Come As You Are (Sam/Jack, PG-13, jack_built fic)
Title: Come As You Are
Author: Pepper
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4200
Featured Character(s): Sam, Jack, most of the Stargate women, and a few of the men.
Pairing(s): Sam/Jack
Summary: One unexpected benefit of the costume was that she'd pretty much lost the ability to feel shy.
A/N: Sequel to Debra Winger Moment, in the many-legged jack_built universe. With thanks to seldear for Vala's costume, and abject apologies to geneeste for shamelessly stealing her line - but I think it gets funnier with repetition... right? :)
---
Things had been going so well.
In fact, by rights, everything ought to have been perfect after that ridiculously romantic kiss. At first, even Rodney was merely annoying. He'd come in a wheelchair, claiming to be dressed as Stephen Hawking - thus managing to combine bad taste, arrogance, and unfairness (Sam was the one with the sprained ankle, after all) in one fell swoop. And then he stared at Sam's seashells until Janet smacked him on the back of the head. Fortunately, when Vala appeared, dressed head to toe in black leather, he somehow managed to tip the wheelchair over backwards, so Sam felt satisfied that karma was on the case.
But as the evening wore on, and her costume didn't get any more modest or any less incapacitating, and Jack always seemed to be elsewhere while she stayed stuck on the sofa, her mood had taken a distinct dip. For some unknown reason, from the moment people had started to arrive, he'd begun to avoid her.
Right now, for example, he was in the far corner, talking to Ronon (dreadlocks flowing and glasses absent for once, wearing some sort of sexy Mad Max meets Robin Hood outfit). The one upside to this whole costume thing, and it had all gone wrong. Sam had no hesitation in placing the blame fully where it belonged. "Your plan completely sucks!" she hissed, as Vala swept past, Cam on one arm, Daniel on the other.
Vala glanced back over one bare shoulder, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Darling, don't slouch," she said.
Sam straightened automatically, and by the time she realized what had happened, Vala had moved on.
"Sam!" said Rodney, behind her, and she turned quickly, defenses up. He'd given up on the wheelchair - Sam had noticed Cassie and Janet sneaking out of the door with it, a while back. Rodney glanced down, glanced further down, smirked, and-
"Don't," said John, appearing to clap a timely hand over Rodney's mouth. Rodney glared at him. "Whatever you were about to say, don't." He nodded at Sam. "You look fantastic."
"Thanks," she said, smiling at him. One unexpected benefit of the costume was that she'd pretty much lost the ability to feel shy.
"Got your back." John tightened his grip on the squirming scientist, not allowing him to break free as he moved away. Sam beckoned Liz and Teyla over with urgent gestures.
"The apartment looks wonderful," complimented Teyla, as she approached - with a drink for Sam, thank god. "Very atmospheric."
"Thanks," Sam said, wriggling a little. "It was all Liz's idea." She turned a little, glancing down at herself with dissatisfaction.
"We raided some of the abandoned apartments," explained Liz. The place looked like a dead forest had moved in. "You wouldn't believe the amount of ancient pot plants people leave behind." She pointed at a collection of bubbling test tubes filled with mysterious colored liquids on an extensive and rickety structure in one corner. "That's Sam's still, though. Don't tell the landlord."
Teyla chuckled, watching as Sam shimmied, trying to straighten out her costume. "You realize that you're drawing an audience?" she asked, as Sam twisted.
Sam glanced up, startled, and then looked around. Several heads turned quickly away - but not Jack's. His eyes were already fixed firmly on the drink in his hand. "Oh, for…" she said, her irritation bubbling up. "I don't know where Vala got this, but I look like the porno version of the Little Mermaid. Thank god Cassie didn't notice! I can't walk, this bra is about two sizes too small so I daren't breathe too deeply in case," she waved her arms to indicate a dramatic pinging effect, "and the whole thing itches!"
Liz pursed her lips in amusement, and leaned slightly towards Teyla. "Sam just loves dressing up." Sam glowered, as Vala approached and dropped comfortably onto the couch, forcing everyone else to make room. "Who have you come as?" asked Liz, quickly changing the subject.
Vala shrugged. "Cam helped me choose. It's from some show he likes... Erin something?" She looked down at herself. "I rather like it."
Sam nodded, finally placing it. "Aeryn Sun," she explained, and both Teyla and Liz 'oh'ed in understanding. Vala shrugged.
"All I know is that I'm drawing geeks like flies to honey. I might have to wear this next time I go clubbing. Even Mr. O'Neill couldn't keep his eyes on my face."
A silence descended on the small group of women. Vala looked up, and then at Sam, who was trying to pretend she didn't know they were all looking at her.
"Oh, please," said Vala, disgustedly. "Don't tell me you two haven't got past the whole will-you-won't-you stage yet? You two are hopeless. It's been weeks!"
"Months," corrected Sam, dejectedly. They all huddled closer. "And just when I think I'm getting somewhere..." She sighed. "Sometimes I think we could just carry on like this for the next ten years."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Vala, briskly. "That's not humanly possible. Anyway, you're living in his apartment, for heaven's sake - you should just jump him!" She glanced down at Sam's tail. "Or hop him, at least."
"I can't do that!" hissed Sam, grateful that the music was loud. "What if he's not interested?"
Vala rolled her eyes, and looked to Teyla and Liz for support. "I really don't think that would be a problem," said Liz, diplomatically.
