[Stargate: Drabble] "Beer Is Not a Cold Compress" [Sam/Jack, PG]
Title: Beer Is Not a Cold Compress
Author: Ami Ven
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill
Genre: het.
Prompt: 100_tales #019 'purple'
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400
Summary: Jack noticed how stiffly she was moving the moment she got home.
Beer Is Not a Cold Compress
Jack noticed how stiffly she was moving the moment she got home.
He was on a conference call with a Russian general, an English lord admiral and somebody from the IOA (Jack had chosen to interpret retirement as being able to stick his nose wherever he liked, without worrying about things like court-martial and so far, he was enjoying it) but he'd stopped listening to their argument at least fifteen minutes ago.
"You know what?" said Jack, as Sam managed a tired smile for him and headed toward the kitchen. "Call me when you figure something out." And he hung up before they could protest.
Sam stood at the kitchen sink, eyes closed, a bottle of beer pressed against her cheek, where he could make out the trailing edges of what was promising to be a rather impressive bruise.
Jack ducked into the freezer, then plucked the bottle from her hand and replaced it with an ice pack.
"You're either on pain meds," he said, when she opened her mouth to protest, "or you should be. No alcohol."
"Like you never did," she snorted, voice hoarse but full of humor, and Jack relaxed a little- Sam was hurt, but only physically, and that was much easier to handle.
He gestured at her bruise-plus-ice pack. "What else, Carter?"
"Just bruises," she replied, managing another smile. "All over, but just bruises. And you should see the other guy."
"You have been spending too much time with me," Jack told her.
"Or not enough time." Sam wrapped both arms around his waist. "Pain meds are kicking in," she said, by way of explanation.
"You should get some rest, Carter," he said. She must have showered at the SGC, because her hair smelled like standard-issue shampoo. "You gonna need some help getting changed?"
Sam hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
"Hey," said Jack, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "A few dozen bruises are not going to make me forget that you can take care of yourself, Carter. I just think you shouldn't have to."
She frowned. "You never let me help you after you got beat up on a mission."
"Yes, well, that's because that would have been against regulations."
Sam thumped his shoulder lightly, grinning. "Jack O'Neill, you have a dirty mind."
"You knew that when you married me," he replied, and tugged her toward their bedroom for a much-deserved nap.
THE END
Current Mood:
drained
Author: Ami Ven
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill
Genre: het.
Prompt: 100_tales #019 'purple'
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400
Summary: Jack noticed how stiffly she was moving the moment she got home.
Beer Is Not a Cold Compress
Jack noticed how stiffly she was moving the moment she got home.
He was on a conference call with a Russian general, an English lord admiral and somebody from the IOA (Jack had chosen to interpret retirement as being able to stick his nose wherever he liked, without worrying about things like court-martial and so far, he was enjoying it) but he'd stopped listening to their argument at least fifteen minutes ago.
"You know what?" said Jack, as Sam managed a tired smile for him and headed toward the kitchen. "Call me when you figure something out." And he hung up before they could protest.
Sam stood at the kitchen sink, eyes closed, a bottle of beer pressed against her cheek, where he could make out the trailing edges of what was promising to be a rather impressive bruise.
Jack ducked into the freezer, then plucked the bottle from her hand and replaced it with an ice pack.
"You're either on pain meds," he said, when she opened her mouth to protest, "or you should be. No alcohol."
"Like you never did," she snorted, voice hoarse but full of humor, and Jack relaxed a little- Sam was hurt, but only physically, and that was much easier to handle.
He gestured at her bruise-plus-ice pack. "What else, Carter?"
"Just bruises," she replied, managing another smile. "All over, but just bruises. And you should see the other guy."
"You have been spending too much time with me," Jack told her.
"Or not enough time." Sam wrapped both arms around his waist. "Pain meds are kicking in," she said, by way of explanation.
"You should get some rest, Carter," he said. She must have showered at the SGC, because her hair smelled like standard-issue shampoo. "You gonna need some help getting changed?"
Sam hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
"Hey," said Jack, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "A few dozen bruises are not going to make me forget that you can take care of yourself, Carter. I just think you shouldn't have to."
She frowned. "You never let me help you after you got beat up on a mission."
"Yes, well, that's because that would have been against regulations."
Sam thumped his shoulder lightly, grinning. "Jack O'Neill, you have a dirty mind."
"You knew that when you married me," he replied, and tugged her toward their bedroom for a much-deserved nap.
THE END
Current Mood:
drained