It’s the kind of car that grease monkeys and pilots drive, and it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest that it’s parked in the lot of a secret military facility mostly full of jarheads and fly boys.
Rather, what does surprise him is the blonde head in the driver’s seat, bent low over the wheel. The door is ajar, and he can hear the vague mutter of frustration as she clambers for something under the steering column.
“Captain?”
She jerks a little, her surprise evident. One of her legs hangs out of the open door at an awkward position as she finds whatever it is she’s looking for under the dashboard. She’s ditched her BDU’s for dark jeans and a leather jacket, hair slightly mussed and bottom lip tinged red from where she’s been biting it in concentration.
The late fall chill hangs in the air as the sun begins its journey below the horizon, bathing the parking lot in a brilliant shade of red gold. It’s one of the rare moments that they’re planet-side and out of the mountain at a reasonable time; the last mission having gone exactly to plan and now they’re home on schedule.
He’s not quite sure what to make of his free evening.
“Colonel!” she says and makes a move to get out while wiping her hands on her sweater. He finds it oddly amusing that she doesn’t seem to care about grease marks.
“As you were,” he mutters, waving her back down and briefly wondering how many times he’s going to have to say this before she gets it; at ease is clearly not a phrase in her vocabulary. “Problems?”
Her brow furrows, and she half shrugs her shoulders as she flops back down into the leather seat. “I’m not sure. The ignition has been a bit glitchy over the last few weeks. I keep meaning to get her to the garage, but...”
“... we were stuck on P4C... whatever,” he finishes for her.
She smiles. “Something like that. Of course, now we’re home on time and she won’t start.” She chews on her lip again, before diving back down into the front of the car with renewed enthusiasm, like she’s just figured it out.
He stands for a minute, watching her and slightly curious. He’s still mildly impressed that she drives something so… vintage. He wonders why, of all the cars in the world, she chose a Volvo P1800, which only evolves into further questions he vows to ask her someday.
He’s intrigued by the notion that there is still so much more he has to discover about Captain Samantha Carter.
“Should I drop you home?” The offer slips cleanly from his mouth, surprising him and if the look on her face anything to go by, the captain doesn’t expect it either.
“Uh,” she stutters for a moment, glancing up at him. “It’s ok, sir. I should be able to...”
She trails off, making a loud noise somewhere under the dash as she finds what she’s been searching for and drags out a wire. There’s a brief spark as she touches something, and then the little P1800 roars to life.
“Got it!” The smile on her face is wide and triumphant. In a brief moment of clarity, he thinks he wouldn’t mind looking at that smile a moment longer, but it’s gone before he can etch it into his memory.
Climbing out of the car, she ruffles her hair and managing to smear a trace of dirt on the otherwise flawless, pale skin of her cheek. “Thank you, though, sir.”
He twists the keys to his truck in his hand, flicking them over casually in a way reminiscent of a 1950s greaser with a switchblade. He looks at her from behind his shades, toying with the idea of telling her about the smudge on her face. “No problem.”
They stand for a moment longer, silence stretching between them as her car idles in the background. The car splutters, the aged carburettor sucking through the wrong mix of fuel and oil for a brief moment and then the engine begins to die down.
She really needs to leave before the car decides to give up for the night.
Carter’s face creases, turning around to look at the offending piece of equipment and he can read the moment she’s about to ask permission to leave before the thing peters out completely.
“Well, Captain. Safe drive,” he says casually, cutting her off and quirking an eyebrow. He hopes his own scepticism doesn’t show through his tone of voice. He’s not sure if he should offer to follow her home – just in case.
She saves him the trouble, grinning again and ducking her head. He sees the moment her hand twitches, like she’s resisting the urge to salute him because he’s just dismissed her. As far as he’s concerned, they were officially off-duty twenty minutes ago and he’ll be damned if she’s going to salute him every five minutes for the next few years.
She must read something in his face though, because suddenly her hand stills and she squares her shoulders, looking at him through darkened lashes. “Thank you, Colonel. You too.”
He nods, leaving her to clamber back down into the car as he heads across the lot to his own Super Duty. He watches from the cab of his truck as she pulls away, the taillights disappearing into the gloom and he hopes that she’ll make it home.
A few weeks have passed since he first met her, and she’s definitely gotten under his skin in a way that he didn’t expect.
He knows she’s young, eager to prove herself and if her record is anything to go by, a hell of an officer, pilot and (unfortunately) scientist. He’ll never admit it, but he tried reading one of her research papers on wormhole theory and gave up two paragraphs in. She’s so far ahead of him in everything that it hurts his brain.
Professionally, he knows she’s never going to be a problem.
