I've put up with it long enough, I've been getting a myriad of nasty notes lately so it's time to rant. Briefly.
I never labled this as Sam/Jack. Hell, I never labled it as romance. It's humor and parody. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking rubber crutch, you people. If you read a.) Colonel For Sale, b.)this far in the story and c.)the actual story category classifications (Humor! Parody! LOOK THEM UP!) you should realize this is not Sam/Jack. I'm assuming you're brighter than a twenty five watt light bulb here, and I am sick to death of having to spell things out in response to badly spelled and badly worded PMs when all the clues are STARING AT YOU. Either buy a clue or go see the wizard and get yourself a brain, 'cause I am done explaining.
And this is why my dreams of a teaching career fell apart.
-
With her feet aching and her disposition growing more and more sour as the moments passed, Sam stared at Rodney from her vantage point on the floor as he shouted at the operator on the other end of the emergency telephone. There was a good probability that whoever was unfortunate enough to bear the full brunt of Rodney's wrath had been reduced to tears, but Sam was having a hard time conjuring any sympathy for the other party.
After all, if there hadn't been an electric malfunction, she wouldn't be stuck here with him. Sympathy for those responsible was in very short supply…as was patience.
Hell, if she'd been in any mood for it, she would have yanked off the control panel and set to work herself; but sadly she hadn't brought a screwdriver with her…and even if she had thought to bring one, it wouldn't have fit in that stupid little clutch purse anyway.
She barely registered the BANG that the receiver made when Rodney angrily slammed it down and started to pace in front of the doors of the elevator, muttering to himself about the incompetence of human beings in general--especially those in management.
"Well?"
He spun to face her, looking very angry before he seemed to realize who he was trapped with and some of the ferocity in his expression drained away.
"Electrical glitch," he said, throwing in a few choice comparisons between the elevator's designer and a baboon in a mutter. "The winch control is 'out of whack'. Which is an oh-so-very technical term courtesy of the dimwitted switchboard operator."
Sam shut her eyes and steeled her nerves as best she could. "How long will it take them to fix it?"
Rodney sneered. "She didn't know. 'Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours, you know how finicky electricity can be'. I wanted to throttle her."
"I could tell," Sam deadpanned from the floor, garnering an irritated look from McKay.
"You know what I don't understand? If all the electricity is gone from the elevators, why are we still being treated to the sounds of Barry Manilow?" Rodney pointed at the speaker above Sam's head angrily. "If I have to be stuck somewhere small and suffocating with background music, the least they could do is make it good background music."
"Why don't you call in a request if you hate it so much, Rodney?" She snapped in response. "You think I'm happy about being stuck in here? This is the acid covered cherry on top of the sundae that has been a very bad day!"
Rodney looked hurt. "I wasn't aware you hated my company so much, pardon me for breathing!"
"Just…shut up, Rodney. Shut up!"
"Hey, you're the one who asked me to take you to the ball; you're the one who--"
"I didn't want to go with you in the first place!"
Sam realized her error half a second too late when genuine pain flickered in Rodney's eyes. "Oh. Oh, I see."
"Rodney, I…I didn't mean--"
He cleared his throat and turned aside, so he wasn't facing her full on. "No, no. I get it. For the first time, I think I get it. God I'm an idiot!"
"Rodney, I'm…sorry."
"There's no need to apologize," he flipped one of his hands dismissively, still not looking at her. "Let's face it, nobody would want me to take them anywhere unless I was their last option, right? Why should you be any different?"
Sam looked at her hands, folded primly in her lap. "I--"
"Spare me, Sam. Just…don't bother."
"Damn it, Rodney!" Sam exclaimed, climbing up from her place on the floor and grabbing him by the shoulder, forcing him to look at her. "Don't you dare try and shut me out. It won't work!"
He locked eyes with her, making her feel much smaller than she had a few moments earlier. "Why not? It works on everyone else. 'Doctor McKay is an caustic, disagreeable man who likes his space, I'll leave him alone'. Take the hint, Sam. Join the throng of people with that opinion and save yourself some grief. Hell, save me the grief."
