The first Miguel Ortiz knew of his uninvited guest was when a hand over his mouth woke him from sleep.  He automatically reached for the offending obstruction, blearily trying to focus on the dark shape leaning over him.  He made a muffled growl of confused complaint, starting to struggle in earnest, then froze as a familiar voice hissed in his ear.

"One yell, Ortiz, one word out of place and I will make absolutely certain that Ford finds out exactly what you were doing that leave you didn't get back to the boat in time and told him you were with me."

"Mmphf!" Ortiz retorted indignantly before he finally managed to drag the hand away from his mouth.  "O'Neill, what the hell are you doing in my quarters at this time of night?"  He got a good look at the clock inset against the head of his bunk and gave a strangled yelp.  "This time in the morning!  What are you trying to do to me?"

"Nothing... yet," O'Neill said ominously.  "No, don't turn on the light," he continued hastily when he saw Ortiz reach for the switch.  "I don't want anyone to know I'm in here."

"You don't..."  Ortiz did his best to kick-start his sluggish mind and gave it up as a bad job.  "O'Neill, this had better be good."

A little to his relief, O'Neill's uncharacteristic aggression vanished as he slumped down on the bunk.  "Ah, Mig, I'm sorry.  I know I'm being a pain, but if I don't get some peace and quiet I'm going to go nuts!"

Light dawned and Ortiz smiled sympathetically.  "Let me guess; our esteemed guests have been giving you a hard time again?"

The comtech snorted.  "Our 'esteemed guests' haven't given me a moment's peace since they came on board!" he snapped.  "And on the odd occasions when they're all asleep at the same time, I have to deal with Admirals Noyce or Anglade, anyone at U.E.O. Command who suddenly decides he's become an expert on the situation at Alexandria or field all kinds of media reporters who think they're on to the scoop of the decade. I have had enough!  I quit!"

"You can't quit," Miguel said calmly.

"I can't?"  O'Neill blinked at Ortiz in confusion.  "Why not?"

"Because you already quit yesterday afternoon.  And last night.  And this morning. And when you took time out to stuff some sandwiches down your throat this afternoon.  And-"

"All right, all right, I get the message," Tim snapped.  "I suppose it wouldn't do any good to say that I mean it this time?"

"It might if you were talking to anyone except me," Ortiz conceded after a moment's thought.  "I know you too well, though. You might scream about the idiots we've got on board at the moment, but you'll have forgotten all about it a month after they've gone."

"I will not," Tim protested, but it was a half-hearted effort at best.  He grinned reluctantly.  "Okay, maybe you're right about that, but it doesn't change the fact that they're driving me nuts now."

"This doesn't explain why you're in my quarters at 0100 hours," Ortiz pointed out.  "Why not just lock yourself in your quarters?"

"They know where my quarters are," O'Neill snapped.

"They might know where my quarters are," Ortiz retorted.

"Yeah, but no-one's going to suspect that I'd be in here at one in the morning," O'Neill said triumphantly.

Despite himself, Ortiz couldn't hold back the laugh that prompted.  "That's for sure," he observed wryly.  "Let's just hope Magee didn't see you come in or we'll have a hell of a time scotching the rumours he'll be bound to start."

"What kind of rumours could he start?" O'Neill demanded in confusion.  When Ortiz gave him a patient look, light belatedly dawned and he flushed a deep crimson.  "Oh, those kinds of rumours," he mumbled in embarrassment.  "Sorry, it didn't occur to me that anyone would think that," he said in obvious puzzlement.

"I know," Ortiz sighed.  "Any more than it occurred to you that people might talk if they saw you going into Commander Hitchcock's quarters every other evening."

"I was helping her brush up on her French!" O'Neill immediately yelped.

"Of course you were, Tim."  Ortiz deliberately laid on the heartiness and chuckled silently to himself as he saw the slow burn that immediately initiated.  "I'm still waiting to learn why you're in my quarters," he prodded.

"Oh, well I figured that I could snatch some sleep here without being disturbed," O'Neill explained blithely.

Ortiz glared at him.  "And for that you woke me up?" he demanded in outrage.  "The deck's there; help yourself."

"Um, can I have a pillow?"

"That's why you woke me up?  For a pillow?  That's it, I want a divorce!"

"But we're not-mmmph!"  O'Neill took the flung pillow out of his face and gave Ortiz a hurt look.  "You know, you can be really cranky at times.  I figured you'd prefer me to ask than just yank one out from under you!"

Ortiz very deliberately rolled over to present his back to the comtech.  "Go to sleep, O'Neill," he snapped over his shoulder.  "Wake me up again and I'll rip your throat out!"

"Sheesh, talk about over-reacting....  One little pillow and-"

"GO TO SLEEP!"

"Definitely cranky."

Ortiz groggily registered the hand that was shaking his shoulder and the fuse, which had been lit previously immediately, hit the explosive.  Spitting out a curse that would have earned him a cuff around the ear from his mother if she'd heard it, Miguel twisted around in bed and lunged for the throat.  It took several more minutes for him to wake up enough to realise that it wasn't O'Neill on the other end.  With a yelp of horrified dismay, Miguel released his victim.

Bridger staggered back from the bunk and sat down on the deck a trifle abruptly.  He rubbed his throat and gave Ortiz a startled look as the Cuban peered a trifle doubtfully down at him.  "Ye Gods, and I thought I was bad in the morning!" he observed, the humour of the situation starting to register.  "Hell of a way to say good morning, Mr Ortiz!"

“I, er, I'm sorry, Captain," Miguel eventually stammered.  "I didn't realise it was you."

"I would hope not!" Bridger said wryly.  He had noted the way Miguel's eyes flicked around the cabin and drew his own conclusions.  "I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I was wondering if you'd seen O'Neill recently?"

Ortiz gave a start.  "O'Neill, sir?"

"Yes, Mr Ortiz; O'Neill."  Bridger gave his sensor chief a sardonic look.  "You remember him?  Tall, slight guy with glasses?  Works at the communications station?  Probably able to translate what you called me a few minutes ago?"

"Uh, yes, sir.  I mean, no, sir."  Ortiz gave up and ground to a halt, wondering what he had done to deserve this kind of horror being visited upon him before his first cup of coffee.  "What was the question again?" he asked plaintively.

Bridger started to laugh.  "Never mind, Mr Ortiz.  If you should see Lieutenant O'Neill, please ask him to report to my quarters once he's had breakfast.  A minor emergency blew up last night and no-one could find him, so they came to me instead.  Since my knowledge of Cantonese and Arabic is nil, I'm afraid I wasn't much use."

"You want to see O'Neill after breakfast?" Ortiz repeated, wanting to make sure he had the right message.

"That's right, Mr Ortiz.  Now I'll leave you to get on with the tricky process of waking up.  My apologies for waking you up so, ah, abruptly."

