Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate, sadly. MGM does. Neither do I own The Simpsons or Pirates of the Caribbean, or even a Swiss Army Knife.
Title: Without Leave [subject to change
Author: slytherinrules85
Rating: Strong-ish Teen. I'm guessing anyone 13+ who's been active in fanfiction for any amount of time will find this fairly tame, though.
Spoilers: None that I can think of, but there will probably be references and this takes place after Season 6.
Author's Note: So, this is my first non-HP fic, and I really hope that it doesn't completely suck. Especially since I love Sam/Jack and Stargate is my new fandom love. So… enjoy, and please review!
"Carter?"
Jack O'Neill rolled over, groaning from the zat blast. Funny how it always seemed to hit him in the right spot, causing his back to be sore for days.
"Sir?" Carter's voice brought him back from sending Very Bad Luck vibes from whatever Jaffa had shot him. "You okay?"
"Fine, Carter, I'm fine." Funny how every time he woke up while on a mission – whether they were camping out, or he'd been shot with a zat (and on one occasion, fed something green and sticky that he really didn't want to remember) – the first thing out of his mouth was "Carter?" usually followed by a "You alright?".
It's because she's a valued member of my team, he thought. Not for any other reason. Nope, nosirree, not at all.
Oh, shove it, thought the treacherous part of his mind that also forced him – on a regular basis – to guard Carter's six. For safety, he justified it to himself. Never know when a Goa'uld might pop up, or Jaffa. Or, y'know, someone with a huge gun, ready to kill her. I mean, uh, "the team".
Yeah, yeah, thought the bit of him that also forced him to ponder why, fercryin'outloud, couldn't the frat regs be bent for two people who had saved the world, what, eight times now? Nine? He never remembered. You go ahead and delude yourself while you're starin' at Carter's six. It is a good sight, after all. He could feel his subconscious smirking. Damn it.
Now she was staring at him in a weird way. "Sorry," he muttered. "Headache." He paused, and looked her over, trying not to seem overly concerned. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, sir." She was going through her vest. "Oh, for cryin' out loud," he heard her grumble. He smirked. He liked it that she'd picked up on his phrases. The smirk fell from his face when she turned to look at him, an annoyed look covering her face. "They rifled through my pockets, sir. I don't have anything to blow the door."
Jack sighed and slumped against the wall, examining the cell door that locked them in. Hopefully Daniel and Teal'c were out there, somewhere, and they'd be able to break out and join them before hotfooting it back to the gate and going back to the SGC. His eyes lit upon the hinges. "Ha!" he crowed, grinning. "We can lever the door out of its hinges!" Carter's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh, c'mon, Carter, occasionally I have a bright idea. You can't have a complete monopoly, y'know."
She hid her smile well. "Yes, sir. But, uh, it's not usually your, um… department?" She coughed. He mock-glowered at her.
"Well, if you must know, it's not entirely my idea," he said.
"Ah," she said, raising her eyebrows.
"I got it from a movie."
"Not The Simpsons?"
He rolled his eyes and hoped she couldn't see. "Carter, not everything in my life revolves around The Simpsons." He heard her snort, and there was a tiny giggle that followed it. "Alright, alright. Most of it revolves around The Simpsons. But not all of it!"
"Yes, sir."
"Was that sarcasm, Major?"
"Never, sir." He could swear that her lips twitched, momentarily, upward. In a smiling fashion.
"Fine, fine," he grumbled at her. There was a pause, and then she coughed. "What?"
"Your idea, sir?"
"What about it?"
"Where'd you get it from?" He knew that tone: it was the one she used when she was just itching to know something. He grinned, but just a little.
"You don't know?" God, that's sad, Carter." He elbowed her lightly and felt her sigh.
"Sir."
He rolled his eyes. "Right, right. It's from Pirates of the Caribbean. The first one, that is." He looked at her. Her face was blank and she looked – he was, well, not gleeful, since Colonels aren't allowed to be gleeful, but certainly giddy, in a smug way – confused. He'd confused Carter! Ha! Sweet! "Carter, please tell me you've seen Pirates of the Caribbean."
"Uh, no sir. I haven't." She blushed a little, embarrassed.
He couldn't help staring, a bit open mouthed. "Carter, everyone in the world has seen that movie. How can you not've seen it?"
"Work, sir." Now she was getting defensive.
