Friends: We all know that FF dot Net has been really "off" as of late.
I wasn't going to post this here, because my readership here has dropped off the planet . . . but I may have figured out how to fix my email issues here and wanted to give it one more try.
I haven't been getting emails from the site, I haven't been able to send PM responses to reviews, and I can't see traffic stats, so I have no idea if anyone is even out there. But if you are, thank you for reading.
X X X
Mazes and Masks
Post "Desperate Measures" and "Wormhole X-Treme".
With passing glances at "1969".
X X X
Written for "Sam and Jack Spooktacular 2023".
Yes, it's late.
Yes, there will be more.
This was intended to be a cute little one-shot, but it totally got away from me and will end up at three chapters.
Why these people won't behave themselves is beyond me, but here we are. . .
X X X
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because."
"That's not really an answer, Jack."
"Sure it is."
"No, it isn't."
"Who says it isn't?"
Cassie narrowed a glare at the Colonel, setting her jaw. Deliberately, she scooched the basket of french fries in his direction, leaning forward on her elbows. She was sitting on the edge of her booth seat, practically draped on her half of the table.
"You know you want to."
"No, I don't."
"With the candy and the games and stuff? You live for all that."
O'Neill glared at the potato wedges, a speculative gleam in his eyes. He was thinking about it. Like—really thinking about it. Cassie had chosen her bribe wisely. There were few things that Jack O'Neill liked better than hot, salty, thick-cut steak fries.
Sam glowered down at her salad, her fingers twiddling her fork back and forth. She'd already fallen victim to Cassie's conniving—not that it had taken much for her to capitulate. She was always willing to help out wherever she could.
The Colonel, on the other hand, was being more stubborn about it.
"Come on, Jack." Wheedling had always been Cassie's strong suit. Pitching her voice even higher, the teenager made her very best sad puppy-dog face and turned it full-force on the Colonel. "I need your help."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes. I do." She scooted the basket closer. "Patrick Frampton and Emily Trouse both have higher GPAs than I do. Emily's the Junior Class President and on the Student Council, and Patrick is Chapter President of the National Honor Club and he was in the Homecoming court. They both have better name recognition than I do."
O'Neill squinted across the table at Cassie. Pointing at her, he gave her half a grin. "But I'll bet you're funnier than both of them put together."
"C'mon, Jack." Cassandra picked up the bottle of ketchup that sat next to the napkin dispenser and shook it. Flipping it upside down, she thumbed open the lid and squirted a generous amount of the sauce onto the plate next to the basket. "I need this for my college applications. To have any chance of winning this election, I need to get my name out there."
"And I figure in there—how?"
"The Fall Festival is the biggest fundraising event that the Student Council has all year. I'm in charge." Cassie reached for a fry. "So, if I can make this really kickass—"
"Cassie. Language."
"Sorry, Mom." To her credit, Cassie's eyes only rolled a little. "If I can pull this off, that means we can afford to make Winter Ball and Prom totally rocking. And since I—as chairwoman of the Activities Committee—am in charge of both of those as well, I'd be a shoo-in for Student Body President."
"So print flyers. Paint some posters. Make cards you can pass out." He gestured randomly in the air. "Hand out candy bars with your name on them. Nobody will pass that up."
"Candy bars?" Cassie lifted a single brow in an expression so like Teal'c's that it was a little scary. "Really?"
Jack leaned forward and snagged a single fry from the basket. Dipping it into the ketchup, he raised it to his mouth. "Trust me. Every time those kids see chocolate they'll think of you."
"That's not how it works."
He nodded, grinning from around a mouthful of hot potato. "Sure it is."
"Cass." Janet laid a hand on her daughter's arm. Casting her a careful look, she shook her head. "Leave the Colonel alone. I'm sure that you'll have enough volunteers without him."
But Cassandra was clearly not going to give up that easily. "Come on, Jack."
His tone rose—becoming the teeniest bit obnoxious. "What if I'm busy that night?"
"Busy?" Snorting, Cass shifted her focus from the Colonel to cast a meaningful glance to where Sam sat in the booth next to her. "What—like a hot date?"
But O'Neill didn't respond to that. His expression remained perfectly benign. After a moment, he snagged another fry, eating it with careful deliberation.
"Please?"
The restaurant wasn't crowded. It was late on a Thursday evening—late enough that most of the families in the area had already finished their meals and were getting kids tucked into bed. The only other patrons in the place were a passel of what looked like suburban moms having a midweek girls' night out and a trio of businessmen who were at least four shots into a one beer meeting.
Cassie had chosen the place—in fact, she'd planned the whole evening. Given how much Colonel O'Neill hated any mention of his birthday, Cassie was the only one allowed to organize anything even remotely related to a celebration of it. The care with which she'd chosen a restaurant with gourmet burgers, imported beer, and bottomless steak fries bore testament to the fact that she had a deep understanding of what made Jack O'Neill tick.
The burgers were all eaten now—the only food remaining on the table were the latest basket of freshly delivered fries and the remains of Sam's bedraggled salad. It had arrived a little limp, only to fall further victim to her hapless, nervous poking and prodding. She'd picked out the chicken and the firmest of the cherry tomatoes—eaten a few of the cucumber slices and croutons—but she hadn't had either the inspiration or the appetite for more. That wasn't unusual.
She hadn't had an appetite for much of anything these days.
