been surrounded by such charming companions.” I’m pretty sure it was on that planet of cannibals who invited us to lunch.

“Do you find time to travel, Colonel O’Neill?”

Charm oozed from Jack’s smile as he accepted an offering of an unidentifiable, but obviously fried appetizer from - damn what was that woman’s name - Tarantella? Hesitantly, he bit into the oddly shaped tidbit, trying not to grimace when something firm but slimy slid out of the crust and into his mouth. Holy crap! It was one of Ferretti’s old boots. Swear to God, it tasted like an old, fried, stinky boot - Army issue.

Lips parted, the tip of her tongue peeking out, Karen watched him closely. “Well, Colonel?”

Jack called upon all of his training, forcing the smile to remain in place as he chewed on the – mushroom? “Mmm.”

His hostess breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“Delicious, thank you.” Oh, God. Oh, God. Swallow. Swallow and change the subject before she offers you another. “Uh, yes, ma’am, I do travel quite a bit with my job. My superiors have sent me all over the world, so this year they thought they’d send me somewhere else.”

Daniel stopped in mid-word as peals of laughter surrounded Jack.

Jack was leaned back, a relaxed grin on his face, giving the impression that he was completely at ease with the bevy surrounding him. Damn, why hadn’t he ever seen this side of Jack when they were off-world trying to encourage diplomatic relations with some alien race. There, Jack seemed to delight in behaving in the most offensive manner possible.

“Your friend seems to be enjoying himself, Daniel.”

Daniel’s attention was dragged away from Jack just as he launched into another humorous story. “Yes, he does. If you’ll excuse me, Stu, I believe I’ll join the Colonel so he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him.”

“I don’t think he has noticed, Daniel. He seems to have plenty of company.”

Well, that was certainly true. Damn, Jack looked like he was really enjoying himself.

Daniel walked over and casually asked, “Jack, when did you first acquire a taste for wine?” Well this ought to be good considering that the wine Jack knew best came with an ‘h’ and involved getting his team to go to hockey games with him.

Jack looked up at Daniel, who was a study of infantile innocence. Picking up the gauntlet his friend had thrown down, Jack’s posture became even more relaxed, but Daniel was quick to see the taut smile of recognition and acceptance of the challenge.

“Ah, that would be many years ago, Daniel, when I was just a kid.”

Jack never spoke of his childhood. Not once in all the years they had known each other. Either the wine or Mrs. Tippler’s perfume was finally getting to him. Daniel found himself giving his full attention to Jack, ignoring the sparks of triumphant laughter which lit the dark eyes as he reeled his catch in along with the rest of the school.

“My brother and I overheard Dad telling Mom where he was going to set up a speed trap one day. We stood about a quarter mile up the road holding a sign and a bucket warning unwary motorists of the trap. We collected a bundle of change in that bucket from the grateful would-be speeders. We took our ill gotten gains and bought a bottle of Blue Nun. Figured that was appropriate since Mom was sure to haul our asses to confession when she found out what we had done.”

For a pregnant moment there was complete silence, and Daniel was on the verge of doing a jubilant jig of victory. Jack had done it. He had crossed the line and the leopard had finally been recognized, despite camouflaging his spots beneath a tuxedo and pretty words. Now he could sit back and relax as Stu and his cronies added Colonel Leopard’s head to the trophies lining the walls.

Loud laughter interrupted Daniel’s smug supremacy.

“Priceless, Colonel. Simply delightful,” Karen Knox murmured, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Daniel, shame on you for having never brought the Colonel to one of our little parties before. He is a treasure.”

Daniel mumbled either a brief apology or the Egyptian curse for halitosis before fleeing the chortling group.

From that moment, the conversation ran a gamut of wondrous tales of wine for its medicinal properties that would have had Doc staggering, to the embarrassing detailed account of how wine had helped Julia’s maid’s sister conceive – a story which left Jack blushing to his roots and encouraged Tom-tom to attempt to cop another feel as she wormed closer.

Relief flooded Jack as Stu walked to the center of the room. “Tonight has been delightful. Karen and I thank you so much for joining us. As is our tradition, we would like to end the evening with a special gift to the newest member of our little group.” Looking towards Jack, he raised his glass. “Tonight, Colonel, that honor belongs to you. Would you join me, please?”

His instincts screamed that full retreat was the order of the day. Looking across the room, he saw Daniel issue a sly smile and joining Stu, he raised his glass in a mock toast. Crap, he should have known Daniel’d pull something like this, the sneaky little bastard. He felt like the condemned being led towards the guillotine. He was so going to enjoy killing Daniel slowly for this stunt.

“Colonel, we have procured a very special bottle of wine from the Rocky Top Winery, the home of truly impressive wines. Would you do us the honor of sampling it?”

