Slash:  Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.
Rating: R
Category: Established Relationship, Holiday fic, humour with a touch of angst
Season/Spoilers: Season 7?  No spoilers.  Story 1 in the 'Holiday's Follies' Series
Synopsis: Blame it on the Beer!
Warnings: Not recommended for Sam fans! anti s/j
Length:  43 Kb  Completion Date 14 Mar 05


"It is green," Teal'c says with a disdainful glance at the contents of his glass.

 "Come on, Teal'c, live a little!"  Sam giggles, giving our large, unimpressed friend a playful nudge in the ribs.  "It's Saint Patrick's day!"

"So you have said," Teal'c states serenely.  "DanielJackson has informed me of the purpose of this holiday, although I do not understand what the copious consumption of a green alcoholic beverage contributes to its observance."

"You mean, other than as an excuse to consume copious quantities of any alcoholic beverage, green or not?" I ask him with a green.  I mean…grin.

Oookay, time to slow down a bit.  I know I wasn't originally planning on driving, but if Sam sucks back a few more cold green ones, I just might be.

Teal'c places his glass on the deck's railing, crosses his arm and contemplates the wide, barely greening expanse of Jack's back yard.  Hey it's March; the lawn doesn't look like much yet, but wait for it.  By this time next month it'll be like a wee patch of the Emerald Isle transplanted. 

Jack likes his lawn.  Almost as much as he likes his beer.  But not as much as he likes me.  And that's just between him, me, and every room in the house, as often as we can manage it.

I love the Irish.  And one of its proudest sons.

"I will abstain," Teal'c loftily informs Sam.  "I believe you should consider exercising similar restraint.  As should you, DanielJackson."

"Hey!"  I gamely protest.  "I've been pacing myself!  We're not anywhere near 'copious' yet."

Teal'c's next pithy comment is interrupted by an unholy wail exuding from the interior of the house.  It sounds roughly like a bag of banshees caterwauling from the bottom of a barrel.

"Oh Danneeyyyboyyyyyyy….the pipes, the pipes are callllliiinngggg…."

Oh God.  Jack.  Jack's singing.  Jack's singing 'Dannyboy'.

Oh God, this is so not good.

If any one of us could be described as being 'copious' at the moment, Jack definitely fits the bill.  Although he usually enthusiastically embraces the celebration of one of his favourite holidays, the rate at which he's been tossing back the green-tinged brewskis since the unexpected company showed has been concerning me.  We customarily observe this most sacred day privately, therefore the rapidity with which he deliberately achieves inebriation usually isn't a problem.


Jack normally doesn't drink to excess, and certainly not to the degree he's become blotto today, but Saint Patrick's Day is an exception.  He wears the green – drinks it too - with gusto, getting totally and freely into the spirit, most especially the alcoholic. And he does it in the safety and privacy of his own home, where only he and me can see.   Usually. 

I hang out with him, and help him celebrate. Keep him from walking into things, falling down stairs and breaking his neck, kissing people he shouldn't.   It's kind of become 'our' day.  One of our traditions.  Like his penchant for marking the occasion by serenading me with 'Danny boy'.  Because it's him and Saint Paddy's day, I cut him some slack.  Today, and today only, once a year, I let him it do it.  Once a year.  That's it.

It's embarrassing enough, the song alone, but believe me, if you could hear what he does to it, drunk or sober, even once a year I think I'm being extraordinarily tolerant.

Okay, I'll admit it helps he's pretty damned cute, even when murdering the classics.

The singing, although it is making our ears bleed, isn't what's worrying me.  It's what Jack's not-so-tender rendition of the old Irish standard signifies, what it's usually a prelude to.

I'm also remembering last year, when Jack added a new 'tradition' to our Saint Patrick's Day private ritual observances.  After lovingly and loudly rendering Dannyboy, he presented himself to me buck naked with a huge green bow tied around his…shillelagh.

That was a pretty good year, I don't mind telling you.

This year, however, as you can see, our private party has been crashed.  Sam showed up when Jack was already well on the way to 'copious', beers in one hand, green food colour in the other, and none to pleased to see I'd apparently beaten her to the colonel.  Of course, I couldn't inform her I was already here because I hadn't left from the night before, but there you are, and so was she.


So, to keep up appearances, I made like her showing up unexpected and uninvited was part of a grand master plan we hadn't let her in on yet; Jack had meant to invite all of us and she'd beat us to the punch.  I collected our fourth, and now, here we all are, out on Jack's deck, cringing from the aural assault. 'Dannyboy' by Jack O'Neill.  Run for your life, don't walk.

