Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairing: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Set: season seven, prior to Grace.
Rating: R, sex, language, adult situations
Notes: ok. God. First, this was started something like four years ago. Parts of the dialog were cadged from one of the following: A.j., Karma_aster or Alryssa. Or even all three. It took way too long to finish--I had the first half, and the ending scene, and everything in-between needed to be written.
Dedication: To Surreallis on the occasion of her (late now) birthday.
Accidents Will Happen
by ALC Punk!
"You did what?!"
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Cement trade relations. Insure that the two peoples would be amicable in their agreements.
She was amused at the way he seemed to hedge, shifting from foot to foot. Colonel Jack O'Neill: The Indecisive was a new side to this man. Of course, she wouldn't want to be in his shoes for all the money--
"Ask Carter. She brokered the deal."
--in China. She was going to kill him.
"General. Sir." She straightened her shoulders and met General Hammond's eyes, refusing to acknowledge any emotions he had in his (because then she might turn tail and run), "In accordance with Minurian Law, Colonel O'Neill and I were married last night. The ceremony is binding on P2X-213."
"And Earth?" The General's voice was mild. This didn't bode well.
"I--they assume that it does, sir."
Careful, careful, Sam. Don't let on that for all of ten seconds (ok, twenty) you fantasized about being married (for real) to Jack O'Neill.
"And you allowed this, Colonel?"
"Well, Carter seemed to think they wouldn't have closed the deal without it, sir."
"Is this true, Major?"
"Yes. When Daniel returns with the signed documents and affidavits, you can ask him. It's all," she waved a hand (and almost hit Jack, because this whole hand-waving thing was his fault), "Cultural Significance. Or something."
"Mhm. And meanwhile, any contact between our two planets must include the information that you two are now married." Oh, he was angry. He just obviously hadn't worked up to a full-throated yell. Yet. Sam didn't think she wanted to hear it. "And what am I supposed to tell the president?"
"That this is a damned finer thing than some of the crap I've done for this country."
"Colonel, I don't think you realize the seriousness of marrying your second in command--"
"On another world, sir. It's not binding--"
"Actually, Major, it is. Dr. Jackson's wedding was binding and from my understanding he didn't even have a ceremony."
Binding. She hadn't wanted it to be. Not here and now or like this. She couldn't, for the moment, see her future anymore. "I suppose this means I'm not making General." Her voice was soft.
Hammond looked at them and sighed, "I need to talk to the President. I'm not sure there's any precedent for how to deal with this sort of situation."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't, son. Just--" Hammond was glaring again. "Get out of my office and get your post-mission checkups."
They left, both silent.
"We could get divorced."
Sam was toying with her food, seated across from Jack in the cafeteria. Lunch was meatloaf and french fries. She kept dipping a green bean into her ketchup and then dabbling the sauce over the meat. Jack wasn't doing any better at actually eating, although he did occasionally steal a fry.
"I don't think it'll work. As soon as this gets out--"
"Yeah." She didn't want to hear what this would do to her career. Gossip was a wonderful thing. So was innuendo, and the ability to block an officer's future advancements on suspicion of favoritism. If she were lucky, she'd (maybe) make Lieutenant Colonel. If she wasn't... well, dishonorable discharge didn't seem that bad yet. Maybe that was simply the numbness speaking.
"Daniel tried to warn us," she said softly, knowing he hated being interrupted, but she didn't want him to apologize. This was both their faults, and she wasn't letting him take all the blame.
It was ironic, really. Three years of locking it all in the room and an accidental marriage was going to destroy them more thoroughly than their emotions. If they still had them.
"Yeah. Next time, he should knock me out and insist on no one getting married."
"We need this treaty, sir." Anubis was still out there, and he seemed to be growing stronger, if the rebel jaffa reports were correct. They might have smashed his planet-killing weapon, but he was still bound and determined (and using Ancient technology) to rule the galaxy as a God.
And that didn't even cover the people on Earth who would like to destroy the SGC. Kinsey currently had his hands tied, but the NID were always nosing around, and the election was sure to change things. She could only hope that Kinsey's running mate was smarter. Or that they lost.
