The Complete, Whole and True Story of Jack, Daniel and the Duck

by: Delilah



Summary: Well, it’s the complete, whole and true story of Jack, Daniel and the Duck …

Category: Humor (I hope)

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: When the beta asks exactly what kind of drugs you’ve been taking, a warning of some kind is probably warranted. So, you’ve been … warned.

Archive: Alphagate and Area 52 if they’re so inclined.

Feedback: Always welcomed.

Thanks: To Lyn for even agreeing to beta this and to the cohort who wanted it posted -- who shall mercifully remain nameless. (You know who you are, that should be punishment enough.)


Act I: Of Ducks and the Lusciousness of Jack’s Ass


"Have I mentioned I don’t like this?"

Okay, from the look on Daniel’s face, apparently I have.

But this is just … nuts. Nutty. Almond Joy time.

"Daniel, your client is a particularly unattractive … duck."

"Jack," (this is said patiently) "he’s not my client because I am not a lawyer, I am a TruthFinder. And he’s not a duck because this is P48-2514 and there are no ducks on –"

"Yeah. Yeah."

(Details. Details. Details.)

"Well, I’m the one he bit."

"Jack, they were going to execute him. He was just … well, the gate scared him. You just happened to be the first one through."

"And that makes me the one who can’t sit down, either. Never mind we can’t… well, just never mind. So let them send him to not-a-duck heaven if they want. You’re the one always saying we should respect other culture’s … morays."

"Mores. Morays are eels."

"Eels, ducks, chickens, whatever. What the hell kind of court prosecutes eels?"

I’m corrected, of course. "Ducks. And the answer would be the court of Basle, France."

I raise an eyebrow.

"1474. They prosecuted a cock for laying an egg. The defense attorney argued that the cock had no evil intent and that the laying of the egg was involuntary."

Only Daniel could say this with all the intense seriousness due … something that deserved intense seriousness.

"So’d he win?"

"Uh, no, unfortunately. The cock and the egg were burned at the stake for sorcery."

Okay …

"Why the egg?"

When will I learn not to ask?

"Oh, well, that’s really interesting, actually. Cocks’ eggs were believed by some to be even more valuable to magic than the philosopher’s stone—"

"Wait, didn’t Dumbledore destroy that?"

An eyebrow is raised back at me.

"Jack" is hissed. "Be serious."

"Okay, fine. You’re representing good old Donald there for taking a rather large pinch out of my luscious ass. I want to call witnesses, by the way."

"Oh, you can."

"Good, then I’m calling you."

"Me? Teal’c’s the one that did the actual removal."

"You’re a character witness."

"Character witness," he repeats suspiciously.

"Yeah, you’re going to testify to the exact lusciousness of my ass."

I wriggle it in front of him.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"You can’t call me, I’m the … the …"

Oh good, I’ve got him stammering. Have you ever noticed what Daniel’s lips do when he’s stammering? It’s this little flush-and-quiver thing.

"The TruthFinder."

"Yeah. That. And if you’re calling the duck then I’m … I’m calling the duck!"


"To refute my own testimony. He did not look at all like your ass was ‘luscious’ when Teal’c pried him off. I bet he can state that is not the most luscious ass he’s ever attached himself to."

I look hurt. "I thought you were kind of attached to it, yourself."

"My, um, attachment is not on trial here."

I rub gingerly at the deep bruising. "Yeah, well, good thing there’s another part of me that can be ‘attached to’. In fact, should you ‘attach’ to it, I could, also … attach … at the same time, if you get my drift."

"Jaaack, I’ve got to go to trial. I’ve got to read this case of The Lythonian People v. the White-Snouted Bathing Cats and the … I’ve got to … to … to… oh God."

Attachment has been commenced. Proper suction lock becomes hard to hold when body being suctioned frantically tries to wriggle over pile of papers that were once (I look at the tab of the folder dangling open and empty from Daniel’s hand as I’m dragged along on my knees) the coherently filed case of The Lythonian People v. Swarm of Many-Winged Bats.

"Mmmmmm …. Mmmmm……mmmmm?"

This is translated correctly by my astute linguist as "Daniel what the HELL are you doing?"

"I’m calling Sam. She can fill in for me. I’m sure the duck won’t … won’t …"

The radio clatters to the floor.

The duck is on its own.


Act II: A Trial Most Fowl


The duck, it turned out, was not on its own, as Daniel would never abandon a soul in need, be it fish or fowl.