"Hmm?  Oh, 's okay," Ortiz mumbled before he remembered just exactly how he had woken up and reddened.  "Uh, I mean-"

"Relax, Miguel."  Bridger gave him a brilliant grin.  "My wife used to throw things at me.  I'm just out of practice ducking, that's all."

Ortiz watched him leave in a state of consternation.  Had he missed something?  He gave his quarters another once-over, wondering where O'Neill had gone.  The pillow was now on top of his desk on the other side of the room, so he hadn't imagined the events of the previous night.  Or this morning.  Or whatever.  Ortiz was just about to give the entire thing up as a bad job and collapse back on the bunk when O'Neill suddenly erupted out of the compact little head and immediately launched into a fair imitation of a headless chicken.

"OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod-"

Miguel watched for a few minutes.  He was beginning to think that he hadn't, in fact, woken up and that this was all some kind of peculiar dream.  It would certainly explain the feeling of bizarre unreality that gripped him.  After a while, he cleared his throat.

"What are you doing, Tim?" he inquired carefully.

O'Neill paused long enough to draw breath and stared at him with an expression of pure panic on his face.  "You heard the Captain!" he yelped in agitation.  "They couldn't find me so they woke him up."

"Uh, yeah.  I think that's what he said," Ortiz agreed cautiously.  "It started to get a bit complicated after a while."

O'Neill lunged forward and grabbed the Cuban, shaking him in his agitation.  "They woke the captain up!" he repeated in strangled tones.  "Have you any idea what Bridger is probably going to do to me?"

"Chop you up and feed you to Darwin?" Ortiz hazarded.

"MIGUEL!!"

"What?  Look, you know I'm not at my best before I get my coffee," Ortiz said plaintively.  He considered the problem for a moment.  "Tie you to a WSKR and play tag with some sharks?" he offered.

"Oh, you're impossible!" O'Neill yelled in frustration.  The sound of the hatch opening had him leaping out of his skin and spinning around in time to see Bridger lean inside.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of redistributing your workload so you get some sleep at night," the captain offered amiably.  He grinned.  "Stop looking so worried, Tim.  I didn't realise they were running you this ragged.  Get some breakfast and then we'll see about easing up on the pressure."

With another reassuring smile, the captain closed the hatch behind him, leaving in his wake one shellshocked comtech and a sensor chief who had decided that he was going to start keeping a thermos of coffee in his room from now on, if the mornings were going to get this hectic.

                                                                     oooOooo

"I-" Timothy O'Neill announced with calculated venom, "-am going to kill them all.  I am going to put poison in their tea and coffee, then load their bodies into a launch and send it to the bottom of the Tonga Trench."

Lieutenant Phillips grinned into his ratatouille, then hastily straightened his face before looking up as O'Neill sat down opposite him. The Weapons Officer's shift had ended a good hour before Tim's and the comtech had been coming to the boil then.  It sounded like things hadn't improved after Phillips had left.  A glance at O'Neill's tray confirmed this fact.

"The lasagne and the linguini?" Phillips observed, his eyes widening as he took in all the plates.  "And three helpings of chocolate gateaux?  You're going to burst, Tim!"

O'Neill showed his teeth as he tucked in to the plate of lasagne with relish.  "I've spent the entire morning wanting to bite something," he snapped.  "Which would you prefer gets it; the lasagne or you?"

"Whoa, you are in a mood!" Phillips observed.  "Okay, okay, so eat yourself to death.  What gets me is the way you can get the cook to part with all of that!"

"It's my natural charm and winning disposition," O'Neill growled.  "Also the fact that I told him I'd stomp on him if he didn't cough up."

"Ah, the diplomatic approach," Phillips observed.  "I take it that our guests have been their usual sweet-natured and co-operative selves?"

"Our 'guests' are agents of the Antichrist!" O'Neill snapped back.  "The immediate vicinity around seaQuest and the Library looks like the centre of Athens during the rush hour, with all of the launch pilots refusing to take any kind of instruction unless it's in their own language, with the proper authorisation.  They all want to be dealt with first, none of them bother to tell me who they are, Ford's screaming blue murder about possible collisions and on top of it all I have to deal with Haniff wittering on about some valuable consignment of his going missing!"

"If it's a supply problem, set him on Krieg," Phillips pointed out.

"Krieg," O'Neill retorted through gritted teeth, "doesn't speak any Arabic.  Haniff doesn't speak any English.  Guess who's caught in the middle?  By the time I've finished translating everything, it would probably be quicker to go and check myself!"

"Well, at least you're off-duty now," Phillips said comfortingly.  "You know Bridger insisted that they all lay off you when you're supposed to be resting.  None of them will dare to cross Bridger, not after the roasting he gave them for waking him up in the small hours of this morning!"

O'Neill said nothing but he turned a little green and Phillips belatedly remembered the reason why Bridger had been woken up.  Casting around for a way to change the subject without being too obvious about it, he acknowledged Ortiz' arrival at the Mess with a hail of relief.  The Cuban nodded and waved to tell him that he had been noticed, then made a beeline for the food.  Phillips congratulated himself on his good luck, but his optimism took a sharp nosedive when Ortiz arrived and promptly directed a scowl at O'Neill.  That became a glare when he noticed the gateaux.

"Three slices!"  A chocoholic to the core, Ortiz viewed a similar vice in anyone else with total loathing.  He and Ford tended to get a little antsy when someone was stupid enough to put an odd number of chocolate cookies on a plate.  "How come you get three slices and I only get one?"

"Probably because Lorenzo remembers what you called her the last time she refused to cook pizza," O'Neill retorted.  "Anyway, only one of these is for me.  The others are for you."

"For me?"  Ortiz' bad mood cleared as if by magic.  "Oh, you shouldn't have.  Gimme!"  He happily transferred two of the plates on to his own tray and tucked in to his meal.  After a couple of mouthfuls, he paused and directed a suspicious look at O'Neill.  "Wait a second; why do I get two slices of gateaux?  What are you after?"

"I'm not after anything," O'Neill protested.  "It's a sort of apology."

"For wha-  oh, yeah, right."  There was a moment of thoughtful silence before Ortiz shrugged and waved a fork.  "Apology accepted.  You're forgiven."

"That is such a relief," O'Neill retorted, but Phillips was glad to see that he was grinning.  

"So what kind of poison are you going to use?" he inquired after a short period of companionable silence

"Huh?"  O'Neill paused in mid-chew and directed a startled glance at him before he remembered what he had been saying previously.  "Oh, I hadn't really decided.  How about strychnine?" he suggested.

"What?" Ortiz demanded in confusion.

"Nah, too obvious.  Westphalen would spot it a mile off.  Cyanide is fast and you could put it in some cakes so no-one would notice the taste."

"Have I missed something?" Miguel asked, giving the gateaux a suspicious look.

"Not all of them like sweet things and I want to get them all in one fell swoop," O'Neill pointed out with uncharacteristic relish.  "Aconite is supposed to be pretty effective.  Or digitalis," he continued, brightening. "Have we got any foxgloves growing in the Hydroponics Section?"

