Title: The Motorbike Man
Author: Jemma
Story Status: Complete
Series/Sequel Info: None
Season: Um...early. One?
Spoilers: None.
Categories: Gen, friendship, maybe humour. You tell me!
Pairings: None
Rating: K
Content Warnings: None
Summary: Jack goes to see Sam in her lab, but what he finds there is not quite what he expects. All is well though. It leads to Jack O'Neill getting to know his 2IC a little better.
Archive Permissions: Please ask.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters relating to Stargate. They belong to MGM and any of their associates. I'm just playing around with them for a little while!
Authors Note: This is my first Gen fic...so any feedback would be gratefully received!! Damn those plot bunnies.
This one is little, and giving me a break from my big fic, which is still a secret, so no one tell anybody about it, OK? Good. ;)
Date: 26/1/2003

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I knock on her door for about the fifth time, continuing to hear crashing and banging coming from inside.

"Carter!" I yell. "You OK?"
I receive no response, but before I can try again the door is flung open to reveal Sam Carter, covered in oil, with grease marks all over her face.

"Carter!" I gasp in shock. "What the hell have you been doing?"
"Sir! Hi!"
"Yeah, hi. I say again...what?"
"Oh," she mumbles, turning to look behind her into the lab.

Over her shoulder I can see what looks to be the remnants of a motorbike, and what seems to be a million parts for it all over the floor, the desk, even hanging off the walls.
She turns back to me and blushes.
"Yeah," I say whilst nodding at her.

She blushed some more before moving aside and letting me enter the lab, which itself is a difficult enough task. Finding somewhere to stand is challenge two.

"So sir," I hear from behind me accompanied by the sound of the door closing. "What can I do for you?"

I turn around to face her as she leans against the door.
"Well, at the moment Carter, it seems to be more like what I can do for you."
She gets that rare puzzled look on her face.
"What do you mean sir?"
I grin at her. It seems that there's one thing the great, incredible, intelligent Captain Samantha Carter can't do.

"Well...it seems you're havin' some problems with your bike here, and it just so happens that, back in the day, I used to be a bit of a bike man."
My speech ends quite proudly, and her reaction of bursting into laughter wasn't quite the one I was looking for.

"What? It's true!"
My protests only cause her to laugh harder. So hard her eyes are watering.
"Carter! Quit it! Do you want help or not?"
She slowly composes herself by taking a few deep breaths.
"From the motorbike man himself?" she says innocently. "Of course!"

I look at her slyly, trying to ascertain if she's being serious. Then I remember...Carter is always serious.

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Well.
It's three hours, five cups of coffee; each, two hammered thumbs, three bleeding fingers and a lot of laughter later when Carter and I finally finish.

"There ya go!" I say proudly. "I knew I could do it."
Jab.
"Ow! Sorry...I knew we could do it!"
"That's better," she replied deviously.

We're standing side by side in her lab. The floor is clear of motorbike bits, oil, grease or any other hazardous material, which could quite easily kill someone not paying attention.
And there...in the middle of the room, propped up on its stand, is Carter's fully functioning, all its bits in tow, motorbike.

Of course, the florescent lighting of the lab doesn't do my three polishes justice, but you can most definitely see the difference.
"Wow," I hear her breathe next to me.
"I know. Guess I still have it."

Her head darts around to face me, before taking in the smug grin on my face.
We both promptly burst into more fits of laughter.

Yep.
Who'd have guessed that motorbike restoration could have been quite so fun again?
"Thank you sir," she says through deep breaths.
"What for?"
"For helping me today. It was nice to spend some time, ya know?"
"Yeah, Carter, I know. But...I ask only one thing."
She tilts her head inquisitively.
"What's that sir?"
"Don't tell anyone my nickname."
"Oh, I won't..." she replies slowly, walking from my side over to the door, pulling it open and standing under the frame. As she looks back at me I swear I see a glint of mischievousness in her eyes, and just as she closes the door behind her, I swear I hear the words "motorbike man," leave her mouth.

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