It was on its own for, maybe, a really enjoyable fifteen minutes but, in the afterglow, Daniel’s conscience kicked in and even though I’ve been trying to kill the thing (Daniel’s conscience, not the duck) for a good many years now, it has the same nine lives I thank God every day that Daniel possesses.

So, with a little smoothing of hair and clothing, Daniel went back to reading his precedents and I went back to gingerly rubbing my sorely-pinched ass.


You have to give it to the Lythonians. They know how to do a trial. Got their ceremonial headgear on and everything. Daniel, by the way, blushed like hell when Sam told him he looked "adorable" wearing his official courtroom beanie. I made him a propeller out of the Lythonian equivalent of Popsicle sticks and got the glare of the day. You know the one, icy blue that’ll freeze most people to the spot.

Of course, I’m not most people.

This, Daniel knows.

He also knows a hell of a lot about Lythonian law ‘cause he’s already objecting over something the other guy in the prosecution beanie has said. The Lythonians speak English – sort of. Which means I can get most of normal conversation.

This is not normal conversation.

"Because the person damaged is of extra-Lythonian citizenship, I invoke subclause 5.34 of clause 394.82 of …" Daniel picks up a moldy old book and squints at the spine, "Title 4023 of the Lythonian code of justice."

This causes a murmur in the gallery.

I look at Teal’c but he merely raises an eyebrow. So I peer around him at Carter. She shrugs.

Daniel gets called up for a chat with the trio of judges that I’ve quickly decided were the models for that three brass monkey statue my grandmother had. (The Lythonians are a squat and well-haired people.) His stance of one hand on the judicial bench and the other bent with a fist knotted against one hip nicely shows off his ass and … beanie. After a few minutes of judicial whispering they all sit back down except Daniel who turns around to the gallery and calls his first witness.


Dammit all.


"Colonel O’Neill."

I’ve been followed to the testifying … cage by a small Lythonian carrying what I swear is a round, jeweled baseball.


"Do you swear upon the Pralaxis of Moritum that you will acquaint with no mendacity in your authentication?"

Oh geez. "Daniel?"

"Hmmm?" My significant other looks up from where he’s had his nose buried in yet another moldy tome. "Oh. Will you tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God."

"Oh." I settle back in the seat. "Sure."

"So, Colonel O'Neill." To hear Daniel call me "Colonel O’Neill" is akin to hearing your parents call you by all three of your given names. "Would you tell the court what occurred on the Third Day of Bhavdram as you exited from the Chap’pai?"

"I came out of the ‘gate …"

Daniel frowns a bit.

"The Chap’pai," I correct. "And the duck … bit me."

"You mean the Lythonian fowl?"

"The white guy with feathers and a pinchy beak."

Looking slightly contrite in his beanie, Daniel apologizes for me to the trio of See No, Hear No and Speak No. "He means the Lythonian fowl."

He turns back to me. "For what cause do you perceive you were assailed by said fowl?"

I ponder this for a moment.

"Why’d the duck bite you?" supplies Daniel helpfully.

"Oh, probably just because I was the first one out the ‘gate … Chap’pai."

"And you feel the aforementioned fowl was agitated by the cacophony of the Chap’pai’s vortex?"

It’s my turn to go "hmm?"

"Was the duck upset by the noise?"

"Could be, the whole flushy-thing is pretty unnerving. It’s a wonder we didn’t just find a pair of little smoking duck-feet."

"Actually …" begins Daniel, "that brings us to Exhibit Prime." He goes back to his table and snags a specimen bag. In it are two rubbery yellow … feet. "The investigating officials did, indeed, find the remains of a fowl which appeared to be caught in the vortex backwash."

Speak No waves for Daniel to bring the … feet to him.

"This was, no doubt, the fowl’s mate," continues Daniel, handing over the bag and pushing his glasses back up. "In as much as the sudden death of a mate would produce a state of temporary agitation, I hold that the fowl cannot be condemned under the cited statute."

Daniel retrieves yet another moldy book and offers it to Hear No; Speak No being otherwise occupied with the remains of ducky’s friend.

"I therefore invoke subclause 390.59 of the Lythonian code and cite as my precedent the case of The Lythonian People v. Cow, Two Heifers and Three Sheep. I have completed my questioning of this witness."

I start to get up and am waved back by See No. Apparently the other side gets a crack at me. I shift a bit uncomfortably in the hard chair due to my … ass.

