Road Trip

Teand

Daniel stared down at his bare feet wondering why the left leg of his tuxedo was so much shorter than the right. Hadn't he told the dry cleaner that his legs were the same length? Hadn't he...

The Teletubbies theme cut off the question before it truly got asked and he turned to face down the church as his bride began to approach in a cloud of white tulle. Teal'c had agreed to give the bride away and that was great as Sam, in a powder blue tuxedo, was standing by his side as his best man. He'd just started to worry that General Hammond was missing the ceremony -- the cast of My Big Fat Greek Wedding seemed to be the only people in attendance -- when he realized he desperately had to pee.

There was a toilet in the church but it was up beside the altar and just a little too public to use.

Besides, his bride had arrived.

Flipping back his veil, Jack rolled heavily made up eyes and snapped, "For cryin' out loud, Daniel, could you get a move on. These heels are playing high holy hell with my knees!"

Suddenly awake, heart pounding, eyes wide, Daniel stared up at the ceiling and fought to banish that last image from his head. Unfortunately, he was very much afraid it was going to linger.

"Daniel?" His side of the bed dipped. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm... uh, fine." He forced himself to look.

Jack - sitting tucked into the curve of his waist - toweled damp hair and frowned. "You're clutching the blanket like it's the last life preserver on the Titanic. Nightmare?"

"Sort of." Jack's lids were free of glittering blue eye-shadow and his lips were no longer Barbie pink. Some men could do drag. Colonel Jack Scourge-of-the-Galaxy O'Neill wasn't one of them.

"Ah. Sort of. On second thought, I don't want you to tell me about it. That Teal'c dressed in leather dream you had, where General Hammond was living in his pouch..." Jack shuddered emphatically.

Couldn't do drag, Daniel sniffed silently, could do drama queen.

"That was about as deep into your truly disturbed psyche as I want to delve."

"Hey there's nothing disturbed..." He stopped, stared silently up at Jack for a moment, and sighed. He hadn't even told Jack about the dream where the gate had become a part of Sam's... intimate anatomy. Hadn't told him. Wasn't going to tell him. Ever. Maybe if they got really drunk, he'd tell Sam. She'd probably appreciate having that kind of power between her legs.

Jack grinned, leaned down, and kissed him, murmuring, "Truly disturbed." into Daniel's mouth. But he said it like he appreciated it so Daniel kissed him back. When Jack's hand stroked up one thigh and closed around his cock, he pushed up into the touch and remembered the other reason he'd woken up.

"Jack, not now. I gotta piss so bad my back teeth are floating."

Strong fingers tightened around his erection. "So you're saying this isn't for me?"

"Got it in one." Shoving Jack's hand -- and Jack - away, Daniel rolled across the tangled mass of sheets and dropped off the opposite side of the bed. The side Jack wasn't sitting on. And incidentally, the side closest to the bathroom.

"Shower while you're in there, Danny-boy. You smell like you've been rode hard and put away wet."

Without breaking stride, he turned just far enough to flip Jack the finger. "And whose fault is that, Kemosabi?"

"Pay attention, Daniel; you're not Tonto in this scenario, you're the horse."

"The horse? And you've got the nerve to call my psyche truly disturbing?" He closed the bathroom door to a cheery "Hi Ho Silver! Away!" and the sound of Jack's thrown towel impacting against the wood. "Oh yeah, definitely twu wuv," he told his reflection as he passed the mirror.

The bathroom was warm and damp and smelled like Jack's green apple shampoo. Janet had gone to an upscale bath boutique a couple of Christmases ago and bought everyone she knew 'personal care products' chosen to match their personalities. Daniel still wasn't entirely certain why he'd rated peach chutney but the green apple had suited Jack perfectly. The scent of Jack's shampoo meant Jack in the shower which meant Jack naked. Daniel's cock had developed a Pavlovian response to the smell which had, on one memorable occasion, resulted in an embarrassing erection in the grocery store next to a display of Granny Smiths.

His current erection was less embarrassing but more annoying. There were two problems with EME's. The first was that they were in no way connected to arousal and, as far as Daniel was concerned, that was an incredible waste of wood. The second was that they made aiming difficult.

"Just aim for the middle," he murmured, taking himself in hand. "Dead center. That way if you miss you'll still hit something." Out in the bedroom he could hear Jack singing Happy Trails - badly - and sighed. "You just keep thinkin' Butch, that's what you're good at."

He loved that movie. Didn't quite get the whole musical interlude bit but Butch and Sundance... well, obviously him and Jack. The thinker and the man of action. And that whole 'teacher-lady' thing? Smoke screen. Butch and Sundance were so doing it.

Singing at top volume, mostly because he knew how much it annoyed Dr. Perfect Pitch, Jack stripped the sheets off the bed, threw them into the laundry basket then padded barefoot down to the kitchen and started the coffee. Although his adrenaline rushed awakening had made Daniel more coherent than he usually was at this hour of the morning, caffeine levels would still need replenishing.

Actually, the moment Daniel realized just what hour of the morning it was, he'd need to start applying immediate coffee to cut off the complaints and to keep him from crawling back into bed. Not that Jack objected to Daniel in bed - far from it. Daniel in bed was one of his favorite things - ranked right up there with Daniel bent over the kitchen table or Daniel bending him over the back of the couch - but not today, or at least not until later today. He had plans.

First, they'd go and pick up Daniel's car from Carter's driveway...

"Jesus, Jack, if you'd just drink a little less I wouldn't have to keep driving you home!"

"And if you'd drink a little more, we could all just fall over here."

"And wouldn't that be special, sir. You'll have to take the Colonel's truck, Daniel, he's parked you in." They had a hundred variations on that front porch conversation. Perfectly reasonable... reasons for Daniel to spend the night at his place or visa versa after a little SGC socializing. They didn't know NID was listening, but he came from the better safe than sorry school and his kids were willing to play along. Although it did seem that Carter had gotten more sarcastic of late. Couldn't be his influence. Had to be Daniel's.

No one could say, "I don't think so, Jack." quite like Daniel. The man could peel paint with his tongue. Mind you, he could do other impressive things with that tongue as well and no one could scream, "Oh, God, Jack! Fuck! YES!" quite like Daniel either so Jack figured things evened out.

After they took care of last night's loose ends, they were heading over to the Miramont Castle Museum. He couldn't believe that Daniel'd lived in the Springs for five years and had never been there. Hell, Manitou Springs was barely outside the city limits. Granted Jack wasn't generally much of a museum kind of guy but he had to admit he appreciated the concept of a four hundred square foot bedroom.. And besides, accompanying Daniel to a museum was always fun. Case in point -- he'd have hated to have missed the labeling argument that had gotten both of them banned for life from the Colorado History Museum up in Denver. Who knew museum curators would be so sensitive about being called "criminally ignorant" and accused of "perpetuating the Eurocentric colonial mind-set"? Although Jack figured it was Daniel's parting shot of, "Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum!" that had gotten them banned. "Screw you and the horse you rode in on!" was no less insulting in Latin even when provoked by two enormous security guards and physical removal from the premises.

Out in the parking lot, Daniel had jerked his clothing back into place and snarled, "Thanks for the help, Jack."

"What makes you think I know the difference between a Hopi and an Anasazi pottery shard?" Daniel expression had shifted from annoyed to thoughtful. "Valid point. You up for ice cream?"

Oh yeah, traveling anywhere with Daniel was fun. Between the insatiable curiosity, the willingness to explore all sides of any argument, and the general, all purpose intellectual arrogance, anything was likely to happen.

And I wouldn't have it any other way, Jack admittedly silently as the sound of the weekend paper hitting the porch drew him across the living room. Jesus, it had to be love. Not that he doubted it. In a universe that seemed to get a kick out of biting him on the ass, there were maybe half a dozen things he was absolutely sure of and loving Daniel topped the list. That Daniel loved him came a close second. Third and fourth involved Carter and Teal'c and a lot higher sap level than he'd cop to before breakfast.

Leaving the front door open behind him, he crossed the porch, swore softly as he saw the paper had bounced, once again, into the foundation plantings, bent to pick it up, and...

Daniel could smell coffee as he stepped out of the bathroom and contemplated heading straight down stairs without bothering to dress. The memory of what had happened the last time he'd walked into the kitchen wearing a towel was the only thing that stopped him. Jack's response had been predictable, what with him being naked and the olive oil out on the counter and all, but it might've been nice had he remembered that Teal'c had called and was on his way over.

Those who thought the big Jaffa expressionless should have seen his face when he'd arrived to find SG-1's team leader buried balls deep in SG-1's civilian consultant. Daniel had been at the GUH! stage in the proceedings but Jack had handled the interruption with his usual aplomb.

"For cryin' out loud, Teal'c! They don't teach you to knock on Chulak?"

"They do, O'Neill; right after they teach us to lock the door. Perhaps it would be best if I waited in another room."

"Ya think?" Still, it could have been worse. It could have been Sam...

Shuddering at the thought, Daniel returned to the bedroom, noted that Jack had stripped the bed, and picked his glasses up off the bedside table.

Which was when he noticed the time.

7:14

A.M.

Jack had clearly stripped the bed so he couldn't climb back into it.

7:14 A.M. on a Saturday. On the first day of 72 hours downtime. He was going to kill the sneaky son of a bitch.

He grabbed a pair of jeans out of his side of the closet, realized they were Jack's old 501's as he skimmed them up over his hips, figured screw it as he buttoned -- they were a little tight but he was only going as far as the kitchen -- snagged a black t-shirt out of a pile of clean laundry and headed for the stairs.

The t-shirt turned out to be Jack's too. Some days he wondered why he even bothered keeping a change of clothes here since they were never where he left them.

"Jesus, Daniel, your shoulders are broader than mine and you're stretching that shirt out of shape!"

"Jesus, Jack," he'd mocked, "it's a $6.99 fruit of the loom. Cope."

Daniel grinned at the memory as he walked toward the kitchen. The conversation had ended with a short struggle and Jack holding him down, taking his knife to the t-shirt. After that...

The 501's were suddenly a lot tighter.

Oh well, as long as he was up at this ungodly hour, they might as well make productive use of the time. As an old friend at Oxford used to say, when the world gives you lemons, bloody well get laid. A detour through the living room snagged a small tube of lube out of the drawer in the coffee table. In an effort to keep their relationship below the radar of NID, SGC, the USAF, and Mrs. Chou who ran their favorite specialty grocery store and had been wondering about the amount of extra virgin olive oil they'd been going through, they started buying their personal supplies on line and had recently been getting rather a lot of free samples tucked in with their orders. Daniel tucked the tube into a front pocket, rearranged his erection while he was in there, and noticed that the front door was ajar.

Jack must be outside getting the paper.

Grin broadening, Daniel moved quietly across the room. Few things were more fun than sneaking up on Colonel Covert Ops. He paused at the threshold, listened, heard movement, and threw open the door.

His mouth closed around the "Gotcha!" and opened again to snarl, "Maybourne. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help you save Jack."

"What?" Without waiting for an answer he shoved the shorter man aside. The weekend paper was in the foundation plantings but Jack wasn't on the porch. Harry Maybourne, NID operative, traitor, and general all purpose s.o.b was on the porch. Jack wasn't. Maybourne was. Heart beginning to pound so loudly he could barely hear himself think, Daniel spun on one heel, wrapped his fists in the front of Maybourne's jacket, and slammed him against the wall. "What have you done?"

"Nothing. While you were finishing your shower, two guys in black grabbed him and threw him in the back of a van."

"Liar! Two guys couldn't..."

"They got him from behind. Slapped a pad over his mouth, drugged him most likely, and it was all over but the shouting." Although his face had begun to redden, Maybourne's mocking tone never changed. "You're wasting Jack's valuable time, Dr. Jackson. The faster you trust me on this, the better our odds of getting him back."

"Give me one reason, just one," Daniel spat, "that I should believe you."

"I'm not lying."

And he wasn't. Daniel was suddenly as sure of that as he was of cuneiform.

Crap.

Dr. Jackson had been working out. Intellectually, Harry already knew that but cold, hard fact was a poor substitution for hot, hard flesh holding him up against a wall. He could break the hold - hell, if he had to, he could break both the good doctor's arms - but he wasn't lying and he did need Dr. Jackson to trust him and allowing himself to be shoved around seemed like the fastest way. Any enjoyment he got out of it was purely incidental.

As his release involved being thrown down onto the porch, he had to scramble back onto his feet and race into the house to stop Dr. Jackson from reaching the phone. "What are you doing?" he demanded, slapping his hand down on the disconnect.

"I'm calling General Hammond!"

"No, you're not because that's a sure way to get Jack killed." He glanced down at his watch. They didn't have time for long explanations. "Look the guys who took him, they work for an old enemy of ours... mine and Jack's," he added when the blue eyes narrowed at the word 'ours'. Live with it Dr. Jackson; Jack O'Neill has a whole lot of history he's never told you about. "I know how this guy thinks and I know how to get Jack back, but it's a two man job and we need to leave five minutes ago. If they get him to the coast..."

That did it. He almost saw Dr. Jackson extrapolate a dozen possible scenarios from that last bit of data.

As his new partner raced upstairs for shoes and socks, Harry went into the kitchen, pulled the thermos out of the cupboard over the fridge and filled it with coffee. Flicking the coffee maker off, he returned to the living room in time to see Dr. Jackson come down the stairs two at a time.

"You got a personal weapon?" he asked. Besides that body. The t-shirt looked like it had been painted on and the jeans... Harry was trying very hard not to think about the jeans. Or what they covered.

Full lips curled back in what was definitely not a smile. "Yeah. A brain that works and moral center that doesn't change daily."

"Now that's just unkind, Dr. Jackson." He crossed over to the door and waited pointedly. "You'll appreciate my... flexibility before we're done."

Jacket, cell phone, and an exit onto the porch. "I don't even want to think about you and flexibility..." The emphasis was identical. "...in the same sentence."

"Your loss."

He handed over the thermos when they reached the car. "I expect you'll need this."

"I don't need anything from you!" Long legs folded into the front seat of the Honda Civic. "Nice car. I'd have thought being a traitorous weasel paid better."

