Dread wasn't a strong enough word to describe the emotions that were rolling around in Sam's stomach on the night of the inauguration ball. The days leading up to now had been torturous, but she was fast discovering that was nothing in comparison to what she was going through at that point in time.

Whether her apprehension was so great due to the fact the dress she'd selected was just about everything she didn't want (low cut, off the shoulders, cut low in the back and aquamarine) or because her date would be arriving and would most likely shatter his jaw on the floor when he caught sight of her, nobody could say.

Either way, she didn't like the butterflies currently doing the watusi inside her ribcage.

The hotel room whose floor she was wearing a track in the floor of was rather a nice one in Washington DC, where she'd arrived not too long ago, and though under ordinary circumstances, she'd enjoy staying somewhere more posh than the on base quarters at the SGC, her anxiety was such that she couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the mounting tension coiling in her gut.

Funny that this exact same thing had happened the last time she'd had to go on a date with Rodney McKay, when ordinarily she was the calm, cool, collected, unshakable type.

Maybe it was just the fact that she didn't like formal occasions much...sure...that would explain it. She hadn't liked her prom (not that she actually bothered to go or anything) because of the whole formality of the situation...

She was just more comfortable in her uniform than in a dress and--

The door was knocked on, the old 'Shave and a haircut' shtick, and all the butterflies inside Sam suffered a mass heart attack, dropping all at once to hit the floor of her stomach with a thud that was very nearly audible.

Well, this is it. Moment of truth and suchlike.

She stalked to the hotel door and flung it open.

Rodney stood there, his hands clasping the lapels of his very nice tuxedo, with a smile so broad on his face Sam wondered if his head could split apart as a result.

He might have looked smug, but the color of white that his knuckles were revealed his true feelings. Clearly he was just as agitated as she was.

His smile faded the second his eyes landed on her and he blinked like a man who'd just suffered a blow to the head.

"Rodney," Sam said warningly, not liking the way his eyes were wandering down the front of her dress with lecherous intent. "Rodney!"

He snapped out of it. "Huh what?"

She crossed her arms disapprovingly, realized that made the cleavage problem worse and corrected her mistake in moments.

He cleared his throat and shook his head as though he was trying to clear it of whatever amorous cobwebs had taken up residence over the past few seconds. "You look sensational," he said genuinely.

Compliments were his way or making amends? Huh.

He offered his arm gallantly, and she took it, picking up her purse on their way out.

"You really do look great, Sam," he said awkwardly.

"Thanks, Rodney."

"You're welcome."

"And Rodney?" She said as she closed the hotel door behind them.

"Yeah?"

"If your eyes move any further down my dress, I'm likely to slap them right out of your head."