"You? Save you the grief?"
"Yes, me," he swatted her hand away. "You don't get it, do you? You're like…like…some kind of disease, Sam. And I've got a bad case of you, too. I know we'll never be anything but 'friends'--though after tonight I doubt we'll even be that anymore--but that…that doesn't take away any of the…never mind. It's not important. Forget I said anything. Let's just go back to the way things were. You hate me, I hate you, okay? It's a lot easier that way."
For a second Sam was tempted to take his offer…to go back to the way things had been before that relationship altering 'date', but her more noble side won out.
"I don't hate you, Rodney…and I don't think I ever could, not…not really." At his look of shock, she continued. "Don't get me wrong, you drive me nuts, yeah, I admit that you know all the wrong buttons to push when you want to…but I do care about you."
He snorted.
"I do!" She defended.
"Sure, and pigs have wings."
"If they're genetically altered, they do."
His eyes softened and his upper lip twitched as he fought down a smile. "That wasn't fair. You're making it impossible for me to stay mad at you."
"Well, let me put you over the top," she said, wrapping her arms around him briefly and squeezing him in a friendly hug. "There. Any last shreds of anger?"
"Damn it. No." He mock glared at her. "You women and your feminine wiles…makes it impossible for a guy to think straight."
"Nice to know I've got that effect on somebody," she replied, half between amusement and annoyance.
"You've got that effect on everybody," he answered smartly. "Give me your hand."
"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why?"
"Can't you hear?" He pointed at the speaker again. "Sinatra. Come on, Sam. It's the last dance."
He held out his hand to her in invitation and she eyed him warily.
"Rodney, I'm tired--"
"And your feet hurt, I know. Take off your shoes."
"Rodney," she said with every intention of shooting him down as best she could manage in her worn out state.
"We're stuck. There's nobody here," he said reasonably, still insistently holding his hand out. "Please? Think of it as a symbol of the truce we've just declared, huh?"
The impression of a lost puppy he was giving was so accurate that Sam was tempted to ask if he wanted a Milkbone, but she relented and gave him her hand, if only to have an excuse to step out of the ridiculous heels she was wearing.
He was quite a bit more graceful without anyone else around, Sam noticed, and he didn't step on her feet once as they moved just a few steps around the small space of the elevator.
"It's a shame you didn't dance this well when everyone else was watching."
"Blame it on performance anxiety," he said. "And you made me lose count. One two three, one two three, one two--"
She smiled at him against her will. "You're an astrophysicist and you can't keep count for a waltz?"
"Sure I can. We're waltzing, aren't we?"
"That we are. And rather well, at that."
"That's nothing, I can also chew gum and walk at the same time."
"My, how impressive."
"I know, isn't it?" He spun her as well as the small space would allow and then tugged her back towards him, a little closer than she had been before. "It's a shame, you know?"
"Hm?"
"We're both in love with people who'll never really love us back."
Sam froze in place. "I'm not in--"
He paused as well and gazed at her knowingly. "Yes you are…and so am I." He shrugged and began the waltz again. "But, such is life."
She allowed him to lead her, looking at him strangely. "How do you do that?"
He grinned at her. "What? Dance on air?"
"No, how do you…know?"
"It's plain as the nose on your face, Sam," he said, bitterness lacing his voice. "You look at…at General O'Neil the way I suspect I look at you."
The elevator jerked back to life suddenly and Sam was thankful for the excuse to step out of Rodney's embrace.
She pulled back from him, mildly uncomfortable, not only due to the fact he had pegged her so accurately, but because of his half-confession about his feelings for her. "You've had your last dance."
The elevator doors swished open and she stepped out, but not before he caught her hand briefly, only releasing it as the doors started to close. She could have sworn his eyes were sparkling. "Save me the first dance in your dreams, huh?"