"Traitorous weasels can't afford to stand out in the crowd, Dr. Jackson. Do up your seatbelt." Harry shoved his key in the ignition with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Sure the man had a killer ass but how the hell did Jack stand this level of snark? "And if you'd climb off your high horse for a moment, you'll discover that's the coffee Jack made for you before he got grabbed. In Jack's thermos."

"Oh." Recognition in the single syllable.

"You can pour it out the window if you want to but it's the only caffeine you're going to see for the next hundred miles or so. I just thought you might need..."

"I will." A grudging admission. Followed by grudging gratitude. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And you might also consider it's your last contact with Jack."

"Bastard."

Grinning, Harry pulled away from the curb. His primary objective was rescuing Jack but nothing said he couldn't play with Dr. Jackson's head on route.

"I have to call Sam. She's expecting us in half an hour and if we don't show, she'll head over to the house and you won't be there to stop her from calling General Hammond."

Turning out onto the main road, Harry shot a speculative glance toward the good doctor. The story made sense; it certainly explained why the notorious Daniel Fuck-off-and-die-before-noon Jackson was even up at this hour. Harry'd been amazed to hear him in the shower when he'd switched on, had in fact thought it was Jack until the singing started. Jack played a mean guitar but he couldn't sing to save his life. Literally. Harry grinned at the memory, realized Dr. Jackson was scowling at him, waiting for an answer, and said, "All right call. But don't tell her what's going on. The more people who know, the more danger Jack's in. Oh, wait... that moral center of yours.... Does it allow you to lie?"

"Lesser of two evils, Maybourne. Much like spending time with you."

"You wound me, Dr. Jackson."

"I can but dream."

"Once you've dialed, drop your phone into the dock."

Finger poised, Daniel glanced down at the phone port jammed into the space between the stick shift and the dash and realized that Maybourne would be able to hear both sides of the conversation.

Crap.

"It's not that I don't trust you Dr. Jackson, it's just that I'm getting the feeling you don't totally trust me and Jack's life depends on you not involving the military."

"So you said." Punching Sam's number into his phone, Daniel prayed she remembered their secret code. Granted, they'd been pretty drunk when they came up with it - okay, they'd been totally shitfaced - but Sam didn't forget much. Case in point, she remembered exactly what he'd said a little later that same evening about Jack's eyes.

And repeated it back to him.

Frequently.

Flopped half off the bed, Sam dragged her phone out from under a tangle of blankets and peered at the number on the caller ID. Daniel. Before eight? Something was wrong. Bracing her hand against the floor, she turned the phone on with her thumb. "Hey, Daniel. What's up?"

"Damn Sam..."

She stiffened.

"Cause you gotta admit, Sammy, we do dangerous stuff."

"I gotta?"

"Yeah. So what if one of us gets grabbed by a eminy, enameene, bad guy... we gotta have some way of telling each other."

"What?"

"That we got grabbed by a bad guy. And what if the bad guy is listening?"

"Yeah, cause they do."

"Who do?"

"The bad guys. And so we gotta have a secret code."

"Right. Are you gonna finish that?" They'd decided that if one of them was in trouble and couldn't speak freely, they'd start the conversation by rhyming the other's name.

"Thas easy for you, Sam rhymes with lots of stuff. Whas Daniel rhyme with?"

"Spaniel."

"Oh. Okay then."

She tucked the phone under her chin, grabbed her PDA off the bedside table, and rolled over until her shoulders were on the floor and only her legs were on the bed.

"...don't sound so worried, it's nothing important. Jack's suddenly decided to take it personally that I've never been up to the pond with no fish and I'm being kidnapped. Old brain cells seem to have forgotten that we were supposed to meet you but I guess that's what happens when your head is a favorite target and you've got a galaxy of enemies. I had to remind him about our previous plans once we started driving. Go on without us and try not to laugh when you think of me in that leaky boat."

"Laugh? I can't get my head around the thought of you fishing," she muttered, her stylus skittering across the screen. "Can I talk to Jack?"

"May you... no, apparently, he doesn't want to talk to you because he thinks you'll try and talk him out of this so vilreet, Sam. I'll check in from the cabin. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Daniel." She was saying it to a dead line but she said it anyway. "Teal'c!"

The Jaffa appeared suddenly in the doorway. For a big man he could move cat quiet when he wanted to.

"Major Carter?"

Five years and he still forgot to call her by her first name when they were off the base. But he was kel no reeming in her den after team nights at her place so she supposed she was making progress. With any luck, she'd figure out what she was making progress toward before she got there.

He frowned down at her. "Are you injured?"

"What?" Oh right, the whole half off the bed thing. She finished decoding the message and scrambled up onto her feet. "No, I'm fine. Daniel called..."

"At this hour? What has happened to O'Neill?"

"The colonel's been kidnapped by an old enemy." Stepping into her walk-in closet and out of Teal'c's line of sight, she stripped off the ancient sweats she'd slept in and started throwing on clothes. "They're driving and heading for a boat... I assume that means the coast. Oh, and what does..." Grabbing the PDA off the laundry pile she checked the screen. "...vilreet mean?"

"It is the Goa'uld word for born."

"Born. Right. May... born." A step out of the closet to meet Teal'c's appalled gaze. Maybourne!"

"Colonel O'Neill has been kidnapped by Maybourne and Daniel is driving after them to the coast?"

"Apparently." Shoving her feet into hiking boots, she ran for the front door, laces trailing. "Come on."

"We will inform General Hammond..."

"Inform him of what?"

"That DanielJackson called and..."

"Using a secret code that we came up with one night while we were totally pie-eyed, and I mean totally, told me that Colonel Maybourne kidnapped Colonel O'Neill and is taking him to the coast."

"Yes."

"By the time I convince the General to believe me; the colonel could be in Thailand." She grabbed her keys off the table by the door, had one foot over the threshold and came to a decision, charging back into the house.

"You do not lie and neither does DanielJackson." Teal'c stepped out of her way but remained by the door. "And O'Neill has many enemies. Maybourne betrayed his oaths and a man without honour is more dangerous than a navoutu in the dark."

"I'm not arguing with you, Teal'c." Even considering that she had no idea of what a navoutu was. Her personal weapon was locked in a safe under her bed - 9mm Beretta, identical to her issued sidearm only this came with a belt holster that allowed her to tuck it into the small of her back. When she reemerged into the living room, Teal'c's eyes locked on the weapon as she holstered it.

"Do you feel that will be necessary?"

He asked like he was giving approval. Interesting tone. Interesting question. Sam gave him the only answer she had, "Daniel doesn't lie, the colonel has many enemies, and Maybourne takes the word traitor to a new low."

Harry glanced over at Dr. Jackson now wrapped around the thermos cap full of coffee, then back at the road. "You'll check in from the cabin?"

"Sam'll expect it. It'd be a lot more suspicious if I didn't."

"If you ask me, you lot take co-dependent to a whole new level."

"Nobody's asking you, Maybourne. Just drive."

Given that Dr. Jackson was clearly upset about the whole Jack being grabbed thing, Harry decided to forgive the distinctly frosty tone.

At this hour on a Saturday morning, the on ramp to 25 was deserted and the highway nearly so. He pushed the Honda up to ten miles over the limit and held it there. First rule of riding to the rescue - don't get pulled over for speeding. As it happened, it was also the first rule of getting away with an unconscious USAF colonel in the back of a van and with any luck, the guys who'd grabbed Jack didn't know it. He personally would be more than willing to have the highway patrol deal with the whole mess. He was getting too old for this shit.

Humming Billy Joel's Piano Man - angsting over Jack's situation wouldn't get him back any faster -- he waited for the caffeine to kick in and the other shoe to drop.

"O'Neill's truck is still in the driveway. As we are in DanielJackson's vehicle..." The Land Rover had been blocking access to Major Carter's garage therefore it seemed only reasonable to make use of it. The fact that Teal'c had wanted to drive the large machine from the moment DanielJackson had purchased it was incidental. "...what is he driving to the coast?"

"Daniel's with Maybourne!"

Teal'c turned to stare in some confusion at the side of Major Carter's face. "Maybourne has kidnapped both DanielJackson and O'Neill?"

"Daniel said the colonel was kidnapped - not both of them. He's with Maybourne and they're both going after the colonel. That's why he couldn't talk freely! The old enemy has to be someone else!"

He had to admit that the major's analysis made sense. Or as much sense as an interpretation of ten words plucked from the beginning and end of five awkward sentences could make. A pity they did not have DanielJackson on hand to translate. Only a man who could solve the mysteries of an entire culture with nothing more than two ancient obelisks, six shards of broken porcelain, and a piece of graffiti that O'Neill had insisted read the gods came through the stargate and all I got was this crappy teapot could explain so obscure a message. A greater pity he did not have Maybourne on hand to rip the answers from his traitorous body.

"But why would Maybourne help Daniel rescue Colonel O'Neill?"

Major Carter's question pulled him from a pleasant fantasy concerning his hand and the ruin of the traitor's throat. "O'Neill and Maybourne have..." Teal'c paused and considered his next word carefully. His brother's confidences were not his to betray. "...history."

"History?"

"Yes."

"They were in special ops together!"

That too. "Yes."

"It's an old enemy of theirs! Maybourne was tracking him - or her -- and that's how he knew Colonel O'Neill had been taken."

He watched her brows draw in and remained silent, content to have her solve this problem as she had so many in the past. His time would come when they were face to face with the men who had taken O'Neill.

"But why would Maybourne try to rescue the colonel? Why would he care? And why take Daniel with him?"

Or perhaps his time would come a little sooner. "DanielJackson was there when O'Neill was taken. He saw Maybourne and Maybourne could not allow him to go to the authorities. As to why he is going after O'Neill, perhaps he is not. Perhaps he is merely continuing to pursue the old enemy. It does not matter. What matters is freeing O'Neill." He backed the Rover out of the driveway and paused. "If they are driving to the coast, we are also driving to the coast."

"It's a big coast, Teal'c."

"DanielJackson said he would check in?"

"Yes."

"Then we will trust him to deliver the pertinent information before we require it."

"Do you think he knows we're following him?"

"I do not believe he contacted you expecting us to sit at home and wait."

"And worry."

"Indeed."

"Can I talk to Jack." Sam never called Jack by his first name so his message had been received and understood. Daniel stared down at his reflection in the last inch of dark liquid and told himself he'd done everything he could.

Jack had made him this coffee. He'd made him coffee then he'd gone out to get the paper. Then he'd been grabbed. Taken. Old enemies. God. If anything happened to Jack...

Don't think that way, Daniel. He drained the cap, refilled it and took another long swallow. We'll get him back! His gaze flicked left then back to his reflection in the coffee. And I can't believe I just referred to myself and Harry Maybourne as a we. He had no choice. All he could do was trust Maybourne.

And those were two words he certainly never expected to put together. Trust Maybourne to lie and cheat and steal and save his own ass, yes. But just trust him? Daniel frowned. He should have been worried that Maybourne was taking him on a wild goose chase, keeping him away from Jack, foiling any attempt at rescue. Should have been. Wasn't. He believed that Harry Maybourne sincerely wanted to save Jack. He wouldn't have been in this ludicrous excuse for a car otherwise.

Which was not to say he didn't have questions...and hang on! "You son of a bitch! You've been keeping Jack under surveillance!"

Okay, statement actually but if he believed that Maybourne wasn't involved in the kidnapping; it was the only possible explanation for his presence in the neighbourhood.

"I had the people who took Jack under surveillance," Maybourne corrected calmly, pulling out and passing a transport. "I was right behind them when he got grabbed. Couldn't stop them, ran..."

"To get me. You knew I was there. You said that two guys grabbed Jack while I was finishing my shower! If you weren't keeping Jack under surveillance, how did you know I was in the shower?"

"Your hair was wet when you stepped out onto the porch and your feet were bare. Given the hour of the morning, I made an assumption."

"It didn't sound like an assumption."

"I'm not responsible for your ears, Dr. Jackson." Or, more was the pity, for any other part of his anatomy. "And I only hoped you were there. I knew SG-1 was beginning 72 hours downtime, I knew that you all usually get together the night before you have some time off, I know Jack often drinks a little more than he should, and that you'd never let him drive drunk. Simple deduction, Dr. Jackson. I hoped you'd be there because I need a second man to get Jack away from the goons who grabbed him."

"You know the goons?"

"Not personally. But I know who they're working for."

"Personally?"

"Yes." Harry couldn't stop the grin. And, admittedly, he didn't try very hard. If the best defense was a strong offense, his best chance of keeping Dr. Jackson from questioning his part in this was to keeping him thinking about other things. "But not as well as Jack..." He let his voice trail off into innuendo.

Some experiences were never forgotten. Locking lips for the first time and feeling tongue. Getting your driver's license. Taking the controls of an F-18. Having a pad soaked in chloroform slapped over your mouth and nose and regaining consciousness securely tied in the back of a moving vehicle...

Jack finished testing the ropes around his wrists and ankles and wondered who the hell used chloroform any more? Sure there was a certain nostalgic charm in the way his head was pounding but chloroform? A thousand designer drugs out there and he had to get grabbed by someone who hadn't updated his evil maniac's handbook since the '80's.

"I know you are awake my Jack."

English with a thick Russian accent. The words emerging like they'd been rubbed with a number nine sandpaper. He knew that voice.

"Why don't you open your eyes?"

Because he knew what he was going to see.

"Why don't you open your eyes before I add a few unfortunate bruises to your body?"

No longer a question. And if he put it that way...

His eyes were dry and sticky - side effect of the chloroform. He forced them open. "So, how've you been Sascha?"

Alexander Podoprigora shrugged, the movement still the graceful rise and fall Jack remembered even though the shoulders were, if possible, even burlier than they'd been. "Oh, you know how it is, twelve years in a Chechen prison, eight years rebuilding my power base - do you need to be told that I spent every moment of that time thinking of you?"

"Actually, no. I really don't." A gold tooth flashed as the Russian smiled. "You're looking good, my Jack."

"Yeah, well, if you want to see me at my best, you should untie me."

"I like the look of you tied." His voice deepened and stroked over Jack's skin like wet velvet. "Or don't you remember?"