"Yeah." He reached over and caught the hand that was toying with the green bean. "Carter?"
She looked up and met his eyes. "I don't, either."
A slight smile tipped the side of his lips. "Good."
Not really having a clue what they had just said (although she hoped it was "I don't regret this"), Sam looked back down at her lunch. She made a face. "I need to get back to my lab."
"I'll walk you there."
They stood and took their trays and left. And Sam wondered if this really wouldn't change things.
Her lab was too small.
Sam had never noticed this before. At least, not when Jack was there (or maybe she had, but now she was allowed to notice -- sort of). He was pacing in the middle of the room, back and forth, steps slow and even. It was driving her insane.
Because her lab was too small.
He stopped. "Hrm?"
The breath caught in her throat as he looked at her, and she wondered, suddenly, when this had stopped being about an accident and turned into being about them and what it meant (and she should stop reading stupid damn novels. Janet was a bad influence). She tried a different tack.
God, that sounded strange.
He froze, eyes suddenly wide like a deer caught in headlights. "Carter."
"We're, we're -- not. Not married. So..."
But the one mistake was already tail-spinning its way through their careers, and suddenly Sam could see what would happen. Jack would stay a Colonel. She'd stay a Major. The SGC would consider them too valuable to lose, but they'd end up somewhere that wasn't the front lines (well, she would). They'd probably make her run the science division, claim it was a great honor. She'd never go out in the field, never taste the adrenaline she craved as she dodged and wove and fought for her right to survive. Jack would probably be shunted to training cadets.
It would be considered an honor. A way to 'fix' all of the problems.
How fast would they come to hate each other?
In for a penny, in for a pound. And she wanted the pound, suddenly. If she was going to have her career tarnished and her life's ambitions in shreds, at least she was going to get more than "yes, sir." "no, sir." "five rounds rapid, sir."
Decision suddenly made, she moved to close the door to her lab and then went to her desk. She'd built the scrambler back when they had first locked up their lives in that stupid room. And all this time it had been gathering dust, waiting to be used. Quietly, she set it on the cabinet by the surveillance camera. She stepped away and went back to fiddling randomly with the equipment on the counter top.
He was a hell of a lot closer than she'd been prepared for.
Swallowing, she shot a glance to the side and saw that the small lights were blinking on the scrambler.
"What's going on?" His breath stirred the small hairs at the nape of her neck.
Fighting the urge to lean back and see how long it took for his lips to connect with the skin there Sam closed her eyes. "Jack?"
Not very long at all.
His lips were smirking. "You built a scrambler?" The words were slightly muffled given that his lips were occupied with carefully nipping at the skin of her neck.
"It seemed like a good idea three years ago."
The lips paused and he drew back. "You mean I could have been doing this for three years?" A hand drifted down to slip under her BDU top.
She swallowed again. "No." Yes. Yes, of course he could have. Because the hand toying with the small patch of skin at her waist felt quite nice. "There--"
"Wasn't a reason." He stilled.
She stepped back into him. "No."
The fingers flexed, tightened against her skin as if he could hold her there with one hand.
Her mouth went dry at the enormity of what she was about to do. But she was past caring anymore. "Jack?"
"So...this is my wife's lab, eh?"
He was smirking against her neck, and she was almost cold. She really needed to put more blankets on the damned cot. Although it had been interesting to discover just *how* flexible Jack O'Neill was. "I'm not...oh, god."
"Can I carry you over the threshold?"
"Isn't that kind of pointless, now?" She pointed out without bothering to move.
"Can I help you...uh...simulate stuff, or...god."
The last was in a breathed-out exclamation because she'd shifted, pushing back against him. "You were saying, flyboy?"
"...do we get a honeymoon?" His breathing wasn't back to normal, but he was trying.
"Will you be O'Neill or Carter-O'Neill now?"
"And I think we'll need to buy a new house together as yours is too girly and mine is way too boyish for you."
"And the first thing we do this weekend? Is Fishing."
"The first thing."
