A/N: Special thanks to UhSir from the Sam/Jack ship family discussion thread on GateWorld for providing the shippy impetus for this story. I had a tough time with it myself. Special thanks (again) to JennF for speedy and accurate Beta work on this one.

Set on Medrona after the events of Touchstone.

Perception

Sam Carter paced the perimeter of their campsite, absently noting the comings and goings of the villagers as she watched Colonel O'Neill light their evening fire. Or, more accurately, attempt to light their fire. Despite carefully placing the tinder and moss, then blowing on the tiny flame that had flickered from his lighter, he was unable to coax it into a full-blown, and much-needed, fire. Night was falling rapidly and with the setting of the sun came a surprisingly cold night wind.

The weather on Medrona had gradually returned to normal following the return of the touchstone to the statue in the main hall. Despite their requests, Roham, the village elder with whom they had most of their dealings, had only allowed the four members of SG-1 to return to the planet in order to observe the planet's return to normalcy. "Normal" for Medrona apparently meant days in the mid to high seventies and nights that dipped well into the forties. While that made for good sleeping weather at home, when one was essentially camping out, it made for very chilly nights. On top of that, the Medronan's had forgotten to mention to O'Neill and his team that rain, a very chilly rain, had been scheduled for the afternoon. That meant that all of the kindling and starter Sam had gathered and laid out near the firepit was now soaked.

Teal'c approached Sam to relieve her for his turn at watch. He indicated O'Neill's efforts with a nod of his head and asked, "Would it not be better, Captain Carter, for us to remove to the lodgings offered by the Medronan's?"

"I don't think so, Teal'c. Colonel O'Neill wants us to stay close to the touchstone, just in case Mayborne is successful in 'misplacing' the other Stargate on Earth." She paced alongside Teal'c, not in any hurry to leave.

"How long are we to maintain this vigil?

"Another day or so, I think. General Hammond said we'd be relieved by an anthropological team on the fifth. They'll alert us if anything odd happens after that." Sam glanced over to where O'Neill was struggling with the fire, watching him bend low and try to nurse another tiny flame to life. "Although, if the Colonel can't get a fire going, we may go sooner." Sam broke off as O'Neill muttered another curse and began trying again. "I'm gonna see if I can..." She waved her arm in the direction of the firepit.

"Indeed. Good night to you, Captain Carter. I wish you pleasant nighttime fantasies."

"Ah, thank you, Teal'c. Um, sweet dreams to you, too." Sam gave the Jaffa a smile before turning and heading toward the still unlit logs and her grumbling CO. She knew Daniel had been spending quite a bit of time with Teal'c, teaching him Earth customs, but it still surprised her when the alien reinterpreted Earth expressions in his inimitably Jaffa way. The results were often...interesting. Sleep fantasies? Oh, I don't think so, Teal'c. She stopped immediately behind O'Neill, not wanting to startle him, and waited for him to finish his latest attempt.

"Carter!"

O'Neill's sudden shout surprised her and she responded more sharply than normal. "Yes, Sir?"

O'Neill jumped, obviously startled to hear respond from so nearby. He was leaning forward at an awkward angle and would have fallen into the firepit had Sam not reached out and steadied his shoulder. O'Neill instinctively reached out and wrapped one long arm around her leg to prevent himself from falling onto the muddy ground. His sudden move pulled them both off balance and, to keep her from being hurt, he twisted and rolled, cushioning her fall with his body.

"Ooof!"

"Oh!"

"Ow."

Sam wiggled, acutely aware of the Colonel's hand trapped between her legs. She slid downward, her hands searching for purchase on the slippery ground, determinedly trying to ignore the feel of his hand as it slid up her abdomen. "Oh, God, Colonel. I'm so sorry. I thought you knew I was behind you!" In her haste to separate herself from him, Sam scrambled to her knees. She tried to get her feet under her, but quickly lost her footing in the slick mud and lost her balance again, this time falling backward. She flung arms out to brace herself, one hand landing squarely on the freshly cut wood laid out for the fire. A long, thin splinter pierced the skin of her palm and burrowed a bloody trail deep into her hand. Sam yanked her hand back, bringing the dagger of wood with it. "God! Ow!"

O'Neill quickly sat up, heedless now of the mud that covered the two of them. He grabbed Sam's hand from where she had it cradled protectively against her chest. "Carter! Let me see." O'Neill shook his head. "Damn, it's too dark here, and that looks nasty." He groped his shoulder for his radio. Unable to find the mic, he simply reached forward to grab Sam's. "I'm gonna call Daniel and tell him to dial us out."

