"Circles"
By Aeryn
Chapter 3
They waited nervously, Sam on the couch trying not to chew off what was left of her fingernails, Jack pacing in front of the fireplace, swigging beer like there was no tomorrow. At the rate he was going, he'd better hope there was no tomorrow, she thought, watching him.
"He should be here any minute," he said.
She grunted. "I know."
"You okay?"
"I'm horny."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm horny."
He stared. "Are you kidding me?"
"No. Hornier than I've ever been in my LIFE." She leered at him, licking her lips.
"Oh, fuck," he said, running his hands through his hair. This was JUST what he needed, a big ol' hard-on right when he's about to be ripped to shreds for breaking the fraternization regs. "Are you TRYING to kill me?"
"Sorry."
"I'm just . . . I'm just going to forget you said that."
"Fine."
He glared at her. "But I'll remember it again later."
She grinned and winked. "Hope so."
"Stop it."
"Sorry."
"Don't even look at me."
"I won't." She was. She was looking a lot. And at very specific parts of his anatomy.
"Sam . . ."
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!
One found that the problems in one's pants quickly went away during such occasions as being under the threat of being drawn and quartered. (Of course, those occasions also brought about any number of OTHER problems within one's pants, but that's neither here nor there.) In any event, Jack's ardor quickly cooled. Even the knocking sounded pissed, he thought miserably.
He sighed.
He turned to Sam, who was nowhere to be found.
"Sam? Sam!"
He found her hiding behind the couch.
"Oh, come on," he said, hauling her to her feet. "You've faced the greatest evils in all of known space! And won!"
"But this is Hammond," she whispered, the look on her face a combination of terror and horniness.
"You like Hammond!"
"But this is MAD Hammond!"
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!
Jack smiled a sickly looking smile. "Well, honey, Mad Hammond is home!"
He didn't speak for a full five minutes. He simply glowered. He'd gotten very good at glowering during his time in the Air Force.
They sat on the couch, fidgeting. When he was satisfied that they were appropriately nervous, he started yelling.
"DO THE TWO OF YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT KIND OF FIRES I'VE BEEN PUTTING OUT ALL DAMNED WEEK?!"
They cringed. He smiled inwardly. Certainly hadn't lost his touch if he could make these two cower like whipped dogs.
"Sir, I . . ."
"Shut up, O'Neill! This is one of the most blatant violations of the fraternization regulations I've ever seen! And in the most IMPORTANT, strategic, top-secret facility on the face of the Goddamned earth!"
"Sir, we . . ."
"Col. Carter, I do not recall asking you to speak."
She shut her mouth with a snap and stared at the floor.
"How long?" he asked.
"Uh . . . what?" asked Jack.
"How long? How long have you been married?"
"A week," he said, looking at Sam who nodded in confirmation.
"Well, isn't that nice. And how long have you been . . . involved?"
They both looked at the floor. And looked. And looked. And looked.
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, GODDAMMIT!"
They jumped. Now he was struggling not to laugh. He covered his mouth and turned his back to them.
"Uh, well, since this last time with the Ancients."
Hammond did a quick mental tally. "So about a year, then."
"Yes, sir."
He was silent for a moment. "Carter, do you have any Scotch?"
She didn't know whether they did or not, but she scurried off to look for some. The wrath of Hammond was an impressive sight to behold, and, she was sure, it'd be all the more impressive when beheld from as far away as possible. Like China.
She dug through the pantry and did find a rather expensive bottle of 12-year-old Scotch. She sighed in relief. Maybe this would calm him down. If it didn't, maybe she could hit him over the head with it and make a break for China.
"Here, sir," she said, handing him both bottle and glass so he could pour it himself, worried the fumes might make her hurl and wouldn't THAT just brighten things up a bit?
He poured two fingers, then some more, then a lot more, and downed it in one gulp, before helping himself to another round.
Jack and Sam looked at one another.
"Sir?" O'Neill ventured tentatively.
"Go ahead."
"It's true we've broken the regs, that we've been . . . 'involved,' but I swear to God it hasn't affected our working relationship one bit."
"Sir, we worked VERY hard to keep things separate. I don't think anyone has any idea, not even Daniel and Teal'c," Sam added.
"Harrumph. That's not the point, though, is it? The point is you've broken the rules and now there's damage control to be done and punishment to dole out."
They sighed in unison.
"It simply isn't possible for Jack to retain command of the SGC."
"Well, sir, that's why I wanted to tender my resignation . . ."