Personally... well, that’s going to be a whole other issue.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“What do you need, sir?”
Now that she seems to be on board, he relaxes back into the couch a little, elbows resting on his knees and hands falling loosely between his legs.
“Tie my hands.”
She sucks in a breath, knowing the words were coming, but being affected by them all the same. Despite the situation and reasoning, the command to tie Jack O’Neill up is enough to make her shift and press her thighs together to alleviate a sudden rush of arousal.
All You Have to Do (Is Call My Name) (SG-1 AU fic)
I don’t know why my brain thought the world needed an SG-1 AU fic done in the style of Gilmore Girls, but my brain came up with the idea somehow and now I’m obsessing over gruff diner owner Jack, hypercaffeinated mom Sam, her brilliant son Daniel, her complicated relationship with absentee father Jacob, and her best friend Murray.
This is me, getting a feel for this sandbox. I have so many ideas about where Sha’re and Vala and Cam and so many others fit in, and how their stories develop.
This is eventually Sam/Jack but not in this fic.
Opinions and constructive concrit always welcome.
II
“Two coffees, please. And a muffin.” Daniel couldn’t eat anything, not with the knots in his stomach, but his mom would be hungry when she reached the diner. Chances were pretty good she’d skipped lunch.
“You’re going to stunt your growth.” Jack groused, even as he reached for two mugs.
“That’s a myth, and since I’m taller than both of my parents and almost sixteen I’m probably pretty close to being done growing, even if it were true.” The diner was almost empty, and at a little after three in the afternoon there wasn’t anyone else with a coffee cup on their table. The gurgle coming from the pot told Daniel that it was fresh coffee; no matter how much Jack rolled his eyes he was used to their ways and always had the caffeine ready.
“Eat your muffin.” Jack nudged the plate with the freshly warmed muffin towards him, then set two steaming mugs on the table. Daniel reached for the coffee, taking a tentative sip, wondering if even that was too much for his stomach. It was coffee, though, and it was good. “The muffin’s for my mom.”
“Glad to hear that.” Sam Carter took off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. Like her son she reached for the coffee first. “It’s freezing out there.”
“You’re teaching the kid horrible eating habits. What’s wrong with hot chocolate?”
“Nothing, especially with a little shot of Bailey’s.” Sam grinned. Jack’s grumbling just meant he cared. He was a good friend. With a smirk she looked up at him. “Maybe I should have thought twice before putting coffee in his baby bottle, but it seemed to make him stop crying. Still works like a charm.”
“You’re impossible.” Jack left with one last eyerolls, heading for the counter and customers that probably didn’t tease so much. Mother and son shared a conspiratorial grin, but Daniel’s faded quickly,
“You okay, kid? You’re pretty quiet for a Monday. Don’t you have a fresh new round of homework to be excited about?” Sam turned her muffin upside down, eating from the bottom. The top was the best part. She only picked at it, despite her missed lunch, waiting for her son to let him know what was bothering him. Usually it was the kids in class who interrupted discussions, or the dreaded physical ed requirement.
“I picked up the mail after school.” The envelope in his pocket felt like it weighed pounds, not ounces. He set it on the table, facing his mom. The embossed seal was easy to read. Alteran Academy.
“You haven’t opened it yet.” Sam had knots of her own in her stomach.
“I couldn’t.” He drew his hands back, wrapping them around his coffee cup. “What if…”
“We could plan for all the what ifs, or we can plan for what this actually says.” Sam picked up the envelope, turning it over so it was less intimidating. “Do you want me to do it, or should we just stare and hope some latent telepathy skills kick in?”
“You do it. But first...” It was too late; the envelope was open and Sam held a single piece of cream colored stationary in her hand. It only took a few lines on a single piece of paper to reject someone. Did it take more than one to be an acceptance?
“Dear Ms. Carter, we are happy to inform you that we have a vacancy at Alteran Academy starting immediately. Due to your son’s excellent credentials and your enthusiastic pursuit of his enrollment we would be happy to accept him as soon as the first semester's tuition has been received." Sma hid an almost involuntary wince when she saw just how many zeros were in the payment. It wasn’t anything Daniel needed to worry about. “You did it, kid. You’re in.”
“I’m in?” It took a minute for it to sink in, Daniel blinking owlishly from behind his classes. He was in. He was going to Alteran. Forgetting anyone who might be watching he raced out of his chair, throwing himself at his mom. She’d had the same thought; they ended up hugging in the middle of two tables, the center of attention for the few patrons in the diner. Jack couldn’t help watching either, not noticing when someone asked him for pie, and snapping at them when asked a second time.