Phillips couldn't hold his expression any longer and dissolved into chuckles over the look on Miguel's face. The Cuban stared at him for a minute longer, then glowered as O'Neill joined in the merriment.

"There are times when I really hate you people, you know?  What the hell was that all about?"

"It's okay.  Tim was just fantasising on how he'd like to wipe out all of our esteemed guests."

"Oh, yes?  You realise, of course, that by all the laws of detective fiction someone will now poison all of them and O'Neill will be the prime suspect?"  Miguel grinned at the startled expression on Tim's face as he absorbed that observation.

"Oh, damn, that's right," Tim agreed in mock horror.  "Then again," he continued smugly, "the person they arrest in the first half of the book is always innocent of the crime, as his best friend discovers in the second half of the book," he pointed out, waving a meaningful fork in Miguel's direction.

"Don't look at me," the Cuban protested.  "I was the one who thought Miss Marple committed the murder, remember?"

"I'm not likely to forget," Tim said sarcastically.  "'She stabbed him with her knitting needles because she had the hots for him and he rejected her' was your erudite analysis of the plot, I believe."

"Well, it was possible," Ortiz argued.

"And I'm not going to begin to go into what you thought was going on during The Maltese Falcon," the comtech swept on ruthlessly.

"I still think she could have been a man in drag," mumbled the Cuban.

"You don't want to know, Phillips, believe me," O'Neill said fervently when he saw the lieutenant open his mouth.  "Watching any kind of murder mystery with Ortiz is a sure-fire ticket to the Twilight Zone."

 "Well, it isn't my fault that the people always act so weird," Ortiz argued half-heartedly.

O'Neill rolled his eyes.  "This from the guy who watches Spanish films with English subtitles on them!"

Ortiz' smile grew into a grin when he saw Phillips' doubletake at that, but he refused to explain.  He knew why he did that and so did O'Neill, but he was damned if he was going to try and explain it to anyone else. Besides, it was always so much fun to freak other people out.  "So when is this dastardly plot going to be enacted?" he asked curiously.

"At the rate certain people are going about things, any time soon," Tim growled.  "I wouldn't mind so much if they just let up now and then and let me catch my breath.  Do you know, this is the first time today that I've had more than a couple of minutes to myself?"

"Oh-oh," Phillips said as he glanced towards the entrance to the Mess.  "I've a horrible feeling that you shouldn't have said that, O'Neill."

"Huh?" O'Neill gave him a startled look before following the line of his gaze.  "Why do you say.... oh, merde!" he spat in disbelief as he saw the neatly dressed Arab trotting towards him.  "What the hell is he doing here?"          

Getting to his feet, he turned to face the civilian as the man skidded to a halt beside him and started chattering excitedly.  Both Phillips and Ortiz viewed the gathering storm on the normally mild-tempered comtech's face with unease.  O'Neill's ability to keep his cool was practically legendary, but there were distinct limits to what he would tolerate.  Haniff was very obviously pushing those limits hard.

When O'Neill finally came out with an explosive sounding sentence, the two watching flinched. Arabic always sounded like you were swearing, even if you were reciting your mother's recipe for chicken soup, but this was obviously something quite a bit stronger.  Haniff jerked back, giving O'Neill the kind of stare one reserved for unexpected axe murderers you found in your bedroom cupboard, before he turned tail and scuttled back out of the Mess, shooting disbelieving looks over his shoulder.

Tim continued with swear, with the kind of verve and passion he usually reserved for events he considered outright disasters.  Phillips and Miguel both flinched reflexively when the comtech swung back around to face them, but Tim barely seemed to register their existence as he grabbed his PADD from the table and stormed off.

"Whoa, Tim!" Miguel belatedly found his voice and started after him.  "Where are you going?"

"Away from here!" O'Neill snarled back.  "Back off, Mig.  I'm not safe at the moment.  I need to cool down before I'm fit company and I'm not going to do that anywhere that... idiot can find me."

Ortiz knew enough to stop pushing.  Like himself, Tim had a ferocious temper once he lost control, although the duration of his spats were a hell of a lot shorter than Miguel's and less likely to involve physical violence to the person who had incurred his wrath.  Nevertheless, Ortiz didn't like the idea of letting Tim simply storm off without making some kind of attempt to reach his friend.

"Why don't we meet somewhere later and you can tell me what you think of Haniff, okay?"

"Yeah, fine.  I'll send you a postcard telling you where to come!"

                                                                           oooOooo                   

O'Neill stormed off down the corridor, momentarily too mad to really care where he was going.  All this fuss over a consignment that he had just found out consisted of some cookies.  Cookies!  Of all the stupid, useless, time-consuming nonsense!  He had little doubt that Haniff was probably on his way to see Bridger right at this moment, since the insults and threats Tim had hurled at him had been pretty strong.  Well, downright slanderous, to be accurate. 

Despite his fury, O'Neill couldn't help grinning as he remembered the shocked expression on the Arab's face when the comtech had let rip.  Haniff had probably pegged him as the type to let himself get walked over by all and sundry, no matter what the provocation.  To a large extent that was perfectly true, since O'Neill fervently believed in the adage of live and let live.  Every now and then, though, Tim felt the need to express himself a little more forcefully.  If nothing else, it kept the others on their toes!

The mood couldn't last.  Before very long, Tim's natural paranoia had kicked in and painted lurid mental pictures as to what was probably going on in Bridger's cabin at this very moment.  Having already suffered a disturbed night because of O'Neill's unprofessionalism, the captain was hardly going to appreciate having a highly excitable and deeply traumatised Arab official hurtle in on him and start shrieking in a totally incomprehensible language.

Paranoia soon led to guilt.  It wasn't Haniff's fault that he didn't realise the pressures that O'Neill was currently working under.  Hell, if it came to that, it was O'Neill's responsibility to cope with those pressures, since they came with the territory.  The poor Arab had turned to Tim as the only bridge officer on board seaQuest who could understand him and O'Neill had treated him to a torrent of abuse.  From being a pest of the first order, Haniff rapidly became a frail old man whose one small wish had been cruelly rejected.

Feeling more harried by the minute - his conscience could do a better job than a herd of priests at full throttle - O'Neill paused and wondered if he should go after Haniff and apologise to him at once.  After a moment, an even better idea occurred to him.  What if he tracked down the case that Haniff had declared was on board seaQuest?  That would please the old.... the venerable gentleman and it might mollify Bridger at the same time.  Tim knew that Krieg had already declared that there was no missing package on board the boat, but since O'Neill knew perfectly well that the Supply Officer hadn't even bothered to check before making that sweeping statement, Tim was inclined to be a little suspicious.

Now, where to begin?  Approaching Ben would simply annoy the lieutenant, and once you had done that you could kiss goodbye to any idea of co-operation from the man.  Accessing the computer records would be a good move, except that Tim knew that Krieg never bothered to keep daily updates, preferring to wait until he had several items to deal with at the same time.  Cargo manifests...?

