Stargate SG1; Sam & Jack; Five Pieces of Furniture: Desk
Title: Stuck on You
Author/Artist: sjhw_tolerance
Theme: Pieces of Furniture: Desk
Rating: Teen
Stuck on You
This office wasn’t so bad, Jack decided, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the comfy leather chair. Of course, given that he was usually on the other side of the desk instead of behind it might account for his change of attitude. Yes, he thought, slowly rotating the chair and admiring the expansive desk, the matching credenza and book shelves, not to mention the chair, he might actually make use of an office if he had one like this.
Oh, he knew he had an office, if you could call the cubbyhole he shared with Reynolds, and whatever Colonel of the month happened to be rotating through the SGC, an office. Once more leaning back in the chair, Jack rested his feet-very carefully-on a corner of the desk. Reynolds didn’t seem to mind their shared office, his corner of the dreary room sporting pictures of his family, awards and various other bric-a-brac.
Reynolds even seemed to enjoy sitting at his battered old desk and doing paperwork, the mere thought of which made Jack shudder. He understood any good bureaucracy ran on paperwork, and he was thankful for General Hammond, who bore the brunt of that bureaucracy. And curiously enough, in the way of bureaucracies, his paperwork always managed to find him; generally delivered to him by an always rather gleeful Sergeant Harriman or by Sam-who usually frowned.
Speaking of paperwork…Jack cast a baleful eye at the stack of papers and manila folders resting in Hammond’s in-box. He knew for a fact the box had been empty when the general had left the day before, bound for DC and the appropriations hearing, which could only mean either Walter or Sam had snuck into the office during the night and put all of his overdue paperwork in the office. Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that now. Hammond was supposed to be gone for several days, he had plenty of time.
Dropping his feet from the desk, Jack once more swiveled around, stopping when the model of an F-104 Starfighter on one of the lower bookshelves caught his eye. Scooting the chair closer, and admiring how nicely it rolled on its wheels as compared to the chair in his office, Jack picked up the small model-base and all.
The F-104 model was excellent, the detail was…well…detailed. Rising slightly from the chair, Jack made some vrooming noises and began flying the small plane around the eagle perched on the credenza. Only momentarily entertained by the distraction, Jack guided the small plane in for a landing.
“Crap.” Just as he glided the Starfighter in for a landing, the base supporting the model broke off in his hand, bouncing off the eagle and clattering onto the floor.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Walter’s bald head appeared around the open office door that led into the briefing room.
Jumping up, Jack quickly hid the plane behind his back, surreptitiously nudging the stand out of sight beneath the desk. Adopting a casual pose and an innocent look, he replied, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
Walter looked nonplussed for a second and then mumbled, “I thought I heard something.”
Jack didn’t say anything, waiting the other man out, and Walter finally gave up. “Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Jack replied, “I’ll call.” Once Walter was safely out of sight, Jack quickly closed the door and lowered the blinds of the window. With the office secure, Jack reached under the desk and grabbed the broken base.
Sitting back down in the not so comfortable anymore chair behind the fancy, big desk, Jack looked at the two model pieces he held in his hands. Maybe they snapped together. “Well, crap,” he muttered, trying to force to the two pieces together without success. It looked like that plan wasn’t going to work. He was going to need some glue.
Glue…he tried opening the desk drawers, only that wily dog Hammond had all of them locked, except for the middle one-and all it held were assorted pens, pencils, paper clips and post-it notes. Sliding the drawer shut, Jack sat back in the chair. Who would have some super glue? Or even some good old Elmer’s?
Walter was the first person to come to mind but Jack quickly discarded that idea. Now way could he explain the broken model to the sergeant when he’d already declared there was no problem. Who could help him…wait, of course. Who always bailed his ass out of trouble? Picking up the red phone he very carefully dialed the extension he wanted-he didn’t want to get the President by mistake. Thank god, after four rings he heard that beautiful voice.
“Carter.”
“Sam,” he whispered, “you’ve got to help me.”
“Sir?”
He could hear the question-and confusion-in her voice.
“It’s me, O’Neill,” he hissed. “Do you have any super glue?”
There was a long, long pause and he could just imagine the look on her face.
“Why do you need super glue?”
“Carter, it doesn’t really matter why I need it, it just matters that I need it.”
Her heavy sigh was very audible. “Where are you?”
“Hammond’s office.”
“What have you done?” There was a distinct hint of panic in her voice now.
“Never mind!” Jack whispered loudly, fighting down his own panic. “Just get up her with that glue!”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack hung up the phone. Way to go, he thought morosely, staring at the broken model bits. Get all pissy with her just when things seemed to be going their way again. His subsequent sigh rivaled the one he’d heard from her. They just couldn’t get a break lately, what with the whole Kinsey fiasco, not to mention the Maybourne debacle. It seemed for every step he took closer to Carter, he somehow ended up two steps behind. He figured it was reaching the point where he was going to have to take some drastic action-after he got the model glued back together.