He'd been trying not to remember but now the memories surged up one after the other - the pull of silk around his wrists, heat and suction and a primal rhythm, just enough pain to be interesting. In what was - given Sascha's smolder - a futile attempt to hide his physical reaction, he squirmed around and pushed himself up into a sitting position against the side of the van, raising his knees to hide the bulge in his jeans.

Jesus, Jack, think of Daniel.

And thinking of Daniel in order to lose an erection was just weird enough that it worked.

"So you and Jack found out that this Alexander Podoprigora was playing both sides against the middle and delayed him in Brussels long enough for his own people to pick him up?"

"A succinct summation."

"But I don't understand the reasoning behind you giving him up. You had him; why not deal with him yourselves?"

"Why Dr Jackson, that's remarkably bloodthirsty of you."

"Not what I meant, Maybourne and you know it. Why didn't you drag Podoprigora back to the US and charge him with passing secrets?"

"Truthfully?"

Daniel snorted. "I doubt it."

"Due process. For starters, you can't just drag a foreign national across several borders. Second, when he was passing our secrets back to his people - technically, he was being a patriot. So we set him up, let his people know what he was doing, held him until they got there, and bailed. They had no compunction about dragging his ass across several borders nor did they have to deal with the tricky trial thing... just tossed him behind bars - although technically I don't think there were actual bars involved. We could have eliminated him but this way our government knew where he was if they wanted to use him again."

"Why you and Jack?"

"We were in the neighbourhood taking care of something I can't tell you about."

"You've committed treason, Maybourne. What the hell difference does it make?"

"It's a matter of principles."

"From where I sit, you don't have principles!"

"You know, that's interesting Dr. Jackson because from where I sit..." Harry turned just long enough to flash his passenger a broad and totally insincere smile. "...without me, you don't have Jack."

He turned his eyes back to the road as Dr. Jackson scrunched down even further in the seat, the set of his jaw practically shouting that he wasn't going to dignify that observation with a response. So there.

As they entered Denver's city limits he began looking for a drive-through. Spotting a set of golden arches just off the highway, he steered the Honda toward the off-ramp.

"What the hell are you doing?"

So much for the silent treatment. Harry grinned. "Grabbing some breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day and Jack would want to know I was taking care of you..."

Jack had to assume that Daniel would go straight to General Hammond the moment he realized he - Jack - was missing. Which meant finding the general - he'd said something about taking the girls away for the weekend - then explaining the situation - and Daniel's explanations had a distinct tendency to be on the long side - then taking a team back to the house, then...

Hell, he'd be in Thailand before anyone figured out he'd been taken away from the springs. Hey, Thor, old buddy. NOW would be a good time.

No white light. No beam-me-aboard-Scotty. Figured. Little grey peeping-tom could beam him out of Daniel's bed...

"I don't care if you need me to save the whole freakin' universe; put me back!" Thor had blinked and one long finger had indicated Jack's erection, currently falling. "That looks painful," he'd observed mildly.

"Did you hear what I said?!"

"We need you to save the universe."

"Oh for cryin' out loud..."

The van bounced through a pothole, flinging him into the air and down, the back of his head impacting painfully with the un-padded wall. He thought he'd hid his reaction but he'd forgotten Sascha's observational skills bordered on the obsessive where he was concerned.

"You are hurt, my Jack." Half turning, he spit forth a stream of Russian invective toward the hapless driver then bent and reached under the bench that stretched along his side of the van. "I will make it all better for you," he promised, switching back to English as he pulled out a cooler. Flipping up the lid, he took out a bottle of water and flourished it. "We stopped at Wall-mart. American capitalism at its pinnacle, you should be very proud."

Jack's head was pounding too loudly for him to respond to the insult. Actually, he wasn't completely positive it was intended to be an insult. Twelve years in a Chechen prison might make even a Wall-mart look good.

He found some focus when Sascha pulled a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket.

"Don't worry, my Jack. It is only iboprophen for the ache in your head."

Yeah. Right. "I'll pass."

"You are acting like you have a choice. No. I make your choices now." Two of the brown caplets were dwarfed on the expanse of Sascha's palm. "But do not fear, I have waited too long to be with you again to drug you." He carefully lowered his bulk to one knee by Jack's side, twisted the lid off the water bottle, and offered the pills. "Take them."

Jack smiled. "Make me."

"Is that really what you want?"

Closer inspection showed that the layer of fat was just that, layered over the heavy muscle Jack remembered well. He was not a small man but Sascha had always made him feel uncomfortably... petite. Twenty years ago, the Russian had been very strong, surprisingly quick, and completely ruthless. Given the circumstances, it seemed safe to assume that none of the above had changed. If his captor wanted him to take the pills, he was going to be taking the pills. The fact that Sascha had been and apparently still was totally besotted with him wouldn't change that one iota. Hadn't then. Wouldn't now.

Jack held out his bound hands and was handed both the pills and the water.

There were at least two ways he could use the plastic bottle as a weapon. Unfortunately neither way had a hope in hell of success and better than average odds of broken body parts - his -- so he drank the water and swallowed the pills and tried to ignore the memories the large, warm hand stroking his head was calling up.

"Very distinguished the silver but I am missing the hair of my beautiful American boy. A good thing I remember it so well. It will make it easier to bring it back. I hear Miss Clairol sells the most although Loving Care will cover the grey."

Rather a lot of the water went back up Jack's nose. After the coughing and the wiping up, he glared into the dark eyes and snarled. "No way in hell. I earned every single god damned one of these gray hairs and I'm keeping them."

The hand cupped the back of his neck and shook him lightly. There was just enough power in the movement that Jack had no doubt he'd be the rat to Sascha's terrier if the big man ever shook him in earnest. "I do not wish to argue with you, my Jack. We will discuss this, you and I, later.."

"Fine." Wait. Not fine. There wasn't going to be a later. He was hauling his ass out of Sascha's clutches before Sascha ended up actually clutching his ass. It might have been twenty years since he'd seen it but he recognized the expression on the big Russian's face and the last time he'd ended up having caviar and vodka alternately licked off the end of his erection.

Okay. Not exactly bad memories but still...

Ignoring the way his body had reacted to his little excursion into the past, he narrowed his eyes and growled, "Listen to me, Sa... Podoprigora..." Constant use of the diminutive was not helping his position. "...you can not kidnap an American officer and expect to get away with it! My government will hunt you down and then twelve years in a Chechen prison will seem like a walk in the park."

Heavy dark brows rose. "Your government has facilities worse than a Chechen prison? No, that I very much doubt."

Good point.

"As I have kidnapped an American officer obviously, I can. Ivan is monitoring all police and military frequencies and, so far, no one is searching for you." Smiling fondly, Sascha returned to his bench. "And where are my manners, I meant to congratulate you on your becoming a -- how do you American's say? -- full-bird colonel. I always knew you would go far. So..." He leaned forward, forearms resting on massive thighs. "...five years ago my usual sources of information became annoyingly obscure. What have you been up to lately, my Jack?"

That a man who used information as currency hadn't been able to crack SGC security was the best news Jack had had all day - although given that he was tied up in the back of a moving van with said man who kept looking at him like he was a platter of Buffalo wings, there was a distinct lack of other good news to compare it to.

Twenty years hadn't changed the deep bass rumble of Sascha's laugh. "I did not expect you to tell me, my Jack. Nor does it matter. All that matters is that we are together and that I can not wait to make up to you all the years we have lost."

Great.

But on the bright side, constant small movements were gaining him some slack in the ropes around his ankles.

"The fastest way to the coast is 25 to Denver then 70 west." Sam looked up from the map they'd bought when they stopped for gas and squinted out at passing highway sign. "We're inside Denver city limits so we need to start looking for our ex...Teal'c! There!"

She clung to the seat as Teal'c hit the turn signal, slid the Rover across three lanes of traffic and down the ramp on two wheels. He down-shifted as he came out of the curve and swerved onto the shoulder to avoid an air force blue TransAm with an academy bumper sticker. As Teal'c fought the heavy vehicle back onto the asphalt, a quick check of her side view mirror showed the driver of the TransAm's mouth moving in an unmistakable pattern. "That's fuck off and die, Major," she muttered, then turning to her companion added, "I keep forgetting you're a pilot."

His brows drew in slightly. "I fail to see the relevance."

"Pilots invariably drive like complete maniacs."

"Are you not also a pilot?"

"Well, yes but..."

"And did you not once drive through a pedestrian mall in order to reach a side street you could not find another way to reach?"

"Janet told you about that?"

"I was enquiring about O'Neill's belief that DanielJackson caused him to turn grey. Dr. Fraser used that as an example of how it could happen."

"Ah."

"Unfortunately, that example does support your statement that pilots invariably drive like complete maniacs," he allowed thoughtfully. "However, I can not support the statement about pilots put forth by the second bumper sticker on the vehicle we just passed."

They had been behind the TransAm and now they were in front of it so Sam had to admit that they had essentially, if not legally, passed it. "I only saw the one."

"It was next to the Academy sticker and it read, Pilots do it at mach one."

"You can't support that?"

"No. I can not."

"You do realize what it stands for?"

"I do."

Sam frowned at Teal'c profile. "And why don't you support it?"

"I do not do it at mach one."

"Ah." The visible corner of his mouth had curved up. Five years of learning the Jaffa's minimalist expressions meant Sam usually knew when he was teasing her. And he didn't seem to be. It almost seemed as though he was calmly stating certain qualifications...

Oh. Closely followed by...

OH!

"Uh, Sascha, I hate to shine the cold light of reality on this little fantasy of yours, but I've gotta piss."

"Can you not hold it, my Jack?"

"I've been holding it." He jiggled both legs up and down; the motion not only a visual aid but a way to check that he could, in fact, get his right foot free. "Come on, I'm not a kid anymore; if I've gotta go, I've gotta go! Unless you really want to spend the next hundred miles locked in here with a pair of urine soaked jeans," he added when the big Russian hesitated. Twenty years ago, Sascha had been a bit of a clean freak - given the manicured nails and the gleam on the Italian loafers, that hadn't changed.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Sascha snapped out a command to his driver and the van began to slow.

First rule of escaping from a moving vehicle -- slow it down, stop it if possible.

The right wheels hit the gravel shoulder and then the left. Jack braced himself against the vibrations as Sascha stood, leaned into the driver's compartment and gave further instructions. When the van was completely still, he sank back onto the bench and nodded toward the side door.

"Kneel in front of the door."

Not easy with his feet still tied but drawing in long, oxygenating breaths, Jack did as he was told. They'd be expecting him to make his move the moment the door opened so... he fumbled with his fly, bound hands making it awkward. "You want to pick up the pace here? I will piss on the paint job."

Over the rumble of Sascha's indulgent chuckle, he heard boots outside on the gravel. Then the latch turned and the door opened. He faced a sandy bank about three feet high which would complicate a sprint for freedom and was obviously why they'd stopped here. The other complication stood to one side comfortably cradling a Lugar close to his body in one scarred hand. The other complication smiled. Jack smiled back. The odds of hitting a moving target with a handgun involved luck as much as skill and he'd always been willing to play the odds.

But first...

One thing about life in the military, a guy got over any problems he had with pissing in front of an audience. Freeing his cock, Jack pointed it at the bank and sighed as the heavy stream of urine cut patterns into the sand. Oh yeah... Lesson number who-the-hell-was-counting, learned during a long and eventful life: No one expected a guy with his dick in his hand to make a run for it.

Twisting sideways, Jack directed the last of the stream onto Lugar-guy's boots, braced the toes on his left foot against one of the ridges on the van floor, yanked his right foot free, and threw himself forward. He didn't reach the ground.

A large hand grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt. Forward momentum stopped, reversed. Jack went with it, attempting to slam the back of his head into Sascha's face. He hit... something. Then something that felt like a building hit him.

Next thing he knew, he was back on his knees, cradled against Sascha's body. Two massive arms wrapped around his chest and a deep voice purred in one ear as his head lolled on a broad shoulder, "Entirely predictable, my Jack. I did not wish to cause you pain but you left me no choice."

Jack tried to focus, found himself staring up at a line of dark stubble and gave up.

"Here, let me get that for you." One of Sascha's hands stroked down the length of his torso and wrapped possessively around his cock.

"Hey!" Resistance was futile. He resisted anyway. Which had the unfortunate result of grinding his ass back against the Russian's groin with predictable results. The lesser of two evils seemed to be holding completely still.

Okay, not completely but Jack had no conscious control over the only movement now occurring.

"How nice. I am remembered."

"I thought..." JesusfuckingChrist! A blunt finger applied pressure along the exact spot guaranteed to get a reaction. It's been twenty years! How can he possibly remember! "I thought you were..." Damn! "...putting it away!"

"Yes..." Reluctant agreement and a snarl of Russian. The van door closed.

Oh great. Lugar-guy was watching me get felt up. I am way too old to be a... "God damn it! What part of put it away are you having trouble understanding!" ... sex-toy. As he was finally tucked back inside his jeans, Jack took what satisfaction he could in knowing that Sascha's sudden need to cop a feel had kept him from discovering plan B.

Dr. Jackson had been quiet since breakfast. Or to be more precise, since his extended and multi-lingual protests over taking the time to stop for breakfast. Harry's Farsi was a little rusty but he'd either been called a noseless bastard offspring of a gutter-descended ape and a leprous sow or a... well, apes and sows and lepers had figured prominently.

And adding insult to well, insult, the name calling was totally unprovoked as they hadn't actually stopped. He'd whipped them through the drive-through and back onto the highway before the grease had even congealed on the paper wrappers.

They were heading west now, caught behind a pair of eighteen wheelers and sucking diesel exhaust. Although perfectly capable of maintaining a predatory silence for an indefinite period of time, Harry was beginning to find the lack of conversation oppressive.

How long could a grown man sulk?

"Stop the car!"

"What?"

"Pull over, now!"

Responding to the urgency in the younger man's voice Harry hit the brakes, wrestling the Honda to a stop on the gravel shoulder. "I told you to do that before we left the hou..." he began but Dr. Jackson was gone. Out of the car and running full out back up the shoulder of the road.

Sighing, Harry followed, moving considerably more slowly. Only in bad fairytales and made for television movies did the kidnap victim manage to leave clues by the side of the road. He had no idea what Dr. Jackson had seen but he knew it was no trail of bread crumbs left by Jack O'...

