Breakfast At Tiffany's

by Mitch H

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asm/mitchh/breakfas.php
Summary: On a weekend in Manhattan, Daniel sees some old archaeology buds who are in for a little education, O'Neill style. Jack gets to play games and consume some really good ale. Sam gets to put on a dress, not much of one, but that's the point. Jack and Daniel have a blast in a limo, then fly home.

The leather sleeve of his jacket creaked deliciously as Jack raised the bottle of ale and took a pull on it. He savored the taste of the cold, dark brew sliding across his tongue and down his throat. Then, with another part of his anatomy, he savored the reflection in the mirrored wall of the Manhattan Plaza's intimate bar.

Daniel was seated at the corner of the tiny bar diagonally to him; they were elbow to elbow. Daniel met his lusty gaze in the mirror, and Jack got a crooked smile for his efforts.

Daniel Watching was one hell of a rewarding past time. It was just about the only thing that would keep Jack amused while at the ostentatious hotel for a weekend conference.

The conference they were there for was important to Daniel, so it was important to Jack. It was also important to all of SGC. Sure, General Hammond was hoping to score some big points there with members of the Senate Appropriations Committee, earning some extra bucks for the stargate project. He knew Daniel was his ticket for that. But the next few days, as far as Jack was concerned, were for Daniel.

The archaeologist's latest coup was actually something unclassified, thus publishable. Being invited here had been a sweet bonus to the whole thing. Hammond was all smiles about it. Daniel was getting to be out in his world, submerged in his element with no restraints, instead of slogging along in Jack's world, weighted down with a heavy field pack, his BDU's tucked into his boots, flack jacket hiding his assets, and handguns strapped to him.

Jeeze, that thought sent a nice surge to Jack's cock. Daniel in a bandana, sweaty, grungy, t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, pants bulging in just the right place. And well armed. To borrow a word from the Marines . . . Hooyah!

It was early in the evening, so they were almost the only patrons in the grand, five star hotel's intimate bar. Earlier, Daniel had told Jack this was the location where Audrey Hepburn had filmed "Breakfast at Tiffany's".

Jack had told Daniel that "North by Northwest" had been filmed there too. In Jack's opinion, nothing beat a good Hitchcock movie! That man had known how to make a man's flick. Sweet-talk the leading lady, run rings around the bad guy, and then walk away leaving 'em both wondering what the hell had hit 'em.

But this place was all overblown elegance, and it grated on Jack's nerves. He'd almost had to throttle the snooty bartender for offering him a glass for the ale. He toyed with the neck of the dark bottle and took another slow pull, his eyes never leaving the sexy sight reflected in the mirror.

The vision at his side was the true beauty in this place. Here was harmony. Here was righteous grandeur, all displayed in simplistic elegance, right at his elbow. Here was splendor and grace as no over-priced designer could ever achieve, as no human architect could ever hope to approach. Here was the infamous Doctor Daniel Jackson, Jack's bend-over-buddy.

Blood pulsed into Jack's dick, tried to fill his tool so it could be used for its main purpose in life. Daniel-fucking. Hooyah again. Oh, right now, right here. Daniel nailed on the bar. Daniel nailed against the wall. Daniel nailed over the piano. Daniel's naked, lithe form reflected in that mirror as Jack screwed him into next week.

Jack groaned and shifted his enlarging cock around so it wasn't hardening while in an awkward angle. Daniel shot him an appraising look, tinged with pissy rebuke. Along with that simplistic elegance, Daniel possessed a whole arsenal full of pissy rebuke. Jack took another swig of his ale. He let his lips linger around the rim of the bottle, his tongue flicking in and out of the hole.

Daniel had the most delicious set of lips in creation. His bottom lip was full, plump and ripe like the most delectable piece of fruit Jack had ever sucked. His top lip was surprisingly full for a guy. Not feminine though. Strong. Forceful, when it needed to be. Daniel could kiss like he could talk. Daniel had a doctorate in mouth. Okay, it was in linguistics but . . . same thing. Mouth. Daniel had a mouth on him that never quit. In or out of bed. Jack loved it in one place, hated it in the other. But not really. Loved that mouth any way Daniel wanted to use it. Anywhere, any time. But that didn't mean he couldn't get pissed off at that mouth just the same.

