A/N: Last night, itching powder. Tomorrow, the world! -laughs in a very spooky imitation of freddy kreuger- no seriously.
A/N2: Thanks to my reviewers for chapter 3: ismisesteph, TubaPrincess, Briar Elwood, Whirlwind-2005, Natters, and Karma-k2! Thanks guys! You rock!
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm up bright'n'early the next morning, well rested after a spider-free sleep, and I'm making scrambled eggs in the kitchen when Jack shows up. He looks tired.
"You look tired, sir. Bad night?"
He grunts in reply. Oh well, maybe he's just not a morning person.
He grunts again, this time it sounds a bit like "coffee." Perfect. Stage Three, Part Two, here we go.
I putter around the coffee machine for a minute, although in reality I've had it made for about ten minutes. I warm it up and pour it into a green mug with a loon on the side and hand it to him.
"There ya go, sir," I say cheerfully. "enough caffeine to wake the dead."
He smiles gratefully as he takes the mug from me, and downs half of it in one gulp. I smile in satisfaction. My special blend (one part caf to three parts decaf plus one part of some stuff I order from Vancouver) is the only coffee I've found that actually makes you tireder but tastes like caffeine. You get a nice high for about fifteen minutes, but then it sort of drains your energy and you just kind of fade away.
Sighing happily, I eat my breakfast, then suggest to the Colonel that we go for a hike. He's beginning to perk up now, and agrees whole-heartedly. We don our combat boots and head out of the cabin.
"There's a trail up that way that goes to the top of the mountain, there's a killer view at the peak."
I nod enthusiastically. For this stage, the more strenuous the hike, the happier I'll be. I stretch my legs while Colonel O'Neill grabs his camera, and we're off.
--------------------
Approximately twelve and a half minutes into the hike, Colonel O'Neill starts to lag. Yes. It's all going according to plan. At sixteen minutes, he pulls himself over to the side of the steep trail and sits down on a tree stump. He puffs out his cheeks and blows his breath out slowly.
"You okay sir?" I ask innocent as ever.
"I mean, Colonel O'Neill."
He's still glaring.
"Uh . . . Jack."
He stops glaring. "Yeah, I'm fine . . . Sam . . . just a little out-of-breath. Guess I wasn't in as good of shape as I thought, eh?"
I laugh with him. "It's okay, sir . . . uh, Jack, another five miles and we can start back to the cabin."
He pales.
--------------------
Twelve and a half miles later, we're back at the cabin. I'm feeling good, it's nice to get in some mountain air and exercise once in a while, but I think the Colonel's not doing so well. He stumbled into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, turned on the shower, and hasn't come out since. I'm considering checking up on him, maybe in the second outfit I packed specially for this occasion, but I hear the water turn off now so I guess that'll wait for tomorrow. Giggle.
He comes out, toweling off his hair and dressed only in pajama pants. I watch him for a minute. Like hell he's not in shape, that was just the caffeine leaving his system. He doesn't exactly have a six-pack, but he's definitely fit. Luckily I can keep watching, he's way too tired to even notice he's only half-dressed.
"Night Sam," he yawns as he heads for his room.
I smirk and ask in fake confusion, "But it's only 7:30, I thought maybe we could play some more poker?"
He laughs humorlessly. "Oh I think you've won enough of my money already, Major. I'm tired, see you in the morning. Don't forget, we're going fishing tomorrow."
I smile at him. "Looking forward to it sir. Sure you won't just have one more cup of coffee?"
He grumbles, but I bat my eyelashes at him, and when I see his resolve weakening, I put the final nail in place.
"It's decaf," I say in a sing-song voice, like a kid trying to stay up on New Year's. Just ten more minutes? Pleeeeeeeeease?
He relents. "Alright, one hand of poker and a cuppa joe. Then I'm headin' in."
Happily I get up and pour the coffee. He drinks it, I deal the cards, I let him win this time, he goes to bed, and I laugh out loud. I can, because he won't be hearing anything for about eight hours. That coffee was decaf alright, but with the added benefit of a couple of crushed sleeping pills. Not enough to hurt him, just enough to keep him nicely out for a while.
Grinning madly, I turn all the clocks back to their original time, 9:45. Giggling softly, I go to my room, get in bed, and turn out the light.
