Rating: NC17, slash, Jack/Daniel, humour

Spoilers/Warnings: None. Warnings for bad language and sex.

Summary: Based on a true story. OK, not really, but wouldn´t it be really cool if it were?

Notes | Disclaimer

“You know, Daniel, I don´t know why I listen to you sometimes."

The last word came out more as a grunt as pain flared in his shoulder, hot and sharp. Jack winced a little and rubbed at the sore shoulder before stepping back to survey his handiwork.

“Are you suggesting that this is somehow *my* fault?"

Jack spared Daniel only a fleeting glance then returned his attention to the makeshift barricade. His shoulder gave another twinge when his eyes fell on the bookcase he´d hustled in to place to secure the door. It had been fucking heavy, but right now that was a plus. It wasn´t much, but it would do. It had to.

“Hey, you picked the destination," Jack pointed out as he turned to scan the room looking for other things that could be used to block the door and windows. “I wanted to go to Minnesota for our downtime. Fresh air, fishing…"

“No running water, a generator that craps out in the middle of the night…" Daniel shot back.

“But, nooo, that wouldn´t do," Jack continued without missing a beat as he began to push a dilapidated armchair in front of the bookcase. “Let´s go to New Orleans, Jack," he mimicked. “We can hang out on Bourbon Street, maybe catch a Patriots game and hey! If we´re really lucky, maybe we´ll get to be chased down the street by a bunch of zombies wanting to eat our brains!"

Most people would say that eye rolling made no sound, but most people had clearly never met Daniel Jackson. Even with his back to Daniel, Jack could hear ‘em rolling loud and clear, followed by the inevitable sigh.

When he turned to face Daniel, he studiously ignored the torn sleeve of Daniel´s jacket and the bruise stretched across his cheekbone, both mementos from their recent run in with the aforementioned brain-munchers. Instead, he focused on Daniel´s pissed off expression. Surprisingly, it helped.

“And how exactly was I supposed to predict that the dead were going to rise, Jack? I don´t seem to recall reading about it in the in-flight magazine."

Jack shrugged. “Hey, it´s New Orleans! That´s exactly the kind of stuff I´d expect to go on here."

“And you base that conclusion of what precisely?"

“C´mon, Daniel. Think about it. Voodoo, black magic, spicy food."

Another eye roll that could probably be heard halfway down the block. “For the last time, Jack, Jambalaya does not, nor has it ever, caused the dead to rise from their graves."

Jack tilted his head towards the spectacularly ugly sofa across the room. He grabbed one end, Daniel the other and then they lifted on the count of three. They both gave a short chuff of breath when they dropped it in front of the window. “Says you. I´d say the fact that the city is currently swarming with the not so living would rather prove my theory."

Daniel shook his head, handing the cushions and then a floor lamp to Jack so he could stack them on top.

“Personally, I´m blaming it on that chef guy. You know Paul Prune-whatever. You know the one that looks like Dom DeLuise"

“Paul Prudhomme? What´s he got to do with this?"

“It´s all those spices. It´s giving the dead heartburn."

Daniel snorted, but before he could respond further Jack started talking again. “Hey, have you ever noticed that Pete kinda looks like Dom DeLuise?"

Daniel paused in the middle of hefting a side table to add to the barricade. He blinked slowly then stared at Jack. “You come up with the weirdest non-sequiturs, Jack."

“That´s not a non-sequitur; that´s a simple observation. But I´m right, aren´t I? He does kinda look like the guy. He could almost be his son."

Daniel shook his head. “Jack, when you´re hiding from zombies in an abandoned house, I´d say any reflections upon Dom DeLuise definitely qualify as unrelated."

Jack made a non-committal sound then grabbed another lamp. They worked in silence for a time, until the quiet began to grate of Jack´s already frayed nerves.

“You know, this would never happen in Minnesota."

“What? Zombies?" Daniel pushed the rocking chair to Jack. They turned it over and wedged it on top of the sofa.

“Yep."

“You´re probably right there, Jack. Even the dead wouldn´t want to live in such a fucking icebox."

“That was low, Daniel."