The bottle's neck in his fingers was cold. The rim against Jack's parted lips had warmed. It hadn't warmed to the degree his cock had though. Jack pulled his tongue out of the bottle mouth, cleared his throat, and set it down. Daniel shot him a little smirk. That nasty mouth could smirk like no other mouth in creation, either.

Jack was distracted from Daniel Watching by the noise of several men entering the bar. He immediately threat-assessed the half dozen men as other conference attendees, academics, mostly archaeology and anthropology dweebs. All but one had shaggy hair. They were all dressed in tweed and wool. Daniel was sort of dressed like that, but on him it just looked good. No argument possible. Hell, on Daniel just about any damned thing looked good. Especially weapons.

But Jack would never tell him so. Ever.

The gaggle of yackers intruded on the peace and the calm Jack had been enjoying. They rolled like a desiccated tide of sand up to the bar, filling in the empty places and--much to Jack's dismay--a couple of guys actually crowded at the corner of the bar between him and Daniel. Not a good thing! He glared at the profile of the two, one mustached, the other with a goatee and glasses. Couldn't they see that he and Daniel were a couple? Were there together? Inconspicuously, invisibly... together?

Jack chugged some of the ale and sat the bottle down, ready to snag Daniel and beat a well-timed retreat. Then he heard one of the noisy guys bray out his lover's name.

"Daniel Jackson!" the mustached man exclaimed. Then he laughed as if Daniel's name were some absurd joke.

Jack scowled, but stayed seated. No chance of fading out now until Daniel indicated it was time to go. It was like that with couples. You meet your partner's friends on the street and it's proper etiquette to let the partner end the conversation before dragging them away. Though it sure would be sweet to run a field test on a nice new P-90 right now. See if it could meet the standard 900 rounds per minute. That'd clear the room real fast.

"It's been a long time, Jackson. Almost didn't recognize you all shorn like that. Your hair is as short as Scott's. How've you been? I haven't heard a word about you since that little presentation on cultural cross-pollination you gave, oh, what was it? Seven years ago?"

"Uh, hi Jory, Scott." Daniel murmured and nodded at the two men. Then he was clapped on the back and turned to face the hand's owner. "Phil, how are you?"

Phil pumped Daniel's hand. "Good. Good. I'm teaching at Syracuse now. Great department. Have you managed to find work in the field somewhere? I haven't seen anything published by you since your little pyramid fun-fest."

Phil quickly filled the other three men in on who Daniel was, making sure to explain he'd been summarily trounced for some fallacious craziness involving E. T's and real science. The six newcomers all laughed together, some patting Daniel consolingly.

Jack leaned around mustache-dweeb and tried to catch Daniel's eye, but to no avail. Jack felt himself start into a slow simmer. He didn't need to pat his own pockets to know he was sorely lacking in sufficient weapons this evening.

Back in Colorado Springs Daniel had gone over him before they'd left to meet everyone else at the airfield for the flight to Griffiss Air Force Base. Daniel had fussed at Jack's ankle holstered Walther P 38, the K-Bar in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and the Beretta he'd hidden in his shaving kit. It had been a fun game, a way to distract Daniel from worrying about the work he was leaving unfinished at the mountain. And what Jack needed right now was a good ole' P-90. But Daniel had limited his armament, then had dressed him in jeans so tight Jack's nuts almost ached.

They ached now, in fact. Jack shifted to relieve some of the pressure; he really needed to push his dickhead a little to the left. The jeans, white-T shirt and leather jacket he was wearing were the compromise he'd won with Daniel. It was that or give in to Daniel's desire to see him in his Class A's most of the weekend. Daniel had a uniform fetish. Jack grinned.

"Yeah, that was some wild stuff, Jackson," Jory exclaimed gleefully. "You know, I just finished writing an article for AIA Monthly. It should be out in their May issue, a nice piece on Etruscan earthenware. I suppose if you're hard up for work, I could put in a good word for you in their editorial department. They're always in need of copy boys, you know."

"If they don't hear about his reputation first, Jory. Otherwise I suppose they could find a sand-itation engineer position for him," Phil chimed in, then joined his friends in a hearty bunch of guffaws. "Sand. Get it? Sand-itation?"

"I get it," Daniel said with a little smile, then calmly took another sip of his wine.

Amid more comments about pyramids, cross cultural pollination and janitorial work the six men ordered drinks.

