Parties and Dresses by Jackie

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Story Notes: Archive: SJD

Pairings: Sam/Jack, some humorous m/m references

Spoilers: Set during Season Seven. One general spoiler (pretty obvious), but nothing for any actual Season Seven episodes.

Notes: Mostly just silly.

Copyright (c) 2003 Jackie, completed 03/16/2003

It was definitely *not* the highlight of her evening.

Mind you, not that seeing Jonas on top of a table, wearing a *dress*, so obviously piss-ant drunk, dancing and singing a love ditty from the 70s, didn't make her laugh. Because it did. Just a little.

But the fact was, it was *her* dress he was wearing. (Yep, that sexy, low cut there, high cut *there*, way too skimpy scrap-of-a-dress was really, honestly hers.) But it wasn't just that- she hadn't even worn it yet! In fact, it was a dress she had been saving- hidden away in the recesses of her closet, still wrapped in tissue paper from the store- for a particularly special occasion.

Okay, so this admittedly was a special occasion. But it just wasn't a *super* special occasion.

A *super* special occasion was something like her getting her own command, or the defeat of all Goa'uld, or the retirement of a certain (very hot) colonel. Super special occasions like that.

And here the dress was, on show, during a not-super-special event, in front of half the SGC. And on *Jonas* no less. Now she even couldn't wear it, had she still wanted to, without it triggering bad memories of this evening, little sniggers at her expense, the inevitable comparisons between how it fit her and how it had fit him- it really didn't help that the dress was amazingly good at showing off his very nice legs. (Damn him.)

She groaned. Whose bright idea had it been to hold Daniel's welcome home party at her place?

Oh, that's right. The colonel.

And who had decided that she didn't have enough of the "finer spirits" in stock at home, and so had gallantly purchased enough alcohol to waste five herds of elephants?

Yeah. That's right. The colonel.

And who had decided that Jonas should experience, for the very first time, the Earth tradition of getting absolutely plastered?

Well, that had been Jonas, actually. But she didn't doubt for a second that the colonel had something to do with it. Planting insane, crazy, just-plain-bad ideas into people's heads was one of his favorite pastimes. It was right up there with "pissing off the scientists and kicking Carter's ass at chess (when he wasn't very unsubtly checking said ass out)."

She really did not want to know how Jonas had even found the dress. He had wandered away half an hour ago- presumably to find the bathroom. But somehow he had made his way into her bedroom (her bedroom! she was going to *kill* him Monday), into her closet (and God knew where else), into the *back* of her closet, and selected, out of all the possible items in there, THAT specific dress.

She was not going to remember how much it cost. No, its incredibly expensive price- and the hole it had put in her wallet- was not on her mind at all. So what if Jonas had probably put a few rips and tears into it to make it fit? (Well, he had BETTER have- if he turned out to be her size, there would be hell to pay.) And so what if it would cost a bundle to get fixed? And so what if she should probably just save herself the trouble and donate it to some worthy cause the second he had shimmied out of it-

Crap. How exactly would she get rid of it, anyway? Who would *want* a dress like that? No church would take it- sins of Satan, unholy defiler of the Virgin Mother, lustful, evil, apocalyptic thoughts. The exact reasons why she had bought it in the first place would be the reasons no charity would ever accept it. The Salvation Army would think her nuts.

She sank into her chair and reached for her drink. Taking a swig of it, she decided the best course of action would be to simply drown her thoughts in alcohol and worry about everything later- destroying the dress, killing Jonas, killing the Colonel.

Everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Hammond and the colonel were (heh) hamming it up in the corner, Janet was making out with- wow, Lt. Simmons?- in the kitchen, Sgt. Siler had passed out on the couch long ago, and- whoa, Lt. Haley and some random airmen were really going at it. Even Teal'c, who still refused to consume alcoholic beverages, even without Junior, was having fun.

In particular, all the women seemed quite ecstatic. They were in heaven, on cloud nine, frothing at the mouths, in exquisite agony, and why not? Daniel Jackson and Jonas Quinn, the base's two sexiest bachelors, the SGC's pin-up boys, were actually together (finally) in one house.

A house with several unoccupied bedrooms. Double crap.