"I don't agree," argued Teyla. "Sam should not initiate a physical relationship with Mr. O'Neill while they're living together. What if he's no good in bed? How then can she escape gracefully?"
"Teyla-!"
"Teyla has a point," agreed Liz, frowning. "Sam needs an exit strategy. She needs to move out."
"Liz-"
"But she cannot move back upstairs," said Teyla. The three of them frowned down at Sam's tail.
"I'm not-"
"Who else lives on the ground floor?" asked Vala.
"Mrs. Earlly," said Teyla, ticking them off on her fingers. "Mr. Cooper, Mr. and Mrs. Shah, T..."
"That's it!" Vala grabbed Sam's fingers excitedly. "You have to move in with T!"
"Vala, I really don't think-"
"Nonono, it's perfect! T is a complete gentleman, he'll never refuse you if you ask, and it'll make Mr. O'Neill WILDLY jealous, so that when you jump him-"
"I don't want him to be wildly jealous!" protested Sam, finally getting a word in edgeways. "And I'm not going to jump him!"
Then she froze, and closed her eyes. Too loud. She'd spoken too loud, and she just knew her luck...
"He's behind me, isn't he?"
Teyla, Liz, and Vala looked around hurriedly.
"You're fine, sweetie," said Liz, patting her hand gently, looking like she was worried that Sam had finally cracked. "He's over there, saying goodnight to Janet and Cassie."
Sam opened her eyes again in disbelief, and looked around. Janet was giving her a very funny look over Jack's head as he bent down to hug Cassie. In a few brief but expressive hand gestures, Janet made it clear that once Cassie was asleep, she, Janet, was coming back down to find out what was going on. Great. Just what Sam needed: reinforcements for the terrible trio currently plotting the downfall of her love life. Sam nodded, though. Maybe Janet would see reason.
Hah.
She tuned out as the three continued to plot, and downed her glass of punch. They couldn't make her do anything, she decided rebelliously, if she was passed out drunk.
---
In the first few moments of wakefulness, everything was blissfully numb. She felt like she was lying on fluffy, warm clouds, utterly relaxed, completely blank, not a thought to trouble-
"...Sam, I really think you've..."
-her mind.
Hm.
She was quite thirsty, actually. And, now she came to think of things like that, she really needed to pee. And, god, she really needed to brush her teeth. She'd just lie here a minute, and gather her energy for the hop to the bathr-
"...An' don't think, just 'cause you can carry me around all - all MANFULLY, that I think you're so..."
-oom.
Hmmmmm.
She shifted her head as she became aware that she'd been drooling, and buried her face in the pillow - which, incidentally, smelled very nice - trying to ignore the rising feeling that there was something she ought to remember about last night. She twitched her foot. Okay, her ankle didn't hurt too much, so she'd not tried to dance - that was good. Although her legs still felt a little restricted - had she actually fallen asleep in that costume? That (oh god) ridiculous porno mermaid-
"...You stared at Vala's boobs! Why aren't you starin' at my boobs?..."
-costume.
Maybe if she didn't think about it, it would go away. Whatever it was she'd said or done, maybe if she just lay here and kept her eyes shut, she could go back to sleep and it would all turn out to be a dream. A bad-
"...moving in with T so I can find out what he does wi-wi-with all those candles, and NOT so's I can make you WILDLY jealous..."
-bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad dream.
She breathed out a quiet groan, burying her face further into the pillow, away from the light, which was coming in from the wrong angle - had she slept until the afternoon? No, that still wouldn't mean... Had she fallen asleep the wrong way up? Well, no, the pillow was here, so... Had she... She couldn't have... Surely she hadn't-
"...What're you doing?"
"I'm hopping you."
"Oh, god."
The warm, heavy band that lay across her waist - the one that her conscious mind had been successfully ignoring up until now - twitched, and the presence to her right shifted, rolled and shuffled closer, snuggling into the back of her neck with a long, sleepy sigh.
"Oh, god," she whispered again.
"Mmph?" rumbled a muffled, half-awake voice from behind her. She froze, and stayed silent until his breathing evened out into the long, slow rhythms of sleep again. Then she deliberately turned her face into the pillow and breathed deeply, enjoying the lingering fragrance of his cologne.
Okay. Clearly there were some large chunks missing from her memory of last night. Because for the life of her, she couldn't recall how and when she'd ended up in Jack O'Neill's bed. Thankfully, Jack himself was asleep, and under the covers, and she didn't seem to have extricated herself from the damn tail, so there was a distant possibility she could escape with her dignity intact. She just needed to get up, get out, pee, get some coffee, and try to remember - all before he woke up.
Right. She could do this.
She wriggled gently, trying to move out of his oh-so-pleasant embrace without waking him. His arm stayed loose, and she managed to slide out from under it and to the edge of the bed, where she swung her legs down, slowly pushing herself upright. "Ow," she whispered, putting a hand to her head. "Oh, crap." She closed her eyes, and contemplated abandoning the plan and just going back to sleep. So tempting... but no. Carters don't quit, she told herself, fiercely. Not even if they really, really want to.
She forced her eyes open, glanced down, and realized two facts: one, that she was not going anywhere while still dressed in a tail, and two, that she appeared to have misplaced the seashells.
She wobbled her head around, but they weren't in the bed. Cautiously, she glanced over the edge, but no. No shells. She leaned forward to look under the bed - but stopped abruptly when it occurred to her that the one way to make the situation worse was to throw up on his carpet. She straightened up cautiously.
