The Other Guy
Author: Saramund
Season: Anywhere in season 6
Rating: G
Pairing: S/J (kinda)
Disclaimer:
Stargate SG1
and its characters are property of Stargate (II)
productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This fanfic
was written for entertainment purposes only and absolutely no money exchanged
hands as a result of this story. No copyright infringement is intended. The
original characters, situations and story are property of the author. This
story may not be posted anywhere else without the consent of the author
Authors Note: Gotta
thank my brother and the *very* red-haired register operator (aka checkout chick) in a small country for the idea for
this story. Believe it or not, but the
fight was almost a direct re-write of a 'glory days' story my brother
entertained us with during the Christmas Holiday's! Enjoy.
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The Other Guy
Colonel Jack O'Neill stood in the laundry isle of the supermarket, two bottles held in his hands. One announced its antibacterial qualities in loud, garish writing. It's orange font an affront to his eyes. The other bottle, a subdued green with much calmer black font was much more to his liking. He nodded his head in decision, then without noticing, placed the bottle with orange font in his basket, next to the large bottle of Coke and on top of the fresh loaf of bread.
He made his way to the checkout counter, dodging a bachelor whose cart was full of chips and ready-made meals for one. He hid his wince from the parents of a toddler who was enjoying his new found set of lungs, displaying his range with a high-pitched squeal.
He put his goods on the conveyor, nodding mutely to the
overly-made-up teenager who greeted him with a bored smile. The total came up and Jack finally removed
his sunglasses to peer into the recesses of his wallet for some cash. The cashier winced in sympathy.
"That's gotta hurt." She said, nodding to his two swollen bruised
eye-sockets.
"Ya think?" Jack replied, handing over the $20. She took the not-so-subtle hint and counted
out his change, handing his receipt and goods back with another limp smile,
before going on to the next customer behind him.
Jack walked to his truck, opening the door and hiking himself up into the cabin, wincing as his ribs creaked in protest. He started the truck and drove slowly home, mind intent on collapsing onto his lounge for an afternoon of self-pity and hockey.
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*
He was lying on the couch, sock covered feet propped up against the armrest, his hand, curled around the remote, lying on his stomach. His forefinger flittered between two buttons, the channels on the television reflecting the action. One channel had a repeat of a hockey game that had taken place a few days ago. The sound of skates on ice hissed through the still lounge room. Then the channel would change, and a soft roar from thousands of fans would fill the room. Jack recognised the game as a type of football played in England. Rugby something. All he could figure out of the rules was if the ball went out of field, they got to line up to get it back again. Or push each other in a big melee. But it looked like a lot of painful fun. He made a mental note to ask Teal'c about the game. The big Jaffa tended to take note of the more violent of this world's sporting games.
He shifted absently, trying to find a more comfortable position, then winced in sudden pain. He froze and then slowly relaxed as the pain eased away. He made a second mental note: Don't move unless ABSOLUTELY necessary. He left the English football on for a while, hoping to figure out a few more rules. Besides, he knew the score of the hockey match, and didn't want to remember.
The light was disappearing into the gloomy evening storm that was brewing up around the town of Colorado Springs. Jack looked at the light switch, several feet away on the wall, then shook his head. Darkness was much more appealing than having to move. The ring of his doorbell a few minutes later made him groan, then hold his breath in hope. Maybe, if he stayed silent long enough, the visitor would go away, and leave him in peace.
BZZZZZZZZZ
The doorbell rang again, this time more insistently. Jack swung his feet off the edge of the couch and slowly rolled himself up onto his butt, wincing and holding his abdomen as he did so.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
He scowled at the offending noisemaker and heaved himself
up, grunting and feeling slightly nauseous as he did so. He limped painfully
across to the door and unbolting the dead lock, swung the door slowly open.
His visitor stared at him in dismay, then pushed
gently past and into the warmth of the entry-hall. He slowly closed the
door and walked back towards the couch, easing down onto it before expelling a
huge lung full of air.
"You don't
look too good." His visitor commented, sitting down in front of him.
"Funny
that." He said sarcastically before dropping his weight on to the back of
the couch. "What are you doing here, Major?" His arm came across
his stomach in reflex, bracing his bruised ribs.
"I heard a rumour
you got in a bar brawl last night. I didn't believe it." Sam stared
at him, eyes wide with dismay and sympathy. "Sir…" She started, then changed her mind. "You want something to
drink? A sandwich? Soup?"
"I'm not an
invalid, Carter." He grouched in response, then
thought about the effort it would take to get up and then cook himself some
dinner. "Soup and a beer would be nice." He continued in a much
softer tone. Sam nodded, patting his knee gently and then got up and
walked into the kitchen.
"Minestrone and some juice
do?" She yelled back, after looking through his cupboards. She
popped her head around the corner when no reply came from the lounge
room. "Colonel?" She walked in and found
him asleep, head fallen back against the top of the cushions, mouth open in an
unattractive gape, snoring softly. Sam smiled then walked back to the
kitchen to take the soup off the stovetop.
