Paul had made arrangements with Daniel for dinner-and-probably-more--well, that last bit was left unspoken, but the subtext was there--back when he'd first been notified that he was wanted at the Amran negotiations. They hadn't had the chance in a while, or rather they had, but due to the event that General O'Neill liked to refer to as "the refrigerator incident" Daniel had been in no mood for socializing. Paul would have been looking forward to the trip anyway, since negotiations with offworld parties were always interesting, but the expectation of a night with Daniel had forced him to crank down hard to keep from humming in the halls of the SGC.
Then everything had gone to hell, and merrily come back again, barely even singed. Classic SG-1 luck, he thought. Actually, classic SG-1 luck would've involved an actual capture, but he certainly hadn't said anything of the sort to General O'Neill when he'd bounced by in civilian clothes to let him know the prodigals had returned. They really were ridiculously lucky, and Paul was kind of afraid that if he admitted that too loudly the universe would notice.
So he'd said he was glad to hear it, and rescheduled with Daniel when they had a chance to speak during the President's visit, which was why he was standing in Daniel's kitchen watching an interstellar archeologist frown at a yam.
"This is a sweet potato, Paul."
Paul took it from him, hefting it in one hand. "No, I don't think so. The sign at the store said it was a yam."
"That's a misnomer. This is an orange-fleshed sweet potato, sometimes colloquially called a yam. The true yam isn't actually all that widely available in supermarkets--you really need to hit a store that's serving the Latino population."
Paul set the yam--sweet potato--down on the counter. Well, thumped it down. Maybe smacked. "You didn't think you should mention that before you asked me to pick them up?"
"Well, I assumed you knew." Daniel blinked at him, obviously surprised. "You're well-traveled, familiar with other cultures..."
"Yes, I take your point, but Daniel, I don't cook. You know that."
Daniel sighed and went back into the bag. "True. Well, it doesn't matter. The sweet potato will work too. Oh, hey, you bought ice cream?"
"Yes, as you can see. What do you mean it doesn't matter?"
Daniel waved one hand dismissively. "Sweet potato will work just as well. I just thought you'd like to know this isn't a yam."
Paul stared at him. "Do you spend all of your time correcting people about things like tuber identification? How are you not dead yet? Actually, forget I said that," he muttered, because that was really another thing it didn't seem wise to call the universe's attention to.
Daniel smiled at that, wide and sweet, so Paul really pretty much had to kiss him, and they never did end up making dinner. No loss, though. No matter what he liked to pretend, Daniel couldn't really cook either.
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