This isn't a date.
It's not. It's two co-workers, two friends seeing a movie together.
You know exactly how you got to this point, and you know that it's serendipity that your other two teammates didn't want to see this or already had plans. And it was happenstance that the Colonel had been telling Daniel not two minutes before how much he wanted to see exactly the same movie you suggested they all go see. So the two of you had no excuse not to go together, that very night as you'd suggested.
And you're almost certain you caught Daniel and Teal'c exchanging looks across the table but you know they're smarter than that,know they wouldn't chance getting caught by either of you.
But that doesn't matter right now, because the man sitting next to you in the theatre is your commanding officer, but he's also the man who picked you up in his truck and drove you to the movie theatre.
Not that you'd let him pay.
Not that he offered.
And it's not like you're sharing popcorn or anything like that, your slippery, butter-covered fingers reaching into the bag, looking for a choice kernel and instead encountering his hand. You didn't lose track of yourself when fingers, yours and his, accidentally tangled, as you brushed across the back of his hand and felt his warm, surprisingly soft skin.
Well, okay, maybe it happened once. But you're not really sharing popcorn. When he offered to buy you refused and not just for proprietary reasons. You're at the age where you have to pay attention to what you eat, and even if you're not on Atkins you are watching your carb intake.
But you can't quite help stealing a handful or two of his, and if your hand happened to make contact with his, well, hey, these things happen. And if you curl your baby finger around his index finger for just a second, well, at least you're not on a date with him.
After that one tiny lapse you force yourself to pay attention because you bet Daniel will ask you what you thought about the movie and at the very least you want to have something to say to the Colonel in the car later. And maybe, just maybe, you need to prove to yourself that he can't distract you to the point that you can't remember the plot of a B sci fi movie.
And, you know, this isn't a date. You shouldn't have trouble concentrating, because you're just seeing a movie with a friend.
And afterwards, you know better than to accept his offer to go get a cup of coffee because you know that on downtime, coffee after six pm is a bad idea
So you order a cup of decaffeinated tea instead.
The cafe is small and out of the way and not far from your house and you've never seen anyone from the base there in the five years since they opened, so you let yourself relax a little further.
Since this is not a date.
You think that maybe he relaxes as well, and sooner rather than later the owner is wiping down the table next to you and it's time to go.
And you fight the shiver that you swore wouldn't happen even as it works it way down your spine when he stands behind you and helps you into your leather jacket, his fingers brushing your neck unintentionally (or not).
You walk beside him to his truck and you let him open the door. You almost refuse his hand but in the end decide it would be silly since so far you've had to struggle to climb in wearing these shoes. Not that you wore these shoes to impress him or so he'd notice your legs or anything like that. These jeans are just a little long and need a little heel so they don't drag.
The drive to your place isn't exactly filled with chatter but neither of you is silent and you're smiling when he pulls up to the curb in front of your house. He puts the truck in park and you face him and this is not a date so it is ridiculous to hope that he'll say to hell with it and lean across the seat and kiss you goodnight.
It's not a date, but he still tells you he had a nice time, suggests that maybe you should do this again. And you smile ruefully because as much as you might like to, and as much as you've tried to tell yourself otherwise, you really are having a hard time convincing yourself this isn't a date.
He smiles back and it strikes you that maybe he feels the same way. So you agree that you *should* do this again and decide to stop thinking that this *isn't* a date and for just a minute pretend that it is.
You pretend that the snug jeans and heeled boots and close fitting sweater and the five extra minutes you spent on your hair and makeup are for him, because he's a man you could fall for, could fall for hard.
And if you invited him in you wouldn't bother with the excuse of coffee or a beer or anything other than the fact that you want him, want him every way possible but right now you want him in your bed and making you beg for whatever it is he's going to do to you.
You think ahead a few years, to a time when he's not your CO and the world's no longer in danger of being destroyed every time you take a night off. And it's in that moment, that very moment when you feel your breath coming a little harder and your skin flushing just a little that you realize that this *was* a date and damn it, you *do* want to invite him in.
Instead (and oh, it's a mistake, but for just a minute you let that little fantasy have control) you lean across and kiss his cheek. You don't let yourself linger and you allow yourself a deep breath of his scent as you pull away, a sort of reward for not taking the night any further.
You sit back in your seat and look at him and you bet he's letting that same little fantasy take hold for just a minute as well. And you don't say anything, because anything you could say would break the little world you've both created.
So you smile at him, a little shyly, a little like you hope you'll one day smile at him right before you ask him to come in, and you remember what his answering smile looks like, for all the days when it looks like he'll never get to accept your invitation.
Then you get of his truck. And though the way your hips sway as you walk up to your front door can't be helped because of the shoes, you know he'll think that little motion is just for him, and tonight that's okay.
You find your keys without any embarrassing fumbles, and you unlock your house without any problem that might bring him to your front step to help you.
You turn around and offer a slight wave, and he puts the truck in drive and pulls away from the curb and you know he's not watching you as you enter the house, but you can kind of still feel his eyes on you and you like it.
And you stand in your hallway for just a minute. Close your eyes and allow yourself the illusion that he's right behind you, that he'll be the one to close the door and lock it, that his shoes will soon be sitting on the mat right next to yours and he'll be keeping you warm in bed tonight.
But he won't, and so you turn around and close and lock your door, enter your code into the security system. You shrug off your jacket, hang it in your closet and head towards your bedroom.
Reminding yourself this wasn't a date.
Telling yourself one day it will be.
Story Notes: A/N: Thanks to Julie for the beta and for making this better than it was.
For LittleRed, who I'm always pestering for angst.
For LittleRed, who I'm always pestering for angst.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]