Author's Note: My first one-shot. Finally added the disclaimer. Not really edited since I posted it, so don't worry.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Stargate SG-1. None of the characters, none of the technologies, none of the settings... nothing. Got it? Okay, good, but just remember that anything here that isn't part of the actual Stargate SG-1 series is copyrighted to me, so no stealing. ;)
--
Something was ringing, and it was right next to his pillow.
Didn't I set it to go off at eight? Jack thought grumpily, rolling over in his bed and glaring at his alarm clock. He'd been having such a wonderful dream. The alarm clock was sitting there innocently, telling him that it was seven-thirteen A.M., and not doing much else.
Ohh. It was the phone that was ringing. Mentally slapping himself for being such an idiot, Jack sat up and reached for the phone. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jack, it's me."
"Daniel, it's seven-thirteen – excuse me, seven-fourteen in the morning," Jack said scathingly. "Why are you calling me?"
On the other end of the phone line, Daniel coughed slightly. "Yes, I know.… I'm calling about dinner tonight."
"What about it?"
"I, ah, can't go."
Jack paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. Finally, "You can't go."
"Right."
"Why not?"
"SG-12 brought back some very… interesting… artifacts that they want me to study. It'll probably take a few days."
"Ah." Jack was silent for a moment. "So you can't go."
"Nope. Too busy."
The colonel sighed. "All right. And, Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget to sleep."
There was silence on the other end, and then the buzzing that meant the call had ended – more specifically, that Daniel had hung up on him. Sighing again, Jack returned the phone to its proper place and lay back down on the bed to get some more sleep.
--
Jack had only just finished dressing when he heard more ringing, this time from the doorbell. Glad that he was now awake enough to identify the source of the noise, he trotted downstairs and opened the door cheerfully.
"Teal'c! This is a surprise."
The Jaffa acknowledged the greeting with a tilt of his head. "O'Neill, I have come to inform you that I will not be able to attend dinner with you, Daniel Jackson, and Major Carter tonight. A problem has arisen on Chulak that I must make an attempt to resolve."
Jack felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Great, Daniel's not coming either, says he's been called in to do some work. Guess that just leaves me and Carter, eh?"
"Indeed," Teal'c responded, clearly not sure where this was going.
Rather than confuse his friend any further, Jack gave him a friendly smile. "Well, good luck with your problem-solving. Resolving. Whatever." He closed the door – perhaps a bit rudely, since Teal'c was still standing on his doorstep – and leaned back against it, staring at the wall.
--
After a moment, Jack found himself looking towards the phone in his kitchen. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over and picked up the phone, dialing a number.
A few rings later, "Hello?"
"Hey, Carter, it's me."
"Sir?"
Jack hesitated again. "I was just calling to see if you're still on for dinner tonight."
Sam was silent for a few seconds. "Well, yes… why wouldn't I be?"
"Daniel and Teal'c aren't going. Daniel's busy with some artifacts, and Teal'c's resolving problems on Chulak."
Sam paused again. "I'm still going… as long as you are."
"All right." Jack tried to think of a better reply. "Good," he said finally. "See you then."
"Bye," Sam responded, and then hung up.
Jack put the phone back, holding his hand on it for a moment, and then thrusting his fists into the air. "Yes!"
--
The colonel paced back and forth in his living room, hands locked behind his back so that he wasn't tempted to play with anything. Not that it would really matter if he played with something he actually owned (for once), but he'd broken his own stuff before. So, no hands.
For once, he was actually waiting for the ringing.
Ding-dong. Finally! Jack hurried to the door, patting down his hair and smoothing his newly-ironed blue shirt and khakis (it wasn't a formal restaurant, so he was dressed casually; however, considering the company he would be in, he wanted to look decent). He reached out his hand and opened the door.
There she was, dressed in a low-cut red tank top and a red-and-black striped knee-length skirt, with red high heels and even a red purse. He thought distractedly that he would've liked to have that sort of color coordination as he tried not to stare at the skirt.
Sam gave her CO a tentative grin. "Ready to go, sir?" she asked.
"I'm always ready to go," Jack responded with an equally hesitant smile of his own, offering his arm to her. She accepted, and they walked to the colonel's car. After courteously holding the passenger door open for his companion, Jack approached the driver's side and got into his own seat.
They drove to the restaurant in silence. Sam was holding her purse in her lap, clutching it rather tightly with both hands. Jack was doing his best not to look at her, since he wasn't looking forward to getting into any accidents. At long last, they arrived, and after getting hurriedly out of his own seat, Jack held the door for the major once again, and then led her into the restaurant.
"Two, please," he told the woman at the desk, and moments later they found themselves at a small table near the back of the restaurant. It wasn't crowded, and in fact, there was no one else in the back with them. This was something Jack approved of; fewer people to serve meant fewer minutes spent waiting to be served. He and Sam were quickly approached by a waitress, who received their orders of one water each (Sam because she liked water, Jack because it was what Sam ordered), and left them alone with their menus.
Sam seemed to be on the brink of asking something, but she pursed her lips shut and stared determinedly down at her menu. After watching her for a moment, Jack realized that if he was going to eat, he'd have to choose something to order as well, so he hurriedly glanced over his own menu. Chicken… beef… chicken… pork… chicken… wow, lots of chicken. Maybe he should get chicken.