"Eureka!" O'Neill said softly to himself. 

While the detailed lists of what was on each supply launch which docked was given directly to Krieg, the original departure point for each launch, plus the location of the cargo when it was stored on board seaQuest was the responsibility of the officer in charge of Launch Bay.  Ensign Gionis was very new to her posting and hence an absolute stickler for the regulations.  Everything would have been inputted immediately, with the details cross-indexed and probably highly polished in the meantime.  If Tim could work out which launches had come from the Arab ships, then track down where the supplies had gone, then he had a fair chance of finding the offending package.  Feeling a lot better than he had in a while, Tim hastily reorientated himself and then headed off in the direction of Launch Bay Control.

Mina Gionis was still on duty and more than amenable to showing how good she was at her job. By the time he had tracked down the supply area he was after, Tim was a lot more expert on cargo control than he had ever expected to be - or wanted to be, come to that.  It also hadn't taken him long to realise that Mina had designs on a certain Sensor Chief and saw Tim's problems as a ticket to some insider information.  Since Mina was a green-eyed blonde with curves in all the right places, Tim had no hesitation in allowing her to mercilessly pump him for some tactical information.  Considering the number of times Miguel had set him up with a potential date, it was fun to be able to turn the tables and back Ortiz into a corner instead.  The fact that the Cuban would then feel duty-bound to retaliate was something O'Neill preferred not to dwell on.

Armed with the relevant information, Tim eventually managed to prise himself away from Gionis and made for the nearest MagLev.  With any luck he would soon be able to hand Haniff his precious cookies and get at least one of his persecutors off his back.  The MagLev didn't go to the supply deck, of course, but he was able to get off at a stop which was directly above the compartment he wanted and after that it was simply a case of finding a stairwell and descending.

Unlike the main decks, the supply deck always struck Tim as being a bit spooky.  He didn't come down here very often and when he did it was usually in the company of Ortiz hunting spare parts for his precious WSKRS.  The lighting was a lot less bright and the corridors far more utilitarian.  It always reminded Tim of the way seaQuest had been during Stark's rule and that brought up enough bad memories to keep him twitching for days. 

He kept a wary eye out for Krieg as he went.  This was the Supply and Morale Officer's domain and he tended to be a little belligerent about unauthorised trespassers, especially when said people were trying to do his job for him.  Ben had even tried to keep Miguel away and had rapidly found out that telling Ortiz he couldn't do something connected with his WSKRS was like a red flag to a bull.  After the first week of hostilities, the lieutenant had very sensibly cried uncle and let Ortiz have his way.  That didn't mean he liked it, though, and Tim knew that Krieg would be deeply suspicious to find him down here without his usual Cuban shadow - or sheepdog, depending on how you looked at it.

He counted silently under his breath until he finally got to the compartment Gionis had told him contained the Arabian consignment.  She had been mildly interested to know what was so important about it, but a strategic mention of Ortiz' habit of using the Fitness Room at odd hours in the night had successfully diverted her.  In fact, Tim mused, as he opened the hatch and stepped inside, it had worked a little too well, as the idea of 'accidentally' meeting Ortiz while he was in shorts and singlet had led to her eyes glazing over and her grasp of English deteriorating rapidly.  Fortunately for O'Neill, he had already obtained the information he needed and chose that moment to beat a quick retreat.

Finding the specific case he needed turned out to require quite a bit of wriggling.  Some evil-minded person had decided to put it right at the back and at the bottom of another pile of crates.  Muttering under his breath, Tim carefully shifted them and then checked the code imprinted on the top of the case he was eventually left with. 

Success!  He had the cookies!  Laughing quietly to himself at the absurdity of the situation, he started to lift the case, then froze when he heard someone open the hatch to the compartment a little wider. 

"Mitchell?  You in there?"

Krieg!  Pure reflex made O'Neill freeze where he was.  Even though he wasn't technically doing anything wrong, he could just imagine the fuss Ben would make when he found out why he was here.  With any luck, Krieg would give up and go off to look for this Mitchell, leaving O'Neill to slip away unnoticed.

"Mitchell?"

To Tim's horror, Krieg sounded as if he was coming closer.  He was just about to stand up and admit he was there when an indecipherable blur of sound came from further up the corridor.  It appeared that it was Mitchell, since Krieg immediately retraced his steps and started to say something to him/her/it, closing the hatch behind him.  O'Neill slumped back on to the deck and sighed with relief.  He'd almost been caught but it seemed that someone upstairs was prepared to look the other way just this once.  Why did doing a good deed always have to wind up being so complicated?

A few minutes later and he realised just how complicated the situation had just decided to become.  A tug at the hatch to the compartment and he realised that Krieg had fastened it as he'd left, leaving O'Neill very securely locked in.  After a couple of ineffectual tugs, Tim finally conceded defeat and stared at the hatch in dumbfounded horror.  A couple of hard thumps against it and some yelling simply resulted in sore hands and a strained larynx.  If Krieg was within hailing distance, he wasn't bothering to respond.

Wondering why these things always seemed to happen to him, O'Neill slumped down with his back against the hatch and wondered how long it would take for someone to realise he was missing.

                                                                     oooOooo

"Has anyone seen O'Neill?"

Receiving a sharp dig in the ribs from Phillips, Ortiz glanced up vaguely from his examination of the WSKR schematic he was playing with and reluctantly focused on Commander Ford.  After a couple of seconds, the import of the words finally managed to register and he sat up and paid attention.

"O'Neill, Commander?" Phillips was saying carefully.

"That's right, Lieutenant," Ford repeated patiently.  "Timothy O'Neill.  The last time I looked he was our Chief Communications Officer.  Also an expert in the languages I am currently being screamed at in.  I paged him to come to the bridge about an hour ago but there's been no sign of him.  Is there something I should know about?"

Ortiz blinked, then glanced down at his watch in shock, making a hasty mental calculation.  He'd become so involved with playing with his latest project that his sense of time had completely escaped him.  Now he realised that it was nearly three hours since he had watched O'Neill storm out of the Mess Room.

"Er, the last time we saw him was in the Mess Room, Commander," Phillips was saying carefully.  "He had a, ah, disagreement with Haniff and went off to cool down.  I haven't seen him since."  He shot an inquiring look at Ortiz, who shook his head. 

Ford followed the exchange and heaved an audible sigh.  "Damn it, where's he gone?  No matter how wound up he was, I can't see him ignoring a direct request to come to the bridge.  Okay, if you do see him, let him know I need his help.  It's not exactly vital, but it'll stop Romanoff trying to keep the visiting translators from ripping one another's throats out and ending up being tempted to do the job for them!"

He turned and exited the Recreation Room, leaving Ortiz and Phillips to stare at one another in unsettled silence.  "Where do you think he's gone?" Phillips asked after a moment.

"In the mood he was in?"  Ortiz shrugged.  "As far away from other people as he could!  Tim hates anyone trying to jolly him out of a bad mood."

