Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Threads (S08E18), general knowledge of seasons 1-8 required.
Timeline: This story takes place between seasons 8 and 9.
Genres: Romance, Humor
Rating: T
Pairing: Sam/Jack
A/N: I used to write stories like this one when I first started. Funny, light, angst-free and dialogue-driven. Also a bit on the shallow side and perhaps a little OOC but hopefully entertaining. I hope you enjoy it. At the moment it looks like this story will have 4 chapters and maybe an epilogue. I've written 3.5 chapters already, just missing the scene that wraps it up nicely into some level of happy ending. I'm hoping to update daily but please don't consider that a promise.
CHAPTER 1
Jack O'Neill has been sitting in the bar for way too long, downing too many beers in the process. There's a woman, a blonde, who's obviously interested in him and he thinks that if he drinks one or two more, he might just say yes to her because he's feeling lonely tonight.
Life in DC hasn't been what he imagined it to be. First of all, he's too busy to have a life outside Pentagon and second, well, he's too much of a coward to have a life outside the Pentagon. He misses seeing his friends every day, he doesn't quite know how to move from that to getting new friends.
Daniel calls every week at the same time, he probably has a reminder in his calendar. Teal'c has called a couple of times as well but it's almost impossible to read the guy without seeing his eyebrows because he was never a big fan of words. He can't remember the last time he spoke with Carter because they only have official phone calls with each other. It can't have been longer than a couple of weeks but it feels like forever. Days without Carter always feel longer than days without Daniel, he's just drunk enough to admit that now. He wonders if that has something to do with the relativity of time. He should ask Carter the next time he sees her.
The lady in the too short black dress keeps moving towards him, one barstool at a time whenever there's free space, and now there's only one guy sitting between them. Soon he'll have to say or do something about that. Which one's worse, falling asleep miserable or waking up miserable? Because going home alone means the first one and leaving with her leads to the second one.
Maybe he should just walk to her and suggest a quickie in the ladies' room. That way he would both fall asleep and wake up miserable. Two negatives make a positive, right? His knees would kill him, though, but the risk analysis he's running in his head suggests that it would still be worth it. But it's possible that the math is drunk, too.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wondering what he should do. A sign would be nice, he thinks. When he opens his eyes, the bartender is looking at him, a weird expression on his face, and Jack shakes his head at him. It doesn't matter if he meant maybe you should go home or would you like another drink? because the answer is the same.
The buzzing in his pocket makes him jump and he quickly pulls the cell phone out. He's not sure if he should laugh or cry when he sees the ID because that's a sign if he ever needed one. He wants to say something to the nameless woman, apologize for leading her on, but "I hope you get laid but I'm not your man" sounds bit too harsh even to his ears so he decides to take the more indirect approach.
He takes a deep breath and answers the phone with a "Hey, Honey." The nameless woman flinches a little but obviously decides that it could be a misunderstanding.
"Sir?" another blond woman, this one on the other end of the line, says.
"Yes, I did. I'll be home soon," he says and the woman next to him seems a bit discouraged already.
"Is everything alright, sir?"
"Really? She didn't have fever when I dropped her off at the nanny," he says and puts some money on the counter. The bartender nods his approval and he gets up. "Gimme a moment, I need to get out so I can hear you."
"What's going on, sir?"
He storms out the door and heads around the corner towards his apartment."You are an angel, Carter. You know that, right?"
"What just happened, sir?"
"Sorry about that. I was having a beer and a lady was starting to get bit too friendly. I was trying to figure out how to let her down gently." Or what exact words he should use while suggesting a quickie in the bathroom but he leaves out that part. She doesn't need to know. God, he wishes he didn't know.
"Oh," she sighs and he can't quite understand that tone.
"Was there a reason why you called? Other than to save my ass?"
"What? Oh. Yes, there was. But it doesn't really matter. I didn't realize you'd be out."
"Well I'm walking home now."
"Walking?"
"Had a couple too many to drive. I'll get the car later. What was it? Everyone OK?"
"Yes, of course. I just... Never mind, sir."