Crap, crap, crap. When had she lost them? Who had taken them off?
Okay, first things first, and the plan remained the same: get up, get out, get memory back. She looked down at the tail again. There was nothing for it: she was going to have to take it off.
Sam sighed, and closed her eyes, wondering if he kept a gun handy, so she could just shoot herself. It might be less painful in the long run.
Quietly, she reached for the zipper, and eased it down. Freeing her good foot, she stood up, and let the tail slide to the floor. In some ways, it was a great relief to finally be free. In other, draftier ways, not so much. She gingerly tested her sprained ankle, which didn't feel too bad - but then, it might be that she was still numb from all the alcohol she'd consumed. She shuddered, remembering a heady feeling of sneaky cleverness as she asked different people to fetch her glasses of punch. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
She glanced back, but Jack was still asleep. And, aha, he kept a hockey stick leaning against the wall beside his bed. She snagged it, and with its help - clothed only in her underwear, dragging her tail - she limped as quietly as possible to the door.
"Need any help?"
She froze, one hand on the doorhandle. Slowly, she turned to look back over her shoulder, one arm wrapped protectively around her breasts.
Whatever amusement he might be feeling, it wasn't showing in his face. His dark eyes glinted up at her from amongst the rumpled bedclothes, looking bright and alert, but when he spoke again, his voice was gruff with sleep.
"There's a robe in the closet to your right."
Keeping her back to him, she diverted to the closet, valiantly resisting the impulse to dive in and slide the door closed. She felt a lot more secure when wrapped in the long, soft folds of his robe - or, more to the point, when she wasn't standing in his bedroom wearing only a pair of pink cotton underpants with a cute yellow flower on the back. She tugged the belt tightly around her waist, and finally turned to face him.
"Hi."
He stared silently at her, his expression solemn.
"I... have to pee."
And she slipped out of his bedroom as fast as she could hop.
---
One good thing about living with someone was that the walk of shame was a lot quicker and much less public.
One bad thing was that they were still around when you finally dredged up the courage to leave your bedroom again.
Sam stuck her head out of the door, and sniffed. Ooh, breakfast. Her stomach was voting that she be brave and face him, but she had her suspicions that it was saying that for entirely selfish reasons. The remains of her hangover were trying to convince her that she'd humiliated herself and would never be able to face him again. Her brain was staying out of the argument, too tired and sore to function.
She sniffed again. Okay, she had to face him sometime. If she waited, it would still be embarrassing - but if she went now, it would be embarrassing + bacon. The math was simple, really.
She'd bundled herself up in a pullover and jeans, covering as much skin as possible in a belated attempt at modesty, and with her proper crutch under one arm and the hockey stick tucked under the other, she limped shyly into the living area. Jack was in the kitchen with his back to her, and didn't look up until she laid the hockey stick on the breakfast bar.
"Oh, hi. Morning." He grinned affectionately at her, looking much tamer than he had at five a.m..
"Thanks," she said, tapping the stick. "And, um... sorry."
He raised his eyebrows. "What for?"
"Oh... anything I said or did last night," she said, vague but comprehensive. "But please don't remind me - it'll ruin the surprise of these little flashbacks I keep getting." Like that one she'd gotten in the shower that had made her groan aloud and knock her forehead gently against the tiles, swearing that never, ever, ever again would she allow alcohol to pass her lips.
Wordlessly, he poured her a coffee, and set it in front of her, turning the mug so that the handle was to her right. Then he rested his fingertips on the bar, tapping thoughtfully. She maneuvered awkwardly up onto one of his barstools and cradled the mug, self-conscious under his intent stare. "You weren't so bad," he said at last. "You're kinda cute when you're... swimming in it." He turned abruptly back to the stove. "I'm just making breakfast - you want some?"
"Please." She watched as he moved around the small kitchen, her tired brain hypnotized by the flexion and extension of his shoulder muscles - until she had to shake herself and turn away. She looked across the living area and saw that he'd begun to tidy up the debris from the night before. Glasses, bottles, and the punch bowl were emptied and stacked by the sink, ready to be washed, and the dead pot plants were grouped in a miniature Petrified Forest near the front door. Her construction of bubbling test tubes - not a still, no matter what Liz claimed - was understandably untouched.
"You're doing the dishes," he informed her amicably, and she turned back as he set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. He set another in front of himself, a stack of toast in between them both, and began to eat standing up.
"Thank you."
He waved her thanks away with a forkful of eggs. "I prefer it when you glare at me," he said, eyes on his food.
Sam narrowed her eyes, and ate contemplatively. "You were avoiding me last night," she observed, once coffee and cholesterol had combined to kick-start her brain. He looked up, startled, mouth full of toast, and then shrugged, quickly looking away. "Why? I thought we were..." Tendrils of hangover crept up on her, fueling her self-doubt. It didn't mean anything, he was just having fun, he thought you understood...
He swallowed hurriedly. "We are! I mean, if that's... I didn't want to..." He looked pained. "You're staying here, and I didn't want to be... you know. Mr. Pushy. I thought maybe I should back off a bit. Not give everyone the impression that we were... so you didn't feel..." He flailed a hand, words finally deserting him completely.
Sam stared at him, her mind trying to make sense of his rambling. "You thought... you... After I dressed up in a couple of seashells just to get your attention, you thought I might worry about you being pushy?" She covered her eyes with the hand that wasn't holding a piece of toast. "God, no wonder Vala thinks we're hopeless."
