[Sam Carter] What the hell was that all about?
Who: Carter
Where: Carter's Tent
When: Sunday, Apr 32, night (after Fish Fry, concurrent with Can We Talk?)
Invited: Daniel
Status: Incomplete
Once Jack's impromptu block party had finished, Carter had made her way back to her own tent in the SG-1 area of the admin compound. It wasn't all that far. Four tents were clustered fairly close together -- hers, Jack's, Daniel's, and, in a nod to her role as colony governor, Dr. Weir's. They were arranged in pairs, each backed on to the other. Jack's and Daniel's were side by side facing one way, Carter's and Weir's side by side, facing the other. Thus, all she'd done was slip past the guy lines and walked around the corner.
She was glad when it was over. Boone hadn't lingered, just as he'd promised, and she'd played it fairly low-key, staying off to the side and watching the animated conversation the other doctors had engaged in. At one point, she'd deflected attention from her quiescence by telling Jack about the project that had occupied her that day: salvaging parts for the design and construction of an energy/fuel-efficient motorcycle that was adapted to the colony's tightening resource situation.
He'd laughed at that, of course, and teased her about a "need for speed", but it had allowed him to talk about something he knew other than work. When Dr. Jackson -- Ami, not Daniel -- had picked up on their topic, the evening had relaxed considerably. It turned out the other woman had a thing for bikes, too. Who knew? The lot of them had sat there, comparing pipes and mufflers, entertaining just about everyone with various "No shit, there I was..." stories about various motorcycle mishaps they'd each had.
It had threatened to turn into a one-upmanship contest, except both Carter and Jackson had been wise enough to let Jack win when he described a race through the wilds of Guatemala that included an accidental encounter with a small waterfall and a flock of native birds. Nothing they had compared to that.
Stretched out on her bed, having changed into an old t-shirt and track pants, she cupped her hands under her head and stared up at the canvas ceiling. Much to her surprise, sleep had entirely eluded her. She had expected, given the emotional roller coaster of the day, not to mention the physical exertion it brought, that she'd collapse into bed and fall unconscious before she'd had the time to blink twice. But, that hadn't been the case. Instead, she'd tossed and turned, sat up and laid down, turned on the light and turned off the light, each in turn for the better part of two hours. Currently, she was back in the lights-off, stretched-out phase of restlessness. One knee was bent, her fingers laced through her hair beneath her head. At that given moment, she was counting the stitches she could just barely make out along the seam where the roof of the tent joined to the walls. She'd counted 326, so far.
The back window flap of her tent was open slightly, letting the cool night air circulate. The screening looked out onto the shared 'yard' behind the tents -- the place where Jack had hosted his 'block party'. (Carter refused to consider it nothing more than a fish fry. There had been too many people.) Jack's tent was, unintentionally, the one immediately behind hers, Elizabeth's tent being the one to back onto Daniel's. Its back wall was about 15' away from her back wall.
Thus, when the lamp in his tent flipped on unexpectedly, it bled enough curtained light to catch her eye. Her head rolled and she glanced out through the narrow strip revealed by the way she'd rolled the flap up just an inch or two. She could just make out his shadow in profile, arms crossed over his chest, head tucked in a way that suggested he was giving someone or something the stare-down.
Snatches of his words reached her, carried on the cool night air and laden with pique. "Yeah-- I'd... understand... because if... information, I'd... brig built so... falsification of identification, doctor."
Carter's brows creased at those words and she sat up, peering out the back flap directly, now.
Snatches of Jack's growl continued to reach her. "...Lieutenant appreciates... cocktail dress... middle... beer... won't wake... this."
The man wasn't happy. And considering the lamp cast the silhouette of a second, somewhat more indistinct figure sitting on his bed... Well, that would explain it. Carter couldn't hear the woman's response -- at least she assumed it was a woman, given the general shape of the shadow and the general's reference to a 'cocktail dress' -- but she knew Jack well enough to recognize his tone as 'Not Happy'.
She swung her feet out of bed and reached for her own lamp, turning it on. Eavesdropping would be so unprofessional, if difficult not to do, given the proximity of the tents and the way voices tended to carry at night. While most others in the tent city were unlikely to overhear, since the SG-1 compound was somewhat segregated from the rest of the populated areas, the four that inhabited the small block would be hard-pressed not to know something was up.
But, perhaps Daniel and Elizabeth were asleep enough to miss it.
And, perhaps the light spill from her own tent would remind whomever it was that was visiting Jack that they weren't quite so alone as it seemed. While the visitor might be good at keeping her voice down -- Carter hadn't caught more than a muffled note or two to confirm that the visitor was, in fact, female -- Jack was rarely quiet when irritated. Unless, of course, he was in the field. But, he wasn't now, was he? He was at home.
Poor man.
Actually, Carter's sympathy for him only extended so far. He'd had the mission folder for the 0800 briefing delivered to her shortly after the block party had broken up. Originally, she figured on reading it come morning, but... well, it looked like this was going to be morning enough. She rose and reached for an old sweat top to ball it up underneath her pillow in an effort to give it greater height. That done, she grabbed the report, stretched back out on the bed, and opened it up to read. Maybe the mission file would put her to sleep.
