The meeting dragged on. It was like being in detention, but the President of the United States was a lot harder to sneak out on than Mrs West had ever been. There again, he was a lot more noticeable now than he had been in second grade. There was more of him, for a start. And less in the… class… for want of a better word. Normally in second grade he'd dragged someone down with him. This time he was flying solo.
And Mrs. West didn't want an analysis of the contribution of various nations to the programme that defended the Earth from religious zealots.
He missed the old bat, sometimes.
o…O…o
Sat in the airplane, impatiently fiddling with a pen… methodically taking it to pieces then fixing it. His eyes kept flicking to his watch, silently counting down the hours until he'd have to hop onto a plane back to Washington, his time until he had another meeting – there were only so many meetings that he could shuffle and still avoid an international incident.
Unscrew pen… drop out cartridge… drop out spring, and weird random bit… put it all together again and start again…
What was taking so long? He had… 17 hours until he had to be back on a plane heading for D.C… say… 6 hours sleeping… that only left 11…
And so he continued. Unscrew pen… drop out cartridge… furtive glance out window…
o…O…o
The pen long forgotten, he dug in his pockets, discarding candy wrappers, letting them slip through his fingers until he found what he was looking for. Cursing as he realised that it wasn't. Try as he might, the keys for his D.C. apartment weren't going to fit into a house in Colorado Springs. Retrieving the right set, he let himself in, hoping to surprise the occupant.
Really surprise, probably, because the lights were out. She could be asleep, or still at the S.G.C. he argued with the small portion of his brain that still insisted that he had no right to be this ridiculously happy. Although after checking the bedroom, he could strike the former off his list. Definitely not there. She would still be at the S.G.C. then – it wasn't a completely unreasonable idea that Sam Carter might work late. And reliable sources (Teal'c – the old gossip) had informed him that however much she supplied a changed face to him – home on time, hours of sleep per night creeping above 4 on a regular basis – she hadn't changed a bit when she was coming home to an empty house. Or when she was working on a project. He couldn't believe that she'd stood him up for Arthur's Mantle. There again, maybe he could, he thought with an indulgent smile.
He shed the uniform that he hadn't found time to lose between leaving the White House and jumping on board the airplane in favour of more comfortable clothes, and settled down to wait. He fiddled in his briefcase – he had a briefcase, where had it all gone wrong? - bringing out some of the less controversial papers that he had to sift through before the next afternoon. Hey, if he read them now, he could sleep on the flight back.
An hour ticked by.
He contemplated giving her another one, just so he didn't feel like he was whining, but decided against it. She needed some rest, he justified it to himself virtuously. And it was part of his job to make sure that Earth's best hope had her rest. Or a fraction of Earth's best hope, he added, belatedly including the rest of SG-1. An SG-1 that had never known him as leader, only as "General". Although Vala had congratulated Sam on her good taste. In front of him. And the rest of SG-1. And whoever was in the immediate range of her voice, which had seemed unnecessarily loud – probably was, judging by the woman's wink. SG-1 had diligently tried to prevent the two meeting again, especially Daniel, who had most cause to fear a conspiracy.
He counted the rings.
"Hello!"
That wasn't Sam. That was Daniel's thief. "General O'Neill. Carter there?"
"No, and I'm not supposed to tell you where she is… I've got to say that she's consulting with Dr Lee and unavailable."
My God, he could practically hear the pigtails swooshing. And he had to wonder whether she was very, very stupid, or very, very smart.
"You're not meant to tell… me? Or anyone?" he tried.
"Oh, anyone else I can tell them exactly where she is… kind of." She was teasing him deliberately, he realised – apparently knowing him by proxy was enough to breed the contempt of familiarity.
"Kind of?"
"That's what I said." She was oozing smug satisfaction at herself. Definitely on the smarter end of the scale.
"MalDoran!"
"Sorry, General, got to go!"
The phone clicked. Well, wasn't that just like her, to run when the going got tough? Although even if his gut instinct told him that she was trouble personified, Sam trusted her. Sam liked her, though he had no idea why. Must be some weird Carter thing, to like the odd ones. Not that he was complaining. Besides, she drove Daniel mad when he was too busy to. And he had no idea what she meant.
Unless… if Vala was telling the truth – if she was capable of that – then Sam didn't want him to know what she was doing. And him alone.
Oh, crap.
He picked up the phone again.
One ring…. two rings… three rings…
"Hello?"
"Oh, f'cryin' out loud!"
"Jack?"
"Guess where I am, Carter. I dare ya. Take one random guess and try and place me on the map somewhere. Pick a country, any country. Pick a state. Pick a city. And guess where the hell I am."
There was silence as she worked through the tirade in her mind.
"You're kidding?"
"Nope! Absolutely not. I am telling you the bona fide absolute truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me any being with transport power!"
She started giggling.
"Carter, it's not funny!"
"It is, kind of. We both trek half way across the country to surprise each other at the same time?" Her amusement shone through clearly – apparently she was more touched by his gesture than irritated that she wouldn't get to see him.
"It's not! 'Cos now you're in D.C. and I'm here, and it's just not funny!"
"Jack, just… stay put, get some sleep and I'll pass you sometime tomorrow at high altitude," she advised.
He sighed. She was right. He knew. Even if a part of him wanted to hop onto a flight right this instant to go back to her.
"Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you, ya know."
He could practically see her smiling at that. The resigned smile that said no matter how much of an ass he was, she'd still love him, and she'd still be hopelessly entangled.
"Night, Jack."
He put the phone down, replacing it in its rightful place with a barely audible click. Then went to bed. Alone. Sam and her 'brilliant' ideas.
o…O…o
He woke up when the tilting of the mattress told him there was a new weight on it. The alarm clock told him it was 0400.
"Carter?" he said sleepily, squinting in the general direction of the depression.
Snicker. "Who else are you expecting to creep into bed with you at this time of night?"
"What happened to 'stay put get some sleep'?" he asked, arms snaking around her to pull her close. She seemed perfectly happy to oblige, reciprocating in kind. And he could smell aeroplane, and D.C., and a citrus smell that he thought must be her shampoo.
"Do as I say, not as I do."
This time it was his turn to snicker. "Thought that was my line."
"Mmph. Go back to sleep," she murmured, wriggling into a more comfortable position and moving cool limbs against his warmer ones. He shivered and wrapped himself around her that bit more, nose brushing an icy ear as he settled his head just behind hers, lips touching her neck briefly.
"'Kay," he murmured.
"Sh'rup, Jack."
And this time, sleep came much easier to him.