samandjack.net

Story Notes: Lyrics from "This Can't Be Love" copyrighted 1939, Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart. Lyrics from "How Long Has This Been Going On?" copyright George and Ira Gershwin. Both used without permission, but not for profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Special thanks to Sue and Kels for betaing for me at oh-my-God-it's-early(?) in the morning. Any mistakes you see now are my fault and probably result from a lack of sleep. More thanks to Sue for a good title, too!

For those with access to AudioGalaxy (or any other MP3 search), feel free to find a copy of "This Can't be Love" as recorded by Glenn Miller and "How Long has This Been Goin' On?" as recorded by Jon Bon Jovi.


The USO club was already jumping by the time Colonel Jack O’Neill, US Army Air Corps, and his second officer, 1st LT Paul Davis, arrived. A blue haze of unfiltered cigarette smoke hung just below eye level, stirred by the flurry of activity on the dance floor. On the bandstand, the group of five regular volunteers brought the latest Benny Goodman tune to life. The trumpeter squeezed his eyes shut in effort and concentration, improvising between chords. Behind him, a private pounded away on the drums.

Jack felt a tap on his right shoulder. Glancing over, he spotted Davis standing on his toes to speak to him. “Empty table to the right, sir!” he shouted, still barely audible over the pounding drums and enthusiastic trumpet. Davis then dropped back to his feet and led the way.

Most of the officers, O’Neill noted, seemed like kids. They were clean-shaven, baby-faced boys with hope, ambition, and idealism blazing from their eyes; they still saw everything in black and white. Too soon they would enter the grey world of war, where everything wasn’t always so cut and dry. But, he thought, those ideas are for another time. He gave a smiling nod to Davis. Crumpling his cover into his pocket, he lowered himself into the seat the 1st LT indicated. “Thanks!” he shouted.

Davis returned the smile. “Welcome!” With two fingers, he signaled one of the female wait staff. “I’ll have a scotch and soda and the colonel will have a…?”

“Water,” O’Neill replied. He smiled boyishly.

Davis exchanged glances with the waitress. “The colonel will have a water,” he said. With a shrug, he offered her a dollar. As she disappeared toward the bar, Davis shook his head.

“Last of the big spenders,” O’Neill commented. “Been trying for her number?”

“For months! Won’t even give me the time of day!”

“Know her name?” Jack searched out a peanut from the bowl on the table, then popped it into his mouth.

At this, Davis shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Might wanna’ find out. They kinda’ like that, ya know.”

“This coming from a man whose had a date all of what? Once? Since I joined the squadron?”

“What can I say? I'm picky.” He grabbed another peanut.

As he launched the peanut into the air, the song arrived at a long overdue ending. Applause and praise rippled through the crowd, and the silencewhich should have followedwas filled with the low murmur of a hundred voices speaking all at once. O’Neill and Davis watched as the trumpeter, wiping his brow, approached the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we have a special vocalist with us tonight. Please give a warm welcome for the Lady Sam!”

Around them, officers and civilians alike applauded enthusiastically. A spotlight focused on stage right, and a shapely female stepped out of the shadows. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than himself, O’Neill estimated, clad in a flattering dress that dropped dramatically to the floor and floated like a cloud as she crossed the stage. Her shoulder-length hair was platinum blonde and rolled into the popular Betty Grable style.

The peanut dropped in O’Neill’s lap.

“Hey,” Davis hissed, “ain’t that the gal you dated?”

O’Neill coughed. “Yeah,” he said in a raspy voice. “General Carter’s daughter.”

“Boy, you were taking your life into your own hands with that one!” Shaking his head, Davis leant back in his seat.

“You have no idea,” the colonel replied.

On stage, Samantha Carter fluffed her dress and smiled at her audience. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Is everyone having a good time?”

“Yeah!” came the unanimous roar from the crowd.

“Good! I’m glad to hear it,” Samantha said. She placed a well-manicured hand around the microphone stand. “Well, with a little help from the band behind me here, I’m going to give ‘This Can’t Be Love’ a try.” She turned to the band behind her. “You ready boys?”

“You betcha, Sammy!” the private replied from behind the drums. As if to emphasize that fact, he pounded the pedal on the bass drum a couple of times. “All right, boys! Time to swing! *One*and*two*and...”

The music began on the three count and Sam snapped her fingers to the beat as she stepped back up to the microphone. A warm smile slipped across her lips and her eyes locked dead center with Jack’s.

“This can’t be love
Because I feel so well
No sobs, no sorrows, no sighs…”

Her voice was as smooth as her silken dress and O’Neill found her impish gleam infectious as he sat and watched. The corners of his lips tilted upward into a decidedly lopsided grin and he reached for another peanut.

“This can’t be love
I get no dizzy spells
My head is not in the sky…

My heart does not stand still
Just hear it beat
This is too sweet to be love…”

“Hey, Boss. Is it just me, or is she lookin’ straight at you?”

O'Neill chewed on the peanut. "Nah. She's not lookin' at me. She can't see me for spotlight and all."

"This can't be love
Because I feel so well
But still I love to look in your eyes…"

Davis leant forward in his chair again. "No, Boss, I think she's lookin' right at you."