"Yeah, yeah, gotta save the world. I've seen that one. The heroine ends up lonely with nothing to do. You've got to get out more often, Carter. That's an order." He gave her a semi-amused smile.
Her eyes twinkled back at him. "I'm out now, sir. Meeting new people, going new places."
He scoffed, and took in their surroundings. "Yeah, well, you see one Goa'uld prison, you've seen 'em all."
"I don't know, sir," she said, in her Practical Voice, "some are more upscale than others."
"You're right, Carter," he said, giving her a healthy dose of sarcasm, "the prison Osiris put me 'n Teal'c in was pretty swanky. Thank you, oh so much, for pointing that out."
"Glad to be of help, sir," she said, sounding absent.
"Carter?" He turned towards her.
"Trying to get my Swiss Army Knife out, sir," she huffed, pulling on something – but he couldn't see where her hands were.
"…" He blinked, and the thought of the location of her unseen hands made his brain present him with too many unseemly – for a C.O., that is – images. He shook his head, banishing the images. "Carter, d'you need any help?"
Damn, damn, damn, I did not mean to ask her that! he thought, wincing inwardly.
"And," he added, trying to keep his calm, "if we're going to lever the door off its hinges, why do you need a knife?"
"No, I don't need any help, sir," she said, pulling the knife from somewhere – that he was not going to think about! – and flicking one of the tools out. "We need it, because it has a tube of lubricant in it. And we need that to get the hinges slick, so they'll slide off."
He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to imagine a world where Carter had not just said "lubricant" or "slick". God. That was a happy world. He wanted to go back.
No you don't, said that annoying voice. You want her to go on, don't you? I don't see why you haven't talked to Hammond yet – he'd go to bat for you. Screw Kinsey, the president would even let you and Carter get it on! But, no, you don't want to mention it. If you had, that could've been an entirely different type of lube she was talking about.
"Shutup, shutup, shutup!" he hissed to himself. He could feel her giving him an inquisitive look. "Nothing. Get on with it, then!"
"Right, sir." Was it his imagination, or did her voice sound a little strangled right there? No – he shook his head – he was just having a bout of wishful thinking. Carter didn't do 'strangled voice' or 'full of emotion' – at least, not for anything short of dying. Damn it!
She did her Carter-thing and then he stood up, to do his O'Neill thing and haul that damn door off its damn hinges to get out of the damn cell and back to the damn gate and then home, so he could take a damn cold shower again.
The door, however, wasn't cooperating. It was heavy and mostly stuck. He grunted with the effort of lifting it.
"Sir?"
"What, Carter?" he snapped, still trying to lift the door.
"Can I help?" she said, her tone completely blank.
"I don't know, can you?" he said, unable to not be sarcastic.
She sighed. "May I, then?"
"Go right ahead, Major."
Together they lifted the door off its hinges, propped it against the wall and then paused for a second.
"Next time," he said, "just smuggle a radio in… wherever that knife was…" not that I was thinking about it! his mind screamed, "and jerry-rig that, and we'll let Danny-boy and T come rescue us."
"Sounds like a plan, sir," she said, laughing a bit.
"Alright then. Let's move out." He wished he had his trusty P-90 to hold onto – and guard Carter's six with, shut up shut up shut up – but all he could do was stuff his hands into his pockets as they made their way out of the building and back to the woods.
Walking back in the direction Carter said the gate was in, he stopped for a moment, frowning and listening to everything around him. The odd sound he was hearing finally registered with his brain and he grabbed the back of Carter's vest and pulled her to the ground, landing on top of her, with his hand over her mouth.
"Jaffa, kree!" a voice said, from maybe fifty yards away.
"Shh," he hissed at Carter, who'd been making tiny sounds of annoyance about being squished underneath her C.O.
She glared up at him, but shut up. He moved his hand. "You couldn't tell me there were Jaffa on our six?" she whispered, her voice matching her expression.
"No time," he replied, trying to hunker down and be more camouflaged.
"That's my-" she stopped, and turned red, as one of his legs found a gap to delve into.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, avoiding eye contact as he moved his leg from in between hers.
She opened her mouth to reply at the same time he heard someone moving around in the underbrush behind them. She didn't hear the Jaffa, he knew, and she was going to give away their position and land them back in a cell that didn't have a door that would succumb to leverage. So he did the only thing he could, to keep her quiet.
He kissed her. Soundly.
That's the spirit, the little voice said at the back of his head. Shut up, he growled at it. Damn internal monologues.