Daniel shrugged, unrepentant before his expression turned thoughtful. “You know, we don´t know that for a fact."

Jack looked up, frowning. “What?"

“We don´t know that the zombies aren´t in Minnesota. Or New York. Or Colorado Springs for that matter."

Jack´s frown deepened. “OK, now there´s a happy thought."

“Yeah. I wish we had some way of finding out."

Jack nodded absently, his mind already moving ahead, mapping out what needed to be done. Their current hiding place had been dictated by necessity rather than by choice. When the zombies had first made their appearance—and that was a phrase Jack had never expected to hear himself using—they´d pretty much hightailed it out of there as fast as their legs could carry them. They´d ended up in a run down house that looked like a reject from some cheesy B horror movie, but hey, Jack had always been a big fan of the whole ‘any port in a storm´ credo and as a general rule, when you had a pack of zombies stumbling after you muttering “braaaaiiiins"? Not a good time to get picky over getaway spots.

Between them, they´d managed to force the door open and then had proceeded to blockade it and the windows with the furniture on hand. There was no television in sight, but given that there was also no electricity, that wasn´t a big priority. Ditto for a telephone and why he´d ever let Daniel convince him to leave the cell phone back at the hotel for the night, he´d never know. Water under the bridge.

Jack brushed his dusty hands against his thighs and surveyed their efforts, satisfied that they´d secured the premises as best as they could, under the circumstances.

“Okay, Daniel, reconnaissance time. We need to check for supplies: food, water, matches. If we´re lucky we might even find a radio or a flashlight." He didn´t mention how unlikely any of that was, but when he caught Daniel´s eye, he knew he didn´t need to. Daniel already knew.

“You´re not going to suggest we split up to cover more ground, are you? ‘Cause whenever they do that in the horror movies it always ends in tears. And decapitations."

Jack had been about to do propose just that. It was SOP. But then Jack remembered that the USAF field handbook didn´t exactly cover zombie incursions so he figured he was justified in playing a little fast and loose with regulations this time around.

“Nah, and miss our witty repartee? We´ll stick together."

“Like Hope and Crosby?" Daniel suggested as they began to grope their way in the direction of what they hoped was the kitchen.

“Only if I get to be Bob Hope. He always got the better schtick."

“But Crosby always got the girls."

Jack frowned again. “Did not."

“Did too," Daniel shot back. He tripped in the dark; Jack grabbed his arm and steadied him.

“Did not."

“Did too."

“Not."

“Too."

“And when did you start watching horror movies, anyway?" Jack´s change of topic was like the bell in a boxing match, signaling the end of the round. Thankfully, Daniel took the hint and let the argument go. He was going to lose anyway.

“I always did. I´m a big fan of cheesy horror flicks. Especially those old Hammer films."

“The Vincent Price ones?" They´d found the kitchen pantry and Jack began to open cabinets. Not so much Martha Stewart as Old Mother Hubbard apparently.

“Yep. Low quality special effects and high quality camp. What´s not to love?"

“Well, I´d love them better if we weren´t stuck in the “Thriller" video."

Daniel tugged hard at a drawer that was stuck. “Michael Jackson. Now *that´s* scary. I mean what happened to his nose? It looks like some took a lathe to it."

“Daniel?"

“Hmm?"

Your observation about Dom DeLuise? That applies equally to Michael Jackson."

“Right, of course."

They continued to forage in silence. In the end, the results were better than Jack had anticipated though not as good as he would have liked. They found some candles and matches in one of the drawers near the sink. No food—no surprise there—but there was a bottle of whiskey all the way at the back of one of the cabinets. Jack hesitated for a moment but grabbed it after reflecting upon the virtues of Molotov cocktails and the combustible capacity of zombies. There´d been a brief moment of excitement when Daniel found the small transistor radio, until they´d opened up the back and found the batteries completely corroded, the metal casings covered in black, sticky fluid. Well, a radio had been a long shot anyway.