Phillips snorted.  "At least anyone who tries has an odds-on chance of walking away with their throats intact!" he observed sarcastically.

"Are you implying something?" Ortiz demanded, bristling suspiciously.

"Perish the thought," Phillips grinned.     

"Hmph." After a moment, Ortiz decided to let the comment pass and frowned uneasily.  "It's not like Tim to ignore an order to report to the bridge."

"No," Phillips agreed unhappily.  "Now that I don't like the sound of.  What say we see if we can find out where he's gone?"

"Okay."  Folding the schematic haphazardly, Miguel stuffed it in a pocket as he rose to his feet.  "We can scratch his quarters and most of the boat, since Tim would have heard the summons to the bridge and responded.  That leaves some of the more obscure parts of the boat."

"Oh, joy," Phillips muttered.  "Ferreting around the more obscure parts of the boat is just the kind of way I like to spend my off-duty hours."

Miguel just couldn't resist.  "Funny, that's just what Lieutenant Oben said you liked to do.  I didn't believe her, myself."

"Huh?  What?  Oben?"  Phillips directed a startled look in his direction.  While Oben was a tall statuesque engineering officer that half the male contingent of the boat lusted after, she also had a reputation for shooting down any attempts to chat her up.  "Since when did she say that?"

"Ah-ah, Phillips.  No need to hide your light under a bushel with me," Ortiz stirred cheerfully.  "What you do in your off-duty time is no concern of mine."

"It's got nothing to do with me as well, by the sound of things!" Phillips spluttered.  "What has Oben been saying about me?"

Ortiz simply shrugged and looked innocent.  "Oh, this and that," he said airily before he exited the Mess, towing an increasingly confused Phillips behind him.

An hour later and they had tracked down O'Neill's last known location.  Ensign Gionis was more than happy to talk to Ortiz, a fact which wasn't lost on Phillips, who stood back and watched an oblivious Miguel head straight into the trap she was busily weaving for him.

"Lieutenant O'Neill?  Oh, yes, he was here a while back and wanted to know all kinds of things about the cargo we'd brought on board."

"Cargo?"  Ortiz frowned, totally unaware of the way Gionis was inching her way closer.  "Why would he want to know about that?"

"He wanted to know which ships the cargo had come from," she continued, a definite purr touching her voice.

"Madre!" Ortiz yelped.  "He must have been trying to find out where Haniff's cargo was!  Did you tell him?" he demanded fiercely of Gionis.

The Italian blinked a little at his forcefulness but nodded anyway.  "Of course.  He left muttering something about cutting out the middle men and going straight to the source."

"Oh, hell!" Ortiz said, turning away from her without a second thought.  "He must have decided to go across to the Arabs and get the consignment himself!  The things that idiot American does when he's feeling guilty..."

"Why should he feel guilty?" Phillips asked curiously, giving Gionis a look of sympathy which was wasted on her as she pouted to herself.

Ortiz snorted.  "Trust me, I know O'Neill.  He may yell at people but it usually only takes him an hour or so to convince himself that he shouldn't have done so and from there it's a short step to telling himself he's all kinds of a heel." He swung back to Gionis, who immediately brightened.  "Is there any way of finding out which launches left seaQuest and went back to the Arabian vessels or the mainland?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but it's an awfully complicated procedure," the ensign said blithely, "and the information should strictly only be available to certain people."

"Oh."

Seeing Ortiz momentarily stymied, Phillips decided that a little gentle payback for the joke about Oben was in order.  "I'm sure we can make it worth your while, Ensign," he said smoothly.  "Perhaps a dinner somewhere of your own choosing at some later date?"

"Hmm?"  For a moment Ortiz shied at the thought of spending money, then he reconsidered and shrugged.  "Yeah," he agreed.  "Whatever you want."

"Oh, good," Gionis smiled, her wide smile turning a little predatory.  "I'm sure we can come to some agreement about this."

                                                                     oooOooo

O'Neill sat on one of the crates and gave his watch another gloomy look.  The timepiece refused to take pity on him by altering the time displayed on it.  Shifting restlessly as his stomach growled even louder than it had the previous times, Tim wished that someone - anyone! - would come by and open the damn hatch.  There wasn't an intercom in the room and although he had his PADD he hadn't thought it necessary to carry his PAL while he was on board the boat.  He was just as effectively cut off from the rest of the crew than he would have been if he had been snatched off seaQuest and his helplessness rankled.  He was the communications officer for Heaven's sake!  He wasn't supposed to be out of contact.  Lord only knew what the others thought had happened to him.

His stomach rumbled again and Tim reminded himself that he hadn't finished his lunch and breakfast had been a long time ago.  He did his best to forget about thoughts of lasagne, then gave a yelp as he shifted and Haniff's small crate dug into his side.  He was just about to shove it to one side when he remembered that it was supposed to contain cookies.  The wrestling bout he had with his conscience was short, sharp and decisive.

"He won't miss one or two," he muttered to himself as he prised the crate open and peered inside.  Pulling out one of the packets, he broke the seal and took a breath of pure pleasure at the subtle scent of vanilla and spices that immediately touched his nose.  "Just a couple," he promised himself.  "To keep the wolf from the door."

                                                                    oooOooo

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Phillips yelped, grabbing Ortiz by the scruff of his neck as the Cuban made a beeline for the next launch due to leave.  "Does the word AWOL mean anything to you?"

"Yes," Ortiz snapped.  "That's what O'Neill is going to be posted as just as soon as Ford realises what's happened.  We have to get Tim back before that happens."

"Look, we don't know for certain that O'Neill's left the boat," Phillips pointed out.  "No-one saw him go."

"Ninja O'Neill?" Ortiz snorted.  "People only ever see Tim if he wants them to see him, or if he's so nervous he can't remember how to put one foot in front of the other without screwing up.  If he wanted to leave without being seen, he would have."

"But we don't know...." Phillips began again.

"So where is he?" Ortiz shot back. 

That stopped Phillips cold.  They had done a pretty good job of searching the boat and Ford's requests for O'Neill to come to the bridge were edging towards demands.  Phillips really couldn't think of anything, short of physical injury, which would have prevented Tim from responding to a superior officer asking for his help.  Something was wrong, but he was loath to let Ortiz compound the potential disaster by going AWOL himself.

"Okay, so he's probably left," he conceded, "but we don't know which boat he would have made for-"

"Yes, we do," Ortiz interrupted.  "Mina told me when I asked her if there was a particular boat Tim was interested in."

Mina?  Phillips gave silent acknowledgement to Ensign Gionis for being a fast and expert mover.  Ortiz was hooked and all ready to be reeled in, but she obviously had the sense to back off and wait until he was less distracted.  "That still doesn't mean you can just jump ship, waltz over there and ask if anyone has seen a missing comtech!"

"Then think of a better plan!" Ortiz snapped back.  "Tim's got two and a half hours before he's due back on duty.  I have to find him and talk some sense into him before then!"

