Major Congeniality Chapter 3- Not so congenial.
Sam Carter had dealt with a lot worse. She'd been tortured, tainted, trampled on and died a few times too. Sam Carter was invincible, or at least that's what Jack O'Neill liked to think, but there was just one problem.
She couldnot handle this.
Infact, she was wishing so severely with all of her heart that the floor would open beneath her and send her back to the fiery pits of Netu.
And that was just the leg wax.
Oh yes, Carter could handle Big Bad Guys, ones with personal shields and big honkin' space guns. What she couldnot handle, however, was Big Bad Guys with hair extensions, cuticle clippers, or hot wax.
Which is why she had believed, sprawled on an uncomfortable bed, facemask flaming her skin and fingers currently painted a baby pink that she's sure she bought Cassie once when she was eleven, that it couldn't get any worse.
And then she heard it.
"Hey Carter? Hows it goin'?"
Yes, because what she wanted more than anything in the world was for her CO, one of her best friends, and possibly the person she maybe, might do, almost could, always in some alternate universe actually does, love, to see her at her worst. And it couldn't get much worse than this.
"SR, DNNN CMMNN NN!" She wailed loudly, forgetting the green goop on her face, and how it restricted her.
"Carter? What's wrong? Why can't I come in?" He sounded concerned. And at any other time, thatmay have given Sam the warm and fuzzies, but right now she was just glad he had understood.
Why can't you come in? She thought wryly, Well, I happen to be spread eagled on a table with cucumber juice running into my eyes, and if you were going to see me this naked I'd really rather it wasn't under these cicumstances.
"What?" She heard Jack call over the partition, not unlike the ones used in the infirmary. Oh, what wouldn't she give to be in the infirmary right now? "All I got from that was "mumble mumble, mum-mumble" What's going on?"
Vic Melling breezed over; Sam's personal beautifier, or destructive pain in the ass, as Jack considered him, moving from Sam's side to talk to Jack.
"She says she'd rather you not come in, as she's spread eagled on a table with cucumber juice running into her eyes and if you were going to see her that naked she'd rather-"
Sam kicked him, rather hard, eyes wide in panic, fear, anger. Melling shut his mouth, wisely and not a moment too soon, in Sam's opinion.
Hey, how the hell did he know what she'd been thinking anyway? Had anyone considered that Melling was the Goa'uld? She gazed at him, carefully removing the cucumbers from her eyes, and inwardly admitting that it felt rather nice.
Yes, he could be a Goa'uld...a mean, beauty obsessed Goa'uld...who could read minds and was attracted to Jack like all Goa'uld (and Tok'ra) were...it all made perfect sense! Especially considering the glare he was now sending her way! He knew she'd figured it out...
No, he'd realized she'd cracked her face mask in her concentration, and that she was eating the cucumber slices. Well, the man had been starving her! What else was she supposed to do?
She bedgrudgingly admitted that Melling was not the Goa'uld, and now, feeling the crack in the mask, could talk to her CO.
"Sorry Sir, I'm a little tied up at the moment." She called over the partition.
"Oh." Man, he wished she wouldn't say things like that.
"So, you free to talk? I had a question." He continued, hoping she hadn't noticed the brief pause in his thought processes. Samantha Carter could do that to a man.
"Sure." She replied, smiling and releasing to get rid of the stiff feeling in her cheeks.
"Samantha, don't do that!" Vic rolled his eyes at her.
"Vic, you think you could give us a minute? We've got some top secret military stuff to discuss. Classified, you understand." Jack said charmingly.
Sam watched, and for a minute, it seemed like Vic was going to agree (few people could deny Jack when he was that charming) but he shook his head.
"Sorry Colonel," His clipped British accent made him sound insincere. "Samantha's next specialist will be arriving at any minute and I must supervise, as always. They cannot do it without my instruction!" He bragged.
"Do I even want to know what this next Specialist treatment is?" Sam asked.
Melling raised a Teal'c-esque eyebrow, pausing. "No."
"Ri-ii-ght" O'Neill sighed, sounding uncomfortable, and Sam distinctly heard him pulling a chair over to the partition, and saw the outline of his shadow, watching him fiddle with something in his hands.
"Well Carter, the Go- the BAD GUY we're coming to sort out..." He said meaningfully, "Why do we assume he's going to be at this thing?...I mean it's not THAT TYPE OF PEOPLE'S usual MO."
"I know." She sighed, nodding her head to the bald guy with the rainbow t-shirt and star earring who entered and started talking to Vic. "Though I can see the attraction of prizes and glory, as well as a questionable amount of tacky jewellery would appeal to them, they're usually more for world domination than opening malls."
"Exactly. I'm pretty sure their acceptance speech would be more of the "I am your One True God" variety" Jack agreed. She saw his sillouette playing with a needle.
"Um, Sir, could you put that down?" Sam said, slightly nervous.
"Right, sorry." She saw him do so, and a few seconds later he took a yoyo out of his pocket. This, she found more comforting.
"So Carter, what are we assuming here? You must have a theory, involving long words that confuse and irritate me?"
"Good to know I'm appreciated Sir." She said dryly, wriggling as Rainbow-Bald-Man came over with wax strips...what more was there left to wax, for crying out loud? She wriggled as Rainbow-Bald -Man came closer.
"Come on Carter, I know you've got an ideas, multiple ones probably. Don't be a tease."
She heard the grin.
"Well, there's the idea that they try and win, and use the fame as a stepping stone, which is crazy, but likely, in that case..." Oh that was cold, Sam wriggled uncomfortably as the wax touched her skin.