Jack started to stand up, then sank back down. This was Daniel's to deal with as he saw fit. He wasn't some milk toast baby who needed Jack to come rescue him. But Jack was getting awfully fed up with the BS.

"So, have you managed to find anyone anywhere who would hire you, Jackson?" Jory insistently asked.

"I really am surprised to see you here," Phil interrupted. "The fees for this conference are pretty steep. You staying anywhere in Manhattan? Here at the Plaza maybe, or are you only here for—"

"Don't embarrass him, Phil. Even I couldn't afford this place. Maybe he's assisting one of the presenters. Is that it, Jackson? Are you—"

"You're not wearing a conference pass, I see. Maybe you just stopped in for a drink? Do that a lot, Daniel? Drink alone I mean."

Jack's simmer suddenly reached the boiling point, and he rose to his feet. Just before he could move to step around Jory and start chewing some ass, Jack was trumped. Not by any mighty host of Jaffa wielding staff weapons, or by any fierce squad of Marines toting AK-47s, but by a 5'6" 130 pound paper-pusher.

"Doctor Jackson," The interruption came from a serious looking middle aged man, Doctor Teasdale, Daniel's department aide. "Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen. Doctor Jackson, your assistant, Mr. Nyan, requested I let you know he has arrived with the documents you required for your keynote address tomorrow. Your bags have been taken up to your suite and midnight dinner reservations have been made for you and your guest at the Bull and Bear at the Waldorf, as you requested. Their chef will prepare the meal per your special instructions."

"Keynote address?" Scott said under his breath. "You're THAT Doctor Jackson? That Doctor Jackson is YOU?"

"Thank you, Doctor Teasdale. And has a car been arranged?"

"Sir, your limo has arrived and will be at your disposal through the weekend. The driver will be out front at the time you requested this evening. If there's anything I can do for you in the meantime, just page me. I'll be on call for you throughout the night. Simmons will be relieving me in the morning."

"Okay, thank you," Daniel said. The man gave Daniel a curt nod then turned to leave, then turned back again.

"I almost forgot," he said as he reached in his jacket pocket. He handed two cards to Daniel. "The management has provided you memberships for the Plaza Racket Club, sir."

"Thanks." Daniel pocketed the key cards.

Jack sank back onto his stool and enjoyed the stunned silence.

"Limo?" Jory squeaked.

"Racket Club?" Phil murmured.

Jack reclaimed his almost-abandoned ale and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile but one that was reminiscent of a cat who'd just had a canary appetizer and was looking for more little hollow bird bones to crunch. He got a nice helping of juicy bluebird as Nyan sailed into the bar.

Nyan, the Bedrosian archaeologist, had been Daniel's devotee ever since his rescue. Daniel had given the brilliant young man a job as his research assistant, and Nyan had been happily cataloging and compiling ever since.

"Doctor Jackson!" Nyan exclaimed slightly breathlessly. His eyes were sparkling with delight. It was Nyan's first time in a large Earth city, and he'd been almost beside himself with curiosity and sheer joy. "Sir, I'm sorry I was a bit late in arriving, but I've got everything lined up for you.

"Also General Hammond has arrived in your New York City. He's asked me to see if you could find time in your schedule to meet with Secretary Simms this evening for cocktails? Sir, he also mentioned two senators of America, but I'm sorry to say I have forgotten their names."

"That's all right, Nyan," Daniel said reassuringly. "They'll keep until tomorrow."

Nyan pointed over his shoulder. "But I could go check on that for you . . . "

Jack ignored the rest of Nyan's conversation and peered around mustache-dweeb and goatee-guy. He got an eyeful of the dropped jaws and had to hold back a snigger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carter in her evening civvies at the doorway to the bar. Quickly, Jack slid from his stool and beat a stealthy exit. "Carter!" he called softly and snagged her out of the door and back into the hotel's grand lobby. "I've got a mission for you. A volunteer mission."

Jack pointed at the dweebs, gave Carter a quick briefing, and asked if she'd like to help torpedo some egos.

Carter got a glint in her eye. "Hold this for me, sir." She handed him her purse. Then she peeled off her chunky beige sweater to reveal the little black number she was wearing for her dinner engagement with the general and his political guests. "I know what you're going to say about this dress, and before you start, Cassie picked it out for me and insisted I wear it instead of my uniform at least once this weekend. I toned it down with the sweater, but . . . well . . . her taste is a little bolder than mine, so . . . don't even start."