They´d been about to carry their haul back into the living room when the sound of breaking glass shocked them both. They raced into the darkened corridor and followed the sound back to the living room. In the faint moonlight now streaming through the window, they saw an arm, grayish green and covered in rotting flesh, reaching in to the room and flailing about. Not for the first time Jack regretted he hadn´t brought his P-90 along--the first time had been when they´d tried to wade their way through the mobs of tourists on Bourbon Street—but right now he´d settle for a Berretta, or better yet a zat. Well, they´d have to handle it the low tech way.

Jack tried to get a hold on the arm, only to find himself caught in the grip of a preternaturally strong hand. He pulled at the fingers to pry them loose but to no avail. Worse still, he felt himself being pulled forward towards the window.

“Shit! Daniel!"

Daniel was looking about wildly for something to use as a makeshift weapon and finally settled on the only thing at hand: one of the books from the bookcase they´d shoved in front of the door. Daniel raised the book high over his head, then brought it down with all the force his momentum could manage. He hit the arm again and again and again as Jack dug in his heels and tried to free himself from the fingers that clutched at him like steel claws.

“Let go, God dammit!" Daniel muttered as he smashed the book into the arm repeatedly. Daniel had quite a bit of muscle on him now and Jack knew from experience that he was a lot stronger than he looked, so there had to be a hell of a lot of force behind those blows. Daniel might as well have been sprinkling the disembodied arm with rose petals for all the good it was doing.

And then, all of a sudden, the arm really was disembodied. Daniel brought the book down on the arm again, the force of the blow, severing the arm from the shoulder. Jack staggered back, almost falling on his ass, the arm still clutching the front of his shirt. Daniel grabbed the other end and pulled. After several long seconds punctuated by the raspy sound of their own breathing, the arm came loose and Daniel tossed it to the floor.
Jack ran over to the window, Daniel right behind him, and began to shove anything they could in front of the hole in the window before the rest of the zombie could follow the arm. By the time they were done they were both breathing heavily, adrenaline still dancing along nerves that were lit up like a Christmas tree. That crisis resolved, they both turned their gaze towards the arm lying nearby. It lay there quiescent, but they still stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. Still no movement, even after Daniel prodded it with the toe of his boot.

“Kitchen?"

“Kitchen."

When they returned to the relative haven of the kitchen, Daniel slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Jack lit one of the candles that he perched in a chipped coffee mug. He then snagged the bottle of whiskey and joined Daniel on the floor, his legs stretched out on front of him. Both his knee and shoulder protested the movement, but settled down to a dull ache almost immediately.

“Are you sure that´s a good idea?" Daniel asked as Jack uncorked the bottle of whiskey and took a drink.

“Probably not, but right now, I really need this." Jack offered the bottle to Daniel who took it after only a moment´s hesitation. Daniel took a long pull before returning it to Jack. The house was eerily quiet now, so quiet one could almost forget that there were zombies moving around outside and that one of them had left a little love token of rancid, decomposing flesh in the next room. At that thought, Jack decided maybe another drink was called for. This time Daniel raised no protest but just drank when Jack passed him the bottle.

“Not quite the downtime we´d planned, is it?" Jack observed equitably after his third drink as he watched the shadows flickering across the far wall like shadow puppets. When Daniel didn´t answer, Jack turned to look at him. Daniel was looking at him with a serious expression, his brow deeply furrowed and that little squint to his eyes. Jack knew that expression, he´d seen it hundreds of times over the years, but there was something…off about it. Something too intense. Maybe it was the unreliable light cast by the candle sitting in the mug nearby, maybe it was the effects of the whiskey, but Jack couldn´t help but squirm a little beneath that probing, penetrating gaze.

“Daniel…" He began but got no further before Daniel leaned in and kissed him. Daniel´s mouth tasted of whiskey and hunger as he pressed closer, demanding access. Jack could feel the faint rasp of beard against his cheeks—Daniel´s facial hair was as precocious as the rest of him—and smell the undertone of sweat that clung to them both from their earlier exertions. Daniel was hot and hard and God damn but he knew how to kiss, but they couldn´t do this, not now, not ever. He struggled to push Daniel away and it was harder than trying to dislodge the zombie arm but for entirely different reasons. When he finally managed it, Daniel gazed back at him with dark and disconcertingly knowing eyes.