"Wha?" Jack woke with a start, then groaned as his muscles screamed in protest. He
opened blinking, light offended eyes and looked around. Carter was on his
left, curled up in the large recliner, watching the television. She
turned her eyes briefly and met his own. After a
pause, she jolted.
"Sir! You're awake!" She reached forward
and turned off the TV with the remote, before turning towards him. Jack
nodded, running his hands over his face and into his hair in an effort to wake
himself up. Sam let him wake up, then softly
asked if he was hungry. Jack thought about it, then
nodded again.
"I'll just heat it up, then." She said, and walked away. Several minutes
later she was back, a tray with a bowl, some buttered bread and a big glass of
apple juice proudly displayed on it.
"That's not beer, Carter." Jack said, pointing at the offending glass of
juice. Carter just smiled evilly and sat down. Jack glared at her
for a while, but she didn't seem to be phased. His grumbling stomach
finally intruded on his thoughts, and he dove in to the soup with gusto,
sopping his bread and slurping it into his mouth. Carter suppressed her
laughter, knowing her CO would be insulted if she found his eating habits
amusing. When the bowl of soup was finished, he sat back nursing the glass
of juice.
"So. What happened? Who ticked you off?"
She asked, finally feeling entitled to a little curiosity. "You were fine
when Teal'c, Jonas and I left you there last night."
"I was fine." Jack replied, rolling his stiff neck muscles. "Some
prick in a denim jacket decided to start using my head for target practice."
"With what?" Sam settled in for the story.
"Well, first it was peanut shells. Then the peanuts.
Finally, he threw the container at me. He missed, most of the
time." Jack took delight in telling her. "I was sitting at the bar,
drinking a beer with Tom from SG10. They've just been put back on roster,
you know."
"I know. Who do you think told me about the brawl?" She said, then gestured for him to continue his story.
"Right." He grunted. "So anyway, the guy
gets up and starts pushing my head, you know, with his fingers. Real sharp like." He made a sharp jerking motion with
his hand, fingers outstretched. "I tell him where to go, but he doesn't
take the hint. Then he starts harping on about you."
"Me?" Sam echoed, completely stunned. "Why me?"
"Damned if I know. So he starts in on you. How you should be seeing
a real man. How I'm not man enough for you-"
"What?!" Sam spluttered, torn between laughing at the thought that
Colonel Jack O'Neill wasn't man enough for ANY woman and outrage that someone
had dared to question that masculinity.
Jack misunderstood her splutter, and continued.
"I know. How some guy could even think we were together.
Anyway, Tom told him to mind his own business and leave the two of us
alone." He paused, remembering the epithets that had exploded from the
drunks' mouth at that suggestion. "That didn't go down too well.
Anyway, the guy kept on at me, and the shoves in the back of my head got harder
and harder, until finally… I snapped. He called you a fairly crude name,
and that's pretty much all I remember until Tom pulled me off the guy."
"You went berserk?" Sam found that hard to believe. Jack O'Neill
was one of the less berserk men she'd ever met in the military.
"From what Tom told me." Jack confirmed.
"The other bloke got some good hits in, though." Jack touched his ribs,
wincing a little. "He was all for putting me up on charges.
Especially when he found out I was military. But Tom and the owner, Gary,
talked him round. Something about self defense and
harassment. I wasn't really listening. Anyway, the guy
backed down and went home with his mates. Tom brought me home in the
Chev. I woke up this morning, looking like this." He motioned from
his bruised, multi-coloured face to his strapped chest. "Hurts like hell."
Sam sat still for a while, staring solemnly at her CO. He shifted,
uncomfortable with her stare. "What?" She shook her head, then leant forward, face softening. She kissed his
forehead, then each bruise on his face followed
finally by a brief touch of lip to lip. Jack, frozen where he sat,
blinked in shock.
"Thank you." She said, sitting back. Jack opened and closed his
mouth silently, tongue forming shapes that may have been words. Sam
smiled at him.
"Cha…..Greuu…" He coughed to clear his throat, then
moaned in pain.
"Really, Sir." Sam chided, coming forward.
She tutted as she helped him stand, then guided him towards his bedroom.
They stood in the doorway, Sam holding Jack up until he took his own weight
with the assistance of the door frame.
"Thank …. Thank you for the soup, Carter." It wasn't what he started out
saying, but she knew that anyway. "I'll…. Ahhh.
See you Monday?" Sam nodded silently, then left
him where he stood before walking slowly down the stairs towards the front
door. When she reached the bottom she looked up to see he was leaning
against the railing, watching her descent.
"You going to be okay, sir?" She called up to
him, still solemn.
"Yup." He replied, then
grinned. "You should see the other guy!" Sam grinned her 100 kilowatt
smile, then gave him a wave with her fingers before
gathering her coat and keys and walking towards the front door. "Hey, Carter!" She stuck her head around the corner of
the wall, eyebrows raised in question.
"You thanked me before… What for?" He
frowned down at her.
"For defending my honour, Jack." She replied,
smiling at him softly before departing. He stood there, at the top of the
stairs, listening to her start her car and drive off
down the street, a goofy smile on his face.
"She called me
Jack." He said to the night air before turning and walking into his
bedroom, closing the door behind him.
-fin-