"Colonel O’Neill."

"That’s me."

Across the floor Daniel’s rolling his eyes toward some judicial deity only he knows.

"Did the assailing of your person engender a loss, even temporarily, of connubial relations?"

I look helplessly at Speak No.

Who looks at Daniel.

Who blushes.

And clears his throat.

"Did the duck bite cause a disruption in your … sex life?"

"Daniel?" I drawl out.

"Uh, the right to sexual pleasure is held by statute to be secondary only to the right to free expression in the Lythonian codes."

"Smart people," I concur.

The head of the prosecution taps his foot impatiently.

"Look, the bite’s minor." He glowers at me from beneath his beanie. "I really don’t think –

"Would you, please," Beanie (as I’ve decided to call him) stresses the word with superior sneer, "portray the nature of your copulation practices so the court may judge if the nature of the injury precluded your usual pursuit of connubial pleasure?"

"He just pinched my ass!"

"From the reference material supplied by TruthFinder Jackson we have learned –"

"Reference material?" I ask, warily.

"It was called, I recall, ‘The Joy of Gay Sex.’."

"Ah, well, Daniel’s very fond of …" I shoot a look at my innocent appearing linguist. "…reference material."

"It was most educational."

"I bet."

"Owing to the knowledge gained and the nature of your injury, we have charged the fowl with interruption of the pleasure of anal phallation."

"He means I can’t stick my you-know," Daniel doesn’t even wait for my "Daniel". He gestures vaguely in the direction of his nether-regions, "in your you-know…."

"Yes, I know. Thank you, Daniel," I mutter softly, "That’s my cunning linguist."

Speak No looks perplexed. "The TruthFinder is male."

"I beg pardon?"

"The TruthFinder, he is male."

"Yes –"

"He therefore cannot have that particular pleasure performed on him."

I try to work through this.

Daniel has pinkened considerably. "You called me your ‘cunning linguist’, Jack."


"Cunning … linguist …" he prompts. "I just gave them several human sexual reference books and ‘cunning linguist’ sounds like –"

Oh, good grief. "Are we done yet?"

"You have not yet said whether your ability to derive pleasure has been harmed by assault of the fowl now on trial."

"Not permanently." I assure them, attempting to get up and not … wince.

"You are satisfied in the interim with irrumation?"


"Fellatio," supplies Daniel.

"Oh, yeah, good stuff. Nothing like a good suck to … derive pleasure."

I am so out of here.

I look toward he of the prosecutorial beanie.

"Satisfied? ‘Cause I am. I promise. A few bruises on the ass is nothing. Hell, I’ve had sex in Fraiser’s infirmary after being hit by staff weapon fire. The best bed, by the way, is the one in the corner, furthest away from Napoleon’s office. For that matter, I’ve had sex in my boss’ office. Daniel gets a bit of a crick from being under the desk, but, hey, I wear that King Tut outfit for him."

What the hell am I telling them this for?

"Am I done?"

"You," says Beanie, "may go."

"Thank you."

Daniel steps back. "I have no more witnesses."

"Then," Beanie intones sonorously, "I call the accused."

"The duck?" I whisper as I pass Daniel.

"The duck."


Act III: A Most Cunning Linguist (and the Colonel Doesn’t Do Too Bad Either)


"I must say," I say as I place myself between Beanie and Daniel, "that was an excellent reenactment, Bean … your prosecutorship. I screamed exactly like that."

Beanie is rubbing his ass gingerly and shooting daggers in the direction of Daniel, who is protectively sheltering his so-far uninjured client in his arms.

"I, personally, shall have the fowl charged!"

"Now, hold on there," I automatically wave my hands to move the Lythonian back out of the space I have triangulated is within lunging distance of Daniel, "I think we’re getting a little off topic here. You can sue the duck later, this trial is about my ass, not yours."

Speak No, Hear No and See No are all murmuring amongst themselves.

"Do I have any kind of rights here?"

"Of course," intones Hear No.

"But I can’t drop the charges."

"The charges were made on your behalf by the Lythonian judicial system. They may only be dropped by a duly empowered Lythonian official."

"You don’t happen to have one around, do you?" Hear No blinks. "Ah, didn’t think so. So, do I have any other rights? Like the right to cross examine the witness?"

"Cross examine?" asks See No.

"Am I allowed to question the duck-- excuse me, the fowl?"

"Certainly. As the injured party, you have the right of self-query."

