Footsie
Title: Footsie
Author: ardvari
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Short, potentially humorous. Definitely silly.
Footsie
He knew something was off the minute he pushed his key into the lock. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly wasn’t quite right, but his soldier’s instincts kicked in, making him inch open the door slowly. Whenever he’d had this feeling before, someone of the do-not-like variety of humans had let themselves into his house.
There was a black duffel bag sitting by the door, a lone crutch leaning against the wall. Furrowing his brow, relaxing a little, he walked up the few steps into the living room. The TV was running (Discovery Channel), and the first thing he saw of her was her left foot, on his coffee table, a pack of frozen peas precariously balanced on top of it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised and happy.
“I live here… sometimes,” she sassed, a carton of ice cream on her lap.
She looked as if she’d been here a while, her hair still damp from the shower, wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of those little tank tops he liked so much. The foot worried him.
“Foot?” he asked, coming closer, dropping his jacket on the nearest chair.
“Ankle. Sprained.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that maybe you should get some actual ice packs,” she said.
He sat down next to her, his index finger extending to the green and black bruise forming on the side of her rapidly swelling foot.
“Prepare to die,” she hissed, his finger millimeters away from her skin.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her thigh instead.
She threw him a look that made him smirk sheepishly. She wouldn’t be here if it didn’t hurt. They wouldn’t have let her be here if she didn’t need to take it easy. The only reason why he hadn’t known she was hurt was because he was on down time. She’d probably beamed down right from the Hammond’s infirmary.
“Where have you been?” she asked, spooning up some more ice cream.
“Had lunch in town. I wasn’t expecting company. I could make you one of my famous omelets,” he grinned.
She shook her head, pointing to the ice cream carton with her spoon.
“Blue jell-o?” he asked, knowing they’d stocked up on that the last time she’d been home.
“Maybe later.”
Sighing, she leaned her head back against the couch and looked at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
“Got into a fight with the ship’s crystals. There was a malfunction,” she explained.
“You’re not supposed to kick the crystals, Carter,” he mocked, taking the peas off her foot so he could lift her leg and settle it in his lap.
“So I’ve heard, sir,” she retorted, elbowing him in the side gently.
“Glad you’re home though,” he said, his voice serious now.
She nodded, reaching over to grab his hand, running her thumb over the back of it.
“Me, too.”
Author: ardvari
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Short, potentially humorous. Definitely silly.
Footsie
He knew something was off the minute he pushed his key into the lock. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly wasn’t quite right, but his soldier’s instincts kicked in, making him inch open the door slowly. Whenever he’d had this feeling before, someone of the do-not-like variety of humans had let themselves into his house.
There was a black duffel bag sitting by the door, a lone crutch leaning against the wall. Furrowing his brow, relaxing a little, he walked up the few steps into the living room. The TV was running (Discovery Channel), and the first thing he saw of her was her left foot, on his coffee table, a pack of frozen peas precariously balanced on top of it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised and happy.
“I live here… sometimes,” she sassed, a carton of ice cream on her lap.
She looked as if she’d been here a while, her hair still damp from the shower, wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of those little tank tops he liked so much. The foot worried him.
“Foot?” he asked, coming closer, dropping his jacket on the nearest chair.
“Ankle. Sprained.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that maybe you should get some actual ice packs,” she said.
He sat down next to her, his index finger extending to the green and black bruise forming on the side of her rapidly swelling foot.
“Prepare to die,” she hissed, his finger millimeters away from her skin.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her thigh instead.
She threw him a look that made him smirk sheepishly. She wouldn’t be here if it didn’t hurt. They wouldn’t have let her be here if she didn’t need to take it easy. The only reason why he hadn’t known she was hurt was because he was on down time. She’d probably beamed down right from the Hammond’s infirmary.
“Where have you been?” she asked, spooning up some more ice cream.
“Had lunch in town. I wasn’t expecting company. I could make you one of my famous omelets,” he grinned.
She shook her head, pointing to the ice cream carton with her spoon.
“Blue jell-o?” he asked, knowing they’d stocked up on that the last time she’d been home.
“Maybe later.”
Sighing, she leaned her head back against the couch and looked at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
“Got into a fight with the ship’s crystals. There was a malfunction,” she explained.
“You’re not supposed to kick the crystals, Carter,” he mocked, taking the peas off her foot so he could lift her leg and settle it in his lap.
“So I’ve heard, sir,” she retorted, elbowing him in the side gently.
“Glad you’re home though,” he said, his voice serious now.
She nodded, reaching over to grab his hand, running her thumb over the back of it.
“Me, too.”