Sam could feel O'Neill's hands trembling slightly as they held her own. She shook her head, "Sir, it's...I'm okay. Let's just see if we can get a fire lit, then you can pull it out." She felt his trembling ease with her words.

"You sure, Captain?" O'Neill paused, bending low over Sam's hand. "Seems like a pretty long splinter you've got going there."

"I'm good, Colonel." Sam shrugged slightly, careful not to move her hand. "Besides, Daniel can bring over the village healer if we need her." She took a deep breath, easing her injured hand from his grasp. "What did you need me for, Sir?"

"What? Oh. That." The Colonel went to run his hand through his hair, then looked at it, realizing it was covered in mud. He shrugged and wiped his palm on his trousers instead. "I was thinking you might have some...doohickey...we could use the light the fire."

Sam grinned at O'Neill, remembering him speaking of her equipment during their initial briefing to General Hammond. "Doohickey, sir? That's the, ah..."

"Technical term."

"Ah, right." Sam shook her head. "Sorry, Colonel, I don't have any...doohickey's...that can magically start fires."

"Damn."

"But, Sir, I do have some Sterno fuel. That would get something going long enough for the wood to catch, wouldn't it?"

O'Neill turned to her with a grin. "Yes, I believe that would do it." The Colonel reached past Sam for her camp bag. "Is it in here?"

Sam nodded and watched as O'Neill pulled the small fuel can from her pack. Within moments he had the wood in the pit doused with fuel and a rapidly growing fire. After carefully feeding larger sticks and branches into the flames, O'Neill added relatively dry logs into the mix and leaned back, satisfied that the fire they had would last for a while. He then laid his rain poncho over the stone bench at the edge of the pit, pulling the end of it down the front of the bench to cover the ground nearest the fire.

Turning toward Sam, he pulled the first aid kit from his pack along with his flashlight. "C'mere, Captain." O'Neill drew Sam over, pushing her down to sit on the poncho in front of the bench, her hand resting on his leg. "I'll need you to hold the flashlight, if you can."

"Sure, Sir." Sam caught her breath as O'Neill leaned close, his own breath tickling her arm. He peered closely at the jagged piece of wood impaling Sam, his fingers gently cradling her hand in his.

"Damn, Captain. That's in there pretty good."

Sam gritted her teeth as he jarred the stick during his exam. "Just...just pull it out, Sir. It'll be fine."

"Okay, let me get some stuff. While I'm doing that, tell me about what your doohickey's discovered today." He quirked a small grin at her.

Sam rolled her eyes, thankful that with her face turned away from the fire, the Colonel couldn't see her expression. She tilted her head and watched as he pulled gauze and antibiotic cream from the med kit. "Why do you do that, Colonel?"

"Hmm? Do what, Captain?" O'Neill's voice was distracted, his attention on her injury.

"Pretend to not know what it is that I do?"

O'Neill glanced up at her, his eyes wide with surprise. "You think I have to pretend not to understand you, Carter?" He shook his head and returned to his ministrations. "I can't begin to know what it is that you do...or think...most of the time."

"That's not what I meant, I guess–ow!"

"Sorry. Just a bit more."

"It's okay." Sam studied her CO's face as he focused on his task. The dancing light of the fire brought out the planes of his face in almost stark relief, emphasizing the valleys and lines of his experience, his years in the field. "I mean, Sir..." She hissed again and jerked slightly as he hit a particularly sensitive spot and was stunned to see him wince in response to her pain. "Sorry, Colonel, I didn't mean to pull away."

"S'okay, Sam. I'm digging pretty deep here. Move the light over a bit, would you? To...there. That's good." O'Neill glanced up at and realized Carter was holding the light at an awkward angle. "Here, rest your elbow on my knee, that way you can hold the light steadier."

Sam nodded, once again acutely aware of her proximity to her CO. She had one hand in his lap and her other elbow on his knee while he worked, her body wedged almost between his legs. She was near enough that she could feel the heat from his body mingling with hers, hear every breath he took. She could smell that scent that she'd come to recognize as something unique only to him. Sam forced her thoughts in another direction, picking up where she'd left off. "I know you don't know the astrophysics part of my job, Colonel, but I do know you understand more of what I'm saying than you let on." She paused, waiting for a reaction. O'Neill did nothing more than raise an eyebrow as he pulled the last of the wood from her hand. "Doohickey's, Sir? Really?"

"You'd prefer what, doodads? Whatchamacallums?" The Colonel bent low and continued working on removing the smaller splinters from her palm.