Okay, he could handle this. One last sip of hootch. Ignore the fact that his stomach was already gurgling like a geyser. Thank God Stu had opted not to bless them with a fire tonight. Standing where he was, if Old Faithful blew, it would have looked like a flame thrower was shooting out of his ass. Oh yeah, a slow, painful death was in order for one smirking ex-best friend.

Jack accepted the glass of clear honey-colored wine. He held it to his nose and breathed in the pungent aroma of fermented fruit. He took an apprehensive sip and fought not to gag as the ultra-sweet brew overwhelmed his senses. Belaying his first impulse to spit the drink back in his glass, Jack swallowed bravely and blinked back the tears of his outraged sinuses. “Interesting,” he croaked.

“Tennessee Mountain Peach. Enjoy it, Colonel.”

“Peachy.”

Stu laughed and turning to the others he said, “Friends, join me in a final glass of your favorite of tonight’s selections as the Colonel finishes his glass. To Colonel O’Neill.”

“To Colonel O’Neill,” the room echoed.

The pained look on Daniel’s face was the catalyst Jack needed to force himself to empty the rest of the goblet as the guests made small talk and took their leave bringing the ordeal to closure. So’kar should take lessons in torture from these people.

“This has been delightful, Professor Knox. Mrs. Knox, I don’t know how to thank you for allowing me to join you in your charming home.” Turning to the woman who had stuck to him like velcro throughout the evening, Jack gave a charming smile. “This has been an evening I will never forget. Truly.”

“Oh, Colonel, it sends tingles up my back when you say my name like that. Truly Tippler. I’ve always loved my name.”

“A more apt description I’ve never heard,” Jack replied as she giggled with pleasure and Daniel covered a snort with a discrete cough.

A quick covert pat on his behind from his hostess and the door closed.

The two men made their way through the darkness towards the dented Ford. As he rounded the rear of the vehicle, headed for the passenger door, Jack staggered slightly but covered by putting a hand to the roof of the car. With his other hand, he opened the door and wedged himself into the front seat, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

Without a word, Daniel started the car, gunned the motor, and pealed out down the driveway. When they reached the intersection with the narrow, winding road that led back towards town, Daniel slammed on the brakes. Before Jack could fully recover from the g-forces of the sudden stop, Daniel pulled out onto the road, tires squealing.

They rode, in silence. Jack hazarded a glance over at Daniel. The man was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers had turned white. He was sitting hunched over the wheel, squinting out the windshield. The dashboard lights reflected off of his glasses, making him look Goa’uld-like. Ironic, because currently, he appeared to have the temperament for the job. Jack recognized all the signs of a Dr. Jackson hissy-fit.

“Daniel, something on your mind?”

The only response was a soft grunt.

“Excuse me? Didn’t catch that.”

‘I said, ‘no.’”

“Oh.” Jack fought back a grin and looked out the side window. “So, you’re not mad or anything?” There was no response. He looked back over at his friend. “Cause, you know, you look kinda – well, pissed off.”

“I’m not mad.”

He sounded mad.

“Good. Cause I thought it went well.” Daniel swerved the car to miss something that Jack didn’t see. Feeling pleased with himself, and a little buzzed, Jack leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. “Karen seemed nice. Stu, too, but–”

“You’re amazing.”

Jack raised his head and looked over at Daniel. “Huh?”

“I can’t believe you sometimes. What the hell were you doing back there?”

“What are you talking about?”

Finally, Daniel glanced at him. Well, glared at him. “What am I talking about? You’re kidding, right?” Daniel snorted and turned back to the road.

Jack waited for him to continue. “Okay. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it appears that something has your panties in a wad. Care to share?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about, I admire these people, Jack. They are experts in their given fields, two of which happen to be archaeology and mythology. You know: what – I – do. How about, yes, I know it’s juvenile but I want to make a good impression on them.”

“You want them to like you?”

“Yes,” he spit it out like it tasted as bad as that damn peach-flavored stuff that Stu had forced down Jack’s throat. “Yes, I want them to like me. So what’s wrong with that?”

“Did I say there was anything wrong with that?” Jack rubbed his temple, suddenly feeling the beginnings of a headache. Crap. When Daniel reverted to silence, he tried again. “So, you don’t think they like you. And that’s my fault because–”

“I never said they didn’t like me. I think they didn’t know I was there, Mr. Lampshade on the Head, Have to Have All the Attention, Party Crasher.”

As he stared out the windshield at an oncoming car, Jack blinked as the approaching headlights swam and wiggled across his vision. “Party Crasher? If you will recall, I didn’t want to go to this thing, Daniel. You’re the one who insisted on it. And lampshade? Hey, is it my fault all the women there were horny?”

“Yes.”

