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, Major General in the US Air Force and Head of Homeworld Security, skulked out of his office onto the balcony using all the skills he'd honed during his years in Special Forces.
Then pulled out his booty with an air of triumph. Here, he could indulge as much as he wanted without Captain Amy Roberts - Napoleonic Power Monger #2, he thought affectionately - snipping at his heels.
He put the luscious morsel to his lips and dug out his lighter. Bliss.
The little Napoleon had evidently enlisted his aide to do her evil in her absence. Captain Tom Wilkinson was a big guy, who wore a permanent scowl and had most of his subordinates peeing in their pants. But he was firmly wrapped around the tiny little fingers of Captain Roberts.
Jack smirked to himself - the man was completely whipped - then regretfully put the cigarette and lighter back in his pocket before going back into his office.
He couldn't remember exactly when he'd started smoking again - not long after the whole Hathor Goa'ulding him thing - and Doc Fraiser had quickly gotten on his case.
He knew the drill. They were nasty. They stunk. They'd take years off his life. But, God, how he loved them.
He managed to quit again for several more years. Then came his stay at Resort Ba'al ... And he'd gotten more lectures from the tiny Doc; along the lines of replacing one addiction with another.
But this time he had no intention of quitting. He'd been alone the first time he'd gone cold turkey - no-one knew of the horrible moods, the shaking, the headaches of withdrawal. His team were the poor unfortunates inflicted with him during his second round. They'd been great, though.
And now he was alone again. He didn't have the support mechanism that, much as it galled him, he did need to quit. So ... he wasn't gonna.
Two weeks later:
"So ...," Jack said, jumping lightly off the bed and grimacing at the crack in his knee, "what's the verdict, Doc?"
Captain Amy Roberts smiled up at the tall handsome man. "Blood pressure and heart-rate are good, cholesterol levels ... could do with a little reduction." General O'Neill grimaced, and Amy put up a hand. "It's an age thing, General," she said. "You needed those calories when you were in the field, but now you're not ..."
"I know, I know," General O'Neill grumbled. "You don't want me turning into a fat old fart."
"Oh, you're still in good shape, sir," Amy hastened to assure him - funny how even one of the most heroic, if unsung, soldiers of the world still needed assurance. "But you could stand to lose a few." She tapped him on the chest. "And I really wish you'd give up smoking."
The General smirked. "Hey; the first time I quit smoking, I put on ten pounds - you want that to happen again?"
The first time? Amy shook her head, trying to ignore the way his roguish smirk lit up his brown eyes. Yes; he might be her superior officer and twenty years her senior, but she wasn't blind. "I'll take that risk, sir," she said. She pulled out a box of nicotine patches. "These should help with the physical cravings," she added.
The General grimaced and allowed her to affix one to his upper arm. "Fine; I'll try," he said. "But I'm blaming the next coupla months on you!"
Better a grouchy General than a dead General.
Whoops; did she say that out loud? Amy flushed lightly, but was determined that this particular grouchy General wasn't going to get the best of her. She'd worked at the SGC a couple years ago, and had learned how to handle a rambunctious then-Colonel O'Neill from Major Fraiser. "Get dressed, sir," she said, proffering the box. "You'll get your blood work results tomorrow."
"Okay. And ... thanks, Doc. I know you're just lookin' out for us all."
Three weeks later:
"GO AWAY!" Jack bellowed as the knocking on his front door persisted. Obstinate little bastard, whoever it was.
"Sir; it's me," came from the door.
Since when did nicotine withdrawal induce hallucinations? "Carter?" he called cautiously, not really wanting to know if he'd finally flipped.
"Sir ... please! Let me in! It's freezing out here."
Jack got up and unlocked his door, then flung it open to reveal a bedraggled and thoroughly miserable-looking Lieutenant Colonel. "Carter! Geez; sorry." He cupped her elbow in his big hand and drew her sodden form into the bathroom. "Ah ... wait a minute," he added.
He dashed into his bedroom and pulled out an old tee shirt and sweats, then went back into the en suite, turning on the shower. He tugged the new toweling robe out of its plastic wrapping and hung it on a peg. There. "Carter; have a shower, get warmed up. I'll put your clothes in the dryer."
Carter looked at him with big eyes that bore a suspicious redness. Her nose was also red, but he suspected more due to a crying jag than the cold weather. The recent loss of the Prometheus had to have hit her hard, though he couldn't fathom what had brought her all the way here when she had Daniel and Teal'c back home.
"Sam," he said more gently, "go on. Soak for a bit; I'll make you something to eat."
"Okay," she said, then lifted up a little to brush her lips to his cheek. "Thanks, Jack."
While Carter thawed in his shower - Carter. In his shower - Jack tried not to think about Carter in his shower. Instead he pulled together the fixings for a light omelet, sans beer, and a good old-fashioned chicken soup. Nothing like a shot of Jewish penicillin for curing your woes.