Tomorrow morning'll come, all too soon.
--------------------
"Time to get up Jack! Come on, up'n'at 'em! Let's go! Wake up, Colonel, hup two, hup two!" Oh man. This is too much fun. It's five AM and I'm shaking the Colonel to wake him up.
Nothing's happening, so I resort to Plan B. I rather like Plan B. It involves me wearing a skimpy red camisole top and my black silk boxers, and getting . . . cozy . . . with my CO. Oh yeah. Plan B is good.
I snuggle up to Jack, tickling him under his chin, and say "Wake up sleepyhead," in my most bedside . . . uh . . . bed . . . ish manner. For some reason this works better than the drill sargeant routine. Go figure. Anyway, those gorgeous chocolatey eyes open blearily up to meet my gaze. Since the DeathCoffee™ is still in effect, it takes him a few seconds to connect the dots, and even when he does, his only reaction is, "Carter?"
"Yes Jack?"
"'S this a dream?"
All part of the plan.
"Yes honey."
"Then why are you still wearing clothes?"
He falls back asleep. Chuckling hard, I get out of bed, change into my fishing gear, and shake him again. This time it works, and he groans. Encouraged, I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Wake up sleepyhead," and again it works its charm and he opens his eyes.
"Carter?" Here we go again.
"Yes Jack?"
"Is this . . . oh, uh, nothing."
Snigger. "Come on sir we've gotta get out there pretty soon if we want to catch anything." Now he sits up and rubs his eyes.
"Hunh?"
"Fishing, sir. Remember?"
"Oh . . . what?"
I guess he's still pretty out of it.
"Let's go sir, we should get an early start."
He grumbles, but reaches for his gear and I leave him to it. When he finally emerges ten minutes later, I'm out on the pier hooking unfortunate nightcrawlers onto my lure. He stumbles out of the cabin, not even noticing my greeting, picks up a rod and casts it like it's a reflex action.
I don't think he's actually awake yet.
To test this theory, I start rambling about childhood fishing trips with my dad. He inserts grunts here and there, but I can tell he's not really paying any attention, so I decide to get creative.
"And then after the Tok'ra saved me from the interstellar purple elephants, Martouf and I got married and we've had three children in the last year. They're named Schmendrick, Ava, and Jack."
That got him.
"Wait what!"
"Yeah, we named the third after you, because you've been such a great help in our marriage, you were best man at the wedding, remember?"
He looks lost. Wonder why.
"Carter . . ." he starts.
"Yes sir?"
"You do realize that there are no fish in this pond, don't you?"
"Oh of course sir."
"Then why the hell are we out here at six in the morning freezing our butts off?"
I shake my head, like a teacher explaining something to a slow learner.
"Because, sir, the experience of fishing is what matters, correct?"
"Well ya but-" I cut him off.
"And when you go fishing at a regular lake, you hafta wake up early and freeze your butt off, correct?"
"I guess, but-" Again I cut him off.
"So we have to pretend this is a regular fishing trip to get the effect!" I finish brightly, having successfully proven my point. He scowls at the pond. Hmm. I wonder if . . .
"Ya know sir, I had the strangest dream last night,"
"Mm?"
"Yeah. You were in it,"
He starts. Ah, so he does remember. "Oh yeah?" he asks. I can tell he's faking unconcern by the way he suddenly seems very interested in his shoelaces.
"Yeah," I continue. "It was weird; I woke up and you were there in the . . . room . . . with me," I carefully omit which part of the room. ". . . and you said, 'Good morning sleepyhead' or something like that," I pause to observe the effect I'm having.
He's intently staring at a worm that's wriggling near his shoes, but I see a fleeting smile flash across his face. Something inside me melts. I'm stalled for a minute, trying to snap myself out of it but not really wanting to, then I recover myself by thinking oh well, at least I can comfort him after I terrorize him. The thought strengthens my resolve to have him groveling on his knees by the time I'm done with him, so I smile evilly and ask, "Did you have any interesting dreams last night . . . sir?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Like I said. Blatant Sam/Jack. You have been warned. Next chapter should be up . . . um . . . semi-soon . . . maybe . . . if you're lucky . . .