Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: 13+ Genre: Fluff, Sam/Jack Set: Season 6 (BEST SEASON EVER), post-The Other Guys.

Well-Established Routines
by ALC Punk!

Jack O'Neill liked to have a certain... audience, when he was telling a story. The story didn't have to necessarily be good, but an avid audience was best. An avid audience made up of Sam Carter in jeans, a t-shirt and bare feet was almost heaven.

"Jonas really likes Jell-o wrestling." Jack said to his avid audience.

"Uh-huh."

She wasn't listening. He could tell that about her now. He used to be able to tell less, but now he has known her for nearly seven years, so he can tell little things about her. Like that she wasn't listening. She liked to accuse him of doing that, but Jack figured that was self-defense since it was either that or fall asleep while she was explaining things. And watching her lips move was much more interesting.

"And then we blew up a sun," he added.

"Sounds like fun," Sam said, her tone absent-minded.

"Great fun." Jack agreed.

"Of course, it doesn't look like the explosion catapulted you into the replicators' galaxy."

Damn. She was listening. Jack considered scowling. She was evil, too.

Her eyebrows raised as she looked at him. "Unless you're just a hologram, or a time-delayed--"

"Ah!" He held up a hand, "Carter--"

"Colonel."

"I'm hungry."

Her lips twitched, "The phone's right where it normally is, and the pizza place still delivers after ten."

Jack almost pouted, "I don't want pizza."

"There's left-over spaghetti in the fridge. Next to the beer."

Beer. Good idea. Jack stood. "Thanks, Carter."

When he got back from his rummage through the fridge, Jack only had a beer. Carter looked at him as he sat down, "Not hungry?"

"How long has the spaghetti been in there, Carter?"

"Not long." She shrugged, "Why?"

"Let's just say, I'm pretty sure my Aunt Mathilda made spaghetti like that. Twenty years ago."

"It hasn't been in there that long."

"How d'you know? Maybe we should have Daniel carbonate it."

"Carbon-date, Colonel." She eyed him. "And that spaghetti was made less than a week ago."

"Is that what those numbers meant. I thought they were symbols from an ancient culture."

She snorted, "If you're trying to say I'm being a geek for writing the date on tupperware, Jack, just say it."

"Fine. You're a geek, Carter." He paused, considered, then added, "A very hot geek."

"A geek who has finished her work for the day, and could use a beer." Sam stood and sauntered over to him, leaning over and pulling the bottle from his grasp.

Jack watched with interest as she drained half it, then sighed. "Thirsty?"

"Yep."

Reaching out a hand, he hooked his fingers in her waistband. "Sleepy?"

"Nope."

He tugged her closer, happy when she bent over, meeting him halfway. "Good."

"Very."

Then Carter was kissing him. Jack figured that was pretty damned good, and didn't really compare to watching Jonas get fascinated by jell-o wrestling.

-f-