October 2011

Jack is installed on the couch, occasionally shouting at the TV when he disagrees with a referee's call, sipping beer and generally behaving in the manner credited to the typical American male. Sam had been half-listening as she cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, amused by his increasingly creative references to the ref's lineage, up until the moment the phone rang. Now the amusing distraction is an annoying one, interfering with her ability to concentrate on the long-winded story Cassandra is rattling off over the line.

With the handset still pressed firmly to her ear, Sam marches into the living room and plants herself in front of the TV. She learned a long time ago that there are only two ways to get Jack's attention when he's this immersed in hockey, and sex is most definitely off the table.

The distraction works. Jack glares, shooing her to the side. He cranes his neck to try and get a clear line to the TV, so Sam shifts her position. Phone to her ear, hand on her hip, left eyebrow arched pointedly, she stares him down.

She knows he knows what she wants. She also knows that if he had any intention of making this easy for her, he'd have turned the volume down already.

Sam puts a hand over the receiver and hisses, "I'm on the phone."

"I can see that," Jack retorts. "I'm watching the game, although at the moment, I'm not seeing much."

"It's Cassandra."

"It's the Blackhawks."

"Jack."

He tries shooing her out of the way again while Cassandra, oblivious to the fact that Sam hasn't been following the thread of her story for some time now, continues to weave her tale with great enthusiasm.

Annoyed that he's being so stubborn over something so stupid, Sam crosses to the couch and makes a grab for the remote. Anticipating the move, Jack shifts the black plastic rectangle to his other side and tucks it under the throw pillow he passionately hates except when it's helping him one up her. She lunges for it and then they're wrestling, alternately trying to maintain possession of the magic little machine and liberate it from the other.

Sam is winning, up until the moment Jack resorts to fighting dirty. His long fingers wriggle against her rib cage. The effect is instantaneous. Her knees buckle and she collapses, half on him, half on the couch, in a giggling mess of tangled arms and legs.

"Oh for crying out loud! Are you seriously making out with Jack while you're on the phone with me? " Cassandra says, reminding Sam that she was supposed to be playing the role of dutiful aunt, listening to a long, winding tale of college exploits.

Sam breathlessly denies the accusation, but Cassandra is too caught up in her disgust.

"You two are so much worse than teenagers," the young woman declares before hanging up.

Sam disconnects the call on her end and carelessly tosses the receiver aside. "Cheater."

Jack shrugs, unbothered by the accusation, and flashes her a smug grin. "All's fair in love, war and hockey."

"Yeah well, the next time Cassie starts in about needing therapy to cope with the trauma of catching us…" Sam trails off, flushing bright pink when her brain catches up to her mouth.

To his credit, Jack manages to limit his reaction to a minor grimace.

Avoiding meeting his eye, Sam quickly untangles herself and gets to her feet. "I should finish cleaning up…"

Jack's fingers wrap around her wrist, keeping her from bolting. "Sam."

"Tomorrow's garbage day," she adds even though it doesn't matter. The garbage chute isn't going anywhere.

"It can wait until the game's over," he says.

"But…"

"Sam. Sit and watch the rest of the game with me."

"I don't even like hockey."

"Liar." Jack gives a firm tug on her arm, and then she's sitting beside him on the squishy cushions that give just so under the weight of multiple occupants and send the two of them leaning ever so slightly into one another.

"I don't like the Blackhawks."

"You'll be happy to know they're losing."

Sam rolls her eyes. He's being obtuse on purpose. "Jack…"

"Don't freak out on me," he says quietly. "You were goofing around. We both were. I'm not reading anything into it and neither should you."

She takes a deep breath, fighting to clamp down on the instinctual need to run as far from uncomfortable emotional territory as possible.

"Watch the rest of the game with me." Jack's voice is low and gentle. It's the voice he's used to reassure her more times than she can count over the years and it's that familiarity more than his words that convince her to stay right where she is.

"You said the Blackhawks are losing?"

"Badly. They're down three and it's only halfway through the second period."

Sam adopts a light, playful tone, determined to put the awkwardness behind them. "Why didn't you say so?"

Jack resumes his comfortable slouch against the couch cushions. "Because I knew you'd enjoy my pain."

She gives him Teal'c's patented skeptical double eyebrow raise. "Your pain?"

"They're my hometown team and they're losing."

"You're from Minnesota."

"But I was born in Chicago. And besides, it's not like the Wild are ever going to win the cup."

She snorts, amused by his rationale.

Jack waits a beat and then pats her knee. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"What?"

"It got awkward for a minute, but we waited it out and now we're back to normal. Well, as normal as we ever get."

Sam smiles warmly at him. "You're right - not hard at all."

"You know, one of these days we're going to have to get around to telling her we aren't in the habit of making out anymore."

"I know."

"If that's not girl talk, I don't know what is."

"I'll tell her if you tell Daniel and Teal'c."

Jack actually has the gall to snort at her proposal. "No way in hell."

"Why not?"

"Because I may be 'as a brother' to Teal'c, but you're 'as a sister' to him and I have no desire to get my ass handed to me by a 160 year old Jaffa."

"You think he'll take it badly?"

"I think he'll take your side. Daniel too."

Sam rolls her eyes. "There are no sides, Jack."

"I know, but I don't like the odds of getting the two of them to hold off kicking my ass long enough to explain that to them."

"Jack…"

He sighs, but relents. "Fine. If you tell Cass, I'll tell Daniel and Teal'c. Deal?"

"Deal."

The next moment the TV blares the scoring of another goal, distracting them both. Jack curses when another point goes up against the Blackhawks, Sam takes the opportunity to swipe his beer, and they slip back into the groove that's growing a little more comfortable every time they're both home for overlapping periods.

As Jack goes back to trash talking the ref, Sam settles in for the long haul. If he plays his cards right, she may let him steal his beer back.

Eventually.