(no subject)
It's freakin' 1am. Why am I writing this now? Damn this AU for being so fun!!!
Now it had to be around here somewhere... DAMMIT!
She tripped over something underfoot in the dark for the umpteenth time, and swore under her breath. For god's sake! Couldn't they fit lights down here? Of course, she should have thought to bring her torch, but when she got these inspirations, she sometimes just had to go and get on with it, right then and there. No matter if it was 3am or not.
"Who the hell's down here?"
Oh, crap.
"Uh, hi, I'm - it's - sorry-" The bright beam of a torch blinded her.
"Oh. It's you."
She'd meant to apologise politely, to explain her presence down in the basement at this hour, to make nice - but 'Oh. It's you.' wasn't a phrase designed to bring out the best in anyone. "Would you mind not shining that in my eyes?" she snapped, instead.
"What the hell d'you think you're doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?" But Mr. O'Neill directed the torch away from her eyes, at least, and picked his way closer. Annoyingly, he didn't trip once over what had felt to her like an obstacle course of junk, laid out across the hallway.
"I was trying to find the fuse box," she said, irritable that her plans had been interrupted before she could carry them out.
"Why?" he asked, suspiciously. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. She hadn't realised how cold she'd gotten, down here. Really, she should've got dressed, as well as bringing a torch. "They're not broken. At the moment," he added, heavily sarcastic.
"I had an idea about how to make sure they ran more efficiently," she explained, haughtily. "I was going to see if I could reroute the-"
"Well, don't!" He sounded exasperated. "I have enough trouble from you as it is, without you getting yourself electrocuted in my basement at 3am!"
---
"And then what did you say?" asked Liz, cuddling one knee and her hot chocolate closer.
Sam leaned her head on the table, right hand wrapped around a tub of ice cream, left hand holding a spoon. "I told him I was a much better electrician than he was, and that he was just being stubborn if he wouldn't let me take a look at the fusebox." Liz tutted. "And then I gave him the reproductive organs speech."
"Oooooh," said Liz, with ghoulish appreciation. "You didn't!"
"I did," said Sam. There was silence, filled only with the sound of Liz sipping hot chocolate. Eventually Sam looked up. "Well?"
"I was just wondering if I should ask Vala if she wants to be my new roomie," smiled Liz.
Sam groaned, and dropped her head back to the table with a thump.
---
8a.m. sharp the next morning, there was an unmistakeably sharp rap on their door. Liz glanced across the breakfast table at Sam, startled.
"You don't think he's really going to throw me out, do you?" asked Sam, paling.
Liz looked her roommate over, critically. Bed-hair, comfy PJs, giant bunny slippers... "Come on. He can wait five minutes. HANG ON A MINUTE!" she yelled to the person at the door.
Five minutes later, slightly-more-presentable-Sam (in the lowest-cut top that Liz owned) opened the door. "Oh, er, hi," she stammered. "Um, I'm sorry about-"
"Come on, then," said Mr. O'Neill, abruptly.
Sam blinked. "What?"
"The fusebox? You said you had an idea about it."
Sam blinked at him again, her mouth dropping open slightly.
"Well?" asked Mr. O'Neill, impatiently. "Have you got an idea or not?"
"I, er - yes! Of course!" She glanced back at Liz, who was giving her two thumbs up. "I'll just grab my torch."
"I've got one," said Mr. O'Neill. Liz was making kissy-faces, now. "You coming or what?"
Sam slammed the door extra-hard behind her as she followed him.
---
END.
Now it had to be around here somewhere... DAMMIT!
She tripped over something underfoot in the dark for the umpteenth time, and swore under her breath. For god's sake! Couldn't they fit lights down here? Of course, she should have thought to bring her torch, but when she got these inspirations, she sometimes just had to go and get on with it, right then and there. No matter if it was 3am or not.
"Who the hell's down here?"
Oh, crap.
"Uh, hi, I'm - it's - sorry-" The bright beam of a torch blinded her.
"Oh. It's you."
She'd meant to apologise politely, to explain her presence down in the basement at this hour, to make nice - but 'Oh. It's you.' wasn't a phrase designed to bring out the best in anyone. "Would you mind not shining that in my eyes?" she snapped, instead.
"What the hell d'you think you're doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?" But Mr. O'Neill directed the torch away from her eyes, at least, and picked his way closer. Annoyingly, he didn't trip once over what had felt to her like an obstacle course of junk, laid out across the hallway.
"I was trying to find the fuse box," she said, irritable that her plans had been interrupted before she could carry them out.
"Why?" he asked, suspiciously. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. She hadn't realised how cold she'd gotten, down here. Really, she should've got dressed, as well as bringing a torch. "They're not broken. At the moment," he added, heavily sarcastic.
"I had an idea about how to make sure they ran more efficiently," she explained, haughtily. "I was going to see if I could reroute the-"
"Well, don't!" He sounded exasperated. "I have enough trouble from you as it is, without you getting yourself electrocuted in my basement at 3am!"
---
"And then what did you say?" asked Liz, cuddling one knee and her hot chocolate closer.
Sam leaned her head on the table, right hand wrapped around a tub of ice cream, left hand holding a spoon. "I told him I was a much better electrician than he was, and that he was just being stubborn if he wouldn't let me take a look at the fusebox." Liz tutted. "And then I gave him the reproductive organs speech."
"Oooooh," said Liz, with ghoulish appreciation. "You didn't!"
"I did," said Sam. There was silence, filled only with the sound of Liz sipping hot chocolate. Eventually Sam looked up. "Well?"
"I was just wondering if I should ask Vala if she wants to be my new roomie," smiled Liz.
Sam groaned, and dropped her head back to the table with a thump.
---
8a.m. sharp the next morning, there was an unmistakeably sharp rap on their door. Liz glanced across the breakfast table at Sam, startled.
"You don't think he's really going to throw me out, do you?" asked Sam, paling.
Liz looked her roommate over, critically. Bed-hair, comfy PJs, giant bunny slippers... "Come on. He can wait five minutes. HANG ON A MINUTE!" she yelled to the person at the door.
Five minutes later, slightly-more-presentable-Sam (in the lowest-cut top that Liz owned) opened the door. "Oh, er, hi," she stammered. "Um, I'm sorry about-"
"Come on, then," said Mr. O'Neill, abruptly.
Sam blinked. "What?"
"The fusebox? You said you had an idea about it."
Sam blinked at him again, her mouth dropping open slightly.
"Well?" asked Mr. O'Neill, impatiently. "Have you got an idea or not?"
"I, er - yes! Of course!" She glanced back at Liz, who was giving her two thumbs up. "I'll just grab my torch."
"I've got one," said Mr. O'Neill. Liz was making kissy-faces, now. "You coming or what?"
Sam slammed the door extra-hard behind her as she followed him.
---
END.