Too Many Generals

A/N: Proof positive that Jojo is a crazy person. Sort of parody fic.

Rating: PG

Season: 5

As always, feedback is much appreciated.

Sam was of the opinion that she was being really, really clever. Not astrophysicist clever, no, not this time. Naquadah reactors, particle accelerators were nothing compared to the feats of cunning she was pulling off that night. That night, Sam was avoiding the worst damn thing she could think of.

Socializing.

Sam wasn't really a people person. From an early age, she'd learnt that people came and went and the only person who stayed constant was herself. She would always be around, so each time her father was transferred, Sam could say goodbye to whatever town or city they were leaving behind, safe in the knowledge that while she may be leaving whatever tentative friends behind, she would always have herself.

Therefore, what with college, the academy, being a woman in what was still essentially a man's world following a male dominated career path, Sam really didn't have all that time to get out much and, frankly, didn't really feel the need too. On top of that, saving the world every week sure took a lot out of you and when she was on downtime, and she actually took it, she really liked to crash out at home, watch some TV, maybe visit her family. Nothing too strenuous.

Nothing like this.

Tonight, Saturday night, was the First Annual NORAD and SGC Dinner and Dancing Event. Special guests included a number of senators, some really pompous generals and the President who'd dropped in for the first twenty-five minutes and then snuck off.

Sam wished she could sneak off. Then again, she didn't have to fly to the UK to meet with the Prime Minister.

As far as she could see, everyone in the room was trying to out-classify each other and as she was currently hiding behind a screen of fake potted trees, she was able to hear several amusing (from an outsider's point of view) conversational snippets.

"- of course, that's classified."

"- but then, you know, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you. I'm not kidding."

"- I didn't have a childhood. In fact, I'm not even here."

"- I'm going by Dr James P. Terry tonight. And you are?"

Sam would just love to tell someone what she did. I work for a secret military organization that kicks alien ass every other week and by the way did you know we're at war with a parasite species who want to turn us all into hosts? No? Oh, is that champagne....?

Actually, it was champagne and Sam was desperately thirsty but knew she couldn't have anything. Luckily for SG-1, yesterday's mission had been a complete and total disaster in ways which only SG-1 could achieve. Sam was on so much medication that if she took one sip of alcohol she'd probably keel over.

Which would, on the other hand, get her out of there.

Hmm.

Decisions, decisions.

Sam had yet to see the Colonel, or Daniel, in fact. Teal'c had, naturally, got out of the event through sheer Jaffa luck. Damn. Maybe she ought to invest in an alien physical trait. A nice gold emblem in the middle of her forehead would certainly bring attention to her eyes.

Oh, that was a point. Must check make-up.

Nabbing a teeny, tiny itty bitty sandwich from a tray, Sam made her way to stand in the queue for the ladies. She stood there for probably all of three minutes before she decided that there was bound to be a mirror somewhere in one of the corridors around the hall where the fancy reception was being held. Smiling politely at the women standing around her, Sam snuck out of the queue and headed down the hallway.

It was far quieter away from the hallway, which helped the mild headache Sam had been sporting all day as an after effect of being thwacked around the head with a staff weapon. She had the biggest bruise under her hair - hence her hairstyle. Thank God the 'mussed' look was in or she'd be in real trouble. It had been hard enough putting on a dress with a bodice that pushed and pinched over ribs that were freshly bruised without having to comb her hair over a lump the size of Texas.

Sam turned a corner, checked behind her, and carried on walking, her heels - not pinching yet, but she was sure she had that to look forward too once the dancing started and she'd be forced to stand up with generals who remembered her from when she was a little girl - softly clipping on the dark blue carpet. She could hear murmuring, and she wondered if some of the staff had snuck out back here to smoke or drink in the little rooms. She peered through the port hole to one of the rooms on the right and saw what appeared to be a conference room.

The murmuring increased until it became talking, and the talking became chatting and the chatting sounded really, really...

She opened a door.

.... familiar.

"Why the hell didn't you come and get me?" she demanded crossly.

Four men turned to look at her, eyes wide, mouths open mid-speech. Then they all looked sheepishly at the floor.

"Sam! Hi! You look great," Daniel effused, smiling at her. "We didn't know you'd arrived."

Sam put her hands on her hips. "It's half past nine, Daniel. The buffet's been served already. What, did you think I was going to ignore Hammond's express orders to be here on time or else?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Major," Davis said in placating tones, " we were just deciding who was going to go and look for you, and Dr Fraiser, when you came in."

She decided to be big and not wind them up further. Besides, she quite wanted to take in how they all looked. Simmons and Davis looked, of course, poster perfect in their tuxes, no creases, no marks. They'd probably rented them for the evening, though Davis might well own his since he was a Pentagon lackey and they were used to these things. Daniel's tux, on the other hand, was slightly disheveled. He'd taken off his bow tie, undone his top shirt button, rid himself of his cummerbund and his shoe laces were untied. She couldn't help but smile goofily at him. He was just so adorable.

But Colonel O'Neill?

Another matter entirely.

Sam didn't consider herself aggressive when it came to men. In fact, she would say generally she was fairly oblivious to men. Oh, she knew when she was attracted to them. Oh boy did she know. Depending on the man, her reaction would range from quiet admiration to HolyHannahishelookingatmehe'slookingatmeHolyHannah! To give an example, Martouf had been at the beginning of the scale. The quiet attraction. Ironic, really, considering Jolinar's reaction to him had been at the other end of the scale. For Sam, the only man who really made her toes curl and her insides muddle was Colonel O'Neill.

Hopefully, he didn't know that. The way that she'd watched her words during the zay'tarc retesting had assured her of the remaining confidentiality of her true feelings.

Anyway, he was looking decidedly yummy. His tux was all intact, just worn with the kind of casualness that made it sexy. Like he'd just thrown the tux on with minimal effort and it wasn't really bothering him all that much. His hair was it's usual mess, which really only added to the appeal, and then of course there was his eyes. Sam was a real eyes girl. It was the first thing she noticed and the first thing she committed to memory. If anyone asked her, she could give in minuscule detail the color of eyes of every single one of her boyfriends from age fifteen upwards.

Deciding it probably wouldn't be best to pounce on him, like her libido was laughingly suggesting, Sam looked around the room that her work friends had sequestered. Again, it was probably another conference room. There was a projector screen pulled down at one end and at the other a projector was set up. Daniel, the Colonel, Davis and Simmons were all sitting on or at the table in the middle of the room.

"Are there slides in that thing?" Simmons wanted to know, managing to meet Sam's eyes. She didn't think he'd ever recovered from the day when Daniel had accidentally let slip that he thought Simmons had a crush on Sam. Poor boy.

Sam wandered over to the projector and looked in. "Oh. Yeah," she said in surprise, pulling one and holding it up to the light. "General Thade." Why was he wearing... were those tartan golfing trousers?

"Who?"

"One of my father's comrades," she murmured thoughtfully, frowning and sliding the slide back in line. Frankly,, the last time she'd seen General Thade had been about ten years before, but she didn't recall that he'd worn outlandish clothing. She picked up another and held it to the light as well. And got a shock. "Oh boy."

"What?" Colonel O'Neill hopped off the table and came to stand next to her and just because he smelt nice was no reason for Sam's stomach to suddenly do a somersault. He took the slide from her and held it up. "Wo-ho-hoa!" He whistled in delighted shock. "What the hell is this?"

By now, everyone wanted to know what was going on.

"Why don't we just run this shall we? Davis, hit the lights."

"Er, sir..."

"Carter, not a word. I'm going to have some fun at this thing whatever the cost and if looking at sneaky photos of all those assholes out there is it, then that's the way it's going to go down."

Sam sighed. "Is that an order, sir?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you making sure you won't get in trouble for this, Carter?"

"Yes, sir."

His smile was wide and genuine. "I like the way you think, Carter, really, I do."

Primly, Sam went and took a seat at the table, secretly dying to see what else was on those slides.

"Lights off," Davis said, flicking the switches against the wall. The room plunged into darkness, the only source of light coming from under the door.

"Spooky," Daniel murmured. "Jack? What are you doing? Get a move on."

There was a clicking noise, then a whirring. "It just needs to warm up first. It's the same brand of projector we had in high school, which says a lot, really. We could be hear for years. Anyone got any good ghost stories?"

Sam rolled her eyes. She heard him start to move around and turned to watch his shadowy form walk towards her. The chair beside her, really close beside her, was pulled out and he sat down, tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

Davis spoke up next, " Major Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"General Battersea was looking for you earlier."

Well, she knew that, didn't she? It had been the main reason for her hiding behind the potted trees. "Really?"

"Yes. He was really quiet anxious to see you."

She just bet he'd been.

"Sam?" Daniel inquired in a suggestive tone of voice. "Something you'd like to tell us?"

"He's sixty if he's a day!" she squeaked. Damn, Majors in the USAF didn't squeak. What had she been thinking?

She could not only hear, but she could also feel, Colonel O'Neill softly laughing next to her. "What's age got to do with true love, Major?"

Sharply, she turned to look at him. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the closeness, but she didn't feel particularly like being respectful. "You can't see, but I'm glaring at you right now."

If anything, this made him laugh harder, still in that soft, breathy way that the hairs all over her arms and back of her neck standing to attention.

"I'm not sure he was looking for the Major for himself," Davis said, and instantly condemned himself to purgatory in Sam's eyes.

"Oh?" Daniel asked.

When would that damn projector start working? Sam wondered, panicking. Now she was tapping her fingers on the table.

"He had his son with him."

She scrunched up her face. And waited.

Colonel O'Neill leaned forward and got, if possible, closer to her. "Major? Why would General Battersea want you to see his son?"

She turned her head again and this time, this time, her lips brushed against some part of his face. Totally by accident. Really. Completely by accident.

But he didn't move away.

And neither did Sam.

The projector suddenly whirred into action. Behind her, the screen lit up but she only knew that because she could see a tiny square of bright light reflected in his eyes. She saw what she'd accidentally almost-kissed only moments before. Just to the right of his mouth.

"Holy Christ!" Daniel whooped behind her. "I know him... God, what's his name? General... General..."

"Fuller," Davis put in.

"Wearing a maid's outfit! Oh this is priceless. Jack? What the hell are these?"

"I don't know, Daniel. Keep watching," Colonel O'Neill said clearly and every single word brushed against the corner of Sam's mouth.