"Yeah, since we've gotten this bit over now."
She shifted again and then reached back to smack his ass. The sound was very satisfying.
"This bit?" She turned her head and shifted so she could mock-glare. "Sex in my lab, and it's just 'this bit'?"
He smirked at her, "Depends." His hands reached out for her and his fingers trailed over her skin. "How much longer do you think we have before someone comes searching for us?"
"I--" One very talented set of fingers walked their way up her ribs. "--God. Don't care."
"Hrm. This cot is a bit small."
"Is it?" Completely distracted by the fact that Jack O'Neill was playing with her skin, Sam missed the gleam in his eyes. Or maybe she was just more interested in making him touch her. "Ja-ack."
He rolled, pinning her to the edge of the cot. Unfortunately, the thing was never designed for the combined weight of two adults to sit on one side. With an inevitableness, it sagged sideways and then dumped them onto the cold cement floor.
Dumped her onto it, with Jack on top, his weight pressing her already heated skin into the icy-cold stone.
"Mmmf." He buried his head in her shoulder and chuckled. "Cold?"
She smacked whatever available portion of his anatomy she could reach. "Jack! It's cold!"
"So I gather."
Wriggling under him, she discovered that he had a good grip on her, and wasn't (apparently) going to let her off the floor any time in the foreseeable future. "Let me up, dammit." Her back wasn't too happy, either.
"Samantha Carter, reduced to swearing at her commanding officer?" He made a clicking noise. "For shame."
"Jack. Let me up and -- maybe -- I won't injure you." She was aware that he was her commanding officer. She was equally aware that at this point she really didn't give a crap. Besides. They were married. Sort of.
"Hrm. What kind of odds are you giving?"
"Better odds than you naked against a platoon of jaffa."
"They'd be too distracted."
"I won't." She promised, finally getting one leg free and sliding it up his body.
"Hrm. On the other hand..."
"That's NOT a hand."
"Nope." He hissed as her leg slid along him. "Carter--"
"Let me up, Jack."
Of course, the floor was larger than the cot, but it was cold. However, something in her tone apparently convinced him because he shifted and then moved away from her. He scrambled to his feet and scampered to hide behind her desk.
She snickered. "Jack?" The move from the floor to standing took a little time, and then she began slinking towards him.
"Yes?" He sidled away from her.
"Aw. Are you scared of me?"
"Pity." She continued stalking him, ignoring the cold of the floor. He'd made her cold he could damn well warm her up again (and where the heck had all her fine principles gone? Probably lost somewhere between the time he got his hand up her shirt and the moment when he first slid into her). He continued to move away so that she couldn't get to him.
She paused and eyed the problem.
Her desk was between them. The top was covered with papers and pens and the occasional disc. She eyed the contents for a moment, then grabbed her desk chair.
He sounded confused. She looked up from stacking things on the chair. "Move the monitor onto the floor."
"Thank god the keyboard moves under the desk."
"What, Jack?" She smirked, "Did you think I'd have sex with you all over my unfinished reports?"
"...guh." He replied before grabbing the monitor and setting it unceremoniously on the floor. Then he grabbed discs and paper and dumped them haphazardly off the side of the desk.
"Hey! I need to keep that in order!"
"We can organize later."
She glared at him. "I--"
Oh. A glance at him, taking him fully in, made her lips twist into a smirk. "A little eager, are we?"
"I've waited six years. Move, woman."
"Only six?" She smirked, but complied, climbing onto the slightly chilly desktop and kneeling in front of him. "This work?"
"For the moment." His hand tangled in her hair and he tugged her against him. Their lips met as his free hand slid around the curve of her waist and pulled her against his lower half. She moaned softly, feeling the hardness of him against the tops of her thighs.
It wasn't until later, when he was underneath her (the height was wrong and they both agreed his knees would die), her legs straddling him, that she remembered she was supposed to be irritated about being dumped on the floor. She paused in her movements, one hand on his chest to brace herself. "Jack?"
He thrust upwards.
It was almost a good enough distraction, tearing a soft moan from between her lips. But her back was still cold. "The floor was really cold."
