Disclaimer: Still not mine
She woke up feeling confused, aware that she was in her room but with no idea of how she'd gotten there. A painful band digging into her chest suggested that she hadn't taken her bra off, but a quick check revealed she wasn't wearing a top or trousers. So she hadn't fallen asleep in her clothes by accident, unless she zonked out half way through. Hrm. That was unusual: she would never voluntarily sleep in a bra. She considered the obvious reason for her state – a drinking spree of some sort – but her head didn't hurt at all. She just felt incredibly dopey, as if she'd only had a couple of hours sleep.
It wasn't till she rolled over to study her alarm clock that the pain kicked in. Or, at least, the gut-wrenching nausea did, and she was also aware that she desperately needed to go to the bathroom. The clock said it was quarter past five but she wasn't sure whether it was day or night. Hrm, once again. Had she really slept the whole day away?
Moving slowly, out of respect for her delicate stomach and the fact that she was still pretty groggy, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. And paused, as the pain in her head kicked in. Yup, she'd definitely over-indulged the night before. Trying to ignore that tiny part of her brain that insisted on nagging her with questions she really didn't want to know the answers to, she concentrated at the task on hand. Feet. Standing upright on her feet. Remaining upright on her feet. She wasn't fussy: support from any handy wall or other solid object would be gratefully received.
She staggered out into the hall, bringing her hand up to her eyes to shade them from the bright light that was streaming in through the windows, and took a suspicious sniff. Something on her smelt horrible. Sour and stomach-churningly acid... she stopped, leaning against the wall, as her mind put the pieces together. A wave of mortification flooded over her and she closed her eyes briefly, praying that she was wrong. She never got that drunk, not since her last break-up and that bottle of vodka she'd allocated the honour of being her 'bestest friend ever!' for the night. Hrm.
She was rummaging through her medicine cabinet, amazed that with all the injuries she seemed to sustain off-world she didn't seem to have so much as a packet of paracetemol in her cupboard, when someone knocked at the bathroom door. She froze.
"Carter?" She recognised that voice. She'd been afraid of hearing it.
"Uh huh?"
There was a pause. "You okay in there?"
How to explain? "I'm looking for painkillers."
"Do you need any help?"
She smelt – stank might be a better way of putting it – she was only in her underwear and her hair looked as if something had taken up residence in it. This wasn't the way she wanted her commanding officer to see her. On the other hand, she couldn't find any painkillers, not even the Midol she normally took for cramps, and maybe he'd be able to find them amongst the chaos she'd just caused. Besides, the chances were that he'd been the one to put her to bed, so how much of a shock would her current state really be?
She grabbed a towel and wrapped it round herself, covering as much as possible. "Okay, you can come in."
The door opened slowly and her commanding officer walked in. He was in a T-shirt and boxers, with hair sticking up all over the place and stubble darkening his chin. She felt a moment's panic – why were they both in their underwear? – and then reassured herself that she'd been the only person in her bed when she woke up. She would have noticed a semi-naked colonel in there with her, surely?
He wore a huge grin on his face as he headed straight for the cabinet. She wished that he'd make some small effort to hide his amusement at her state. Then again, maybe he was. "I could do with something for my head, myself," he remarked.
"You got drunk last night as well?" Every time she managed to find herself some kind of comfort zone, something else would happen to interrupt her rosy glow of denial. It wasn't fair.
He handed her a couple of pills, and she swallowed them, washing them down with water from her tooth-mug.
"Not as drunk as you, but I had a few."
She was suddenly aware that she was standing, scantily-clad, in her bathroom with her commanding officer, and moreover that he was looking her up and down. It didn't seem quite kosher somehow. "Um, I should..."
"Shower," he interrupted, and she winced. "I'll put the coffee on, if that's okay with you."
She nodded, instantly regretting the movement. "Sure, make yourself at home..." She gestured expansively, trying desperately to act as if everything was totally normal.
In the end she opted for a bath, figuring that it would be safer in her wobbly state. She scrubbed herself and her hair, trying to remove any lingering odours. The shampoo foam ran into her eyes and stung, and she cursed quietly. Wasn't anything going to go right this morning?
Half an hour later, dressed in sweats and an oversized T-shirt, she made an appearance downstairs to find her CO in the kitchen, drinking coffee. She launched into an apology straight away, figuring it was long overdue.
"I am so sorry," she began, only to have him wave a hand at her.
"It's done. Don't worry about it."
"No, you don't understand, I don't normally drink that much and it wasn't really –"
"Carter!" His tone of voice caught her attention. "It's okay." She shifted nervously. "Really – it was a hard mission and you blew off some tension when you got back. I've been there."