"Not hopeless," he objected, softly. She could hear his smile, and lifted her head.
"How did I end up in your bed, anyhow?" she demanded, finally voicing the question that had bothered her all morning.
"You hopped me." He grinned toothily at her frown. "After I kicked Cam and Vala out - they were the last to go. You'd disappeared, and I figured they'd put you to bed. But when I went to bed... there you were. Hiding under the bedclothes, as a matter of fact. I should've been clued in by Vala's ridiculous innocent act, but I just figured she was working out how to get out of helping with the clean-up."
A memory crept back into Sam's head. "Did I... try to pin you to the bed?" she asked, cautiously.
"Yep." He sounded awfully chipper about her drunken advances, so she figured she'd not done any permanent harm. "Then you fell asleep. I wasn't in the mood to carry you back to your bed - and anyhow, I figured you'd be safer with me, in case you needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry." He nodded at her ankle.
Sam groaned. "So romantic. I'm really sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not." At her look, he quirked his eyebrows. "Sleeping next to you, really not a hardship." He cleared his throat, and stared down at his empty plate, possibly because he was trying to think of how to say something, or possibly because he wanted some more bacon; she still couldn't quite interpret him. "Listen, I've got a novel idea," he began. "Would you like to go on a date sometime? Like, properly? With me," he clarified, in case there was room for interpretation.
"A date? You're asking me out?" It couldn't be that easy, surely?
Jack shrugged. "Well, you know, we could keep pretending there's nothing going on until you're drunk enough to jump me again, and I'm drunk enough to let you - but that's kind of a bad plan, don't you think?"
It was possible that he had a point. "What would we do on this date?" asked Sam, cautiously. After all, it seemed like a good idea, but so had drinking all that punch.
"I dunno. Go to a hockey game, or something. Or the Science Museum," he said, at her dubious expression. "And then take a walk along the Charles. Or whatever you'd like to do."
Sam bit her lip. "You know... I'd like that. To go on a date. With you," she added, teasingly.
His face brightened. "You would?"
"What, I haven't made that obvious enough yet?" she asked rhetorically, waving backwards in the direction of his bedroom.
"I guess."
"Something where I can sit down, though," she said. "I'm not really up for long walks just yet."
Jack's smile grew into a grin. "I know just the thing," he said. Sam raised her eyebrows enquiringly, but he shook his head. "Surprise," he told her.
"Well... okay. I guess I can handle that."
They grinned at each other like idiots for a long moment, before he blinked and looked away. "Listen, I have to go do a few things - you wanna go when I get back? I'll be about an hour."
"I, uh," Sam stammered. "Yeah. Yes." Wow, he didn't waste time. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
"Cool."
"How should I-" She gestured down at her clothes. "Should I change?"
"Nah, you look beautiful." He looked down self-consciously. "Uh, I mean, you'll be fine like that."
Sam beamed. He was officially the best boyfriend ever. "Okay."
He bustled briefly around the kitchen, and Sam climbed carefully to her feet, hobbling around to the sink - might as well get the party cleanup underway. Although, come to think of it, the party had been Vala's idea in the first place - as had the stunt with the sexy mermaid in Jack's bed... Sam reached for her cellphone. Vala so owed her some help with the clear-up. "Oh, before I forget," interrupted Jack. He pulled a bundle of quilted purple satin from his pocket and held it out.
Her missing seashells!
Sam reached for them, and as their fingers brushed, a vivid memory flooded back in full sense-o-vision, and her eyes widened, her face flaming red. But this time, Jack was blushing too.
"You weren't the only one drinking," he said, defensively.
"I remember," she agreed, faintly. His mouth had tasted of beer - and, in fact, cigarettes, something she intended to speak to him about - although his hands had been perfectly steady. His hands... "Do me one favor," she requested. He nodded quickly. "Just... no baseball metaphors, okay?"
His smile was relieved. "I can do that," he promised. He finally let go of the seashell bra, and stroked a fleeting thumb up the inside of her forearm. "I'd better go. I'll be back in an hour," he said, "tops." His voice was resolute - but he made no move to leave. Maybe his legs had stalled.
"Mm-hm." More of the memory returned, and she could recall in exquisite detail the sensation of that thumb rounding second base.
His fingers curled gently around her bicep, his touch much more tentative than it had been in the dark of his bedroom. "Maybe forty-five minutes," he said, distractedly.
She was feeling peculiarly short of breath. "That's good," she managed.
The loose circle of his hand slid up her arm, and flattened out across her shoulder blade. "Maybe only half an hour." His nose brushed her temple.
"Even better," she concurred huskily.
"Or I could just..." He paused, and drew in a breath. "I'd better go," he said, bravely.
She removed her hand, which had mysteriously wrapped itself around his waist. "Yes, you'd better." Because while her mind was urging caution, her body was saying 'Yes! YES!'.
Besides, he had work to do. They couldn't just stay snuggled up in his apartment all day. Or all week. Or for a couple of months...
No. No, no, no. No, they couldn't. Even though they could get T to drop off some food every couple of days, so they wouldn't starve... No.
"I'm going!" said Jack, brightly. He pressed a swift kiss to her hair, and fled.
Sam stared dazedly into space for a long moment, after the door had closed behind him. Then she fumbled for her cellphone. "Vala," she snapped, when a sleepy voice answered. "Get your ass down here! Right now!"