Five exceedingly long minutes later, there was a discreet knock at the hallway door. Leaving the broken pieces of model on the desk, Jack jumped up and went to the door, whispering low, “Who is it?”
He was sure he heard a sigh, but then he heard her infinitely reassuring voice. “It’s me, sir.”
Jack opened the door just enough for her squeeze in. “Quick, quick,” he ordered, shooing her in and then with one last look both ways down the empty hall, he closed and locked the door. Sam stood by the desk, a very perplexed look on her face and small tube of super glue clutched in one hand.
“What did you break?”
Direct and to the point-most of the time-and thank goodness this was one of those times. He didn’t say anything, merely pointed to the forlorn looking F-104 model, lying sadly on the blotter, next to its stand. She huffed a bit and shook her head, picking up the two pieces.
“Careful!” he admonished, which earned him a look.
“Do you want my help?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry,” he quickly replied, not entirely sure she wouldn’t abandon him to his fate. The last time he’d tried to glue something together with super glue all he’d managed to do was glue his fingers together-not a pleasant memory.
“Sit down,” she said.
Jack hurriedly sat down in the big chair, perched right on the edge, and watched while she bent low over the desk and carefully applied several drops of the sticky stuff to the base and then skillfully settled the small plane onto it. “Hold this,” she instructed.
He aligned his hands with hers, trying hard to concentrate and ignore the secret thrill he got when their fingers touched. Good grief, but he was pathetic, he decided, taking a quick whiff of her hair before she could realize what he was doing.
“Okay,” she said, removing her hands and much to his dismay, straightening up. “Just hold the pieces in place for ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” No way could he sit still that long.
“If you want the glue to hold….”
“I thought it was super glue?” he protested, yet still careful to keep the model pieces in place.
“It is,” she explained, putting the cap back on the tube. “But it still needs to set. Unless,” she added, “you want to explain to Hammond….”
“No, no!” She had him there. No way did he ever want to explain this to Hammond. She started towards the door and he put on his most pathetic face. “Sam? I owe you one.”
She smiled and Jack saw something wild and slightly dangerous in her eyes. Trapped, he could do nothing but grin like an idiot when she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You bet you do.”
The End
Author/Artist: sjhw_tolerance
Theme: Pieces of Furniture: Desk
Rating: Teen
Stuck on You
This office wasn’t so bad, Jack decided, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the comfy leather chair. Of course, given that he was usually on the other side of the desk instead of behind it might account for his change of attitude. Yes, he thought, slowly rotating the chair and admiring the expansive desk, the matching credenza and book shelves, not to mention the chair, he might actually make use of an office if he had one like this.
Oh, he knew he had an office, if you could call the cubbyhole he shared with Reynolds, and whatever Colonel of the month happened to be rotating through the SGC, an office. Once more leaning back in the chair, Jack rested his feet-very carefully-on a corner of the desk. Reynolds didn’t seem to mind their shared office, his corner of the dreary room sporting pictures of his family, awards and various other bric-a-brac.
Reynolds even seemed to enjoy sitting at his battered old desk and doing paperwork, the mere thought of which made Jack shudder. He understood any good bureaucracy ran on paperwork, and he was thankful for General Hammond, who bore the brunt of that bureaucracy. And curiously enough, in the way of bureaucracies, his paperwork always managed to find him; generally delivered to him by an always rather gleeful Sergeant Harriman or by Sam-who usually frowned.
Speaking of paperwork…Jack cast a baleful eye at the stack of papers and manila folders resting in Hammond’s in-box. He knew for a fact the box had been empty when the general had left the day before, bound for DC and the appropriations hearing, which could only mean either Walter or Sam had snuck into the office during the night and put all of his overdue paperwork in the office. Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that now. Hammond was supposed to be gone for several days, he had plenty of time.
Dropping his feet from the desk, Jack once more swiveled around, stopping when the model of an F-104 Starfighter on one of the lower bookshelves caught his eye. Scooting the chair closer, and admiring how nicely it rolled on its wheels as compared to the chair in his office, Jack picked up the small model-base and all.
The F-104 model was excellent, the detail was…well…detailed. Rising slightly from the chair, Jack made some vrooming noises and began flying the small plane around the eagle perched on the credenza. Only momentarily entertained by the distraction, Jack guided the small plane in for a landing.
“Crap.” Just as he glided the Starfighter in for a landing, the base supporting the model broke off in his hand, bouncing off the eagle and clattering onto the floor.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Walter’s bald head appeared around the open office door that led into the briefing room.