She sighed ever so slightly. The corner of his mouth turned up just a little. Sam parted her lips, she saw his eyes dart down to look at her mouth, and, mischievously, Sam slid her tongue between her lips and dabbed at first her bottom lip, then her top.

"Damn," he whispered, his eyelids lowering.

Damn, indeed, Sam thought.

"This has got to be some kind of a birthday party. Otherwise I'd be really worried for America."

"Do you think General Hammond's in here?"

"Oh, God, if he is, I'll never be able to look him in the face."

The Colonel made the first move a moment before Sam was about to make hers. He tilted his head slowly to the side and moved very, very carefully towards her. Her eyes closed automatically. His mouth touched hers, she parted her lips. They pressed together for several seconds, savoring the first illicit contact, then Sam reached up with her hand and brushed her fingertips along his jaw and that seemed to decide him. He moved in further, parting her lips with his own and cupping the back of her neck with his own hand. Still half aware of the people around them, they muted the noises they usually would have made and worked on getting as physically close to each other as they could without breaking contact. She started turning her body around on the chair just as he reached across and wrapped his hand around her hip, pulling her towards him. For a moment she panicked, then she realized he was sliding her onto his lap. That done, skillfully, she wrapped her arms about his neck, tilted her head to the other side for a different angle and pressed herself against him. The moan he made was very low, very subtle, but she felt it reverberate all over her body.

HolyHannahHolyHannahHolyHannah.

They pulled back eventually, needing to breath, and quietly panted. Sam leaned her head forward and rested it on his shoulder, closed her eyes. He stroked the small of her back, his chest rising and falling.

Suddenly, there was a chorus of cries around the table.

"Holy shit," Jack breathed.

Sam lifted her head and instinctively turned around. "Oh my God."

Daniel had lowered his head to the table. "I'll never be able to look him the face again. Never, I tell you. Oh Jesus."

*

Well, the Monday morning briefing was certainly.... an experience. For all their talk about keeping things quiet, the pact they'd sworn over the table to not let anyone find out about the photos and what they'd seen Hammond.... wearing, it was pretty obvious just by looking around that something was up.

Janet glanced around the table, finally settling her eyes on Sam and frowning in concern.

Blushing fiery red, Sam looked down at the table and intently scribbled on her pad. She knew the Colonel was also not looking up from the pad he was doodling on, just as she knew Daniel was staring fixedly at the wall, barely blinking. Every time the general said something, his shoulders tensed. It wasn't what he was wearing, Daniel had explained late on Saturday night. He was fine with that, no matter quite how shocking it had seemed at first. Freedom of expression, just a bit of fun, and all that. The problem was with his imagination, which was avid. You couldn't get by without one in the career he had chosen, he'd pointed out. And he just knew that if he looked at Hammond so soon after the.... incident.... he would lose it completely.

"Dr Jackson? Have you anything to add?"

Daniel's expression took on that of a startled rabbit facing oncoming headlights.

Jack, sitting opposite him, got the full effect. He started coughing suddenly, slapping himself on the chest as he smothered his laughter in a fit of realistic choking. "Sorry - God, must have choked on some water."

Hammond and Janet looked at the empty cup in front of him, then at each other, both of them equally perturbed.

The General seemed to have had enough of this childishness. "SG-1, is something wrong? Did something happen at the weekend that I've not been made aware of?"

If anything, Sam blushed further, clenching her teeth together, knowing that she and Colonel O'Neill had something else they had to keep from the general. This 'something' being a matter they hadn't said a word about after they'd lip-locked so frantically at the party on Saturday night. In fact, not only was Sam avoiding General Hammond's eyes, but she was also avoiding Colonel O'Neill's. At least for the time being.

"Nothing, General. Nothing," Daniel said, firmly staring at the woodwork of the table, eyes blinking furiously now. He took off his glasses and slowly placed them on his clean, white notepad and finally looked up at General Hammond. No doubt the blurring relieved him of actually reliving the photographs they'd seen on Saturday night. He smiled faintly. "I have nothing to add. The mission sounds fine and spanky, I mean, DANDY. Dandy, that's what I mean." Flushing bright red, Daniel lowered his head to the table and thumped once.

With horror, Sam realized her eyes were tearing up because she was trying so hard not to laugh. She hadn't felt like this since high school, when just knowing you weren't aloud to laugh made the situation even more amusing.

"Major... Sam, are you all right?" Janet asked softly, leaning across the table to try and look at Sam's face.

"I'm fine, Janet. Just... fine. Something... in my eye." Rapidly, Sam stood up and turned to walk to a side table where she could pluck several tissues from the box and dab at her streaming eyes. With her back to the room, Sam allowed herself a broad grin. Spanky. Oh God, that was classic. Davis was going to die when she told him that.

"Right." General Hammond's voice was considerably less friendly than it had been at the start of the meeting. "Fine. SG-1, your next mission briefing will be Wednesday at 0900. I expect to see you there, on time, and in a considerably more sensible mood."

"Yes, sir," they all murmured, Sam with her back to the room as she bent over the table, ignoring the funny looks she was getting through the glass.

"Dismissed. Dr Fraiser, if I could see you in my office for a moment..."

"Certainly, sir."

The door opened, then closed. For a long, tense moment, there was silence in the briefing room.

Then someone, Sam thought it may have been Daniel, snorted. Swiftly followed by a hysterical hiccup. Sam let out a gurgle of laughter, which soon enough turned into a full-on burst. Colonel O'Neill, shoulders shaking, lowered his head onto his arms and shook harder. Daniel tipped back in his seat, hands spread across his stomach and he laughed hard enough to have tears running down his face.

It all became too much for Teal'c, who had not missed SG-1's uncharacteristic silence throughout the briefing, and his dark eyes swept the room with disapproval before he announced, " I do not see what is so amusing. I do, however, wish to see what is so amusing, if one of you would explain it to me."

Weakly, Sam slid down onto the rough-carpeted floor of the briefing room, still laughing, the images from the night before last playing through her mind. "Spanky! Oh, Daniel," she blurted, laughing still harder. It was hardly mature of them, her conscience pointed out smugly. She was thirty-two years old, Teal'c was over a hundred, Daniel was thirty-three and Colonel O'Neill was... Hmm, now why didn't she know that? Ah yes, the biggest mystery of the SGC - Colonel O'Neill's age. Whatever it was, they were acting like children.

But, heh, it was fun anyway.

Colonel O'Neill lifted his head. "Classic, Danny, God, that was classic." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Man."

Daniel sniffed. "I couldn't believe it. I was trying so hard not to slip up and... Do you think he realized?"

"Daniel Jackson, General Hammond was as informed as I was."

"Teal'c, are you sulking?" Colonel O'Neill demanded of his friend.

"I do not sulk, O'Neill. It is you who persist on sulking when things do not go your way."

Colonel O'Neill's mouth dropped open, but it was Daniel who got in first, " You are sulking! You are!" This made Daniel laugh harder. Obviously, he had yet to have his morning cup of coffee.

Enough was enough, Sam decided. Outside, there were people standing clusters discussing what the nutters on SG-1 were doing, rolling about the briefing room in hysterics. With great poise - but with a stupid grin on her face - Sam stood up. "I'm going to my lab," she announced with some pride as her voice remained firm, " and I'm going to do some work."

Colonel O'Neill cleared his throat, effortlessly quelling his amusement. "I'll walk with you. Snap out of it, Danny."

"I gotta call Davis," Daniel was heard to mutter as Sam left the briefing room.

"Daniel Jackson, I still do not....."

Outside, the humorous mood fled, leaving behind the sense of uncertainty between Sam and Colonel O'Neill. They walked side by side, a respectable distance between them. Each time Sam thought up something vaguely appropriate to say, the words left her mouth as soon as she opened it. There just wasn't anything to say. So they'd kissed. And it had been... wonderful. But it had been a spur of the moment thing, fuelled by civvies, darkness and the closeness of the moment. To be honest, she was surprised it hadn't happened before, considering all the times SG-1 had gone out together, all the times Sam and the Colonel had stayed up late and that wonderful, dangerous, tension had slipped between them and wound around their bodies. It had been bound to happen sooner or later it was just that... it couldn't happen again.

Could it?

She supposed that was what she wanted to ask him. But Cheyenne really wasn't the place to do that. It would be like hitting themselves over the head with regulations, as if Sam hadn't done that for the last four years.

What she should do, she supposed, was ask to meet up after work somewhere. Somewhere neutral, where they could talk. Not either one of their houses, because that was just leading to disaster. God knew what would happen if she slept with him without discussing the rules.

She stopped. He stopped. He looked at her, eyes cautious, expression carefully controlled.

Sam opened her mouth.

"Major, Colonel."

Both of them turned to look at Simmons, fidgeting nervously in front of them.

"Simmons," Colonel O'Neill enunciated, his tone half-threatening, as if he'd known whatever Sam had been about to say was important. "Problem?"

"Um, no, sir. It's just... just..."

Sam took pity on him. "Go see, Daniel, Graham. He did a classic Danny in the briefing room in front of General Hammond."

The young man winced. "Was it bad? I had to speak to the general this morning and... it was so hard to keep a straight face."

"Join the club, Lieutenant. Major, can I see you in my office at 1500?"

She nodded quickly, eagerly, and hoped she didn't look desperate. "Sure, sir."

Simmons glanced back at Colonel O'Neill as he marched off, hands deep in his pockets. He looked at Sam worriedly. "I didn't, ah, interrupt anything important?"

Sam reached out impulsively and padded him on the shoulder. "Oh, no, no. Nothing important. No life or death situations, no siree. Nope. Nothin'. Absolutely nadda."

"Major, are you okay?"

Not really, Lieutenant Simmons. While I know you have a crush on me, according to Daniel anyways, I'd like to point out that I have a major crush on Colonel O'Neill, my commanding officer, and am currently considering burning the book of regulations in order to satisfy that crush. "I'm fine, Graham. Seriously, you should go see, Daniel." She smiled broadly at him and walked off.

Sam's day, not unusually, went very, very slowly. Monday was a day which she saved for paperwork since they rarely had a mission on a Monday and, bizarrely, massive apocalyptic crisis never seemed to occur on Mondays. Perhaps there was a universal agreement on the matter: Never wind SG-1 up on a Monday, could lead to disaster. Sam knew for certain that the Colonel was never at his best on a Monday morning, something he'd once told her came from having double Math every Monday morning for five years. His teachers had deliberately being torturing just because he'd once set fire to the teacher's lounge. Just the once. Oh, and that time when he'd accidentally crashed into the side of the Head of Math's brand new car. Then there was that occasion when...

