All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM,
World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was
created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on
copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and
places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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What you need to know is:
SUMMARY: Someone takes it on themselves to find out
about SG-1’s latest mission
CATEGORY: Total unmitigated nonsense with absolutely
no redeeming features whatsoever
SEASON/SEQUEL INFO: Any time, any where
RATING: XS (excessive
silliness)
This story is entirely Michael
Shank’s fault. If he will dangle evil scenarios before his fans, we cannot be
held responsible for making Daniel suffer them. For those who don’t know what
I’m talking about - the wonderful Mr Shanks recently told fans at a convention
that Daniel’s return was very tastefully done. I believe the exact quote was
‘It’s not like he comes back spread-eagled on a platter of grapes’. Naturally
there are those of us in the fandom who immediately wanted to know ‘Well, why
the heck not?” This fic is dedicated to those fans.
*****************
Pull up a chair. Make yourself comfortable. And
let me tell you what I just witnessed down
in the Gateroom. Oh wait, you’re new round here right, so let me
introduce myself. Airman James Smith. You can call me Smithy, everyone else
does.
So, as I was saying I was down in the Gateroom,
waiting to shoot anything big and bad that might try and come through the ‘Gate
with SG-1. Fortunately, it was just the team - you know them right - Teal’c,
he’s the ex-Jaffa, Major Carter (nice looking woman in a kind of tomboy sort of
way), Doctor Jackson (he’s the one that does all that stuff with language) and the
mouthy one, Colonel Jack O’Neill. Anyway, try and imagine you were there…
Part 1 - The Gateroom
“Welcome home, SG-1. A successful mission?” General Hammond was, as usual, waiting at the foot of the ramp as his flagship team was burped through the event horizon.
“Yes, Sir,” O’Neill responded cheerfully. “Carter got to play domestic goddess. Teal’c taught the young lads some grappling skills. And Daniel, well, he managed to get out of a rather pressing situation by crushing a few grapes.”
“Jack.” Jackson’s protest was a soft growl.
“I see,” said Hammond, obviously quite used to the colonel’s unusual mission summaries and not in the least bit perturbed that O’Neill hadn’t actually offered any information of value other than the fact that Doctor Jackson had obviously managed to get himself into, and apparently out of, trouble as per usual “And what about you, Colonel?
“Me? I need a vacation. I was thinking maybe California.”
“California?”
“Yes, Sir,” O’Neill strolled down the ramp. "Wait til I get to Californey. I'm gonna reach up and pick me an orange whenever I want it.”
“That’s a quote, Sir,” Carter offered as she passed Hammond.
“With some grapes,” O’Neill continued blithely.
“It’s from the Grapes of Wrath,” Jackson added with a long-suffering sigh.
“Don’t you mean the Grapes of Rath, Daniel?” O’Neill asked, waiting for the archaeologist to catch up with him so he could slap the younger man on the back before finishing off his quote.
“Now there's somethin' I ain't never had enough of."
***********************
I can see you’re as
curious as I was to know what the hell O’Neill was on about. And besides, any
gossip about Jackson is always worth having. It’s kind of like currency around
here especially if, like me, you want to get friendly with those cute nurses
down in the infirmary. Anyway, I wasn’t too sure how to find out what had
happened planet side, until I had the fortune of finding Teal’c sparring alone
in the gym.
Seems Jaffa get quite talkative in one-on-one. So I threw out a few leading questions along with the occasional punch, and this is what I learnt…
Part 2 - A hard day’s
work
Jack wasn’t sure what they’d done to deserve fate cutting them some slack, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about it. If only all their missions could be as simple and pain-free as this one. P3X-232 - known to the indigenous population as Rath for reasons that according to Daniel were totally fascinating but which involved a long and, quite frankly, incomprehensible explanation - wasn't exactly paradise, but it wasn't far off.
With a grunt of exertion he heaved his final basket of grapes off his shoulders and upended it into the awaiting cart. Quite what General Hammond would make of his flagship team working as unpaid grape harvesters he couldn’t imagine. What he did know was that Hammond would be pleased with the treaty Daniel had managed to negotiate while helping with the harvest. And that Fraser’s acidic tongue would be sweetened by the sight of their healthy tans and work-hardened bodies.