---
END.
Author: Pepper
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4200
Featured Character(s): Sam, Jack, most of the Stargate women, and a few of the men.
Pairing(s): Sam/Jack
Summary: One unexpected benefit of the costume was that she'd pretty much lost the ability to feel shy.
A/N: Sequel to Debra Winger Moment, in the many-legged jack_built universe. With thanks to seldear for Vala's costume, and abject apologies to geneeste for shamelessly stealing her line - but I think it gets funnier with repetition... right? :)
---
Things had been going so well.
In fact, by rights, everything ought to have been perfect after that ridiculously romantic kiss. At first, even Rodney was merely annoying. He'd come in a wheelchair, claiming to be dressed as Stephen Hawking - thus managing to combine bad taste, arrogance, and unfairness (Sam was the one with the sprained ankle, after all) in one fell swoop. And then he stared at Sam's seashells until Janet smacked him on the back of the head. Fortunately, when Vala appeared, dressed head to toe in black leather, he somehow managed to tip the wheelchair over backwards, so Sam felt satisfied that karma was on the case.
But as the evening wore on, and her costume didn't get any more modest or any less incapacitating, and Jack always seemed to be elsewhere while she stayed stuck on the sofa, her mood had taken a distinct dip. For some unknown reason, from the moment people had started to arrive, he'd begun to avoid her.
Right now, for example, he was in the far corner, talking to Ronon (dreadlocks flowing and glasses absent for once, wearing some sort of sexy Mad Max meets Robin Hood outfit). The one upside to this whole costume thing, and it had all gone wrong. Sam had no hesitation in placing the blame fully where it belonged. "Your plan completely sucks!" she hissed, as Vala swept past, Cam on one arm, Daniel on the other.
Vala glanced back over one bare shoulder, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Darling, don't slouch," she said.
Sam straightened automatically, and by the time she realized what had happened, Vala had moved on.
"Sam!" said Rodney, behind her, and she turned quickly, defenses up. He'd given up on the wheelchair - Sam had noticed Cassie and Janet sneaking out of the door with it, a while back. Rodney glanced down, glanced further down, smirked, and-
"Don't," said John, appearing to clap a timely hand over Rodney's mouth. Rodney glared at him. "Whatever you were about to say, don't." He nodded at Sam. "You look fantastic."
"Thanks," she said, smiling at him. One unexpected benefit of the costume was that she'd pretty much lost the ability to feel shy.
"Got your back." John tightened his grip on the squirming scientist, not allowing him to break free as he moved away. Sam beckoned Liz and Teyla over with urgent gestures.
"The apartment looks wonderful," complimented Teyla, as she approached - with a drink for Sam, thank god. "Very atmospheric."
"Thanks," Sam said, wriggling a little. "It was all Liz's idea." She turned a little, glancing down at herself with dissatisfaction.
"We raided some of the abandoned apartments," explained Liz. The place looked like a dead forest had moved in. "You wouldn't believe the amount of ancient pot plants people leave behind." She pointed at a collection of bubbling test tubes filled with mysterious colored liquids on an extensive and rickety structure in one corner. "That's Sam's still, though. Don't tell the landlord."
Teyla chuckled, watching as Sam shimmied, trying to straighten out her costume. "You realize that you're drawing an audience?" she asked, as Sam twisted.
Sam glanced up, startled, and then looked around. Several heads turned quickly away - but not Jack's. His eyes were already fixed firmly on the drink in his hand. "Oh, for…" she said, her irritation bubbling up. "I don't know where Vala got this, but I look like the porno version of the Little Mermaid. Thank god Cassie didn't notice! I can't walk, this bra is about two sizes too small so I daren't breathe too deeply in case," she waved her arms to indicate a dramatic pinging effect, "and the whole thing itches!"
Liz pursed her lips in amusement, and leaned slightly towards Teyla. "Sam just loves dressing up." Sam glowered, as Vala approached and dropped comfortably onto the couch, forcing everyone else to make room. "Who have you come as?" asked Liz, quickly changing the subject.
Vala shrugged. "Cam helped me choose. It's from some show he likes... Erin something?" She looked down at herself. "I rather like it."
Sam nodded, finally placing it. "Aeryn Sun," she explained, and both Teyla and Liz 'oh'ed in understanding. Vala shrugged.
"All I know is that I'm drawing geeks like flies to honey. I might have to wear this next time I go clubbing. Even Mr. O'Neill couldn't keep his eyes on my face."
A silence descended on the small group of women. Vala looked up, and then at Sam, who was trying to pretend she didn't know they were all looking at her.
"Oh, please," said Vala, disgustedly. "Don't tell me you two haven't got past the whole will-you-won't-you stage yet? You two are hopeless. It's been weeks!"
"Months," corrected Sam, dejectedly. They all huddled closer. "And just when I think I'm getting somewhere..." She sighed. "Sometimes I think we could just carry on like this for the next ten years."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Vala, briskly. "That's not humanly possible. Anyway, you're living in his apartment, for heaven's sake - you should just jump him!" She glanced down at Sam's tail. "Or hop him, at least."
"I can't do that!" hissed Sam, grateful that the music was loud. "What if he's not interested?"
Vala rolled her eyes, and looked to Teyla and Liz for support. "I really don't think that would be a problem," said Liz, diplomatically.