At this point, Sam had been forced to put an end to his explanation as to why the Math department at his school were out to get him. Not because she wasn't interested - quite the contrary. He rarely talked about his childhood, or his past in general, in fact, and any chance the rest of SG-1 got they would try to coax as much information out of him as possible to share with each other at a later date. But, on this occasion, about twenty-five head-hunting monkeys had just thrown themselves out of the trees and attacked them. They'd taken particular liking to Sam's hair - she seriously considered dying it brown after that mission - and had thought she'd been a nice prize for their... monkey king. Once they'd rid themselves of the little monsters, Colonel O'Neill had insisted on humming 'King of the Swingers' all the way back to the Stargate and Sam had been in no mood to chat for fear of whacking him over the head with her P-90 in an effort to shut up him. He'd thought it was funny. Of course he would. She was forever being kidnapped, stared at, poked out, pulled on, grabbed. No one ever went near him.

Anyway... ooh, nearly three o'clock. She pushed aside the half-eaten sandwich Janet had brought around at lunchtime (a rather unsubtle effort to get Sam to 'fess up and tell her what happened on Saturday night) and hopped off her stool. She leaned out of her doorway, checking that no one was around, and then fished a compact mirror out of a drawer and checked she hadn't got bread crumbs in her eyebrows or something. Nope. There she was. Sam Carter. Blonde, blue-eyed. Was that a freckle...? Damn, she was getting freckly again. Must remember to apply more sun block or she'd break out all over her nose, cheeks and forehead.

Apprehensively, Sam knocked on the door to the Colonel's office, wiped her hands on her trousers and waited for his, ''Come!". When he did shout, she turned the handle and peered inside.

"Hey," he said softly, looking up from his desk, then standing. "Come in. Close the door."

Okay. That was a new one. When they were alone together, they never closed the door. Feeling increasingly nervous, Sam turned, giving herself time to get a grip, and closed the door. Suddenly, the room seemed a whole lot smaller, a whole lot darker, and a whole lot warmer. Resisting the urge to fan herself with her hands, Sam stuck her hands in her pockets, a habit she knew she had definitely picked up from him.

Seemingly just as nervous as she was, the Colonel stood up straighter, stuck his hands in his pockets. He edged slowly around the desk. "Um, about Saturday night, Carter..."

OhGodohGodohGodohGod.

This sounded like a serious dumping scenario here. She mentally cringed, hoped it didn't show on her face, and waited with as neutral an expression on her face as she could muster.

He'd stalled, then shook his head, struck a more determined pose and came to stand right in front of her. Terribly close, in fact. "Carter, what I want to say is, the security camera in my office isn't working. Hasn't been since about six this morning. No one has any idea you're in here, alone, with me. Alone. Not being watched. By anyone." Colonel O'Neill stared at her pointedly, waiting for her to get the message.

Sam's mouth dropped open. Literally. There were very few occasions in real life when someone's mouth did drop open in shock, and this was one of them. "Are you..." Her voice came out too quiet. She cleared her throat. "Are you... suggesting... what I think you're... suggesting?"

"Are you saying no?"

"Noooo...."

"No? You don't want to? Or no, you're not saying no?"

"Um, the last one."

Slowly, he smiled. And took a step towards her.

Sam took a step back.

Narrowing his eyes, a slightly predatory look in his dark eyes, Colonel O'Neill took a step forward.

Smiling, nay, grinning, Sam stepped back. And hit the door with a slight thump.

Jack walked up to stand in front of her, palms going to either side of her head. His smile matched hers, anticipatory, excited, and just a touch nervous. This was different, after all. This was acknowledged.

He edged his mouth over hers so she could feel his breath over her lips, but he didn't touch her not yet, not yet...

This was...

.... wow.

Oh.....

..... wow.

*

Sam felt like she was floating, and it was no exaggeration. She kept checking her feet to make sure they were actually on the ground, because it damn well didn't feel like it. In fact, glancing forwards and backwards, she paused against a wall and inspected the bottom of her feet. It felt kinda stupid doing it, but this was the SGC. Bizarre goings on were their business and she'd learnt not to apply normal Earth rules to whatever went on inside the mountain and, um, up in space.

Sure that her feet were sound, her boots were still regulation, and there was not several inches between her and the floor, Sam continued on towards her lab, resisting the strong, strange urge to whistle 'King of the Swingers'. The Colonel really was rubbing off on her....

Oooh, that was a really dirty thought.

It had been exactly four days since they'd first started.... doing whatever they were doing at the moment. She couldn't call it dating because, frankly, they hadn't gone on a date. Today they'd eaten lunch in the commissary together, late, so that not many people had been around. That meant of course that they could tangle their feet together and give each other goofy looks.

Unfortunately, Daniel walked in to have late lunch, spotted them, waved (nearly dropped his tray in the process), and sat down with them. "God, I'm glad you're here. Janet just threw my out of my lab. You know she's taken to sneaking around the SGC, making sure her 'recurring offenders' - yes, that's what she calls me - are eating properly and regularly." He shook his head and speared something that could have been a carrot, but clearly wasn't the right color, with his fork.

Sighing, Jack removed his legs from Sam's. "So, Daniel, all prepared for the mission tomorrow?"

"Of course. Have you read my report yet?"

This was a running conversational theme between Jack and Daniel. Jack was trying to make sure that Daniel would be on time, with all the necessary equipment, while Daniel was still trying to convince Jack that his reports were worth reading. Even if you did need a dictionary to do that.

Sam, on the other hand, had long since given up trying to convince her CO to read the whole of her reports. Instead, about two years ago, she'd started introducing bullet point summaries especially for him (and, she suspected, General Hammond - though God knew he'd never admit to it) and that seemed to do the trick.

Daniel, however, thought bullet points ruined the flow of his report.

"I spoke to Davis this morning."

Both Sam and Jack leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "And?"

Daniel grinned secretively. "You remember General Dwight?"

"Remind me."

He swallowed hard. "The guy in the... well.. in the negligée."

Jack groaned and lowered his head to the table.

"Which guy? There were three," Sam reminded Daniel.

Daniel blanched. "Oh, God, so there were." He shook his head, as if to get rid of the images. "The guy in the cherry negligée, and I can't believe I just said that."

"Oh. Him," Jack said to the table.

"Yeah. Well, you'll never guess who walked into Davis's office."

"General Dwight?"

"And Davis couldn't form a sentence. The guy was standing there, giving him orders, asking questions, and Davis was too shocked to even respond."

Sam grinned, easily picturing the scene. "I'm so glad we only have General Hammond to worry about. Poor Davis has more chance of actually seeing the generals than we do."

"Yeah, but it can't compare," Jack complained, lifting his head. "I mean, we all know Hammond. I know Hammond's family. I know his kids, I know his granddaughters." Leaning forward, he whispered, " But each time I look at him I see him in... in..."

It was too much for him. Jack stood up abruptly, a panicked expression on his face. "I need coffee. Now." He walked off to the drinks table.

Sam giggled, licked her Jell-O spoon. "He's not taking this well."

"You, on the other hand, seem to be taking it all very well," Daniel murmured, raising his eyebrows at her.

"You forget, my dad's a general. I've seen all sorts of weird stuff. Who cares if they like to get together and dress up in women's clothes?"

"Women's underwear, Sam. Underwear."

"Or tartan and tweed. Or leather and suspenders. It doesn't really bother me. It's funny, but I have better things to think about." Such as, the various rooms in the SGC that didn't have security cameras. The various pieces of un-regulation underwear she could wear under her BDUs and exactly how he was going to see them. Naquadah generators. Um, Colonel O'Neill. Reports. Colonel O'Neill. Doing reports with Colonel O'Neill. Chocolate. Chocolate eyes. Colonel O'Neill. Mission reports. Colonel O'Neill's hands. And where he put them....

Daniel sighed. "I'll bet you're glad your dad wasn't in those pictures, though."

"Oh, boy, am I ever." She grimaced and scraped up the last of her raspberry Jell-O. Since her private time with her Colonel had been cut short, she might as well go back to work, but she decided to wait until he came back. Just in case he had any... messages for her.

Jack, looking decidedly more calm after several gulps of unsweetened black coffee, sat back down and smiled at them both. "Let's talk about something else. Now."

Daniel laughed. "Want to discuss the Persian influences I saw in...."

"No! No, I don't. Sam?"

Sam felt, rather than saw, Daniel's surprise. She did, however, catch in her peripheral vision, Daniel mouthing 'Sam?' at Colonel O'Neill. "I could always tell you about the interesting meteorological..."

"Ah! Ah-hah! No. God, where's Teal'c? I'm going to find Teal'c. Have a nice afternoon, children. Major, my office, five o'clock."

She tried not to smirk. "Yes, sir. Shall I bring those reports, sir?"

He tried not to grin. "Yes, Major, I think you should. Goodbye, Daniel."

"Bye, Jack."

Grinning happily to herself, Sam dropped her plastic Jell-O cup on her plate and finished off her water. So involved was she in her own libidinous mental thoughts that she hadn't noticed Daniel staring at her fixedly. When she finally did, she did a double take. "What? What is it?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You're having sex!" he said in accusatory tones.

"What!" Her head swiveled Exorcist-like as she checked that no one else was in the commissary to over hear. "Daniel, I don't know what you're talking about."

He leaned closer to her and hissed, " You and Jack - you're sleeping together."

"Daniel, don't be ridiculous. Of course we're not sleeping together." Not yet, anyway. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Daniel ruthlessly stabbed at his vegetables. "I cannot believe my two best friends are together and neither of them thought to tell me."

"Daniel, we are not together. Do you know how much trouble we'd get into?"

"Oh, please. Jack's 2IC of the most secret base on Earth, you're the top Stargate scientist and your father is an alien. You're both on the flagship team. I think we can safely say some boring USAF regulations don't apply."

She was starting to feel nauseous. "Daniel, please, listen to what you're saying. It's nuts! We couldn't be on SG-1 together if we were... dating."

"Huh? How did you come up with that one then?"