"Carter." He puts a hint of command in his voice. It could go either way. One option is that she opens up, a reflex of a kind, an automated reaction to his command. Or it could make her clam up if this is something personal. But he can't remember the last time Carter called because of something personal.
"I'm in DC," she blurts out. No sir at the end, no carefully constructed sentence, nothing but the truth. He likes that.
"DC is a big place," he says instead of asking why. He's not sure if he wants to know why. A lot of complicated things can follow the question why.
"There's a phone booth across the street from your apartment."
"You're standing in a phone booth, talking in your cell?" He knows he's avoiding the why once again but for some reason he's amused about the thought of his ex 2IC standing in the tiny booth, talking to her cell. He wonders if there's a queue outside and what would she do if there was.
"It's windy," she says like it would explain everything. And then he notices for the first time that yes, it really is windy. His leather jacket blocks the chill from reaching his upper body but there's that funny sensation on his thighs when the topmost layer of skin is starting to go numb from the cold.
"That it is," he replies. It's lame and he knows that but he's still not sure if he wants to get to the whys of all this. And there's still the alcohol, coursing through his body, making him numb and warm and fearless at the same time. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"It's alright, sir. This was probably a bad idea. I should just go. I don't know what I was thinking."
"What was a bad idea?" he finally asks because maybe, just maybe, he needs to know the whys as well.
"Coming here," she replies simply.
He can see the corner of the street already, the last turn, and he speeds his steps a little. He can see her now, squished into the tiny phone booth with a full duffel and something else. He hangs up and watches how she flinches and then lowers the phone to stare at the screen, wondering if he really hung up on her.
She jumps when he knocks on the glass, then raises her hand to her chest like a heart attack was a real threat. She shakes her head and then smiles at him and finally opens the door but doesn't fully step outside yet.
"I brought beer," she says and lifts the six-pack from where it was resting on the little shelf.
"Oh, you don't need to bribe me, Carter. Seeing you is enough."
When her face goes blank, he realizes his walls are not up as high as they should be and she can probably see a lot more than he wants her to know.
"Sorry, Carter," he apologizes and steps away from the door so that she can get out. "What brings you here? With or without beer."
"You see, it's a funny story actually..."
"Carter," he says firmly and she flinches.
"Sir?"
"That the universal code for I'm going to lie to you but I hope you don't call me on it."
"Yes, sir," she admits with a little smile.
"So, you wanna tell the real reason or should we just ignore it and move on?" He would be perfectly fine with it if that's what she wants. Hell, he'd be perfectly fine with anything as long as it means she'll stay a little longer because she's a sight for sore eyes.
She looks serious for a moment, a little line forming on her forehead when she thinks hard what to reply. "I wanted to see you," she finally admits.
"And how much of this trip it explains?" Did she get from downtown to this neighborhood because of him? Or did she get into some conference here to have an excuse?
"All of it," she says and he gets the idea that she's being more honest than she's ever been before, at least with him. "I booked a flight simply because I wanted to see you. I did practice a nice list of excuses, though."
"No need for those. And you didn't inform me of this why?"
"Because I figured that with my luck I'd either have to cancel because of work emergency or just plain run out of courage, sir."
"You were doing a fine job with dropping the sir for a moment there, Carter. You should try keeping that up."
"Sam," she says and it's his turn to look at her with a blank look. "If you're not sir, then I'm not Carter."
"Right, I'll work on that. Wanna come inside?"
She adjusts the duffel on her shoulder and for the first time he realizes that she came here. She came directly to his place.
"I really was going to get into a hotel," she says quickly like he was accusing her of something but he can't figure out what that would be. "But there's some conference here, several actually, and the first three hotels I tried were full so I just decided to come here. I figured I could call some places and ask instead of driving around in a taxi. Or maybe even crash on your couch if it's not too much to ask."
It's eleven in the evening, he realizes when he glances at his watch.
"Come on," he says and grabs a hold of her elbow, gently guiding her towards the right door.
"You want a beer?" Carter asks when she lowers the case on the kitchen counter.
"No thanks. I think I've had a few too many as it is. The last few haven't even kicked in yet. But why don't you help yourself. There are cold ones in the fridge. I really need to, you know." He points over his shoulder towards the bathroom because he can really feel the first few beers of the evening wanting out already.