"Well fuck me hard."

"Not if yours was the last ass on the planet." But it was a token protest, tossed out without feeling as Dr. Jackson dropped to his knees by the sandy bank and extended one finger toward the cartouche for Earth. "It's still wet."

"Is it still warm?" Harry muttered, slightly taken aback by the good doctor's willingness to poke at sandy urine. Granted that finger had been up Jack's ass on numerous and recorded occasions but still...

"No, but we're close." He rocked back onto his heels and stood. "Come on!" And then that same hand was wrapped around Harry's bicep as he was dragged back toward the car. "We'll have Jack back before lunch."

"Not if they don't stop to eat and they probably won't. We'll get Jack when they stop for the night." Harry paused to catch Dr. Jackson's gaze over the top of the car. "Which they will only do if they believe they're not being followed."

Dr. Jackson smiled. "Who the hell's going to suspect two guys in a ten year old Honda?"

God damn. If that man smiled more he could rule the world. Feeling a little lightheaded, mostly due the rush of blood south, Harry slid back behind the wheel and sprayed gravel as he inserted them back into traffic. One smile directed at him in approval and he was making macho statements with crushed rock and a four cylinder car. What would he be willing to do for a naked and willing archeologist? What wouldn't he be willing to do? Some of the more noble, heroic, and just generally asinine things Jack had done over the last few years suddenly began to make sense.

"Maybourne..."

Oh man. He did not like that contemplative tone. Surveillance had picked up plenty of what followed "Jack..." said in that exact same tone and they were always the kind of insightful soul-searing questions he personally would not want to answer. Particularly not in the current circumstances. And he didn't have Jack's options for shutting the good doctor up.

"How about some music?" he asked his voice a little too loud even to his own ears. "The radio reception's crap but there's tapes on the floor behind my seat; just grab one and shove it in."

Harry could feel the blue eyes locked on the side of his face. He kept his eyes locked in turn on the road. After a long moment of staring at the ass end of Ford Taurus, he heard Dr. Jackson shift in his seat and then the rattle of tape cases behind him.

"You've got eclectic taste Maybourne, I'll give you that. Classical, country, big bands, the Grateful Dead, Bowie, N'Sync; can't commit to a musical style either?"

"Just hate to be thought of as predictable."

"Trust me, Maybourne. Predictable is not the first word that comes to mind when I think of you."

"Rakish?"

"No."

"Mysterious?"

"Not exactly."

"Sensuous?"

"Only in your pitiful little dreams."

"I dream big, Dr. Jackson." Glancing down, Harry watched long, pale fingers slide the tape into the cassette deck. Then it hit him. Big bands? Shit on a stick! He jabbed a finger toward the eject...

...too late. Dr. Jackson's recorded voice filled the car. "Oh god, Jack, yes. Harder. There. Perfect. Harder. God. Jack. So hard. So hot. AH! CHRIST! YES!"

Daniel had never actually heard himself come. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate; he'd heard himself, he wasn't deaf and he was admittedly a little on the loud side but he'd never listened to himself before.

Evidence suggested Harry Maybourne had.

The silence that followed the ejection of the tape was... anticipatory. It didn't last long.

"You slimly son of a bitch! You fucking voyeuristic low-life! You've been taping Jack and I having sex! Is this how you get your rocks off?"

And the bastard had the nerve to smile.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Daniel must be getting frantic." Sam flicked a fingernail against her watch. The damned hands had barely moved since the last time she'd checked it. "It's been over three hours since Jack was taken and I doubt that Maybourne's company is giving him much comfort."

"DanielJackson has found common ground with countless alien races. Evidence suggests that he and Maybourne will find something to discuss."

Sam snorted. "I can't imagine what."

"You've been taping Jack and I having... sex." Daniel couldn't believe how calm he sounded. He sure as hell didn't feel calm. He felt... violated. "You have us, me and Jack, on tape. You taped us having sex."

"You seem to be repeating yourself. Are you all right, Dr. Jackson? Or can I call you Daniel? I think, given the circumstances, we've reached a first name basis, don't you?"

"Fuck you, Maybourne! We haven't reached anything! You are..." About to switch to Abydonian because English just didn't have the scoop of insult he required, Daniel suddenly realized just what Harry Maybourne was. Ex-NID. Traitor. Amoral opportunist. And he had tapes of an air force colonel having sex with his male colleague. "Oh fuck, you have..."

Harry nodded. "Prime blackmail material." Not hard to finish a sentence said with such horror. "And before you give in to the impulse to strangle me to protect the colonel's illustrious career, may I just point out two things. The first is that I'm driving and you can trust me when I say removing a dead body from behind the wheel of a moving car is not a job for amateurs and, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not tell you how it can be done safely. Second, I've been taping the two of you since day one and I haven't used the tapes yet so the evidence suggests you have nothing to worry about."

"I don't believe you."

Harry shrugged. "Does, 'What the hell are you doing, Daniel?' ring any bells?"

"Oh please, that's probably number four or five on a list of phrases Jack says daily."

"Fair enough. So let's add the word buttons."

"What the hell are you doing, Daniel?"

"I'm forcing the issue, Jack. I'm tired of ignoring this thing between us."

"What thing?"

"The thing between us. The thing that's gotten so fucking huge we can only ignore it by ignoring each other. If I'm going to lose you, I'm going to be an active participant in the loss."

"Hey! Buttons!"

"You're trained in umpteen types of unarmed combat. If you wanted to stop me from ripping your shirt off, you could!"

"Umpteen?"

"Shut up, Jack!" Daniel shook himself free of the memory Maybourne's disturbingly accurate impression of Jack's voice had called up. "You're missing the point, asshole; it's not that I don't believe you've been using us to ring something out of your pathetic little prick, it's that I don't believe we have nothing to worry about. You could destroy Jack's career!"

"And maybe you should consider that before you call me names."

"What difference would it make? I don't believe for one minute you're not planning on using those tapes to your own advantage. In fact, how do I know you're not delivering me to the same people who took Jack? And you lied to me earlier when you said you didn't have Jack's house under surveillance! You looked me right in the eye..."

"Side of the face."

Maybourne's non-sequitor stopped Daniel cold. He blinked and stared in confusion at the other man. "What?"

"We're in a moving car. Since you weren't looking at me and I couldn't take my eyes off the road long enough for you to turn your head, I looked you in the side of the face."

Daniel's fingers worked against his jeans - Jack's jeans - and no matter how much he knew violence wasn't the answer, he still had to fight against wrapping them around Maybourne's throat. "This is all a fucking joke to you, isn't it?" he growled. "You told me you were following the people who took Jack. You told me you made assumptions. I can't believe I was so stupid to believe you for a single second. I can't believe I got in a car with you."

Harry shot a glance at the other man and prudently moved into the left hand lane. He didn't think Dr. Jackson would throw himself out of the car but then, Dr. Jackson had been known to both exceed expectations and do the unexpected. "Okay, I lied about having Jack under surveillance." He nodded toward the tape, half out of the deck. "Obviously. But everything else was the truth. I swear."

"You swear? You?" Daniel all but spat the pronoun across the car. "And that's supposed to make it all better?"

"Why not?"

"What people like you don't understand, Maybourne is that the truth doesn't exist for your convenience. If you told me black and any one of half a dozen system lords told me white, I'd believe the Goa'uld. And you probably think I should, oh I don't know, be flattered that you've got my sex life on tape in your car but let me tell you Maybourne, I think that's the most disgusting thing..."

"Jack knew."

"What?"

"Jack knew I was taping."

Daniel folded his arms and snorted. "I reference my previous statement re black and white."

"If you don't believe me..." Harry pushed the tape back in and hit fast forward. "...believe Jack."

The faint hiss of recorded silence. "There's nothing..."

"Wait."

And then Jack's voice. Unmistakably Jack's voice. "I know you can hear me, Harry. If you're not out of that rusty piece of junk in the Scott's backyard by the time Daniel's back from the bathroom, I *will* detonate the C4 I've tucked under your seat and take my chances on explaining the resulting explosion to the proper authorities. I imagine you'll have a harder time explaining it to the improper authorities but hey, you'll be in Hell so, not my problem."

Daniel was as good at lying to himself as the next man but there was no denying this. Jack knew. Jack knew Harry Maybourne -- Harry-fucking-Maybourne -- was taping them having sex. Since Maybourne was still alive and in possession of the tape, Jack obviously believed Maybourne wouldn't betray him. Them. Therefore, there had to be more to Maybourne than Daniel knew. Jack knew things about Maybourne Daniel didn't. They were in Special Forces together and...

"How long were you and Jack lovers?"

"Jesus." Harry shot an incredulous glance across the car. "Major Carter wasn't kidding when she called you the King of Lateral thinking."

"You son of a bitch!"

"What did I do now?"

"You've been taping Sam!"

"What? No! Well, yes back when I was still with NID but not recently and no funny stuff. Not that she has a lot of success in the funny stuff department." He frowned thoughtfully. "Strange really, she's an attractive woman. Smart, funny; you'd think guys would be lining up to go out with her."

Daniel shrugged. He'd never understood it either. "Most men are frightened by a woman who's significantly smarter than they are."

"Most men are idiots."

"No argument here and..." Wait a minute, why the hell were they talking about Sam? "Nice try, Maybourne. Answer the question."

Grinning, Harry pulled out around a mud encrusted Chevy pick-up. "Jack O'Neill and I were never lovers. We were at best mutually convenient."

"He trusts you."

"Within specific parameters but I thought you knew that."

"Different parameters," Daniel admitted dryly. "I mean, I knew Jack had a somewhat colourful past but... Why are you laughing?"

" Somewhat colourful? My dear Dr. Jackson, you have no idea."

"Give me one."

"Give you an idea? You want me to tell you stories of Jack's past? You want me to lay out his past glories? Spill lurid details about a man I used to call my friend?"

"You have a problem with that?"

"Hell no." It beat being lectured for a few hundred miles about his morals or lack there of by an irate archeologist. Which was, of course, why he'd shifted the focus to Jack. And since he was about to pull the man's ass out of deep, deep shit, Harry figured Jack would have nothing to complain about. "Let me tell you the story of how we assisted in the capture of Alexander Podoprigora. It was 1982. We were in Belgium for reasons I can't go into, and we'd just finished up the mission when we were contacted by the CIA..."

"Well, gentlemen..." Agent Burrows ran a beefy hand up through thinning hair and looked over the two Special Forces officers taking up what little room remained in his office. "...according to all reports you're both very, very good at what you do. This is going to be a little... different."

Harry glanced over at Jack whose lips curved up into his usual cocky, self-confident smile. "We're flexible."

"Let's hope so."

His tone had bordered on innuendo. Harry ran over everything he knew about what the Agency was doing in Europe, realized he didn't know squat and began paying attention again as Burrows added: "I can't stress enough the importance of you keeping Alexander Podoprigora at the location of the meet until his people come to pick him up. Use whatever means necessary short of force."

"Short of force?" He raised an eyebrow. "What are we supposed to use, strong language?"

"Whatever means necessary."

The two officers exchanged a look that Burrows ignored. He passed over a single sheet of paper. "You're to go Brussels. This is the address."

"Pardon me for asking, sir," Jack asked, leaning back as Harry leaned forward to take the paper, "but why us? We're Air Force, not CIA."

"You're here. I don't have an agent in Europe who could do this job and I think you..." He cleared his throat. "...you two can."

"Le Petite Tenebraux. The Little Dark," Harry translated. "Is it a club?"

Burrows looked like he was attempting a reassuring smile. "Not exactly."

"The CIA sent you and Jack to whorehouse in Brussels?"

"It was owned by one of theirs."

"Their what?" Daniel asked a little petulantly, unsure if he was more upset over Maybourne's misuse of the language or the thought of Jack in a European whorehouse.

Maybourne frowned thoughtfully. "Hard to say. Operative. Sympathizer. Employee."

"All right, fine." Actually, it wasn't that big a stretch to think of the CIA running a house of ill repute. "And you two were to do what? Bartend? Work security?"

"Well, that's what we thought..."

Dressed in a Chanel suit, Louisa VonHorne looked like she could be on the board of any number of European companies. Everything about her screamed old money, established power, and, right at the moment, extreme annoyance.

"So this is what Agent Burrows sends me." She circled them like a well-dressed shark. "American Air Force officers. He honestly thinks that one of you can do the job?"

"There's two of us, ma'am." Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and his lip curled. "And yes."

"Really?"

Harry could see annoyance becoming speculation as Madame VonHorne moved around to stand face to face with his partner and decided this was definitely one of those times when discretion was the better part of valor. He buttoned his lip and watched.

"Alexander Podoprigora is a very large man," she murmured.

Jack shrugged. "So?"

Her head titled to one side. "You're in good shape... perhaps with the right inducements it would be possible. How old are you?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Perhaps none. I am just wondering."

"Twenty-six."

"Hmmmm. Podoprigora is thirty-one so you are closer to him in age than I'd like. A shame your hair is so short but your hands are lovely, you have an American look and he will like that, and your attitude, yes, that will be like a red flag to a bull. This might work after all."

"What might work?" She tapped a ruby fingernail against her lip and ignored him. "And you," she snapped turning to Harry. "What can you do?" Glancing over at Jack who still had no clue, Harry smiled. "I can play the piano."

"You play the piano?"

"You sound surprised, Dr. Jackson. Why wouldn't I play the piano?"

"No reason, it's just..."

"It's my fingers isn't it? You think my fingers are too short for me to be a pianist."

"No. God, no!" Actually yes, but Maybourne sounded so hurt by the possibility Daniel couldn't admit to it. "Classical?"

"Some. Mostly jazz these days."

"Because you pride yourself on your ability to improvise."

Grinning, Harry banged out a rim-shot against the steering wheel. "Well, done, Dr. Jackson. I also played keyboards in a garage band in high school. Tight ripped jeans, snarling attitude..."

"Aren't we getting somewhat off topic?"

"Not really, no."

Harry's own civvies were deemed suitable by Madam VonHorne so he played around on the baby grand in her office while Jack got changed. He'd just finished an awkward Maple Leaf Rag when he heard the door behind him open. Turning, he literally felt his jaw drop. "Jesus, Jack."