This was so surreal. This was beyond surreal, actually. She just bet this was another alien plot. If she shot Daniel now he would surely revert to some cockroach-like alien thing and her life would start to make sense again.

"Janet thought there was something going on between you two." He waved a fork at her threateningly. "She came to see me this morning after she found you in your lab with your hair all over the place and your top on backwards."

Briefly seeing stars, Sam remembered hoping that Janet hadn't noticed anything was out of place. She, after all, had only realized she'd put her top on backwards when she'd gone to the bathroom shortly after breakfast, two hours after her accidental rendezvous with Colonel O'Neill in the locker room when things had got just a tad carried away. Damn. She hoped none of the techs had noticed because that would be beyond embarrassing.

Hold on a minute... Janet and Daniel were discussing them?

"What else has Janet told you?" Sam asked, leaning on the table.

Daniel shrugged. "Oh, you know. Nothing the base doesn't know already. The zay'tarc thing. The armbands stuff, you know, you and him on either side of the force-field. That once, when you were really drunk, you admitted that you fancied the pants off him. That things were slightly more advanced between Jonah and Thera than you let on in your reports..."

"I'm gonna kill her." Sam stood up abruptly, murder in her eyes. "Daniel, if you tell anyone about this..."

He looked at her in confusion. "Who am I going to tell? I only gossip about you and Jack with Janet. Oh, and Teal'c. And Jacob, of course. And consequentially Selmak. Garshaw. We let Martouf have the details once too. Aldwin. Of course, Jack put a serious stop to any notions Simmons had so we didn't really have to mention it to him... Sam? Sam, where are you going.....?"

That had been about twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, she'd been waylaid on her way to the elevators by a tech who had a clipboard and a dangerous set of figures, complete with detailed graphs and wanted her to, on the spot, analyze them for him. Since her mind was boggling, Sam fobbed him off, grabbed an elevator which took her agonizingly slowly to level 21 where she grabbed Janet by her stethoscope and yanked her into the office.

"Sam, what on earth is going on?" Janet demanded as Sam closed the door and pulled the blinds down over the windows into the corridor.

"Jonah and Thera?" Sam hissed angrily.

Janet winced and played with her hair. "Oh, damn the man."

"Jonah and Thera?"

"It wasn't as if you had sex, Sam. Honestly, Cassie does more with her boyfriends than you did with the Colonel... and I can't believe I just said that like it's a good thing.... but anyway I just mentioned it the once and it was months ago. I had kinda hoped he'd forgotten."

"I don't believe this. My relationship with Colonel O'Neill is no one's business." There. That sounded good. Professional. Outraged. "And the zay'tarcs! You told him about the zay'tarcs!"

Nervously, Janet fiddled with her stethoscope. "Well, you know, it just.... slipped out. He thought it was sweet."

Slipped out! Slipped out! She grabbed her hair in frustration. Sweet! Sweet? Holy Hannah! "Janet, I'm never telling you anything ever again!"

Since she was afraid that she just might commit doctricide, Sam slammed the door on the way out of Janet's office and stormed off down the corridor to the elevators. She was so pissed off it was reaching universe proportions. How dare they gossip about her and the Colonel like that? Though, technically, it wasn't really gossip anymore, but that wasn't the point.

Hold on, Cassie did more with her boyfriends than her and Colonel O'Neill? Well, that was just... wrong.

Obviously, Sam realized she was distinctly frustrated. It was all well and good snatching a few moments or, ahem, an hour in a storage cupboard on level twenty-three but it wasn't really getting them anywhere. Somehow, having sex on the base was just a little tacky. It really rather rubbed in the point that both of them had no life outside of the base.

Dammit, they needed to get out of the mountain, which wasn't going to happen since they had a mission early the next morning and what Sam planned required at least a day to recover from. Still, she at least needed to discuss it with him. He had to be having similar problems.

She checked her watch. He'd wanted to see her at five, it was now half four. She could waste half an hour in her lab, go there early, or go find that technician and apologize for her abruptness. Sighing, choice number three - the least appealing - won out.

The technician had more figures for Sam to look at, which meant she only got to Jack's office at quarter past five. He was busy. Well, he was throwing a bouncy ball at the wall as hard as he could and ducking, but at least he was doing something. The paperwork in his OUT tray was considerably higher than it had last been, which only meant half of the pile would make its way into her IN tray some time tomorrow.

"Nothing too bad, Carter," he told her, catching the ball one last time and dropping it in a mug on the table. "Though you might want to get a copy of SG-6's reports - they had some interesting findings that will no doubt send you into hyperactivity. How's your day been?"

"The usual." She smiled at him warmly. "Um, have you spoken to Daniel recently?"

"Yes. Shortly after lunch when he came in here to see if I'd seen you." Jack raised his eyebrows. "Doc still alive?"

"Barely." Sam restrained from growling. "Dammit, I hate when people talk about me."

"It's no more than usual, you know, Sam."

"I know, I know, there've been rumors about us from the beginning. That's Feretti's fault," she added, reaching into his mug and picking up the ball. Stepping back, she bounced it once. Huh. That was kinda fun. Of course, it was all logical. The force you applied, the kinetic energy of the...

"What?"

Absently, she explained, " Feretti? You remember, after the first mission, he started that betting pool about... us?" Jack's security camera was now working and though the security staff kept the sound muted until something looked dodgy or unless people were under observation she didn't particularly want to state the issue so bluntly.

Clearly, Jack had known no such thing. He paled. "He what?"

"I can't believe you don't know this. I'm told its running into thousands of dollars by now." With some amusement, she watched as he slowly stood up. "Okay, take a deep breath and calm down. It's not so bad."

Scrabbling for words, Jack tried to voice his feelings - " I'm... he's my... seriously... gonna... Sam... kill him."

She giggled, backed up and closed the door, afraid he was going to make a run for it and seriously dent Feretti's head. "Guess this has been a day of revelations for the both of us. You know Cassie's gone further with her boyfriends than we have?"

At this rapid change of conversation, Jack shook his head. "Cassie? She's dating?"

She rolled her eyes. "So not the point, Jack."

"But surely, that Jonah and Thera thing...." He narrowed his eyes. "I mean, that is to say, well, you know."

"Apparently not."

"Jesus."

"I know."

"That's just... wrong. She's... We're gonna have to do something about that. How are you fixed for Wednesday night?"

*

Since the soil samples had long since overcome Sam's overwhelming urge to consider her COs anatomy more closely, she spent a relatively professional couple of hours digging, bottling, testing, labeling and recording. In the end, she had a full selection to send her fellow SGC geeks into giddy spasms of joy, which put her in an even better mood.

Seven and a half hours to go.

"Done?" Colonel O'Neill peered at her inscrutably from behind black sunglasses and the lowered rim of his baseball cap.

"Yes, sir." She stood up, flexed her knees to get rid of the unavoidable stiffness and picked up her sample box. See? She could do this professional malarkey just fine. Damn regulation book had nothing on her.

The Colonel flicked on his radio. "Teal'c, Danny, we're finished here. Meet you back at the Stargate in half an hour."

"Er... negative, Jack."

Sam grinned. It was so entertaining when Daniel tried military lingo. It was like when he tried to salute and it always ended up being a half-assed wave.

"Negative, Daniel?" the Colonel queried in quelling tones.

"That's what I said. Look, there's a lot of writing in this tomb and its taking longer than I thought it would to record the pertinent details... I mean, some of this stuff is truly..."

"Daniel. How long do you need?"

"A couple of hours. Tops."

Sighing so that Daniel could hear it clearly, Colonel O'Neill made a decision. "All right. Don't say I never let you have fun any more. Meet you at the gate in two hours. Teal'c, are you listening? Two hours."

Hmm, in two hours time it would be five and a half hours to go, Sam thought absently.

"I am listening, O'Neill. Daniel Jackson and I will be at the Stargate in two hours."

"Great. O'Neill out."

He let go of the radio and shook his head at her wearily. "Looks like it's just you and me, Carter."

"Yay," Sam said automatically. He looked at her sharply and she sought for a recovery. "In an entirely professional sense. Sir."

His smile, usually so reserved, was broad and genuine. "Of course, Major."

Now that she had nothing like work to occupy her thoughts, she enjoyed watching his ass all the way back to the Stargate. And she just bet he knew, as well.

All in all, she decided, a highly productive mission.

"1245," he announced as they dropped their packs and weapons on the steps that led up to the gate and sat down. "Too early for lunch?"

Sam wrinkled her nose. She wasn't really hungry but there wasn't much else to do. "I shouldn't think so."

Moments later, they were comparing ration bars, decided each preferred the others and swapped. Munching in a companionable silence, they surveyed the scenery.

"Why is it that trees on alien planets just look... alien?"

"Because they glow in the dark?"

"Smart ass. That only happened the once, anyway."

It had been totally cool, though. Sam had won the 'best natural phenomena' category in the annual SGC photo competition, narrowly beating out Lieutenant Phillips' photograph of the eight-legged green woolly.. sheep things from P2Z 123, a planet that was actually next one over to the one she was currently on.

"Purple?" she suggested next.

"Shut up."

"Or the time when the trees kept grabbing your ass?" The best damn planet in the universe as far as she'd been concerned. She'd never laughed so hard in her life.

"I'm so glad I brought this up."

Okay, serious now. "You're just biased. You approach each new planet with this pessimistic attitude. The trees look alien because you know they're not Earth trees. Therefore they're, you know..." She couldn't believe she was about to say this, " ... evil trees."

"Huh. I like to think I'm realistic, no pessimistic." He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them neatly into one of his vest pockets.

She smiled, leaned against his shoulder, which was technically pushing the unspoken boundaries about fraternizing off-world but who was watching? "Okay, what was the first thing Daniel said when we came out of the wormhole?"

"Achoo?"

Giggle. "After that."

"Oh, you know, a usual Daniel-ism along the lines of 'God, what a nice day'." He made a face. "And I said - 'It'll probably be snowing by the afternoon. Oh, look, are those trees?'." Casually, he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "I see where you're going."

"Then again, with that kind of attitude, you're reminding at least me and Daniel that the planets we visit are potentially hostile until we know better."

"See? That was my plan all along. Otherwise, Danny'd be all 'Oooh, rocks' and you'd be all 'Oooh, dirt' and... are you sure you shouldn't be dating Daniel?"