Jack couldn't start. He eyed the dress. It had little strappy sleeve thingies, the top half was clingy and the skirt went straight down, but not down very far. Carter had a lot more leg than . . . well, a lot more than he was used to seeing outside of the gear up room back at the mountain.

"Oh . . . kay," he said slowly. "Breakfast at Tiffany's. Audrey Hepburn," he murmured.

"Hmm?" Carter looked at him, then down at her dress. "Oh," she said with a smile. "I suppose you could say so."

She pulled lipstick from her purse, applied a fresh coat, and then stuffed the purse back in Jack's arms. "Well, here I go!"

"Carter!" Jack hissed. When she turned back to him, he tilted his head a bit and took a deep breath. "Wiggle." He clamped his lips, then quickly added, "Flash some brains!"

He watched from the doorway's edge as the woman stepped a few feet into the bar. He saw her stand tall and throw her shoulders back a considerable more than if she were at attention.

"Oh, Daniel!" she called melodically.

At the sound of her voice, all eyes in the bar turned to look at her. She held the pose for several heartbeats. Then she waved coquettishly at Daniel. Then she wiggled. She wiggled all the way across the room and cut a path through the knot of dweebs like a Naquadah reactor core through butter.

"Daniel, darling!" Carter draped herself delicately over Daniel's arm and lightly kissed his cheek.

Jack almost burst out laughing when he saw Daniel's eyebrows climb. But his partner's surprised expression paled in comparison to that of the six dweebs Daniel was now introducing to Sam.

Nyan left the bar and passed Jack, giving the barely hiding man a puzzled gaze, but the Bedrosian kept on walking on whatever errand he was running. Now that the dweebs had closed ranks around Carter and Daniel, the Colonel eased back in to the bar just far enough to listen.

". . . are you sure you won't join us for cocktails? Pretty please?" Carter asked.

Jack could almost hear her eyelashes batting.

"I've got plans, but thanks for the offer," Daniel said. "I'll make time for the general and his guests tomorrow. Say, I don't suppose you know where Jack is?" he asked too sweetly.

Yikes! Daniel was on to him.

"I might," she said teasingly as she ran a fingernail along Daniel's full bottom lip. "Say, if you've got time, how about coming with me to chat with Dr. Schoenheimer tomorrow? Then we could squeeze in a private . . . lunch. Just you and me. I've been consulting with Dr. Schoenheimer on the latest Townsend Brown Electrokinetic device for NASA. Isn't it just fascinating, gentlemen?"

Carter flashed her white teeth around at the circle of dweebs. "The Beifen-Brown effect? This version of the apparatus is expected to double the efficiency for converting and implementing any applied electrical potential directly to usable kinetic energy. Of course, the goal of producing relative motion between a structure and the surrounding medium is always achieved when the apparatus includes a pair of electrodes of appropriate form held in fixed spaced relation to each other and immersed in a dielectric medium and oppositely charged. But our real challenge is to provide the apparatus which includes a body defining one electrode, another separate electrode supported in fixed spaced relation by said body, and a source of high electrical potential connected between the body and the separate electrode . . . "

Carter paused and stared from wide-eyed dweeb to wide-eyed dweeb. Then she turned back to Daniel, her eyes holding his, leaning against him and running her nail along his bottom lip again. Jack saw her gyrate her hips. Dweeb eyes rolled down in their sockets to take in that side-to-side motion. Jack grinned.

"I seem to have confused your friends, but you know what I mean, Daniel," she said with a pout.

"Sure, Sam," Daniel said calmly, showing no reaction to her fingernail play. "Dr. Shoenheimer's still got that problem of the asymmetrical capacitor. But that's not really my field of interest, and," he tilted his head and smiled at her, "I have plans for tomorrow. Sorry."

"Oh, pooh," she said sadly. "You know," she said as she turned back to the dweebs, "no matter how hard I . . . beg," she said the word breathily, "he always turns me down. I guess I just don't hold a candle to his sweetheart."

Carter sidled over to Scott and leaned in close. "You know how I feel, don't you? Some men, no matter how hard we beg, they just won't give it up for us, will they, Scott."