Another thrust, this one causing her head to tilt back. Damn, he was good at this.
"Really, really--" She broke off and joined him, rhythm pounding through her veins. His hands dug into her waist, pulling at her. She dropped forward and kissed him, gasping for breath that her body desperately wanted even at the same time as she felt too full of air.
His hand slid between them, fingers sliding across where they were joined and she knew she was damp and slick and nearly lost to sensation.
And then his tongue joined the effort, sliding in and out with the same careful movements his fingers and cock were following. And it was exactly too much. She forgot the cold of the floor, forgot the concrete that covered thirteen more floors until it hit basalt bedrock, forgot the regulations and the fact that the man inside of her was her commanding officer.
"Jack." The name came out on a combination of strangled breath and sobbing relief.
Peripherally, she was aware that he was thrusting faster, harder, growling with his own release.
But all she could feel was slick sweat and cold air and him.
"I can't believe I made us wait six years."
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, then he winced. "Think I pulled a muscle."
"Serves you right," she mumbled.
"Hammond could call us soon."
"If he's smart, the General is going to forget about us for another 12 hours."
"12? I'm not Superman, Carter."
She snickered. "Is the desk cold and hard, Jack?"
"Good." She settled herself a little more comfortably, and sighed.
The General saw them in the morning. At some point during the evening, they'd gotten dressed and signed themselves into one of the base sleeping rooms. After all, if they were only going to be married for a day, they might as well make the most of it. Though Jack was right about not being Superman, his hands and mouth were more than enough to make Sam a happy woman.
Sam had discovered that Jack snored worse in a bed than he did in a tent. She didn't want to know what Jack had discovered, although he'd seemed pretty happy to wake her up with a kiss and a quick grope. The knock on the door had interrupted them.
With barely enough time to brush their teeth and clean themselves up from the night of fun, they dressed in spare fatigues and made their way to the General's office. Hammond was behind his desk, working through a stack of paperwork when Walter opened the door for them, gesturing them inside and closing it behind them. Sam thought it sounded a little like a jail cell slamming closed.
He didn't acknowledge them for several minutes, finishing off another set of requests for bulk food for the cafeteria. Finally, he looked up at them. "Colonel, Major. Do you have any idea what sort of crimp this puts in the smooth running of my office?"
"Ah, no, sir," said Jack, sounding as though he were trying hard to sound stupid.
Sam bit her lip, but didn't reply, uncertain that anything she could say would help. They'd already agreed that they didn't want this anulled.
Hammond could have made them sweat, and from the look in his eyes, he truly wanted to. But instead, he sighed and looked at Jack, "Colonel, I'm afraid you've been transfered out from under my command. Luckily, though, you've been seconded back under my command."
"Sir?" Sam asked, actually confused.
"Major, we've been saying for months that you needed your own team. As of today, SG-1 is yours. I just hope you don't feel the need to break in your new second-in-command. He's a bit of an old fossil." Hammond looked pleased with himself.
"I'm not sure I understand, sir," Sam said, confused.
"Well, Major," Hammond said, looking unimpressed with her intelligence, "You're now leader of SG-1. And Colonel O'Neill is on attachment from NORAD. They've asked that he be instated as your second in command. Try to go easy on him, since he might have some strange ideas about being the one in charge. He'll have to report there about once a month to get updates on his orders, but otherwise, he's ours to deploy as we see fit."
"Oh." Eyes wide, Sam looked from the Colonel to the General and back again. She didn't know what Jack thought of this, though it was clear Hammond thought this was a good solution to their problem. It removed them from being in direct-chain-of-command, even if he was technically now her second. "Uh, thank you. Sir."
"Don't thank me yet, Major. You have to keep him in check."
They were in the elevator, riding back down to her lab when Sam glanced sideways. "Sir?"
A strange sound escaped him and he shrugged, "I'm not 'sir', anymore, Carter."
"Oh. Right." She considered for a moment, then plunged ahead, "You're ok with this?"
"I'm not not OK."
