I had intended all these to be just amusing little ditties—we don't often get to see "real life" with the team. But I find that I am physically and emotionally incapable of not shipping every once in a while. Sorry.

Benchwarmers

Jack O'Neill was bored.

Really, really bored.

And the service had just started.

And his suit itched. And it was his dress blues, which meant he even had his shiny monkey suit shoes on. And for some reason, they felt too tight and his big toes were hot.

And he was bored.

And the service had just started.

He looked to his left, where Teal'c sat next to him. It looked like he was kelnorim-ing, the lucky bastard. If Jack closed his eyes like that, everyone would think that he was just sleeping.

He looked to his right, where Carter was sitting, dressed in her dress blues. She always looked so much better in them than he did. She never seemed to itch in the damn things, or sweat. And he bet that her big toes weren't hot. He glanced down to see that she'd actually slipped her shoes off and was gripping the carpet with her toes.

Interesting.

Her toe nails were painted—clear polish on most of them, but then a strip of white on the outer edge. And they were twinkling. He squinted a little—age was a bitch—and noted that her big toe nails had little flowers painted on them with a stone of some sort in the center. And those toes were kneading into the carpet rhythmically.

He leaned closer to her.

It didn't take much to get closer because the church brimmed with people—every pew filled arm rest to arm rest. The Silers had invited the entire city of Colorado Springs to their baby's christening.

Which put O'Neill in the enviable position of sitting closer than he'd ever been able to his second in command. Close enough, in fact, that he could smell her perfume. Floral, somehow, with a hint of citrus. So being in church was both good and bad.

But back to the toes. "Whatcha doing?"

"Shh." She answered without looking at him.

He ignored her. "Your toes—whatcha doing?"

"Sir, we're in church. No disrespect intended, but we shouldn't be talking."

He sighed and sat back up straight, but out of his peripheral vision, he could still see those toes. Twinkling.

There were just some things that were meant to be watched, and Carter's toes—heretofore unseen by her CO—were one of them. Ten of them. Whatever.

She stopped wriggling them and crossed her feet at the ankles.

He leaned toward her again. "How do you do that?"

"What?" She whispered at him without turning her head.

"Put sparkly things on your toes?"

She glanced sideways at him in surprise. He raised his eyebrows, waiting. Finally, she leaned in to him. "Polish and super glue." The she leaned back in the pew. He watched with some sadness as she fiddled around with her feet until she'd found her shoes and slipped them back on.

Damn. Oh yeah—church—Darn.

He glanced down again, but there were no interesting toes down there any more. Just sensible low heels that were just as shiny as his own monkey suit shoes.

All of a sudden the congregation rose, and Jack found himself standing with them. He'd missed something—no doubt during his musings on a certain Major's feet.

"What are they doing now?" He whispered to his right.

"I'm not sure, sir, I can't see."

And then someone started playing music on an organ that reminded him of his eighth grade party at Smiling Bob's Roller Land, and people opened hymnbooks. But the little wooden pocket on the back of the pew in front of him didn't have a hymnbook in it. Just—he felt around in there—a green crayon, a Hot Wheels car, and a few copies of old church bulletins.

He opened one of the bulletins. Apparently the Chapel of Faith and Brotherhood needed gently used toys for the children's class. And Mary Lee Franko had given birth to a healthy baby girl named Doreen—seven pounds, five ounces. They were collecting nonperishable food items for the local food bank, and asking for the congregation to donate other useful items for the Women's Auxiliary Ramada Sale.

Sunday's service had concentrated on "Man's Role in the Universe." O'Neill snorted. Killing Goa'ulds—duh. He coulda preached that one all by himself.

He glanced sideways at Carter. She was singing quietly, sharing a book with Daniel, who was sitting on her right. Down farther on the pew sat Karen from Accounting, the invitation queen and champion Daniel devotee. How she'd finagled sitting next to Daniel had no doubt required strategy not unlike SG-1's planning and preparation in taking down a System Lord. She was just that good.

Jack palmed the items until after the song was over and people started sitting again. He sat and adjusted his suit jacket, slipping the toy car into its pocket. Then he spread the bulletin out on his thigh, flipping it over so that the empty back was showing. Using the green crayon, he drew four lines—two up and down, two across, and nudged Carter with his shoulder.

"Xs or Os?" He whispered.