"Jack?" asks Daniel, holding the duck a bit tighter. "Do you think you should—"

I smile in my partner’s direction. "Daniel, put the duck in the cage."


"So, Duckie. May I call you Duckie?"

One beady, baleful eye peers at me between ironish bars. From a completely opposite direction, two very blue, very concerned eyes peer out at me from behind corrective lenses.

"So … Duckie. Am I right in assuming your day went something like this – you and your partner were doing a little light noshing down by the big, round, doughnut thing."

When there is no disagreement from a billward location, I continue. "So there you are, happily munching when WHOOSH! The big toilet bowl flushes and evaporates your significant other, leaving only a smoking pair of decapitated duck toes.

"And the only living thing around, the only thing that could possibly be responsible for this catastrophe comes sauntering heroically out of the gate."

In the silence I hear Daniel echo, "Sauntering heroically?"

"Heroically," I confirm. "And being a duck, uh, fowl of the most noble and upright bearing you did the only thing you could – you followed the miscreant and settled the score."

A complete silence echoes from the testimony cage.

I go up to the platform where the three monkeys, uh, judges gaze down on me… judicially.

"See," I begin, "Daniel tried to explain this to me last night, that because we’re from off-world—"

Speak No nods at me in complete agreement. Apparently, as far as he’s concerned, we’re from way off world.

" – because we’re from off-world, Lythonian law doesn’t completely take precedent, right? I mean that was all that mumbo-jumbo Daniel said at the beginning about subsection something-or-other."

"Sub-clause—" begins Daniel only to be silenced by a wave of my hand. Which is … cool. Didn’t know I had it in me to silence Daniel.

"Yes," agrees the See No.

"So, I can cite an Earth case as precedent."

"You know one?" hisses from behind me.

I hush Daniel again.

See No shakes his head, but gives the go-ahead anyway. It’s not like I’m not used to it. Hammond does it all the time. "You may cite your precedent."

I head for Daniel’s stack of ancient law books. "Then I cite the precedent of …" I pick up a festering green binder. "… the She-Ass of Jacques Ferron v. the Municipality of Vanvres."

I raise an eyebrow at a stunned looking Daniel.

"1750, France, Earth. According to the case, the ‘She-Ass’ was taken in the act of coition with her owner. You know what ‘coition’ is?"

The trio nods hypnotically.

"Good. She was sentenced to death along with her … better half and was headed for the gallows until the judge granted a last minute reprieve issued on behalf of the parish priest … you guys have … priests?"

"Yes," says Speak No doubtfully.

"Well, this priest signed a certificate on behalf of the … ‘She-Ass’ that he had known her for four years and that she’d always shown herself to be virtuous and well-behaved, not given to scandal, you know, that sort of thing …"

"And they let the beast go?"

"Yeah, I mean Jacques’ goose was kind of cooked …"

From the confines of the cage, Duckie honks.

"Sorry. But, yes, they let the beast go, it being her first offense and all. So, does that make any difference? I mean, does the guy have a record?"

"A … record," repeats Hear No exchanging a look with See No across Speak No’s nose.

"What he means," translates Daniel, "is does the fowl have previous convictions within the Lythonian legal apparatus?"

"Yeah, I mean … that."

"There are no convictions pre-standing."

"And is there someone who can testify on behalf of the Lythonian citizenry to the fowl’s good character previous to this incident?" asks Daniel, sliding smoothly into Lythonian-speak on my behalf.

Hear No coughs uncomfortably. "The fowl is of my … family."

"You’re related?"

Daniel’s moved close enough to elbow me.

"It is owned by the cousin of my second bondmate."

I mouth "second bondmate?" at Daniel and he whispers "polygamous, polyandrous hermaphrodites" back at me.

"So, he could be released on your … recognizance."

I look smugly at Daniel. It doesn’t have as many letters as ‘polyandrous hermaphrodite’, but it’s pretty good for an old colonel.

Hear No sighs.


"Not bad," says Daniel as I wrap an arm around his shoulders. "I would have never dreamed you had it in you."

I rub the tender portion of my anatomy. "Well, it’s the only thing I’m going to have ‘in me’ for a few more days."

A bright-eyed and still celebrating Daniel turns in my arms. "Then aren’t you lucky you have your cunning linguist with you … to do a little cunning lingus?"

I commence lip lock and suck said lingual organ into my mouth to play a little … lingus hockey.

Lucky? You better damn well believe it.


~mercifully, the end~