“Daniel, we can´t…"

Daniel cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “Don´t say it, Jack."

“Daniel…"

“Jack, the dead are rising from their fucking graves!" Jack jumped in spite of himself at the fierceness in Daniel´s voice. “This is end of the world stuff. If that doesn´t warrant a ‘screw the regulations,´ frankly I don´t know what does."

This time when Daniel leaned in to kiss him again, Jack rose up to meet him. Even as he did, there was a part of him that pointed out that this was a spectacularly bad idea. Not because of the regs, or even because they were currently trapped in a house surrounded by hungry, reanimated brain eating corpses, but because he wanted it so much it scared the hell out of him. That was Jack´s last thought before he gave up thinking entirely.

He´d been wrong in thinking Daniel was a good kisser; he was an amazing kisser. Jack knew that he probably should have expected that, of course; Daniel had made enough sly jokes over the years about linguists having nimble tongues. But it wasn´t just his tongue, which was very nimble indeed. It wasn´t even his lips or his teeth which nipped when they captured Jack´s lower lip between them. It was all of it, the touch, the scent, the heat the kiss, more than Jack had expected and yet paradoxically no where near enough as well. Daniel´s hand had come to rest against his neck, a warm, comforting weight as it cradled the back of Jack´s skull while the other hand slid down to rub up and down Jack´s thigh, fingers pressing down, kneading the muscle like a cat looking to settle in for a nap. Except Daniel´s hand didn´t settle. It continued to roam, restless and teasing, along Jack´s thigh, across his hip, tracing the inseam of Jack´s trousers in a manner that would get your average tailor slapped with a sexual harassment suit.

And then Daniel´s hand was cupping his dick through the fabric of his trousers and Jack moaned. Daniel swallowed the sound even as he began to rub Jack´s dick in a slow rhythm, motion and the rasp of fabric moving against his skin producing the most amazing sensations, way better than Jack´s own hand had ever managed on its own. Jack decided to return the favor, one of his hands coming to rest on Daniel´s lap before he began to massage Daniel´s cock with the palm and the heel of his hand. Apparently, Jack´s hand was not so shabby after all, if those soft whimpers issuing from Daniel´s mouth were any indication. Jack felt a certain smug satisfaction at that.

Jack jumped a little as he felt Daniel tugging at his belt and then the zipper of his khakis and then squirmed some more as Daniel´s hand slipped under the waistband of his shorts and took Jack in hand, as it were. Oh yes, that was better still, the glide of Daniel´s palm, smooth and slightly damp, against Jack´s flesh as Daniel tugged and pulled and drew pleasure up from the very bottom of Jack´s soles. Jack tried to do the same for Daniel, was embarrassed when he found that he couldn´t get Daniel´s belt unbuckled because surely special ops training should have held him in good stead here as well. Daniel however, was happy to give Jack a hand—another hand—and he tugged his belt open. Jack was able to take it from there and soon enough he had matters in hand, the sound of Daniel´s whimpers and moans like music to his ears.

Jack knew he couldn´t last. Daniel was still kissing him, sloppy, open mouthed kisses that swallowed Jack´s breath directly from his lungs until he wasn´t breathing air at all, but pure, concentrated Daniel. As a form of life support, Jack definitely thought it had serious merit. But as wonderful as Daniel´s mouth was, it couldn´t compare to what his hand was doing. Jack began to move his own hand faster, more roughly, knowing that the movement must have bordered on uncomfortable even as he felt Daniel move to match him as they raced towards climax.

When he came, it felt as if his whole body had received an electrical shock. He twitched and bucked as he spilled over Daniel´s fist, nerves singing and blood pounding in his ears. He heard someone cry out as if from a distance, only belatedly recognizing the high querulous voice as his own. His vision began to gray, but he continued to pump Daniel´s dick, determined to pull him along on the wave of fierce pleasure. Another cry followed by warmth and wetness on his hand and then Daniel slumped against him, his body a pleasantly heavy weight atop him. At that moment a whole herd of zombies could have come stomping through the kitchen and Jack doubted he could have mustered enough energy to so much as glare at them. And strangely enough, he was okay with that. His last thought as his eyelids began to slide closed was ‘hell of a way to go.´

When Jack woke up again, it was to the sight of pale sunlight peeking through the makeshift barricade covering the window, a burned out candle and one sleeping archeologist currently drooling on his chest.