Where was Daniel, anyway? Please tell her that a nurse did NOT just drag off a recently unascended, drunk as anything anthropologist/archeologist/linguist to one of the guest rooms for some nooky-

Oh wait. There he was. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had almost lost him in that sea of women, but had managed to catch a glimpse of him when he surfaced for air. He was just fine, seemed quite chipper, actually, and was-

Wait a minute. Oh my God. He wasn't- was he? No, he couldn't be. No way! She looked again. Holy Hannah, he *was*! He was completely checking out Jonas! And by the look on the Kelownan's face, Jonas was totally aware of the attention, too- and very, very not-unhappy about it.

"Carter!"

Dragging her eyes away from the intense and unexpected, yet bizarrely fascinating, exchange between two of her closet friends (Janet was going to eat this news up, as soon as she was sober- on second thought, she probably wouldn't want to hear any of it, once she remembered that her make-out buddy was a good 10 years her junior), she turned towards the familiar voice.

"Colonel!" she greeted distractedly, managing to sound reasonably non-tipsy. "How're you doing?"

He sat himself down in the chair next to hers, resting his beer bottle on the counter alongside her own. "I'd say better than most of these kids. Come Monday, poor Hammond's gonna have to run a base full of hung-over airmen with a pretty bad one himself."

She smiled sympathetically, or at least tried to. It was hard to be sympathetic, after all, when her mind was on more pressing matters- like her sexy, really expensive, now-ruined dress. The one guaranteed to make men's heads turn, to make every woman envious that she could *fit* into something so tiny, to make her into a bona fide, living sex goddess for one night. The very one she'd been saving just for him! Argh.

Noticing where her gaze was focused (it had returned there of its own volition), the object of her secret (okay, not so secret) desire grinned and commented, "Nice outfit Jonas has on."

She whirled around to face him, her expression suddenly wary. This was definitely heading into dangerous territory. "Uh... yeah."

"Wonder where he picked it up."

"Drag Queens 'R Us" was on the tip of her tongue, but she valiantly resisted voicing it. Inwardly struggling, she finally settled on a non-offensive, "Uh huh."

"It doesn't really seem like his style, and I don't remember him bringing anything with him to the party..."

She gave him a sharp look. Okay, so it didn't take a lot of brainpower to deduce where Jonas had found the dress. But half the people here were drunk, and the other half were laughing at them, and she had really been hoping that the colonel fell into the former group.

"Then again, it doesn't seem like your style either."

"What?" she exclaimed, before she could help it. Ok, so he'd never really seen her in anything but fatigues, her blues, and occasionally some civvies. And yeah, so she normally didn't go for outfits like that herself, but where did HE get off saying it wasn't her style? Like he would know! He wasn't Jonas, who was now intimately acquainted with her entire wardrobe!

Heatedly, she demanded in a low hiss, "Are you saying it'd look *bad* on me, Sir?"

He seemed genuinely taken aback at her anger. "Whoa. Not at all, Carter!" He paused, then lowered his face, and in a completely different voice, said, "Permission to speak freely, Carter."

Like water on fire, that one request cooled her off in an instant- the man could switch moods like that, she thought, and the way he had asked it- so very, very hot. She felt her pulse quicken, and goose bumps on her arms. Licking her lips unconsciously, she murmured, a little huskier than usual, "Granted."

"Actually..." He leaned forward, eyes dark, a hint of one of his patented killer smiles on his lips. "I was kind of imagining what you'd look like in it, instead of Jonas."

"Really," she said, a little breathlessly.

"Yeah. But..."

"But?"

"But then," he grinned, "an image of Jonas came to mind, and that just totally killed it. Shriveled up and died right there. It's bad enough to just imagine it- but to have the real thing in front of you, dancing and serenading the base. It was too much."

She couldn't help it- she burst into uncontrollable laughter. He was just too irrepressible. Damned if she didn't love him for it though.

With a raised eyebrow, he watched her, smiling. Then, as she was recovering from her little giggle fit, he oh-so-casually rested his arm around her shoulders. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was something else, but she didn't even tense up at the contact. "But honestly, I was thinking... if you ever need a new dress to replace the one Jonas is wearing..."

"Sir?"

He just cocked his head at her and continued smiling.

Stupidly, she found herself grinning in return.

So he hadn't actually said anything. But she wasn't dense, and if her tiny inkling of what he meant was one-fourth as good as what he was really offering...

She would definitely have to get rid of that dress. Now. Right away. As soon as humanly possible.

But, now that she thought about it, maybe Jonas should keep it. It *did* look pretty good on him, all things considered. And, given the incredibly steamy looks heating up one sector of the house, he probably had more use for it anyway.

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end

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