You Better Watch Out . . .
by
Tiffany Park
"Absolutely not!" Makepeace was emphatic.
"Come on, sir. Please?" A pair of big, earnest blue eyes, framed by blonde hair, entreated him from across the mess hall table.
"Oh, no, you don't, Carter," he snapped. "That might work on O'Neill and Jackson—"
"What?" That time the blue eyes were so studiously innocent that it was laughable.
"You know what I'm talking about. Knock it off. You're supposed to be a professional."
Carter abandoned the tactic for another. "Sir, this is the general's favorite charity. He expects everyone to do their part."
"Not this part. Go pick on your own team."
Laughter gurgled from her lips. "You think Teal'c could pull it off?"
Unwillingly, his own mouth twitched. That was quite the mental image. "Maybe not Teal'c," he conceded, "but what about O'Neill or Jackson?"
"It's supposed to be one of the senior officers. That lets Daniel out," Carter told him. "And Colonel O'Neill's going to be out of town on a prior engagement."
I'll bet, Makepeace thought, disgruntled at the convenient timing of events on O'Neill's schedule. Whenever some undignified and embarrassing duty like this came up, the man always managed to have a "prior engagement."
"Besides," Carter went on, "he's not the right type."
"And I am? Christ, Carter, I've killed people." He added, for emphasis, "Lots of people. Lots and lots of people. Does that sound like the right type for this job?"
Carter made a dismissive gesture with her fork. "Sir, no one at the party will know about that. Once you've got the costume on, I'm sure you'll do great—"
He was the right type? Terrific. Makepeace took a big bite of his macaroni and cheese. He supposed it was the blue eyes that did the trick. And his round face—almost, but not quite, a baby face. Fortunately, his sharp nose saved him from that ignoble label, something for which Makepeace had always been profoundly grateful. Between his deceptively soft looks and his rather improbable name, he had taken a lot of ribbing in his younger days, and he was still just a little sensitive about it.
Carter yammered on. He ignored her, but she didn't seem to notice. She had approached him here in the crowded mess hall and joined him for lunch without so much as a by-your-leave. In full view of what seemed like every airman on the base, he couldn't just cut her off and make his escape. It wouldn't be seemly for a big, bad Marine—and a colonel—to appear to be running away from a dinky little Air Force captain.
"What part of 'no' don't you understand, Captain?" he growled, interrupting Carter's latest spiel. "I'm sure it must be against regulations to badger a superior officer." Carter looked shocked, so he softened his stance a little and asked, "Where'd you get this crazy idea, anyway? Why not someone like Ferretti?"
"Well, I was talking to Lieutenant Johnson, and he said—"
Johnson. Ah, that explained all. Makepeace's second-in-command had been suspiciously enthusiastic about this charity fundraiser of the general's. He'd even come up with the idea that Carter was now pushing, and the whole team had had a good laugh at the incongruity of the image it invoked. At the time Makepeace had thought it a fine joke, and hadn't bothered to decline the honor. More fool he.
"Oh, Colonel Makepeace, there you are—" Janet Fraiser entered the fray, setting her tray down on the table and seating herself beside him with her customary grace. "I've been looking for you. I was talking to Lieutenant Johnson earlier—"
Johnson, again. Figured. "Oh, you were, were you?"
"Yes, sir," she replied serenely. "I know you're a busy man, so it's very generous of you to volunteer like this. I'm certain the general will be pleased." As both Makepeace and Carter goggled at her chutzpah, she cut off a piece of Salisbury steak, eyed it dubiously, then popped it into her mouth.
Makepeace scowled as he watched her chew. He was going to make Johnson sorry he'd ever even conceived of this idiotic scheme of his, let alone infected Captain Carter, Doctor Fraiser, and who knew how many other SGC personnel with it. In fact, he was going to make his whole team sorry. They had all latched onto the notion the instant Johnson had mentioned it, and had no doubt spread it across half the base by now. Traitors, every last one of them.
Two pairs of eyes fixed on him, Carter's imploring, Fraiser's merely expectant. The trap was closing in around him, and they knew it. That statement about the general had disturbing implications.
Since this was such a big deal for Hammond, Makepeace thought rebelliously, let him do it. Now, there was a man who was the right type. He wouldn't even need a pillow stuffed down the front of the costume. Makepeace grinned, but kept his mouth shut; he was bright enough not to give voice to that particular sentiment.
"It makes our jobs so much easier, knowing that's settled," Fraiser continued smoothly, willfully misinterpreting his amusement as acquiescence. She gestured at herself and Carter, whose proverbial deer-in-headlights expression had changed to a kind of relieved delight. "We really can't thank you enough, you know."
Oh, for heaven's sake, this was just too much. They were acting like it was a done deal, when he'd never agreed to a single thing. "Look, you two—" he began.
"Colonel Makepeace," General Hammond's unmistakable voice boomed out. Forks clattered, and even the cool, calculating Doctor Fraiser jumped. Makepeace whipped his head around, to find the general looming over him.
"Sir?" He made to stand.
"No, no, don't get up," Hammond said, smiling jovially. "I just stopped by to thank you."
"Thank me, sir?" Makepeace echoed.
"I understand you've volunteered to play Santa Claus at the charity party." There was a hint of steel beneath the genial Texas drawl, and a glint in the general's eyes. "Good work, son. I know you'll do an excellent job." Having made his unsubtle point, Hammond walked away. Angelic smiles wreathed Carter's and Fraiser's faces as they watched him saunter out of the mess.
Makepeace groaned and banged his head on the table.
Fraiser patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of false sympathy. "Drop by the infirmary sometime tomorrow for a fitting, Colonel," she said. "Around fifteen-hundred ought to be okay. It'll be slow about then."
Their mission accomplished, she and Carter got up and carried their trays away, leaving Makepeace to ponder the whims of fate and superior officers.