"Sir." The Colonel interrupted, tilting his head at her, "This is going to take getting used to."
Sam felt a flush spread across her cheeks at the honorific. "Sir--"
"Jack. Or if you're being formal, O'Neill. Sir."
The elevator opened, dropping them on their floor. Sam stared out of it, then reached out and hit the door close button. She crossed her arms, "You used to call me Carter. Jack."
Something that might have been a grin tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth. "Yeah?"
He bumped her with his hip, "So, boss. Whatcha doin' in an hour?"
"Breakfast, preferably after I ravish you thoroughly." Dear god. Where the hell had those words come from? Sam clapped a hand over her mouth, to the amusement of two airmen that were standing there when the doors opened again.
"Your lab, sir." Jack directed, pointing out into the corridor.
"Right." Right. She stepped past the airmen, smiling sunnily, and headed for her lab. And the device. And something that might have been more than an uncertain future.
Daniel and Teal'c had taken the news with only a few snickers. Daniel had then paid Teal'c ten dollars and told Sam she was the worst friend EVER. Dr. Janet Fraiser just snorted and told Sam she'd always known there'd be a problem. She also told Sam that next time, she wanted to be invited to the wedding. Cassie just looked smug when she found out a day later when Sam told her over dinner at the Fraiser's.
Adjusting to being in charge of SG-1 as a bit odd, but it wasn't like she didn't know these men. And they knew her, as well. It was odd, discovering just how much autonomy Jack and had given her in recent years. She didn't feel any less like a kid in a candy store, though.
A few days after the bizarre change of events, Sam was getting used to finding Jack O'Neill wandering around her bedroom--they weren't sharing a house yet, as they'd both decided that, well, having time to get used to the idea would be good. But sharing a bed was totally not the same thing. Even if Sam now had a toothbrush in the soap dish at his place, and he was talking about having to do the laundry soon, thanks to the pile of boxers, shirts and pants in the hamper. Sam was willing to let him do the laundry, since she hated it. Most of her stuff was either dry clean, or could be thrown in any which way.
Making dinner was not beyond her, however much Jack might mock her taste in frozen dinners. She was stirring the wok when the phone rang.
Answering it gave her an excuse to fight Jack for the phone and she was half-laughing when she said hello.
"Mark!" Shoving at Jack to get a little room, Sam started babbling at her brother, suddenly uncertain how the hell to tell him she was married.
So she didn't. She let him talk and caught up with him about the kids and Hannah while Jack moved to the stove and did some random stirring, to keep dinner from burning. About the time he was turning it off, Sam could feel the conversation beginning to wind down and drifted over to lean against Jack's side.
"Anyway, Sam--" Mark laughed, "It's great to catch up with you, but I called you for a different reason."
"Yep. Sam, I have this really great friend I want to introduce to you."
Sam blinked, then frowned, wondering when her brother had gotten into the match-making business. If he'd been there, he would totally have seen the beginnings of her glare. "Oh?"
"Yeah, he's a cop but he's a dreamboat, I promise." Mark babbled, obviously aware he was on borrowed time.
"A dreamboat cop. Mark, you're setting me up with a dreamboat cop."
"I've told him a lot about you, he's totally interested in meeting you." When she didn't reply--possibly, she was a little too stunned, especially given that she had a perfectly legitimate reason for not getting set up by her brother--he continued, "Come on, Sam, it'll be fun."
"Mark?... I..." How the hell did she tell him? Not to mention that she couldn't explain why he hadn't been invited to the wedding, or--
"What is it... oh god, I'm too late, aren't I?"
"Yeah... uh... it's complicated." Understatement of the... year, at least.
"So you have an alien boyfriend, right?"
He was totally joking. Mark still had no idea what she really did. Still... almost accurate. "...no, actually I'm married."
The dead silence on the other side of the line was exactly what she'd been afraid of.
"Samantha Violet Carter."
"You are not married."
Dinner, by this time, was beginning to look like it might be getting cold. Jack prodded her, and mumbled, "Who is it?" like he hadn't been listening with half an ear since she'd started babbling away.
