Sam

Fishing is not something I have ever really been that interested in. If anything, I've always found the whole idea a little repulsive. I went once, with my brother, and having to unhook the snagged fish was... just something that sent a little shiver of revulsion down my eight year old spine. I know it sounds kind of stupid, I mean, I've seen worse things in the military. I've certainly seen worse since I've been attached to the SGC but something is still at little terrified at the prospect of having to untangle fish and line again...

... Then again maybe it also has something to do with the fact that I'm sitting in this sweltering car with the radio on full, blasting out some song I have never heard before (and never want to again) and a man who I happen to find quite attractive is driving in the seat next to me, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Long tapering fingers attached to large hands that-

Better stop that thought right there, before I start blushing.

It really is a beautiful day. The sky is a wonderful blue colour, the clouds are few and far between and even when they do appear they simply scud peacefully across the sun; they are the fluffy white clouds of good weather. Even if I don't manage to catch a single fish at least I might get a nice tan. Not that I'm in to tanning or anything, it's just that working underground for weeks on end has given me the pallor of something out of a crypt. What about missions? I hear you cry. Well, if you know a way of catching some rays whilst dressed head to toe in khaki green with sun cream covering the bits in between, let me know.

I open the window again for the umpteenth time. The smell of hot tar drifts up from the road outside. The Colonel looks over at me, smiling slightly, eyes flicking back and forth between me and the road. He still can't believe that he finally got me to come fishing; I should have known better than to bet against him. I can't remember the exact situation now, but suffice to say I lost our little wager and my forfeit was to accompany him on a fishing trip. Daniel, Jonas and Teal'c have shot me sorrowful glances all morning on base as the Colonel expounded in gleeful delight all the things he had planned for the trip. Not those kinds of things. Get your minds out of the gutter.

"Not far now," he says with a grin, "Looking forward to finally visiting my cabin?"

I give him a suitably put-upon look. "Please sir, is it not enough for me to accept my punishment for losing the bet? Do I have to pretend to enjoy it too?"

At one time he might have taken offence at that comment but now there is such an unspoken level of communication between us that he can read simply from the set of my jaw and the twinkle in my eyes that I am joking, and that I have finally found a real excuse to accompany him to the cabin, one that I can justify enough in my own mind to be able to explain it to anyone else. Even if it is a stupid reason.

He indicates left and we turn onto a dirt track, the car bouncing over the ruts in the road and making me grab the door as the seat jerks up and down. He laughs, enjoying my momentary second of panic. He throws in a few wild turns at bends in the track, hurling the suitcases in the back across the car and finally making me crack up.

"How old are you?" I snigger as his face displays openly his boyish delight in slightly dangerous driving.

"Classified information Carter," he replies and cuts the engine. We're here, I realise. Wherever here is. I blink in confusion, looking for this elusive cabin. All I see is trees.

"The road doesn't lead all the way up to the cabin," he explains. "We have to walk from here."

My face falls slightly as I immediately regret packing three changes of clothes for every day and a few more beside. He heaves my case out of the trunk. "Jesus Carter, what have you got in there? A Naquadah reactor?" He grins. "I was going to be a gentlemen and carry it, but that's just ridiculous."

I shoot him another look and pick up my case. He's right, it is heavy. Cursing the bout of hysteria I suffered when packing (well, would you know what to pack for two weeks with someone you secretly long to impress? No? I thought so.) I start up the track to the cabin which he indicates as he slings the fishing... stuff... over one shoulder and picks up his case with the other.

The cabin is... well, cabinesque. It's made of what appears to be stacked wooden logs with a squat roof, one story high and the woodland around has encroached over what might once have been a garden and plants are tentatively extending creepers and branches onto the roof. He unlocks the front door and we step inside.

It smells of him. That's what first hits me when I step in, not the astonishing tidiness (have you seenthis man's office?) or the surprisingly modern interior but the familiar and pleasant odour of his aftershave and underneath it all the more musky scent of him.

"Bedroom's this way," he says. I follow him through the cabin, eyes now ready to take in the polished linoleum of the kitchen floor, the thick carpet of the living room and real log fire. He pushes open a door. "The guest bedroom," he declares dramatically. It looks almost unused and spartan in comparison to the comfortable furnishings of the rest of the house. There are a few candles on the windowsill, burnt down to stubs; no doubt remnants of Teal'c's last stay here. There's an empty packet of antihistamine tablets that has slid down the back of a chest of drawers, I can see a corner of it poking out. Daniel's. My heart does the familiar saddening lurch before I remember that he's back with us, expelled from the community of super-beings (or Q continuum as the Colonel insists on calling it. Trekkie) and will be joining me and the Colonel in a week along with the rest of SG1 for our first proper celebration since he returned.

"I'll leave you to unpack," he says and I smile. I glance at my watch as he leaves. Still only half three.