Disclaimer: Not mine.

G. Spoils: Not much. Set: late s5.

Note: Thanks to those who caught the mis-quote. I've never actually seen the movie in question.. culturally deprived, yes

Dedication: Little Red, since I forgot the last bit was All. Her.


Conversations Over a Campfire In Spain (or, pX3-592)

by Ana Lyssie Cotton

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain." A pause, because she knows that's not quite the right inflection. Breathe in, "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."


She ignored that voice, because he's been irritating for the last 18 hours, and while she might be on watch, and it might be after midnight on some god-forsaken planet with three moons and a red sun, she doesn't want to talk. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."


OK. Maybe she shouldn't ignore him. The whole getting in trouble with her superior officer thing--wait. Even if he is her superior, he'll have no leg to stand on considering HIS history of insubordination. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."

A hand clapped over her mouth. "Ahem. Taking diction lessons, Carter?"

She can smell the woodsmoke and sweat and dirt on his hand. For a moment, Sam Carter contemplates biting the hand that doesn't exactly feed her.


A shrug of her shoulders. It seemed to convince him enough that he took the hand away.

They both sighed.


"It was one of my mom's favorite movies." Shit. She hadn't meant to say that.

But he wasn't thrown by it. A glance sideways proves that he's tilted his head slightly and seemed to be eyeing the woods on the other side of the fire. Colonel Jack O'Neill is not a man who is eloquent. Occasionally, he lucks into being the right guy at the right moment.


"You miss her."

Oooo. Feelings, sir? She almost asked him, her voice suddenly sarcastic. But she changed the words at the last minute. "You could say that."

It comes as no surprise that he reached out and grabbed the stick they'd been using to poke the fire. One thing she's learned over the last five years is that the Colonel always needs something to play with.

"Too bad there's no cake out here."

"Yeah. That would make it all better, wouldn't it." Oops. Still sarcastic.


"Don't, sir."

He huffed, "I'm tryin' to help, Carter."

"I know, sir. I don't want your help."

He shifted, poked at the fire, then finally looked at her. "Why not?"

Because I'm enjoying my wallow in self-indulgence, sir. But she doesn't say that. "You're my commanding officer, sir."


Okay, so maybe that wasn't a point. It wasn't like SG-1 didn't share a hell of a lot more than normal SG teams would. It was her turn to shift on the log.

"Carter, it's okay to miss people."

She knows that. Sam wanted to throw a dirty look his way, but doesn't. "Sir, it's not your watch. Go back to bed."

"Gonna say that thing anymore?"

For just a split-second, she found herself wishing he'd stay. Just so that there was someone else awake and watching the stars, someone who understood about loss. But he needed to sleep if they were getting back to the gate tomorrow. "No. I'll be quiet."

"Good, 'cause, if I had to hear you quote 'My Fair Lady' again, I might do something drastic."

"It's a good movie, sir." She felt compelled to prolong the conversation. If nothing else, it would keep her distracted. Not that she needed it.

"Sure it is."

Bristling at the disgust in his tone, she half-turned towards him. "Colonel, that movie was one of my mother's favorites. It is romantic and sad and funny all at once, and--"

"Ah, romantic, eh?" He snorted. "Claptrap, Carter."

Speechless for a moment, Sam stared at him. It was long enough to note the tilt of his lips, and the way his eyes caught the starlight. Her irritation spilled away with a rush, and she sighed. "Nice try, sir."

"Carter, you're hard to cheer up."

"Don't I know it."

Jack made a grumbling noise and reached out a hand to poke her in the shoulder. "Carter--"

"It's all right, sir."


And then he shifted closer and bumped her shoulder with his. "So. Tell me about her."


"Then tell me about why 'My Fair Lady' is romantic."

She eyed him sideways. "Sir?"


"Go. To. Bed."

A smirk touched his lips. "You the commanding officer here, Carter?"

"No, sir, but if you're tired all the way back to the gate, I'll tell Janet and she'll--"

"Ah." He sighed heavily. "You really don't want to talk, do you."

"I've made that fairly clear."


Sam glanced at him again, noting the sadness that lurked in his eyes, and said (against her better judgement), "You wanna talk about it, sir?"

"I--" A pause while he looked into the fire, poked at it with his stick. Then he sighed. "Sara and Charlie liked 'My Fair Lady', too."

Oh. It was her turn to bump him with her shoulder. "You miss her, don't you?"


They both lapsed into silence, staring into the fire. The coals eventually settled, and Sam yawned.

"Go to bed, Carter."

"Still my watch, sir."

They eyed each other a moment, then the Colonel shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm not tired anymore."

Right. She eyed him. "Janet, sir."

"Carter, you big fink!"

A smile touched her lips. "Always, sir."

With a grumble, a glare, and at least two muttered comments, he went.

Sam was left with the fire and the night sky, and memories of a mother who would have turned 60 that day.