Jack is proceeding to mangle the second verse and if I don't get in there like now and head him off at the ass, our unsuspecting team mates are going to be getting more than an earful.

Shit, he's coming out.  Ohgodohgodohgod, Jack please have your clothes on!

I've barely started to sidle towards the sliding doors when Jack comes lurching onto the deck, his sixth green beer in hand. 

Fully clothed and not a green bow or shillelagh in sight.

Thank God!

"Kiss me, I'm Irish," he leers at me, licking his lips enthusiastically, stumbling towards me.

No doubt, no question I'm the destination he's attempting to perambulate, however crookedly, toward, I'm the pot at the end of his desired rainbow, but apparently the woman standing beside me thinks Jack's talking to her.

"Oh Sir!" she blushes and giggles, taking an eager step toward him.  "We really shouldn't!"

Jack pulls up short like someone's abruptly nailed his feet to the deck.  He stands there, bobbing back and forth like a six foot punching bag, eyes narrowed and glaring witheringly at our flushing, dewy-eyed major.

Who is flushing and glowing in clear expectation of collecting my kiss.

I'm sure she's got designs on the shillelagh as well.  Not gonna happen.  I'm all for team spirit and share and share alike, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

Jack looks like he'd sooner toss on her shoes.  Oh boy, now I really wish I was copious.  This is seconds away from getting seriously ugly.

"Not YOU!" he snorts at her, wrinkling his nose distastefully before affixing me anew with a lecherous stare, a huge, happy grin on his face.  "HIM!  Ohhhhhhh Daaaannneeeee  boyyyyyy…"

Teal'c's eagle eyes boring into my back, I'm instantly in motion.  "That's enough for you, Jack," I make myself laugh as I grab him, whirling him around so abruptly the beer sloshes out of his glass, liberally anointing the deck in a wide swathe of sopping green.  But a true Irishman to the core, he doesn't lose his grip on the glass or let another drop fall while I hustle him toward the house.

"I'm gonna put Paddy here to bed before he starts kissing all of us," I toss jokingly back over my shoulder and making an 'ewwwwww' face hoping, praying Sam and Teal'c will buy this explanation for Jack's blatant attempt to put the moves on me right under their noses.  "Irishmen," I feebly joke.  "A dozen green beers and they're anybody's."

"Indeed," Teal'c observes, his expression inscrutable.  "Perhaps this would be wise.  I do not wish to be kissed."

Sam's not saying anything but it's clear she's not with Teal'c vis a vis the whole oscular avoidance issue. 

Like this should come as a huge surprise.

"smmmmooooshy…"  Jack snorts into my neck, and then licks it.

I have no idea what that means and I'm much too terrified to find out.

Okay, the sooner I get this sodden son of Erin Go Braugh into his bed the safer.  Then I'll figure out what, if anything else needs to be said to cover Jack's slip of the lip.  Or should that be his attempt to publicly slip me the lip.  And probably some tongue. 

I'm thinking Teal'c won't be a problem, he's a pretty observant guy and if he doesn't already know for sure, he's definitely connected a few dots but whatever his personal opinion, he'll keep quiet.  We don't flaunt it, well normally not, and he doesn't comment on what he does or doesn't know one way or the other.

All in all, so far it's been working well. 

Sam, however, I just don't know.  Well, I do know she wants what I've got, namely Jack, and I also know, so far, she doesn't know.  About what I've got and she's never gonna have.  What I don't know – how she's gonna take it when she finally knows. 

You know?

However, I have a horrible feeling I'm only one copious colonel and tucking him in bed away from finding out.

I mean, she must know now!  Even she couldn't be that oblivious!

Could she?

So much for the luck of the Irish.  Damn you, Jack, I love you, you whacked Irish bastard, but I think you've really landed us in the soup this time.

My soused Irish Rose comes quietly as I haul him along to the bedroom and tumble him into bed, not resisting, until he realises I mean for him to sleep it off alone.

"Kiss me, Daneeeee," he slurs and belches, exuding the toxic vapors of all the emerald ambrosia he's imbibed.  My head swims in the noxious cloud and I try to fight off what feels like a dozen arms winding around my neck; the unrepentant drunkard seems determined to pull me down with him.   

Believe me Jack, I'd like nothing better, but we're not alone.  I've got to deal with the company, and the inadvertent 'outing'. 

"Go to sleep, you crazy Irishman," I tell him fondly, kissing him lightly as I unhook from his tenacious embrace.  "I'll come back soon."

I honestly don't know if he heard me; as soon as he gets his kiss he closes his eyes, smiles contentedly and turns on his side, nuzzling and burrowing.  I leave him happily warbling 'Dannyboy' into his pillow.