Carter smiles and nods. She looks a little awkward but not too much so and he's almost certain she won't run while he empties his bladder.
When Jack comes back to the kitchen, he takes a new paper cup from the cupboard and once again promises that he'll find the glasses and coffee cups tomorrow. "So, why are you here?" he asks as he pours some orange juice for himself. Sam is leaning against the counter, sipping her beer, playing with the corner of the label.
"I wanted to see you," she repeats and lifts her eyes to meet his but only for long enough to flash him a little smile.
"And why is that?"
She shrugs and lowers the bottle on the counter. She puts her hands on either side of herself, on the edge of the counter, and he gets the impression that she's preparing to open up because she's not hiding behind her drink anymore.
"I felt like we had... unfinished businesses."
He nods.
It's his fault more than hers. She had just lost her father and called off her wedding. He was not going to push her into anything, not even talking. He figured there'd be a right time for that in the future. But then when he got here and got stuck in the numbing routine of dealing with idiotic politicians, drinking beer alone and never having enough time for sleep, he figured it was probably better that they didn't have that conversation. She would find someone better, someone who would make her happy.
"How's life?" he asks because he really doesn't know how to start a conversation about those unfinished businesses, he's a little too drunk for it anyway.
"Good," she says with a nod. "Bit boring, a little lonely. But in a way, good. You?"
"Very boring and very lonely but not bad. Except the part where I deal with idiots for a living. Hey, think you could steal me a zat? It would make the budget negotiations go a lot smoother."
"Zat everyone who disagrees with you?"
"Basically, yeah. Or just zat myself in case there's not a single reasonable person in the group."
She just smiles and he suddenly feels very silly standing there in his kitchen, sipping his orange juice.
"I have a couch, you know," he says out of the blue like he just remembered the fact.
"There are boxes on it, sir."
He decides not to call her on the slip of a tongue. "Right. There are. There are boxes everywhere. You know, this is actually the first free weekend I've had since I got here. I'm always required in some fancy parties where I have to smile and play nice with all the important people."
"And then I come here," she says, looking very guilty.
"Oh, trust me. I have no objections to smiling and playing nice with you, Carter."
"Sam," she corrects.
"Sam," he repeats and her smile widens a little.
"Are there any soft spots in this apartment that aren't covered with boxes?"
"My bed," he says and her eyebrows rise towards her hairline and he replays the words in his head a couple of times. "But that is not really an acceptable option," he continues when he realizes what he said. He's blaming the warmth on his cheeks on the alcohol because he's a grown man, dammit, and he does not blush.
"Oh, I don't know. It might be our only option, sir."
"Jack," he corrects this time because she hasn't actually said it out loud and for some reason he's desperate to hear his name leave her lips.
"Jack," she repeats and he can feel his face twisting into a ridiculous grin without his consent. Damn, he shouldn't have had that last beer. Or the one before that.
Carter chuckles and takes a long draw from her beer before she sets it down and pushes herself off the counter. "I think you should go to sleep."
"I probably should," he admits. "But I really don't want to."
"I'll be here in the morning."
"Promise?" he asks and he has the distinct idea that he sounds and looks a bit too much like a puppy.
"Promise," she nods.
"Good. We can talk in the morning. Let's clean up the couch so you'll have a place to sleep. I have a guest room but it looks a lot worse than the couch at the moment."
"I can do that. Move the boxes. I won't sleep for a while anyway. I slept in the plane."
"You? Slept in a commercial plane?" Missions are one thing. On a long, hard mission, you sleep whenever you get a chance, even if it's only for a brief moment. But a commercial plane? That sounds just plain impossible.
"Well I didn't," she admits. "I was nervous and drank too much coffee."
"See? We're pretty good at this honesty thing. We should try it more often."
"We'll see how you feel about that when the alcohol fades," she says with a smile that seems a bit too patronizing for his liking.
"Goodnight, Sam," he says instead of arguing.
"Goodnight, Jack," she replies.
A/N: Thank you for reading and feedback is very much appreciated!