Just a Few Basics

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"Oh my God, Jack! Are you all right?"

It takes a few seconds 'til I'm able to answer that one. I'm a little stunned. Not sure if it's due to the pain or the shock. Probably a little of both. I'm also a lot proud of our boy over there who just damn near KO'd his hand-to-hand combat instructor, a trained specialist, a Colonel in the military even.

It's true. Believe it or not, I was just knocked on my ass by the good Doctor Jackson. Way to go, Dannyboy.

"Are you okay?"

Am I okay? Of course I'm okay. Well, except for the side of my face that's hurtin' like a bitch. And, I guess my pride isn't doing so hot either, especially considering Carter and Teal'c happened to show up just in time for the show. Other than that... "I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry, Jack! I swear, I didn't mean to hit you!"

"Lucky shot, Daniel." I growl for effect. I'd really like to tell him what a great shot it was, but that would sorta be defeating my whole purpose here.

"You said you were gonna block it!"

That I did, Daniel. That I did. "Well, ya coulda waited 'til I was ready."

It's really pointless to admit that I shoulda been ready. I've already explained it to him before on the numerous occasions when I've knocked him on his ass.

"But you said..."

"I know, I know. Just forget it, okay? Help me up off the damn floor."

Not quite sure if he trusts me, he cautiously reaches for my hand and gives it a tug. When he realizes that there were no ulterior motives in my plea for a hand up, he mumbles again, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Daniel, what did I tell you about the apologizing thing?"

He hesitates before answering, glances guiltily at Sam and mutters, "A sign of weakness. Only wimps and girls-" In mid-sentence his eyes go huge, like they're about pop out of his head. "Whoa! I did that?"

Oh yeah. I can already tell my eye is swollen. In fact, I feel like Rocky before the bloodletting. I have to grin, even though it hurts like hell, 'cause Daniel's face is lit up like the sun. I can tell he's mighty impressed with his handiwork even though he's trying his damnedest to wipe the smile off his face. "Lucky shot," I remind him sternly as I stroll over to the big mirror to get a closer look. Whoa! Sweet.

"Sir? Maybe you should let somebody take a look at that." Carter suggests dutifully. The smirk on her face, however, suggests something else entirely.

"I think I'll live, Carter."

"Jack, maybe she's right." Ah, poor Daniel. I can see the battle going on in his head – like a tennis match, back and forth, back and forth. He's not quite sure what he should be feeling about this: Disgusted, or proud. He can't tear his eyes away from mine -- specifically the one that at this very moment is swelling up like a balloon -- a big, honkin’ purple balloon. Then, just like that, the debate is over.

And the winner is: Guilt.

Daniel's feeling pretty proud of himself for knockin’ the ol’ colonel on his keester, but even more so, he’s feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. I know, I know. Makes no sense to me either.

"Jack, I really am sorry."

I'd roll my eyes, but it would probably pain me more than Daniel, so I'll have to settle for a more straightforward response. "Daniel?” I smile sardonically, “shut up."

Good boy. For once he followed orders.

Now, if one looks on the bright side, there are positive aspects to this particular round of guilt. First and foremost: the guilt that Daniel is experiencing right now is a whole 'nuther species of guilt. It's not your typical guilt. Not like that of a few, short months ago, when he'd have been a complete wreck over having caused bodily injury to another person -- especially yours truly.

This is more of a, I dunno, phantom guilt. Which is a good thing, see, because deep down, he knows that this whole thing was just an accident, not his fault -- mine, if anyone’s. The hitch is that he can't quite absolve himself for feeling a little uncomfortable with the fact that he's finding it way cool that he just knocked someone on their ass; that he caused bodily injury to another person -- especially yours truly.

I'll have to cut him a break on the phantom guilt, since this is probably the first time he's ever assaulted anyone when it wasn’t a real combat situation. At least he's discovering that -- hey, sometimes a little release just feels good, and you have to go with it.

Besides, even a little guilt can even be a positive thing. For example: as long as this shiner is shining, I can count on the good doctor, in his penitence, to be obedient to his commanding officer -- on either side of the Gate. The advantages to that alone are innumerable, not to mention positive -- for me, anyway.

And then there are the little things, like: Daniel buying me dinner at a nice restaurant tonight. Daniel fetching all the snacks and beverages while we watch the Olympic coverage this weekend. The only way this could get any better would be if Gretsky were playing for our team, instead of the Canadians.

Okay, okay. I know what this might look like, but trust me I'm only doing this for Daniel's own good.

Yessiree-Bob, life is good!

