Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Jack O'Neill was getting a headache.
All around him, scientists were babbling happily.
He'd been here a half an hour and, so far, he'd managed to resist the urge to garrote the nearest geek with his own tie.
But if Felger came anywhere near him, he couldn't be held responsible.
Scientists to the left of him.
Scientists to the right of him.
Scientists in front of him.
Scientists behind him.
He was surrounded by exactly the type of guys he used to beat up in high school. Karma, anyone?
He would have whimpered, but he was a hard-ass Major General. And hard-ass Major Generals didn't whimper. Some, like Hank Landry, yelled. Some were quieter, like George Hammond. And some were sarcastic, like Jack. But none of them whimpered.
What amazed him was how any of the geeks actually heard each other above the flapping of their own gums.
Then a blur of blonde caught his attention, and he smiled.
Things were starting to look up.
Samantha Carter noticed 'The Look' on her former CO's face. The look that indicated that someone was about five seconds away from having a brick of C4 stuffed up their ass and detonated.
Then she saw Jay Felger making his way over to her and fought back a whimper. Save me! she pleaded silently to the suffering General.
He wandered over, a very intimidating presence in his dress blues - a very yummy presence in his dress blues! - and displaced Jay. "Hey, Carter," he said. "Fancy running into you here."
"Hi, sir," she replied warmly. Since their respective transfers, they'd come to an unspoken understanding. Words weren't needed and, besides, Jack O'Neill was hardly verbally gifted. They weren't together in the strictest sense of the word, but were ... dating.
Weren't they a bit old for that?
"So, how's it goin'?" the man inquired, snagging two cups and pouring them each a coffee. He handed one over to her. "Heard Ba'al's been a busy boy."
Interesting relationship Jack seemed to have with his former captor. They'd cooperated to help defeat the Replicators and seemed to have developed a grudging respect for each other. "Yes," she agreed, not really wanting to talk about that mission. She was still pissed at Cam for what he'd called her.
She turned to her ... boyfriend? (Double Gah) "Sir ... tell me something."
"Sure," he agreed readily.
"Out of Cam, Daniel, Teal'c and me, who d'you think would make the best drug runner?"
Was this one of those trick questions? Like Do these pants make my butt look big?. There were some questions Jack had learned never to answer. He stalled. "Uhh ... what?"
Carter laughed softly, then gave him that killer beam. "Relax, Jack; it's not a trick question," she assured him. "You read the mission report."
Contrary to popular belief, he did actually read the reports. And this latest one of SG-1's was a doozy. He'd gotten the impression that a lot had been missed out. "Yeah," he said. He looked her up and down, trying to picture her as a drug runner.
He'd met Vala Mal Doran and Daniel after their disastrous meeting with the Senate, and had spent two hours helping the space vixen drive Daniel up the wall. Not that the leather-clad brunette needed any help.
Ooooh. Leather. And Sam Carter.
He leered subtly at her, distracted from her question by ... visions dancing in his brain.
She tilted his chin upward with a neat finger. "Jack; I'm up here."
"Uhh ... what was the question again?"
Carter shook her head with an amused grin. "Are you sure you don't have adult ADD?" she asked. "Out of me, Cam, Teal'c and Daniel, which of us would make the best drug runner?"
Oh, that question. He gazed pleadingly at her. "I plead the Fifth," he said.
Oh, and now the man was doing his puppy-dog eyes. It just wasn't right that a hard-ass USAF General could be so damn ... adorable. "Denied," she said, hardening her heart. She widened her own eyes at him. "Ja-ack ..."
"Ah," he grumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. "Fine. Fine."
She shoots, she scores!
He looked at her carefully, then appeared to be thinking about her team-mates. "I ... can't say, Carter. I've known you too long. I know you're a good person."
"Sometimes I can be bad," Sam murmured, leaning slightly into him and watching with interest as the tips of his ears turned pink.
He cleared his throat. "Y'know something, Carter? I believe you," he declared. "But there's a difference between being bad ..."
Funny how the man could make a one-syllable word extend to three
... "and being evil. Being evil is something else entirely."
Oddly enough, Sam felt miffed at that. She didn't want to be evil, but it would be nice if someone thought she had that capacity. "And you think Mitchell can pull it off?"
"Hell, no!" Jack said emphatically. "I've met him, remember? He's the poster boy for the USAF; a nice Southern boy who loves his grandma." He looked at her. "What're you not telling me, Carter? Something's pissed you off."
She looked around. "Just ... when did people start thinking of me as some ... Julie Andrews clone?"
Jack choked on his coffee. "A Julie Andrews clone?"
"Yeah; all prim and proper, nice manners, sweet and pure."
"Carter; the people who know you don't think of you like that." He regarded her seriously. "You're a demon with a P90, you know more ways to kill a man bare-handed than most of the Air Force combined, and you're brainy and beautiful as hell." Then he grinned. "Personally; I've always been glad you're on the good guys' side. The words galaxy-wide chaos spring to mind."
Sam looked at him, chewing over his words. Then she fixed him with a bright smile. "Good answer," she said. She stood up and murmured in his ear; "So ... you wanna blow this popsicle stand?"
Jack woke up confused. His tongue tasted like old carpet, there was yellow fuzz in his field of vision and every muscle in his body ached.
Then his vision coalesced and he smirked.
Samantha Carter was naked. In his bed. And snoring.
She was a demon with a P90. She knew more ways to kill a man bare-handed than most of the Air Force combined. She was brainy and beautiful as hell.
And she'd proven last night - and most of this morning - that she could be ... very, very bad.
The smirk widened and he dropped a kiss onto the woman's forehead.
One of Sam's eyes popped open. "Wha ...?" she mumbled.
"Nothin'," Jack said. "Sorry, go back to sleep."
"Kay." She turned and snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest. Within seconds, she was snoring again.
Christ! Even her snoring was adorable - a low snuffle, punctured by occasional murmurings that he suspected might be the periodic table of elements. When had she turned him into a sap?
"Mary Poppins, eat your heart out," he muttered. It was Sam Carter who was 'practically perfect in every way'.
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