Sam was caught off guard by O'Neill's light tone, he wasn't often this loose when it was just them. "I...I don't...why call them that at all?"

"Why not?"

"Why not? Why...pretend?" She blew out a frustrated breath before confessing. "I, ah...well, I read your record. Or as much of it as I could find. I know you hold two BS degrees as well as a Master's in Mechanical Engineering." Sam cocked her head to one side. "Why let people think you're...well..."

"An idiot? Or worse?" Instead of answering, O'Neill carefully slathered antibiotic cream, far more than was probably necessary, over Sam's palm. He slid the viscous fluid slowly over her skin, apparently unaware of the sensations he was stirring in his Second, his long, supple fingers gliding across...almost caressing...her hand. After several moments he laid a large square of gauze over the puncture site and began to swathe her hand with Kling wrap. Still looking at her hand, he finally asked, "Why do you think I do it, Captain?"

Sam studied him for a long moment. "I guess, Sir, because...it makes people underestimate you."

O'Neill simply nodded and continued his bandaging. "And that's a good thing, because...?"

"If they underestimate you, they'll dismiss you, thereby giving you the advantage."

"Very good, Captain." The Colonel lifted her hand from his lap, critically examining his patch-up job. "How's it feel, Carter?"

Sam slowly flexed and stretched her hand, feeling for any sharp pain that might indicate bits of wood the Colonel had missed. "Pretty good, Sir. Thanks." She shifted and continued to shine the flashlight at the bench while the Colonel began to clean up the detritus of his medical handiwork. "Don't you get tired of it, though, Sir?"

"What?"

"Of people underestimating you. Of having people think you're...well, to use your word, Sir, an 'idiot'?"

O'Neill slid off the bench and onto the poncho with Carter, the first aid kit resting in his lap. He reached for a small branch and absently poked the fire, sending a shower of sparks up into the pitch black night sky. The low clouds left over from the afternoon rain blocked the stars from view, leaving only the light of their fire to see by. He turned to face Carter, his voice pitched low, his brown eyes black in the stark, flickering light. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Startled, Sam jerked back. "Of course not, Sir!"

"What about Teal'c? Daniel? Do you think they think I'm an idiot? Hammond?"

"No, Sir. None of us do."

"That's right, Captain. Nobody who matters does." O'Neill shrugged. "What anyone else thinks is just...unimportant."

"Oh."

"Do you get tired of it, Sam?"

"Sir?"

"Of being underestimated."

"I used to get angry–" Sam stopped, shocked at what she'd admitted, her mouth hanging open in surprise. How had he known? O'Neill was watching her, his face expressionless, waiting. Finally Sam turned and leaned against the bench, her bandaged hand resting on her crossed legs, the heat of the fire slowly drying the mud on her uniform. "How'd you know, Sir?"

O'Neill gave a soft snort. "Come on, Carter. You're young, you're tall and gorge...ah, beautiful. You're blonde. I'm sure you've had your fair share of people assuming you're...well, not an idiot, but..."

"Yes, Sir. I have. And it's never been an advantage." Sam drifted back to her years at the Academy and after, having to work twice as hard as the men to get half the recognition. Of the innuendo, attitudes, and sexist crap she'd dealt with–from both men and women– as she'd risen through the ranks. O'Neill's soft voice cut through her thoughts.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I...it hasn't happened in a long time, Sir. It helps that you don't...I mean, that most people at the SGC don't feel that way."

"Carter, anyone who underestimates you is an idiot." The Colonel emphatically poked the fire, then added another log to increase the blaze, his movements jerky. "And I'd like to think my opinion on that, at least, counts.

The firm conviction in O'Neill's voice filled Sam's very soul. She felt her skin warm and was grateful for the darkness that hid her blush. She ducked her head before glancing shyly at the Colonel. "It does, Sir. A lot. And...thanks."

O'Neill shrugged again, his shoulder brushing against hers and then settling to rest more firmly against her. "So. About your doohickey's..."

A/N 2: Well. This certainly took on a life of its own. I had no idea when I started, using UhSir's notes, that the story would go this way, in a deeper direction than I'd first intended. UhSir's notes were:

Shippy moment in Touchstone:

In the briefing room, lights off, Sam is babbling and showing pictures. Cue shippy moment...

"That's why we'd like to go back, sir. Carter wants to get a closer look with some of her specialized doohickeys."

"Doohickeys?"

"I believe that's a technical term, sir."

(Smiling, turns the overhead lights back on with a remote)

A little more chit-chat then Sam and Jack give each other shippy looks.