Sam rolled her eyes at him and mouthed, "Mark!"
His tone almost superior, Mark asked, "Does Dad know?"
Which was apparently Jack's cue to lean in and nibble at the side of her neck. By now, he knew almost every single one of her sensitive spots, and Sam had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound or altering her tone of voice when she replied to Mark, "Oh god, no... he doesn't... ummm..."
OK. Maybe she hadn't been able to keep her voice even. Mark sounded a little tentative when he said, "Sam?"
Jack was concentrating on that spot right at her shoulder, that--Sam swallowed, and didn't care that her voice was really breathy, "Mark, it's not what you think..." Well, it probably actually was. Not that he'd need to know that. Jack's hand skimmed under her shirt. Crap. "I gotta call you back."
Hanging up was easy. Mark had done it first, laughing a little in a way that told her she was going to get her ass teased off the next time he called.
Sam tilted her head, grabbing onto the counter after she dropped the phone. "Jesus, he was trying to set me up with some loser cop."
"Mah wyfuh aint gohnnah see no-ah cawp, ya hear me?" Jack said, in his best imitation of a hick. The horrible accent was compounded by his mouth still being on her neck.
The vibrations from his voice made Sam's skin tighten. "I'm not... really ... ok, I am, but... oh god, keep doing that..."
"Wasn't planning on stopping..."
"Thank goodness," Sam breathed, turning in his arms and deciding dinner could definitely wait.
Telling Jacob Carter was the hardest part.
Of course, from Jacob's perspective, it was the easiest. He did a lot of glaring. "You what?"
Selmak, amused at his hard-ass line, murmured something that sounded like ::Cranky old codger.:: at him.
He ignored her.
"Dad we didn't do it on purpose." Sam said, eyes wide with appeal.
Pausing for a moment, Jake fingered the empty gun holster at his side, as though he'd like to be able to pull a gun and use it. ::Laying it on a bit thick...:: "Oh, so you just *accidentally* got married. Oh, that makes it all better, Sam!"
"Would you prefer we were accidentally living in sin, Jacob?"
::No, you wouldn't.:: Jacob glared harder at O'Neill. This was not the man he'd ever considered as a good match for his daughter. Why not Daniel Jackson, or some nice man from her neighborhood, or that guy Mark had been talking to him about, Pete? "Don't avoid the subject."
"What is the subject, Dad?" Sam asked, eyes informing him that his continued anger was beginning to piss her off.
His daughter was slow to boil, but when she did--Jake could still remember shouting matches while she was growing up that had left him deaf. ::Stop antagonizing her. My ears are delicate.:: "That he," Jacob hooked a finger at Jack, glowering, "Doesn't deserve you."
"Oh, I'm well aware of that."
Sam crossed her arms, and Jacob fought the urge to step back. Glaring at both of them, she snapped, "I don't need anyone's permission to get married Dad. I just thought--" she broke off and looked away, then back, her temper muted, suddenly. "I just wanted you to be happy, Dad."
::Well, if you're not happy, I am.:: Selmak informed him. But she didn't take control to tell Sam that, respecting his right to control his own body. It was a part of the rules they'd worked out, over the years.
That didn't make it better. "Selmak--" He stopped glaring, considering the two of them. "You know, sometimes it's hard to believe you're not still that thirteen-year-old girl, baking cookies, Sam."
He shrugged and looked at Jack, "I would never have picked you."
With perfect understanding in his eyes, O'Neill nodded, "I'll never hurt her, Jake."
::Smart man. They'd never find the body, once she got through with him.:: Jacob had to fight a grin at Selmak's words. Damn right. His daughter would kill any man who tried to take her on.
"See that you don't. Selmak, by the way, thinks this is a wonderful thing." He didn't add that she thought he was blind for never having seen the way they looked at each other. Mostly because, maybe she was right. Either that, or she was a nosy bitch.
::Love you too, babe.::
Jacob sighed and went to hug his daughter. He didn't know how this was going to end, but at least she was happy. And he and Selmak would help bury the body, if she needed it.