“Huh?” He looked over at Jackson, stunned.

“You were flirting.”

“I – I was being sociable.”

“You ate her cooking, Jack. No one eats her cooking.”

“Excuse me?” Good Lord, Jackson had officially gone over the edge. “Geez.”

“Come on, everyone knows you never eat what Karen Knox cooks. Did you see anyone else eating?” Daniel stared over at him like he was an idiot. “No!”

“Daniel, I don’t know about where you come from, but where I come from eating an old boot definitely does not constitute flirting.” Jack shook his head.

“You were practically making out with every woman there.”

“Hey! That stuff at the end was strictly instinct, self-defense.” Jack smiled slightly. “Come on. Lighten up. They like you, Daniel. And even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean–”

“Just shut up.”

Jack studied his friend. Okay, so maybe he’d gone a bit too far. He hadn’t thought so at the time, he’d been too busy trying to protect the family jewels. Honest to God, he’d been so concerned about safeguarding what little remained of his virtue that he hadn’t noticed Daniel was getting mad. Jack leaned his now aching head back against the headrest and shut his eyes.

He was nearly asleep when he heard the mumbled apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude.”

Jack was concentrating on fighting back a wave of nausea and didn’t move. “You’re right. It was. But I forgive you because I know you didn’t mean it.”

There was another long stretch of silence punctuated only by the hum of the tires on the pavement.

Daniel chuckled softly. “I can’t believe Karen Knox felt you up.”

He cautiously opened one eye and squinted over at his friend. Daniel saw that? Shit.

“Better watch your back, Jack. She’ll be stalking you next.”

Jack thought about the rows of dead animal heads lining the good Professor’s den. “I just hope she doesn’t try to mount me.” At Daniel’s snort of laughter, Jack grimaced. “And I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Although, now that I think about it, I hope she doesn’t try to do that either.”

The car veered sharply as Daniel laughed. Jack swallowed and held his stomach with one arm. Was it his imagination or was it getting slightly warm in here?

“You got the heat on?” He reached for the controls.

“No. You cold?” Jack shook his head. “You look a little flushed. You okay?”

He leaned back in his seat, swallowing. He could really use a beer to get that damn peach taste out of his mouth. “I’m fine.”

>*<*>*<

“Jack, you awake?”

“Huh, what? What’s the matter?” Damn, what the hell was the number of that truck? Head pounding, stomach churning. He felt like the bottom of a bird cage. “Where are we?”

“We’re at your house, Jack.” The concern in Daniel’s voice tiptoed through the field of steaming bovine patties where Jack was currently residing. “You okay? You slept most of the way home.”

Jack cautiously cracked open one eye and glared at his errant chauffeur. “Yeah, just peachy, Daniel.” He hadn’t meant to come across quite so belligerent, but that freakin’ peach taste in his mouth was skewing his thinking.

Damn, if this was what a high society hangover felt like - screw it. He’d had his last glass of Chateau de Puke. Give him the honest, simple, know-what-you’re-in-for hangover of beer or whiskey any time. At least then he was playing by his rules; even when he was puking his guts out, he knew he deserved it out of the sheer volume he’d consumed. Hell, Professor Two Hundred Dollars a Bottle had made sure no one had more than a shot glass full of any of his ‘vintage variety.’ Except for that Tennessee Tornado shit he’d pawned off on him in the name of a joke. Some freakin’ joke. That stuff, he’d filled the oversized goblet to the brim, like he was pouring Kool-aid. Reverend Jim Jones Kool-aid from the way he felt.

“Thanks for the ride, Daniel. Gonna go in and hit the sack now.”

“Jack, are you sure you’re okay? You really seem - I don’t know - kind of out of it.”

“I’m fine, Daniel. Just tired. I spent the evening trying to keep my virginity intact from a bunch of middle-aged sorority debs, and drinking peach-flavored nitroglycerin. Ya think that might have something to do with it?” He cast a weak glare as he fumbled to find the door handle.

Taking pity, Daniel leaned across and opened the door. “There you go, Jack. The handle’s in the same place it’s always been.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a stupid place to put it. Who the hell could hope to find it when you hide it like that?” Crap. Can we spell petulant?

“Jack . . .?”

“Can it, Daniel, I’m just tired.” He glanced over at his friend. “Sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Daniel couldn’t keep the worried frown from knotting his forehead as Jack slammed the door and staggered towards the house. He watched until Jack found his keys after multiple attempts. God, Jack was plastered. He’d never seen him quite so out of control before. Usually, Jack was very careful not to overdo when he drank and on those few times Daniel had seen him get drunk, he was nothing like this. The more Jack drank, the quieter and more tightly controlled he became. Weird, but nothing a few hours of sleep wouldn’t fix.