"I don't agree," argued Teyla. "Sam should not initiate a physical relationship with Mr. O'Neill while they're living together. What if he's no good in bed? How then can she escape gracefully?"
"Teyla-!"
"Teyla has a point," agreed Liz, frowning. "Sam needs an exit strategy. She needs to move out."
"Liz-"
"But she cannot move back upstairs," said Teyla. The three of them frowned down at Sam's tail.
"I'm not-"
"Who else lives on the ground floor?" asked Vala.
"Mrs. Earlly," said Teyla, ticking them off on her fingers. "Mr. Cooper, Mr. and Mrs. Shah, T..."
"That's it!" Vala grabbed Sam's fingers excitedly. "You have to move in with T!"
"Vala, I really don't think-"
"Nonono, it's perfect! T is a complete gentleman, he'll never refuse you if you ask, and it'll make Mr. O'Neill WILDLY jealous, so that when you jump him-"
"I don't want him to be wildly jealous!" protested Sam, finally getting a word in edgeways. "And I'm not going to jump him!"
Then she froze, and closed her eyes. Too loud. She'd spoken too loud, and she just knew her luck...
"He's behind me, isn't he?"
Teyla, Liz, and Vala looked around hurriedly.
"You're fine, sweetie," said Liz, patting her hand gently, looking like she was worried that Sam had finally cracked. "He's over there, saying goodnight to Janet and Cassie."
Sam opened her eyes again in disbelief, and looked around. Janet was giving her a very funny look over Jack's head as he bent down to hug Cassie. In a few brief but expressive hand gestures, Janet made it clear that once Cassie was asleep, she, Janet, was coming back down to find out what was going on. Great. Just what Sam needed: reinforcements for the terrible trio currently plotting the downfall of her love life. Sam nodded, though. Maybe Janet would see reason.
Hah.
She tuned out as the three continued to plot, and downed her glass of punch. They couldn't make her do anything, she decided rebelliously, if she was passed out drunk.
---
In the first few moments of wakefulness, everything was blissfully numb. She felt like she was lying on fluffy, warm clouds, utterly relaxed, completely blank, not a thought to trouble-
"...Sam, I really think you've..."
-her mind.
Hm.
She was quite thirsty, actually. And, now she came to think of things like that, she really needed to pee. And, god, she really needed to brush her teeth. She'd just lie here a minute, and gather her energy for the hop to the bathr-
"...An' don't think, just 'cause you can carry me around all - all MANFULLY, that I think you're so..."
-oom.
Hmmmmm.
She shifted her head as she became aware that she'd been drooling, and buried her face in the pillow - which, incidentally, smelled very nice - trying to ignore the rising feeling that there was something she ought to remember about last night. She twitched her foot. Okay, her ankle didn't hurt too much, so she'd not tried to dance - that was good. Although her legs still felt a little restricted - had she actually fallen asleep in that costume? That (oh god) ridiculous porno mermaid-
"...You stared at Vala's boobs! Why aren't you starin' at my boobs?..."
-costume.
Maybe if she didn't think about it, it would go away. Whatever it was she'd said or done, maybe if she just lay here and kept her eyes shut, she could go back to sleep and it would all turn out to be a dream. A bad-
"...moving in with T so I can find out what he does wi-wi-with all those candles, and NOT so's I can make you WILDLY jealous..."
-bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad dream.
She breathed out a quiet groan, burying her face further into the pillow, away from the light, which was coming in from the wrong angle - had she slept until the afternoon? No, that still wouldn't mean... Had she fallen asleep the wrong way up? Well, no, the pillow was here, so... Had she... She couldn't have... Surely she hadn't-
"...What're you doing?"
"I'm hopping you."
"Oh, god."
The warm, heavy band that lay across her waist - the one that her conscious mind had been successfully ignoring up until now - twitched, and the presence to her right shifted, rolled and shuffled closer, snuggling into the back of her neck with a long, sleepy sigh.
"Oh, god," she whispered again.
"Mmph?" rumbled a muffled, half-awake voice from behind her. She froze, and stayed silent until his breathing evened out into the long, slow rhythms of sleep again. Then she deliberately turned her face into the pillow and breathed deeply, enjoying the lingering fragrance of his cologne.
Okay. Clearly there were some large chunks missing from her memory of last night. Because for the life of her, she couldn't recall how and when she'd ended up in Jack O'Neill's bed. Thankfully, Jack himself was asleep, and under the covers, and she didn't seem to have extricated herself from the damn tail, so there was a distant possibility she could escape with her dignity intact. She just needed to get up, get out, pee, get some coffee, and try to remember - all before he woke up.
Right. She could do this.
She wriggled gently, trying to move out of his oh-so-pleasant embrace without waking him. His arm stayed loose, and she managed to slide out from under it and to the edge of the bed, where she swung her legs down, slowly pushing herself upright. "Ow," she whispered, putting a hand to her head. "Oh, crap." She closed her eyes, and contemplated abandoning the plan and just going back to sleep. So tempting... but no. Carters don't quit, she told herself, fiercely. Not even if they really, really want to.
She forced her eyes open, glanced down, and realized two facts: one, that she was not going anywhere while still dressed in a tail, and two, that she appeared to have misplaced the seashells.
She wobbled her head around, but they weren't in the bed. Cautiously, she glanced over the edge, but no. No shells. She leaned forward to look under the bed - but stopped abruptly when it occurred to her that the one way to make the situation worse was to throw up on his carpet. She straightened up cautiously.