"Daniel Jackson, you have injured yourself."

No, no, no…. I’m not listening! See this? I’m covering my ears. Oy! Okay, well, now we know where Teal’c’s loyalties lie. Rescue a guy from an army of snakeheads and this is the thanks you get? Apparently our favorite Jaffa could care less that his commanding officer -- the best friend he’s got on this planet -- has been wounded. For all he knows I could have a concussion -- a skull fracture even. But, he wouldn’t know, because he’s too busy fussing over Daniel's little boo-boo. Thanks for the sympathy, pal.

"Oh my God, Daniel!" Another voice chimes in and I can't help but – ow! -- roll my eyes. Not Sam, too.

I do a quick mental evaluation before daring to actually chance a glance at the big injury. I can’t believe everyone is making such a fuss. It couldn't be that bad. But, lest we forget, this is Daniel and one can never be too sure where he's concerned. So, I turn to face the music -- Taps, comes to mind – and, oh yeah, wouldn't ya know it?

"Daniel! Dammit, I can't believe you! Why didn't you say something?" Jesus, the kid's knuckles and fingers -- his whole hand is swelling. Jeez, I didn’t think he hit me that hard. "Come on, tough guy," I say, guiding him out of the room before he has the chance to protest. Gotta make a mental not about archaeologists and glass knuckles.

As we make our way toward the infirmary, I’m really, really hoping that my own injury will work in my favor when Doctor Fraiser gets a look at Danny boy’s hand. She may be short, but she’s scary! I think there’s some hypocritic oath, or something that says doctors aren’t supposed to harm their patients. I should look into that, or better yet, I’ll ask Daniel, later.

* ^^ *

Ironically, there's this song that keeps running through my mind about rainy wedding days and free advice not taken and other stupid things like that.

I suppose one might venture to say that it's all some sort of cosmic justice, or something. Who knows? Maybe it is.

Anyway, we're back to square one in the Basic Training routine. Not the full military version, of course. More like the Cliff-notes version -- just a few basics, via the Colonel Jack O'Neill alternative method for geeks. AKA: Real men drink beer, not wine coolers; they might have kleenex, but never tissues; they watch lots of hockey, not the Discovery channel. Okay, we still had a ways to go on that last one, but the point is: All those hours I spent fixing Daniel are down the drain.

It was all my doing, or undoing, however you want to look at it. When Doc Fraiser got a look at the x-rays of Daniel’s hand, she insisted he needed surgery. Personally, I think she just has a thing for cutting people open. I don’t understand how he could have messed his hand up so badly when he didn’t even knock me out? I guess it’s just one of those things.

Now, Daniel is all comfy and cozy on my couch. Believe it or not, I put him there myself -- insisted on it, in fact. Then, I added the blankets and pillows for good measure. I was supposed to be toughening him up, but I’ve failed miserably. Instead of looking tough, he looks like a twelve-year-old. The only thing missing is his teddy bear. There’s been a terrible twist in my weekend plan, because he’s lying around watching television, while I go-fer this and go-fer that, fetching whatever his little archaeological heart desires. Talk about irony.

The really bad part about this is that he's not playing along like he's supposed to. He's not being a good little soldier. Huh, imagine that. He's supposed to be using my guilt to his advantage and thus, my absolution. But, I should have known better. Daniel never does what he’s supposed to do.

Here I am trying to do the penance thing and he's turning it all against me by trying to do his own penance thing. If he really felt guilty he’d do his penance thing later and let me get mine out of the way.

Or maybe he's doing this all on purpose, intending to make me to feel worse, not better. I wouldn’t put it past him. Those big, blue eyes don’t fool me a bit.

"Hey there, Daniel. How ya doin'?" I’ll give him one last chance.

"I'm fine, Jack. Just fine. Really. I don’t need anything."

"Ya sure? I thought maybe you’d be hungry.”

“Uh…no, no, I’m not. But, thank you anyway.”

“There’s a piece of pie left."

"You go ahead and eat it, Jack. I couldn't eat a thing. In fact, I don't think I'll be hungry for...weeks, actually."

"Okay. Well, how about--"

"I'm not thirsty yet, either," he cuts me off, waving his mug and smirking – that blinking and smirking thing he does when he thinks he’s being so much smarter than you. Little does he know that I wasn't even gonna ask him that. "And I don't want to watch the Discovery channel, or the History channel, or any other channel except this one. I like the Olympics.”

“You like the Olympics?” Yeah, right.

“Yes, Jack. I like the Olympics. I think the Olympics are great. Okay?”