She looked at him puzzled, until he tapped the paper on his leg. Those blue, blue eyes twinkled, though, as she rolled them at him. "Sir, it's church."

He wrote something on the paper and handed it to her.

Chicken?

She read it and snatched the crayon out of his hand. After a rapid scribble, she laid the paper back on his thigh. He read her note. You wish.

He claimed the crayon again. Then play.

He handed her the crayon, which she took with another roll of her eyes. This note took longer to write. Sir, we're in church. Behave yourself.

The 'church' was underlined twice.

And then she wouldn't give the crayon back.

He poked her, then spread his palm out in crayon supplication, but Carter blatantly ignored him.

Scowling at her, he reached into his pocket for the toy car. He fingered the tiny wheels, spinning them. Opened the tiny hood to reveal the tiny chrome engine. Cool. It was a Corvette—blue. Not his favorite model, but good enough to fiddle with during the boredom that was this day. He ran the car experimentally on his thigh, then up his pant leg to stop and reverse and go back down to his knee. Then it performed a great flip in the air as it jumped the gulf of his lap and landed safely on his other knee. Evel Kneivel had nothing on him!

He felt Carter nudge him and heard her whisper "Sshh." Again.

He glared at her briefly before whispering. "I'm being quiet."

She widened her eyes and leaned over. "You're making engine noises."

"Nuh-uh." O'Neill was sure he hadn't.

"Sir, please." She cocked her head to one side and flattened her mouth.

Jack pursed his lips and twiddled with the car between his fingers. He put it back on his thigh and idly ran it back and forth, back and forth. Then it started doing figure eights.

So engrossed was he with his driving that he didn't see Carter look over at him again, and he didn't feel her deep sigh.

So he was completely surprised when she reached over and plucked the car out of his hands. It disappeared to wherever she'd put the crayon.

He frowned at her, knowing he was pouting, but really not caring. She raised a single eyebrow again. Her look sent him a clear warning.

Chastened, he looked down on his lap to see the church bulletin. He smoothed it with his hands and then folded it in half lengthwise, and the unfolded it. He dog-eared each upper corner, folding them inwards diagonally, then did it again, so that the paper resembled an elongated triangle. He refolded the whole thing in half, raw edges meeting in the middle, and then flipped the paper sideways and folded the pointed edges out on both sides. Creasing all the folds tightly, he held up his creation.

That was a damn—er—darn fine aircraft. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he moved it in the air between himself and the pew in front of him. If Carter hadn't taken his crayon, he could have put the proper markings on it. As it was, he thought it was one of his better paper airplanes. Experimentally, he drew it back and then let it glide to his lap.

He reached out to pick it up, but Carter was too quick for him.

The paper airplane joined the crayon and Corvette.

Back to being bored.

He looked up. The church was older, a large rectangular-shaped building with a stage in the front. An organ sat on the far right side on the stage, and a raised podium dominated the middle. Chairs filled what he assumed would be choir loft on the left hand side. Siler stood with Mrs. Siler—holding the baby—directly in front of the podium. The pastor held a little cup of some sort, and was currently saying something. Jack couldn't really hear, didn't really care. Two other people then stood and came forward—O'Neill recognized one of them as being Major Wood from base. The woman, he didn't know.

The Pastor said some more stuff, then dabbed some of whatever was in the cup on the baby's head. Someone was taking pictures, and the flash lit up every once in a while. Everyone smiled, and then Siler and Mrs. Siler made their way to their pew and sat, as did the two back-up parents.

Jack figured it was over, so he sat up and got ready to stand. But the pastor climbed the steps to the podium and, reaching it, opened a book.

Then the man had he unmitigated audacity to introduce his sermon.

O'Neill poked the Major to his right. "You didn't say there would be preaching."

"Sir, we're in church." She whispered back at him. "What did you think there would be?"

She had him there. He groaned as quietly as was possible and slumped down as much as he could in the pew.

He didn't notice that he was bouncing his leg up and down until her hand stilled it.

Just for something to do, he started bouncing it again.

This time, she flicked his knee, and it kind of hurt.

Grimacing, he turned for back up to Teal'c, but the Jaffa was still kelnorim-ing.

So he tried to sit quietly again. But even he knew that it was a lost cause.