Proof of the latter was walking towards him now. Teal’c, of course, always looked fit, but the hard work seemed to have lightened something in his spirit. Or perhaps it was the geniality of their hosts. Whatever it was, it had been good to see the big guy smiling, laughing and engaging some of the planet's young lads in good-natured grappling contests. As for Daniel - well, perhaps it was possible to have too much of a good thing. The sun had turned the archaeologist’s pale skin to a honey brown that glistened like warm gold in the heat of the day. His team-mate’s body had been attracting way too much attention from the local females for Jack’s liking. Daniel, being Daniel, was of course totally oblivious to the fact that a dozen or more pairs of lust-filled eyes followed his every move, and none more so than Arameth, the youngest daughter of the vineyard owner. If ever there was a package of trouble wrapped up in female form, Arameth was it.
“Please tell me this is the last load,” Daniel said, as he came within earshot, the wicker basket on his back virtually overflowing with sweet, purple fruit.
Jack gazed out over the vineyard with a sense of satisfaction. “Yep, thank God.” He stepped forward to help Daniel remove the basket, and together they tipped it over the edge of the cart, watching the plump grapes tumble into the mound that had been gathered bunch by bunch throughout the long hot day.
“We are staying for the feast, right?” Daniel asked, his tone hopeful.
“You betcha!” Jack patted him on the back. “Think we’d do all this hard work and not join in the fun?”
“They are a most hospitable people,” Teal’c observed with typical understatement.
“Daniel!” Arameth ran past them, her skirts flying as wildly as her long, blonde hair. “Come and join us!”
She jumped on to the front of the cart as the driver flicked the reins of the two animals yoked to its shaft. With a huff of breath, the stocky creatures leaned their weight forward and wooden wheels groaned reluctantly into motion. Jack couldn’t resist smirking at Daniel’s embarrassment, although he found it hard to believe that Daniel hadn’t encountered a schoolgirl crush or two back in his days as a college lecturer.
Daniel glared at him, then turned to Arameth. “Thank you, but I think I’ll walk back.” He rolled his shoulders, the vest he was wearing doing little to cover an expanse of golden muscle. “Need to work a few cricks out my neck.”
The young woman leaned out of the cart. “I could massage those away for you!” She held out a hand, gesturing for him to join her.
A blush coloured Daniel’s cheeks. “Thank you, but ummm… I’m… I’m just fine. I’ll ummm… walk. Yes, walk. Thank you.”
“I believe Arameth wishes to become intimate with you, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c observed solemnly as the cart rolled out of earshot.
“Ya think?” Jack said, the humour of the situation evaporating as quickly as spilled water. This mission had gone so smoothly to date, the last thing Jack wanted was for a sting in the tail to be delivered courtesy of some young girl. Daniel’s record with women had an unsettling habit of leading to an addition to his medical history. Shyla. Hathor. Even Sha’re, although to be fair it was the goa’uld within her who had tried to fry Daniel’s brain.
“She’s just…” Daniel responded to Teal’c’s comment by gesturing vaguely in the direction of the cart, apparently unable to find the right word.
“Jailbait?” Jack offered helpfully.
Daniel’s blush deepened. “Young,” he said firmly. “Way too young!”
“Right!” Jack slapped Daniel on the back as they began to wend their way towards the farmhouse. “Just remember that when she’s plying you with her father’s wine tonight, Danny-boy.”
“Trust me, Jack, I have absolutely no intention of forgetting it,” Daniel replied.
********
Not exactly
scintillating, I admit, but it kind of sets the scene. I knew there was much
more, but Teal’c suddenly muttered something about protecting Doctor Jackson’s
dignity and went all clam-like on me. For a couple of hours I was stumped, but
then I happened to wander passed Major Carter’s lab and lo and behold if she
isn’t gossiping her head off to little ole Doc Fraser…
Part 3 - Feeding the masses
The small courtyard that was formed by the farmhouse and its adjacent buildings was filled with people preparing for the end of harvest feast. Young men were setting up trestle tables. Women were unfolding crisp white table linen. Children and dogs were getting under the feet of the adults, resulting in the much scolding for the dogs and tasks being found for the youngsters.
"Hi, guys!" Carter appeared at the kitchen door with a dusting of flour in her hair and a platter of freshly baked bread rolls in her hands as the men of SG-1 arrived back. "Good day?"
“Exhausting,” Daniel complained. “You?”
“Been cooking up a storm for tonight’s feast.” She stepped into the yard. “Just bringing the food out now.”