I make my way back to the main part of the house, mentally weighing my options.  As I start down into the living room I'm surprised to see Sam regally installed in Jack's favourite chair. 

She doesn't see me at first; she's entirely wrapped up in gazing raptly around the room.  I can see the wheels turning from here.  I can also see she's been snooping again.  The picture of Jack, Sara and Charlie has been moved; turned ever so subtly toward the wall.  I quash the spurt of anger the sight invokes in me, a reminder, yet another telling indication Sam knows absolutely nothing about Jack, no matter what she thinks she knows.  Sara and Charlie are sacrosanct, a part of Jack I respect because he loved them. You don't mess with them, you know?  And you don't mention them or ask him about them.  He wants you to know something, you will.  He doesn't – well, then, you won't. 

They may be in his past, but they are never far from his thoughts.

Then she sees me and smiles broadly, almost smugly, like a woman with a fat, juicy, self-satisfying secret.

"Thanks, Daniel," she says, rising from the chair to give me a hug.

Colour me confused.  This was definitely the last thing I was expecting.

"For – for what?" I burble.

"For," she sighs and shakes her head, a fond 'oh that silly dear' look on her face.  "For covering for us," she breathes dramatically, leaning closer, squeezing my arm, like we're a pair of old conspirators.

Huh?  Still not getting' it.

Fortunately she seems quite unaware of my confusion and continues to fill in the blanks enthusiastically, without prompting, steering me back out toward the deck and our abandoned team mate.

"The colonel," she fondly chuckles.  "He's such a dear.  I know he never would have…it was the beer talking; he didn't mean to share our secret, but I guess you knew," she finishes with a sly, sideward glance.

Knew?  Oh – Oh my God!  She – she –

"Obviously, you know how we feel about each other, even though it's against the regs," she continues.  "That's why you covered for him – for us. It shouldn't surprise me he'd have confided in you, of course he would have, you're not in the military, it would be safe to tell you and you're such good friends and you spend so much time together, how could you not have known?  Anyway, thanks, Daniel," she sighs, squeezing my arm again.  "You're such a good friend.  To both of us."

She thinks I was – Jack was – it was all about her.  And him.  And her and him.  She doesn't think, doesn't even suspect – hasn't got a clue about the truth!

Oh my God, Sam, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.  Sure, this solves our problem rather neatly but, but…

She really doesn't know! Can't see things any way but the way she wants them to be.  Really, really thinks Jack and her…her and Jack…

I'm suddenly feeling very scared, and more than a little sad.  Sam, oh Sam, I'm sure the wonderland you're living in is a very interesting place, but I'm afraid to tell you, you're the only resident. 

Don't pick out furniture; trust me on this one.

And then we're back on the deck, reunited with Teal'c, and all conversation on the subject, real and imagined, abruptly ceases.  God, just get me through the rest of this day.  I'll have to tell Jack about this eventually; he'll have to know just how serious Sam's intentions are and how sure she is of his reciprocation. To the point of being downright creepy.  I'll have to tell him eventually, but not today. 



"Are they gone yet?"  Jack mumbles as I fall into bed and spoon up behind him.

"Yep," I tell him, moving in closer.  Don't wanna talk.  Don't wanna think.  Wanna snuggle.

"Everything locked up?" he mumbles.

"Yep, the house is secure."

"Carter's not hiding under the bed or anything, is she?"

The last time I saw Sam she was slung over Teal'c shoulder, giggling and blowing me kisses.  I think it's pretty safe to say she's down and out for the count and won't be creeping unexpectedly around any corners.

I hope…

"Did I sing?" he whines.  "Tell me, Daniel, please tell me I didn't sing."

"What do you think?" I chuckle, wriggling up against his ass.  He grunts appreciatively, and then sighs.

"I'm thinking we go out of town next year."  He's silent for a few seconds.  "Did I try and kiss you?" he finally ventures.  "In front of Carter and Teal'c?"

"Don't worry about it," I reassure, trying for casual.  "They didn't see a thing."

Well, they did and they didn't.  It's complicated and he's still too copious to go into it right now.

"You are so shitting me," he groans.

"Yes and no.  We're in the clear, trust me.  Thanks to a little luck of the Irish."

"I have no idea what that means and right now I'm too drunk to care."

"Go to sleep, Jack," I soothe, kissing the side of his neck.  "We'll sort it out in the morning."

I wonder if I should tell him because of his Irish charm, and but for a bit of Irish luck, if a certain someone had her way he might have been waking up to Sam in the morning, and not me.



On to April's Fools


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