Phillips reflected that he was usually having this kind of conversation with O'Neill, while Ortiz was the missing party.  Oddly enough, there didn't seem to be all that much variety in the way the dialogue was going.  He wracked his brain frantically, knowing that Miguel was perfectly capable of going AWOL if he thought it would help keep O'Neill out of trouble.

"Why don't we call up the boat in question and ask them if O'Neill is there?" he demanded.

"In the first place, we'd have to go to the bridge if we wanted to do that.  In the second place, we'd have to explain to Romanoff what's happened.  In the third place.... can you speak Arabic?"

"Well... no," Phillips admitted after a moment. 

"Fine.  Any more bright ideas?" Ortiz growled.  "I don't have long before the launch leaves and I'll have to wait too long for the next."

"Miguel, you can't go," Phillips protested, then realised that he was talking to the Cuban's back as he made for the Launch Bay.  "Oh, Lord, Ford will kill us for this!" he groaned as he lunged after the Sensor Chief.

"Mr Ortiz!"

The sound of Ford's voice bellowing Miguel's voice was so much like an echo of Phillips' waking nightmare that it took him several seconds to realise that he had heard the Executive Officer's yell for real.  Looking around a little wildly, he spotted Ford advancing towards Ortiz with a set expression on his face.  For a moment he wondered if the Exec had acquired telepathic powers and had guessed what Miguel had been planning, then he mentally shook himself and hurried to catch up.  In the mood he was in, Miguel was perfectly capable of answering back before he actually thought about what he was saying, and that could be disastrous for O'Neill as well as themselves.

It looked for a moment like Miguel was seriously considering pretending that he hadn't heard Ford.  He hesitated, though, and in that instant the hatch leading down to the departing launch hissed shut.  Ortiz slumped visibly, then pulled himself together and turned to face the approaching officer.

"You wanted me for something, sir?" he inquired with false interest.

"Have you managed to find O'Neill?" Ford inquired, looking more than a little suspicious but obviously deciding against opening any can of worms which had the name 'Ortiz' written all over it.

"Not yet," Ortiz said reluctantly.

"Have you looked?" Ford prodded.

"Of course we looked!" Ortiz snapped, his own worry momentarily flashing out of control.  He leashed it immediately and pulled in a steadying breath.  "Sir," he amended.

Ford gave him a narrow look.  "I want a straight answer, Ortiz.  Is he missing?"

After an automatic flinch, Miguel adopted his most innocent expression.  "How can he be missing, Commander?  We're on a boat in the middle of-"

"He is missing," Ford deduced.  "I knew something was wrong when he didn't respond to my call to come to the bridge." He gave a speculative look at the now-closed hatch leading to the newly vacated launch berth.  "You think you know where he is and you were going after him," he continued thoughtfully.

Not for the first time, Phillips cursed Ford's ability to follow the often erratic way Miguel's mind worked.  If he hadn't known better, he might have thought that Ford knew how Ortiz thought because that was the way his own mind worked.  He was able to dismiss that ludicrous idea without too much difficulty, although there had been occasions in the past...

"I think he went over to one of the Arab boats to get the cargo Haniff was so upset about losing," Ortiz admitted miserably.

"I might have known," Ford said with feeling.  "The captain called to tell me that Haniff's been flapping around him like some rabid budgie, yelping about something, and could we please track O'Neill down for a translation.  I take it that O'Neill would figure large in any such translation?"  He sighed again when Ortiz nodded miserably.  "And Bridger wonders why I hate dealing with civilians!  All right; if you think you know where he is, you'd better go and get him."

"Sir?" Phillips gawped at the Executive Officer.

"Go.  Shoo.  Get the little idiot back before he's late for duty and I have to log him in as AWOL.  Fetch, Ortiz!"

Miguel blinked, then gave him a grin and a sketchy salute.  "No problem, sir.  Um, can I log out a speeder?"

"Whatever it takes. But no speeding, okay?" Ford yelled after a rapidly departing Ortiz.  "Do you think he heard me?" he asked Phillips.

"Er..."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."  Ford shook his head and turned to go.  "Join the UEO, they said.  Have a career full of challenges and excitement, they said.  They never mentioned the nervous breakdowns, though."  Still muttering to himself, he left the Launch Bay, leaving Phillips to cross his fingers and hope that Miguel could track O'Neill down with the minimum of fuss and complications.

"Yeah, right; Ortiz.  Armageddon, here we come!"

                                                                     oooOooo

O'Neill blinked and stared down at the empty packet he was holding.  How had that happened?  One moment he had been nibbling the first cookie, savouring the delicious, subtle taste; the next, he had been choking on the last crumb as he realised he had scoffed the lot.  He must have been a lot hungrier than he'd originally realised. Either that, or his nervousness over his situation had made him eat without realising just how much he was stuffing down his throat.  He peered anxiously into the crate, relaxing a little when he saw that there were more packets inside.  He hadn't deprived Haniff of the cookies he'd been so frantic to get hold of.

Despite his efforts not to, O'Neill found himself looking at his watch again.  He winced as he saw the time ruthlessly displayed.  In a while he would be officially AWOL.  If this had been happening to anyone else he might have appreciated the humour of the situation.  How many people had been declared AWOL while still being on their boat, less than a thousand yards from their station?  If he survived Ford and Bridger's wrath, this entire fiasco might even wind up as seeming funny.  Say in about a hundred years from now!

Trying to figure out an excuse which wouldn't sound as pathetic as all the others he had managed to concoct so far, O'Neill absent-mindedly pulled out another packet of cookies and broke it open as he waited for someone to come and unlock the hatch to his prison.

                                                                       OOO

It wasn't until he'd actually reached the other ship that Miguel realised that he had overlooked one tiny detail in his eagerness to get over there and look for O'Neill.  It was when he was greeted by a security guard who spouted an incomprehensible torrent of words that he remembered that O’Neill had been driven to distraction because so few of the people they were dealing with in the international melee around the Library understood English.  Miguel could speak Spanish and English fluently, Russian adequately and Italian if the person listening wasn’t all that fussy.  The guard could speak Arabic and what sounded like French.  Both of them gazed at one another in frustration for a few minutes, then the security guard did what any right thinking crewmember would do if he found himself in an awkward situation.  He yelled for an officer.

 OOO

Phillips did his best not to pace.  He had already been told what happened to people who drummed their fingers against any convenient surface, so he was forced to fall back on the old tried and trusted art of fidgeting.  He was just getting into it when he was interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of Krieg.  Phillips was still smarting from a certain incident while on shore leave and Lieutenant Benjamin Krieg was not on the official list of People To Be Nice To.  Unfortunately, Krieg hadn't read the List and had  very obviously forgotten all about the incident because he greeted Phillips like a long-lost brother.

“No,” Phillips said flatly.

Krieg paused in mid-hail and gave him what looked like a genuinely startled look.  “What?”

“Whatever it is that you’re after, you’re not having it.”

Krieg looked hurt.  “Why do people always assume that I’m going to scam them?” he asked plaintively.

