"Jack, I'm going on a patrol today," she says.
"Think you could shove me in your field bag, Angel?" he pleads.
"You might weigh me down," she says with a giggle. God, he's come to love her giggles over the last couple of days. He's not very good at making jokes, and he knows that he's not very good at making jokes, but she is willing to laugh at anything that he puts before her.
"Come on, no officer is worth their salt who can't carry their own body weight on a mission."
"Taking you along would result in me carrying a lot more than my body weight."
"Are you calling me fat?" he asks with false incredulous tone.
"Of course not, sir, but you plus my field pack would be over my weight," she says.
"But just barely," he says.
"Right, just barely," she agrees with a giggle.
"Well, I'm getting sprung from this place tonight, so I was thinking we could share a meal, something besides jello."
"Oh, goodie, is it going to be MRE?" she asks with fake enthusiasm.
"I hope I can do a little better than that," he says.
"Right, and you owe me a drink as well," she says.
"Fly well, angel girl."
-0-0-0-
Sam's exhausted, and dirty from the mission. All she can think about is a shower, and a nap. She's figures she'll shower and then cancel her date with Jack O'Neill.
But that thought flees from her mind when she enters her quarters. Most officers slept four to a tent. It's better than barracks quarters, which are fifteen to a tent. But as the only female officer in the squadron, Sam got her own tent. When she enters her tent to grab her clothes for after her shower, she sees a note.
"Officer mess, 2000."
And her heart soars. She feels way more for this man that she should. And she knows… if she cancels tonight, he's never going to believe it's just because she's tired. He's going to take it as rejection, and she already knows that he's been rejected enough in his life.
She can't hurt him. And she doesn't even feel that tired anymore.
She glances at her watch, and discovers that she really doesn't have much time. She grabs her shower bag, and heads for the bathrooms.
-0-0-0-
It's too much, Jack decides. She's going to walk into this officer mess, and freak out. He's going to scare her off.
He stands up to pull some of the crepe paper off the wall.
"What are you doing?" Angel's voice stops him.
"It's too much," he turns, flinching, with the decoration still in his hand.
She giggles at his bashfulness. He's kind of old to pull off that lost little boy look, but nonetheless he does it well. "I think it's just enough. But isn't it going to confuse the other officers that come in here?"
"There will be no other officers coming in here."
"What did you do?" she asks coyly.
"I just… asked them not to come in," he says.
She giggles again.
"I, uh… don't know what you like to drink, but I only have one choice."
"Guinness," she says as he pulls out the bottle.
"Being an Irishman from Chicago, I couldn't very well have a different favorite booze."
"I usually don't drink beer, whiskey or vodka normally. My dad sometimes had one after work."
Jack nods his head, "My old man had a lot more than one."
Sam flinches and turns away for a second. And he wishes that he hadn't revealed whatever offended her.
"What's wrong?"
"My mom was killed by a drunk driver," she says softly.
"God, I'm sorry," he whispers. There is a long pause. He really doesn't want to share any more about his past, but he knows the scales are unequal. He has to share something more about himself to even things up, to give what is between them a chance. "My old man, he, ah… he didn't drive when he was drunk." He almost loses his courage, and stops there, but then he continues, "But he did other things, just about as bad."
"He hit you?" she asks with furious indignation.
Jack shakes his head, "My mom, though. She left him when I was about thirteen. We had a couple of really tough years. We left with nothing, and she didn't have any jobs or skills. She was a stay-at-home mother her whole life. Suddenly she had to get a job, and pay the bills, and… lots of other stuff she didn't know how to do."
"I'm so sorry, sir," she whispers.
"That's part of the reason I joined the Air Force. It was a way to make pretty good money right out of high school."
"Right out of high school? But you're an officer," she says, confused.
He has a bemused smirk.
"You're a mustang?" she asks in shock.
He nods, a bit bashfully.
"Well, color me impressed," she says.
"I think I should be more impressed by you. I bet you got straight As all through high school, and then went on to pull the same grades at the Academy."
"Did you read my personal file?" she asks, a little creeped out, and moving back from him.
"Am I really that good a guesser?" he asks.
"You really didn't read my file?" she asks.
"Angel, I don't even know your name."
"It's…" she begins, but he cuts her off, "Nope, don't tell me, more fun this way."
She grins for a second, before she frowns. "So you're really not even going to bother to learn my name. I'm that unimportant to you?"
"You are not a ship passing in the night, angel," he tells her seriously.
She stares at him for a few seconds before she says, "So what kind of MRE are we having today? I bet it tastes like chicken. They all do."
"Yeah, what we have is a step above MRE's," he says, handing her a plate.
"This looks like real food," she says in shock.
"Well, I sure hope so," he says with a smile.
"I know, I just mean… you don't see real food on base very often."
"You ever talk to the cook, Airman Michaels?"
She shakes her head.
"He went to the culinary arts institute before he enlisted."
"No offense, but you wouldn't know it from his cooking."
"Well, the first thing they'll teach you at the culinary arts institute is that your meal is only going to be as good as your ingredients. But if you get some ingredients to him he can work wonders."
"You know this much about everyone in your squadron?" She asks.
He smiles, "Michaels isn't in my squadron. I just know the people you want to make friends with in a base are the cooks, janitors, maintenance, and secretaries."
"Well, you've certainly proven the wisdom of your words," she says taking a bite, and closing her eyes about it, "This is delicious."
He watches her eat, a little too impressed by the nearly orgasmic face she's making.
"Sir, if you don't start eating I'm going to have to assume you're a vampire," she says.
"Well, since I don't see any mirrors to prove you wrong," he says, taking a bite. "Why did you join the Air Force?"
"My dad's a General," she says, as if that was all the explanation that was required.
"Oh, I didn't know I was getting involved with a General's daughter. That sounds like it could be pretty dangerous."
"Well, don't flee for your life before you're done with your steak," she advices, "He's in D.C., and it's not likely he could hurt you from there."
"Good to know," he says playfully.
-0-0-0-
When they finished eating, Jack walks over and starts a tape player. "Would you like to dance?"
Sam can't believe it. She tried for the whole four months that she was with Jonas Hanson to get him to take her dancing. With Jack, she didn't even have to ask.
She gives her hand to his, and is immediately held tightly and comfortably in his arms as he skillfully leads her around the dance floor. His scent engulfs her. It's different than she expected. When she gets crammed into close quarters men they smelled like military issued soap and the outdoors, if you were lucky. Most of the time, it just smelled like BO.
But Jack, he smelled like Jack, and it twisted her stomach.
And for the first time, since she was a child, she can feel herself completely relax. She's in a war zone, but she's never felt so peaceful.
He feels her muscles loosen under his hands. He wonders how long she's been tense for. He's also surprised, surprised by how good it feels to have someone rely on him, not in the impersonal way his men do in the field, but in this personal ways that this sweet smelling woman does in his arms.
She rests her head on his shoulder without even noticing that she is doing it. He just barely resists the temptation to nibble on her newly exposed neck.