Stargate Horizons

Incidents Series Part 14: The Drunken Daniel Incident
by Maureen Thayer

Categories: Humor, Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Content Warning: Mild Profanity
Spoilers: None
Author's Note: This is the 14th fanfic in the Incidents Series.  I would highly recommend that you read the previous parts before this one, if you have not already done so, in order to understand the plot.

This story switches between Jack's and Ferretti's points of view.

They say that everyone has twenty/twenty hindsight, and that may be true, but you have no idea how much I wish my foresight had been a whole lot clearer than it turned out to be.

It had seemed like a fun idea at the time, take Daniel out to a bar on his twenty-first birthday and get him a little drunk.  Just some harmless, good fun.  Unfortunately, I failed to consider certain things about this particular twenty-one-year-old that I really should have.

When I first conceived this plan, I wondered if it would even be possible to get Daniel drunk because of his super-fast growth rate, but since he eats and processes food at a normal rate, I figured that the same would apply to alcohol.

The evening started out all right.  I picked one of my favorite hangouts for Daniel's introduction to alcoholic beverages, out of necessity one that he had never been to as an adult.  We got a corner booth, away from the crowd at the bar so that we could talk with a little more privacy.  The waitress who brought our beers smiled at Daniel quite fetchingly, making no secret of the fact that she thought he was cute.  I bet if Daniel had asked, she'd have given him her phone number faster than you could count to five.  He thought it was hilarious when the girl mistook me for his father.  I, on the other hand, was not quite so amused.

My young friend's first taste of beer was not met with enthusiasm, made evident by the grimace on his face.

"Oh, come on," I said.  "It can't taste that bad."

Daniel put the glass down.  "I used to drink that?" he asked.


"And I liked it?"

"Well . . . sort of."

Daniel looked at me.  "Sort of?"

"Okay, so you were never a huge fan, but we shared many a bottle over the years."

Daniel stared at the glass of Guinness.  "Can I try something else?"

"Sure.  Anything you want.  I wouldn't go straight to the hard liquor, though, if I were you."

Thus followed half an hour of Daniel trying this drink or that, never taking more than a small sip before deciding that he didn't like the taste.  I could see myself going into debt just to find something that he would be willing to drink.

And then he tried a Fuzzy Navel, which I'd chosen in desperation because the name made him smile.

"This isn't bad," he remarked.

"Finally!" I cried.

He took a second, bigger swallow.  "It's nice."

"I am so pleased," I told him.

"What's in it?"

"Peach schnapps, orange juice and lemonade."

The drink disappeared in short order.  I recommended that perhaps he should try some other drinks that contained peach schnapps, and he agreed.

And so began Daniel's foray into the many and varied ways that the spirit of distilled peaches could be consumed.  Without going into detail, I'll say that the names of some of the drinks brought an embarrassed blush to Daniel's cheeks, but he tried them anyway.

In time, I noticed that the heightened color of Daniel's cheeks was not going away and that his eyes looked just a wee bit glazed.

"Jack," he mumbled.

"Yes, Daniel?"


"Yes, Daniel?"


I paused.  "Yes, darling?"

Daniel giggled and hiccupped.  He then said, "I don't have a darling."

"You don't?"

Daniel shook his head emphatically, which threw him off-balance.  I had to grasp his shoulder to keep him from toppling out of the booth.

"I had a . . . I had a girlfriend in my senior year at UCLA, but I don't have one now," he paused, "or I didn't have one when I was this age before."  He looked confused.  "I don't have one now either."

I nodded.  "It's a little tough to have a girlfriend when you spend most of your time inside a military base, not to mention your other . . . situation."

Daniel looked at me.  "Can I have a girlfriend when I'm all finished growing older?"

"Well, Daniel, we never finish growing older until we're dead."

Daniel frowned disapprovingly.  "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do, and, yes, if you still want one, you can have a girlfriend then."

"Good.  Then I only have to wait . . ." he began counting on his fingers, having to restart a couple of times, "two . . . two and a half more months."

"Give or take."

The issue of a girlfriend apparently having been resolved, we moved onto other topics, which ranged from the weather to Daniel's opinion of certain people at the SGC.  I was just beginning to think that it was time to take my young teammate back to my place to sleep it off when the thing I should have foreseen started happening.

"Hey, did you know I can juggle?" Daniel asked with a pleased grin.

"No, I didn't know that."

"Wanna see?"

"Sure, just as long as you don't break or spill anything."

Daniel picked up the salt and pepper shakers and the empty peanut bowl and placed them before him.  Then he started juggling them . . . without using his hands.  Horrified, I snatched the objects out of the air.

"Daniel, you can't do that here," I hissed.  "Someone will see."

Just then, we heard a commotion and turned to see a man and woman arguing.  The man called the woman a bitch, and she slapped him.  He raised his hand to return the slap, but never got the chance to land the blow.  He suddenly found himself sprawled on the floor as a result of the shot glass that was launched at his head, a shot glass that had not been thrown by human hands.