“Daniel."

No answer.

“Daniel," he repeated, this time with a judicious application of his elbow to Daniel´s ribcage.

“Hmm?"

“Get off."

Sleepy blue eyes flickered then squinted up at him. “Oh. Right. Sorry ‘bout that." Daniel rolled off Jack then settled beside him. He pulled off his glasses and scrubbed at his face before looking up sharply.

“The zombies?"

“No sign of ‘em. But don´t zombies go to sleep or something during the day?"

“Well, the mythology isn´t always clear on that point. In the case of the golem from Jewish mythology…"

“Daniel? I don´t want a lecture on mythology here. Do they or don´t they?"

Wow, that eye roll probably set off car alarms down the street. “Well mythology is pretty much all I´ve got. It´s not like Columbia has gotten around to releasing its study on the eating habits of modern zombies yet. Zombies aren´t supposed to even exist!"

“Daniel?"

Daniel gave a heavy sigh. “The zombies slept during the day in <i>Last Man on Earth</i>."

“Vincent Price?"

Daniel nodded.

“Okay, good enough for me." Jack stood up, feeling muscles protesting loudly at the movement. Between fighting zombies and sleeping on the floor, he hadn´t exactly been doing his body any favors. He gained a measure of solace from the fact that Daniel was grimacing and moving as stiffly as he was.

“So? Ready to face the day?"

“Let´s do it."

They returned to the living room and started to disassemble the barricade. Jack was sure that the bookcase had actually gotten heavier overnight. Hey, stranger things had happened. The dead rising from their graves did have a tendency to raise the bar on the whole what is and isn´t possible stakes.

Once they were done, Daniel positioned himself at the door and Jack stood beside it, hefting the floor lamp like a cudgel. He nodded to Daniel and silently mouthed ‘one, two…´

And on ‘three´, Daniel opened the door wide and Jack tensed, ready to smash some zombie skulls, but nothing. They peered cautiously around the edge of the door and saw…nothing. No, that wasn´t entirely accurate. The saw fluffy white clouds floating in a clear blue sky, pristine lawns completely free of severed, decomposing limbs. There was a sudden rumbling sound and they both tensed, only to relax as a cherry red Honda Civic zipped by at the duly posted speed limit.

They looked at each other, confused. Daniel was the first to speak. “Is it over?"

Jack continued to look outside. It didn´t like it was over so much as never happened, but that couldn´t be right. “Let´s get back to the hotel."

Daniel nodded his agreement and closed the door behind them with a faintly apologetic shrug.

The trip back to the hotel was even more surreal than their flight the previous evening. Everything was so…normal. People were strolling along the streets or sitting in sidewalk cafes, drinking coffee and eating beignets. Not exactly the kind of post-apocalyptic behavior Jack would have expected.

When they got back to the hotel, Jack ignored the openly curious stares of the hotel staff. Jack cast a sidelong glance at Daniel who was staring at the lobby like it was some alien meeting place. The sleeve of his jacket was still torn and that bruise on his cheek had darkened to an angry shade of purple. Whatever had happened the night before that was no figment of his imagination.

Jack rubbed a tired hand along his neck, massaging the sore muscles then halted when he felt a bump beneath his fingertips. He turned his head to the side and peered into the tastefully tinted mirror behind the reception deck and frowned. It had been a while, but Jack still knew a hickey when he saw one. Apparently that hadn´t been a figment of his imagination either. At least that one had been a good one.

Grabbing the key from the desk attendant, Jack grabbed Daniel as well. They didn´t speak at all until they reached the safety of their room. Jack threw the latch, wedged a chair under the door handle then went in search of his cell phone.

“Is that really necessary?" Daniel asked waving a hand in the direction of the door.

“I´m not taking any chances. Something happened last night and until I´m convinced that we´re safe, I´m not taking any chances."