"However, the President is convinced that the two of you are vital to the operation of the program." Hammond himself had done the convincing but he wasn't about to tell THEM that.
"What?"
"Really?"
"I'm resuming command of the SGC."
Jack groaned. "God, George, I'm sorry . . ."
Hammond held up his hand. "If there's one good thing to come out of this, it's that we get to come home. The Pentagon is a hellhole, filled with crotchety old military types much like myself. Not nearly as interesting as the SGC."
And finally he let it slip. He smiled, just a little.
They both sagged in relief.
Jack went into the kitchen to grab a glass and poured himself some Scotch, sipping his as opposed to gulping it as Hammond was. But on top of the four beers he'd had before Hammond arrived, it wouldn't be long before they both were singing Irish drinking songs.
"So what's the plan, sir?"
"Well, I've made several recommendations to the President, and he and I . . ."
"Uh, sir?" Carter said, raising her hand.
"Yes?"
"There's one other . . . tiny thing."
Hammond's eyes narrowed. The glower was on the verge of returning.
"And what would this 'tiny thing' be, Colonel?"
"Uh, well . . ." She turned to Jack with that old 'deer in the headlights' look.
He took her hand. "She's pregnant."
Full fledged glower.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MORE COMPLICATED THIS MAKES THINGS?"
They both sighed.
"Sir, it was an accident . . ."
"A HAPPY accident . . ."
"Yes, but we didn't intend to complicate ANYTHING . . ."
Hammond covered his face with his hands as they rambled on and on. For two such smart, capable people, they certainly had their dumbass moments.
They finally stuttered to a stop.
"All right, here's what we'll do," Hammond said, sighing. "Colonel, I assume you won't be going through the Gate any time soon."
She nodded.
"Then you'll be officially removed from SG-1 and continue your work in the lab. You'll be answering to me, not to Jack."
Sam sighed. She knew this would probably happen but it still hurt, not to be part of SG-1 anymore.
"O'Neill, you'll resume your former position as leader of SG-1. You'll both be given an official reprimand and a UIF."
Sam cringed. A reprimand? And an unfavorable information file? She'd never gotten so much as an A- in her life, and now she was going to have a UIF? AND a reprimand?
Jack grinned. He couldn't have cared less. His UIF was already the size of a Stephen King novel, what with all the insubordination, disobeying orders, acting without permission of a superior officer. It was really just a piece of paper that said "This bastard really fucked up so we're saying so on this piece of paper because them's the rules. Promote him."
You didn't become Brigadier General without pissing a lot of people off (and saving a few dozens of lives here or there) and Jack was very good at pissing people off and saving a few dozens of live here or there. He'd been doing it all his life.
"So . . . no court-martial?"
"Carter, if the two of you have been involved for a YEAR and I haven't heard anything about it, and believe me, I've been keeping an ear to the ground," he said, glaring at Jack, "Then it seems to me a court-martial is unnecessary."
He got up and began pacing around the room, looking at it critically. They watched him.
"When are you due?"
They both smiled. "December," they said in unison.
"Hmph. Not very far off. Are the two of you still keeping separate houses?"
"Uh, yes," Sam said, looking at Jack. He shrugged.
Hammond sighed. "How old are you, Jack?"
"Um, fifty-mrsth."
Hammond rolled his eyes. "Sam?"
"Thirty . . . something?"
"Let me get this straight. You're both WELL into adulthood, you're married, you're about to have a baby, and you're keeping two separate houses, each one too small for even two people."
"Well, we hadn't thought . . ."
"It happened all of a sudden-like . . ."
"It was WEIRD . . ."
Hammond sighed again and began ticking off orders on his fingers.
"One, you need to put both houses up for sale at once. Two, you need to find a bigger house immediately. Three, you need to arrange some kind of wedding reception and four, what about a baby shower? These things don't just happen, you know. It's beyond my comprehension that the two of you are acting liking you . . . what are you doing, Colonel?"
Sam was smiling and walking toward him.
"Look out, sir. She's turned all touchy-feely."
"Sir," she said. "Is it against the regs if I hug you?"
She didn't wait for an answer and hugged him tightly. He flushed brightly to the top of his head.
She pulled away and looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, quietly.
Jack had come up behind her, grinning. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks, Dad." He reached around Sam to clap Hammond on the shoulder.
"I'm not THAT much older than you, you jackass," Hammond said, flustered and a little teary-eyed. He stepped away from them, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose mightily.
He stood and looked at the two of them, then collapsed into a chair and took a sip of Scotch. "I'm too old for this shit."
He smiled.
They smiled back.