Fic | Jack-o'-Lantern | Sam/Baal [FRC]
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: FRC
Word Count: 1,043
Summary: Baal attempts pun-related trickery. Sam is not impressed. Sequel to Trick or Treat. A grade crack.
Sam wakes to the sound of an alarm. She feels alarm when she realises that the room is suffering from a distinct lack of Baal. Groaning, she drops off the sofa and finds her top. She knows the siren is down to the absent Goa’uld. Just knows it. Though what hell he’s done now is anyone’s guess.
Trick or treat, she thinks and thumps the heel of her hand on her forehead. Oh, he hasn’t. For the love of all that is holy, please don’t let him have.
She bolts from the room.
The corridor is a shambles: the fire system sprinkles freezing cold water, airmen dash about in response to whatever the threat is, and there’s a couple of scientists attempting to salvage paperwork from the deluge. Wincing at the chill, Sam makes her way down to the corridor, heading for Cam’s quarters.
What she sees stops her dead and she has to shove the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to quell the rise of laughter: Cam is soaked through. His clothes are scorched and he’s missing most of his eyebrows.
“Oh God,” she says. He glares at her.
“Yours, yes, and I’m going to hand him his ass if I get a hold of him.”
She stares at the strange, orange splodges on his uniform. “What?”
Cam kicks a ball towards her. It rocks to a stop in front of her and she realises what it actually is - the carved face is rather a give away, even though little remains of the pumpkin.
“What?” she repeats, a sinking sensation in her stomach.
“It was a pumpkin. A jack-o’-lantern, he said, which I think was a dig and you ought to take him up on that.” Cam shoves a worried-looking Doctor Lam away. “I’m fine, just pissed!”
Sam pinches the bridge of her nose. “What did he do?”
“The fricking candle was some sort of explosive,” Cam grumps. “He gave me an exploding pumpkin.”
“Oh for-” She’s going to kill him. Or at least hit him very, very hard. Someone shuts the sprinklers off, for which she’s grateful. She steps over the pumpkin and puts a hand on Cam’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go find him.”
She doesn’t have to look far - she finds him in her lab, ostensibly reading through one of her folders and looking for all the world like he’s been there all the while. Except that the innocent expression doesn’t quite sit right on his face… and he has the folder upside down.
Plucking the manila from him, Sam rotates it and hands it back with a pointed look.
“Ancient reads better upended,” he says.
“You are an utter moron,” she informs him. “An exploding candle?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then why are your hands orange?”
Baal holds his hands out, tinted palms upwards. “Ah.”
“Hm.” Sam sits on the next chair with a sigh. “Did you have to? Landry’s going to cut your access right back again for that little trick.”
“It is hardly my fault if Colonel Mitchell cannot take a joke.” Baal sniffs and studies the ceiling. “And Landry’s always looking for reasons to curtail my activities.”
“You could have hurt Cam! What the hell were you thinking?”
Baal rolls his eyes. “Oh please, like I’m not experienced with explosives. Do you honestly think I’d have damaged him?” She levels him a withering glare. “Okay, don’t answer that.”
“What am I going to do with you?” she asks in some despair. His reaction is an immediate, lecherous grin. She kicks his shin. “Forget that! For God’s sake, Baal. I just-”
Anger clogs her throat and she waves a hand, utterly furious. And disappointed, embarrassed and already feeling the heat she’ll get in the morning for his running riot. She glares at him. His expression becomes contrite.
“Is it very bad?” he asks. She sighs.
“Cam’s okay, but you’d better avoid him for a few days while he cools off. That might not be a problem if Landry decides my word to keep you in check is invalid and sends you to Area 51 regardless.”
Hopelessness fills her - how could she have ever imagined that he would settle into a normal life? He’s not just a Goa’uld, he’s Baal, middle name trouble, and wouldn’t know normal if it bit him on the ass.
Looking at him again, she sees the import finally having some impact: he looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, all wide-eyes and down-turned mouth.
“Oh,” he says and sits forward to reach a hand out to her. She shakes her head and he drops it, crushed. “Why are you accountable for my behaviour?”
“Because I’m the idiot that fell in love and decided I could persuade them that you’d changed, which you clearly haven’t.”
“It was only a joke.”
It’s petulant and he pouts. Sam sighs at the inevitable wave of affection that crests over her.
“We’d better talk to Cam,” she says, resigned to be forever sorting out his messes. “And you will apologise. Maybe we can clear this up and stop it getting in front of Landry, though how since you managed to set the damn fire alarm off, I’ll never know.”
“I’m sorry,” Baal says, his eyes on the floor, thoroughly abashed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It always does,” she points out, but she can’t stay mad at him. She snags his hand and squeezes. “You are a moron, but I still love you.”
His smile is small and he sighs. “I wonder why.”
Sam gets to her feet, pulling him with her. “Yes, I do too. Come on, let’s go mollify Cam.” She stops dead as she remembers something else, and turns to him. “You specified it was a Jack-o'-Lantern,” she says. “Am I going to regret asking why?”
He smirks and pulls her closer. He smells of bitumen and pumpkin, tastes of toffee popcorn and trouble.
“Probably,” he says with a wicked grin and kisses her again.
She decides not to ask or to examine the remains of the pumpkin too closely when they wind up, eventually, outside Cam’s room. Sometimes, especially when Baal is concerned, ignorance is bliss.
