Disclaimer: Right, don't own it. Yes, I know it's hard believe-(Shut up Selmac)-but I do not own Stargate.

A/N: Just a little something I wrote because they wouldn't let me have pie.

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General O'Neill exited the elevator and was instantly greeted by the din of exclamation that his ears had somewhat become adjusted to in the past month or so that he had held his position as base commander of the SGC.

Davis was chattering away, with a notably irritated note in his voice that had been there ever since he had be reassigned as the General's official assistant when the man who was supposed to replace him had turned out to be just an evaluator for the President and not a permanent anchorage.

Well, right now Walter's frustrations were not Jack's concern. He had a few hundred…make that million, of his own, and they started with one thing…coffee withdrawal.

That made him upset, because it gave Daniel license to pester him after all those years of his own banter towards the Archeologist's addiction to the strong black liquid. Now he was the one that would go postal if he didn't have at least five cups of the stuff before people began to descend from invisible recesses, (turns out there were a lot of those on base, never when you needed them to protect the world from pending destruction though.) their powers of cloaking any human being until they were right in front of you could only be exploited for the purpose of making his life more miserable.

A hot thermos was placed in his hand as he walked towards his office and Davis continued raving on about how their scientists wanted to use alien organs to build a Frankenstein. Or was that last week?

He didn't bother to thank whatever nervous Airman had thrust into his palm the delicious drink. No doubt with the way his mornings were, the person would already be gone and he'd look like he was talking to air for no particular reason. Then Walter would give him that unsurprised yet disappointed look as if to say, 'I-always-knew-you-would-crack-but-does-it-have-to-be-now-because-this-meeting's-more-important-than-your-evident-lunasy?'

Jack quickly guzzled the drink before it was taken away from him by another one of his imaginary assistants.

He tried to wait patiently for the caffeine to take effect, but between the information Davis was spewing in his right ear and the demands some civilian technician was making in his left, inevitably trapping both men's words in his brain because it couldn't get out either side and therefore continue his normally steady flow of ignorance, was causing him a massive headache.

He had no tolerance for this habitual routine at the moment and no amount of coffee seemed do be helping.

His infamous boiling point was approaching and it hadn't even been five minutes into hid day underground.

Had anyone of the eclectic group of people currently surrounding him and talking all that the same time while shoving paperwork into his hands had known this, they would have probably made a quick bargain with fate and hightailed away from him.

What a lovely thought. Peace…hmmm, that word was suppose to mean something…he'd ask Daniel the translation later.

As it was though, the noises around him were increasing to a tedious level, as even more personnel joined the band marching in the direction of his office, adding to the collective bunch that was vying for his attention.

"Sir, I need you to authorize this command…"

"General, you have a briefing with SG-12 in fifteen minutes, some negotiations to oversee between the Tokra and the Pangarans, a debriefing with SG-4…"

"O'Neill, don't listen to Lt. Bradley when he requests a transfer, he's just pissed because Wiley dumped her alien concoction down his pants…"

"General O'Neill, my fellow Russian teammates and I would wish to speak with you on a matter that is of concern between our respective governments…"

"…a meeting with the President and General Hammond to discuss some more long term plans for Home World security, the memo's on your desk, they need input on all of the SGC's ongoing contracts…"

"I doubt you are aware of this, Sir, but SG-15 brought back an unauthorized…"

"…That is to say, the reports were valid, but the Pentagon requests a more stable filling procedure…"

"Area 51 isn't happy with the new time arrangements between how long we get to keep Alien devices before handing them…"

Jack had remembered saying something a life time ago, when he was Colonel and the galaxy was a much happier, gun-slinging, planet hopping, ass kicking, Ba'al torturing, Asguard bantering, C-4 exploding, naquada gathering, battle readying, Goa'uld blasting, tachnobabbling, recon boring, place.

Where was he again? Oh yes, saying something…it was about a list…all the ways he was going to get back at the suits and ties of The Powers That Be.

His list was longer now.

He'd have to stand on Alaris and roll it through the gate to the representatives on the other side just so they could begin reading it. He'd have to ask Carter if that would work.

Speaking of which, he was getting very angry at the moment and there was currently no Lt. Col. Samantha Carter around to play buffer.

There was one thing he was mad about. Not only was it not even eight a.m. and already half the base had been jabbering away at him for what seemed like forever because someone had secretly relocated his office on the other side of eternity while he'd caught up on the only hour of sleep he'd managed to steal in over a month, but he hadn't seen Carter or any other member of SG-1 in nearly a week.

"Hey, General"

That tone…

Jack turned.

Kerry Johnson.

Remember to smile…

That's good…

Not going to save you buddy.

He'd stood her up last night. Accidentally. There was a crisis…a serious one…one that required his utmost attention…

Okay, so he hadn't made it because SG-1 hadn't gotten back from their mission yet…and he had…needed to debrief them?

Actually, he could've left that aspect of his job till tomorrow, it was a simple recon mission, but he hadn't seen Carter--his team! Hadn't seen his team, in a while.

Activity did not cease around him though as he stopped in the hallway and was labeled with a: 'I-am-going-to-kill-you-and-laugh-about-it', glare from his girlfriend that would have put Janet Frasier on edge.

Well, not quite, but it was close to that degree.

Much like the glare he'd like to give a certain Pete Shanahan should the opportunity ever present itself…was it just his imagination or did the glare intensify?

"Um…Hey, honey?" he tried to say without shouting to be heard over the noise still bellowing around him.

He frantically searched for his thermos of coffee under the pretense that by drinking it the substance could somehow make the universe disappear, but all he found was that his precious drink of the Gods had somehow been replaced by stacks of files, folders, and endless paperwork currently bogging down his arms.

"Do you know how many times that is now, Jonathan O'Neill?!"

Not the full name.

Now her rant had joined that of the entire crowd pressing against him and sweeping him along the corridor towards that office that had moved somewhere much farther from where it was supposed to be.

Any second now…

"…And we can't forget that the cafeteria shipment was wrong…"

"Just sign this and put it in your outbox…"

Control, must have control…

"…Two hours! I waited two hours at that damn restaurant…"

"My theory on the device that SG-16 brought back, is that it contains some force of…"

"…meeting with the Asguard high council, briefing with SG-9…"

Breathing. Breathing fine.

"I don't think I can stress how much the Russian's desire to establish common ground with…"

"O'Neill, are you listening to me? Under no circumstances can you transfer him…"

Getting difficult. Verging on impossible. Just want two seconds of quiet.

"…You need to relay this…"

Did he just say, need, something? NEED?!

Jack exploded.

Yes, as in, NEED nine straight hours of undisturbed sleep, NEED a calm place to unwind, NEED retirement, NEED everyone in the universe to sit back for an hour and kel'nor'reem, NEED a talk with Hammond about how much crap one person should put up with, NEED some miraculous cure to stress that doesn't require downtime because he couldn't afford that…

In other words…

"What I NEED, Davis, is CARTER!!!"

Oh look.

There's where they put his office.

And the door's open.

And there's someone sitting at his desk. Someone with two other someones…there's three very familiar someones sitting at his desk…and one of them is staring at him with her jaw a bit unhinged…

And there's another, reasonably homicidal, someone standing next to him…

Boy, Kerry sure is using that glare a lot these days…

Well, at least this is the most quiet he's gotten all month.