Phillips snorted.  “Bitter experience, usually.”

“Well it just so happens that I wasn’t after you,” Krieg said in lofty tones.  “I was after O’Neill.”

Phillips shrugged.  “No good asking me.  I have no idea.”  Which was nothing more than the honest truth, he reflected to himself.

Krieg leaned forward, looking shifty.  “Scuttlebutt has it that he’s jumped ship,” he said in a low tone of voice.

Phillips managed to keep the guilt off his face with an effort.  Damn scuttlebutt, he fumed.  It’s better than any intelligence network!  “That’s likely, isn’t it?” he scoffed.

“I know, I know,” Krieg said, looking worried, “but I haven’t been able to track him down and everyone says that the last time he was seen he’d just quarrelled with Ortiz and gone storming off saying that he quit.”

 “He hadn’t quarrelled with Ortiz-“ Phillips started to say, then paused when he say the small glint of triumph in Krieg’s eyes.  “You’re too damn good for your own health, you know that?” 

Krieg shrugged.  “Comes with the territory, and with having a healthy regard for my own skin,” he said offhandedly.  “If the rank and file wait for the officers to tell them anything, they’d get old and grey from the waiting.”

“Krieg, you’re a lieutenant,” Phillips pointed out.  “Much though it pains me to confirm it, you are an officer.”

The Supply Officer gave him one of his lazy grins and placed a hand over his heart.  “In here, where it really counts, I’m one of the crew.”  He ignored Phillips’ groan and came back to his original point.  “Look, for all his pain-in-the-butt honesty, O’Neill happens to be a friend, so if he’s in trouble, I want to know about it.  You can never underestimate the power of a little pre-emptive distraction.  If he needs to keep the powers that be from noticing something, I’m the man to help him out.”

Phillips gave Krieg a nonplussed look, as he was pretty sure that the other man meant what he said.  No matter how hard he tried, Phillips could never quite figure out which way Krieg would jump, given a particular circumstance.  O’Neill might, though.  He was saved from having to make a decision by the arrival of Ensign Gionis.  She gave Phillips a shy smile and did her best to ignore the way Krieg’s eyes widened when he noticed her.

“I was wondering if you knew where Chief Ortiz was, Lieutenant?” she asked.

Phillips gave her a sympathetic smile.  “He’s not here at the moment, Mina.  He left to go to that supply boat we were talking to you about.”

 “Supply boat?”  Mina gave him a confused look.  “But why would be want to go to the boat?  I thought you wanted to know what Lieutenant O’Neill had been interested in?”

 “We were.  The supply boat that should have sent over that cargo O’Neill needed.”  He didn’t miss the sharp look of interest that appeared on Krieg’s face when he heard the word ‘cargo’.

 Gionis continued to look confused.  “But that cargo had arrived on seaQuest,” she said.  “I told Tim about it and he went to find it below decks.”

 “He did what?” Krieg said indignantly.

 “Shut up, Ben,” Phillips said brusquely.  “Gina, are you sure?”

 “Of course I’m sure!” Gionis said with an affronted sniff.  She rattled off the location and Krieg’s indignation suddenly vanished and the shifty look was back with a vengeance.  “He was awfully pleased and took off in a hurry.  I wonder why Miguel went all the way over to that other ship?”

 Phillips made a vague reply and Mina eventually drifted off, leaving Phillips to fasten one of his patented Looks on Krieg.  The Supply Officer shifted uneasily before making a big production out of checking his watch and giving a start of surprise.

 “Is that the time?  My, how time flies.  Sorry, Phillips, but I have to go.  People to see, places to go-“

 “-misdemeanours to cover up,” Phillips finished for him as he rose to his feet as well.  “Why don’t I take a short stroll with you?”

 “Um, stroll?” Krieg said cautiously as he inched his way towards the hatch.  “Where to?  I mean, I have dozens of places I need to be-“

"I don’t doubt that for a moment, Krieg,” Phillips said with a smile that was about as friendly as a shark saying hello to a halibut, “But what say we make a slight detour to that location that Mina mentioned?  The one that made you look like someone whose pet dog had just eaten the winning Lotto ticket?”

“Oh, that location,” Krieg said in hollow accents.   “I don’t suppose that it’s any use my saying that that’s off-limits to unauthorised personnel?”  His shoulders slumped when Phillips offered him a bland smile and a hand on the base of his spine that propelled him firmly forward.  “No, I didn’t think it would.” 

They made their way down into the bowels of the boat.  Krieg walked like someone going to his funeral and after a while, Phillips decided that enough was enough.  “Come on, you might as well confess now and let me get the yelling over and done with before we find O’Neill.  Because we are going to find O’Neill, aren’t we?”

Krieg gave him a hunted look.  “Maybe.”  The expression on Phillips’ face must have warned him that he had pressed his luck as far as it could go.  “I was down here earlier and thought I heard someone in one of the compartments.  I thought it was one of my men but he turned out to be further along the corridor.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now I remember that it was exact same compartment that Gionis was on about.”

 Phillips gave him a confused look.  “So O’Neill had the good sense to avoid being seen by you.  Why the big deal?  And why hasn’t he come back….”  His voice trailed away as a possible solution presented itself to him.  “You didn’t,” he said accusingly.

 “I might,” Krieg conceded.

 Phillips manfully suppressed the urge to grab Krieg by the scruff of the neck and shake him.  “Are you telling me that you locked Tim into a supply compartment?  He’s been missing for nearly five hours!”

 “Well, he shouldn’t have been in there in the first place!” Krieg said indignantly.

 “I’ll remind you of those sterling sentiments the next time you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Phillips said dryly.  “Just get us to that compartment and hope and pray that O’Neill’s all right!”

 When they got to the compartment in question, Krieg hung back and Phillips reached out to unlock it.  He had a certain degree of sympathy for the Supply Officer.  O’Neill did have a temper.  He also had a very mild problem with claustrophobia, although that was something he preferred as few as possible knew about, so being shut up in a small, cramped compartment wasn’t going to be top of his list of things to do.  He was likely to view Krieg with less than his usual sweet nature.  Even Phillips was a little cautious about putting his head around the door and looking in.

 O’Neill lifted his gaze from his PADD and gave Phillips a mildly unfocused look before going back to what was on the screen, nibbling on a cookie while he made notes with his stylus.  After a moment, Phillips cleared his throat.  “All right, Tim?”

 “Mmmm?  Oh, yeah, I’m fine.  I got shut in by accident, so I decided to do some of the translating Rafik sent me.  Luckily I’d downloaded some of it and it’s fascinating stuff.”

 Phillips shook his head and chuckled.  Leave it to Tim to lose all track of time and become fixated on some translating job instead of worrying about his situation.  “Glad to hear it, pal, but consider me the voice of doom.  You have a few minutes to get yourself ready for duty.”

