Sam had never been to an inauguration ball before, so naturally, she didn't know what to expect. Maybe she'd thought of it in the childhood sense of the word 'ball'--the place where Cinderella met and subsequently spent the night dancing with her Prince Charming.

But the presidential ball was nothing like Cinderella's, and Rodney was far from being Prince Charming.

Sure, he cut a more impressive figure these days…he wasn't quite as squashy as he had been when he first left Earth…

And his personality had improved.

So he wasn't Quasimodo; that still didn't make him Prince Charming.

Still, he made an engaging enough companion through the excitement of the evening as bands played and celebrities spoke about superficial issues in comparison to the SGC and soon enough the evening was winding down into the part where everyone was expected to dance.

This was the only part of the night's activities that fit the stereotypical images that come to mind when the word 'ball' comes up and Sam allowed him to lead her on the floor.

He only stepped on her foot twice--sadly the same foot in the same exact spot--and apologized profusely each time, but she shrugged it off and continued the perfunctory dance steps carelessly. Where her dance partner seemed to anxiously sweat out each of his moves for her benefit, she moved effortlessly mostly because she didn't really care.

Now while Rodney only had eyes for his date (poor, deluded fool); she was busy scanning the floor for General O'Neill and telling herself time and again that she was not looking for him.

Even though she was.

Denial is funny that way.

It took several waltzes, but finally she spotted him, across the room…

And oh, didn't he look cozy with the little brunette he'd brought with him? Cozier than she'd seen him with anyone recently, actually…

And it most definitely wasn't disheartening in the least!

Pain exploded in her left foot yet again. "Ouch!"

"Sorry. Sorry!" Rodney squeaked worriedly. "I didn't break anything, did I?"

"Not this time."

He turned a little bit paler. "Did I break anything before?"

"No, Rodney, I just--"

O'Neill was out on the floor with his date and happiness seemed to ooze off him.

It was a disgustingly sunny display on his part.

And that woman looked like an idiot grinning like that. As if she had any business on the arm of General Jack O'Neill.

And Sam was not jealous!

Ugh!

Appalled at her own train of thought Sam turned her attention back to Rodney, who was doing his utmost to keep counting steps.

Poor, sweet Rodney, whom she'd dragged into this mess under false pretenses.

Poor, sweet Rodney? What the hell? Poor Rodney took enough getting used to--but poor, sweet Rodney?

Okay, who spiked the punch?

But then she looked at him again and felt like an idiot. Of course he was…sweet…enough.

Sweeter than, oh say, a lemon for example.

Or maybe that was a bad example, given his allergy to citrus.

"You're a much better dancer than I am, Sam," he said suddenly, yanking her out of her thoughts.

He had a nasty habit of doing that…she'd have to break him of it.

"You're not that bad, Rod--ow."

Fourth time's the charm, they say. Surely there was a hole in her shoe by now as many times as he'd trodden on it…

"Sorry. Again."

"Don't worry about it, Rodney," Sam answered dismissively as she glanced over his shoulder and saw something that made her eyes go wide momentarily.

O'Neill was watching her curiously, the petite brunette still clinging to his arm like an octopus.

What possessed her then, she didn't know for certain, but she suspected that whatever it was had bright green eyes and sometimes went by the name envy when 'jealousy' was too common a word.

She grabbed Rodney's head and kissed him full on the mouth. It wasn't anything spectacular; just a quick, unskilled mashing of lips--more like kissing a brother than anything else…

But it had the desired effect. Jack's jaw had dropped at least an inch.

And Rodney's had dropped at least twice that. "W-w-what was that for?"

"I…to say thanks. For being my escort."

"Even after I stepped on your feet three times?"

"Four."

"Even after I stepped on your feet four times?"

"Yes, even then, Rodney." She smiled at him and dealt the killing blow that she knew had to be made to keep his head from getting so big he floated away with it. "You're a true…friend."

His face didn't lose its genuine glimmer of joy the way she had expected it to and he affectionately pecked her on the cheek, stunning her further.

"I'm glad."

She eyed him warily, bringing one hand up to cup her own face where he'd just…kissed her. And chastely at that!

"Who are you and what have you done with Rodney McKay?"

"What? Wasn't that the proper response to a declaration of friendship?" One of his eyebrows lifted. "Or are we the kind of friends who ravage each other in public during social functions?"

Sam swatted him in the chest, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Just checking."