She laughed, and laughed hard, which seemed to please him no end. "Yes, Jack. I'm sure."

The hand that was resting on her waist moved slowly, subtly, down to the rim of her trousers. "Just checking. I used to worry, you know."

With half her mind on his hand (currently pulling her black T-shirt out of her trousers) and half her mind on what he was saying, Sam watched his profile. Anyone looking would think he was intently keeping watch, but she knew better. He was planning something. "No way."

"Yup. I was almost convinced at one stage that you and he was sleeping together."

She felt her eyes bulge. "Really? When?" And bleurgh! Her and Daniel... imagine! No, don't imagine. God, what a ... distinctly unpleasant thought.

His left hand made sudden, delicious contact with her bare skin and she yelped, totally throwing her mind into chaos.

He grinned, head turning to look at her, smile smug. "Watch this," he murmured, leaning towards her.

Mesmerized by the look in his eyes - a look she didn't seem to be getting used to despite the number of occasions she'd seen it up and close recently - Sam felt herself leaning back against his arm and being lowered down, unable to put up a reasonable fight. His right arm came up and reached for the zip of her vest, pulling the vest apart. By the time she was lying on her back with his body half over her, the vest was open and her t-shirt halfway up her torso, displaying her stomach to the elements.

"Very smooth," she said, impressed. Instinctively, she decided to go with the flow and shrugged the vest off, threw it to one side. "How long had you been plotting that one then?"

"Ever since you sat down next to me," he replied proudly.

"Practiced that sort of thing on anyone I should know about?"

"Kawalsky, of course."

"Of course." Grinning, she unzipped his vest and carefully helped him out of it, knowing those sunglasses were his favorite. Then she flicked his cap off and enjoyed the sensation of him climbing on top of her and lying between her legs.

How long was it now? Seven hours to go? Six and three quarters?

He raised himself off her top half by resting his weight on his elbows - a procedure that put more stress on their bottom halves but Sam didn't mind that at all. In fact, Sam was pretty damn pleased with their current situation.

Jack smiled down into her face, his hands stroking the hair away from her temples. "Did I mention how much I liked your dress?" He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth ever so lightly.

She sighed happily as trembling tingles edged the places he touched. "Oh really? And what color was it?"

"Um... I don't recall." This time, he kissed just below her earlobe where he knew from a great deal of experience she was oversensitive. In response, she arched up uncontrollably against him and felt her blood begin rush faster around her body.

"Can't have been that impressive, then," she murmured, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair, then automatically fisting tight when he began nibbling delicately on her neck. He was way too good at that.

"Okay, okay, it was the cleavage that I liked. I admit it. I'm a pig."

"Trust me, you're not." Enough was enough, she pulled his face up to hers, looked him in the eye and conveyed all she was feeling through that one communicative contact. He smiled and kissed her.

HolyHannahHolyHannahHolyHannahHolyHannah...

There was something about the way he held her when he kissed her that made Sam's heart constrict tightly, made her gasp that extra bit louder against his mouth, made her hold him tighter, wrap her legs around him, press herself as tightly as possible against him. No slouch in the kissing department was her Colonel despite his protested lack of experience in recent years (Hah, she'd said at that point in the conversation, what about your woman on every planet? To which he'd turned the tables and pointed out her own male alien fan club).

The kissing stopped being enough, as it always did. His hands began rubbing and stroking at her bare stomach and she pulled up his T-shirt swiftly, wishing they didn't have to break off kissing as the black cloth was pulled off and flung away... somewhere. Their eyes flicked down each others bodies before the separation became too much and the close contact resumed. His hands smoothed up to their favorite position, gently covered her favorite almost-practical-but-not-quite bra that she'd worn (and bought, if she was honest) especially for him.

He drew away momentarily, looked down more closely and smiled in that really male way of his. "Man. Tell me you have matching panties."

"Of course. But," she put her hands on his chest (and what a nice chest it was, as well), " you're not going to see them off-world."

He cleared his throat and looked around them swiftly in what could laughably be called a reconnaissance. "I realize that. But a guy can dream."

"I should hope so too." She removed her hands and pulled him back down.

After that there was very little talking. There was a lot of small, soft noises from Sam and lower, gruffer noises from Jack, but that was to be expected. Aware that they had a time limit and that they might need to leap back into their clothes, Jack stopped at actually getting her bra off but decided to improvise as much as he could, but it soon got rather too much for them.

"Okay, we'd better stop," she whispered breathlessly against his chest.

"Five minutes."

She was a sucker for him. "Okay."

Five minutes later, he said, " Stopping soon?"

"Five more minutes."

"Absolutely."

Ten minutes later they stopped. But only because suddenly Sam realized something was licking her ankle. And it wasn't him. He was licking something else.

She froze.

"What?"

"Jack, something's licking my ankle."

In a move she would later think miraculous considering his age, her weight, and their previous occupation, he had her up and off the ground in seconds. Clutching at each other, her legs around his waist, they turned to look at what it was.

It was knee high, dark green, woolly. Sheep-like. Eight legs. With a huge, salivating tongue and pale blue eyes. It was looking at them curiously, the tongue hanging out somehow threateningly.

"That looks familiar."

"Apparently they're all over the planets in this galaxy," she deduced.

He shifted her in his arms, but didn't let go. "I'm trying to remember what SG-7 said about them."

"Ah... Jack?" She'd just looked over his shoulder and was rather regretting it. "I think they move in packs."

"It's a sheep. They don't have packs. They have herds. Big, fluffy herds." But he too was looking around. There appeared to be twenty, maybe thirty um, sheep-things, circling the gate and therefore them.

"These have packs. They, ah, hunt in them, as I recall."

"Hunt! Sheep don't, damn, hunt." He crouched and grabbed his P-90, handed it to her.

"These ones are carnivores. SG-7 were chased by them all the way back to their gate. They, um, study their victims before making a move. Damn, I can't believe we were..." Well, that was obvious. Clearly they needed to set down some solid rules and not break them. This was exactly the type of situation they should be trying to avoid.

Jack was looking around for a way out. "Right. Can they jump?"

"No." She looked at the thin, stubby sheep-like legs. "I don't think they have the legs for it."

"So, if we, ah..." He paused as the leader sheep stepped towards them, its legs moving in a confusing mass of green-ness. They waited a moment, to see if it made another move, but it didn't. "If we climbed on top of the DHD, we'd be safe?"

She glanced over at the DHD, which was on a high platform with large steps up to it. "Um, I should think so."

"Okay. On three, I'm gonna put you down and we're going to run over to the DHD and climb on top of it."

"Right."

"One, two, three!"

Running madly, not looking behind, or in front, or to either side, they headed for the platform, threw themselves up the steps and clambered up on top of the DHD, the large buttons making their swooshing noise as they found somewhere comfortable to sit.

"Just don't touch the..." Big red button? Activation button? What did they call it, anyway? "... thing in the middle. We don't want to dial up some planet," Sam warned.

He nodded, watching the sheep jumped up onto the Stargate platform and ambled over to them. "They sure don't look scary."

"It's probably an evolutionary thing. You know, look cute and then, surprise! More dangerous than they look."

"Why didn't the UAV pick up these thing?"

"They're camouflaged."

"Good point. Never thought I'd say this, but I miss normal sheep."

She hugged the P-90 to her chest and was thankful the weather was so warm. "I miss my t-shirt."

He looked at her, then looked at himself. Then he closed his eyes. "Oh crap."

Sam sighed. "Never again."

"Never again." He rested his cheek on his propped up hand. "I guess it's good that Teal'c gonna find out about us early on."

"I guess so."

There was an ominous crunch from over where all their clothes were. A sheep was confusedly looking down at the vest it was standing on with all eight of its legs.

"Oh, man, my sunglasses."

The sheep looked up, narrowed it eyes, pulled in its tongue and bared its teeth. Its considerably sharp, huge, knife-like teeth.

Sam and Jack leaned back as one, horrified in unison.

That decided her - she was throwing away her green woolly jumper as soon as she got home.

"Woah!" Jack exclaimed, holding up his hands. "Have 'em, buddy. Take 'em. Don't care. I'll just stay... right here."

"Can we shoot them yet?"

"And just how would that look in the report? We came, we saw, we shot thirty green eight-legged sheep? Come on, we have a reputation to be maintained. Besides, we don't have enough ammunition."

Sam made a face. "Daniel's going to laugh at us."

"Fine. We'll change the coffee in the commissary to decaf. That make you feel better?"

Well, yes, actually. It did.

She looked at her watch. Six hours to go. She was sure she could laugh about this mission after she'd got laid.

*

Sam woke up for the umpteenth time that morning, this time aware that somewhere, somehow, an alarm was going off. An alarm that warned her this time she would actually have to get up and get dressed and, oh God, go to work.

Jack moaned.

"Hey," she lifted her head and looked around, " where are we?"

"Attic."

"The attic?" It was then that the headache hit her, suddenly and sharply. She gasped and pressed her hands to her eyes. "How did we get into the attic?"

"By walking?"

She glared at him. With her eyes closed. When that didn't work, she opened her eyes slowly.

Jack was lying, naked, on top of sheets of newspaper. His arm was around her waist still, even though she was half sitting up, and his head was turned towards her. She got a really nice view of nail marks on his back. "Jack, don't get naked with any of the other SG teams today," she advised, admiring her work. It had been some years since she'd felt enough passion to actually hurt a lover. God, she hoped he didn't mind. Not that he'd complained at all the previous evening, night and, um, morning.

"I'm not planning on moving."

"We have to. Work." She looked around his attic and wondered why on earth they'd decided to come up here, apparently naked since there weren't any clothes lying around. "Weird."

Groaning, he rolled onto his back and cast an arm across his face. "Christ. At what stage did we decide to start drinking?"

"At about eight," she said, narrowing her eyes in remembrance. "To celebrate."

He grinned, despite his hangover. "Who brought the alarm up?"

"You did." Now she definitely remembered that part of the night. Or was it morning? "You suddenly got quite insistent that we take an alarm clock with us. That was when we moved to the spare room. Why did we move to spare room?"

"Candle wax on the bedspread."

Which, at the time, they'd found hysterical. And hadn't thought to simply change the bed spread rather than moving rooms. "Oh yeah."

"Why did we move from the spare room?" he wanted to know.

"Why did we move from the spare bedroom to your attic, is what I want to know."