 O’Neill’s air of calm detachment lasted for another ten seconds.  Then Phillips saw the telltale widening of the eyes behind the glasses and he backed away from the hatch.  The next thing he and Krieg knew, a miniature whirlwind shot past them, wailing something in a mixture of languages, out of which the word ‘late’ floated.  Phillips grinned and shook his head as he went into the compartment.

 “Our very own White Rabbit,” he chuckled as he reached down to pick up the empty packet O’Neill had been snacking from.  The Arabic lettering on the outside meant nothing to him but there was a picture of some kind of cookie on the front.  He handed the packet to Krieg as he left and followed after O’Neill.

 “I’d order some more of these, if I were you,” he suggested kindly and walked off, leaving an indignantly spluttering Krieg behind.  It had just occurred to him that Ortiz would have no idea that O’Neill had been successfully tracked down.

OOO

O’Neill slid into his seat and shot a panicked look at the clock on his panel.  He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw that he had made it with three minutes to spare.  He listened to Romanoff’s report with half a ear while running an experienced eye across the board.  It didn’t look or sound like too many disasters had happened during his enforced captivity.  He formally accepted responsibility from Romanoff and started to work on the backlog of messages she hadn’t been able to sort out.  He was deep in the middle of a bureaucrat’s harangue over some incorrect paperwork when he registered a distinct looming behind him.  He wasn’t too surprised to look around and find Ford standing there, his arms folded and a worryingly neutral expression on his face.

 “Commander?” O’Neill said cautiously.

 “Lieutenant,” Ford responded affably.

 Oh-oh.  O’Neill hastily wracked his conscience.  Ford was in pounce mode, which was never a good thing.  The fact that he was standing right behind O’Neill meant that either Tim or Ortiz was in trouble.  O’Neill shot a quick look in the direction of the Sensor Bay, only to blink when he realised that Ortiz wasn’t there.  A worried-looking Tsung pulled a face that was obviously supposed to mean something but left O’Neill completely in the dark.

 “Notice if something is missing?” Ford asked.

 “Er….” O’Neill floundered for a safe answer.

 “We Executive Officers are noted for our lightning-fast grasp of the finer nuances of the environment, Lieutenant,” Ford continued in an ominously light-hearted tone.  “We pick up on tiny things that others could easily miss.  For instance, not many people would notice that we seem to be missing our Sensor Chief.  I, on the other hand, spotted it immediately.  Now the next question that springs to mind, of course, is where the heck he’s managed to get to.  Another thing about Executive Officers is that they’re never afraid to ask other people for pertinent information.  Like, for instance, if certain Communications Officers know where a certain Sensor-“

 The sudden chirp of his board came like a lifeline and O’Neill pounced on the excuse with alacrity.  He managed a weakly apologetic smile in Ford’s direction before turning back to accept the call.  He felt his jaw drop when he found himself staring straight into Miguel’s face.

 “seaQuest, this is Chief Ortiz.  I need to speak to-“  He stopped in mid-sentence as he finally registered who he was looking at.  “O’Neill?  Where the hell have you been?  I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said indignantly.

 O’Neill pulled a face.  “I got locked inside a supply compartment by mistake and couldn’t get out,” he admitted.  From behind him he heard a tongue-click from Ford and the Exec murmured ‘Krieg’ under his breath with ominous satisfaction.  “Where are you, Miguel?  You’re late for duty.”

 Ortiz pulled a face.  “Yeah, I know.  That’s why I was calling, to let Ford know that I was still looking for you.”

 “Looking for me?”  Tim gave him a blank look.  “Why would you be looking for me on another boat?”  A hand on his shoulder made him swallow the rest of his questions.  Ford leaned over his shoulder to catch Miguel’s eye.

 “Our lost comtech would seem to have wandered back into the fold, Chief Ortiz.  Can you give me an estimate of how long it will take you to get back to us?”

 Ortiz bit his lip and looked over his shoulder to ask a question in what Tim recognised as Russian.  The next second, both he and Ford goggled when a woman moved into view, leaning down to smile at Ortiz in a way that screamed an entente that was more than a little cordiale.  Her short hair was a rich chestnut brown and dark blue eyes gleamed with mischief as she shot a quick look at the pair of them before switching her attention back to Miguel.  She purred something in Russian that had Miguel grinning and Tim blushing furiously as he caught the double entendre.

 “Who-“ Ford started before he caught himself.

 “Oops, sorry, I was forgetting.  Commander Ford, Lieutenant O’Neill, this is Lieutenant Kirov.  She’s on secondment to the Mediterranean Confederacy while they carry out some research at the Library.  Lucky for me that she was on board so I had someone who could understand me.”

 “He’s always bloody lucky,” O’Neill muttered under his breath, then blushed again when he caught the sympathetic smile Ford gave him.  Tim was firmly of the opinion that Ortiz could be washed up on an island inhabited by a monastic order and still find himself hip-deep in women.

 “Very well, Mr Ortiz, but as you can see, O’Neill is back with us, so hurry back as soon as you can.”

 “No problem, sir.  Oh, Tim?”  O’Neill looked up.  “You were looking for some kind of biscuit for Haniff?”

 O’Neill immediately realised that he had eaten a good half of that consignment and went a little green at the realisation that he would have to admit as much to Haniff.  “Yeah, I was,” he admitted.

 “Can you remember what they were called?  Only Nat says she can scrounge me some more if she knows which ones they are.  Apparently this bunch have all got a sweet tooth so the boat is stuffed with every kind of cake and cookie you can think of.  I can grab a case and bring it back with me.”

 O’Neill sagged with relief and was happy to supply the required information.  Kirov nodded in recognition and promised she would supply him with a case.  She left Ortiz with a small nod and a big smile.  Judging from the expression on Ortiz’ face, he would be hinting about shore leave in the near future.  Remembering Mina, Tim cleared his throat and made a mental note to religiously avoid the Supply Area for the immediate future.

 “See you in a little while,” Ortiz said cheerfully as he went to sign off.  “Try and keep out of Haniff’s way until I get there, okay?”

 The screen went dark and O’Neill braced himself for the inevitable lecture from Ford. 

 “Cookies?  That was what Haniff was going on about?  He was missing his cookies?”

 “More or less, sir.”

 “Oh, for-  civilians!” 

 Muttering under his breath, Ford moved off and O’Neill heaved a sigh of relief.  Luckily for Ortiz and himself, Ford was always inclined to blame any kind of disruption on a civilian, if there was one conveniently about.  It looked like he and Ortiz had got away with it, provided they kept their heads down and didn’t do anything to annoy the Exec.  Now all he had to do was hope that Miguel would be able to work out how he could get time off to go back and see Lieutenant Kirov without realising that O’Neill had also set him up with Ensign Gionis.  Tim calculated the odds on that and winced to himself before grinning ruefully.  Oh, well, he’d cough up the price of a dinner for Ortiz and Gionis and Miguel would keep his mouth shut.  In another two weeks they would be rid of this latest batch of civilians and everything would return to normal.  Or as normal as things ever were on board seaQuest!