She ruffled his short hair, the cut so very similar to Daniel's.

Scott cleared his throat nervously and nodded. "You're right. Some men just won't give us what we want." Then he muttered, "Guess that's one way of jumping out of the closet . . ."

"Well, gentlemen, I've got a general, two senators and one cabinet member waiting. I guess I'll leave Doctor Jackson in your capable hands then? But Scott, that's just a figure of speech." She gave Daniel another light kiss, then sashayed out of the bar.

Jack slid out of the doorway ahead of her and met her in the lobby. "Oh, pooh?" he asked with eyebrows high. Jack handed her the purse and sweater.

"Hey, it worked, sir," she said with a smile. "That was the most fun I've had in a very long time. Did you see Daniel's eyes? He was so close to laughing! But I need to warn you, he's on to us. He asked me if I'd seen you. And Daniel doesn't take kindly to being . . . protected. Even by you, sir."

"Yeah. But whatever retribution he dishes out will be worth it, Carter."

"Yes," she said with a big smile. "And it's true. Even in Cassie's idea of a little black number, I don't hold a candle to you in Daniel's eyes. I've got to run! Bye!"

Jack gaped at Carter's back. Every time she made a comment about Daniel and him, it always seemed to catch Jack off guard. Even after all this time.

He'd have to rent "Breakfast At Tiffany's" tomorrow night. Sam and Teal'c would probably get a kick out of watching it in the suite with them. And it'd pry Teal'c away from his Monty Python PBS marathon. The guy comes all the way to New York fully knowing he'll be stuck in a hotel room with nothing to do but watch TV, and he's happy about it? Jeeze!

Jack's attention was snapped back to the here and now when Daniel's aide strode by on his way into the bar again. Jack followed Teasdale in this time.

". . . your tickets, sir," Teasdale said. He handed Daniel an envelope and then left.

"Well, fellows, I can't exactly say it's been fun, but I've gotta run."

"Daniel," Jack said as he approached the knot of dweebs surrounding his partner.

"Jack," Daniel said, then took a last sip of his wine. He pulled open the envelope and held up two tickets. "We've got to get going. The puck drops in thirty minutes."

"Puck?" Jack said with a look of delightful surprise. "The Rangers? Way to go, Daniel!"

With a brief nod at the men, Daniel possessively planted his hand on Jack's lower back and they left the hotel. The limo was waiting for them curbside, and they were on their way to Madison Square Garden before Jack had drawn more than a handful of breaths.

"You are so full of surprises, Doctor Jackson."

"And you are so going to sit through my *entire* speech tomorrow."

Secluded inside the limo, the opaque privacy screen raised and locked, doors locked, windows 100 percent reflective, Jack took Daniel in his arms and planted his lips where Carter's nail had been moments earlier. He sucked Daniel's bottom lip into his mouth, kissed, licked, bit, and then got down to some serious make-out moves. He had a half hour until the puck dropped, and Jack intended to use every one of those minutes to score as much as he could.

Jack's leather jacket was peeled from him by his eager lover. His too-tight jeans took a little wriggling, but were finally down and around his ankles. He sighed as his nuts breathed freedom. Daniel laughed, then toed off his own shoes and shimmied out of his khaki's. Daniel's sports jacket joined Jack's on the immaculate carpet, then Daniel's shirt topped the heap. Daniel had on an undershirt. Jack pulled the front waste band up, grabbed the front of the collar and hooked it all behind Daniel's head. His chest was now naked, the sleeves stretched taught, a band of wadded t-shirt stretching across his shoulder blades. Daniel looked sexy. Purely sexy. He pushed Daniel back into the seat.

With his jeans around his ankles Jack knelt on the carpeted floor and pulled Daniel's thighs apart. He eyed his prize, a pulsing pole of man-meat, hot, ready and willing. Jack licked his lips and dived in. Ahh. He loved hearing that little helpless whimper. He loved making Daniel stutter and shake, making Daniel powerless. This was the only time Daniel was ever truly under his control, and Jack loved taking full advantage of it. He loved toying with this intense man, using him for--like Jack's penis—his main purpose in life. And that purpose right this minute was as Jack's personal mouthful.

He'd save that little revelation for the next time Daniel needed a major distraction. It'd go over so well too. Doctor Jackson, your main purpose in life is to be my personal sex toy. Uh huh.

