In Time: You Know How I Do
Title: You Know How I Do
Summary: Jack hurts himself doing something stupid and brings on the wrath of Angry Sam.
Timeframe: Firemanverse, AU
Characters/Pairing: Established SJ.
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Rating: G.
You Know How I Do
Damn. His shoulder damn well hurt, and just . . . Damn.
Jack cursed under his breath for the fifth time that morning. He hadn't been this sore yesterday, dammit! He'd been trying to hide just how much he ached, but right now, sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of boxer briefs, with only one arm in the sleeve of his shirt, and his head somewhere in the middle, it was looking damn near impossible. And he was sure he looked pretty pathetic too. Any minute now, Sam would walk into the bedroom, see his predicament, and -
"Jack? What is taking you so long? Why . . ." she stopped talking, and Jack poked his head out from under the hem of his t-shirt. "What are you doing?"
Carefully lowering the one arm that was dangling awkwardly in the air above his head, Jack knew he was about to fail miserably in convincing her that everything was hunky-damn-dory. "Um . . . Getting dressed?" he pitched, aiming for goofy obviousness, but hitting the mark somewhere around false innocence.
Sam placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ah, yeah. And you've been at it for almost an hour now. What gives?" She glanced down at the floor, then on the bed behind him.
Avoiding the question, he asked, "What're you looking for?"
"A GameBoy, MAD magazine, the remote to the TV, your yo-yo. Any one of those things that would normally distract you from getting dressed."
He snorted, sticking out his lower lip and frowning. "What do think I am? Twelve years old?"
Sam sent him a teasing smirk. "Sometimes."
"Hrmph." Jack rolled his eyes. He could play this game. Hey, at least it was taking his mind off his shoulder. Maybe he could distract Sam from noticing what was really wrong, too. "What's so important that we hafta be at the station on our Saturday off anyways?"
She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Because we promised we'd help the guys move everything into the new bunk room, remember?"
Jack groaned, just then realizing that Sam was wearing her bummy clothes; a pair of sweatpants, a paint-stained t-shirt, and old sneakers. Moving furniture, eh? Oh, his shoulder was SO not going to like that. "Ah, no, I don't remember that."
Shaking her head, Sam turned on her heel and headed back for the bedroom door. "Get dressed, Jack! If you're not out there by the time I'm finished with my coffee, I'm dragging you to the fire station in your underwear!"
His eyes widened marginally. Jack had no doubts that she really would, too. Damn. Wait a second; he could do this. All he needed was a shirt that he could easily get into. Something with buttons would do! Sweet! Maybe he wasn't so screwed after all.
-
Jack strode into the kitchen five minutes later, wearing a pair of old jeans and a worn, button-down baseball jersey, with his left arm dropped at his side as though his shoulder wasn't killing him. Sam was perched on the counter, coffee mug in hand, waiting for him. "Alright, let's do this," he said, taking a breath and looking around for his shoes.
Sam was reaching for her keys by the time Jack had slipped his feet into a pair of old work boots. She was following him to the door until he reached for the handle. "Okay, enough!" she exclaimed, exasperated.
Puzzled, Jack spun around to face her, confusion drawing his brows together. "What?" he asked innocently, hoping against hope that he hadn't been made.
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he was in trouble. "The jig is up, Jack." Sam's arms crossed over her chest slowly.
"Jig? But I can't even dance," he quipped.
Ignoring him, Sam said, "Kawalsky called this morning. He said you left your hockey stick in the back of his truck."
Clearing his throat, Jack grimaced, then worked up his best boyish grin that he knew his wife adored so much. "Ah, yeah . . . We had a little pick-up game last night."
"Okay." Sam wasn't upset about hockey, he knew. Every Wednesday night he played street hockey with the guys from the fire station. But last night wasn't Wednesday, and judging by the look in her eyes, the adorable little boy look wasn't working right now. "Oh, and Charlie also told me that the college guys you played with want a rematch."
Oh. Crap. He made a face, but had nothing to say. "Uh . . ."
"College guys, Jack!?" She was frowning, now. That wasn't good. "The University of Colorado hockey team?!" Sam was practically glaring at this point.
He grimaced, smiling sheepishly and shrugging, which caused him to wince involuntarily in pain. Ack! Damn shoulder.