I turned around and stared at the person I knew was responsible.

"He was going to hit her," he said, glaring at the supine man.

"Oookay, I think it's time we get you out of here, Daniel."

"But I'm having fun."

"Yes, well, suddenly, I'm not anymore, so I think it's best that we leave . . . the sooner the better."

I managed to get Daniel into his coat and out of the booth, though the former revealed that his hand-eye coordination had taken a vacation to the South Pole and the latter that he was a hell of a lot heavier than he looked.

Managing to keep him upright as we made our way through the crowd, I got him outside, and we headed for the car.

"Hey, I've been practicing how much I can lift," Daniel declared with a very pronounced slur.  I figured he probably wouldn't make it to my place before he passed out.


"Uh huh.  I can lift quite a lot now."

"Really.  That's great.  You'll have to show me one of these days."

I really, really shouldn't have said that.

My truck was right before us, a safe haven I believed until I could get Daniel into the privacy of my home.  That, of course, was before I witnessed it being lifted three feet into the air.

"Daniel!" I yelled, another really bad decision on my part.

Startled, Daniel dropped my truck.  It did not make a good sound when it landed.

"Oops," my inebriated friend said, then hiccupped.

Groaning, I sat him down on the asphalt and got on my hands and knees to look under the truck.  Even in the darkness, I could see the cracked axle.

"Oh, wonderful," I muttered.  I glared at Daniel.  "You broke my truck, Daniel."

"I'm sorry.  You startled me."

Okay, so what the hell was I going to do now?  Calling a cab was out of the question since it might be a little tough to explain to the cabby how his taxi suddenly gained the ability to fly.

I started ticking off names in my head.  Carter?  Nope, she'd kill me.  Fraiser?  Ditto.  General Hammond?  Not a chance in hell.  Teal'c didn't have a car, so he was out even if I did think I could put up with the disapproving Jaffa glare he'd subject me to for the next fifty years.

There really was only one person I could call that I knew would keep his mouth shut about this without me having to resort to making it an official order.

I got my cell phone out and dialed.

"Yo!" came the cheerful greeting.

"Ferretti, Daniel and I are in the parking lot of Dooley's.  Get over here now."

There was a pause, then, "Sure, Jack.  Be right there."

As I hung up, I had a sinking feeling that the night's miseries were far from over.

The call from Jack took me by surprise.  My first thought was that he'd changed his mind about letting me help get Daniel drunk, but his tone had been anything but jovial.  Then it filtered through that he'd said he and Daniel were in the parking lot.  What were they doing in the parking lot?

When I got to Dooley's, I saw Jack standing outside his truck.  Daniel was inside . . . well, part of him was.  Actually, he was hanging out the open window, looking up at the sky.

"We could see the constellations lots better if we went up to the top of the mountain," I heard him say as I parked my car and got out.

"Another time, Daniel," Jack responded.

"What's up, Jack?" I asked.

Daniel looked at me upside-down.  "Ferretti!" he cried in delight, waving at me.  "Have you ever had peach schnapps?  It's good!"

I smiled in amusement.  "No, but I'm guessing that you've had quite a bit of it tonight."

He flipped around right-side-up.  "I liked the Fuzzy Navel best.  Why do they call it a Fuzzy Navel?  Is it because peaches are fuzzy?  Lots of drinks have weird names, like stuff to do with sex.  Why is that?"

"We can discuss that another time, Daniel," Jack interrupted before I had a chance to impart my knowledge on the subject.  He turned to me.  "We need a lift to my place."

"What's wrong with your truck?"

"I broke it," Daniel declared.  "Jack shouldn't have startled me like that.  I was going to put it down."

I felt my eyebrows start to rise.

"Hey!  I'll pick up your car!" he exclaimed excitedly.  "I won't drop it if Jack doesn't yell again."

"No!" Jack shouted.  "No more picking up cars, Daniel."

The picture was now clear, and I was having a really hard time keeping myself from laughing.  The expression on Jack's face as he glared at me helped.  I didn't want him putting me on kitchen duty or cleaning the bathrooms.

I turned to Daniel.  "How about if we get you to Jack's house?" I asked cheerfully.


Daniel opened the door and toppled out.  Jack managed to catch him before he hit the ground.  We poured him into the back seat of my car and strapped him in.

Daniel began singing Christmas songs about a third of the way to Jack's place.  Sober Daniel has a very pleasant singing voice.  Drunk Daniel kept slurring the lyrics and switching to different languages.  Let me tell you.  Hearing Jingle Bells being sung in Goa'uld will kill the Christmas spirit faster than the Grinch could ever dream of.  I think that Jack was considering shoving his sock in Daniel's mouth.  I'd have offered to help if I wasn't driving.

We were around four blocks from Jack's place when I heard a loud pop that I recognized.  The way the car began handling confirmed what I suspected.

"No," Jack groaned.  "This is so not happening."

I pulled over, and he and I got out to stare morosely at the flat tire.

"Okay, get out the spare," Jack sighed.

"Uhhhh. . . ."