Daniel was reading the letter over for the fifth time at least when Jack brought over a slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was actually hungry now that he wasn’t nervous. “What’s this for?”
“When something good happens there’s supposed to be cake to celebrate,” Jack said with a shrug. He topped off their coffee cups and moved on to the next table before Daniel could manage a thank you.
II
“How hard do you think it is to rob a bank?” Sam wanted to throw the phone against the wall, so she set it down with deliberate caution. If she broke it she’d just have to buy another one and she was already so far in the red. She settled for wadding up the bill in her hand instead. Damn it. No partial payments; she either paid in full on Monday or Daniel would lose his spot at Alteran to the next person on the list.
“I do not believe the benefits would outweigh the risks if you were to attempt such a thing.” Murray pulled off his grease stained shirt. Late afternoon meant a shift from working in the garage to teaching Lok'nel in his studio, and his first class would be arriving in ten minutes. Sam would work for another hour before locking up the garage.
“I need to find something I can sell. Some secret treasure I’ve forgotten about until now.” She eyed her bike, parked in the corner of the garage. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered it, but the chances of finding a buyer with cash ready in less than three days was slim, and keeping it a secret from her son would be impossible. He knew how she felt about her bike. She’d built it from scrap, completely on her own.
“Perhaps if we took out a mortgage on the garage...”
“Don’t even think about it.” Murray had always gone above and beyond to help her out, giving her a job, being her friend, and when she’d first arrived in town seven months pregnant and alone giving her a place to stay. She and Daniel had lived above the garage until he was four and she’d been able to put a down payment on a house. She wasn’t going to let her friend put up collateral for her son’s school.
“I believe there is one other alternative we have not discussed. Should you not call…”
“No,” Sam snapped. Anything but that. “I’ll rather recreate the trash compactor scene from Star Wars, complete with the multi-tentacled monster and the smell.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” As Murray turned to leave, however, he did not sound at all convinced.
Damn it.
II
The house looked the same. There were less flowers; the last time she’d been there it had been Easter and spring had been in bloom. Even flowers, though, didn’t stop the place from looking gray. Muted. Lacking color and looming far too high above her as if aiming to block the sun completely. Sam reluctantly left her helmet on her bike and knocked on the front door.
“The General is in his study.” The maid that answered the door was new, or at least newer than Easter. Then again staff didn’t usually last too long in her father’s house. “I will see if he is receiving company.
“What, you don’t recognize me from the portrait?” Sam nodded at the portrait hanging in the hall, an almost life sized affair painted when she was eight. Her father was in uniform, though he’d only been a colonel then. Her mother was the only one in the portrait smiling. Sam had been too anxious to get out of the dress and get back to the fort she’d been building. “Don’t worry, I know where the office is.”
Sam ignored the maid’s protest and followed the hall to the last door on her right. For most of her childhood it had been shut, and she was rarely allowed inside. Unless she was in trouble, of course.. Even now she knocked rather than just letting herself in.
“Enter.” Her father had retired, not even a general could work forever, but he still consulted for the Air Force. There was a neat pile of folders on one side of his desk, and a report open in front of him. Other than a bronze statue of a F-100 Super Sabre, the first plane he’d ever flown, his desk was bare. There wasn’t a single photo.
“Hey dad.” She tried to keep it casual, as if just showing up to see him was normal and not something to be avoided unless dictated by a major holiday.
“Samantha. Is it a bank holiday I was unaware of or should I assume the world is ending?” He looked up at her, and Sam was certain he was taking in the jeans, the black leather jacket, the short hair, and finding her lacking.
“I was in the area and I just wanted to say hi.” There was a chair in front of the desk, but sitting there would feel a little too much like she was telling him about her report card. Or the two blue lines on her pregnancy test. “Um, hi.”
“How much do you need?” Jacob Carter leaned back in his seat.
“You think the only possible reason I could be here is because I need money?” How she wished she could prove him wrong, but Daniel’s future mattered more than anything. A good school not only meant he could finally be challenged by his courses, but it gave him a better chance at reaching his goal of going to Harvard. “When have I ever come to you for money?”
“When have you ever come to me for anything since you were sixteen?” He looked certain and a little smug. He didn’t look sad or remorseful. She was tempted to leave, would have if it was just about her, but kept reminding herself that this was for her son and there was literally no other choice.
“Daniel was accepted to Alteran Academy. He can start on Monday.”
“It’s a good school, and only five minutes away. He’ll do well there. After all he’s a Carter.” Her father smiled, nodding proudly as if Daniel was his son, and not hers.
“They need an enrollment fee and the first semester's tuition before he can start. They won’t work with me on an installment plan.” It was as close as she’d ever gotten to holding her hand out to her father.