The t-shirt was a heavy white cotton and at least one size too small. Muscles were defined under the soft fabric, clinging to broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist.

The jeans were old, faded, and so tight they looked like they'd been painted on. Jack had tucked left and was obviously wearing nothing under them. Harry licked his lips and forced himself to continue his inspection. A line of tanned leg was just barely visible through a tear above one knee. Two thin black belts, one threaded through the belt loops the second, silver rivets gleaming, draped lower around his hips. Black cowboy boots, scuffed and worn, completed the look. Simple. Very Jack. And very, very hot.

"Take a freakin' picture why don't you," Jack muttered, one hand behind him trying to tug the jeans out of the crack of his ass. "I'm not... OW!" He cradled his hand against his stomach and rubbed it with the other as Madam VonHorne circled him slowly.

"Yes," she murmured. "As I said, very American. And the sullen expression will work also." She reached out and tousled Jack's hair. He raised a hand to smooth it but she glared it down. "Yes, I think you'll do."

"Do what, for crying out loud?!"

"Alexander Podoprigora."

Harry couldn't help himself. He roared with laughter as Jack didn't so much catch the clue bus as have it back over him. A couple of times.

If looks could kill, he'd have been leaving in a waterproof container.

Arms folded, sullen became out-and-out mutinous. "No."

"Yes. It is why you are here. It is your mission. It is the mission you accepted."

"Things may be different in the CIA but I'm Air Force, lady, and I don't do that sort of thing."

"Lie to someone who isn't in the business, Lieutenant O'Neill, but stop wasting my time."

Harry raised both hands as Jack shot another glare in his direction. "I didn't say anything!"

"He didn't need to. I am a very good judge of sexuality and you, you look very much to be what we call enthusiastically non-discriminating." Her heels beating out a muffled rhythm against the Oriental rug, Madame VonHorne crossed to an enormous wingback chair and sat down. "First of all, you will do as you have been ordered to do and secondly, you will very likely enjoy it. Alexander Podoprigora comes here often. He is a considerate lover with amazing stamina and creative tastes. He is also incredibly paranoid, very strong and faster than would seem likely given his size. He will need to be very distracted indeed if he is not to suspect that something is going on. He must have no opportunity to fight or to run."

"Yeah. Okay. Fine." Still a little off balance by Madame VonHorne's initial observation, Jack spread both hands in what was, to Harry's experienced eye, not quite a gesture of surrender. "But you don't need me. Why doesn't one of your... people do it?"

"The moment the KGB break into the room it is entirely likely Alexander Podoprigora will try to use whoever is with him as a shield or weapon. You have a chance of surviving that... my people do not. Lieutenant Maybourne will be your back-up."

"Hey! I thought I was playing the piano."

"Did you?" She glanced over at the instrument in question and sighed. "No. The room has a private viewing area. You will remain there throughout, emerging only if you are needed during the capture."

"Let me see if I've got this. I'm to distract..."

Harry had to give Jack credit for recovering his attitude and sketching the most sarcastic set of air quotes he'd ever seen.

"...Alexander Podoprigora while Harry watches?"

"Yes." Madame VonHorne leaned forward and fixed Jack with a gaze almost overpowering in its sincerity. "You are necessary to remove him and the damage he is doing to peace in Eastern Europe and you are necessary so that one of my people does not get hurt."

Jack sighed. "Yeah. All right. Fine."

"What? That was it?"

"What was it?"

"That was all it took?" Daniel shook his head. "Not only do I not believe that Jack would be convinced by such a lame argument, I don't believe Jack would agree to do such a thing in the first place." "Why not? Jack's killed to protect what he believes in, why is it so hard for you to accept that he'd fuck for the same reason? You know, you're just like all those people who complain about sex on television but violence, that's fine. I thought better of you, Dr. Jackson."

"That's not... I mean it's..."

"You just can't cope with me watching? Is that it?"

"Jesus, Maybourne, it's not always about you! Why are we pulling off the highway?"

"At the risk of making it all about me, I have to piss. And I need to get some gas. And, I'm hungry." He guided the Honda down the ramp, negotiated the turn at the bottom, and headed into the outskirts of Richfield. "If you're smart, and we both know you are, you'll join me. I don't want to stop again until after we get past Salt Lake City."

"Let me guess," Daniel muttered as they pulled into Walter and Irene's 3G Truck Stop. "Your prints are on file with the local police?"

"Smart and funny. Jack's a lucky man."

Daniel stared across the front seat at Maybourne's profile. That hadn't sounded sarcastic. It had sounded, God help him, sincere. Unless he's just screwing with my head so I don't notice that he didn't actually deny that his prints were on file. He figured that had to be it, and found himself reassured by the realization. The thought of Harry Maybourne giving his blessing to his and Jack's relationship... Daniel shuddered as Harry turned off the car by the pumps.

"You want to pump gas or check the fluids?" Maybourne asked already half out of the car.

Daniel popped his seatbelt and followed. "Since the amount I know about fluids could be written on a grape with room left over for The Book of the Dead, I'll pump the gas."

"Pity." Grinning broadly, Harry reached back inside for the hood release. "I was looking forward to having your hand on my dipstick."

"Bite me."

"Tempting, but we're in a hurry."

The gas tank filled, Daniel followed Maybourne into the truck stop. He'd have to get word to Sam soon but, for the moment, food and a bathroom sounded like a plan.

"Be fastest if we order before we piss. What do you want?"

He scanned the menu, decided he'd be safest with the ubiquitous burger and fries, and headed through the diner towards the men's room as Maybourne paid up front. A pair of truckers sitting in one of the booths tracked him as he walked past and he was suddenly very conscious of just how snug Jack's jeans and t-shirt fit. Maybe I should have wasted that extra minute and grabbed my jacket out of the car.

He actually felt the bathroom door cut off the weight of their regard and breathed a sigh of relief as he unbuttoned at the urinal. That kind of trouble he just didn't...

The door opened and the two truckers sauntered in.

Crap.

They took up positions on either side of him, unzipped in unison, and let fly. The whole synchronized urinating thing was a little disturbing but Daniel did his best to ignore them. He'd finish and get the hell out of there before anything...

"So. You want it one at a time or both of us together?"

"I beg your pardon?" His best professorial voice, the one Jack had complained made him feel like his assignment was late, his shoes were untied, and he might just as well go back to bed because he was going to fail the course anyway.

Trucker to the left glanced down at his shoes. Trucker to the right only laughed. "Don't you be getting so high and mighty with me. I know prime ass when I see it."

Which Daniel supposed was essentially a compliment or would have been had the trucker not then decided to acquire what he'd seen. It was as if the man had seen a watch he liked in the window of a jewelry store and decided to throw a brick through the window to get it. Which in essence meant the trucker thought he was property that could be taken at will and therefore the whole prime ass thing wasn't a compliment at all as all he saw was the ass and not the... Daniel's train of thought was abruptly derailed as a large hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around so that his ass was pressed hard against the obvious interest at the trucker's crotch. If he'd had any doubts about where the two men wanted to take this, well, he didn't anymore.

One thing about the last five years with the SGC; it made standing at a urinal facing down a pair of over-sexed gorillas no big deal. Sighing, he wrapped both hands around the thick arm now across his throat. "You're making a big mistake," he said calmly. Even though it seemed a non-violent solution was unlikely, he had to make the attempt.

"Maybe, but I'm betting you'll make it worth my while."

"Gary, I don't know..." The second trucker was clearly having second thoughts. "He sounds educated." His voice trailed off as Gary pulled the tube of lube from Daniel's front pocket. "Never mind."

"Kiwi flavored?"

"It was a free sample," Daniel snapped. The guy was attempting to assault him in a men's room; he had no right to get critical about flavored lube. "And I don't have time for this. You've got until the count of three to start acting like civilized..."

"Problem, Dr. Jackson?"

Like Jack, Harry Maybourne could move cat quiet when he had to. Daniel nodded toward trucker number two, and decided to skip the count. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

The fight was over remarkably quickly. Both truckers were large heavily muscled men but they hadn't had the benefit of five years hand to hand training with an ex-special ops colonel, the previous first prime of Apophis, and Major Doctor Samantha Carter. Who fought dirty.

"There are no rules in this kind of thing, Daniel. There's only the person standing and the person flat on his back." She paused and looked down at the Marine who'd foolishly volunteered to help her make her point. "Are you all right, Sergeant?"

He managed something that sounded like an affirmative grunt.

"You might want to put some ice on that."

And Maybourne... He might look like a particularly skeezy stuffed toy, but, Daniel reminded himself, he'd had the same training as Jack. And apparently the same attitude about fighting as Sam. While Maybourne stepped over the moaning trucker and up to the urinal to relieve himself, Daniel leaned down and murmured, "You might want to put some ice on that."

"You know," Maybourne said conversationally a few moments later as they headed back toward the front of the restaurant, "Jack's right. You're a trouble magnet. I can't leave you alone for two minutes."

Daniel turned to stare at him in disbelief. "In what universe was that my fault?"

"How about the one where you're carrying kiwi flavoured lube in your pocket?"

"What does that have to do with anything? I picked it up back at the house because I thought Jack was in the kitchen and... why the hell am I explaining myself to you?"

"Beats me." Just before they reached the counter, he smirked and added, "Lucky Jack."

In what universe did he get teased by Harry Maybourne? Apparently the one where Jack O'Neill went undercover in a Belgium whorehouse run the by the CIA. Daniel leaned against the wall while Maybourne argued with the owner -- Irene not Walter -- about the contents of the huge paper bag waiting for them on the counter. He needed to get back in the car. He needed to get back on the road. He needed to find Jack.

Crap.

He needed to call Sam. They were about to turn onto a new highway, and she needed to know which way they were going. He glanced at his watch. It would be another hour at least before he could pretend to be calling from the cabin. He had to call her now.

The truck stop's phone was sitting beside the cash register. While Harry continued to insist that a burger without onions meant a burger without onions, he leaned forward and knocked the phone slightly off its cradle, quickly punching in Sam's number. With any luck the increasing volume of the argument would cover the faint electronic beeps. As Harry turned toward him, Daniel jerked back and smiled past him at Irene who was reaching to hang up the phone.

The name on the license posted behind the counter said Wojtowicz. Polish.

His Polish was a little rusty but it wasn't that different from Russian and lord knew he'd been using that often enough lately. "He's gets a little pushy between meals."

Maybe it was the smile -- Jack seemed to think his smile could inspire people to leap tall buildings in a single bound but Jack was, admittedly, besotted -- maybe it was the Polish but Irene paused a moment to smile back before she pushed the phone onto it's cradle. Daniel could only hope that the moment had been long enough and the call had gone through.

"I understood that!" Harry muttered, clutching the bag close and heading for the door.

"You'd think we weren't going to eat again until we get to Reno."

"What makes you think we're going to Reno?"

"It's on the way." Then they were out in the parking lot and Daniel had done all he could.

"Walter and Irene's 3G Truck Stop?" Sam stared down at the small screen on her phone. "It has to be a message from Daniel."

"It could also be a wrong number," Teal'c reminded her.

"No. It's Daniel." She put the phone down and spread the map over her knees. "We're almost out of highway. Seventy ends at fifteen and we need to know which direction to go."

With no other traffic on the road, Teal'c glanced down at the map. "It would make sense for them to turn north to Salt Lake City and then continue west on highway 80."

"Yeah, except that'll mean whoever has the colonel will be driving between Hill Air Force Range..." One finger tapped the paper first north and then south of 80. "...and Wendover Range and that area's crawling with military vehicles pretty much 24/7."

"It is also the fastest route to the coast."

"But the most dangerous with a kidnapped colonel in the back seat."

"We do not know he is in the back seat, but I agree. It is equally possible they will take the longer route in order to avoid the military. It appears that we must find Walter and Irene's 3G truck stop."

"Richfield's the next town. They won't have gone far off the highway so if we just cruise down the off ramp we should be able to spot the truck stop if it's there." Refolding the map carefully along its original creases, she slid it back into the glove compartment. "Once this is over, I'm asking Janet to implant some kind of GPS transmitter in those two."

She sounded so serious that Teal'c took a moment to study her profile. By the time he had to turn his attention again to the road, he had concluded that she was kidding. It was, however, an excellent idea. He would mention it to General Hammond.

"I am glad to see you have not lost your appetite, my Jack. Watching you eat..." Dark eyes half-hooded, Sascha's expression could only be called predatory. "...has stimulated my appetites as well."

"I'll bet," Jack muttered around a mouthful of onion rings. He'd gotten double onions on the burger as well; maybe a little bad breath would slow the big Russian down. Probably not, but his options were limited.

I could offer him a blow job and hold his dick hostage once I've got it between my teeth. And then what? If he actually bit down, he somehow doubted he'd survive Sascha's reaction.

He swallowed and nodded toward the beer. "I could use a drink."

"Of course, my Jack."

With the edge of the can against his lower lip, he tilted his head back and a let a stream of the cool liquid pour down his throat. And over his jaw and down his neck.

"You know," he said, as the can was removed, "this would be a lot easier if you'd untie me."

His attempted escape had resulted in his wrists and ankles now tied together; in front of him, fortunately, so he could sit up, but that was about all he could do. Sascha was finger feeding him his meal -- which was embarrassing enough but clean up, that definitely crossed the humane treatment line.

Jack braced himself as Sascha leaned forward. He closed his eyes as a wet tongue caught the dribble of beer just at the neck of his t-shirt and licked a warm path up to the corner of his mouth. And then a repeat on the other side.

"Oh dear. It seems you have spilled some beer on your shirt as well."

He jerked as a hot mouth closed over the fabric covering his left nipple and sucked. Hard. "Hey! The spill is higher!"

Sascha pulled back leaving a circle of wet fabric surrounding a hard, protruding nub. "So it is."

The right nipple got the same treatment.

Yep. Should've seen that coming. Jack tried not to squirm as a touch of teeth upped the stakes.

"Still so very sensitive, my Jack." Looking pleased with himself, the big Russian sat back and admired his handiwork.

"Don't flatter yourself," Jack growled. "It's just a reaction to wet fabric and cool temperatures."

"Of course it is." Pulling another onion ring from the package, he held it out. "Perhaps you should be careful not to drop anything in your lap."