Thinking about it, he started to blame Carter for his boredom. She'd been the one to insist that he come to this shin-dig. She'd told him he couldn't wear jeans, and she'd been the one to confiscate his Gameboy as they'd gotten out of his truck. Then she'd taken the crayon, Corvette, and his airplane.

He figured she needed to be as annoyed as he was.

So he reached over and poked her in the leg.

She glared at him and shook her head.

He waited until she was looking forward and poked her again.

This time, she slapped his hand.

He grinned. And poked her again.

Carter didn't say anything, she just reached over and grabbed his right hand—his poking hand—and threaded her fingers through his. Then she placed their joined hands on her lap.

He couldn't move without major effort.

And he didn't really want to. After all, she was freakin' holding his hand.

And it felt nice—her hand was warm and soft and strong. He glanced sideways at her and wondered what it meant that she was sitting with his hand gripped in her own, laying on her lap—and she was smiling some nonsensical smile that just flitted on the edges of her lips and made her eyes sparkle.

And she'd taken her shoes off again and was gently riffling the carpet fibers with her toes.

Maybe she liked holding his hand? Holy Hannah.

That thought carried him through the rest of the sermon and past the final song and prayer. And when the congregation stood to leave, he found her lingering a bit in the pew, sitting just the teeniest bit longer than was necessary.

"Carter?"

"Yes, sir?" She looked over at him without a hint of self-consciousness.

"Can I have my hand back?" He sort of hoped she'd say no, but sooner or later, Hammond would walk down the aisle towards them.

"I don't know, sir, can I trust you to behave yourself?"

He cocked his head and gave her a half smile. "Carter—when can you not trust me?"

She sighed and let go, and he felt oddly deflated, watching her stand, gather her shoes and put them back on.

Daniel poked his head over her shoulder. "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"You were totally holding Jack's hand."

Carter quirked a look at the Colonel. "Let's just say I was taking one for the team."

Daniel looked between the two of them with puzzled interest. "Okay. I don't know what that means."

Carter shrugged and turned back to the Colonel. "Okay, sir, hold them out."

Jack held out his hands. Carter reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper airplane, the green crayon, the Gameboy and a Snickers Bar she'd taken from him along with the Gameboy. From the other pocket she liberated his cell phone, a little electronic Tetris that he'd attached to his keys, a Koosh ball, an egg-shaped container filled with Silly Putty, and a yo-yo.

They both stared at the bounty. "Did I get it all?" Sam patted at her pockets. "I think that's all."

"Colonel O'Neill, what on Earth do you have there?" General Hammond had entered the pew in front of theirs and was staring at the pile of stuff in Jack's hands. "I certainly hope that you weren't playing with that all the way through the service."

Jack froze. He glanced at Carter and tried to look contrite. "No sir." He unceremoniously thrust it all back at the Major, who reached out purely on instinct to gather it up. "I was just holding it all for Carter here. She seemed to have a little problem sitting still."

Hammond shook his head between the both of them. "Well, I'm surprised at you, Major Carter. I would have expected that of Colonel O'Neill here, but from you—well." He looked mildly disapproving, mixed with a dram of skepticism. "I'm sure Sergeant Siler is glad that you all were here, anyway. We'll see you back on base." He nodded to each of SG-1 and then left.

O'Neill looked warily back at Carter. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. "Take one for the team, right? Isn't that what you said, Carter?" The Colonel reached out and gathered all his toys back up, sliding them into his pockets. When she still didn't speak to him, he reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Good work, Major."

Teal'c led them out of the pew, towards the back door of the church. By then the rest of the congregation had already left, and SG-1 was left walking out of the church on their own. Daniel and Teal'c eased in front, conversing animatedly on the symbolism involved in the service they'd just witnessed. O'Neill followed close behind, with Carter bringing up the rear.

He knew she wouldn't be holding his hand again anytime soon. And he was pretty certain he wouldn't be seeing those toes again for a while.

What he wasn't expecting was the painful thunk he felt on the back of his head as they all trooped to his truck. He saw the object fall to the ground and grinned, even as he rubbed what was sure to be a lump where it had hit.

He'd forgotten about the Corvette.

As she passed him she clapped him on the shoulder. "Way to go, sir." She whacked him in exactly the same spot that the Corvette had hit. "Taking one for the team."

And it wasn't until he watched her open the door of his truck and nimbly climb into the back seat with Daniel that he thought to call after her. "Behave yourself Major! You were just in church!"