“Smells fantastic.” Jack reached for a roll, only to snatch his hand back as Carter slapped him. “Owww!”
“You can wait like everyone else,” she said sternly, stepping away from him. She wrinkled her nose. “Besides the only thing I can smell is you guys. You all need to wash before you eat.”
“Hey, that’s good honest sweat,” Jack complained.
“Yes, Sir,” Carter gave him a cheeky smile. “But I think our hosts might appreciate it if you came to the table smelling somewhat sweeter.”
“This domestic goddess thing seems to have gone to your head,” Jack grumbled.
“She’s right, Jack.” Daniel said, sniffing at his own armpits. “Some soap and water wouldn’t go amiss.”
“I guess,” he agreed reluctantly. He nodded towards a large metal bowl next to the water pump in the middle of the yard. “Want to take first dibs?”
Daniel shrugged. “Sure.”
Carter grinned. “Okay. In that case, Teal’c, Colonel, you two can give me a hand setting up the top table for tonight. There’s a big platter that needs carrying out.”
“A woman’s work is never done,” Jack sighed, following her reluctantly into the kitchen.
**********
Now this next bit,
this is a real gem. You know that guy Walter - he’s the one who gets to shout
‘Chevron 7 encoded’ - well, he has a phone that links through to Hammond’s
office and, like he says, it was hardly his fault that General Hammond forgot
to turn off his intercom during Doctor Jackson’s post-mission debrief. You’re
still imagining that you’re there on the planet, right?
Part 4 - Freshening up
Leaving his team-mates to their domestic tasks, Daniel crossed to the pump. What he really needed was a shower, but since twenty-first century plumbing was a good few decades away from arriving on this particular planet he’d have to settle for a wash down. It took him a couple of minutes to fill a bucket with water from the pump, then with the bowl under one arm, he headed for the privacy of the hayloft which had been designated as sleeping quarters for himself, Jack and Teal’c.
It took two trips to get himself, the bucket of water and the bowl up the narrow ladder to the secluded loft. By the time he’d finished he was hotter and stickier than ever, and the dull headache he’d put up with most of the day had turned into a distinctive shard of pain. Dehydration, he told himself, remembering just how hot the day had been. He retrieved a mug from his pack, filled it from the bucket and then downed its contents in one. As he sipped at a second mugful, his gaze fell on the door that opened out to a twenty foot drop to the farmyard below. Presumably it had been built to provide an easy way to transport the hay in and out of the loft, but right now it was the nearest approximation to a window that was on offer. It only took him a few moments to open it up and latch it securely to the wall of the loft. Enjoying the feeling of cool air against his skin, he stood in the opening, watching the activity in the yard below. Sam, Jack and Teal’c were directly beneath him, stacking steaming dishes of meat and vegetables around a large central platter, that was currently empty. The tantalising aromas wafted up to him, reminding him that he needed to wash up before he could eat.
With the stifling temperature in the loft eased by the airflow, it was a pleasure to strip off his sweat-soaked clothing. With deft moves he unlaced his boots, kicking them off with a relieved sigh. His socks followed, and then his fingers went to his belt. He grimaced as damp cotton clung stubbornly to his body as he removed his t-shirt and then his pants. Finally he shucked off his underwear and moved to his pack to retrieve his soap and shaving kit.
Everything he needed to hand, he positioned the bowl on the only available patch of bare boards, directly in line with the open doorway. For a moment he hesitated, but then common sense told him that the height of the building meant he was well out of view, unless somebody happened to climb onto the roof of the building opposite. Nevertheless, modesty made him turn his back to the opening as he filled the bowl with water and then began to wash. He hummed quietly to himself as he soaped away the day’s labour, wiping the foaming bubbles from his sun-warmed skin with a damp flannel. A few moments later he heard the ladder creak and sighed. Trust Jack to get out of kitchen duties so quickly...
“Hello, Daniel.” Arameth’s smiling face appeared over the top rung of the ladder. “I thought you might need some refreshment.”
His brain totally shut down as he tried to absorb the fact that he was standing stark naked in front of his host’s youngest daughter. He blinked slowly - desperately trying to make the figure in front of him morph into Jack O’Neill.
“It’s lemonade,” Arameth offered helpfully, holding up a jug. “Made it myself,” she added, making no effort to conceal the fact that she was enjoying the view.
