I've never written a Stargate FF before, so bear with me while I try and get my thoughts together here . . .
A/N - This takes place sometime during some season, and does not directly tie to any one episode. I own nothing connected with Stargate or coffee, because if I did, I'd be incredibly rich and I wouldn't have to go to school.
The Coffee Cup
The little green light flashed harshly in the darkness. Sam's eyes were so blurred with sleep that she could barely read the numbers, even though her head was resting only a few inches away. When she finally got the light into focus she gasped and sat up as sraight as she could in the chair. 3:27 am and counting. She shook her head to clear the tiredness from it and concentrated once again on the sheet in front of her.
She had no idea that writing the mission report for their journey to P3X 137 would take so long. If she'd known beforehand, she probably would have taken Colonel O'Neill's advice and gone home. But she's thought it would be simple. It had been a routine check, after all, and only a few Goa'uld had gotten in the way.
She rubbed her face and was surprised to feel the warmth emeanting from her cheeks, as though her internal furnace had turned on of it's own accord. Dad was right, she thought, groaning and sitting back in her chair. I'm going to kill myself one of these days.
Her computer screen glowed faintly --- soothingly, almost --- and the sound of electricity flowing through the wires lulled her into a strange sense of calm. Sitting in her comfortable padded chair, she felt as through she could just sleep, for days and days, until her exaushtion was relieved. She considered that prospect for a moment, wondering what it would feel like to sleep forever. She knew in an instant that her body wouldn't like it, wouldn't take it. She hadn't gotten more than six hours of sleep for the past three years, and she wasn't about to start now.
3:32 am. She'd stayed up later/earlier than this before, of course . . the yesterday she'd gotten up at three. There was no justice in her line of work.
She could almost hear Jack O'Neill laying into her about the report. "Who cares whether you get it done the day of or not? Sleep, for god's sake, Sam. We need you in peak condition at everey mission. How long do you think we'd last without you there to help us all out?" It sounded just like Jack, and she grinned feebly at the thought of it. She rested her head on her arms. She could sleep for five minutes, that was all. She'd take a nice, five-minute nap, then she'd get up and get to work again . . .
"Sam? Come on Sam, wake up."
She came to slowly, still thinking about the dreams she'd had, dreams about the Goa'uld and computers and Jack . . .
"Sam, what did I tell you? Jeez woman, you'll overwork yourself one of these days, and then you'll remember the constant advice I gave you. Go to bed Sam, go home Sam, tackle it tomorrow Sam."
She looked up blearily. "Colonel?"
"And stop calling me Colonel! We've worked together for how long?"
"Eight years." She answered, not entirely sure whether it was a rhetorical question or not.
"I started calling you Sam five minutes after we met, and you still won't call me Jack? How is our relationship supposed to progress if half the time you treat me like your superior?"
She gazed at him, her mind working sluggishly to try and piece together what he had just said.
"'Relationship,' sir?" she shook her head, not in disagreement but in confusion. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I don't ---"
He stared at her, concern and slight amusement in his eyes. "How long did you stay up?"
"I'm not sure," she mumbled, runnign a hand through her short blonde hair. "I can't really remember."
"You know what you need?" he stood up and she started; she hadn't noticed that he'd been sitting on the edge of her desk. "You need this."
He held out the mug in his hands to her, and she breathed in the sweet fragracne. It woke her up, she felt rejuvenated and ready to take on the world.
"Jack O'Neill, you are the most wonderful human being I have ever met," she sighed, holding out her hands for the cup.
"Whoever said this was for you?" he gasped, pulling the coffee away from her clutching hands. "No way are you taking my coffee!" He took a long drink, and Sam's tremper suddenly ignited. She jumped up, reaching for the cup.
"Give it to me!" she snarled, desperately hitting, scratching and clawing him in her attempt to get to the coffee. He hit her hands away as best as he could, but she was too strong, and he only had one hand to use, the other still holding tightly to his cup. There followed a few minutes of fighting as Jack defended himself and his coffee and Sam tired everything she could to snatch the cup away from him. Then her hand knocked the edge of the cup and it flew out of Jack's hand. They both watched in horror as the cup sailed through the air, spilling its treasured contents all over the floor, the walls, and the unfinished mission report on Sam's desk.
"I'm sorry." they said in unison. Sam laughed shakily.
"It's fine. I didn't finish it anyway." she looked apraising over at Jack. "You know, the only thing in this room that has a vestige of coffee left is you."
He gaped at her, confused, then she stepped forward and kissed him, hard, on the mouth, the taste of the coffee making the whole thing even more pleasurable and worth-while than it would have been otherwise. He pulled her closer, pressing the kiss longer, then, when they finally broke apart, he said:
"If that's the length you'll go to get coffee in the morning, I'll taunt you with it every day."
Grinning, Sam pecked him on the cheek and looked around her office.
"I have a lot of cleaning to do," she sighed. Then she glanced at Jack. "And I still want some coffee of my own."