I hate work. I hate work. I hate work. I hate work.
She was working out expenses, something she always loathed. The SGC was a veritable drain of funds and she was currently trying to track down the whereabouts of several thousand dollars that had apparently being spent without her authorisation. On what, she had yet to identify.
Her 'phone rang. The big red one that she was still ridiculously proud of owning. The one with the President on speed dial.
"General Carter," she said firmly into the receiver.
"God, you sound sexy when you say that."
Jack. Only Jack would dare say that, even if it was in a joking tone. "How did you get this number?" she demanded, half-amused, half-angry.
"I remembered it. From when I had the big red 'phone. I was wondering... dinner round mine tonight?"
She considered shouting at him for a moment, for disturbing her when she was working on something so important, but decided against it. "What time?"
"When you finish work," he said.
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
There was a pause. She realised he wasn't going to hang up before she did. Irritated with herself she slammed the 'phone down.
I hate work. I hate work. I hate work. I hate work.
She was half-way through totalling the expenses when the 'phone went again.
"General Carter."
"Do you want Chinese or Thai?"
"Jack!" she hissed, losing her temper this time, "I am at work. I would appreciate it if you could leave me to get on with things."
"Sorry," he said, slightly gruffly.
She sighed. "No, it's me. I'm ratty because I'm working on expenses. Chinese. I'll see you at sixish. Ok?"
O'Neill knew when not to push his luck. "Ok. See you at six."
"Ish," she reminded him.
"Ish," he repeated.
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hate work. I hate work. I hate work. I hate work.
The 'phone rang again. She eyed it with suspicion. "General Carter," she said, picking it up on the third ring.
"General, this is Captain Green, we've got a bit of a situation here..."
"I'm sorry," she apologised, as he opened the door. "There was a bit of an emergency."
He looked angry. She couldn't exactly blame him, but she expected him to at least understand. He'd done the job before her, after all.
He sighed. "I know what its like. I can re-warm the food."
She stepped inside, glad he wasn't going to force the issue. There was a candle on the dining room table, which was laid for two, burnt to nearly a stub.
She checked her watch. Half past eight. Ouch. She sat down in her place and waited for him to finish fussing with the microwave.
He came in, the two plates balanced precariously. She took her own meal from him before it slipped onto the floor, wondering if his uncharacteristic silence had any other cause than her late arrival. He sat opposite her and started to pick at his food. She followed suite. It was a good meal, making her regret being late even more.
"I invited you round because I've got something to tell you," he said at last, his voice unusually grave.
She felt her stomach contract. "What?" she asked, trying and failing not to sound panic-stricken.
"You're not going to like it." He was studying his plate very carefully, not meeting her eyes.
She tried to keep her tone light. "Jack, you're scaring me. Whatever you've got to say, say it. Don't leave me in suspense."
He sighed. "I'm going away. For three months. With Thor. On a mission." Every detail seemed forced, as if he mentioned them only to see when and what her reaction was going to be.
She let out the breath she had been holding in one long exhalation. "A dangerous mission?" she asked, feeling relieved. For a moment she had feared he was going to-
"Probably."
"Three months, huh?"
He met her eyes at last. "I know."
They'd only been dating four weeks and things were already getting complicated.
"Can't you say no?"she suggested, immediately regretting it as a dark look flashed across his face.
"No."
"I didn't think you'd be able to. We owe Thor as it is," she replied miserably.
He started to chase some of the rice on his plate around with his fork. "I just wanted to say... before I go. We've only been dating a month and if you meet someone or something. Or if I don't come back-"
"Jack," she said, slightly disbelieving, "I'm not going anywhere."
Some of the trouble in his eyes dissipated. "I'm leaving tomorrow," he confessed.
She nodded, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore. "Be careful?" she asked, her eyes overbright.
He stood up, his chair nearly falling over, and enveloped her in a hug. "Of course. The same applies to you."
She let him hold her, enjoying his embrace. Their lips met briefly and then he pulled away, looking her in the eyes again, apparently reassured by the measured calm that had returned in them.
"I have a desk job. What could possibly happen to me?"
He shook his head, eyes closing for a moment. "I don't want to think about it."
She sighed. "This is such nice food."