“A...a...Arameth,” Daniel finally managed to croak, suddenly aware that airforce issue flannels were extremely mean in size.
Her smile was puzzled as she set the jug down. “Why do you cover yourself? You have a beautiful...”
“Arameth, what are you doing here?” Daniel interrupted hastily, taking a step backwards as she moved forward.
“I brought you lemonade.”
“R...r...right.” His gaze flicked to the jug then back to her face. “Thank you.” There he was regaining control of the situation. “I… ummm... thank you. Why don’t you take it back down to the yard and as soon as I’m dressed...”
“I thought we could share it here,” she interrupted.
Daniel retreated another step as she blithely moved to the washing bowl and picked up the soap. She smiled invitingly.
“Also I wish to choose you as my harvest partner.”
“Harvest partner?” Daniel swallowed hard, absolutely certain that he wasn’t going to like her explanation.
“My birth month was two moons ago so now I am of age and can take a partner in the festival.” Her gaze drifted to the mounds of soft, sweet-smelling hay. “Daniel, let’s not wait until after the feast. Make love to me now.”
“W…w...what?!”
He staggered backwards as she approached, her hands unbuttoning her blouse. “It seems foolish for you to dress now only to…”
“Arameth...” He’d intended to say something suitably profound as he stepped backwards, but he suddenly realised there was nothing but air beneath his foot.
“Daniel!” Arameth’s eyes widened in alarm as he flailed like a demented windmill, desperately trying to grab hold of something, anything, that would help him defy the pull of gravity. A cool wind curled around his calf like a whiplash and then, with a gossamer-like tug, it completed the task of unbalancing him.
Nausea-inducing horror raked its nails through his digestive tract as he fell.
***********
Okay, I have to
admit, I don’t know how true this next bit is. I overheard Sergeant Siler
talking about it with one of the maintenance crews, and naturally I couldn’t
help but invite myself into the conversation. Siler says he got the story from
Major Coburn, who apparently got it from one of the cleaning staff who
overheard O’Neill teasing Jackson in the locker room. Guess that’s the nature
of scuttlebutt. All I can say is that it fits with what O’Neill said in the
Gateroom and that’s good enough for me to believe there’s some truth in it. No
smoke without fire and all that.
Part 5 - A crushing experience
“O’Neill” Teal’c’s warning was a thunderous rumble accompanied by an upwards gesture towards the hayloft.
With just a trestle table between his back and the hayloft wall, Jack spun round in response, caught a brief glimpse of flailing arms and legs, and then gasped in shock as something wet, warm and sticky hit him in the face. Gak! Why on earth did he have to have his mouth open? His stomach roiled as his brain offered various disgusting solutions as to what might possibly have just exploded in his face. But then an unexpected, and extremely welcome, sweetness exploded on his tongue.
Grapes, his brain supplied helpfully, conjuring up the image of Carter putting the finishing touches to the huge mound of fruit that formed the centrepiece of the harvest festival. Not blood, guts or other bodily parts, but grapes. His stomach stopped protesting as he swiped the gloop from his face and risked opening his eyes.
“Daniel?” He exhaled the name in a whoosh of shocked astonishment as he took in the wreckage of the display and the figure that had now been added to the tableau.
Yes, it was definitely Daniel. The archaeologist was lying flat on his back, totally naked and spread-eagled on the vast platter of grapes. For a brief moment, Jack wondered if he hadn’t somehow stepped into an alternate reality where Daniel had been transformed into a glistening golden sacrifice to Bacchus.
A breathy moan escaped Daniel’s lips, slamming Jack back into the bizarre world that was this reality. He stepped forward as a dozen questions battled for his tongue.
“Daniel, are you okay?”
As pair of dazed blue eyes turned towards him. Jack’s first aid training kicked in as he glanced up, and with a sick feeling, realised that the only way Daniel could’ve arrived in his current position was by falling twenty feet from the open hayloft.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. “You may have injured your back. Or your neck. Or - Christ Daniel, how the hell did you manage to…” He glanced up again and his stomach twisted as he glimpsed the alarmed face of Arameth in the hayloft opening. “Oh shit!” He turned his attention back to Daniel who was now struggling to sit up. “Daniel! Did you hear what I just said. Don’t move!”
“Daniel Jackson!” Teal’c arrived at Jack’s side. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Daniel murmured, feebly trying to find some kind of purchase in the bed of grape pulp beneath his body.