She was determined to get it all out. "But the –"
"Puking?" She winced at the word. "Or are you apologising for the snuggling?"
Her head jerked up in horror. "There was snuggling?"
Then she realised that he was laughing at her. Bastard!
"Let's just say that you're a rather affectionate drunk, Carter. It's rather endearing, cute even. Daniel certainly seemed to think so. "
"I am not cute!" Then the words sunk in. Daniel, and his lap. She lowered herself onto a stool and sunk her head into her hands. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Despite herself, she was beginning to see the amusing side to all this.
She heard a mug clunk down in front of her and reached out for it without looking up. The coffee hit her stomach like acid and she put the mug down hastily. A hand patted her on the shoulder. "Probably not, but I wouldn't worry too much."
"I can't believe I spent the evening curled up to two of my teammates."
"Well..." Her head jerked up again.
"What?" She'd hit on Teal'c? Now she really was going to die of embarrassment.
"Gotcha." And he was laughing again. Bastard. She tried to kick him under the table, but he was too far away. Typical. Still, she would pay him back for that smirk at some point, just maybe not today.
She looked at her clock again. It was now after six, definitely still morning. "It's so early."
He nodded. "I'm going to head home soon, get some shut-eye. We've got the day off today, so I suggest you get some more sleep too."
"For once, I think I'll do that."
He nodded, satisfied. "Is it okay if I ring for a cab? My truck's still parked outside the bar."
"Sure." She handed him the phone and he was about to start dialing, but he paused, looking serious for the first time that morning.
"Carter, are you okay? Last night was pretty out-of-character for you, your obvious interest in me not withstanding." He waggled his eyebrow at her.
She shook her head, not sure of what she was denying. "It's just... I know my father's okay, but..." She sighed. "I should have just gone home early."
His eyes were warm, and she found herself reluctant to look away. "I know things were tough, but you did good, Carter. Really good. You know that, don't you?"
She held the eye contact and enjoyed the pride his words sent through her, ignoring the awareness that flared up inside her. "Thank you sir."
"You're welcome."
Finally he looked away and started dialing a number on the phone. Sam made herself some herbal tea – easier on the stomach – as he spoke to the cab company. "They'll be here in ten minutes," he announced. "I'll just straighten up your sitting room before I go."
"My sitting room?" She followed him through, and studied the cocoon he'd made himself. For someone a little over six foot tall, that must have been seriously uncomfortable. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
"Sir, you do know I have a guest room, don't you?"
A look of consternation flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by the nonchalance she was used to seeing. "Well, Captain, I didn't want to go prying around in your home without your permission."
Which is why he'd escorted her up to her room and undressed her. "Uh huh."
He pulled the couches back to their original positions while she stood by, watching. She could have helped out, but she was still feeling pretty ill. There was no need to disrupt his macho act. Once everything was back in place, he regarded his handiwork with satisfaction. "All done."
"Sir, don't you think you're forgetting something?"
He looked around in confusion. "What?"
Her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. "Pants?"
He stared at her blankly, and then the penny dropped. He grabbed his jeans from where they were lying across the back of an arm chair and pulled them on. "After last night I didn't want to put them back on straight away."
"I see." That was mean, and she didn't like the implication that she'd thrown up on him. "Did I actually?" She didn't want to finish.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Was I in the blast zone, you mean?" She nodded. "No." Big sigh of relief. "However, trying to get you home when you were clinging to me..." He shuddered. She shuddered. And resolved to buy him a really nice bottle of whiskey next time she was shopping – one she wouldn't be offering to share with him.
A horn blared in the street outside. "That'll be your cab," she said, unnecessarily.
"Yeah." She walked him to the door.
"Make sure you get some sleep, Carter. That's an order. I need my favourite physicist in fighting-shape."
She smiled. "Yes sir! And thank you – for everything."
His lips quirked. "Sure. It's all part of the job, you know." And then he bounded out to the waiting cab, vigorously enough to make her head hurt just watching him.
Sam closed the door after him and wandered back into her sitting room, aware that eating something would probably help settle her stomach, but unwilling to face anything solid yet. Then she saw his leather jacket lying on the floor and all thoughts of food were forgotten. She picked it up and studied the splatters on it, wrinkling her nose at the highly distinctive smell emanating from it.
Forget 'It's all part of the job': last night had gone way beyond that. And forget whiskey as a thank-you gift – the more she saw, the more it looked like she'd need to buy him a whole new wardrobe. Smiling to herself, Sam went back up to bed. She'd thank him again tomorrow.
The end
A/N: Thanks for all the feedback I've received. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry I haven't the chance to reply to everyone in person.