What a mouth-full. But as usual, Daniel didn't put up with it for long. Jack was pushed away, dragged onto the seat, pushed back. Then he was the one stuttering, whimpering and moaning. A linguist knew how to suck dick. Once he'd asked Daniel if all linguists could blow like him. Daniel postulated a theory then typed out a survey for a research project. Jack was constantly filling out copies of the form and slipping them under Daniel's pillow.

He ran his hands through Daniel's shorn hair, admiring the shape of his partner's skull. He ran his hands down to Daniel's shoulders and enjoyed the feel of flexing muscle, and of the electric sparks the sucking was sending up from his balls. Jack began to pant.

"Danny, baby. Up. On your knees for me."

Daniel pulled his mouth off Jack, his lips loose, his tongue trailing to leave plenty of nature's lubricant.

"Not my knees. That'd be too hard on you on this floor. Just sit back."

Jack sighed in pleasure and leaned back. He watched as Daniel grabbed the edge of the seat to steady himself, then turned around, his back to Jack, and sat on the man's hot cock. Jack hissed as Daniel sank down smooth and slow. The vibrations and movement of the limo added more elements to their pre-game party.

"Tailgate party," Jack said with a chuckle. "Beats barbequing on the back of a pickup any day."

"Do me. Be slutty with me." Daniel grabbed Jack's left hand and placed it on his hip, then began to move up and down.

Jack used his hand to set the rhythm, but Daniel was doing all the hard work. "Love you, Danny."

"Fuck me, Jack."

"Babe . . . ah . . . fucking . . . shit . . . fuck . . . damn . . . oh . . . fuck . . . " Jack gave up trying to sweet-talk Daniel. With his right hand, Jack grabbed the t-shirt stretched across Daniel's broad shoulders and used it for more leverage, more control of the rhythm of their fucking.

"FUCK ME," Daniel implored, his head bouncing back and forth with each jerk of his body down onto the stiff cock.

Jack gripped the slim hip tighter with his left hand and thrust up in time to Daniel's body pumping up and down. His cock thrust up, hungry, eager to dance the electric dance in his lover's hot body. Jack's nuts climbed up, the balls drawn tight, the scrotal sac wrinkling. This was the point where Jack loved to have Daniel run his blunt nails across those wrinkles, add sensation to what was already too much.

Once more Daniel demanded, "FUCK ME!"

He pulled his legs apart just a little and Daniel slumped, reached one hand between their spread legs and touched Jack's longing nuts. Jack lurched and gasped. He poured every effort into giving Daniel what he demanded.

Finally when he felt Daniel was soaring high enough Jack gave Daniel what was so deliciously and basely called a reach-around. He took Daniel's hard cock into his hand and finished what he'd wanted to do with his mouth. But this was Daniel's weekend. Daniel got it his way. His lover arched his back, changing the angle of the plundering cock inside him.

This was too much for Jack. He couldn't hold back any longer. His nuts began to spew and cum began to geyser up into Daniel's hot, tight ass. He wanted to flood Daniel's sweet body with cum, fill him with jizz, paint his guts with thick ropey wads of white nut juice. The base words echoing in his mind warred hard with the sweet love in his heart and the friction between the two emotions burned so deliciously!

Jack slammed home. Daniel howled and came. Jets of cream flew out of Daniel and over Jack's fingers, shot onto the limo's upholstery. Some landed on their discarded clothing. Neither man cared.

Jack stilled his hand on Daniel's cock. He was so sensitive right after a hard cum like this. Then Jack guided Daniel to relax against him, back to chest. He held his lover and whispered in his ear, "Love you, Danny."

"Love you, Jack."

"Sweet!"

The baseness satisfied with the fire of orgasm, it faded away and love remained, as it always did between Daniel and Jack.

ON THE FLIGHT HOME – MILITARY CARGO TRANSPORT

In the belly of the noisy cargo plane, Daniel relaxed, his and Jack's seat paired snugly against the wall opposite and several feet behind Sam and General Hammond. Teal'c had made himself comfortable further back in the craft, stretched out over tarp-wrapped bundles. The group was traveling low profile. Cargo planes weren't known for their comfort, but the group had been provided with amenties, blankets, necessary due to the lack of insulation, and pillows for the night flight.

