Disclaimer: I do not own SG1 or any of its characters, and am (sadly but certainly) making no money off this.
A/N: I know this is usually the place to explain where these stories originate...but really, I have no clue where this idea popped up from! Must be a straying specimen from the International Plot Bunny Reservation.
Houppelande
He had thought none of Vala's stunts could surprise him anymore. Then he discovered her in the surveillance room, watching 'The Little Mermaid' on the screen that was supposed to be showing the main third level corridor.
He had thought he had become immune to her constant, brazen flirting. Then he saw her in the gym, curiously trying to discover how to use a Swiss ball, and the grin she flashed him as she clumsily rolled off the red ball and landed sideways on the floor made his stomach flutter.
He had thought that night had really just been a meal between co-workers. Then he had caught himself making up mental lists of cosy restaurants, rich pallet of fancy cocktails required, of course.
He had thought a knock on the door in the middle of the night would always be a new salvo in her barrage of irritating sexual innuendos. Then he had crossly swung the door open one day to the sight of her in a plush pyjama and bunny slippers, a look of perplexity on her face as she held up a dictionary of modern idiomatic expressions.
Moments, little moments, or less even, little crumbs of moments that rolled bumpily across the distance between the two of them.
"Those screens are for video surveillance!" he'd say.
"Classy," he'd smirk.
"Ugh," he'd groan.
"It's two a.m.," he'd yawn.
Words that said nothing, safe words that meant nothing, suddenly not even those were safe any longer.
"Hey, Vala."
He had thought she'd never get through the first column of the Oxford dictionary, yet there it was, resting faithfully on her self-assigned corner of his desk, little coloured post-its sticking out at weird angles.
"Technically, I still owe you half a dinner. Between co-workers."
He had thought she'd raise a gaze sparkling with amusement, and let that wide grin of hers spread from ear to ear. Then…she did exactly that. It was good to know some things he could still take for granted.
"Are you asking me out on a date, Daniel?"
He had thought they would go into an argument that involved the words 'friends', 'co-workers' and 'just' a good deal. Then he had a sudden thought.
"You know what?"
He picked up the thick dictionary from his desk.
"I…"—he opened it at random—"…am asking you out…"—and placed a finger somewhere on the page—"…on a…houppelande!"
A safe word, a random word, a safely random word that said nothing at all of volatile social rules and tangled friendships.
He had thought…well in truth he had not known what to think. What she would say was anyone's guess. Then she hopped off his desk and looked up at him with a content smile and a shrug.
"A houppelande it is, darling."
A/N: For anyone wondering, the word was chosen precisely by Daniel's method!
As always, I love to hear from you:) Have a lovely weekend,
Myosotis