Behind the Desk

Author: Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: 9

Episode: Avalon 1

Pairing: None

Rating: Anyone

Category: Humor

Warnings: None

Spoilers: ah, Avalaon, d'oh

Summary: That remark about Jack and the desk-

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

Author’s Pledge: Honest and accurate information provided to readers so they may make an informed choice on whether or not to read.

Author's Note: The chef at the Pentagon, mentioned in this fic, is factual.

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General Hank Landry, new commander of the SGC, loved his new office, and he really liked his new desk.

He would love his new desk, if he could only get the damned drawers open.

Hank chuckled as he drank his coffee. Not even Sergeant Walter Harriman, the SGC's version of Radar O'Reilly, the man who always knew how everything ran, could get the desk open.

And Radar, er, Walter, had put him on to the truth.

When quizzed about why the desk drawers didn't open, Walter had very diplomatically but insistently answered, simply, "You'll have to ask General O'Neill, Sir."

And, after Hank's second, or maybe his third, inquiry, Jack had 'fessed up at last, admitting that he didn't have the key. Never had had the key. Eventually came clean with the truth; that, in the year he'd been commander of the SGC, he'd never been able to open the desk. Of course, Jack, being Jack, claimed he hadn't needed to open the desk drawers, hadn't actually ever wanted to open the desk drawers, hadn’t ever cared about the desk drawers.

As if he really thought Hank would fall for that line.

Hank smiled again, and finished his coffee. "Walter, is that locksmith here yet?"

"Couldn't bring a locksmith into the base, Sir, there isn't one with adequate clearance. But Sergeant Siler did meet with the man," Walter explained.

Hank was still getting to know the SGC’s personnel. "Siler? The guy with the big wrench?" Landry looked down at the desk, at the beautiful, polished wood. "He's not planning on using that big wrench on my desk, is he?"

"No, Sir," Walter answered. "As I understand it, Sergeantt Siler has acquired some specialized tools from the locksmith." Harriman looked at his watch. "I expect him to get here at any minute, General."

Right on cue, the SGC's resident fix-it man walked in, carrying a large toolbox. "This could take some time, Sir," Siler warned. "You might want to leave."

Agreeing, Hank left the office, and the desk, in Siler's capable hands, strolling down to the cafeteria, He perused the offerings in the food line before finally settling for a rather dry looking Danish to go with another cup of strong coffee. Jack had warned him about the food here, but then, what military base ever had quality food? Though Jack, of course, could now eat dinner in the Pentagon's dining room, where they had a real, honest to goodness chef.

Half an hour later, Landry headed back to his office. Siler was done. Sliding into the high-backed leather chair, the general ran his hands appreciatively along the perfect, unmarred high gloss surface.

Hank opened the desk's large right hand file drawer, admiring the smooth glide as it did so. A quality piece of furniture, this was. He opened the two left hand drawers, each moving equally smoothly and silently.

Hank opened the middle drawer.

Strange, there was a piece of paper inside this one, a note sized sheet of paper, folded over.

Heart sinking, Hank picked it up and opened it.

In big, bold letters, in familiar handwriting, he read:

Got ya!

Jack

Taped just beneath the scrawled signature was the key to the desk.

---The End---