The Many Faces of Jack: V-Day Edition

Chapter One: Pretzels and Beasties and Jacks, Oh My!

A/N: Happy Valentine's, guys! I'm going to put myself out there a little—at the risk of being very sad and hurt—but I want to ask you to be my Valentine! Please say yes! And also, don't tell my boyfriend. Or RDA…still holding out hope there.

This is a silly little fic (probably two or three chapter only), full of fluffy Valentine's fun!

Enjoy!

Sam Carter was a woman of many things; brains, brawn, babble (of the techno variety)—she liked books, movies, some sports, some games, coffee (loved coffee), blue jell-o, cake, science, math, machinery, online shopping…the list went on.

What had never—and would never—appear on that list, was Valentine's Day. Sam wasn't bitter, she hated Valentine's whether she had a special someone to share it with or not. It was just the idea of such a blatant 'paper and prevarication' holiday…she would eat chocolate and smell flowers whenever she damn well pleased, thank you very much.

She was not, however, so high and mighty as not to have admitted to herself some extra disappointment in the holiday since coming to work at the SGC. Half the time, she was offworld and therefore off the hook. The other half…well, let's just say Daniel's secret stash of chocolate covered pretzels mysteriously diminished throughout the day.

What? They were salty goodness and she got to lick chocolate off her fingers after.

Or someone else could…

Nope. No. 'Screeeeeeech' go the metaphorical breaks as Sam curbs that thought as soon as it occurs. Also not an uncommon occurrence for on-base Valentine's. Or any other day on base. Or off base. Or ever.

Okay. The metaphorical breaks clearly need a tune up.

Grumbling to herself, Sam set down her latest doo-hickey a little harder than she intended. Which was probably a mistake. Actually…it was most definitely a mistake. Staring at the little piece of machinery with equal parts fascination and horror, she watched as it emitted little sparks and began to smell like something akin to her bike when she started burning off excess oil.

That probably wasn't good.

Sam took an indulgent second to sit and stare and think. Rarely did she ever get to experience a potentially harmful situation on her own…when there were witnesses she felt obligated to jump immediately into superhero-problem-solving mode. But, now that she was on her own, she felt that she lacked the motivation to actually problem solve.

It was like stage fright. But the opposite.

It was only when the device started to make sound that Sam felt the need to get up and get the hell away. A deep rumble—that sounded incredibly incongruous to the teeny device—echoed across her lab and Sam jumped up, knocking over her stool in the process. Taking several quick steps backwards, her back hit the wall and her hand raised to smash against the 'emergency-emergency-the-base-is-in-danger-big-surprise' button, when the device suddenly just…stopped.

No sound, no sparks…nothing to indicate it was at all active. So Sam's hand paused just above that big red button and therein lies the mistake—certainly not the first of the day, but maybe the worst—that would ultimately lead to the greatest Valentine's Day of Sam's life.

Or the worst.

Depends on where you're standing.

The little bitty device shattered the momentary silence by beeping really, really loudly. Like dial up from the 90s. Or something else really irritating.

The single beep set Sam's teeth on edge and she immediately covered her ears; warning the base of impending disaster would simply have to wait. Then the little thing exploded. Really, it was a miniscule little pop of an occurrence. One second it was there and beeping and the next it had poofed into a little cloud of gold sparklies.

Quite pretty. As far as alien gold sparklies go.

Sam only had time to gasp before the little buggers were surrounding her, wrapping around her head and tickling her skin. She yelped and spun around, arms flapping about as she tried to rid her hair and eyes and mouth of the little misty beasts, but it was too late.

In less than a second, all the little beasties had disappeared; Sam prepared herself for the worst case scenario—they had been absorbed into her skin-, but hoped for the best—they had simply gone away, too weak to wreak any havoc.

She should have prepared harder.

A soft throat clearing from the door of her lab alerted her to the fact that she was very much not alone anymore. Squeezing her eyes shut briefly—'please be Daniel, please be Teal'c, please be friggin' Siler'—she reopened them to reveal one Jack O'Neill.

Of course.

If she had not already been hyperaware of her embarrassing situation, she sure as hell was now. But it was this hyperawareness that first clued her into the fact that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Like orange jell-o wrong.

She just wished she could pinpoint what exactly was wrong.

"Sam?" The man in her doorway questioned.

"Sir?" She questioned right back.

"Sir?" Surprise now evident in not just his voice, but his expression.