Daniel backed out of the drive and pulled away, failing to see Jack stagger off the porch and vomit violently into the rhododendrons.

>*<*>*<

Oh, God. Would somebody just shoot him? He’d finally gotten into the house after decorating his bushes two more times. The neighbors would love that. ‘Go to bed, honey. Ignore the man puking his guts out in his front yard. That’s just Colonel O’Neill, role model, officer and gentleman, who saves the world on a regular basis.’

Jack lay in bed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the slow motion spin his bed seemed to be engaged in. The Alka-Seltzer he had managed to swig was doing its damnedest to make a second curtain call. He had spent the last couple of hours alternating between kicking off the covers, the sheets feeling like he was laying on the scorching sands in Iraq, and shaking with chills that reminded him way, way too much of a little jaunt to Antarctica.

Forcing himself to his feet, Jack walked into the bathroom. Water. Maybe another drink would help cut through the sickening taste of over-ripe peaches that seemed to fill his mouth and nostrils. It was like drinking that expensive, cheap-smelling perfume Mrs. You-don’t-mind-if I-sit-in-your-lap Tippler had bathed in. Just the thought of it brought Jack to his knees in a vain attempt to pay homage to the porcelain god. Leaning his pounding head against the cold surface of the toilet, he soaked in the minute comfort it brought.

One hellofva hangover. Nothing he owed Daniel was worth this. Nothing.

“No, Jack, I will not host a Tupperware party for you. What the heck did you tell Sam you’d do it for in the first place? I mean . . . Tupperware?”

“Yes, Daniel, Tupperware. And I don’t have any choice. Carter’s calling in a favor I owe her. Dammit, who would have thought she’d be so sneaky when I asked her to help cover for me when I backed into Hammond’s car. Hell, she’s the whizzo mechanic. What was the big deal for her to iron out a few dents? Please tell me that dents don’t equal Tupperware.”

“Apparently they do, Jack.” Daniel looked altogether too pleased with the whole situation. “I can just see it now. ‘Ladies, this handy little container is perfect for storing your spare ammo clips. Don’t forget to burp it.’”

Plastering his best puppy dog face on, Jack wheedled his way past Daniel’s defenses. “Come on, Daniel, please. One little party. Carter promised one of the nurses she’d host it. Tiny. Minuscule. I’ll spring for the refreshments. Come on, Daniel, be a pal.”

“Okay, Jack, I’ll do it, but you owe me.”

“Deal.”

And now that four letter word had come back to bite him in the ass when that sneaky little twirp had called in his IOU today.

Pulling himself to his feet, Jack ran some water into his hands and washed his face. Cupping his hand, he swallowed a little water, praying it would stay down. He glanced at the clock. Shit. He had less than three hours before he had to be out of here to meet Cassie’s FARTs group.

His life was such a cosmic joke sometimes.

Collapsing into bed, Jack rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around his rebelliously quivering innards. Shutting his eyes, he ordered his stomach to stand down and let him get a little shut eye. Miraculously, it did and Jack was able to drift into a light doze.

He came awake with a groan, and rolled over onto his back. “Oh, God.”

He lay there in the darkness of the early morning, staring up towards the ceiling. He felt like – well, shit, to be perfectly honest. Not some little doggie pile of crap either. More like elephant dung. A big, honkin’, steamin’ pile of it.

His whole body ached, throbbing along with the tempo of his pulse. He’d barely even moved and already his head felt like it was going to snap off. He was afraid to even try to sit up in case it really did just break off at the neck – his torso sitting up while his head stayed back on the sweat-dampened sheets. Well, at least that would make throwing up a whole lot easier. Well, maybe not. Could a headless torso throw up? What about a torso-less head?

He moaned again, and wiped sweat from his face with a shaky hand. God, what kind of hangover was this anyway? Besides the worst one he could remember, that is. He rested a hand on his abdomen and glanced at the clock without turning his head. He had approximately 20 minutes to shower and be on his way.

Okay, O’Neill, you can do this. Just up and at ‘em. He lay there, dreading the moment. Now that he thought about it, being headless didn’t seem like such a bad alternative. Wonder how the FARTs would feel about being led around by an aging, headless Colonel.

Okay, flyboy, on the count of three, we’re going to sit up. One. Two. Three.....maybe he could just skip the shower, rest here a few more minutes.

He would be perfectly happy to never see another peach in his obviously-cursed lifetime. In fact, from this moment forward, he hated peaches. He hated Knox Villa. And he definitely hated Tennessee.

“I hope the Gators whip your sorry asses,” he mumbled to football fans everywhere.

Oh, morning, Mr. Bladder. Jack chewed his lower lip as the pressure began to build. Okay. No way I can avoid him.

Without allowing himself time to think about it, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and forced himself to a sitting position. Geez!