Don't Touch That!

By magicsunbeam

Disclaimer: SG1 isn't mine, it belongs to MGM…lucky things.

Summary: The man has GOT to touch! Siler POV

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Don't touch that!`

I wish I had a dollar for every time I've said those three little words over the past eight years. You'd think after hearing it *so* many times, a person would learn, wouldn't you? The crazy thing is; the people around here are hugely skilled and extremely highly educated, yet I *still* have to say….

"Don't touch that!"

General O'Neill whips his hands away from the extremely delicate piece of government equipment, shooting me an indignant look.

"Sir," I add as an after thought.

"I was just looking," he sulks.

"You look with your eyes, not your hands, Jack," Daniel Jackson says without taking his eyes off a similar looking device he's working on.

The general pulls a sour face. "That's *General* to you," he pouts.

Daniel snorts, but doesn't say anything.

With all the grace he can muster, the general slouches over to where the doctor is working and sprawls across the bench with a heavy sigh.

"Whatcha doin`?" he asks, his chin in his hand.

Daniel closes his eyes and drops his head slightly. "We've been over this, Jack."

The general tries to hide a grin, delighted by the obvious frustration he's causing.

He loves to torment this poor guy.

"I'm *bored*, Daniel," he whines. "You said….."

Daniel whips his head up. "I *said* I'll come with you when Siler and I are finished."

"Daniel, Siler's a big boy. I'm sure he can work an itty bitty problem out for himself."

In that moment, Daniel's eyes fly to meet mine. For a fleeting second there is a look of panic. That is quickly replaced by a look of such desperate pleading, that it's all I can do to stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, Daniel! You said you'd watch the game with me. It's not the same watching alone."

"Why don't you go ahead? It'd be a shame to miss the start. I could be a while here, isn't that right, Siler?"

The pleading has reached his voice now. Poor Daniel.

"Er, yes, yes Dr. Jackson. I'm not really getting anywhere with the…. er…"

"*Doo*hicky," General O'Neill spits, shooting me an evil look. "It's just a walkman, for crying out loud."

Crap, he's onto me.

He reaches out to pick up the hand sized tape recorder and is rewarded with both myself and Daniel yelling in stereo;

"Don't touch that!"

"*Okay*!" he yells back. "For crying out loud."

Ah, double crap. He's mad now.

For a second it looks like I'm going to get a chewing out, but my luck (and Daniel's) changes and it looks like he's decided to leave.

"Daniel," he pouts, "If you want me……for *anything* at all, I'll be at home, by myself, watching the game. Don't bother calling."

With that he turns and heads toward the door.

I glance across at the doctor and he locks on me with a grin. We both look over our shoulder at our retreating, sulking general in time to see him reach out to touch the

MALP.

The damaged MALP that is being super charged.

Oh, God!

"*Don't touch that!*" Daniel and I yell in unison, diving from our chairs.

I can practically feel the electricity streaming through the general's body as the charge sends him flying across the room into an unconscious heap.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~****~~~~~

Dr. Brightman tells me the general will be fine. He received minor burns to his hand, and a slightly more than minor bang to his skull as it connected with the concrete floor. I believe the correct term is `heavy concussion`.

The good news is he regained consciousness a while ago, and Daniel and I have decided to visit him in the infirmary together. Safety in numbers, and all that.

He's as white as a ghost and seems to be only just with us. His right hand is bandaged, and there's a lovely purple and black bruise running from just above his right eye, up his forehead and into the hairline. Nasty.

"Hey, Jack," Daniel greets him softly.

His eyes take a couple seconds to focus, but when they do a scowl appears. (Well, it would be a scowl if he was a tad more conscious)

"What do you want, Daniel?" he mumbles. "I thought you had something important to do?"

"That can wait for a little while," Daniel answers, determined not to feel guilty.

I, on the other hand, have my ass to cover.

"How are you feeling, general, sir?" I ask.

He attempts to fix me with a scowl too, but it's halted by the big band I *know* must be playing in his head.

"Peachy, Siler," he whispers. "Here's a question for you though. Why the *hell* is there a live MALP, just begging to be touched, sitting around in the storage room?

Do we not have safety protocols on level 24?"

"We do, sir. The MALP is inside a cage, sir. Behind bars."

"You had to touch, Jack," Daniel states in pitying tones.

"There should be a warning posted," the general mumbles, concussion or Doc Brightman's drugs catching him up.

"The cage has `Danger` posted all over it, Jack."

The general lets out a deep sigh, and allows his eyes to slip shut. He's giving up the argument… for now.

Dr. Brightman bustles into room, checks the charts at the end of the general's bed, then turns to Daniel and I.

"Visiting hours are over, gentleman," she tells us. "General O'Neill needs to rest."

"I'll stop by later to see you, Jack," Daniel promises.

The only reply he gets is a soft grunt.

We turn and walk away, and as we get to the doorway, Doc Brightman's patient voice floats across the still room.

"General, please don't touch that."

Fin