Crap, crap, crap. When had she lost them? Who had taken them off?
Okay, first things first, and the plan remained the same: get up, get out, get memory back. She looked down at the tail again. There was nothing for it: she was going to have to take it off.
Sam sighed, and closed her eyes, wondering if he kept a gun handy, so she could just shoot herself. It might be less painful in the long run.
Quietly, she reached for the zipper, and eased it down. Freeing her good foot, she stood up, and let the tail slide to the floor. In some ways, it was a great relief to finally be free. In other, draftier ways, not so much. She gingerly tested her sprained ankle, which didn't feel too bad - but then, it might be that she was still numb from all the alcohol she'd consumed. She shuddered, remembering a heady feeling of sneaky cleverness as she asked different people to fetch her glasses of punch. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
She glanced back, but Jack was still asleep. And, aha, he kept a hockey stick leaning against the wall beside his bed. She snagged it, and with its help - clothed only in her underwear, dragging her tail - she limped as quietly as possible to the door.
"Need any help?"
She froze, one hand on the doorhandle. Slowly, she turned to look back over her shoulder, one arm wrapped protectively around her breasts.
Whatever amusement he might be feeling, it wasn't showing in his face. His dark eyes glinted up at her from amongst the rumpled bedclothes, looking bright and alert, but when he spoke again, his voice was gruff with sleep.
"There's a robe in the closet to your right."
Keeping her back to him, she diverted to the closet, valiantly resisting the impulse to dive in and slide the door closed. She felt a lot more secure when wrapped in the long, soft folds of his robe - or, more to the point, when she wasn't standing in his bedroom wearing only a pair of pink cotton underpants with a cute yellow flower on the back. She tugged the belt tightly around her waist, and finally turned to face him.
"Hi."
He stared silently at her, his expression solemn.
"I... have to pee."
And she slipped out of his bedroom as fast as she could hop.
---
One good thing about living with someone was that the walk of shame was a lot quicker and much less public.
One bad thing was that they were still around when you finally dredged up the courage to leave your bedroom again.
Sam stuck her head out of the door, and sniffed. Ooh, breakfast. Her stomach was voting that she be brave and face him, but she had her suspicions that it was saying that for entirely selfish reasons. The remains of her hangover were trying to convince her that she'd humiliated herself and would never be able to face him again. Her brain was staying out of the argument, too tired and sore to function.
She sniffed again. Okay, she had to face him sometime. If she waited, it would still be embarrassing - but if she went now, it would be embarrassing + bacon. The math was simple, really.
She'd bundled herself up in a pullover and jeans, covering as much skin as possible in a belated attempt at modesty, and with her proper crutch under one arm and the hockey stick tucked under the other, she limped shyly into the living area. Jack was in the kitchen with his back to her, and didn't look up until she laid the hockey stick on the breakfast bar.
"Oh, hi. Morning." He grinned affectionately at her, looking much tamer than he had at five a.m..
"Thanks," she said, tapping the stick. "And, um... sorry."
He raised his eyebrows. "What for?"
"Oh... anything I said or did last night," she said, vague but comprehensive. "But please don't remind me - it'll ruin the surprise of these little flashbacks I keep getting." Like that one she'd gotten in the shower that had made her groan aloud and knock her forehead gently against the tiles, swearing that never, ever, ever again would she allow alcohol to pass her lips.
Wordlessly, he poured her a coffee, and set it in front of her, turning the mug so that the handle was to her right. Then he rested his fingertips on the bar, tapping thoughtfully. She maneuvered awkwardly up onto one of his barstools and cradled the mug, self-conscious under his intent stare. "You weren't so bad," he said at last. "You're kinda cute when you're... swimming in it." He turned abruptly back to the stove. "I'm just making breakfast - you want some?"
"Please." She watched as he moved around the small kitchen, her tired brain hypnotized by the flexion and extension of his shoulder muscles - until she had to shake herself and turn away. She looked across the living area and saw that he'd begun to tidy up the debris from the night before. Glasses, bottles, and the punch bowl were emptied and stacked by the sink, ready to be washed, and the dead pot plants were grouped in a miniature Petrified Forest near the front door. Her construction of bubbling test tubes - not a still, no matter what Liz claimed - was understandably untouched.
"You're doing the dishes," he informed her amicably, and she turned back as he set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. He set another in front of himself, a stack of toast in between them both, and began to eat standing up.
"Thank you."
He waved her thanks away with a forkful of eggs. "I prefer it when you glare at me," he said, eyes on his food.
Sam narrowed her eyes, and ate contemplatively. "You were avoiding me last night," she observed, once coffee and cholesterol had combined to kick-start her brain. He looked up, startled, mouth full of toast, and then shrugged, quickly looking away. "Why? I thought we were..." Tendrils of hangover crept up on her, fueling her self-doubt. It didn't mean anything, he was just having fun, he thought you understood...
He swallowed hurriedly. "We are! I mean, if that's... I didn't want to..." He looked pained. "You're staying here, and I didn't want to be... you know. Mr. Pushy. I thought maybe I should back off a bit. Not give everyone the impression that we were... so you didn't feel..." He flailed a hand, words finally deserting him completely.
Sam stared at him, her mind trying to make sense of his rambling. "You thought... you... After I dressed up in a couple of seashells just to get your attention, you thought I might worry about you being pushy?" She covered her eyes with the hand that wasn't holding a piece of toast. "God, no wonder Vala thinks we're hopeless."
