She could make out the sound of his foot tapping from the other side of the store, even over the god-awful music that was playing. She pretended to be particularly intrigued by the way a buckle attached to a bright yellow high heel and started a mental count down. ‘Five, four, three, two….’
“Carter,” his voice came from just over her shoulder, “Haven’t you found anything yet?”
She smirked to herself, turning it into an inquisitive smile as she turned to face him, still clutching the yellow shoe in one hand. “I don’t know, Jack. What do you think of these?”
To give him credit, his initial reaction to the yellow monstrosity was identical to hers. To give him more credit, he quickly replaced the horror with a neutral mask, even if he wasn’t totally convincing. “I think they’re great.” He paused, almost if waiting to be smote down from above. “Now, can we leave?”
She smiled up at him. “I thought you wanted me to come with you to that reception this evening?”
He looked briefly puzzled, but answered anyways, “I do.”
She idly toyed with the pointy heel of the shoe. “And didn’t you say that you’d like it if I didn’t wear my Dress Blues all the time at these functions?”
He was frowning now, that adorable little crease running between his eyebrows. A hand came up to swipe through his hair, as if he’d already sensed his eventual defeat, but wasn’t quite ready to concede just yet. “I did.” He looked down at her, with a hint of a smirk. “You’re really, really hot in those dresses.”
She smiled and patted him on the cheek. It was always gratifying to hear, especially since she knew he genuinely meant it. “And didn’t I warn you that I didn’t have any shoes to go with my dress?”
He sputtered for a moment, probably debating whether he could get away with claiming he hadn’t heard her. “Yeah, you did. I just – “ He cut himself off, obviously deciding that whatever he was going to say was better left in his head.
She smiled. Sweetly. Innocently. “You just?”
He held her a bit tighter, and she had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to make sure she couldn’t hit him, easily. He tucked his head down by her neck, and she could barely make out the mumbled answer. “I didn’t think it would take all day.”
He really probably didn’t, given that she suspected he went into a store, grabbed the first thing he saw in a colour he liked, guessed a size and left. It would certainly explain the absurd amount of clothes he had that were either way too big or a bit too small. And maybe she should feel a bit sorry for him, given she imagined his plans for the day had involved them and a bed. But really, this was hurting her as much as it was him.
“Jack,” she began, trying to inconspicuously free her arms, “Do you have any idea how many receptions I’ve been to in the last year?”
He looked up. “A lot?”
“Yeah. A lot.” In fact, it seemed that every time she visited him in Washington there was some reception or another that he (which meant they) had to attend. And quite frankly, she had better things to be doing with their limited time together. She gave him a patient smile. “And do you know why I’ve been to so many?”
“Because I ask you to come with me?”
“Right.” She leaned in, so that only he’d be able to hear her. “And can you think of all the things I’d rather be doing than going to those receptions?”
“Uhhh.” He looked a bit boggled.
She wiggled ever so slightly against him. “All those things, Jack.”
“Right.” He was looking down at her, a light dawning in his eyes. Suddenly he moved, and she found herself being manipulated out of the store. The yellow shoe had been carelessly tossed back onto the shelf, much to the consternation of the salesperson, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. His right arm was securely wrapped around her waist, while he’d swooped down to pick up her purse and their one bag with the other. Futilely, she tried to slow him down by squirming just a little bit.
“Jack. Jack.” From the way he was looking around, he was calculating which exit would take them out the closest to their car. “Jack!” Finally he looked at her. “You do realize I haven’t bought any shoes.”
He gave her a little smirk, but kept right on walking. “You know something, Carter? I’ve decided that I probably don’t need to go to this reception. Or any other. Ever.”
She repressed an identical smirk. If she had to spend a weekend barefoot in bed with her husband, well, what was a girl to do?
Story Notes: Written for the Carnival of Squee at livejournal.
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 ]