“You’re not going to start telling me those Greek stories again are you?” It’s my nature to be suspicious.

“No, Jack. No more ancient history. Although,” he points the finger at me, “I think you’d have enjoyed that particular one if you’d have given it a chance.”

“Ya, maybe some other time.”

“Okay, so….”

“Sooo…?”

“So, why don't run out to the kitchen and grab yourself something then come back and sit down and watch the Olympics Jack? You’re the one who was whining about wanting to watch them in the first place."

I wasn’t whining. Colonels don’t whine. "Okay. Are sure you don’t--"

"I don't need anything."

"That’s not what I was going to ask." I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me, but who cares. I head for the kitchen and grab a beer then wave it in his face, hoping he’ll ask for one just so I can refuse him. Then maybe he’ll think I’ve forgotten about the penance thing and let down his guard. It crosses my mind that this whole thing is getting really out-of-hand. Could it be that I’m making way too big of a deal over this guilt thing?

He ignores the beer and shifts on the couch, making room for me to sit down. I glare at him when he neglects to keep his arm elevated. He shoots me an equally nasty look and takes his sweet time arranging the pillows. After a few minutes of standing there, watching his feeble, one-handed attempts, I take over the task myself and in no time have him and his hand comfortable once again. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Bite me.”

For a while, we sit there companionably watching the Luge competition. I almost have myself convinced that I'm in control of the situation. I'm doing all of this for Daniel's sake, indulging him. Everything is just peachy and I’m feeling no guilt at all. We’re two guys sitting here watching the Luge competition, because that’s what Daniel wants to do. Watch sports.

Naturally, that's about the time Daniel decides to hand over the bowl of popcorn I got for him, along with the remote control -- bastard. The worst part is that he's looking up at me and smiling.

"You're a real pain in the ass. Ya know that?"

He shrugs, shaking his head like he can't believe what a pain in the ass I am, but he’s not foolin’ me. I can tell he'd rather be here sitting on my couch, watching the Olympics with me, than anywhere else in the universe. Well, maybe there’s a pyramid somewhere that might be able to tempt him, but it would have to be really old and unexplored and Goa’uldless.

You know, being a strategist and all, you'd think I'd have planned this out better. “Want to see what’s happenin’ in rain forest?” I hold up the remote and grin.

"No, but there's a Godzilla marathon starting in a few minutes on channel 45."

Impressive; he actually managed to say that without the slightest hint of insincerity.

"Or we could watch 'Star Trek'."

"Laying it on a bit thick now, aren't we?"

He smiles sweetly, and I lean my head back and sigh. "You ever consider taking up acting?”

"Nope."

"Well, maybe you should give it some thought."

“I would, but I don’t really have the spare time. My boss is a real….”

“Ah-ah!” I wave a finger in his face. “Don’t be dissing the general.”

“Right. The General.”

“Well, maybe someday…. Once we have this little Goa’uld problem under control.”

“Yeah, someday. Then you can retire…again.”

“And finish writing my memoirs."

Daniel looks at me like I just spoke Swahili and does his blinking thing. “You…. You’re writing your memoirs?”

“Yes.” I give him a look of superiority; because it isn’t often I surprise him. “Well, I was, but I haven’t really been keeping up lately.”

He nods, still looking puzzled. I love it when I can fluster him.

"I was thinking of titles.” I tell him thoughtfully then glance sideways. “How does On the Road, by Jack O'Neill sound?"

He suddenly chokes then laughs out loud. It isn’t often I see him really laugh, so I view this is a victory, of sorts.

"Or maybe…’'Lonesome Traveler'?"

“Oh, jeez.”

"'An Officer and a Gentleman'?"

“Really, Jack,” he says sagely. “You should quit while you’re ahead.”

I shrug casually. “I imagine I’ll have a few more years to think on it.”

“Yeah, by then I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something that…won’t get you sued.” He flips through the TV Guide and looks up. “Indiana Jones just started on channel 63.”

I love Indiana Jones, but I wouldn’t ever admit that to archaeology boy. I aim the remote and change the channel to 63. “You ever thought about wearing a hat like that?”

“Uh, noo….”

“You should. I’ll bet the chicks would really dig it.”

“Ba-da-boom.”

“I got a million of ‘em.”

“Yes, and I think we can use them to our advantage -- a new weapon in fighting the Goa’uld.”

“Make them die laughing?”

“Well….” He looks at me over the rims of his glasses. “Not exactly.”

When we start our basic training again, we’re going to have to do a lot of work on his sense of humor, too.

~ end ~

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