"Not hopeless," he objected, softly. She could hear his smile, and lifted her head.
"How did I end up in your bed, anyhow?" she demanded, finally voicing the question that had bothered her all morning.
"You hopped me." He grinned toothily at her frown. "After I kicked Cam and Vala out - they were the last to go. You'd disappeared, and I figured they'd put you to bed. But when I went to bed... there you were. Hiding under the bedclothes, as a matter of fact. I should've been clued in by Vala's ridiculous innocent act, but I just figured she was working out how to get out of helping with the clean-up."
A memory crept back into Sam's head. "Did I... try to pin you to the bed?" she asked, cautiously.
"Yep." He sounded awfully chipper about her drunken advances, so she figured she'd not done any permanent harm. "Then you fell asleep. I wasn't in the mood to carry you back to your bed - and anyhow, I figured you'd be safer with me, in case you needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry." He nodded at her ankle.
Sam groaned. "So romantic. I'm really sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not." At her look, he quirked his eyebrows. "Sleeping next to you, really not a hardship." He cleared his throat, and stared down at his empty plate, possibly because he was trying to think of how to say something, or possibly because he wanted some more bacon; she still couldn't quite interpret him. "Listen, I've got a novel idea," he began. "Would you like to go on a date sometime? Like, properly? With me," he clarified, in case there was room for interpretation.
"A date? You're asking me out?" It couldn't be that easy, surely?
Jack shrugged. "Well, you know, we could keep pretending there's nothing going on until you're drunk enough to jump me again, and I'm drunk enough to let you - but that's kind of a bad plan, don't you think?"
It was possible that he had a point. "What would we do on this date?" asked Sam, cautiously. After all, it seemed like a good idea, but so had drinking all that punch.
"I dunno. Go to a hockey game, or something. Or the Science Museum," he said, at her dubious expression. "And then take a walk along the Charles. Or whatever you'd like to do."
Sam bit her lip. "You know... I'd like that. To go on a date. With you," she added, teasingly.
His face brightened. "You would?"
"What, I haven't made that obvious enough yet?" she asked rhetorically, waving backwards in the direction of his bedroom.
"I guess."
"Something where I can sit down, though," she said. "I'm not really up for long walks just yet."
Jack's smile grew into a grin. "I know just the thing," he said. Sam raised her eyebrows enquiringly, but he shook his head. "Surprise," he told her.
"Well... okay. I guess I can handle that."
They grinned at each other like idiots for a long moment, before he blinked and looked away. "Listen, I have to go do a few things - you wanna go when I get back? I'll be about an hour."
"I, uh," Sam stammered. "Yeah. Yes." Wow, he didn't waste time. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
"Cool."
"How should I-" She gestured down at her clothes. "Should I change?"
"Nah, you look beautiful." He looked down self-consciously. "Uh, I mean, you'll be fine like that."
Sam beamed. He was officially the best boyfriend ever. "Okay."
He bustled briefly around the kitchen, and Sam climbed carefully to her feet, hobbling around to the sink - might as well get the party cleanup underway. Although, come to think of it, the party had been Vala's idea in the first place - as had the stunt with the sexy mermaid in Jack's bed... Sam reached for her cellphone. Vala so owed her some help with the clear-up. "Oh, before I forget," interrupted Jack. He pulled a bundle of quilted purple satin from his pocket and held it out.
Her missing seashells!
Sam reached for them, and as their fingers brushed, a vivid memory flooded back in full sense-o-vision, and her eyes widened, her face flaming red. But this time, Jack was blushing too.
"You weren't the only one drinking," he said, defensively.
"I remember," she agreed, faintly. His mouth had tasted of beer - and, in fact, cigarettes, something she intended to speak to him about - although his hands had been perfectly steady. His hands... "Do me one favor," she requested. He nodded quickly. "Just... no baseball metaphors, okay?"
His smile was relieved. "I can do that," he promised. He finally let go of the seashell bra, and stroked a fleeting thumb up the inside of her forearm. "I'd better go. I'll be back in an hour," he said, "tops." His voice was resolute - but he made no move to leave. Maybe his legs had stalled.
"Mm-hm." More of the memory returned, and she could recall in exquisite detail the sensation of that thumb rounding second base.
His fingers curled gently around her bicep, his touch much more tentative than it had been in the dark of his bedroom. "Maybe forty-five minutes," he said, distractedly.
She was feeling peculiarly short of breath. "That's good," she managed.
The loose circle of his hand slid up her arm, and flattened out across her shoulder blade. "Maybe only half an hour." His nose brushed her temple.
"Even better," she concurred huskily.
"Or I could just..." He paused, and drew in a breath. "I'd better go," he said, bravely.
She removed her hand, which had mysteriously wrapped itself around his waist. "Yes, you'd better." Because while her mind was urging caution, her body was saying 'Yes! YES!'.
Besides, he had work to do. They couldn't just stay snuggled up in his apartment all day. Or all week. Or for a couple of months...
No. No, no, no. No, they couldn't. Even though they could get T to drop off some food every couple of days, so they wouldn't starve... No.
"I'm going!" said Jack, brightly. He pressed a swift kiss to her hair, and fled.
Sam stared dazedly into space for a long moment, after the door had closed behind him. Then she fumbled for her cellphone. "Vala," she snapped, when a sleepy voice answered. "Get your ass down here! Right now!"
---
END.