"You know, Jack, eight years ago, I stood up in front of a hall of men and women like those we ran into at the hotel bar. Even Nick had called me a fool. I wasn't. I knew what I was saying, I knew who I was saying it to, and I knew how it would most likely be received. I did it anyway."

"Why?"

"To thine own self be true. I don't like to hide from what I see as reality or the truth."

"Takes a strong man to say that."

"You're a strong man, Jack. Even if you do get misty eyed watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. That's not what makes a man--his ability to hide his emotions. What makes a man is his ability to live them."

"Mmm. S'pose so."

"Jack? Know much Shakespeare?"

"Hell, no!"

"Uh huh. Jack? Know much Kipling?"

"Oh, I'll just bet you did growing up, Danny boy. Running around in Egypt on camels, reading "Lawrence of Arabia" and "Jungle Boy" and all those."

"Yes. I did."

"Knew it!"

Jack?"

Yes?"

Kipling wrote this poem. It's called "If"."

"It?"

"If. If, Jack. If."

"If? Just, if? That's a silly name for a poem. If. But then poetry is pretty damned silly."

"I swear I should just rip that leather jacket off you. You're IQ spirals so far down when you're in leather, doesn't it? No. I don't mean that. But that's what you'd like me to think. And you had fun with it all weekend, pegging around about 95 with a testosterone rating of about 800. But back to the poem. This is something my father used to quote to me. It's very powerful to me."

"Jack? As I was saying. If--"

"Daniel, I sat through you're entire speech. Wasn't that punishment enough? Now you're gonna' tell me about a friggin' poem?"

"What you did to Sam? You deserve it. "If". By Rudyard Kipling--"

"Rudyard. Who the hell would name their kid Rudyard?"

"My mother almost did."

"Oh, Danny. Baby. Really almost caught a big bullet there, didn't you?"

"Hmm. Plant-boy. Space monkey. Rock-boy. Rudyard? Ehh. You might have something there, Jack."

"Mmm. So I can get some shut-eye for the rest of the ride. Wake me when we hit Colorado airspace."

"As I was saying. "If", by Rudyard Kipling . . . Want the whole thing line by line or just the highlights?"

"I have any other choice?"

"Do you have a parachute?"

"No."

"Then, not really. It starts out talking about staying calm in the middle of a crisis. You do that, Jack."

"I do. Yep. Can I have your pillow?"

"Here. Then it talks about trusting in your own judgment, not letting others cause you self-doubt, but still having the capacity to listen to the people around you. You do that too, Jack. And have patience. You don't have much, but you have what you need. You don't suffer fools gladly. You are brutally honest with people. Take the Tok'ra for instance. You expect them to be honest with you. When they're not, you bring them to task about it."

"Yep. I do. Thanks for the pillow."

"And you have this idea about saving the whole universe. A dream that seems unattainable. But you work at it, and don't let it overwhelm you. You know what I mean?"

"Uh huh."

"And--even though it's hard to think about--you deal with the defeats we suffer. You equally deal with the wins we score, and you stay balanced. You don't stop. Even when people around you are being fools, you keep on doing the work you know is right."

"Move your shoulder a little closer. There. Mmm-nice."

"Jack, you risk your life for something you believe in. My life, Sam's life, Teal'c too. Because you know the cause is worthy of the best. And through all of this, it hasn't tainted you. And this is also hard to say. We've dealt with a lot of garbage, a lot of things that would eat a man's soul away and yet you sleep at night with a conscience that knows you've done your best at every step, done what you truly believe to be the right thing whether it turns out positive or negative. You give those of us around you the honor of making our own choices too. Again and again, you make the hard choices, and you don't hold back."

"Daniel, is there a point to all this or are you just trying to make me sleep-deprived?"

"Nope. And I still don't see a parachute, so shut up. You talk to Thor, an omnipotent alien being like he's a long-lost buddy. You deal equally with beings so powerful they can blink you to death. You take care of the smallest child, risk your career to give a child a chance to paint, to know what crayons are. That's what the poem is about, Jack. If. If you do all this . . . "

*"Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
*And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!"

"That's what the poem says?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Daniel are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yes. You're a man."

"Uh. I kinda' knew that, poetry-boy."

"Jack, you're still a man even though you cried when Audrey Hepburn kissed her man. Okay?"

End