"It's a shame you've lost your appetite," he supplied, smiling faintly.
She chuckled. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too," he said, a catch in his voice. She kissed him again, awakening something other than misery that became palpable in his eyes. She nodded, acquiescing his unspoken request gratefully. His faint smile broadened.
She took his hand as he lead her upstairs, to say their goodbyes.
It was time. She'd put off the chore for as long as possible, somehow stupidly hoping he'd be back to do it with her. Now she faced it alone, a more arduous task than it might have been.
The grass in the yard was getting close to knee height. She had to mow it.
There were daisies growing hither and thither, amongst the green of the overgrown grass. She settled down next to a clump of them, picking the long flowers and starting to make a chain of them; the skill learnt in childhood returning to her as she unselfconsciously sat, her mind elsewhere. The daisy chain grew longer in her hands.
Eventually she put the flowers down and mowed the lawn in vertical stripes, the way she always did at home. Then she rooted through the flowerbeds, pulling up weeds here and there. Carter had always enjoyed gardening, especially as she had grown older and gardening had become an activity traditionally associated with her age group. Her own flowerbeds were currently blooming in riotous colours, well ordered and organised, with no weed daring to show its leaves above ground.
O'Neill on the other hand, knew nothing about plants. It showed in the state of his yard. The previous owners of the home had left some plants behind; the borders were now so overgrown with the remains that she went into his garage for some secateurs to do some pruning.
The afternoon wore on, the summer sun tracking steadily across the sky to change the shape and length of the shadows in the garden. Carter found herself humming, singing to herself quietly as she pottered about; taking cuttings, repotting constricted plants, snipping dead-heads from the hydrangeas.
She went inside to get a drink, a streak of mud across her forehead where she had wiped beads of perspiration with a dirty hand. She was pouring some juice into a glass when a noise made her turn around sharply, every muscle tensed.
Picking up the nearest kitchen knife she crept out of the kitchen, padding silently towards the living room, the source of the noise. She pushed open the door, readjusting her grip, preparing for the worst...
She dropped the knife, her hand trembling. "Jack?"
He had obviously been dozing on the sofa, had woken up and shifted position, knocking over something on the table near his head and alerting her to another presence in the home. He jerked awake and upright in an instant.
"I didn't know you were here," he said, grim-faced and almost guilty.
"You didn't notice the door was unlocked?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I didn't come in through the front door."
She felt awkward, standing her now, and bent to retrieve the knife, feeling embarrassed. This wasn't the return she had imagined, or hoped for.
"Think I was an intruder?" he asked.
She smiled slightly. "Stupid I know, but-"
He stood up in one swift movement, crossing the distance between them in two long strides to take her face in his hands and kiss her.
Her own hands slid under his arms and around to the back of his neck, but he winced and pulled away. "Bruised ribs," he explained, pulling at the hem of his shirt to show her.
She gasped in shock and sympathy at the canary yellow marks across his chest. He was skinnier than she remembered, his hair shorn very short. There was a strange, sickened look in his eyes as well, one she remembered vaguely from many years ago.
She touched his face rather than his body, stroking his cheek with her thumbs and staring deeply into his troubled eyes. "What happened?" she breathed.
He looked away, unwilling to answer, and she didn't press him for anymore information. She kissed him again. "I'm so glad you're okay."
His hold was almost painfully tight on her arms. "I thought I'd lost you." His voice seemed to be cracking; if she didn't know him so well she might have thought he was crying.
"Why?" she asked gently, rocking him gently as she would a small child in distress.
"Doesn't matter," he sniffed, and as he drew away again she was dismayed to see a single tear tracing a path across his cheek. She brushed it away, wondering what the hell could have happened to reduce him to such a state.
He took a deep breath. "I stink," he said flatly. "I need a shower."
She smiled wryly. "I'm not exactly fresh as a daisy."
"You were doing my gardening?"he said, a glimmer of amusement at last escaping his eyes.
She just smiled in reply and he took her hand, his long fingers intertwining with hers. If his ribs had been up to it he would have picked her up at that moment and carried her to his shower; fully dressed or not. Instead, he kissed her again; the taint of salt tangible on his lips as his mouth left hers to brush her neck and shoulders.