"Sam?" She countered, equally as surprised at his original address as she was his rebuttal of hers.

"What?" Confusion now as his eyebrows knitted together.

"What?" It was a mindless echo, a response that she didn't think about. She knew that eyebrow knitting…

"Sam, are you feeling okay? Maybe you should sit down. Where's your…?" His voice trailed as he looked around her lab, looking for the stool she'd knocked over only a minute ago.

"No, I'm fine." Sam waved his concern off as she studied his expressive face. Well, that's clearly what was wrong. His face was expressive. Like really, really expressive. Like Daniel-level expressive.

Like Daniel-level eyebrow knitting.

"Daniel?" The name stuttered on her tongue, her brain reeling. She was very clearly looking into the face of her commanding officer. And Daniel was very clearly not her commanding officer. So why did this apparition look so much like her commanding officer, but also like Daniel? Wait...now she was confusing herself.

"Ye-es?" His voice went up in a question as he approached her, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. "I've been told I look different without my glasses, but geez, Sam, I expected a little more from you."

"Without your…" Sam shook her head violently and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes until colors burst. "I don't understand."

Jack/Daniel huffed a laugh and then reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar wire frames. "Thought I'd test myself; see how well I actually know the base." He placed them back on his nose and blinked owlishly at her.

If Sam hadn't been so confused, she would have laughed. Probably would have had to sit down from laughing so hard. But, as it were, she was too perturbed by her own inability to distinguish faces that she barely noticed her CO in Daniel's glasses. "Daniel…have you…I mean, when was…have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Now Jack—no, Daniel, no, wait—frowned at her with the start of worry. "No…" Looking around, he reached for the nearest reflective surface—her hibernating laptop—and reflexively touched his face as he looked it over. Replacing the computer, he raised an eyebrow at her expectant expression. "Trying to tell me I need a haircut? Or a shave?"

Sam shook her head mutely. He didn't seem at all disturbed that he had magically transformed into someone else! In fact, he hadn't reacted at all like he looked like—"Daniel, what did you see in my screen?"

Now worry had given way to actual concern. One more step and he'd be escorting her to the infirmary for sure.

"Uh, my…face? Sam?" Okay, a little panicky edge had entered his voice. Unfortunately for them both, either his answer or his fear finally broke Sam out of her stupor. It started with a grin, and then widened into a megawatt smile, then she dissolved into a little fit of giggles, which then broke down into big, heaving guffaws.

She couldn't breathe.

But she also couldn't stop.

Was this what a mental breakdown felt like?

Jack/Daniel—because what the hell, at this point—took a few steps towards her, glancing warily at the phone sitting on the table behind her. Sam saw the look and that sobered her momentarily; if she didn't pull it together, she would be locked up. Okay. Breathe.

She almost had her laughter under control when someone came striding swiftly into the room. A very familiar someone with a very familiar gold tattoo. Except, the someone and the tattoo were not familiar together and that sent Sam off even harder than before. Colonel O'Neill was Teal'c! Teal'c was Colonel O'Neill!

Haha…uh oh.

"Teal'c! Something's wrong with Sam, we need to get her to the infirmary." Daniel had cleared the remaining distance between them and firmly grasped Sam's upper arms. Or was it Jack? He shouldn't be touching her like that, people might see!

But that just made Sam laugh harder.

Jack/Teal'c swiftly crossed the room and assisted Jack/Daniel in getting Sam moving—out through the door, down the hallway, into the elevator. As the lift doors closed, Jack/Daniel turned to Jack/Teal'c and spoke over Sam/Sam's hiccups. "One of us should get Jack. Do you know where he is?"

Sam dissolved into hysterics again, but managed to gasp out. "Here…he's right here!"

The two others exchanged worried looks as the doors finally opened and they pulled Major Carter to the infirmary. Where several more Jacks waited.

Jack in a white coat with a stethoscope thrown casually around his neck. Jack in white scrubs. Lots of Jacks in white scrubs. Jacks in gowns. Jacks in beds. Jacks sleeping and Jacks checking charts. Jacks in every nook and cranny.

She was beginning to think in damn Seussian descriptors.

And then she wasn't thinking at all. One of the Jacks had pushed a needle unceremoniously into her arm and little black gnats were crawling up her eyeballs and stuffing her head with cotton.

Oh, she would so get him back for that.

TBC

A/N: So, this started off as a drabble about a young SF asking Sam to be his Valentine. As you can see, that…disappeared. And this came out instead. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!