On a Good Day
Summary: The way Jack O'Neill's day starts isn't always how it ends.
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Warnings: None
A/N: This came from supplyship-- thanks, sweetie, for the idea. Also, a big thank you to ziparumpazoo for her beta work.
Jack's day had not gone well. It started out with his usual driver, Reggie, out on vacation so the motor pool had sent a substitute that reminded Jack far too much of Felger. Then later, during his mid-morning conference call with some blithering idiot at the DOD, Jack went to sharpen his pencil and broke the pencil sharpener. The one shaped like a nose, where you stick the pencil up one of the nostrils in order to sharpen it. And damn it if it wasn't among the best of the entertaining things in his secret third drawer collection.
Not even the unexpected lunchtime phone call from Teal'c had helped, being that Teal'c said less than three words before being interrupted and had to go off to do something along with Mitchell. Come to think of it, three words out of Teal'c could be considered significant conversation most days. Just not today. Not when things continued to spiral downward.
Next, all within the span of about 35 minutes, Jack had to deal with a paper jam in his printer the Chinese ambassador made an unexpected visit, promptly followed by an unfortunate incident in the hallway. Colonel Larson, focusing all his attention on his ridiculous attempts at being witty in the presence of a young, pretty brunette from accounting, was not looking where he was going. He bumped into Jack and spilled coffee all over him.
And that's about when Jack should have thrown up his hands in defeat, called it a day, and gone home. Or perhaps, considered calling upon Malikai all these years later to see if he still knew how to reset the day to the beginning and allow Jack to start all over again. Hopefully, this time with more golf and kissing hot blondes instead of conference calls and coffee spilled all over him.
He should have, and would have, called it day, if not for the last minute request by the President for Jack to make an appearance at some swanky event held at some swanky hotel in Washington with, evidently, some pretty swanky people in attendance. A uniform with a coffee stain on it was not part of the equation. Finding something clean last minute had led to his current predicament - standing in the hotel lobby while wearing a borrowed set of the new dress uniforms. The ones everyone in the Air Force was making fun of. For god's sake, they had a belt!
Some guy in a flannel shirt and jeans meandered over and asked, "Bellman, can you direct me toward the elevators?"
Jack rubbed a hand over his face and silently counted to 10. Then he began composing his resignation letter in his head. When that still didn't work, he pictured himself climbing up on the conference table at the Pentagon, standing in the middle of it, dropping his pants, and mooning all the Five Stars along with the Chinese Ambassador.
That last image finally worked.
He opened his eyes and squinted at the tourist. The guy slowly backed away. Jack was mildly comforted by the fact that his "I could eat your slimy alien ass for lunch" look hadn't lost its touch.
The ballroom was, he supposed, nice. Crystal chandeliers, tables covered in fine linens and elegant china, a large mural on one wall depicting General Washington crossing the Delaware. Nice, he supposed, if you were into that kind of thing. All things considered, he'd rather be on the boat with General Washington. None of Washington's men had a stupid belt on.
Jack heard a familiar voice behind him, and for a moment, he wondered if he was losing it. This day, apparently, being the final undoing of what was left of his sanity. But despite the fact that he was destined for the nut house, he turned slowly to confirm that it was who he thought it was.
"What are you doing here?" he sputtered. How had he possibly missed the memo on this?
Carter raised a brow. "Nice to see you too, sir."
He ignored that. After all, she was wearing a dress. A very low-cut, snug-in-all-the-right-places kind of dress. He cleared his throat. "Did I know you were going to be in town?"
"It was a last minute thing."
"Ah." And right there was where they ran out the conversation. They stood nearly toe-to-toe, trying not to look at each other, and Jack searched for something else to say. Somehow he managed, "You look nice, Carter."
"Thanks. You too." Though she bit her lip briefly in a way that had Jack narrowing his eyes at her.
"Liar."
"No, no." She reached out, running a hand over the uniform lapel. Jack swallowed. "The new uniforms are very… military."
That was it. He decided to cut the crap and stop the show for those in the room. Or whatever the hell it was that they were doing. "It has a god damned belt, Carter, and a pleat in the back."
When she held in her smile, he gave her a glare that asked What's so funny about that?
"I didn't know that you knew what the word 'pleat' meant, sir."
He was about to retort and it was going to be good, but they were interrupted.
"Jack," the President said, all smiles. "So glad you could make it last minute."
"Of course, sir." Jack shook his hand. The ensuing 5 minute conversation covered a variety of topics, all of which were a larger headache waiting to happen than the last. Thankfully, the President's attention was diverted by a senator and Jack was able to escape.
Escape the burden of more work, but unfortunately, not the party itself. He suddenly remembered why he avoided these sorts of functions - once you got in, you never got out. It was like a revolving door of high-level people coming up to him, making conversation, and worst of all, Jack had to answer their questions politely. Or in the very least, make sure his expression was not betraying the answers he was giving inside his own head. No, Colonel Thompson, you cannot have an addendum to your budget, and besides, you look like a monkey and you smell like one too.
He got away from the colonel only to find General Santos immediately at his side. Thirty minutes later, Jack finally turned around to find there wasn't anybody else making their way through the crowd in his direction.
He tried not to look like a man escaping from prison as he made his way out of the ballroom and into the lobby. He even made an effort not to run. Because dignified generals do not run for the exit. Well, most of the time they don't. He could still name a few.
It wasn't until his driver, the Felger clone, greeted Jack near the concierge desk that Jack finally sighed in relief. It was also the first opportunity in the last 2 hours in which Jack had a chance to consider the strange, sudden, unexplained appearance and disappearance by his former second in command. He'd not seen her again after their brief exchange, no matter how many times he'd scanned the crowd.
Shaking it off, and assuming she had something important that needed her attention, Jack nodded to his driver.
"Sir, your car is waiting right out here." The Felger -wanna-be lead the way outside. As he reached to open the door he added, "I took the liberty of allowing your guest to wait inside, where I had the heater running, instead of waiting in the cold for you."
"Guest?"
But Jack never got a verbal answer. He slid inside and there was Carter, flashing him a bright smile. "Hi."
"You're sneaky."
The smile went even wider, if it were possible. "I learned from the best."
He grunted in response, unsure if that was a good or bad thing. As the driver got in and started the car, she slid a hand along his thigh. That simple gesture relaxed him and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It felt as if it were the first time he'd breathed all day.
"So glad you're here," he said, not catching himself before the honesty came and he had time to replace it with dry humor.
"Mmm," she agreed, leaning into him. Her lips were a fraction from his ear. "And I have a few interesting suggestions for how we could put that belt to good use, General."
She began to whisper them, and the rest of his day evaporated. He took it all back, this was the best day ever and these new uniforms held all sorts of interesting possibilities.
Wait until they saw the memo he was planning on writing tomorrow morning.