He turned to me with a gaze that could probably end global warming.  "Ferretti, you had better not tell me that there is no spare."

"That . . . is the spare."

I may owe my life to Daniel.  He chose that moment to role down the window and ask what was happening.

"We have a flat tire," I told him.

"Oh.  Want me to help fix it?"

"That's real nice of you, Daniel, but we don't have a spare."


I turned to Jack.  "Look on the bright side.  We'll only have to walk four blocks."  He appeared not to appreciate that fact.

Between the two of us, we managed to get Daniel out of the car and began to half-carry him the remaining distant.

Now, I am normally a fun-loving guy.  I can appreciate the humor in just about anything.  So, when the police car pulled up and two cops got out, I figured that we'd all have a good laugh about our predicament, and the nice officers would give us a lift the rest of the way.

"What seems to be the trouble here?" asked one of the cops.

"Flat tire, Officer," I explained.  "We're just a few blocks from where we're going, so we decided to walk."

Daniel smiled at the officers.  "Hi, Mister Policemen!"

Their eyes narrowed.  "Is he intoxicated?" one of them asked.

"Um, yeah," Jack replied.  "He had his twenty-first birthday today, so I took him out to celebrate."

One of the cops stepped closer.  "I'd like to see some ID, his first."

"Sure thing," I said.  I fished into Daniel's pocket for his wallet and pulled out the ID made for him by our good old U.S. government.  The cop studied it closely.

"It's not real," Daniel announced oh so helpfully.  I could almost hear the mental groan that Jack gave.

The two officers looked at the soused twenty-one-year-old.

"It's not?" the younger of the two asked, eyes narrowing again.

Daniel shook his head.  "Nope.  It's fake.  They have to give me fake IDs because I can't get a real one."

I laughed nervously.  "What a kidder!"  My comment was ignored.

"How old are you, Son?" asked the older cop.

"I can't tell you.  It's a secret."

"I see."  The cop looked at me and Jack.  I was wrong before.  This was the gaze that could end global warming.

"Let's go over to the squad car," he ordered.

"Look, Officer," Jack said.  "We can ex—"


Oh, yeah.  Between that look and the tone of that voice, I could feel another ice age coming on.

Daniel was put in the back seat.  Then we were commanded to show our IDs.  The cops frowned severely when they saw that we were both in the military, probably thinking that two officers in the Armed Forces should have more honor than to get an underage kid drunk.  Jack tried to convince them that Daniel really was twenty-one, but they weren't buying it, and the two of us soon joined Daniel in the back seat of the squad car after being tested to see if either of us was intoxicated.  At least they were nice enough not to handcuff us.

You know, being able to predict solar flares would be such a nice ability to have.  Then I could go back in time through the Stargate to yesterday and tell my younger self that under no circumstances was he to take Daniel anywhere near a bar.

As I sat in the back seat of that police car, I wondered what else could go wrong tonight.  I suppose I should count myself lucky that Daniel didn't decide to show the police how high he could psychically lift their car.

A while later, we found ourselves in a holding cell.  Fortunately, we had it all to ourselves.  Unfortunately, Daniel started singing in Goa'uld again.  I began to pray that he'd lose consciousness.

I knew what I had to do, what I had no choice but to do.  We could not stay here much longer.  Within the next hour, Daniel would start growing a beard.

I requested that I be allowed to make my one phone call, and I was taken to a phone.  As I dialed, I tried to figure out what I was going to say.

"Hello?" said a voice I knew well.

"Um, General, sir, we . . . have a little problem."

After I explained as much of the situation as I could over the phone, General Hammond conveyed to me the level of his displeasure, and I began to wonder if I'd still be a colonel come tomorrow.  He told me that he'd get there as soon as possible.

Forty minutes later, we were free, General Hammond having given proof that Daniel was twenty-one in the form of a birth certificate that was no more real than Daniel's ID.  When questioned why Daniel had claimed his ID was fake, the general stated that was a matter of national security and produced a letter signed by a very high official in the U.S. government that basically told the cops to ask no questions and say nothing further about the matter.

The general took the three of us to my place.  Of course Daniel decided on the way there that this would be a wonderful time to pass out, which meant that I had to carry him inside.  Once he'd been deposited on the bed in the guest room, it was time for me to tell the general the whole story.

"Colonel, I do not think that I have to express to you how irresponsible your actions were," he stated.

"No, sir."

"We are very lucky that no one witnessed Daniel using his abilities."

"Yes, sir."

"Since Daniel will likely not be in any condition to go anywhere tomorrow morning, I will not expect to see you until later in the day.  As soon as you have arrived, you will come to my office."

"Yes, sir."

Hammond turned to Ferretti.  "I will take you home.  You can attend to your car in the morning."

After they were gone, I sat heavily on the sofa, thinking about how I was going to escape being skinned alive by Carter, dissected into lots of little pieces by Fraiser, and glared to death by Teal'c.

Maybe moving to another planet wouldn't be such a bad idea.

THE END . . . until Part 15.

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