Reporting for Duty

We were always careful at work. Even when we arrived smothering yawns from a night spent pushing ourselves too far in pursuit of the definitive blow job, even when I was saluting him with a hand that not an hour before had been somewhere south of his belt, teasing and tormenting him until he'd slapped it away growling, we were professional.

Of course we were. It was more fun that way. And Jack, removed from an arena where indulging in fun could land him and his team in worse than hot water, was taking full advantage of his rank and abusing his privilege shamelessly.

He'd had years of practice…

Which was why I'd been re-assigned to him, over protests that my rank and experience were either insufficient or, when that didn't work, too high and extensive to make it fair to turn me into his gofer, albeit with a fancier title.

I watched the battle rage overhead, a studiously bland expression on my face whenever I was sounded out about the position, respectfully silent, not giving away my elation at the idea of working for him. It wasn't even all down to the fact that we were fucking and if I had official reasons to call at his house and stay there late into the night it'd make our situation easier. No; I truly did believe that knowing him as I did, I could get a damn sight more work out of him than my predecessors had managed.

With judicious attempts to call in favours and not get the job, making sure I asked just the wrong people, my indifference changing to whining comments about O'Neill's eccentricity when I wasn't with anyone who out-ranked me, I got just where I wanted, in a small room off his office, where once I locked the outer door only Jack could walk in on me. I'd always got on fine with his secretary and I think she was pleased to see me replace the snot-nosed, by the regs, captain who'd had the assignment before me. Peters had spent most of his time scurrying around apologizing for General O'Neill's behaviour which had won him less friends than you'd think.

Yes. Right where I wanted to be. Even if Jack did give me hell that first morning as some of my remarks had filtered back to him.

"For your information, Davis, I am not a fucking prima donna. I didn't save the planet to get offered gooseberry fucking crumble three days running in the cafeteria."

"Do you remember what I said I'd do the next time you mentioned saving the planet?"

He smirked, tucking his hands behind his head and making his chair creak as he tilted way far back. "Oh, yeah. Looking forward to it."

Sometimes he had the mental age of twelve.

His feet slammed back on the carpet and his eyes went sharp and cool. "But we're on the clock right now, Major, and effective immediately, your ass belongs in that office through there, so move it. And don't spend the morning arranging paperclips; there's a report on some missing Trust members I've been waiting for. I want it on my desk by ten or I'm going to start thinking you're not the man for the job."

Sometimes not.

"I put it in your in-tray, sir." I permitted myself a small smile. "It had been… rerouted."

Which was another way of saying it had been deliberately hidden and Peters, the jerk, had been cold, cold, cold when he'd tried to find it.

"Ah." He pursed his lips, considering the implications of that -- none of them good -- and then nodded. "Dismissed."


I closed the connecting door, fought off a brief moment of claustrophobia until I found the light switch, and then sat down behind my new desk.

I could see problems ahead and I was going to have to relearn how to look at him and see the general, not the man, but I could do that.

It was going to work.

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