"You guys are twice their age! What were you thinking?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she waved a hand toward him. "And what the hell is wrong with you? You've been acting stiff all morning."
Okay, yeah; the jig was most definitely up. Looking down at his feet like a little kid that was getting an earful from his mom, Jack dug his toe into the wooden floor and mumbled, "I, uh, I kinda fell wrong . . . on my shoulder."
Sam heaved another exasperated sigh. She stepped closer to him and he nearly flinched at the anger radiating from her. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and surprised him with a gentle, caring voice that betrayed her true concern and relief. "At least it wasn't your knee again." As she reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt, Jack didn't dare make a move, or even throw out a sly comment about her undressing him. Now was definitely NOT the time for that. Sam peeled the fabric back from his left shoulder, the one he was holding stiff and awkwardly.
Jack knew his shoulder wasn't bruised, he'd been sure to check that out earlier, but it was a little swollen. He grimaced slightly as she probed around his aching joint.
"Hopefully it's just a sprain," Sam said, dropping her hand away for a second before smacking him across his uninjured arm and glaring again. Oh no. Angry Sam was back.
"Hey! What was that for?" Jack cried indignantly, sticking out his lower lip.
"You could've been seriously hurt, you big oaf!" She spun on her heel and stormed toward the kitchen.
Thinking it was best that he follow her, Jack trudged after his irate wife and slowly took a seat at the table as he watched her throw together a makeshift ice pack with a Ziploc bag, some ice, and a kitchen towel. He wisely kept his mouth shut as she handed it to him, and he put it on his throbbing shoulder.
He watched Sam grab for her keys again. "Let's get you to Janet's office."
Jack cocked his head and blinked, then chancing some backlash, he asked tentatively, "Uh, what about helping the guys at the fire house?"
She waved a hand dismissively, and winked at him, grinning devilishly. "Oh, that was a lie. They don't need our help. I was just seeing how fast I could get you to confess you'd been hurt."
Jack's draw dropped open as she turned and sauntered out of the kitchen. He got up slowly, shaking his head and grinning. Damn, his wife sure knew how to play him. "You little devil!"
-The End-
Note: I sprained my shoulder a couple days ago, and it inspired me to write this! lol. :) I just hadta torture poor Jack. It's what I do. XP
Summary: Jack hurts himself doing something stupid and brings on the wrath of Angry Sam.
Timeframe: Firemanverse, AU
Characters/Pairing: Established SJ.
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Rating: G.
You Know How I Do
Damn. His shoulder damn well hurt, and just . . . Damn.
Jack cursed under his breath for the fifth time that morning. He hadn't been this sore yesterday, dammit! He'd been trying to hide just how much he ached, but right now, sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of boxer briefs, with only one arm in the sleeve of his shirt, and his head somewhere in the middle, it was looking damn near impossible. And he was sure he looked pretty pathetic too. Any minute now, Sam would walk into the bedroom, see his predicament, and -
"Jack? What is taking you so long? Why . . ." she stopped talking, and Jack poked his head out from under the hem of his t-shirt. "What are you doing?"
Carefully lowering the one arm that was dangling awkwardly in the air above his head, Jack knew he was about to fail miserably in convincing her that everything was hunky-damn-dory. "Um . . . Getting dressed?" he pitched, aiming for goofy obviousness, but hitting the mark somewhere around false innocence.
Sam placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ah, yeah. And you've been at it for almost an hour now. What gives?" She glanced down at the floor, then on the bed behind him.
Avoiding the question, he asked, "What're you looking for?"
"A GameBoy, MAD magazine, the remote to the TV, your yo-yo. Any one of those things that would normally distract you from getting dressed."
He snorted, sticking out his lower lip and frowning. "What do think I am? Twelve years old?"
Sam sent him a teasing smirk. "Sometimes."
"Hrmph." Jack rolled his eyes. He could play this game. Hey, at least it was taking his mind off his shoulder. Maybe he could distract Sam from noticing what was really wrong, too. "What's so important that we hafta be at the station on our Saturday off anyways?"
She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Because we promised we'd help the guys move everything into the new bunk room, remember?"
Jack groaned, just then realizing that Sam was wearing her bummy clothes; a pair of sweatpants, a paint-stained t-shirt, and old sneakers. Moving furniture, eh? Oh, his shoulder was SO not going to like that. "Ah, no, I don't remember that."