Harry dropped a french fry in his lap, contemplated asking Dr. Jackson to retrieve it, and decided that as much fun as it would be to yank the good doctor's chain, he was rather enjoying the tentative camaraderie they'd been basking in for the last few miles. Ah yes, there was nothing like a little shared violence to facilitate male bonding.

An observation he was also going to keep to himself given that Dr. Jackson's opinion of that kind of thing was on record. A number of times. Polysyllabically.

About to retrieve the fry himself, he glanced over in time to see the quick flick of a tongue deal with a dribble of mayonnaise from the corner of a generous mouth. His reaction was visceral and immediate.

No way he was going after that fry now. No way he was putting his hand anywhere near his crotch. Jerking off while driving with a man who at best was only tolerating your company - not smart.

Still, the temptation...

I know the sounds you make when Jack fucks you. The little whimper when he breeches you with one finger. The breathy moan with two. I know the almost incredulous gasp you always make when you bury yourself in Jack's ass. The way your breathing changes when you're ready to stop fooling around and pound him into the mattress.

Do you always sound like that I wonder?

What sounds would you make for another man's cock? In another man's ass?

"Hello? Earth to Maybourne. Is there a reason we're straddling the center line?"

Fuck! He brought the car back into the right lane. After this was over, he was going to find a willing partner and spend three solid days in the sack. He was way too horny to be stuck in a small car with the man voted, 'most likely to be probed by aliens' four years in a row. Besides, if he tried anything, Jack would kill him.

Unless... he could always leave Jack with Podoprigora and... no. Not only had Dr. Jackson proven he could take care of himself, but even without Jack in the picture he'd still have Major Carter and Teal'c to contend with. He'd just haul Jack's ass out of trouble, rack up another few points in the 'you owe me' column and get the hell out of Dodge. SG-1 took the whole 'I'll watch your back, you watch mine' thing to an incestuous level.

"Thinking deep thoughts, Maybourne?"

Harry resisted the urge to tell him exactly what he'd been thinking and, in a blatant show mind over matter, retrieved the fry. "I was just working out the best way to free Jack."

"Care to share?"

"Not yet. It'll depend on where Podoprigora stops for the night. Jack knows what Podoprigora's capable of and as long as he remembers that he's in no real physical danger. The problem is, if he's taken off American soil, we might never get him back."

"We?"

"You share him with the world, Dr. Jackson."

"So, not with you personally..."

"Oh dear; jealous?" The answering snort was so eloquently dismissive that Harry had to laugh. "No need to worry, the cranky s.o.b. is all yours. You're the only man I've ever met who's as unwilling to back down from a fight."

"So, Podoprigora...?"

"Was as besotted with Jack as Jack is with you."

Perched on a stool, his eye up against one in a series of peepholes inset into the plaster and lathe, Harry had to admit that, given the décor in the rest of the house, he'd been expecting a more opulent observation post. Granted, there was a man-sized box of tissues to hand but the rough walled cubby holed was a little primitive.

"It is supposed to be primitive," Madame VonHorne had sighed. "It is part of what the client is looking for -- a chance to spy on lovers who have no idea they are being watched. On the other hand, look through the other holes."

The other holes clearly involved sophisticated optics attached to top of the line surveillance equipment -- there wasn't a corner or an angle of the bedroom or bathroom that Harry couldn't see clearly. With the possible exception of the toilet, he could see the attraction but he could also see a problem. "What happens if the paying client half of the lovers being watched finds out?"

"Please, you don't think I would leave something like that to chance do you? Either the paying client has paid to be observed or both of them work for me. In the later instance, the client observing is told about this..." She reached out and tapped a fingernail against the wall. "A firm smack right here and this whole section will come free, allowing the observer to join in. You may use it to support Lieutenant O'Neill once the KGB is in the room. Not," she added emphatically, "before."

"Hey, do I look like a guy who'd want to join in?"

"Yes."

In contrast, the bedroom was opulent. Pretty much exactly the way he'd expected a bedroom in an old style European whorehouse to look. Huge four poster bed piled high with pillows, gold flocked wall paper, red velvet ropes tying back red velvet curtains with dark gold fringe, heavy mahogany furniture, beaded lamp shades, cut glass decanters of brandy, an archway into a bathroom dominated by a massive claw-footed tub and in the midst of all that over-the-top splendor, Jack O'Neill.

About to give his all for his country.

Get his all?

Be given Podoprigora's all?

At any rate, he didn't look happy.

And right on cue: "I'm not happy about this, Harry."

Even with the words ground out through clenched teeth, the acoustics were incredible.

Not much point in replying since Jack couldn't hear him anyway. There'd be no radio contact since Podoprigora's men would be scanning all frequencies. A double rap on the wall behind his head was his only cue that the Russian was in the building. He rapped in turn for Jack, who jerked, spun around, ran a hand up through his hair further disheveling it, and finally settled, arms folded, watching the door.

Harry held his breath as the door opened and barely stopped himself from releasing it in a long low whistle as Alexander Podoprigora stepped into the room. That was one big double agent.

"How big?"

Harry shrugged, changed lanes and matched the top speed of the traffic approaching Salt Lake City. "Big. Bigger than Teal'c, not as big as Hagrid. Anyway, he took one look at..."

"Wait a minute. Hagrid? You've read the Harry Potter books?"

"No, I've seen the movies."

"Thank god." The thought of Harry Maybourne tucked up with a copy of Rowling's latest was just more than Daniel could cope with. The whole concept slid right past unexpected into surreal. He could just manage to think of him seeing the movies... as long as it was in an empty theatre and a good square mile of the surrounding countryside had been cleared of children.

No... on second thought he couldn't handle that either. Harry Potter and the Traitorous Scum-sucking Weasel just didn't bear thinking about. "Should I continue the story, Dr. Jackson? Or would you rather talk about Hogworts? I've got to admit, I wouldn't kick that Oliver Wood out of bed for eating crackers, if you know what I mean."

Daniel shuddered. "You pervert everything, Maybourne."

"I try," Harry agreed cheerfully. "So I assume you'd rather I talk about Jack? Podoprigora," he continued without waiting for an answer, "was definitely taken with him..."

It was lust at first sight. The big Russian was staring at Jack with his brain in his dick. Harry was familiar with the expression. He'd worn it a few times himself.

Jack was carefully giving nothing away but attitude. Behind the attitude, he'd be threat assessing.

The only threat's to your ass, Jackie-boy. If Podoprigora's proportional, you're in for the ride of your life. Harry stifled a sigh. The tall guys had all the fun.

"So, Madame Von Horne says you are new. And American." His English was fluent, his accent not so thick as to obscure the words, and his voice... his voice was a caress, stroking possessively over exposed skin.

The hair rose off the back of Harry's neck and Jack shifted a little in place. Hardly surprising; he was getting the full effect. The voice. The dark, heavily lidded eyes. The overwhelming physical presence.

"She says your name is Jack."

Jack's chin lifted. "Yeah. That's right."

The fewer lies the better.

"Those I am close with, they call me Sascha." He crossed to a small table, poured himself a shot of whiskey and tossed it back. "You and I, we are going to be very close." He poured a second shot and held it out to Jack who eyed it suspiciously then drank.

"I'd have thought you'd drink vodka."

"Because I am Russian? Be careful of stereotypes, my Jack."

"Not yours..."

"Actually, yes." The incredible voice deepened to a near growl. "Bought and paid for. In, I might add, American dollars."

Harry saw Jack swallow and figured that the full realization of what he was doing had suddenly hit him. Jack O'Neill, bought and paid for and, at least until the KGB showed up to collect their man, there to be used. Harry was hard just thinking about it.

"All right then." Jack's hands closed around the bottom of his t-shirt. "Let's get on with it."

Madame VonHorne had been right; the big guy moved very fast for his size. Before Jack had exposed more than an inch of skin, he had a hand around both of his wrists and was pulling the shirt back down.

"No. I undress you."

"Fine."

Harry couldn't see Jack roll his eyes, but he could hear it in his voice.

"But not here, my Jack. In the bathroom. First we wash away a little of that defiance."

The bathroom peephole gave Harry a good view of Jack leaning against the wall, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, projecting that defiance Podoprigora planned on washing away. The Russian had stripped off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. To Harry surprise, he didn't run any water, merely arranged a basket of supplies at the side of the tub and then turned to Jack and beckoned him close.

Jack slouched across the room and visibly fought the urge to move away as Podoprigora came around to stand behind him. Very, very close behind him.

"Raise your arms over your head."

Shifting his weight forward onto the balls of his feet -- a fighter's stance the Russian had to have noticed -- Jack did as he was told. Wrapping his arms around Jack's torso, Podoprigora grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and slowly dragged up and off. When Jack started to lower his arms, he purred, "Did I say you could? No. You do only as I say."

Massive hands cupped Jack's shoulders then ran up his bare arms, hooking his thumbs around Jack's wrists and pushing his arms back down to his sides. Still working from the back, Podoprigora unbuckled both belts, and opened the jeans. Leaving him like that, he dropped to his knees.

Given the expression on Jack's face, Harry was willing to bet the Russian's mouth had investigated Jack's back as he went to the floor.

"Lift your foot, my Jack."

If asked, Harry would have insisted there was no sexy way to remove a pair of cowboy boots. The damned things were designed to stay on. Podoprigora managed. With Jack's feet bare, he rose slightly - still on his knees - and peeled the jeans down. This time he lifted Jack's feet himself, easily moving the other man into the positions required. He was, Harry realized, undressing Jack as though he were a doll... or a toy. A possession.

The implications finished filling out Harry's erection.. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his crotch as Podoprigora stood and crossed to a selection of switches on the wall. A trapeze lowered from the ceiling over the tub.

As it stopped about six and a half feet from the floor, Harry's imagination came up short.

"Stand in the tub and take hold of the bar. It will help with your balance."

His balance?

Rolling his eyes, Jack did as he was told. A life in the military got a man used to being naked around other guys and Harry could only assume Jack was calling on that as he stood in the center of the tub and wrapped both hands around the bar, his dick still lying limp against his thigh.

His eyes never leaving Jack's body, Podoprigora ran the water, tested the temperature, and picked up the spray nozzle hooked on the front of the tub. When Jack had been thoroughly wet down, he pulled a sponge from the basket of bath supplies, loaded it with a generous amount of gel and began to rub it in small, slow circles all over Jack's skin.

It soon became obvious why Jack needed to hold onto the bar. The Russian was using the sponge to map out Jack's body, to find every hidden, unsuspected erogenous zones. Every reaction gained his immediate attention as he concentrated on that area, murmuring endearments and profanities in a mix of several languages. The right amount of pressure here, a soapy caress there... Jack had come to full attention and nothing particularly intimate had yet been touched.

Eyes closed, throat working to hold back moans, knuckles white on the bar, Jack all but writhed as he tried unsuccessfully to get some friction where he needed it most.

Henry had to fight the urge to break through the wall and come to his partner's aide. The man looked like he was suffering. Suffering beautifully, yeah, but suffering.

Working up two good handfuls of lather, Podoprigora walked around the tub and ran his fingers slowly up the outsides of Jack's thighs until he held his ass cupped in both hands.

Harry had long since surrendered any possibility of remaining a neutral observer and had his cock in his hand. Not too much pressure, just enough to keep him trembling on the same edge as Jack... He figured it was the least he could do.

The Russian's thumbs disappeared between Jack's cheeks and pulled them apart. Harry couldn't see what was actually happening but from the way Podoprigora's wrists were flexing, he had to be making slow soapy circles around the entrance to Jack's body. Then he changed his grip and a massive finger disappeared from sight.

"Jesusfuck!" Jack tried to jerk forward but he was easily held in place and all he could do was tremble, his cock so engorged the head was purple.

"So very responsive," Podoprigora purred as a second finger joined the first. Given the size of his hands, Harry found himself writhing at the thought of how Jack's ass was being worked. "What do you want, my Jack?"

"Let me..." His voice trailed off into whimpers.

"Yes?"

"Let me... move!"

"Ask me more nicely, my Jack."

Jack lifted his head and although he couldn't have known where the surveillance camera was, he seemed to be looking right into it. Looking right at Harry. Knowing that Harry was watching him. He stared for a long moment, his mouth working but no sound emerging then he closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Please... let me move."

"Of course, my Jack."

Harry jerked off to the rhythm of Jack fucking himself on the Russian's fingers. He came first but hell, he wasn't having to work so hard for it. As he groped for a tissue, resting his sweaty cheek against the plaster and lathe, he heard Jack cry out. By the time, he managed to find the right peephole again, Jack was on his knees in the tub, gasping for breath, being carefully rinsed clean.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson; I missed that."

Right hand holding onto edge of the seat with enough force he could feel the steel frame under the compacted foam padding, left hand curled into a fist on his right thigh, Daniel swallowed. Hard. "I didn't say anything."

"Ah. My mistake."

Technically not a lie. He hadn't said anything; he just hadn't been able to prevent the groan from escaping. Memo to self; next time, change into your own pants. More than snug under normal circumstances, the buttons on Jack's 501's were adding five throbbing pressure points along the length of his engorged cock. If Maybourne ever decided to go out of the traitorous weasel business, he could make a fine living writing porn. Listening to him talk, Daniel saw Jack standing naked in that tub, he watched him respond to slick fingers, and he damned near came with him.

Although a quick change of subject was in order if he didn't want to embarrass himself by bringing his part in the story to its logical conclusion, he was curious about one thing. "So Podoprigora didn't actually touch him?"

"Oh, he did plenty of touching, Dr. Jackson."

"No, I mean, he didn't touch his..."

"His cock? No, not that time. He sure did later though." Maybourne had a distinctly dirty laugh, Daniel decided. "Alexander Podoprigora is a man who pays attention to details. There wasn't a square inch of Jack's body he didn't memorize, cataloguing even the smallest response - and as we both know, Jack's very responsive." The car dropped into a pot hole, bounced out again, and the added friction almost pushed Daniel over the edge. I can't stand this anymore... He had to think of something to bring him down. Uh, Sam and Teal'c... Jesus, Daniel, you're trying to lose an erection not make it worse. The thought of Sam and Teal'c going at it was actually pretty damned hot. Okay, I can do this. General Hammond and Paul Davis. Senator Kinsey and Adrian Conrad. Thor and anybody...