Daniel nodded absently then turned on the television. He turned when Jack grunted in satisfaction.

“What are you doing?"

“Calling Carter," he replied as he hit the send button. “I want some independent confirmation from someone I trust."

“I´m not sure that´s such a good idea, Jack."

Jack waved him off. “Carter?"

Jack immediately understood Daniel´s hesitation when he heard a muffled and vaguely miffed voice on the other end of the phone. “Sorry, Carter. I forgot about the time difference. So, Carter, you haven´t noticed or heard about any strange goings on, have you?"

The silence on the other end of the line had a distinctly cool quality, as did Carter´s eventual response. “So, no reports of oh, say, zombies?"

Jack winced. He´d encountered artic blasts that were warmer than Carter´s reply. “Right, okay, that´s what I thought. Thanks Carter. Oh and say hi to Pete, will ya? Bye."

Jack tossed the cell on the bed. “Boy, she´s cranky in the morning."

“Jack, she´s on vacation in San Francisco with her boyfriend and you just woke her up at…" he squinted at his watch “seven in the morning. I´d say she´s entitled to be a little cranky."

“Yeah, sure, whatever. So, anything on the television?"

“Nothing. I mean, I know the media is obsessed with the elections and all, but surely a spontaneous zombie attack would qualify as newsworthy."

Jack sank to the edge of the bed. “So…no zombies."

Daniel sat next to him. “Apparently not."

“Then how do you explain…" Jack waved his hand, the gesture encapsulating not only Daniel´s torn jacket and bruised face, but everything else they´d experienced the previous night.

“I can´t, apart from some kind of weird joint hallucination. Though, how we ever came up with zombies…"

“Jambalaya!" Jack blurted.

“Huh?"

“The jambalaya we had for dinner."

“Jack…"

“Hey, you said it couldn´t raise the dead. I´m agreeing with you here. But maybe it caused us to…"

“Hallucinate?"

“I´d´ve gone for ‘imagine´, but hallucinate works well enough."

Daniel was frowning hard, the furrows in his forehead reminding Jack of one of those sharpy dogs.

“So…jambalaya?"

Daniel shrugged. “Yesterday, I´d  have said you were nuts for suggesting such a thing…"

“As I recall, you did. Repeatedly."

Daniel ignored him. “…but I can´t deny that something caused us to hallucinate those zombies and we both did eat the jambalaya for dinner, so…"

“So…jambalaya?"

“Jambalaya."

“Huh."

They sat together on the bed, silent for a time. When Jack looked up at Daniel again, he was startled by the unexpectedly calculating look Daniel gave him. Jack felt a sudden heat fill him.

“Daniel?"

Daniel began to advance on him, a determined gleam in his eyes. It was a good look on him, Jack decided before common sense reasserted itself. He placed a hand against Daniel´s chest to arrest his forward motion. “Daniel…"

“Jack?"

“We can´t do this."

“Why not? We´ve already broken the regs once."

“That was different. We had the ‘end of the world get out of jail free´ card to play. This time we can´t blame the zombies."

Daniel was still moving closer, that intent look in his eyes. Jack hadn´t even realized that he´d been going with the motion until his back hit the mattress and Daniel was hovering over him, his expression now triumphant.

“We´ll blame the jambalaya."

“What?"

“You said it yourself, Jack. The jambalaya, or more accurately something *in* the jambalaya caused us to hallucinate zombies. It´s really the only logical explanation for what happened. So, it´s not really that farfetched to suppose that maybe it had other side effects as well." Daniel underscored that remark by doing some really interesting things with his hand. Jack gasped.

“Daniel."

“And your little pre-dawn call to Sam will only lend credence to the theory that something was making us act strangely." Daniel´s hand was now resting someplace that it really wasn´t supposed to and if Daniel removed it Jack would have to kill him. Now.

“So…jambalaya?"

“Jambalaya."

“So it really *was* Paul Prune-guy´s fault!" Jack was inordinately pleased by that fact. “And I still say he looks like Dom DeLuise."

“Jack?"

“Daniel?"

“Shut up."

Then Daniel proceeded to shut Jack up in the very best way.

Finis