They'd been on stand down for weeks—ever since the situation with Martin Lloyd and his alien friends had gone funky. Janet hadn't been in favor of letting the still-recuperating Colonel go on that assignment to begin with—and sure enough, her hesitation had proven prescient. As soon as they'd gotten back from Los Angeles, the Colonel had spiked a fever. The gunshot wound he'd sustained beneath the hospital in Seattle had opened up and gone sour, becoming infected enough to land O'Neill back in the infirmary for nearly a week.
General Hammond had pulled the team from rotation, but they'd all stuck around the Springs until they were certain that the Colonel was out of the woods. The day after Janet had sprung O'Neill from the infirmary, Sam had picked up some Chinese food and a few DVDs from a rental place and gone to his house. She'd just wanted to check on him—at least, that's what she told herself. Keep him company. To pay him back for the fact that she'd been at fault for the injury in the first place.
To make amends for her stupidity.
Only—she'd found the place empty and dark. She'd knocked for fifteen minutes before finally giving up and going home. Daniel had called her a few days later to complain about the ridiculous quantity of mosquitos at a certain cabin in Minnesota. He hadn't seemed to know that Sam hadn't been invited.
Or maybe he had—and he was just breaking it gently that she hadn't been welcome. Sam still hadn't gumptioned up the nerve to ask him which it was.
So, she'd stayed at home. Hiding, really. Alone and restless, she'd made some headway on the long list of chores she'd neglected over the years. Puttering around the silent house had filled her time—cleaning out gutters, winterizing the workshop, and working half-heartedly on her motorcycle.
Unfortunately, it had also given her ample time to brood about it all.
She'd told herself not to take it personally—ordered herself not to try to figure out why she'd been excluded when he'd always included her in his invitations before. She'd tried to buck up. Pull herself up by her bootstraps. Told herself she wasn't a failure. That she shouldn't feel ashamed that she'd been so easy for the kidnappers to take, or that she'd been so reluctant to eliminate her captors when she'd had the chance. Tried not to dwell—only to end up staring at her ceiling through the long, quiet nights wondering how the hell she'd screwed up so, so badly.
Because that's what had happened. She'd lost her focus. She'd forgotten her training and thus become an unwitting target. And her incompetence had gotten the Colonel shot.
She was certain that was why he hadn't taken her up to Silver Creek with the rest of the team. It had to be the reason for excluding her. He was probably angry with her—hell—angry at himself for going out on so many limbs to rescue her, when she hadn't done anything to deserve his help, let alone his blood. She wouldn't be surprised if he requested that she be reassigned off his team.
Which made sense, really. When a member of a unit no longer served, it was appropriate to make some changes. She'd been waiting on tenterhooks for the summons from Hammond.
All of which made this evening even more awkward. Daniel and Teal'c had barely returned from their fishing trip before packing back up. Teal'c had 'Gated out to see Ry'ac and make more inroads with the rebel Jaffa. Daniel had taken a red eye to London, where he'd finally been granted access to the archives in the basement at the British Museum. And Sam was left sitting kitty-corner in a cozy booth with the Colonel on his birthday, with only Janet and Cassie for a buffer.
"Look, Cass." The Colonel in question sucked a bit of salt off the tip of his middle finger, then reached for his napkin. "Don't you think I'm a little too old for this kind of thing?"
Cassie's eyebrow rose. "Sam's going to be there."
His dark eyes flickered in Sam's direction without making contact. He hadn't spoken directly to her throughout the entire meal—spending his evening chatting with Cassie about school and sports and Janet in veiled references as to the goings-on in the Mountain. He hadn't aimed a single look—much less any part of the conversation—at his second in command.
He hadn't even read the birthday card she'd brought him, or opened the gift. He'd merely placed them on the floor beside his chair and started in on his burger.
"She's a lot younger than I am."
"Not that much younger. She's just nicer. She knows I'm desperate."
"Cass—"
"Okay, Jack." Cassie raised a hand and motioned at a server across the room. Looking back at the Colonel, she leveled a brash glare at him. "You leave me no choice."
For the first time, O'Neill appeared slightly off-balance. "Oh?"
"I've got to bring out the big guns."
As if on cue, a half-dozen restaurant employees approached the table. The one at the front of the pack held a huge slab of chocolate cake and several scoops of ice cream on a platter. A small candle burned merrily atop the caloric monstrosity.
And the haphazard bunch was singing. Loudly. With nary a key in common. "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday—"
"Oh—you so didn't." Those dark brown eyes narrowed meaningfully at the youngest occupant of the table. He waited until the song was finished before blowing out the candle and graciously thanking the group of servers. As they scattered back to their regular duties, he leaned across his cake to glare good-naturedly at Cassie. "You know I'll get you back, right?"
Shrugging, Cassie's face broke into a delighted grin. "Cake is your kryptonite, Jack."
He picked up a fork and speared a chunk of the pastry. Pushing the plate towards the center of the table, he waggled his fork around in a vague invitation for everyone to help him finish it. "It is, huh?"
Cassandra grabbed her spoon, pointing it at him. "Among other things."
He swallowed, swiping at the frosting on his lips with the pad of his thumb. Motioning again towards the cake, the Colonel flashed her a dry scowl. "Just help me eat the damned kryptonite, Cass."
"Oh—and Jack?" Cassie's grin was one of the victorious. "You'll need to wear a costume."