Jack sat up then and looked around, his eyes bulging. "I don't have an attic."

Suddenly, any humor she'd found in the situation fled as, with horror, she reassessed their situation. She'd just assumed it would be his attic. They'd started the evening in his house, after all, and had subsequently visited most of the rooms of his house. She'd just thought that at some stage, however bizarrely, they'd moved it up into his attic. His attic which was filled with.... football trophies, portraits of horses and magazines of... of...

She tilted her head to the side to see if the cover made more sense. It didn't. Holy Hannah was that....

"Okay, this better not be your attic, because that is the most disturbing..." She crawled forward towards them but he grabbed her ankle.

"Sam, honey, now is not the time to be investigating someone's attic. We are naked. And we are lost."

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled proudly at him. "Also, you have a hickey on your neck."

Tucking his tongue into his cheek, he yanked on her ankle and coaxed her back towards him, running his fingers lightly up her sides and over her back. His smile was slightly dreamy as he looked everywhere but her face. "We need to get out of here."

She struggled out of his arms - this was so not the time. Besides, she didn't think she was up to it. "We need to find some clothes."

"They must be around here somewhere."

Wincing, they helped each other to standing and Sam recalled now what an orgy of sexual activity did to her muscles. Honestly, no work out she'd ever found quite succeeded in exercising the muscles that were twinging so spectacularly as she searched amongst the crates and boxes and trunks for anything that resembled the outfit she'd been wearing the night before.

"Wait, wait, I'm getting something," Jack said, poking his head up over a hanger of musty old fur coats. "Did we... this is going to sound odd but... did we go over to my neighbors to water their house plants?"

Something in that statement sounded familiar to her. "Flora and Fauna," she murmured. She clicked her fingers. "Yes! Yes, you were telling me that they had cats called Flora and Fauna and you were pleased that they'd been taken to someone else for the vacation because you hate cats."

"So we're in my neighbors attic," he said triumphantly.

Sam's eyes shifted, helplessly, back to the magazines. "Sixty-year-olds, did you say?"

"Well, she is. He's, um, seventy-one." He also, seemed to be looking at the magazines too.

"They're.. new," she pointed out. The glossy covers had recent months printed on them. Disturbingly.

"I can see that."

They both continued to stare at the magazines, twisting their heads one way and another.

"That looks really painful," Jack said eventually, planting his hands on his hips.

"For some people it's a turn on. Apparently." She swallowed, trying not to imagine two retired people engaged in those kinds of... activities. "I mean, I'm all for... exploring your inner self but... I guess I'd say I'm open minded but that... that...."

"That's totally freaky."

She was relieved. "Oh good. I'm so glad."

Even if having sex in a neighbors house wasn't a little freaky as well.

"We'd better go downstairs. I imagine our clothes are somewhere on the first floor. Unless we decided to water the plants naked. Which only meant we left my house... naked."

The worrying thing was that Sam didn't find that idea completely outrageous. Considering they'd cooked naked and all. Last night, everything had seemed a whole lot more time efficient if they'd done everything naked. Getting dressed was pretty pointless if you were only going to take everything off again. "What exactly did we drink?"

"I'm not sure after the third bottle of wine. I've got some really old brandy." He touched the small of her back and nodded at the door. "This way."

"I hate brandy," she said thoughtfully as she followed him.

"Me too. That's why it's still full. Or it was."

Thankfully, their clothes revealed themselves fairly early on in their search. It felt way too creepy wandering around a completely strangers house with no clothes on. Her jeans and shirt were reassuring, even if she couldn't find her underwear.

"Oh, please God let them be at home," Jack muttered as he found the keys and let her out of the house.

"What if it's not and they find them?" Sam exclaimed, stopping midway down the path. "They'll never speak to you again!"

He sighed resolutely and put his arm around her shoulders. "This has been the most extraordinary date of my life."

"I suppose it would have to be. It's not like we're normal." Even if, right now, walking down the road with his arm about her, she was feeling pretty normal. Her headache was subsiding, but then she knew her own hangover patterns. Soon she would be hit by the nausea and she would be unbearable to be around. Maybe she ought to warn him.

A brief search of his house found no underwear. They did, however, discover why they'd left his spare bedroom.

He shrugged as they paused in the doorway. "I knew that bed was going to go soon. I had that when I was a teenager."

Sam felt herself blushing and she turned her face into his shoulder. "Oh my God, we totally wrecked your house."

He laughed. "I'm pretty pleased myself, but I suspect that's a man thing." He patted her behind and then wandered off. "Get your stuff! We'd better get to work."

"Can you drive?"

"I've already called a cab."

Since Sam had left her base ID at home, the cab swung by her house so she was able to swiftly put on some supportive underwear and also downed several painkillers. She grabbed the makings of the patented Carter hangover cure and shoved them into a plastic bag before running (okay, walking swiftly) back to the cab where Jack was slumped in the back seat, wincing behind his sunglasses.

"Headache getting worse?"

"Oooh, yeah. You, however, seem remarkably free from pain."

"Just you wait. I won't be speaking to you by this afternoon."

"I won't take it personally then." He linked fingers with hers and smiled at her cheerfully. "On the other hand, I've not felt this relaxed since... ever."

If she got any more relaxed, she'd probably slide off the seat. Instead, she wrapped her arm about his and snuggled up close. "I promise I'll help clean your house."

"I'll get Teal'c and Danny to help. That way they can suffer in silence for laughing at us yesterday."

She giggled. Yup. She could laugh about it now. Suddenly, everything was a whole lot more funny. Jolinar? Friendly little snake. Computer entities? A fun ride through the SGC computer network. Hather? Had some interesting fashion ideas. Antarctica? First experience of the Colonel's sidearm. Anise? Still a bitch.

"Damn sheep," she muttered, just for posterity.

"Amen."

The rest of the journey was traveled in calm silence to the base where they were forced to get out at the security check-in. The cab driver gave them both a knowing grin, and a wink at Sam, before he turned the car around and drove off. So prepared, Jack gave the security guard his most threatening Colonel look and the guy visibly paled.

"Don't suppose you could teach me how to do that?" she whispered as they walked over to the pedestrian walkway.

"Trust me. Yours is way scarier."

"I have a look?"

He nodded, leaned towards her as they entered the mountain. "I caught Simmons crying once."

Part of her was pleased, part of her disbelieving. "You're making that up!"

His smile was mysterious. "Am I?"

Oh God, now he was being difficult. She bit her tongue and got into the elevator, refusing to be wound up by him. She could feel her stomach starting to complain, anyway, and all she really wanted to do was drink down the disgusting concoction Mark had taught her when she was fourteen and hope that it would settle her down.

"I suppose breakfast is out of the question," Jack murmured as they stepped out on level twenty-eight.

"And lunch too."

"Dinner?"

"Maybe. Um, do you want to come to mine?"

He grinned. "I promise we'll stay in one room."

"It's okay, I'll Jack-proof everything before you arrive. Seven?"

"Great. See you then." He made a slight movement with his head that suggested he'd been about to kiss her, then he stepped back, a resigned look on his face. "Have a nice day, Major."

"Yes, sir."

She watched him walk away, her eyes straying to a part of his anatomy that she'd previous been completely unfamiliar with. Not anymore of course.

Hmmm.

She walked to her lab, a stupid grin on her face.

Daniel joined her at about midmorning, carrying with him a pile of books. "Just thought I'd rest for a moment," he breathed, carefully resting everything on one end of her table. He looked at her, then at the strange, half-full glass of dirty orange liquid by her laptop, then at her again. "Something I should know?"

Not unless he wanted to be incredibly icked out, Sam thought. The mixture was revolting when it was separated into its basic ingredients.

And, naturally, it was revolting as a mixture, too. The first time Mark had showed her how to make it, she thought he'd been kidding.

Sam shook her head, pasted an oblivious look on her face. "No. Just thought I'd have something nutritious for breakfast. Of course, I'd forgotten how revolting nutritious is."

He smiled, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Have you seen the notice board today?"

"No. Why?"

"Someone said there was something up there that was more amusing than the usual piss poor Air Force jokes." His eyes crinkled knowingly and he picked up his things. "Then again, I'm sure you have better things to, um, think about," was his last response as he left the room.

She narrowed her eyes at the empty doorway. The sneaky little know-it-all.

Still...

There was a small crowd around the notice board and everyone was talking excitedly to one another. No one was very concerned that Major Carter of SG-1 had arrived, which put to rest any theories that she might be featuring on the board. After all, Daniel had occasionally posted up images of her in compromising situations just for the hell of it. And she'd retaliated by telling all the nurses that he was gay.

She gave people a stern look (maybe that was 'the look' he'd been talking about?) which enabled her to move through the crowd right to the front.

Oh.

My.

God.

Hurriedly, she reached up and gripped the edge of her photograph with her nails, yanked it down. Around her there were numerous groans and she cast a withering look over her shoulder. "Honestly. Whoever designed this on their computer should be ashamed."

"You mean it's not real?" some slight little captain asked petulantly.

Okay, no, this was the look. The captain shrunk visibly.

"Of course it's not real," Sam said scornfully. "And if any of you say differently, I'll assure you the General will be down on you like a ton of bricks. Now get back to work, the lot of you."

Most of the Air Force officers meandered off, muttering mutinously, but there was a group of Marines who were having a very intent conversation over on the other side of the corridor. One glanced her way, she raised her eyebrows and he turned back, thumbed down the corridor and suggested to his friends that they continued their conversation elsewhere.

So, when the corridor was nice and clear, Major Samantha Carter looked down at the damning evidence she had in her hands, then did a little panic dance.

She suspected there were several surprised people to see her running like a blur to her CO's office, but she didn't care. Major Carter was in panic mode. "Colonel!" she exclaimed as soon as she burst through the door.

He looked up from his comic reading sharply, eyes widening. "What?!"

She raced to the desk and showed him the photo. "Someone found this and put it on the notice board! It's.. it's... it's him!"

Jack took it and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "That's not good."

"What are we going to do?"

"Take it to Hammond, of course. He'll need to know about his, er, name being besmirched."

She half smiled. "I suppose. You can do that then, right?"

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're his 2IC!" Her mouth twitched, suddenly. "And because... because... I don't think I can handle seeing his face. That's why."

"Oh, you're so not sneaking out of this one."

"Me? Me? I don't sneak."