"Carter, focus." Jack reminded her.
"In that case we just watch for any attempts at foul play, and try and get clues, we could always get a zay- a lie detector in from our friends." She said meaningfully.
"Or use your special sixth sense thingy" Jack added helpfully. "The other idea?"
"That they're not trying to win the pageant, they're using it to get contacts or possibly to make a scene, get attention. In this case we need to be on the lookout for technology, as well as explosives, although at the moment I'm disinclined to believe there's anything a Goa- could-what are you doing? Excuse me what the hell-"
"Carter?" Jack asked, almost panicked at her sudden silence. "Carter?" He stood up.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" She screamed. "Son of a bitch! Who the hell do you think you are Rainbow Man? Get the hell away from me! AWAY! NOW!"
The next thing Jack heard was Vic Melling's calming tones. "Samantha, we have to take the other strip off, dear, it can't stay there, okay? Ready?"
And once again there was a scream, although more of a yelp, instead of the painful banshee shriek. It still hurt him to think of her in pain.
"Okay, see how I'm a Colonel, and how I am IN CHARGE of this operation? Well, I want to know what the HELL is going on!" Jack demanded. "Carter, I'm coming in!"
"Sir, please don't-"
But he ignored her, and so finding his 2IC shuffling into a painful, but more acceptable position on the bed, and a scary bald dude smiling his gummy smile and walking away was not as terrible as it could have been.
He turned to glare at Melling.
"Bikini Wax" He shrugged. "You've got ten minutes free Samantha." He turned to walk away, but pivoted before he left. "Don't eat anything." He nodded menacingly, and walked away.
Jack stared after him viciously. "I will never call Fraiser a Napoleanic Power Monger after this. That title is reserved for freaks like him." He turned to Sam, slightly more gently. "When did you last eat?"
"Before we left...oh wait, I did just eat the cucumber slices on my eyes...does that count?" She sounded grumpy. Oh, he hated grumpy Sam, it was the Sam who appeared once a month and glared at him all the time...or the Sam when there was no Jello in the Mess, or when McKay turned up.
He shook his head and sighed, impersonating Melling. "You've got ten minutes free Samantha," He pulled out one of her chocolate bars from his pocket, slightly more crumpled, "Eat something."
Her eyes lit up.
Forget alternate realities. She loved Jack O'Neill.
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She's ashamed to think that those ten minutes made the whole day worth it. She'd been plucked, waxed and peeled to within an inch of her life. There was fake tan on her skin, and varnish on her fingernails (which she'd always taken good care of, she'd thought) and yet it was worth it just to hang around and joke with her CO over a couple of bars of chocolate...Okay, well she'd eaten most of them, but she'd offered.
All he'd done was smile his little smile, that one he did when he knew something she didn't, or when he bet on her, or when she was wearing an atrocious blue tent for a dress, and said simply.
"I'm not crazy enough to come between you and chocolate right now Carter."
Thank God. She was really only being polite.
And then when Melling had come back, Jack had snatched the remaining chocolate bar from her lips and stuck it in his own mouth, so she wouldn't get in trouble. In fact, Melling even took pity on Sam, obviously seeing the shocked look on her face, and informed Jack that he thought it was rude and mean of him to eat infront of her. Jack apologised, that little smile playing around his lips, only briefly, for her to see. She nodded her thanks.
And there they were again, her sitting having her hair done for what seemed like hours (and how much could they really do to her hair anyway? It wasn't like there was loads of it!) and he sat next to her, talking about the mission, but also about other nondescript, unimportant things. And that made it worth it too.
"Danny and T should be up soon, I'm thinking maybe tommorow? Ready for the Stake-out."
"Donuts?" She grinned.
"Of course." He raised his eyebrows, and then cleared his throat. "So Carter, tell me about this elusive Black-Ops career that you apparently have." His eyes were wide and innocent.
She wasn't falling for it.
"The General meant I was Black Ops TRAINED, I'd grown up with him and my father...they ensured I could kill someone by the time I was fifteen...although I think the target group at that time was teenage boys." She smiled. "I had some experience planning missions and General Hammond obviously felt he needed to validate why I was chosen for this mission."
"Yeah, so in the mission statement they substitute Black-Ops trained genius for Hot Blond. I can see why Hammond would try and justify it."
Sam coloured and averted her eyes. Damn she wished she wouldn't do that, it was a natural reflex. "Yes, Sir."
A few seconds passed in relative quiet, until sam felt a yank on her head again. She sighed.
"Sir, think you could do a little recon?" She asked pityfully.
"What d'ya mean?"
"I mean, what the hell is this woman doing to my head?" Sam paused, "No offence." She said to the woman, but as she suspected, no answer, once again. The hairdresser was obviously upset at the state of Sam's hair, and Sam couldn't blame her.
"It looks like she's...sewing...onto your head?"
"Extensions, darlings, extensions!" Vic trilled as he glided into the room like a gust of wind. "A pageant winner is a long haired beauty! And we lucked out that you're blond!"
"Yes, one of your few acheivements, Samantha." Jack said wryly.
She sighed. "So when does this wonderful little nightmare end? Almost done?" She yawned at Melling, thinking longingly of chocolate bars.
"Hardly."He snorted.
"That's what I was afraid you were going to say."
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AN: Hey everyone, thanks for waiting patiently for this chapter, hope it wasn't a disappointment! Oh, and if anyone has something they'd like to be in this series, either from SG1, Miss Congeniality, or their own imaginations, feel free to let me know.
As always, feedback is adored, but not demanded.