SG1: Mouse Call
Jun. 6th, 2009 10:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
waldos_writingsTitle: Mouse Call
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 645
Summary: Daniel has an unexpected visitor and despite how much it scares him, he'd rather not see it dead.
Posted on: 8.07.02 (I think)
Daniel lazed on the couch, his book forgotten across his chest. He’d been drowsing as Jack channel-surfed. He opened one eye and glanced over at Jack who was watching something in black and white. “Whatchawatchin’?”
“Reruns. Old show. I think it even predates... well, you.” Jack tossed back.
Daniel sat up to see the t.v. better, swinging his legs to the floor. “Thank you,” he muttered sleepily as the show went to commercial. “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.?” he asked.
“This is a *great* show. They have better gadgets than we get and this show is like... forty years old - JEEZUS what the hell is your problem?”
Jack’s eyes followed Daniel’s to where a small dark gray mouse was making its way across the bookshelves as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Daniel had pulled his feet back up to the couch and was now hugging his knees to his chest as his eyes tracked the poor little critter until it went behind a stack of journals.
“For cryin’ out loud! It’s just a mouse.” Jack sighed and got up, grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door.
“Where the hell are you going?!” Daniel demanded.
“To my truck,” Jack replied calmly.
“For *what?*”
Jack sighed and said slowly, as if addressing a small child. “My gun, Daniel.”
“WHAT!”
Jack tossed his jacket back down. “I’m kidding, Daniel. Where are your traps?”
“Mouse traps?”
“No, Daniel, bear traps! Yes, dumbass, your mouse traps!”
“I don’t have any mouse traps. I don’t have any mice.”
“I beg to differ,” Jack retorted.
“I mean, I didn’t have any mice...before tonight. Why would I have traps if I don’t have any mice?”
“Well, for the theoretical mice. It’s a winter thing, Daniel. I realize you’re used to nice dry, warm climates like California, Abydos, Egypt and whatever, but in most of the country, when it gets cold and the people come inside to stay warm... so do the mice.”
“Theoretical mice,” Daniel mused, still not putting his feet down.
“I suppose that means you don’t have any d-Con either.”
“To decontaminate what?!”
Jack dropped back into his chair, head in his hands. “d-Con, Daniel. You leave it out, the mice eat it, it’s poison, they crawl back into their holes and die. No more theoretical mice.”
“I don’t want to kill it! I just want it out of *my* house. And besides, if they go back into the walls and die... you’re left with a dead mouse in your wall, right?”
Jack thought about that for a minute, about all the d-Con traps he’d used in the past. He’d always noticed when the bait had been taken, but never really thought about the aftereffects. “Well... um... yeah.”
Daniel’s opinion on that was succinct. “Ew.”
“Well it’s either that or move your furniture into strategic locations so that you never have to set foot on your floor again.”
“You are *not* being helpful.”
“I’m sorry if I can’t take a thirty-five year old man who fights the damn *Goa’uld* for a living seriously when he’s jumping on furniture at the sight of a mouse.”
“The Goa’uld don’t carry rabies!” Daniel countered.
“Are you sure?” Jack deadpanned.
“What about those sonic things that were on the t.v. the other day?”
Jack shrugged. “Never tried one.”
“Well, what am I going to do tonight?”
“We could go get you some traps.”
“I don’t want to kill it! You said it was just coming inside to stay warm, right? It doesn’t deserve to die just for that.”
Jack hung his head again. Mr. All-Men-(and Mice)-Are-Entitled-to-a-Free-and-Happy -Life was striking again. “What do you *want* to do about it, Daniel?”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Stay at your place.”
Jack smiled back, his devilish grin matching Daniel’s and grabbed his coat and keys. “Okay, Mr. Mouse, the house is yours.”
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 645
Summary: Daniel has an unexpected visitor and despite how much it scares him, he'd rather not see it dead.
Posted on: 8.07.02 (I think)
Daniel lazed on the couch, his book forgotten across his chest. He’d been drowsing as Jack channel-surfed. He opened one eye and glanced over at Jack who was watching something in black and white. “Whatchawatchin’?”
“Reruns. Old show. I think it even predates... well, you.” Jack tossed back.
Daniel sat up to see the t.v. better, swinging his legs to the floor. “Thank you,” he muttered sleepily as the show went to commercial. “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.?” he asked.
“This is a *great* show. They have better gadgets than we get and this show is like... forty years old - JEEZUS what the hell is your problem?”
Jack’s eyes followed Daniel’s to where a small dark gray mouse was making its way across the bookshelves as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Daniel had pulled his feet back up to the couch and was now hugging his knees to his chest as his eyes tracked the poor little critter until it went behind a stack of journals.
“For cryin’ out loud! It’s just a mouse.” Jack sighed and got up, grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door.
“Where the hell are you going?!” Daniel demanded.
“To my truck,” Jack replied calmly.
“For *what?*”
Jack sighed and said slowly, as if addressing a small child. “My gun, Daniel.”
“WHAT!”
Jack tossed his jacket back down. “I’m kidding, Daniel. Where are your traps?”
“Mouse traps?”
“No, Daniel, bear traps! Yes, dumbass, your mouse traps!”
“I don’t have any mouse traps. I don’t have any mice.”
“I beg to differ,” Jack retorted.
“I mean, I didn’t have any mice...before tonight. Why would I have traps if I don’t have any mice?”
“Well, for the theoretical mice. It’s a winter thing, Daniel. I realize you’re used to nice dry, warm climates like California, Abydos, Egypt and whatever, but in most of the country, when it gets cold and the people come inside to stay warm... so do the mice.”
“Theoretical mice,” Daniel mused, still not putting his feet down.
“I suppose that means you don’t have any d-Con either.”
“To decontaminate what?!”
Jack dropped back into his chair, head in his hands. “d-Con, Daniel. You leave it out, the mice eat it, it’s poison, they crawl back into their holes and die. No more theoretical mice.”
“I don’t want to kill it! I just want it out of *my* house. And besides, if they go back into the walls and die... you’re left with a dead mouse in your wall, right?”
Jack thought about that for a minute, about all the d-Con traps he’d used in the past. He’d always noticed when the bait had been taken, but never really thought about the aftereffects. “Well... um... yeah.”
Daniel’s opinion on that was succinct. “Ew.”
“Well it’s either that or move your furniture into strategic locations so that you never have to set foot on your floor again.”
“You are *not* being helpful.”
“I’m sorry if I can’t take a thirty-five year old man who fights the damn *Goa’uld* for a living seriously when he’s jumping on furniture at the sight of a mouse.”
“The Goa’uld don’t carry rabies!” Daniel countered.
“Are you sure?” Jack deadpanned.
“What about those sonic things that were on the t.v. the other day?”
Jack shrugged. “Never tried one.”
“Well, what am I going to do tonight?”
“We could go get you some traps.”
“I don’t want to kill it! You said it was just coming inside to stay warm, right? It doesn’t deserve to die just for that.”
Jack hung his head again. Mr. All-Men-(and Mice)-Are-Entitled-to-a-Free-and-Happy -Life was striking again. “What do you *want* to do about it, Daniel?”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Stay at your place.”
Jack smiled back, his devilish grin matching Daniel’s and grabbed his coat and keys. “Okay, Mr. Mouse, the house is yours.”