Eyes forward and still met with Samantha's, his grin widened. "Ya know, Davis, you might be right." He rubbed his hands together, dusting off the salt from the peanuts, applauding a few seconds later as the song drew to a close. He then stood, still applauding as the trumpeter stepped forward and Samantha took two steps back, out of the spotlight.

"How about a big hand for Lady Sam!" the trumpeter exclaimed. The applause grew louder, egged on by bellows and shouts from around the small club. Sam smiled warmly, waved, then made her way down the stage.

Cocking his head to the side, O'Neill settled back into his chair, watching as she wove her way through the room. Out of the spotlight, she still seemed to glow: she gave each person who greeted her a kind smile, thanking him or her sincerely for their praise. Her blonde hair now took on a warm, sunny glow, and her sapphire blue eyes gleamed.

Taking a glass of water from the waitress, she laughed. Eyes resting on her red lips, he watched as she mouthed a thank you to the waitress, then asked a question he didn't understand. As he watched, the nameless waitress directed an index finger directly at him.

"Don't look now, Boss, but I think she's headed this way," Davis said.

"Thanks for clarifying that, Davis," O'Neill said. His eyes followed her as she crossed the room, skirt flitting about her ankles as she did. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Davis shift and straighten his tie.

Samantha's smile widened. "Hi there."

"Hi."

"Care to take a lady across the dance floor?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jack said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Dancing never really has been my thing…"

Sam arched a brow. "Not your thing? But sitting here with your second officer would be?" She leant forward, glancing over her shoulder conspiratorially. "Not my idea of an exciting evening, Colonel."

Pursing his lips, O'Neill glanced from Sam to Davis and back again. "All right," he said at length. "But only because you look better in that dress." He pushed himself out of the chair, then turned back to Davis. "Be right back." With a wink, he took Samantha's hand and wandered off to join the crowd on the dance floor.

"You certainly know how to make a woman feel welcome, Colonel," Samantha said, dropping her hand to his shoulder. Her eyes danced with mischief.

"Yeah, well, I'm ahead of the game. Most women find me cute." He grinned, intertwining his fingers with hers, glancing up as the sax player took front and center. The drummer dropped a count, and slow, mellow notes flowed smoothly from the haunting instrument. A few measures and O'Neill identified the song as //How Long Has This Been Going On?//

"Cute, huh? What do they think is so cute about you?"

"I stay confused. Women find that cute."

"They do?"

"Yup." O'Neill blinked, looking to her. "You don't?"

"Oh, I find it charming," she replied as he led her across the dance floor. "Not so sure about…cute."

"I'll remember you said that, *Lady* Sam." Grinning, O'Neill drew her closer, moving in time with the slow rhythm of the song. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. With it came the gentle scent of her perfume, mingled with the light scent of her shampoo. She shifted her head, and a ringlet of blonde swept across his cheek, soft and smooth. He cleared his throat as a warm rush swept over his body. "Any plans for the rest of the evening?"

"None really," Sam replied. He felt her breath on his ear, her lips inches away. "Just going home and spending some quality time with my husband."

O'Neill licked his lips. "Husband, huh? Must've been a quiet ceremony."

"Oh, it was." She chuckled. "I guess you could say we're still on our honeymoon."

The colonel could feel a lump rising fast in his throat as the musicians behind them reached a crescendo. "Lucky man," he breathed.

"Kiss me twice
Then once more
That makes thrice…
Let's make it four…"

Feeling her breath once more in his ear, her voice low and husky as it carried the lyrics, Jack cleared his throat, her cheek coming to meet his. He felt, rather than saw, her red lips curve into a wicked smile. He was suddenly aware of their close proximity and the warmth of her body. "Think we've given Davis enough of a show?" she asked.

"Oh, more than enough, I'd guess." As the song drew to a close, he whirled her around. In the dim lighting beyond the dance floor, he spotted Davis. Instead of watching the dance floor intently, however, Davis was striding across the room toward them.

"Sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but Private Murray just stopped by." Davis frowned. "We've got orders, sir."

"Orders?" O'Neill released Sam slightly. She stood, his hands resting on her forearms as they both regarded Davis "What… orders?"

The 1st LT licked his lips. "Europe, sir. We're supposed to leave at 2300."

O'Neill was silent for a long moment. Then, he nodded. "All right, Davis. Go home and get packed. Meet me back here in an hour."

"Understood, sir." Davis looked to Sam. "Miss." With a final nod, he turned and dashed out the door.

"So much for a honeymoon," Sam said.

"Yeah." Jack looked down at the toes of his shoes, unable to look her in the eye. "I guess I'd better get packed and head out myself."

She sighed, drawing his hands into hers and pulling them to her chest. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. "Jack?"

The colonel sighed, looking back up. He swallowed as he saw the unshed tears welling in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Come home to me."

It was a simple statement, O'Neill thought, uttered with such care and hope in her voice… and vulnerability. Closing his eyes, he drew her close once again, and she buried her head into the crook of his neck. "Of course I will, Sammy. I promise."

*******




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