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: FRC
Word Count: 1,043
Summary: Baal attempts pun-related trickery. Sam is not impressed. Sequel to Trick or Treat. A grade crack.
Sam wakes to the sound of an alarm. She feels alarm when she realises that the room is suffering from a distinct lack of Baal. Groaning, she drops off the sofa and finds her top. She knows the siren is down to the absent Goa’uld. Just knows it. Though what hell he’s done now is anyone’s guess.
Trick or treat, she thinks and thumps the heel of her hand on her forehead. Oh, he hasn’t. For the love of all that is holy, please don’t let him have.
She bolts from the room.
The corridor is a shambles: the fire system sprinkles freezing cold water, airmen dash about in response to whatever the threat is, and there’s a couple of scientists attempting to salvage paperwork from the deluge. Wincing at the chill, Sam makes her way down to the corridor, heading for Cam’s quarters.
What she sees stops her dead and she has to shove the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to quell the rise of laughter: Cam is soaked through. His clothes are scorched and he’s missing most of his eyebrows.
“Oh God,” she says. He glares at her.
“Yours, yes, and I’m going to hand him his ass if I get a hold of him.”
She stares at the strange, orange splodges on his uniform. “What?”
Cam kicks a ball towards her. It rocks to a stop in front of her and she realises what it actually is - the carved face is rather a give away, even though little remains of the pumpkin.
“What?” she repeats, a sinking sensation in her stomach.
“It was a pumpkin. A jack-o’-lantern, he said, which I think was a dig and you ought to take him up on that.” Cam shoves a worried-looking Doctor Lam away. “I’m fine, just pissed!”
Sam pinches the bridge of her nose. “What did he do?”
“The fricking candle was some sort of explosive,” Cam grumps. “He gave me an exploding pumpkin.”
“Oh for-” She’s going to kill him. Or at least hit him very, very hard. Someone shuts the sprinklers off, for which she’s grateful. She steps over the pumpkin and puts a hand on Cam’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go find him.”
She doesn’t have to look far - she finds him in her lab, ostensibly reading through one of her folders and looking for all the world like he’s been there all the while. Except that the innocent expression doesn’t quite sit right on his face… and he has the folder upside down.
Plucking the manila from him, Sam rotates it and hands it back with a pointed look.
“Ancient reads better upended,” he says.
“You are an utter moron,” she informs him. “An exploding candle?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then why are your hands orange?”
Baal holds his hands out, tinted palms upwards. “Ah.”
“Hm.” Sam sits on the next chair with a sigh. “Did you have to? Landry’s going to cut your access right back again for that little trick.”
“It is hardly my fault if Colonel Mitchell cannot take a joke.” Baal sniffs and studies the ceiling. “And Landry’s always looking for reasons to curtail my activities.”
“You could have hurt Cam! What the hell were you thinking?”
Baal rolls his eyes. “Oh please, like I’m not experienced with explosives. Do you honestly think I’d have damaged him?” She levels him a withering glare. “Okay, don’t answer that.”
“What am I going to do with you?” she asks in some despair. His reaction is an immediate, lecherous grin. She kicks his shin. “Forget that! For God’s sake, Baal. I just-”
Anger clogs her throat and she waves a hand, utterly furious. And disappointed, embarrassed and already feeling the heat she’ll get in the morning for his running riot. She glares at him. His expression becomes contrite.
“Is it very bad?” he asks. She sighs.
“Cam’s okay, but you’d better avoid him for a few days while he cools off. That might not be a problem if Landry decides my word to keep you in check is invalid and sends you to Area 51 regardless.”
Hopelessness fills her - how could she have ever imagined that he would settle into a normal life? He’s not just a Goa’uld, he’s Baal, middle name trouble, and wouldn’t know normal if it bit him on the ass.
Looking at him again, she sees the import finally having some impact: he looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, all wide-eyes and down-turned mouth.
“Oh,” he says and sits forward to reach a hand out to her. She shakes her head and he drops it, crushed. “Why are you accountable for my behaviour?”
“Because I’m the idiot that fell in love and decided I could persuade them that you’d changed, which you clearly haven’t.”
“It was only a joke.”
It’s petulant and he pouts. Sam sighs at the inevitable wave of affection that crests over her.
“We’d better talk to Cam,” she says, resigned to be forever sorting out his messes. “And you will apologise. Maybe we can clear this up and stop it getting in front of Landry, though how since you managed to set the damn fire alarm off, I’ll never know.”
“I’m sorry,” Baal says, his eyes on the floor, thoroughly abashed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It always does,” she points out, but she can’t stay mad at him. She snags his hand and squeezes. “You are a moron, but I still love you.”
His smile is small and he sighs. “I wonder why.”
Sam gets to her feet, pulling him with her. “Yes, I do too. Come on, let’s go mollify Cam.” She stops dead as she remembers something else, and turns to him. “You specified it was a Jack-o'-Lantern,” she says. “Am I going to regret asking why?”
He smirks and pulls her closer. He smells of bitumen and pumpkin, tastes of toffee popcorn and trouble.
“Probably,” he says with a wicked grin and kisses her again.
She decides not to ask or to examine the remains of the pumpkin too closely when they wind up, eventually, outside Cam’s room. Sometimes, especially when Baal is concerned, ignorance is bliss.