H is for Ham Sandwich
By Lynda Mayfield
Rated: PG.
Inspired by a challenge in another genre, namely SMK
Standard Disclaimers apply. Such as: No, I'm not married to the one, the only, Richard Dean Anderson, and I am sadly aware of it. No, the characters of Stargate SG-1 are not mine. NO, I DON'T profit from this, wishes notwithstanding. Yes, I haven't killed any of them off.
"Whatcha got there, Carter?" Colonel O'Neill asked as he sat across from her in the commissary.
"Ham sandwich, sir," she replied, and took another big bite.
"What's got you hungry enough to eat a sandwich that was made in this mess hall?" the colonel hadn't seen her this hungry before.
"Work out with Teal'c. Also, I have an experiment with a naquadah generator running in my lab. I have to go check on it...soon, uh, now!" she exclaimed as she looked at her watch. Dropping the sandwich she made a fast exit from the room.
The following day...
Carter was peering into her microscope when she heard someone behind her. That someone walked up to her and then from his scent she knew it was Colonel O'Neill. The next thing she heard was the plop of a brown paper bag, next to the microscope.
"Hello, sir," she looked up to see him bending over her counter, stretching. "What's in the bag?"
"Ham sandwich." He pulled a stool over to the counter and sat. "You didn't finish yours yesterday, and your CO told me you've been slaving in your lab all day without a break."
"Considering you ARE my CO..." she gave him a grin.
"Go ahead, open it up. It's WAY better than anything you'll find in the mess," he encouraged her.
She hadn't noticed her hunger until she eyed the bag. Her stomach growled and with a look at the colonel, she knew he heard her. There was no choice but to open the bag. Inside she found a plastic wrapped sandwich accompanied by the diet soda he knew she liked.
Removed from its wrapping, she took out a large chunk of sandwich. It had been a mistake to ignore the yogurt she meant to eat at ten o'clock. Now, here she was, about ready to inhale the sandwich. She noticed, finally, that he was still watching her.
Popping open the diet soda she asked, "Where did you get this? It's way better than what I had yesterday."
He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm just glad you're enjoying it." The sandwich was made up of extra large slices of rye bread, three folded over slices of ham, 2 slices of provolone cheese, a dab of mustard and a slather of mayo. It had been sliced in half diagonally. Yes, one can learn a lot from an abandoned sandwich.
Carter wasn't one to be lead astray by side comments. "So, the deli in Colorado Springs, or what?"
He stood, spreading his arms wide with a grin to match. "Chez O'Neill."
Carter nearly choked. After a sip of soda, she was able to speak. "Uh, you, you made this, sir? You didn't have to. Really."
"Apparently, I did." He pointed at the other half of the sandwich she was clutching, one bite missing, and the first half already eaten.
"Thank you. I owe you one."
"Want to go fishing? No missions till next week..."
"Uh..."
"It's scary, Carter, I'm getting caught up on my paperwork."
"That reactor experiment is in the second stage," Carter mentioned.
"Rain check?"
"Yes, sir, you bet."
"Yes, I do." He left her with that abstract thought. She could hear him whistling, badly, down the hall. With new verve for reactor experiments, she finished off her homemade, Colonel Jack O'Neill lunch. One day, she'd have to go fishing.
The End
