Ficlet: "Victory Fries"
From syxp's request: Sam/Jack and potatoes.
S/J friendship. G. S3. No spoilers.
"We're the guests of honor. Why are we cooking?" Jack flicked a curl of potato-thing peel off of his knife. It sailed over the cooking pot to stick just under Carter's left ear, about an inch higher than the last one he'd landed there.
Like last time, she breathed a concise sigh and wiped it away with the back of her hand. He wondered how long it would take her to find the long string still in her hair.
"It's a show of respect, sir. We're being treated as trusted family, not strangers."
"Well, then why can't I be with the old guys sitting around drinking beer, and watching the game?" He waved his knife toward the village center, where a group of gnarled old men crouched around a fire. Their rapid-fire conversation - an inexplicable patois of Latin, Arabic, and something that sounded Swedish that had sent Daniel into spasms of linguistic glee - was punctuated by loud laughter and the occasional glance in his direction.
Something wet slapped against his chin. He scraped the wide piece of peel away, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor as Carter said, "Because I told them that in our culture, male elders find such displays demeaning to their manhood, and prefer to be directly involved with domestic tasks."
One of these days he'd learn that beneath the crisp professionalism and the sweet smile now spreading across her face lay the heart of an evil, evil woman.
"This is payback for last week isn't it, when I made that housewife comment on 297?"
"I'm appalled, sir, that you think I would stoop to petty insubordination like that."
Acknowledging that bald-faced lie with a grunt, Jack tossed his peeled potato-thing in the cookpot. Carter helpfully plucked another from the basket and tossed it to him. He fumbled it, ignoring a poorly-disguised snort. "Have I mentioned lately, Carter, that I hate you?"
She skimmed a piece of peel from her own tuber, making a deliberate show of dropping it into the neat pile at her feet. "Not recently, sir."
He forced his mouth into an exaggerated frown, which made her duck her head and hide her smile, now at full wattage, behind her knife. "Well, consider it mentioned."
"Done, sir."
They peeled in silence until Jack, eyeing the trajectory carefully, sent another piece of peel sailing. This one landed on the side of Carter's nose.
His mental cry of victory faded when Carter said, without even looking up from her peeling, "Sir, should I tell them how much our male elders enjoy dancing?"
Hoots of raucous laughter from the old men, as if anticipating that spectacle, sent a shiver up Jack's spine. He let his knife slide from his fingers to bury its blade in the dirt between his boots. "I, uh, think I'll go see how Daniel and Teal'c are doing with those dishes."
S/J friendship. G. S3. No spoilers.
"We're the guests of honor. Why are we cooking?" Jack flicked a curl of potato-thing peel off of his knife. It sailed over the cooking pot to stick just under Carter's left ear, about an inch higher than the last one he'd landed there.
Like last time, she breathed a concise sigh and wiped it away with the back of her hand. He wondered how long it would take her to find the long string still in her hair.
"It's a show of respect, sir. We're being treated as trusted family, not strangers."
"Well, then why can't I be with the old guys sitting around drinking beer, and watching the game?" He waved his knife toward the village center, where a group of gnarled old men crouched around a fire. Their rapid-fire conversation - an inexplicable patois of Latin, Arabic, and something that sounded Swedish that had sent Daniel into spasms of linguistic glee - was punctuated by loud laughter and the occasional glance in his direction.
Something wet slapped against his chin. He scraped the wide piece of peel away, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor as Carter said, "Because I told them that in our culture, male elders find such displays demeaning to their manhood, and prefer to be directly involved with domestic tasks."
One of these days he'd learn that beneath the crisp professionalism and the sweet smile now spreading across her face lay the heart of an evil, evil woman.
"This is payback for last week isn't it, when I made that housewife comment on 297?"
"I'm appalled, sir, that you think I would stoop to petty insubordination like that."
Acknowledging that bald-faced lie with a grunt, Jack tossed his peeled potato-thing in the cookpot. Carter helpfully plucked another from the basket and tossed it to him. He fumbled it, ignoring a poorly-disguised snort. "Have I mentioned lately, Carter, that I hate you?"
She skimmed a piece of peel from her own tuber, making a deliberate show of dropping it into the neat pile at her feet. "Not recently, sir."
He forced his mouth into an exaggerated frown, which made her duck her head and hide her smile, now at full wattage, behind her knife. "Well, consider it mentioned."
"Done, sir."
They peeled in silence until Jack, eyeing the trajectory carefully, sent another piece of peel sailing. This one landed on the side of Carter's nose.
His mental cry of victory faded when Carter said, without even looking up from her peeling, "Sir, should I tell them how much our male elders enjoy dancing?"
Hoots of raucous laughter from the old men, as if anticipating that spectacle, sent a shiver up Jack's spine. He let his knife slide from his fingers to bury its blade in the dirt between his boots. "I, uh, think I'll go see how Daniel and Teal'c are doing with those dishes."