As the waitress returned with their waters, Jack looked up from his deliberations. The girl placed their drinks on the table.
"Have you decided yet, or should I give you a few more minutes?" she said, in that typical, annoyingly singsong waitress voice.
Sam glanced over at Jack, raising her eyebrows at him. He shrugged. "Sure, we're ready."
"I'll have the chef's salad with ranch dressing," said Sam immediately.
The waitress smiled and jotted down a note in her little book. "And you, sir?" she asked, looking at the colonel.
Jack, who'd been trying not to cringe at the sound of her voice – God, those waitress voices were so damn annoying! – looked up. "I'll have chicken," he told her.
She blinked at him. "Um… any particular kind of chicken?"
He glanced at Sam, who raised an eyebrow at him again. "Fried? Grilled? Barbecued?"
"Grilled. Please." Jack gave the waitress a smile that was supposed to be winning, but ended up being more of a grimace. She wrote down the order, gave him a look that would have curdled milk, and flounced away towards the kitchens.
Jack blinked over at Sam. "What was that look for?" he asked her, a bit miffed.
"You did kind of… act very strangely… sir," Sam responded. She sounded as though she was trying to hold back a laugh.
"Don't laugh at me!" Jack gave her a mock glare.
"I'm not laughing at you, sir," she replied with a straight face. "I'm being perfectly serious. But 'I'll have chicken' is not a very good pick-up line."
Ouch. He supposed he deserved that. "It wasn't supposed to be a pick-up line, Carter. It was supposed to be an order."
Sam shrugged. "When there are so many items of chicken on the menu, it helps to be a little more descriptive."
"Yeah. I suppose." Jack took a sip of his water and made a face. Then, looking up to see her watching him almost curiously, "What?"
She cleared her throat. "Nothing."
"Right."
There was a long silence.
Jack glanced at his watch. They'd been sitting there waiting for about ten minutes.
He glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes and counting.
At thirty minutes – well, to be fair, it was really only twenty-eight – the waitress arrived, balancing a tray with their orders.
"The chef's salad for you, ma'am," she said brightly, placing the salad plate in front of Sam, "and your chicken," she added, rather less pleasantly, as she set the grilled chicken before Jack.
"Thank you very much," said Jack, giving her another smile-grimace. She walked away as quickly as was physically possible in her impossibly high stiletto heels.
Sam began eating almost immediately. Jack started cutting up his chicken.
"I would've thought they'd be quicker, with fewer people to serve," he commented, stabbing the chicken with his knife because he was having trouble sawing it.
"Well, they did have to grill your chicken," Sam replied, after chewing and swallowing her mouthful of salad.
Finally getting a piece of chicken to break off from the rest, Jack stuck his fork into it and placed it in his mouth. "It still shouldn't've taken them half an hour," he said around the chicken.
Sam, her voice slightly choked – holding back another laugh, no doubt – responded, "It's a restaurant, not a Burger King. They take a long time to serve."
"Maybe we should've gone to Burger King then," said Jack scathingly. He swallowed his chicken and started to saw off another piece.
There was another long silence, broken only by the chewing, swallowing, and muttered curses from Jack as he tried to cut his chicken.
The waitress stopped by their table as they were about halfway through their meals.
"How are we doing?" she asked, smiling warmly at Sam and ignoring Jack completely.
Sam swallowed before replying, "It's good, thank you," and receiving a smile from the girl as she passed by them.
"How come she likes you and not me?" Jack asked his companion, putting down his fork and knife for a moment to take a drink of water.
"You have to want her to like you," Sam replied, also pausing to take a few sips.
"Oh." Jack silently absorbed this for a moment. "So if I want you to like me, I have to want you to – er, I have to…" He paused for almost a full minute, during which neither of them so much as touched their food. Finally, "What do I have to do?" Consider the regulations to bebullshit, probably.
"I don't know, sir."
Jack scowled. "Very helpful, Carter."
There was an awkward silence, and then Sam said softly, "What were you saying about liking me?"
The waitress, making her rounds a few minutes later, stopped in mid-step, her mouth falling open, as she saw them kissing. She yelped as her impossibly high stiletto, caught in such an unwieldy position, caused her to unbalance and fall over with a loud thump.
Jack pulled his mouth off of Sam's to turn and glare at her.
"What are you, chicken?"
--
Something was ringing, and it was right next to his pillow.
Didn't I set it to go off at eight? Jack thought grumpily, rolling over in his bed and glaring at his alarm clock. He'd been having such a wonderful dream. The alarm clock was sitting there innocently, telling him that it was seven-thirteen A.M., and not doing much else.
Ohh. It was the phone that was ringing. Mentally slapping himself for being such an idiot, Jack sat up and reached for the phone. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jack, it's me."
"Daniel, it's seven-thirteen – excuse me, seven-fourteen in the morning," Jack said scathingly. "Why are you calling me?"
On the other end of the phone line, Daniel coughed slightly. "Yes, I know.… I'm calling about dinner tonight."
"What about it?"
"I, ah, just wanted to make sure that it was still on."
Jack paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. Finally, "You didn't need to call me at seven-fourteen in the morning to ask me this, Daniel."
"Well, I –"
"Yes," said Jack, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "It's still on."
Daniel paused. "Okay. Good," he said at last, and hung up.
Jack put the phone back, holding his hand on it for a moment. He sighed, and then lay back down on the bed to get some more sleep.