Carter appeared in his kitchen looking much warmer. Bundled in his big robe, her skin scrubbed clean, she looked fresh, appealing and like a goddamn kid.
Christ; when the hell had he gotten so old?
She peered over his shoulder at the omelet. "That smells good, Jack," she said, giving him a shy smile.
Jack again, huh? He could get used to this. "Tastes good, too," he said immodestly. He grimaced slightly. "Even if I am using half-fat cheese."
Carter laughed softly. "I heard Captain Roberts had put you on a diet."
Jack rolled his eyes. Why did he tell Daniel anything? The guy had such a big mouth. "Yeah ... well. It's an age thing," he said gruffly. "Now I'm not in the field anymore ..."
Carter nodded her head. "It happens to us all," she said. "It just ... took you longer than most."
"Really, Jack; how many people are still on active duty in their fifties? You're about the only one I can think of who did it."
He wasn't going to smirk. He wasn't going to ...
He smirked. "Yes, well ... Someone had to keep you in line, Carter; I couldn't leave all the hard work to Daniel and T, now could I?"
A small fist landed hard on his upper arm. "Smart-ass."
"I do my best," Jack retorted, hiding his wince. He'd forgotten what a punch she could pack. He dished up the soup and omelet then nudged her hip with his own. "Have a seat, Carter; dig in."
Carter did as she was told, then aimed a big huge Carter smile at him. "This is good," she offered.
"Don't sound so surprised," he said, feigning hurt. "I can do more than char meat on a barbecue, you know."
Several hours later:
"So ... Sam."
Sam looked over at him from where she sat curled into his couch, skin and hair glowing in the firelight. "Jack?"
"Not that I'm not glad to see ya, but ..."
"Why am I here?" Sam heaved a sigh. "So many people, Jack."
Jack grimaced. "Tough day." Yes, ladies and gentlemen; presenting Jack O'Neill, Master of Understatement!
"Yeah." Another sigh came from the beautiful woman curled up not five feet from him. "I just ... I had to get away. General Landry gave us a week's leave, and I couldn't stand the idea of moping around at home."
No. Sam Carter wasn't the type to stay at home. She tended to spend most of her leaves in her lab, poking at weird esoteric bits of machinery. "No cool toys in your lab, huh?" he teased lightly.
She smiled at him. "I ... wanted to see you again," she admitted. "It's not been the same without you." And yet another sigh. "Don't get me wrong; General Landry and Colonel Mitchell are good men, but ..."
"I know," Jack said roughly. "I miss you guys, too. But being the CO there was driving me nuts. I can do more for you guys here than I ever could there."
"Except ... be there."
Ah, hell. Jack got up and sat down next to her, then put an arm round her shoulders. "C'mere."
She dropped her head onto his shoulder, leaning into his hug, then suddenly slipped her arms round his waist, returning the hug tenfold. "This is why I'm here," she said. "No-one hugs me the way you do."
"Hey; it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it!" he replied lightly. Hugging Carter was nice - very, very nice - but he wasn't going to read anything into it.
Sam shook her golden head, then he felt her giggle into his neck. "Smart-ass," she said.
Oh God. Sam Carter's lips. On his neck. He coughed quickly, trying to mask his discomfort. "Sam ..."
And now she was kissing his neck.
"Sam ...," he croaked ineffectually.
"Jack." Her head shot up and she skewered him with her big eyes. "I don't want to think; I just want to feel."
"No; Carter. It's not right." He pushed at her gently and stood up. "I won't take advantage of your distress."
Sam smiled. "I know. You wouldn't be the man I loved if you did," she said.
Loved? Hold the phone! "What?" he croaked again.
"You heard me," she said. "We've been flirting for months now; I even blew off Agent Barrett for the promise of 'us'." And suddenly his robe puddled around her feet. "There is going to be an us?"
The next day:
"Uh." Jack scowled at his computer, then thumped the screen hard as the blue screen of death taunted him. "Stupid useless piece of junk!"
"Jack!" A soft hand on his arm stopped him mid-thump. "It's okay; as long as you backed up, I can restore all your files."
"Uh." Jack growled at the taunting machine, then felt something sticky adhere to his upper arm. "Mmmm ... nicotine patch," he crooned sarcastically in his best Homer Simpson.
"Grumpy old man," Sam said lightly, then slipped into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Anything I can do to make you feel better?"
He appraised her. Cheeks flushed from her shower, golden hair damp and tousled and - oh yeah - completely naked. Life was sweet. "Lemme think about it." He paused for about two seconds. "Thought about it," he added, then crushed his lips to hers.
God; she should be listed as a Class A narcotic. One night with her and he was already addicted.
She mewled into his mouth and they got up and dashed hand in hand to his bedroom. Oh yeah. He was definitely addicted to Sam Carter. But this was one addiction he so would not be trying to overcome!
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