Jack swore again and reached out to steady Daniel before he compounded the situation by sliding off the platter in a tidal wave of grape juice and naked limbs.
“Really I’m fine,” Daniel repeated, as he managed to manoeuvre himself into a precarious upright position, a bunch of deep purple grapes obligingly providing a modicum of temporary modesty.
A crowd had gathered now, and the women were chattering happily about Daniel’s physical endowments, quite a few of them apparently having managed to arrive in time to catch sight of Daniel’s full monty. That the spectators clearly had no hang-ups about nudity was all well and good, but nevertheless Jack would’ve preferred to have discovered the fact in a less dramatic and definitely less public way. He felt his irritation notch as a woman who was old enough to be Daniel’s grandmother casually commented to Carter that she’d never been one for grape juice, but she was willing to make an exception if it meant she could help lick the boy clean.
Jack took a quiet satisfaction in watching Carter struggle to come up with a diplomatic response to that. It hadn’t gone unobserved that his second-in-command had done her fair share of oogling, once she’d been reassured that Daniel wasn’t hurt. If so much as a breath of this hit the SGC grapevine - He winced at his own unintentional pun and decided it was time he regained control of the situation.
“Okay, folks. Show’s over!” he said firmly as he finally managed to help Daniel escape from his impromptu role as a still life. “Move along. Nothing of interest to see here.”
Reluctantly the crowd began to return to their pre-feast preparations, but not before the old woman darted forward and snagged the bunch of grapes that had momentarily played a key role in events.
“These’ll make me a fine bottle of wine for a cold winter night,” she chortled with delight.
Jack shot her a sour look as he caught Daniel by the elbow and did his best to shield the younger man from view with his own body. “So - what the hell happened?”
Daniel blinked at him, a syrupy red trickle of juice tracing a languid route down his right cheek. “I fell.”
Well peel the man a grape.
“I figured that much,” Jack hissed, snagging a napkin from the wreckage that had been an elaborate table display.
Daniel blinked at it and then at the crowd. “I think it’s a little late for a cover up, don’t you?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack ran his fingers through the sticky, purple mush clinging to the back of Daniel’s head, feeling for bumps that shouldn’t be there, but finding nothing more sinister than a few pips and burst grape skins.
“I’m fine, just a bit...”
Daniel suddenly froze. Jack turned to follow his gaze and found himself looking at Arameth, who was approaching as fast the departing crowd would allow.
“Actually,” Daniel said slowly. “I’m not feeling too good. Do you think I could have a concussion?”
“What?”
“A concussion,” Daniel hissed. “I think I hit my head pretty hard.”
“Daniel, you were cushioned by a six-foot mound of grapes.”
“Definitely concussed,” Daniel insisted, his eyes doing a crazy sort of dance, flicking between Arameth and Jack. “I shouldn’t be left alone! I might faint.”
“Faint?”
“Pass out.”
“I know what it means,” Jack retorted, raising his eyebrows and wondering if Daniel might indeed be concussed after all, or whether this new behaviour was just more of the usual flakiness.
“Good. Great. So you know that I should definitely - not - be - left - alone!”
“Oh,” Jack finally caught a clue as Daniel emphasised the final four words with the kind of desperation normally associated with facing an imminent and particularly ghastly form of execution.
“Daniel! Are you hurt?” Arameth was breathless as she reached them.
“Concussed,” Daniel and Jack said in unison.
“Con cussed?” Arameth was clearly unfamiliar with the word.
“Hit his head,” Jack offered.
“Headache,” Daniel added, rubbing at his temple. “Really bad headache.”
“I’d better get him inside,” Jack said, slipping an arm around Daniel as though the archaeologist was barely capable of standing upright on his own.
Daniel gave a low moan, which Jack felt was rather over egging the situation.
“Perhaps I should help?” Arameth began.
“No!” Jack said swiftly, then added more kindly. “I’m sure Daniel appreciates your concern, but right now he needs to rest. I wouldn’t count on him being up for anything any time soon.”
Arameth pouted.
“Ah-ha!” Jack remonstrated. “No sour grapes now.”
**************
So there you have it.
Everything I know. Or at least everything I’ve heard on the grapevine. Now I
guess I’d better get back to work. SG-3 are due back in thirty minutes and I'm
pretty sure I can get them to buy me a few drinks in exchange for this
particular bit of juicy gossip!
*******************************************
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