“Tell me how much they need and I’ll write you a check.” Sam tried to hide her shock when he capitulated so easily.
“You will?” No begging, no convincing, no getting on her knees and promising anything he wanted?
“He’s my grandson, he deserves the best. However…” Sam winced. It was too much to think she’d actually walk out with a check and no new chains around her ankles. “I want something in exchange.”
“I’ll pay you back the money. With interest.” She’d figure out how to make it work. Maybe instead of the classes she was looking at she’d take out a second job.
“I don’t need you to do that. I consider it an investment in the future. And I’m a man that likes to keep track of my investments. What I want is dinner, once a week.”
“Excuse me?” He couldn’t have really said that, could he. They barely made it through three meals a year without something that looked like frost bite from the chilled atmosphere at the dinner table.
“If I’m going to contribute to Daniel’s life then I want to be a part of it. You get your money and I get dinner on Friday nights. I don’t think two hours a week is too much to ask for. Besides, some day this will be his, he should know what the world holds for him.” Her father looked around the office. Sam looked up at the ceiling, to the silent rooms above. She’d run from this house at soon as she’d been able, and had made certain her own home, and Daniel’s, was nothing like it.
“I don’t want him to know where the money is coming from.” He didn’t need to feel awkward, or upset.
“I’ll see the both of you tomorrow night then, Samantha. And I’ll have the check ready for you.” It felt like blackmail.
“Thanks, dad.” She almost managed to keep from sounding sarcastic.
II
“I will pay you six thousand eight hundred and twelve dollars for a cup of coffee.” When Daniel arrived she’d join him at a table, but for the moment Sam slid onto a stool at the counter. The Alteran Academy bill was still in her pocket, feeling like a millstone.
“One of these days the coffee pot’s going to break and I’m not going to replace it.” Jack poured a cup of coffee in his biggest mug, sliding it across the counter.
“Don’t even joke.” Sam didn’t even think about temperature before taking a swig. Jack’s coffee never disappointed. Thank god for small favors.
“Tough day?” Jack had a towel in one hand, but didn’t seem to be concerned with cleaning the counter. He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You okay, Carter?”
“Just tired.” It wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth. Jack raised a single eyebrow, damn the man for being perceptive. “Sometimes this town can seem a bit much. If I sneeze Jonah will have cold medicine at the counter before I get to the store. You can’t change the color of your front door without a town debate about appropriate shades. There’s no such thing as a secret from anyone once Hank learns about something. But never once have I felt like I was alone here. Never have I felt like an outsider. I like this place and I like this life I’ve built and I’m not ashamed of it. I didn’t make a mistake, I made a life.”
“I’m still painting my door whatever color I want, no matter what Hank and the town council come up with.” Jack grinned wryly. “If you tell me who made you feel like you have to justify your life I can add a few choice ingredients to their next meal.”
Sam tried for a moment to imagine Major General Jacob Carter sitting in Jack’s diner. The image didn’t gel. “I’d rather have more coffee.”
“Spoilsport.” Jack topped off her coffee as the bell above the door rang.
“Starting without me?” It wasn’t surprising that Daniel’s bag landed on the ground with a dull ‘thud’ when he took it off. This morning he’d carried three textbooks, a biography, a novel, and a collection of short stories. If he’d been to the library today there were quite possibly a few more books.
“Just the appetizer round.” Sam held up her coffee cup. She bent to pick up the bag at her own feet, holding it out to him. “I picked up a couple of school uniforms for you. You’re going to have to figure out how to tie an actual tie, they don’t make the clip on kind.”
“I’ll manage.” Daniel peaked in the bag, grinning at the embroidered patch on the blue jacket. “The entire school dresses the same, and no one cares about what you’re wearing. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Let’s get a table, kid. You can try on the uniform at home, and youtube the tie tying thing.” The smile on her kid’s face took the edge off the tension she still carried from her dad’s house. “Jack, I think it’s a burger kind of night. Extra fries.”
“Fries don’t count as a vegetable, you know.” He brought them their burgers and fries, though. And when they were done he brought them a piece of cake.
Retrograde
LtLJ
SGA/SG-1
gen
28K
The Atlantis expedition has been lost for three years. SG-1 goes to find them, and arrives just a little too late.
"These people are great at escaping. They should teach courses."
McShep, Jack/Daniel, Jim/Blair, others 124K Blair's thesis on Sentinels and his career in anthropology are supposed to be behind him, forgotten by everyone. Except, he keeps getting calls--the first from an old friend, Daniel Jackson. Superb OCs, and beautifully-described South African setting. Excellent all around.
