Stargate -- "Women's Work"
slash_100, prompt 086: Circle
big damn table
Art imitates life, that's all I can say. And before you ask, no, this is not an mpreg fic.
“Damn this thing to Netu!”
Women's Work | Prompt 086: Circle | PG-13 | 450 words
“Damn this thing to Netu!” Jack cursed and Daniel looked up from his book as the embroidery hoop clattered as it was tossed on the table. He chuckled and Jack glared at him over the tops of his reading glasses even as he began to sort out the tangle of plastic rings and needle and fabric and thread. “It’s not funny.”
“I think it is,” Daniel said mildly. “It’s amusingly domestic of you, Jack.”
“Well, stop laughing, Spacemonkey,” Jack groused. “I may be catching rather than pitching, and I may be the one sitting home sewing all day, but I’m not barefoot and pregnant yet.” He took off the glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Who’s bright idea was this again, anyway?”
”Dr. Greenberg’s,” Daniel said. “She said it would be great physical therapy for your wrist. And you don’t have to worry about barefoot and anything, Jack,” he added. “Your cooking is atrocious.
Jack made a face at him and rolled his left wrist, flexing his fingers. He had gotten back a lot of the dexterity in the joint after he’d gotten out of the cast, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. “At the sake of my eyesight, though,” he grumbled. “Fifteen shades of grey, Daniel, plus eight browns and six greens. Come on.”
“That’s what that thread separator thing is for,” Daniel said, smirking when Jack waved said piece of cardstock lined with skeins of thread in his face. “You could always do the flowers she picked out for you instead.”
The elegantly disgusted curl of Jack’s lip spoke volumes. “I’ll stick to this one, thanks.” Once the doctor had suggested Jack cross stitch for physical therapy, Daniel had spent four hours scouring the internet for a pattern kit that Jack wouldn’t hate as much as the twined roses Dr. Greenberg had given him. But with a little poking around and some express shipping Jack had had a pattern of two F-22 Raptors flying over a field to work on the very next day. He’d picked it up easily enough, and it really was helping, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “That one had like twenty shades of pink,” Jack said loftily. “No way.”
“Sure, Jack,” Daniel said, chuckling. He put the marker in his book and stood. “I think if you work until I’m done making dinner, you can stop for the night.” He walked past Jack on his way to the kitchen, dropping a kiss in Jack’s hair as he passed. “I don’t know, Jack, I think it’s cute,” he added, running from the room as the thread organizer with its many shades of grey, brown, and green came flying into the kitchen after him.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
big damn table
Art imitates life, that's all I can say. And before you ask, no, this is not an mpreg fic.
“Damn this thing to Netu!”
Women's Work | Prompt 086: Circle | PG-13 | 450 words
“Damn this thing to Netu!” Jack cursed and Daniel looked up from his book as the embroidery hoop clattered as it was tossed on the table. He chuckled and Jack glared at him over the tops of his reading glasses even as he began to sort out the tangle of plastic rings and needle and fabric and thread. “It’s not funny.”
“I think it is,” Daniel said mildly. “It’s amusingly domestic of you, Jack.”
“Well, stop laughing, Spacemonkey,” Jack groused. “I may be catching rather than pitching, and I may be the one sitting home sewing all day, but I’m not barefoot and pregnant yet.” He took off the glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Who’s bright idea was this again, anyway?”
”Dr. Greenberg’s,” Daniel said. “She said it would be great physical therapy for your wrist. And you don’t have to worry about barefoot and anything, Jack,” he added. “Your cooking is atrocious.
Jack made a face at him and rolled his left wrist, flexing his fingers. He had gotten back a lot of the dexterity in the joint after he’d gotten out of the cast, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. “At the sake of my eyesight, though,” he grumbled. “Fifteen shades of grey, Daniel, plus eight browns and six greens. Come on.”
“That’s what that thread separator thing is for,” Daniel said, smirking when Jack waved said piece of cardstock lined with skeins of thread in his face. “You could always do the flowers she picked out for you instead.”
The elegantly disgusted curl of Jack’s lip spoke volumes. “I’ll stick to this one, thanks.” Once the doctor had suggested Jack cross stitch for physical therapy, Daniel had spent four hours scouring the internet for a pattern kit that Jack wouldn’t hate as much as the twined roses Dr. Greenberg had given him. But with a little poking around and some express shipping Jack had had a pattern of two F-22 Raptors flying over a field to work on the very next day. He’d picked it up easily enough, and it really was helping, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “That one had like twenty shades of pink,” Jack said loftily. “No way.”
“Sure, Jack,” Daniel said, chuckling. He put the marker in his book and stood. “I think if you work until I’m done making dinner, you can stop for the night.” He walked past Jack on his way to the kitchen, dropping a kiss in Jack’s hair as he passed. “I don’t know, Jack, I think it’s cute,” he added, running from the room as the thread organizer with its many shades of grey, brown, and green came flying into the kitchen after him.
Feedback is better than chocolate.