He stood up and pointed a finger at her. "I am not doing this by myself. I need moral support."

"Hah!" She started backing away, half giggling, half laughing. "Come on, Jack. You just need to warn him, say that there's some freaky stuff... freaky... oh God, do you think he knows your neighbors?"

"That's not funny."

She bent over the waist, laughing hard. Then she groaned as her stomach protested. "I think I'll go see Janet. I'm feeling sick again."

"You're making that up!"

"Er... bye, Jack."

"That's it! It's another five years of celibacy for you, then, Major!"

She scrunched up her face as she hurried away towards the elevators. Janet would be sympathetic, she was sure. Then again, Janet had been acting very strangely recently. Something to do with feeling left out... If she was sulking, then Sam would only be told to have some lunch and see how she felt. Sigh.

*

Jack paused outside the General's door and swallowed. This always, always, without fail, felt like the occasions he'd visited the principals office as a teenager, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that seventy-five percent of the times he visited the General, it was either for a telling off or to report something that was going to get him told off.

Like two weeks ago, when he'd accidentally started a food fight in the commissary. All because he'd flicked some Jell-O at Daniel who'd just that moment dropped his pen on the ground and the Jell-O had flown straight over his lowered head into the face of a bull dressed as a marine. The marine, looking up in Jell-O-hazed fury, had zeroed in on Lieutenant Williams, who had been sitting behind a now innocent-faced Jack holding up a spoonful of red Jell-O to the light to see how pretty it looked. Williams had received an expertly aimed bowlful of apple pie and custard to the head. Williams' CO, taking great umbrage at the mistreatment of SG-6's mascot, had introduced the marine's face to some mashed potato. From then onwards... chaos.

Daniel, completely unfazed, completely oblivious, had stood up, murmured a goodbye to Jack, and wandered out of the commissary, head in a book. Jack escaped with minimal peas to the head, but Carter had got an entire jug of water all over her. Hmmm, which had made the T-shirt she was wearing stick to her completely. She'd then informed him she was going to the lockers to change because she could feel the water seeping down to her underwear.

Two weeks ago, he hadn't been sleeping with her and so that statement had done what it usually did whenever she mentioned anything remotely naked fantasy inducing. It sent him straight to the shower rooms to have a nice, cold shower and some very serious thoughts about hockey.

Bringing himself back to the present, Jack looked down at the crinkled, crumpled photograph of his CO, General Hammond, dressed in items of clothing that Jack would pay to never remember. It was his duty to bring this to his CO's attention immediately. Tactfully.

Tactfully?

He didn't do tact. Didn't Sam realize that? Tact and Jack O'Neill was like chalk and... and.. (not the cliché, Jack, not the cliché) bananas. Heh. Chalk and bananas. That's what it was.

"Colonel? Will you get in here and stop messing around out there?"

Jack froze, stared at the door. How had he known he was there? How had he known?

He always knew.

Nervously, Jack pushed open the door. "General," he said cheerfully.

Hammond nearly rolled his eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Colonel?"

"Well, I'm here... that's to say, here I am... here... to see you... here... because..." Nodding his head slowly, Jack ran out of words. Completely.

"Because...?" Hammond prompted.

Jack looked down at the photograph, then at his CO, then back at the photograph. Then at his CO. He swallowed. Painfully.

Hurriedly, he shoved the photograph at the General.

Then he closed his eyes.

"ThatwasonthenoticeboardandCartergotitdownandIthoughtyoumightwanttoknow."

Adept in translating nervous speed-speech, Hammond replied smoothly, " Thank you, Colonel. You may go."

Jack opened one eye tentatively. General Hammond wasn't blushing. In fact, he was smiling ever-so-slightly. He wasn't angry. He wasn't embarrassed. He wasn't looking remotely put out at all. What the hell was going on here? Did he not realize what he was wearing in that photograph?

Oh the horror...

He opened both eyes. "I can go?"

"Yes. Dismissed." The General dropped the photograph down on his IN tray and picked up his pen, continued writing smoothly.

Jack hovered uncertainly. This really hadn't gone the way he'd expected it to. Where was the embarrassed explanation? The stilted conversation? He hadn't even had a chance to put his foot in his mouth, make the usual sarcastic, inappropriate quip. Admittedly, he usually did that so that Carter could kick him in the ankle with her foot under the briefing room table, but he'd got into such a habit it was almost second nature nowadays.

"Right. Well, I'll... see you later."

"Goodbye, Colonel."

Jack left the room, but he didn't get far. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped. Behind him, three AF officers crashed into one another at the impromptu traffic jam, the middle one tipping a cup of coffee down his front and shrieking in a masculine fashion.

Vaguely, Jack was aware that the now desperately whimpering captain was being carted off to the infirmary, but it didn't really register that he might have been somehow involved. He was more concerned over a sudden, bizarre, but strangely appealing idea.

If anything, he would have said that Hammond hadn't been surprised to see the photograph. In fact, Hammond had looked distinctly like he.. he'd known.

Nah.

Jack carried on, shaking his head and headed straight for the elevator. Smiling at the Doc, who was inside the elevator, he slouched in the corner and made small talk up to Carter's lab level where both of them got out.

"Are you going to see Sam too?" she asked casually, tilting her head.

Suddenly realizing that his alone-time with Carter was going to be severely cut short if, well, he wasn't alone, Jack quickly backpedaled. "Nope. Danny. I'll drop in on Carter too. Wouldn't want anyone to feel left out. All my team get the same treatment."

The Doc smiled sweetly at him. "I'm sure Daniel is glad you're not giving him the same treatment as Sam, however. And Teal'c, too, for that matter." Then she walked off, head high, heels clip-clipping.

Jack had the distinct feeling that Janet knew more than she was supposed too. He guessed it was possible that Sam had told her, but he couldn't imagine when. Besides, it would technically be putting Janet into a position neither of them wanted to put their Air Force friends into.

Guess he and Sam would be having that talk a little earlier than he'd hoped.

Daniel, boringly, was fast asleep when Jack got to his office. Head down in an open book, glasses tossed aside, cup of coffee by his left ear, Jack decided the image was too Daniel-esque to go to waste. He pulled the digital camera from the shelf, carefully studied it before locating the ON button, and snapped several very nice piccies. Those would look great on the SGC Intranet. The nurses had set up a page just for pictures of Daniel - you couldn't access it unless you were a nurse in the know, but since Jack had worked his O'Neill charm on the new blonde one only a few months ago, he'd got the standard user name and password so he was free to surf the 'Daniel-itis Page' all he liked. Okay, so he didn't surf it. He put up embarrassing pictures of Daniel on it. Daniel sleeping. Daniel drooling. Daniel covered in mud. Daniel being spanked by the chieftain's daughter... Normal SG-1 stuff that other people didn't get to see. Things that would cause Daniel true and absolute embarrassment.

Cheerfully, Jack pocketed the camera, knowing Daniel wouldn't notice it had gone missing until they left on another mission. Then he moved a few of Daniel's carefully, alphabetically-shelved books around, shifted the odd statue thingy, hid some files - all things that would drive Daniel completely round the bend. Jack then glanced at the screen of the computer and had a quick flash of realization. He'd promised the security staff a little Daniel time recently (for helping him 'break' the security camera in his office early on that week) and the only way he knew how to do that was by changing Daniel's computer pass-code, thereby ensuring Daniel would have to phone the security girls up for help.

Creeping around the desk, he reached for the mouse and opened up the security program. In an effort to remember his passwords (that mysteriously kept changing), Daniel told Jack his codes, foolishly thinking that he would innocently hold on to it until he needed it. Jack changed the password from SUPERDANIEL (his last, genius creation) to WASSUP. Daniel would just hate that, Jack decided proudly.

He exited the program, pulled up Daniel's latest report (aw, man, he thought, seeing that he was one of the intended recipients), and hurried out of his friend's office, hands in his pockets.

Sam was alone by the time he got to her office. She was also sitting underneath one of the against-the-wall tables, cross-legged.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to stand by the table, tilting his head to the left to get a better look at her.

She looked up at him, smiled that smile that was just for him, and said, " Would you believe I'm meditating?"

"No."

"Shame."

There was nothing for it, he decided. In the interest of team morale, he would have to get under the table with her. Crouching down, he motioned with his head for her to shift over, then he crawled in next to her, leaning against the wall. "Honey, what are we doing under a table?"

Sam grinned at him in a pleased fashion. "Janet said you'd be along soon."

"So you're hiding under the table?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. The security camera can't see us from under here. I've checked."

See? This is what came of having a girlfriend who was a certified genius. Jack grinned at her helplessly. "What did you bribe the security staff with?"

Her brown furrowed. "I didn't bribe them. I just... asked."

"You asked them? I always have to bribe them with Daniel time."

"Which ones do you ask?"

"The brunette and the redhead."

She 'oh'ed. "See, I ask Captain Farren."

"Who's she?"

"Their supervisor. He has a crush on me."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Jack was mentally imagining ways that he could remove Captain Farren from the SGC. No, just remove him. Yes, that would be satisfying. He'd already dealt with Simmons, after all. "What did you need last week, then?"

She smiled triumphantly. "I asked for Daniel's computer pass-code so I could erase those pictures of me in Anise's clothes from his hard-drive and the only way I could think of was to... you know... smile a little too much at him."

"I'm not sure I approve," Jack managed, safe in the knowledge that Daniel had already emailed Jack the best pictures and they were happily sitting on both his SGC computer and his computer at home. In fact, one was his desktop wallpaper - the one where she was bending over to pick something up. It was his favorite picture. Somehow, Anise's clothes looked way better on Sam than they did on Anise.

"You flirt with the nurses."

"Only because... because..."

"What?"

"They see my butt on a regular basis! Otherwise it would be uncomfortable."

She giggled. Then she laughed, bending over and clutching her stomach. "Jack, they see everyone's butts on a regular basis. They're nurses! Do you flirt with the male ones too?"

"No!" Said that a little too quickly, Jack. "Man, are there any guys on base that don't have a crush on you?"

"Jack, two people do, not including you."

"Oh, come on, most of the lab technicians fantasize about you on a regular basis..."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

"Please - have you see their faces? That adoring expression? I know that expression. They're like lemmings. They'd follow you off a cliff."

She was really grinning at him now, her cheeks were even flushed, eyes sparkling. "I'm so flattered that you're bothering to be jealous about lab technicians."