Shaking her head, Sam turned on her heel and headed back for the bedroom door. "Get dressed, Jack! If you're not out there by the time I'm finished with my coffee, I'm dragging you to the fire station in your underwear!"
His eyes widened marginally. Jack had no doubts that she really would, too. Damn. Wait a second; he could do this. All he needed was a shirt that he could easily get into. Something with buttons would do! Sweet! Maybe he wasn't so screwed after all.
-
Jack strode into the kitchen five minutes later, wearing a pair of old jeans and a worn, button-down baseball jersey, with his left arm dropped at his side as though his shoulder wasn't killing him. Sam was perched on the counter, coffee mug in hand, waiting for him. "Alright, let's do this," he said, taking a breath and looking around for his shoes.
Sam was reaching for her keys by the time Jack had slipped his feet into a pair of old work boots. She was following him to the door until he reached for the handle. "Okay, enough!" she exclaimed, exasperated.
Puzzled, Jack spun around to face her, confusion drawing his brows together. "What?" he asked innocently, hoping against hope that he hadn't been made.
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he was in trouble. "The jig is up, Jack." Sam's arms crossed over her chest slowly.
"Jig? But I can't even dance," he quipped.
Ignoring him, Sam said, "Kawalsky called this morning. He said you left your hockey stick in the back of his truck."
Clearing his throat, Jack grimaced, then worked up his best boyish grin that he knew his wife adored so much. "Ah, yeah . . . We had a little pick-up game last night."
"Okay." Sam wasn't upset about hockey, he knew. Every Wednesday night he played street hockey with the guys from the fire station. But last night wasn't Wednesday, and judging by the look in her eyes, the adorable little boy look wasn't working right now. "Oh, and Charlie also told me that the college guys you played with want a rematch."
Oh. Crap. He made a face, but had nothing to say. "Uh . . ."
"College guys, Jack!?" She was frowning, now. That wasn't good. "The University of Colorado hockey team?!" Sam was practically glaring at this point.
He grimaced, smiling sheepishly and shrugging, which caused him to wince involuntarily in pain. Ack! Damn shoulder.
"You guys are twice their age! What were you thinking?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she waved a hand toward him. "And what the hell is wrong with you? You've been acting stiff all morning."
Okay, yeah; the jig was most definitely up. Looking down at his feet like a little kid that was getting an earful from his mom, Jack dug his toe into the wooden floor and mumbled, "I, uh, I kinda fell wrong . . . on my shoulder."
Sam heaved another exasperated sigh. She stepped closer to him and he nearly flinched at the anger radiating from her. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and surprised him with a gentle, caring voice that betrayed her true concern and relief. "At least it wasn't your knee again." As she reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt, Jack didn't dare make a move, or even throw out a sly comment about her undressing him. Now was definitely NOT the time for that. Sam peeled the fabric back from his left shoulder, the one he was holding stiff and awkwardly.
Jack knew his shoulder wasn't bruised, he'd been sure to check that out earlier, but it was a little swollen. He grimaced slightly as she probed around his aching joint.
"Hopefully it's just a sprain," Sam said, dropping her hand away for a second before smacking him across his uninjured arm and glaring again. Oh no. Angry Sam was back.
"Hey! What was that for?" Jack cried indignantly, sticking out his lower lip.
"You could've been seriously hurt, you big oaf!" She spun on her heel and stormed toward the kitchen.
Thinking it was best that he follow her, Jack trudged after his irate wife and slowly took a seat at the table as he watched her throw together a makeshift ice pack with a Ziploc bag, some ice, and a kitchen towel. He wisely kept his mouth shut as she handed it to him, and he put it on his throbbing shoulder.
He watched Sam grab for her keys again. "Let's get you to Janet's office."
Jack cocked his head and blinked, then chancing some backlash, he asked tentatively, "Uh, what about helping the guys at the fire house?"
She waved a hand dismissively, and winked at him, grinning devilishly. "Oh, that was a lie. They don't need our help. I was just seeing how fast I could get you to confess you'd been hurt."
Jack's draw dropped open as she turned and sauntered out of the kitchen. He got up slowly, shaking his head and grinning. Damn, his wife sure knew how to play him. "You little devil!"
-The End-
Note: I sprained my shoulder a couple days ago, and it inspired me to write this! lol. :) I just hadta torture poor Jack. It's what I do. XP