Nothing seemed to be working.

"I can take care of that for you."

He turned his head toward Maybourne so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "What?"

The nod toward his crotch cleared up any ambiguity. "That. Looks a bit painful. We can pull over and well..." A astonishingly pink tongue licked lips that looked almost swollen. "...it wouldn't take long."

Daniel glanced down between his legs and imagined Maybourne kneeling there. Imagined his cock sliding between Maybourne's lips. Imagined one of Maybourne's hands fondling his balls while the other slid under his ass, one slicked finger probing upward...

Drawing in a long, grateful breath, he slowly exhaled as the pressure eased. "Thanks but I'm fine now."

"Am I so repugnant to you, Dr. Jackson?"

"You're not... I mean, I just... That is to say, I don't... We couldn't... It isn't..." Oh screw it; better to apologize for the truth than to perpetuate a lie. "Yes."

"Even though I'm helping you save Jack?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. If I'm not your type..."

Daniel was tempted to re-explain his feelings about the whole murdering, traitorous, NID agent thing but decided there really wasn't much point.

They drove in silence for a few miles. "I'm really very good."

"I can truthfully say that speculation about your abilities had nothing to do with my decision."

"Okay."

And few more miles.

"Jack always said I was a grade-A cocksucker."

Prodded by his better nature, Daniel actually hesitated for a heartbeat but so perfect a set-up was impossible to resist. "Yeah. I've heard him say that about you..."

"I have always wanted to go to Reno."

"You have?"

"Yes. The city has been mentioned numerous times on the Jerry Springer Show." Teal'c played with the passenger seat controls for a moment then added, "I have often felt that your ability with numbers combined with my excellent poker face would allow us to be very successful at Reno's gambling establishments."

Sam sped around a half dozen pick-up trucks, eased the Land Rover back into the right lane, and finally glanced over at Teal'c. Not surprisingly, he was looking inscrutable although long years of practice allowed her to identify the slight curve at the corner of his mouth as amusement. Impossible to deny it; he did have an excellent poker face. Actually, he had an excellent face. Period. "You've often felt this?" she asked at last.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I just did," he pointed out reasonably.

Her and Teal'c in Reno. Away from the SGC. Away from crisis and catastrophe. Poker. Black jack. Midnight buffets. Sam had to admit she was definitely attracted to the thought.

And not just the thought.

This little road trip of the colonel's was turning out to be about an eight on her own personal appalling-to-interesting scale. Provided they got the colonel back unharmed of course.

They'd found the truck stop with no problem. Daniel and Maybourne had been remembered for a number of reasons. Apparently, Daniel had been dressed provocatively, which didn't sound at all like Daniel, he'd spoken Polish, which did, and he'd beaten up a couple of truckers in the men's room, which didn't.

Or it didn't until Teal'c had approached the truckers out in the parking lot and gotten the rest of the story from them.

"Okay maybe we came on a bit strong and maybe we weren't listening when he said no and maybe we started the whole thing and please stop banging my head against the pavement."

"Uh, Teal'c, maybe you'd better stop." Teal'c had stared at her over his grip on the trucker's ankles. "This man has assaulted my brother."

"Well, yes, but Daniel assaulted him back so technically, they're even."

"Hey, you guys are brothers? One of you's adopted, right? OW!" Irene had told them that Daniel -- described unmistakably as the man with an ass like an angel -- had mentioned Reno just as he was leaving with the man who had not ordered his burger without onions no matter how much fuss he'd put up later.

So north on I15, west on I80.

And I80 went through Reno on the way to the coast.

It had been dark for about half an hour and so far no one had said anything about stopping for the night. That wasn't good. Jack had pretty much determined that the odds of escaping from the van were so low as to be non-existent so he needed the van stopped, he needed to be out of it, and he needed to be untied. Some artillery back-up and the rest of the team wouldn't hurt but he was trying not to be greedy.

He'd prefer to be in a situation where he'd only have to deal with Sascha without the goons. Unfortunately, he could think of only one way to accomplish that.

Seduction.

And he didn't do seduction well.

Okay, granted, the trip to the art gallery, the picnic lunch, and the bottle of very good Madera had resulted in Daniel horizontal and willing but since a cup of coffee and a cheerful, "You wanna fuck?" had an identical result, Jack really couldn't chalk that one up to his technique.

The only light in the back of the van came from a small, battery powered lamp sitting on the bench beside Sascha who was currently sitting, hands on his thighs, eyes closed, completely relaxed. First, he'd have to get the Russian's attention.

He sighed, deeply. A sigh that said he was remembering the good times and wishing things didn't have to be the way they were. At least Jack hoped that's what it sounded like because the words, "Pay attention, fuckwad!" were going through his head at the time.

Since Sascha opened his eyes, it probably didn't matter.

Jack rolled his head back, exposing his throat, slowly working muscles against the t-shirt, straining against the rope. Considering his audience, the fact that he was tied could only be a bonus.

He could hear Sascha's breathing beginning to change as he worked his hips forward, relieving the pressure on his butt one cheek at a time. All perfectly innocent. Well, except for the extended lip licking but it was very dry in the back of the van.

Then he sagged against the metal and stared up at his captor from under lowered lids -- the whole through the eyelashes thing was a Daniel trick; it worked on him so why not -- and sighed again.

"What is it, my Jack?"

"Nothing."

"It must be something for you to sigh so. Tell me."

"Bite me." Too eager and he'd give the game away.

"Perhaps later. For now, you will talk."

"I was just, you know, remembering."

"Remembering what?" The question emerged as a low growl and all the hair lifted off the back of Jack's neck.

He'd come twice, once in the tub and once about a half an hour after being tied to the bed but somehow, in spite of that, Podoprigora had managed to keep him in a constant state of arousal. Worked with hands and mouth and whatever that strap with all the dangly bits was; he was writhing and panting and all but begging for release.

Which was when Podoprigora finally got undressed.

Jack moaned, unable to stop himself. He'd been lubed and stretched and lubed and stretched again. Now he saw why.

His red velvet ankle restraints were attached through the headboard and to each other. Stretching one leg out pulled the other up and out, keeping him exposed. Podoprigora knelt, tucked a hand under each knee, and opened him even further. As the massive cock head bumped hot and wet against his body, he managed a single coherent thought.

If the KGB arrived before this was over, he'd fucking kill them.

"I've been locked in the back of this van with you all day," he muttered, no longer needing to fake arousal. "What the fuck do you think I'm remembering?"

"I am remembering too, my Jack."

"It's a long drive to the coast, Sascha."

Just for a moment, he thought he'd been too subtle - I can so do subtle, Danny-boy - but then Sascha smiled.

"Too long a drive I am thinking." He turned toward the drivers and spat out a string of Russian commands too fast for Jack to translate.

Not that his Russian had ever been great. I need Daniel here for this. Well, not for the watching the old man try to seduce his kidnapper part of things but for the translating. And for the moral support. And the backup. Screw it, he just needed Daniel and he'd do whatever was necessary to get back to him.

And if that meant he had to do Alexander Podoprigora one last time, he'd close his eyes and think of archeology. Daniel would understand.

"Three days?" Daniel stared across the car at Maybourne. "Without a break? That's not possible!"

"You didn't know Jack in his prime. He's got to pace himself a bit now but back then..." Harry whistled long and low. "Our orders were to keep Podoprigora distracted until the KGB showed up and since they didn't show up for three days, Jack, well, Jack followed orders."

"Yeah," Daniel growled.. "He's good at that." And Maybourne had watched the whole thing. No wonder Jack hadn't cared that Maybourne had been taping them; after three days with Podoprigora in that whorehouse, he was probably conditioned to it like Pavlov's dog. He probably needed the thought of surveillance to even get it up. He probably got off on the thought of Harry Fucking Maybourne listening in.

Suddenly aware that both his hands had clenched into fists, Daniel took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Where the hell had all that come from? All right, this slice of Jack's past probably did explain why he'd allowed that last tape of Maybourne's but the rest of it, that was just unfair.

I have no right to get upset over something that happened twenty years ago. It's entirely possibly I'm over-reacting as a result of being trapped in a small car with Harry Maybourne for ten hours listening to him tell dirty stories about Jack's past. He's got me so horny, cognitive processes are off line and the fact that it's Harry Maybourne who's got me horny... well, that's just wrong on so many different levels.. "Penny for your thoughts, Dr. Ja... There!"

"What? Where?"

"The white cube van in the parking lot of that motel!"

Daniel grabbed the dashboard as the Honda hit the off ramp at considerably more than the posted speed. He could feel the car leaning into the turn, was sure he could feel the outside wheels lifting, couldn't stop himself from leaning the opposite way. When they stopped at the lights at the bottom of the ramp and all four wheels were back on the road again, he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Let's just wait here until Major Carter and Teal'c catch up."

"What?"

"Your Land Rover has been two cars behind us for the last seventy miles. Mind you, I'm only assuming its Major Carter and Teal'c but you have to admit the odds are in my favor."

"The light's green but they're just sitting at the bottom of the ramp."

"Then it is safe to assume that they are aware of our presence."

As the Land Rover's headlights flooded the interior of the Honda, Sam could clearly see the look on Daniel's face as he peered up at them around the edge of his seat. "Oh yeah, I think that's pretty safe to assume."

Harry turned right and began driving toward the motel. "I've been thinking about the conversation you had with her this morning. Code?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You set it up in case of something like this?"

Never in a million years could Daniel have imagined something like this but essentially... "Yeah."

"Smart."

"Thank you." He ducked down in his seat as they drove into the parking lot. "Hey! Aren't we supposed to be sneaking up on them?"

"No. Sneaking is too obvious. We're working with a little technique I call hiding in plain sight. We'll get out of the car and we'll greet Major Carter and Teal'c like we've been convoying together all day. Then, we'll rent rooms. Then we'll order a pizza and only then will we get together in one room to make plans. I can guarantee that at least one of his men will be watching for things that don't fit in - cars in the parking lot that don't belong to guests, groups of people with no social connections, the sudden appearance of a swat team."

Daniel had to admit that made sense. "About the social connections; we don't have to act like a couple do we? Because I honestly don't think I'd be able to do that convincingly."

Harry sighed as he drove toward the motel office. "Two men traveling together don't have to be a couple, Dr. Jackson. You're thinking like you're in a gay porn film, where everyone you meet is after your ass -- the gas station attendant, the guy in the burger joint, the truckers you meet in a roadside diner. Okay, that last one's a bad example," he admitted as he parked next to the motel's office, "but, generally, two men can travel together and not be doing each other."

"That's a relief."

"We could be brothers."

That wasn't -- but it beat the alternative. Daniel sighed and, although he wasn't looking forward to the explanation Sam would undoubtedly demand, said, "You'd better drop the Dr. Jackson then."

"Why Daniel, I'm touched."

"That's one theory. Others include amoral and sociopathic."

Harry turned off the engine, turned to face Daniel, and put his hand over his heart. "If you hadn't said that so fondly, I'd be hurt."

Realizing with some degree of horror that he had sounded almost fond, Daniel glanced up as the Land Rover pulled in beside them. "You'd better get into the office and book the rooms while I explain what's going on."

"Good plan. Think you can keep Teal'c from killing me?"

He could see Sam's face and she didn't look happy. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Teal'c."

"If Podoprigora has only two minions accompanying him, I fail to see why you anticipate difficulty rescuing O'Neill."

Minions? Daniel mouthed at Sam. She shrugged and took another slice of pizza. They hadn't stopped for supper and she was starving. If Daniel believed they could afford the time, then she was going to eat.

"The difficulty lies with Podoprigora," Maybourne explained. "He'll use Jack as a shield so we'll have to separate them and he's as suspicious as a..."

Sam scowled on principal as the traitor glanced over at her. The pause extended a moment too long.

"...Russian system lord. Paranoia layered on top of paranoia. Except that Podoprigora's not paranoid; he really does have enemies. Lots of them."

"But if you and DanielJackson were planning to rescue O'Neill alone then logically it will be easier with the four of us."

"Easier," Maybourne allowed, tossing his crust back into the empty box. Doesn't eat his crusts, Sam noted. Another mark against him. "But not easy."

Teal'c raised an imperious brow. "Why not?"

"Because both his guys are sitting out in plain sight. We won't be able to sneak up on them so we'll have to get close enough to take them out before they can give the alarm. I assume you brought your personal weapon, Major Carter?" When she reluctantly nodded he patted the gym bag he'd carried in from the car. "And I've got mine. Now I have a silencer so except for a minor technicality we could distract one of them and simultaneously shoot the other one in the head..."

"You're not shooting anyone in the head!" Daniel protested.

"And that would be the minor technicality," Maybourne said, smiling. Daniel rolled his eyes, Maybourne raised an eyebrow in return and Sam wondered just what had happened in that car to make the two of them so... well, for lack of a better word, friendly. Still, Daniel was the guy who'd befriended a Unas so she supposed Harry Maybourne wasn't that great a stretch. Although the Unas was by far the more morally righteous of the pair.

"Two of us could stage a fight," she suggested. "And when that's caught their attention, the other two could sneak up."

"I would happily pummel Maybourne," Teal'c offered.

Sam didn't bother hiding her smile as Maybourne winced.

"Too noisy," he said hurriedly. "We don't want anything that'll draw Podoprigora's attention."

It seemed to Sam that their options were growing ever increasingly limited. "What were you planning to do when it was just you and Daniel?"

"I was planning to use Daniel's natural attributes."

"His what?" Sam glanced over at Daniel and noticed that he was blushing just before she noticed how incredibly form fitting his t-shirt was. And the jeans... woof. Why was she just noticing now? Never mind... stupid question.

Daniel had dragged her into an exuberant hug as she descended from the rover, using the embrace to cover terse instructions. "We're all traveling together. Pretend we're checking in." She trusted Maybourne less than she trusted the Goa'uld but she trusted Daniel explicitly so she'd played along. Teal'c had followed her lead, moving into place by her side like he belonged there.. She could still feel his hand in the small of her back as they'd gone into 'their' room. And then to discover that the colonel was in the motel, held by an enemy from his past -- a situation Maybourne was being remarkably reticent about -- well, was it any wonder that she hadn't noticed Daniel's 'attributes'. Although, it was suddenly impossible to get Irene's "ass like an angel" observation out of her head.

