Sam/Jack Trope Bingo–Presidential Pardon
A Too-Long Drabble (Sort Of) About My Least Favorite Sam/Jack Trope
Not Shippy in the Least, Except Maybe If You Squint Really Hard
There. It's Done And Checked Off The Bingo Board.
"Was he supposed to be here?" Sam dipped her chin, angling the question towards where her CO stood at her side.
"I didn't think so." Colonel O'Neill frowned, straightening his tie. "They said we wouldn't see him until later."
Yet, there he was. The Commander-in-Chief. Glad-handing his way through the crowded reception. Heading, in fact, in their direction.
"And here we have our heroes." The President stopped, smiling at Carter and O'Neill. Extending a hand, he grasped O'Neill's in a firm shake. "The two Air Force officers who saved the world."
"We were just doing our jobs, Sir."
"Well, you acquitted yourselves admirably, Colonel." Blindingly white teeth flashed in a practiced grin as he clapped O'Neill on the bicep with his free hand and then stepped away. "The whole nation owes you a debt of gratitude."
"We do our best, Sir." O'Neill cracked a smile. He wasn't impressed. To his credit, however, he was trying not to show it.
"And you, Captain Carter." The older man reached for her hand, stepping towards her. "You and Colonel O'Neill have my undying respect and admiration."
"Thank you, Sir." Sam returned his handshake, expecting him to let go at any moment.
But he didn't. Instead, he stepped closer, raising his other hand to clasp her shoulder. His expression turned oddly intimate. "I've known your father for years. He's a hell of a guy, and a fine officer. It was no surprise to me that Jacob Carter's daughter would be on the front lines of this new frontier."
"I believe he's here somewhere, Sir." Sam scanned the crowd behind the President, but couldn't find him. He and General Hammond had said something about catching up. They were likely holed up in a quiet spot somewhere reliving their glory days.
"I'm sure he'll find me eventually." Finally, he drew away, letting go of Sam's hand.
"Probably." Sam resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt. She hadn't expected the President of the United States to have such sweaty palms. "He tends to turn up when you least expect it."
"True! True." Booming laughter, and then he offered them both a little sort of obsequious nod. "Well, I guess I'll see you later at the ceremony."
The Commander-in-Chief continued on, intent upon another group. However, just as he moved past Carter, a waiter dodged around a large ice sculpture, emerging directly in front of the President. Startled, the President hotstepped rearward to avoid collision.
He tripped, losing his balance before tumbling backwards directly into Carter. His heel came down hard upon her toe, and, muttering a curse, he fell heavily against her, knocking her completely off-kilter.
With an epithet of her own, Sam valiantly attempted to steady herself and the Commander-in-Chief, but he was too unwieldy for her—too heavy in her arms. Stepping backwards, she realized too late that her foot was still squished beneath the foot of the President, and she faltered, floundering sideways into the large, solid body of the Colonel.
Within seconds, the President's entourage of Secret Service agents gathered around the Commander-in-Chief, pulling him upright and away from SG-1. They put themselves to work getting him situated and making certain he was unhurt.
Suddenly free of her anchor, Sam collapsed into O'Neill, relieved when his arms encircled her and kept her from tumbling to the ground. He held her just long enough to make sure she'd regained her balance, then carefully let go, keeping his hand at the small of her back for seemingly moral support.
The President laughed it off once he was back on his own feet, casting embarrassed glances around at the gawking crowd. He tugged at his suit coat, then recentered his tie. Adjusting his sleeves, he smiled—a little sheepishly—at Sam.
"Captain. My apologies." This time, his smile was self-deprecating. "Obviously, that wasn't part of the ceremony."
"Please don't concern yourself, Sir." Sam wriggled her toe in her shoe. Damn, that had hurt. Like—really hurt. The President could stand to lay off the hors d'oeuvers. Still, she gumptioned up a smile. "It was an accident. I'm more concerned about you."
"Just a little embarrassed." He tilted his head with a wink. "Good thing this shin-dig is top secret and there's no press allowed, right?"
Right.
—-OOOOOOOO—-
"Oh—Captain Carter."
Sam looked up from the velvet box in her hands. Turning, she faced General Hammond. "Yes, Sir?"
They'd just been awarded the medals that had been intended for them in DC. After the death of the reporter and subsequent investigation, plans for the ceremony with the President and Joint Chiefs had been scrapped. Carter had flown back to the Springs between O'Neill and Hammond, worried about her father and babying her still-throbbing big toe.
It had been a weird trip.
"The President asked that I give you this, as well." He reached out, extending a small, white envelope.
"Getting private notes from the President, are we?" O'Neill leaned over to look at the missive. "You must have made quite the impression on the Commander-in-Chief."
Sam handed the Colonel the box containing her medal, then took the dispatch from the General. Turning the envelope, she frowned down at it in confusion. It wasn't large—smaller than the typical greeting card. Her name flowed across the smooth surface in delicate calligraphy. Flipping it over, she studied the back. It had been sealed with a small dot of red wax.
O'Neill made a little snort. "Fancy."
"I'm sure it's the norm in DC. Everything is ostentatious there." Sam slipped her finger behind the back flap of the envelope and popped the seal open. The card inside was elegant—thick white card stock with gilded accents. The President's name and "The White House" were embossed on the card's front in gold.
Sliding the card free, she opened it, reading the hand-written message out loud.
"Captain Carter,
It was a pleasure to meet you and Colonel O'Neill in Washington last week. Allow me to once more express my, and this country's, undying gratitude for the job that you are performing on our behalf.
On a personal note, I would again like to apologize for landing in such an ungallant fashion on your foot. I sincerely hope that you were not injured, and that you don't harbor any ill will against me for the incident.
If you should feel the need for retribution, however, I hereby extend this invitation. Feel free to come to the White House and step on my toe at whatever time you wish. For this, and for any other peccadilloes, you are promised my immediate and complete pardon."
His name was signed with a flourish.
Punctuated with a smiley face.
"Peccadilloes?" Sam grimaced. "What the heck does that even mean?"
"'Sins'. It's archaic, but it means 'little sins'." O'Neill shrugged. "I'm more intrigued by the fact that he basically invited you to his office to beat the crap out of him."
General Hammond sighed. "As much as we are all inclined to respect the man, he certainly makes that difficult from time to time."
"Well, Carter." O'Neill watched as she closed the note and slid it back back into the envelope. "Look at it this way."
"What's that, Sir?" She accepted the blue velvet box back from him.
"Rob a bank. Steal a HumVee and go for a joyride. Take an F-15 and fly it low and loud over the Capitol."
"Why would I do any of those things?"
"Do something fun, Carter. Misbehave for once. Get in trouble." He tapped the envelope in her hand with his index finger. "You've just been given your very own Presidential Pardon."
"It's just so weird." Sam shook her head, crinkling her nose. "Isn't it weird?"
"Hell, yes." O'Neill was giving her an odd, speculative kind of look. Flickering a glance at Hammond, he leaned in towards her, his voice low and gravelly. "But I'd still hang on to it."
"Sir?"
This time, his smile was veiled in something Sam had never seen, and couldn't even hope to identify. A little shiver worked its way up her spine.
"You never know when that might come in handy."