Where: Carter's Tent
When: Sunday, Apr 32, night (after Fish Fry, concurrent with Can We Talk?)
Invited: Daniel
Status: Incomplete
Once Jack's impromptu block party had finished, Carter had made her way back to her own tent in the SG-1 area of the admin compound. It wasn't all that far. Four tents were clustered fairly close together -- hers, Jack's, Daniel's, and, in a nod to her role as colony governor, Dr. Weir's. They were arranged in pairs, each backed on to the other. Jack's and Daniel's were side by side facing one way, Carter's and Weir's side by side, facing the other. Thus, all she'd done was slip past the guy lines and walked around the corner.
She was glad when it was over. Boone hadn't lingered, just as he'd promised, and she'd played it fairly low-key, staying off to the side and watching the animated conversation the other doctors had engaged in. At one point, she'd deflected attention from her quiescence by telling Jack about the project that had occupied her that day: salvaging parts for the design and construction of an energy/fuel-efficient motorcycle that was adapted to the colony's tightening resource situation.
He'd laughed at that, of course, and teased her about a "need for speed", but it had allowed him to talk about something he knew other than work. When Dr. Jackson -- Ami, not Daniel -- had picked up on their topic, the evening had relaxed considerably. It turned out the other woman had a thing for bikes, too. Who knew? The lot of them had sat there, comparing pipes and mufflers, entertaining just about everyone with various "No shit, there I was..." stories about various motorcycle mishaps they'd each had.
It had threatened to turn into a one-upmanship contest, except both Carter and Jackson had been wise enough to let Jack win when he described a race through the wilds of Guatemala that included an accidental encounter with a small waterfall and a flock of native birds. Nothing they had compared to that.
Stretched out on her bed, having changed into an old t-shirt and track pants, she cupped her hands under her head and stared up at the canvas ceiling. Much to her surprise, sleep had entirely eluded her. She had expected, given the emotional roller coaster of the day, not to mention the physical exertion it brought, that she'd collapse into bed and fall unconscious before she'd had the time to blink twice. But, that hadn't been the case. Instead, she'd tossed and turned, sat up and laid down, turned on the light and turned off the light, each in turn for the better part of two hours. Currently, she was back in the lights-off, stretched-out phase of restlessness. One knee was bent, her fingers laced through her hair beneath her head. At that given moment, she was counting the stitches she could just barely make out along the seam where the roof of the tent joined to the walls. She'd counted 326, so far.
The back window flap of her tent was open slightly, letting the cool night air circulate. The screening looked out onto the shared 'yard' behind the tents -- the place where Jack had hosted his 'block party'. (Carter refused to consider it nothing more than a fish fry. There had been too many people.) Jack's tent was, unintentionally, the one immediately behind hers, Elizabeth's tent being the one to back onto Daniel's. Its back wall was about 15' away from her back wall.
Thus, when the lamp in his tent flipped on unexpectedly, it bled enough curtained light to catch her eye. Her head rolled and she glanced out through the narrow strip revealed by the way she'd rolled the flap up just an inch or two. She could just make out his shadow in profile, arms crossed over his chest, head tucked in a way that suggested he was giving someone or something the stare-down.
Snatches of his words reached her, carried on the cool night air and laden with pique. "Yeah-- I'd... understand... because if... information, I'd... brig built so... falsification of identification, doctor."
Carter's brows creased at those words and she sat up, peering out the back flap directly, now.
Snatches of Jack's growl continued to reach her. "...Lieutenant appreciates... cocktail dress... middle... beer... won't wake... this."
The man wasn't happy. And considering the lamp cast the silhouette of a second, somewhat more indistinct figure sitting on his bed... Well, that would explain it. Carter couldn't hear the woman's response -- at least she assumed it was a woman, given the general shape of the shadow and the general's reference to a 'cocktail dress' -- but she knew Jack well enough to recognize his tone as 'Not Happy'.
She swung her feet out of bed and reached for her own lamp, turning it on. Eavesdropping would be so unprofessional, if difficult not to do, given the proximity of the tents and the way voices tended to carry at night. While most others in the tent city were unlikely to overhear, since the SG-1 compound was somewhat segregated from the rest of the populated areas, the four that inhabited the small block would be hard-pressed not to know something was up.
But, perhaps Daniel and Elizabeth were asleep enough to miss it.
And, perhaps the light spill from her own tent would remind whomever it was that was visiting Jack that they weren't quite so alone as it seemed. While the visitor might be good at keeping her voice down -- Carter hadn't caught more than a muffled note or two to confirm that the visitor was, in fact, female -- Jack was rarely quiet when irritated. Unless, of course, he was in the field. But, he wasn't now, was he? He was at home.
Poor man.
Actually, Carter's sympathy for him only extended so far. He'd had the mission folder for the 0800 briefing delivered to her shortly after the block party had broken up. Originally, she figured on reading it come morning, but... well, it looked like this was going to be morning enough. She rose and reached for an old sweat top to ball it up underneath her pillow in an effort to give it greater height. That done, she grabbed the report, stretched back out on the bed, and opened it up to read. Maybe the mission file would put her to sleep.