Hang on...

"Maybourne, we're not in some sleazy gay porn flick..." She worry later about why that had elicited a flicker of a smile from Daniel. "...what makes you think either of those men will be interested in Daniel?"

"Indeed. One would assume there would be more interest in MajorCarter's attributes."

Suddenly the focus of three pairs of male eyes, Sam felt her ears heat up.

"While I would in no way ever consider disparaging Major Carter's attributes..."

Did Teal'c just growl?

"...I know Podoprigora and I know the men he hires. Which is not to say that they wouldn't be interested in Major Carter's attributes..."

Yes. That was a growl.

"...merely that when I made the plan, Daniel's were all I had to work with. You'll find, however, that I'm adaptable and am more than willing to factor in Major Carter and her..." Maybourne stopped, looked up at the Jaffa and then back at Daniel. "Is he growling?"

"Teal'c, are you okay?"

"I am fine, DanielJackson. I am merely concerned about... O'Neill."

Daniel opened his mouth but when Sam kicked him in the ankle, he closed it again. She shoved the pizza box aside and folded her arms. "If you have a plan, Maybourne, maybe we'd better hear it."

"I do not like this plan, Maybourne."

"Look, you and I both know that Daniel can take care of himself but it's going to take precision timing to get Jack away from Podoprigora unharmed and I don't want Daniel to hesitate at the wrong moment. His instinct is to talk first and whack as a last resort."

"Whack?" The little man leaned away from the window, made a striking motion, and Teal'c nodded. Ah. Whack. "That is very perceptive of you."

"You'd be surprised, big guy."

"Do not call me that."

"Sorry."

"Major Carter is capable of whacking."

"I don't doubt it. But that would put one of us out there with Daniel and well, we're covering more bases using both their..."

Teal'c closed his hand around the traitor's throat. "If you mention Major Carter's attributes again, I will kill you."

Walking back from a trip to the pop machine by the motel office, Daniel and Sam stopped by the back of the Honda. It offered, according to Maybourne, both a traditional staging area for their activities and a clear line of sight for both goons.

"Are they watching us?" Sam murmured, leaning close.

"I don't know. Sam..." He resisted the urge to wipe his free hand against his jeans. "...I don't know if I can do this."

She pulled him around to face her and smiled. "Neither do I. You're like my little brother and this is just..."

"Wrong." Her waist was remarkably tiny under his hands. She gasped as his cold fingers found a line of skin between her t-shirt and jeans and he murmured an apology into her neck, thanking god her hair didn't smell like green apples or the whole weird experience would become rapidly weirder. And significantly more embarrassing. Bad enough that she was clutching his ass with both hands.

He'd forgotten how soft women's lips were. And how even someone as tall and muscular as Sam was significantly smaller than he was. He'd gotten used to doing this with someone roughly the same size and strength and when she whispered "Careful..." he realized he was being a little rough.

"Sorry."

"S'okay."

Oh god he missed breasts. Jack was it for him; no doubts, no questions, but still... breasts.

Not breasts; Sam's breasts!

Realization fought with sensation and Daniel found himself wanting to simultaneously snatch his hand away and continue enjoying the warm, yielding weight.

One handed, he scooped her up against the car. She wrapped long legs around his waist and, darting her tongue into his ear, said, "Oh God, that feels so... I mean, it doesn't... that is... bugger."

"I know." The car was bouncing now. He hoped the parking brake held. "If it helps, I'm thinking of Jack..."

"Liar."

"No, really." Mostly thinking that Jack would kill him, or anyone, for even considering doing his 2IC up against a car but still, thinking of Jack.

"Fine." Her hand slipped under his waistband. "Then I'm thinking of... Daniel! You're not wearing..."

"We have successfully dealt with the minions. You may stop being distracting now."

"Right." Daniel stepped back, far enough to allow Sam to get both feet on the pavement but close enough to let her adjust her clothes without giving Maybourne a free show.

She managed a smile as she smoothed down her shirt. "Let's never speak of this."

"Deal." Teal'c was standing rather close as he turned but with only one large, obsessed Russian between him and Jack, Daniel wasn't going to worry about that right now. "Let's go!"

Podoprigora had Jack in room nine. Daniel all but ran to the door, Maybourne and the other two members of SG-1 hard on his heels.

"Remember," Maybourne whispered as they took up their positions, "we have to get him away from Jack so no improvising." As everyone nodded, he knocked on the door. "Excuse me? I was wondering if you have any change for the magic fingers? The office is closed and..."

A believable Russian accent was actually harder than just speaking Russian but Daniel gave it his best shot. Podoprigora would be expecting one of his men to intervene; if it didn't happen, he'd know something was up. "You! Get away from the door!"

"I was just looking for some change and..."

"Now!"

The curtains flickered but they'd arranged themselves so that only Maybourne could be seen clearly.

He backed up as though he was being threatened. "Hey, you can't do that to me! I'm an American citizen!"

As a rule, SG-1 didn't consider speed and Teal'c in the same sentence. He was strong, and smart, and experienced but not fast. When the door to room nine opened, Daniel didn't even see him move. There was a muffled cry, a loud thud, and an instant later they were all staring down at the body of a dark haired man laying half in and half out of the room.

"He is not so big," Teal'c snorted.

"What happened to the plan?" Maybourne demanded.

The Jaffa shrugged. "It was unnecessarily complicated."

"Well, maybe but we've been chasing these guys all day. Doesn't a quick grab and a fist in the face feel a little anti-climatic to you?"

"No."

Shoving between them, Daniel leapt over the body and into the room. Both the beds were made and there was no sign of Jack.

"The bathroom," Maybourne murmured behind him.

He turned, looked down, and saw Podoprigora, who'd been dragged back into the room, had his sleeves rolled up and the lower edge of the folded fabric was damp.

Sam stepped forward but Maybourne stopped her. "Let Daniel," he said.

If Sam made any kind of protest, Daniel didn't hear it. He was already at the bathroom door. Then he was in the bathroom with the door closed and locked behind him.

Jack was standing in the tub, his hands tied to the shower curtain rod. Apparently under these circumstances, Podoprigora wasn't counting on him to hold on. His eyes were closed, he was breathing heavily, almost panting, and he was very... clean. He was also very erect, so hard that his cock was standing almost straight up against his belly, the head dark and glistening with pre-ejaculate.

"Jack."

His eyes snapped open.

"Daniel?"

Sascha hadn't lost his touch. Jack had been kept trembling on the edge of orgasm for the last hour. Had he still been twenty-six, he'd have already lost it. At forty-six he had more staying power but under the circumstances that wasn't really much comfort.

He'd been left alone in the bathroom three or four times already so when it happened again, he didn't think anything of it. The first couple of times he'd tried to get free but the last time it happened, he wasn't actually capable of anything resembling coherent thought.

The last voice he'd expected to hear was Daniel's. Half believing it was a frustration induced hallucination, he opened his eyes.

Definitely Daniel. He'd regained consciousness staring into that concerned frown too many times to mistake it now.

"Daniel?"

"Are you all right?"

Was he? "Yeah, sure, I mean except for..." He nodded toward his dick. "But give me a minute and I'm sure I'll... uh, Daniel?" The younger man had crossed the room with a familiar gleam in his eye. "What are you...?" Okay, stupid question given that he'd just dropped to his knees. "You don't have to..." Warm, wet suction closed around him. "JesusgodDanny!"

He didn't last long. One thrust, two. And then...

He came so hard he blacked out for a moment. When he woke up he was lying on the bathroom floor, wrapped in Daniel's arms. Given the size of the bathroom it wasn't exactly comfortable but he felt better than he had all day. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

Over the years they'd gotten very good at having whole conversations within the parameters of those three words.

"It's not that I'm not glad to see you, Daniel but what the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass."

"Sascha... I mean Podoprigora and his hired help?"

"Taken care of."

Jack grinned as he struggled up into a sitting position, almost giving himself a concussion on the edge of the toilet. "So when you noticed I was gone, you rode off like the Lone Ranger to the rescue?"

"Not exactly, Sam and Teal'c are out in the room with Tonto."

"Tonto?"

"Maybourne."

"What?"

"Maybourne." Daniel stood and held out his hand. "He's out in the room with Sam and Teal'c."

"I heard you the first time, Daniel." He didn't want to use the offered help but the muscles in his legs were still so wobbly - combination of being tied all day topped off by that final orgasm - that he didn't have a choice and he reluctantly let Daniel haul him to his feet. "What the hell is Maybourne doing here?"

"Helping to save your ass."

"I'm not sure I want to know..."

Daniel handed him his clothes and told him anyway.

"Harry."

"Jack."

"Colonel?"

"O'Neill?"

"I'm fine."

"Come on, Sam." Daniel took her arm and caught Teal'c's eye. "Let's just give him and Harry a few moments to uh..."

"Discuss the reason for Maybourne's presence even though he is a lying, traitorous weasel?" "Yes."

"Daniel, we were wondering..." Sam scuffed her foot against the pavement, realized she was doing it, and stopped. "I mean since the colonel's fine and Maybourne's arranged to have people pick up Podoprigora and his crew..."

"What?"

"He called someone at the CIA while you were in the bathroom after we loaded Podoprigora in the van with his two buddies. As little as I trust him, it seemed the best solution as it'll leave all of us entirely out of the picture. I mean, we could have called General Hammond but the Stargate program isn't exactly set up to deal with international spies. Intergalactic, yes. International, no. Anyway, Teal'c expressed an earlier interest in going to Reno and since it's just down the road, I was wondering if maybe we could borrow your car."

"To go to Reno?"

"Yes."

"You and Teal'c?"

"Yes."

Daniel looked over at the Jaffa, standing on guard outside room nine lest Maybourne try something, and then at Sam. "Are you blushing?"

"No. Maybe. Look, it's just that we've been sort of heading toward..."

"Reno."

She smacked him. Hard. "No. Yes."

Daniel leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Hey, happy endings all around. You may borrow my car with my blessing."

"Thank you."

Which was when they realized they were leaning against the back of the Honda and leapt forward just as Jack and Maybourne emerged from the room.

"All right people," Jack ran a hand back through his hair and swept a narrow eyed gaze over his team, "there'll be a clean-up crew we won't want to give explanations to showing up very, very shortly so let's haul ass."

"Someone's feeling bossy," Daniel muttered as Jack, Maybourne, and Teal'c headed toward the two vehicles.

Sam shot a look at the colonel then patted Daniel on one shoulder. "He's just trying to reassert his authority after the whole being helpless thing."

"Wonderful, a ten hour drive with an assertive Jack O'Neill. Tell me why I rescued him?"

"It was your day off and you had nothing better to do?"

Daniel watched a barefoot Jack pick a careful path across the pavement. Their gazes locked for an instant and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Yeah. That was the reason. That and not being able to live without him."

"Suck."

"Guilty."

"Teal'c!" Sam nodded toward the Land Rover and mimed shooting craps. The Jaffa smiled nodded and headed around the passenger door. "Glad to see you're all right, sir. We'll see you back at the mountain in forty-eight."

Jack frowned as his 2IC climbed into the Rover. "Where are you two going?"

"Reno." She grinned at him and closed the door.

"What?"

Daniel took his arm and pulled him out of the way. "Long story, Jack. I'll explain on the way home." He waved as Sam drove out of the parking lot and turned to see Jack staring at him, arms folded.

"So that's it? Glad you're okay colonel and off they ride? Is it just me or are we all getting a little blasé about this kind of thing."

"It's what we do," Daniel reminded him. "We save the world. We save each other. We go home."

After a moment, Jack shrugged. "Yeah, fair enough. So... we'll be riding home in what?"

Daniel pointed at the Honda.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Jack stared at the car and sighed. "I got kidnapped by an obsessed Russian. Tied. Groped. And... washed. And now I have to ride home in this?"

"You can always walk," Harry sniffed disdainfully. "Of course given that you don't have shoes; that could get a bit uncomfortable."

"Then I'm driving."

"You're not wearing shoes," Daniel reminded him. "And it's been a long day. Find me some coffee and I'm good for another seven or eight hours." Facing Jack, he added, "You'll crash hard once the adrenaline wears off and you..." Facing Harry, he paused and held out his hand. "I have no idea about you but you drove all the way here so you could probably use a break. I'm driving."

"I'm not arguing." Harry tossed him the keys. "I call shotgun."

"What are you, six?" Jack snapped following him around the car. "You've got the shortest legs; you're riding in the back."

"It's my car!"

"And this is my fist." Jack yanked the front seat forward. "Just get in, Maybourne." He resisted the urge to shove the smaller man through the tiny triangular space and waited more or less patiently until he was settled before shoving the seat back and climbing in. Glancing over at Daniel, he realized... "Daniel, are those my jeans?"

"Yes."

"And my shirt?"

"And your shirt."

"I think he looks great in them."

"No one asked you, Maybourne!"

With the engine running, Daniel reached across Jack, snagged his seatbelt and fastened it.

"Hey, I don't need..."

"He's symbolically locking you in place beside him, Jack. Give him a break, he's had a stressful day."

"Shut up, Maybourne!"

As the two old... associates continued sniping at each other, Daniel put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Once they were safely home they should have a talk about Podoprigora and how Jack felt about the whole obsessive kidnapper thing but the odds were good -- given that things had ended well -- they'd do the guy thing and well, not. Later, however, they would talk about Harry Maybourne and taping and privacy issues - although he couldn't see how objecting to his sex life being used as an aid to Maybourne's wank life was an issue. More of a given really.

"Penny for your thoughts, Daniel?"

Jack twisted around in his seat until he could glare into the back. "Since when do you call him Daniel?"

"Since we worked together to save your ass. Without my help, you'd be spending the rest of your life as Podoprigora's little housefrau in a pair of pink fluffy mules and a matching muumuu."

Picking up speed on the on ramp, Daniel remembered the dream that had jerked him awake way back when. "Actually, Jack doesn't do drag."

Maybourne snorted. "That's what you think. There was this job we did in Copenhagen..."

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