Arguing with the Gods

By Icarus

Daniel took a deep breath and squirmed under the covers. The last wisps of a dream faded -- the grinning statue of the Central American god Quetzalcoatl telling him that the Gou'ald didn't destroy cultures, merely added to them, and Daniel's fervent rebuttal. He wasn't sure what he'd said, but it was a brilliant reply. The temple thundered around them then collapsed in a shower of rocks, though that wasn't a problem somehow. He won the argument, he was sure of it, when the statue fell into the sea still grinning, and he felt a smug sense of victory as he tugged at the blanket. His shoulder was cold.

The blanket stuck fast.

He yanked again, his eyebrows drawn together. He hated that… why did people tuck in the corners? People moved in their sleep, they didn't need to be shrink-wrapped. This was yet another thing indigenous societies had on so-called 'modern' man.

Daniel gave it a good yank, intending to un-tuck the corners for good -- or at least the rest of the night -- and heard a grunt. The blanket pulled back out of his hand.

Okay.

Exposed to the waist, quickly registering he was naked and no, he didn't usually sleep in the nude, Daniel rolled over and stared at the dark shape stretched out next to him.

"Hmmrmt's your turn…." Jack mumbled and cuddled into the pillow.

My turn for what? Which was not the most important question of the moment, but certainly bothered Daniel, as images of the night before came tumbling back: Jack's savage kiss and surprisingly gentle hands blending with the sleep-muzzed realization that he hadn't really won that argument with Quetzalcoatl. And he couldn't remember any of his brilliant points either. They could have proved useful, he was certain.

He'd lost last night's argument with Jack, too, though it was more, well, interrupted than anything else.

The threads of it came back to him. Daniel didn't feel like he was sleeping with someone -- instead he was repeatedly losing arguments due to his opponent's superior capacity to distract him. It was technique rather than substance, a sort of… physical sophistry.

Jack reached for him, and, okay, that was one way to get some of the blanket back: a better way, actually. Jack's body heat enveloped him, and Daniel wondered how one man could be so warm.

"'S wrong?" Jack breathed, eyes shut. Daniel loosely translated this to 'what's wrong?' His breath was foul, so Daniel maneuvered onto his back, tucked his arms behind his head, and Jack's arm slid and draped heavily across his chest.

"I think lost a debate."

Jack snorted. "Did I win?"

"No. Quetzalcoatl fell into the ocean before we finished."

"Oh."

Jack's scratchy chin nuzzled against Daniel's shoulder.

"Good." Jack sighed and squeezed Daniel's chest tightly. "I was full of shit anyway. No way the Gou'ald ever did any good like the Asgard. Was just yanking your chain… I like pissing you off these days. Like where we end up." Jack lipped softly at his shoulder. "Big guy."

Daniel sighed heavily, too distracted to do anything but ignore Jack's love bite, even as he put a little tooth behind it then kissed the abused spot.

"But you shouldn't have been able to win it at all. The fact is, your case had intellectual merit." Daniel was starting to feel really depressed; distantly aware it was probably some combination of the come down from sex, tiredness and just general… tiredness.

"Ah Jeez. The fuckin' Nazis had intellectual merit." Jack's eyes glimmered at him in the dark. "Shooting people up with all sorts of fucked up shit in the name of 'science.' What they didn't have was morals." Jack's voice was rich and deep. Tired. "You tell that to Coca-Cola next time you see him."

"Quetzalcoatl."

"Yeah. Him."

Daniel shifted to his side, his legs tangling with Jack's pleasantly. He leaned up on an elbow and braved Jack's morning breath, or middle-of-the-night breath as the case may be. His eyes still felt sealed with sleep as he blinked into the half-light to make out Jack's expression, the firm line of his mouth. "Trouble is, you can't argue morality with someone who's amoral. They won't understand it."

"Of course not. That's why you shoot them."

That took the wind out of his sails. Daniel looked up at the ceiling. For one brilliant suspended moment, it all made sense. Jack made sense.

It was all so simple.

Then Daniel dipped his head. "Your solution itself is amoral. Whoever shoots first, wins. That makes the Gou'ald's case for them, and it's circular: they won, therefore they deserved to win? We won; therefore we deserved to win? It doesn't make sense."

"So what're you gonna do -- argue with them?"

"No…" Daniel said slowly. "But don't you think I should be able to win the debate?"

Jack glared at him, obviously irritated he was arguing ethics at… oh -- Daniel checked the glowing green dial of the clock -- three twenty-two am.

"Just why do they have to understand it?" he growled.

"What?"

"You heard me. Why do they have to understand? You said you couldn't argue morality with them. But why dumb it down for the, um, morally retarded?"

"You mean I'm throwing away my best arguments in hopes of reaching them."

"Um…yeah. I guess. Something like that."

There was a long silence, interrupted by the soft shift of smooth cotton sheets as Daniel wrapped an arm over his forehead. His eyes focused intensely on some point beyond Jack's bedroom.

"Did I just solve the mysteries of the known universe?" Jack said to the air, making a vague gesture. His voice was tinged with irony.

"I'm thinking."

"Because, you know, if I did," Jack continued in his Minnesota drawl, "I think I deserve at least a blowjob for that. Maybe two."

There was a meaty thump as Daniel punched his shoulder. "Ow!" Jack shoved him back contentedly. "Hey! Now see if I help you next time, Grasshopper. No respect for your elders."

"Shut up, Jack. Your solution was to shoot them."

"Ah-so, Grasshoppah," Jack deadpanned, stretching. He gave Daniel a smug smile. "And pee-pee in their Coca-Cola, too."