Tools

Daniel sidles through the door of Jack's house, struggling with an armful of grocery bags. "Jack?" he calls out, irritated. He doesn't enjoy grocery shopping. And one of the bags is beginning to slip. He figures he should have left some bags in the car, but too late for that now. He hears muffled cursing from within the house and is puzzled by it.

"Jack—where are you?" As he sets the bags down, he finally locates Jack, or at least Jack's legs, sprawled out on the kitchen floor. "Jack, what are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing, Daniel?" Jack growls, his voice still strangely muffled.

Daniel rounds the turn and sees that Jack is lying on his back, his long, lean body stretched out on the kitchen floor; his head and shoulders wedged awkwardly under the kitchen sink. An open toolbox is beside him, along with a scattered array of cleaning products, buckets, and other under-the-sink paraphernalia. He also notices that Jack's teeshirt is riding up.

"Problem with the sink?" Daniel asks brightly.

Jack grips the edge of the cabinet and slides out briefly to stare at Daniel. "Brilliant deduction, Dr. Jackson." His head disappears once again into the narrow recesses, but the movement has rucked up his shirt even further.

"Oh." Daniel nods, staring at the appealing display of skin. He tears his eyes away and begins unloading the bags, stashing the perishables away in the fridge. "Leaking?"

"Yes, Daniel. Leaking. The friggin' drain is leaking. You know, for the small amount of time we spend actually living in this damn house—all I seem to be doing is fixing stuff—I get home, light bulbs are burned out, the drawers are sticking, the bathroom needs painting, and—ouch! God damn it—I can't—these old pipes—all corroded—" Thud. "Shit!"

There is further grunting and banging. Daniel steps closer, moving cautiously. "Everything okay in there?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah, just dandy. I'm having a ball." Jack wiggles around, slides out from the cabinet, red-faced from exertion, hair rumpled. He examines his thumb, sucks on it for a second, then says, "Make yourself useful, Daniel, and hand me the channel lock pliers."

Daniel squats in front of the toolbox, mildly annoyed at the implication that he is useless. He tells himself that Jack didn't mean it, that he is just frustrated with a recalcitrant drainpipe. So Daniel pokes around in the toolbox, examining its contents, picking up the odd tool, but doesn't see anything that resembles channel lock pliers.

"The channel lock. You know, the big honkin' pliers with the—"

"I know what channel locks are, I just don't see any," Daniel answers, not so calmly.

Jack taps the frame of the cabinet impatiently. "Well, I just never know with you apartment-dwellers. You never have to think about this stuff. Sink leaks, you just call the super, and that's that." He watches Daniel root around in the toolbox.. "Today, Daniel."

Jack is correct, Daniel has never fixed a leaky sink in his life. Never even thought about it. Still, he is sorely tempted to lecture Jack on ancient Roman aqueducts, just to prove he does know something about the subject. But he decides against it, Jack is irritated enough and Daniel doesn't want to spend precious down time with them sniping at each other. He has other, more far more enjoyable activities in mind.

So he merely shrugs, sits back on his heels and tells Jack, "It's not here. Are you sure you have one?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "Damn it, I know it's there. Don't know what I was thinking asking an archeologist to do something practical."

Now Daniel does get annoyed, just briefly. He peers over his glasses and says in his most patronizing tone of voice, "Now Jack, why don't you just go to your happy place."

"Bite me," Jack retorts.

Daniel gladly complies. He crawls over to Jack's belly and sinks his teeth into Jack's exposed skin.

"Hey!" Jack cries out, startled.

Daniel licks Jack's skin, right where he bit it. Jack's skin is warm and salty. "What?" Daniel asks, stroking the wet, reddened skin with his fingertips.

"Now you start doing what I ask of you?" Jack says, but he's starting to smile, his face softening. He tries to untangle his arms from around from the drain pipe. His eyes widen as reaches for something behind his head. "Hey—I—oh," Jack says in a small voice. "Here's the damn pliers." He holds up the tool, looking suitably sheepish. "Sorry. I must have grabbed them earlier."

Daniel shakes his head. "Colonels." he sighs. "Don't ever ask them to do something practical." He tugs on Jack's arm, helping him out from musty cabinet. "Come on. It's a beautiful fall day. Why don't you go sit outside with a beer, and I'll join you as soon as I call the plumber."

Jack sits up, running a hand through his hair. "A plumber, huh? You mean, someone who actually knows what he's doing?"

Daniel nods solemnly. "Unless you'd rather spend our down time…" his voice trails off, and he waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the sink.

"I see your point," Jack concedes.

Ten minutes later Daniel is bumping the screen door open with his hip. He pads barefoot into the yard, enjoying the feel of the grass between his toes. It is a beautiful fall day, with a hint of summer still hanging the air. The temperature is pleasantly warm; the sky, clear and impossibly blue.

Daniel is carrying a glass of wine, an archaeology journal, and for Jack, a Sports Illustrated that he picked up at the grocery store. He sees Jack, stretched out on a lounge chair in the sun, beer in hand and eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his handsome face. Daniel smiles, their earlier tension is forgotten.

"Hey," he says quietly as he approaches. "Plumber will be here in a couple of hours." He presents the magazine to Jack.

"Oh, hey—thanks. Cool." As Jack takes the magazine he flashes Daniel that shy, sweet smile, the one that makes Daniel want to climb into his lap and kiss the heck out of him. But they are outside, and someone might see. Not to mention that together they'd probably crush the aluminum chair. Later, Daniel tells himself, and settles into his chair.

Daniel opens his journal to the table of contents, sips his wine, and tries to read through the article titles. But somehow he ends up gazing at Jack instead. He thinks about what they are going to do after dinner, in the privacy of Jack's bedroom. Or maybe not in the bedroom. Maybe the kitchen. Maybe they'll play plumber together.

Jack catches him looking, and smiles back at him. Then looks thoughtful for a long moment. "You know, Danny," he says at last, "you are my happy place."

"Yeah?" Daniel asks, feeling ridiculously pleased. "So, maybe later you can, uh, rummage through my toolbox."

Jack licks his lips. "I'm sure I'll find something in there I can use," he says. "A nice, big, juicy—"

A door slams, startling them. A neighbor bringing out trash. He calls out a greeting, Jack and Daniel both wave in return. They grin at each other slyly. "Tool," Jack finishes, mouthing the word silently.

Daniel snorts. "Yeah, sure, you betcha."

They return to their reading, still smiling, and wait patiently for the plumber to arrive.