"I am not jealous!"

Oh, he so was. Even if they were nerds and he was way, way cooler.

And, you know, he'd seen her naked.

This was pointless. "Never mind," he said eventually - they were, after all wasting perfectly good private time. "Can we make-out now?"

Sam snorted, then giggled. "That was so romantic. I think I'd prefer level twenty-three's storage room."

He rolled his eyes. She was really enjoying pissing him off today. First the General... "Hey, hey! I went to see General Hammond. How come you didn't ask me about that?"

"I was gonna, but you started in on me about lab technicians, of all things."

Jack shook his head, refusing to jump back into that argument (seriously, he had a hit list of lab technicians on his computer that he updated regularly, just to keep tabs on them all - he didn't want them getting out of hand). "So I gave it to him, and he didn't seem remotely surprised. It was like he knew!"

Her eyes widened. "Really? Didn't he get embarrassed?"

"No! It was horrible!"

She paused. "I would have thought it would have been easier."

"Yes, it was! But I was prepared for it to be horrible. I was ready for the awkwardness, the stammering, the cheesy, terribly bad taste comments..."

"And what did you think the General was going to do?"

"I knew he'd fob me off, of course, come up with something. But I knew it would all be a lie... at least, unless he did honestly tell me it was some kind of dressing up generals party."

"But he didn't."

"No. He just took it, thanked me, and dismissed me."

Sam shook her head. "I just don't get it."

"Neither do I." He sighed deeply and noticed for the first time that it was really kinda dusty under the table. He looked around. "I think the cleaners are skiving."

"Mmm, I was just thinking that. I'm gonna have dust all over my ass."

"I'll get rid of it for you."

They grinned foolishly at each other.

He looked at his watch. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, actually. My family hangover cure seems to have worked wonders. I'm actually quite hungry."

"Me too. Lunch?"

"I thought you wanted to make-out?" she teased, already climbing out from under the table and wiping down her pants.

"As far as I'm concerned, that's all we'll be doing tonight."

"All?" Sam called, walking out of her lab.

"Okay, maybe not all."

*

Hammond threw aside the file with a sigh and reached up to rub his face. It had been a hard day. SG-9 had come back a delicate shade of purple which, while it entertainingly clashed with their uniforms, had rendered Dr Fraiser speechless with incomprehension. They were all in the infirmary now, looking decidedly alien like. Fraiser had come up with the idea of remaking the beds with darker purple sheets to draw attention away from their coloring, but it was still freaky. She was hopeful their color would return to normal.

SG-12 had gone on strike, again, because they were getting all the cake runs - Major Clam, the CO, had pointed out that it wasn't fair that SG-1 got all the good missions simply because they were SG-1. He'd become quite tearful, actually, and had nearly stamped his feet. Hopefully, Hammond's solution of giving SG-12 their own locker room had shut them up for their own time, at least until the other teams caught on.

And, to top it all off, General Blake was at it again.

The red phone started ringing and Hammond glanced at the clock. Six o'clock precisely. Just in time for the President's evening chat.

"Mr. President."

"George! How's it going?"

Rolling his eyes, Hammond regarded his lamp sternly, trying to repress the urge to hang up. The President was like an overly concerned parent, phoning up the baby-sitter every half hour to check on things. "Everything is fine, sir."

"Fine?"

The disappointment in his voice was immense.

"Well - SG-9 did come back purple."

"Really!"

Humoring the Presidents desire to have his evening filled with wondrous tales, Hammond decided to elaborate slightly, " with pink spots."

"No way!"

"Yes, sir. Pink spots. All... er... over."

"Wow."

Wow? Hammond thought. What was the world coming too? "SG-12 complained about favoritism once again."

The President tut-tutted. "Man, they're really pissed, aren't they? Don't they understand SG-1 are my favorites too? Have you explained that to them?"

Well, no, but Hammond didn't really want things to get out of hand. Telling SG-12 the reason SG-1 got all the exciting, glossy missions was because the President liked them the best was only going to cause trouble. "I have, sir. They seem to be momentarily satisfied with their own private locker room."

"Oh. Hey, I thought all the SG teams had their own lockers."

"Only SG-1 to SG-9. The others just haven't worked it out yet." And if that wasn't a ticking bomb then Hammond didn't know what was.

"And these are our country's finest." Hammond could sense the President was shaking his head sadly. "Such a shame. So... any other gossip?"

Gossip?

Hammond closed his eyes. "I know for a fact that General Blake from NORAD's been setting me up again."

The President chuckled. "Don't tell me. To one with you in the..."

"Yes," Hammond interrupted quickly.

"Man. That was a great party."

"Huh. Noticed you avoided most of the photo opportunities."

"What did you expect? My wife would have killed me. They were her finest pair of stockings!"

Grumpily, Hammond picked up his pen, watched the plane slide from one end of the little liquid capsule to the other. Then he tipped it the other way. Present from Colonel O'Neill, of course. For his birthday. Hammond knew from Jacob that Major Carter had bought it for O'Neill to give him, knowing only too well the Colonel would forget for the umpteenth year running. What would that man do without her?

"What about on the... ugh... classified front?"

Hammond grunted. "I'm not sure. They've been acting weirdly all week."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you notice anything at the event on Saturday?"

"Major Carter was sporting a very fetching dress."

"Typical of you to have noticed. Sir," he added, just in case.

"I didn't see O'Neill, though."

"No, neither did I. Except briefly, at the beginning, which, I imagine, was his tactful way of 'signing in' with me, to prove that he'd actually turned up. Jackson was also notably absent, as was Davis and Simmons. I figure they found a back room and hid there all night. Honestly, it's not like they get out much! Young people these days," he muttered disgustedly.

"A back room, did you say?"

"Mmm."

"Oh."

The silence on the other end of the phone was worrying. "Sir?"

"Well, it's just... I had a meeting in there earlier. With Generals Fox, Gorder, Thomas and Ruperts."

Hammond brow creased. "How come you didn't invite me?"

"Hey! I knew you were busy - you know how are you after SG-1 have had one of their close shaves."

That was true, but Hammond couldn't help but feeling a little miffed. "So what was this meeting about then?" he asked, trying to keep the petulance out of his voice.

"I was showing them my slides. Of the, um, party."

"The ones you e-mailed round?"

"Yeah, those. But you know how Fox and Gorder are, completely computer illiterate. And Thomas is never at his desk and let's not even go into Ruperts..."

"Please, let's not." Ruperts didn't even know where his office was, let along how to locate and identify a computer. He still thought speed dial was the next best thing to sliced bread.

"Well... I... kinda... forget to take the slides away with me."

"What!!"

"It was an accident!"

"You mean there's a distinct possibility that..." And thinking back to the Monday morning meeting, Hammond felt his face lose all color. "Oh my God."

"Do you think they did? I mean, I got the slides picked up Sunday morning. But there are a lot of rooms back there.."

"They saw them."

"How do you know?"

"From the look on Colonel O'Neill's face when he handed over Blake's little piece of entertainment, and from the Monday morning briefing." Suddenly, Jackson's 'spanky' slip was making so much sense. And Carter's streaming eyes. And he knew he'd heard laughter the moment he was out of that door.

"Hammond, I'm so sorry."

"Mr. President, I'm going to have to go now. I need to do some... covering up."

"Sure, sure. I'll leave you too it. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Mr. President."

Hammond hung up the red phone and tapped his fingers against the desk. So, Carter, O'Neill, Jackson, Davis and Simmons had seen the slides of General Blake's Fancy Dress Party. Not good. No wonder Jackson hadn't been able to look him in the eye and he'd known Simmons' coughing fits around him recently weren't allergies, like he claimed.

How was he going to fix this?

Well, first of all, he was going to have to sort out Blake. It was all very well and good Blake running a betting pool up in NORAD over what was going on down in the basement, but posting up indiscreet posters around the SGC where innocent men and women under his command could see them was going a step too far.

So thinking, Hammond pulled his laptop from a desk drawer and quickly booted up. The photographs that the President had sent around to all concerned were easily accessed and he found one with a particularly revealing picture of General Blake in it. Payback was fair, after all. He pasted the photo into an new e-mail and clicked on SEND TO ALL. Off it whizzed to every single mailbox in the mountain, a number in the Pentagon, several in the White House.

Hammond smiled.

Evilly.

Now, as for the five mightily embarrassed SGC personnel. In his mind's eye, he could clearly see O'Neill dithering outside his office on the security screen he kept hidden behind his desk for such occasions. He could see Major Carter trying desperately to stop herself from laughing. And he could see Jackson's embarrassed flush at his Freudian slip. Davis, he'd actually yet to see, which he decided was a mixed blessing but Simmons was always crippled by unstoppable coughing whenever he walked past.

What to do, what to do....

For one thing, he could point out to the lot of them that what he did occasionally (okay, once a year following a large amount of fortifying whisky) for entertainment was nothing to do with them and they shouldn't have been looking at those slides in the first place. Which was all well and good, but it would do little to keep them quiet.

So, what he needed were individual strategies..

To Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter, he could point out that the storage room on level twenty-three did have a security camera with sound (which was far more revealing than the picture, actually) and they weren't being as subtle as they thought they were. He had his own reasons for keeping this particular observation from the President - namely the bet. He had January 2003 (the date he and Colonel O'Neill had provisionally discussed as Major Carter's promotion ceremony and her subsequent transfer to a team of her own) and he damn well wasn't going to let slip that they'd started their relationship a year earlier than he wanted.

Daniel Jackson would do well to be reminded that it was General Hammond who had let him in on the Daniel-itis web page, given him a user name and password. And he would do well to remember that Hammond was keeping quiet on the matter of Jackson copying and selling the video tapes of the SGC gym on the Internet (though, thinking about that, Hammond was getting ten percent of the funds so maybe he ought to think of something else).

Simmons was easy. Hammond would simply remind him that keeping stolen parts of Major Carter's uniform in his locker was totally revolting and would have to be stopped at once or he would tell Colonel O'Neill.

Davis... well, Davis was another matter. He supposed... well, he supposed he could promise him the spot on SG-1 once Major Carter was reassigned.

Hmm.

Well, he'd have to think about that one. He wasn't sure the President liked the idea of SG-1 splitting up in the first place, but, honestly, Hammond couldn't handle O'Neill and Carter playing footsie under the table anymore. It was getting ridiculous.

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