Jumping up, Jack quickly hid the plane behind his back, surreptitiously nudging the stand out of sight beneath the desk. Adopting a casual pose and an innocent look, he replied, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
Walter looked nonplussed for a second and then mumbled, “I thought I heard something.”
Jack didn’t say anything, waiting the other man out, and Walter finally gave up. “Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Jack replied, “I’ll call.” Once Walter was safely out of sight, Jack quickly closed the door and lowered the blinds of the window. With the office secure, Jack reached under the desk and grabbed the broken base.
Sitting back down in the not so comfortable anymore chair behind the fancy, big desk, Jack looked at the two model pieces he held in his hands. Maybe they snapped together. “Well, crap,” he muttered, trying to force to the two pieces together without success. It looked like that plan wasn’t going to work. He was going to need some glue.
Glue…he tried opening the desk drawers, only that wily dog Hammond had all of them locked, except for the middle one-and all it held were assorted pens, pencils, paper clips and post-it notes. Sliding the drawer shut, Jack sat back in the chair. Who would have some super glue? Or even some good old Elmer’s?
Walter was the first person to come to mind but Jack quickly discarded that idea. Now way could he explain the broken model to the sergeant when he’d already declared there was no problem. Who could help him…wait, of course. Who always bailed his ass out of trouble? Picking up the red phone he very carefully dialed the extension he wanted-he didn’t want to get the President by mistake. Thank god, after four rings he heard that beautiful voice.
“Carter.”
“Sam,” he whispered, “you’ve got to help me.”
“Sir?”
He could hear the question-and confusion-in her voice.
“It’s me, O’Neill,” he hissed. “Do you have any super glue?”
There was a long, long pause and he could just imagine the look on her face.
“Why do you need super glue?”
“Carter, it doesn’t really matter why I need it, it just matters that I need it.”
Her heavy sigh was very audible. “Where are you?”
“Hammond’s office.”
“What have you done?” There was a distinct hint of panic in her voice now.
“Never mind!” Jack whispered loudly, fighting down his own panic. “Just get up her with that glue!”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack hung up the phone. Way to go, he thought morosely, staring at the broken model bits. Get all pissy with her just when things seemed to be going their way again. His subsequent sigh rivaled the one he’d heard from her. They just couldn’t get a break lately, what with the whole Kinsey fiasco, not to mention the Maybourne debacle. It seemed for every step he took closer to Carter, he somehow ended up two steps behind. He figured it was reaching the point where he was going to have to take some drastic action-after he got the model glued back together.
Five exceedingly long minutes later, there was a discreet knock at the hallway door. Leaving the broken pieces of model on the desk, Jack jumped up and went to the door, whispering low, “Who is it?”
He was sure he heard a sigh, but then he heard her infinitely reassuring voice. “It’s me, sir.”
Jack opened the door just enough for her squeeze in. “Quick, quick,” he ordered, shooing her in and then with one last look both ways down the empty hall, he closed and locked the door. Sam stood by the desk, a very perplexed look on her face and small tube of super glue clutched in one hand.
“What did you break?”
Direct and to the point-most of the time-and thank goodness this was one of those times. He didn’t say anything, merely pointed to the forlorn looking F-104 model, lying sadly on the blotter, next to its stand. She huffed a bit and shook her head, picking up the two pieces.
“Careful!” he admonished, which earned him a look.
“Do you want my help?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry,” he quickly replied, not entirely sure she wouldn’t abandon him to his fate. The last time he’d tried to glue something together with super glue all he’d managed to do was glue his fingers together-not a pleasant memory.
“Sit down,” she said.
Jack hurriedly sat down in the big chair, perched right on the edge, and watched while she bent low over the desk and carefully applied several drops of the sticky stuff to the base and then skillfully settled the small plane onto it. “Hold this,” she instructed.
He aligned his hands with hers, trying hard to concentrate and ignore the secret thrill he got when their fingers touched. Good grief, but he was pathetic, he decided, taking a quick whiff of her hair before she could realize what he was doing.
“Okay,” she said, removing her hands and much to his dismay, straightening up. “Just hold the pieces in place for ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” No way could he sit still that long.
“If you want the glue to hold….”
“I thought it was super glue?” he protested, yet still careful to keep the model pieces in place.
“It is,” she explained, putting the cap back on the tube. “But it still needs to set. Unless,” she added, “you want to explain to Hammond….”
“No, no!” She had him there. No way did he ever want to explain this to Hammond. She started towards the door and he put on his most pathetic face. “Sam? I owe you one.”
She smiled and Jack saw something wild and slightly dangerous in her eyes. Trapped, he could do nothing but grin like an idiot when she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You bet you do.”
The End