License for Disaster by splash_the

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Story Notes: Spoilers: None

Season: Seven

A/N: Okay. I wrote a story called "The Big Question"
(http://www.potameides.com/sgshipfic/sgshipfic_thebigquestion.html). And then Jara got inspired by it and wrote a wonderful sequel called "Stealing Answers"
(http://users.skynet.be/semperarchive/stargate/stealing.html). And then I had to take it one step further and write a sequel to her sequel. And here you are. It's pushing the boundaries of "in character", but well... Many, many thanks and *knuffels* to Cal and Jara.

Archive: SJD yes.

Feedback: Lemme have it!

Website: http://www.potameides.com/sgshipfic/

"Can I see your license, miss?"

Sam wasn't sure if the waiter was trying to be sweet, or if he was just a pimply little smart ass. She was tempted to go with the latter, considering the smirk he was wearing, when Janet whispered, "Oh, he's carding you! How cute."

Yes. Cute.

Across the table, she could see Daniel close his eyes and mutter something under his breath. And Jack...

She knew she should be annoyed, but God, she could still almost feel his hand sliding down her back and that grin currently plastered across his face was so damn-

"Miss?"

Sam grabbed her glass of water and took a big drink, hoping the flush she could feel rising in her face wasn't too obvious.

"Just get me a diet soda."

******

By the time the wait-staff gathered around to sing (led by non other than Mr. Pimply Smart Ass), Sam started to wonder if, just maybe, she'd taken this particular bit of friendly flirting a step too far.

Glancing up, she saw Jack. He was still grinning. Not his usual smirk, but a lopsided little smile that sent a warm tingle streaking down her spine.

*Way* too far.

"Sam?"

Tearing her eyes from him, she turned to Janet with a reasonable approximation of a straight face. "What, Janet?"

"You okay? You're looking a little peaked."

Oh, that's because I'm all but mentally undressing my CO. Instead, she just said, "I'm fine. Absolutely... fine."

Absolutely.

As long as she didn't let herself think about Jack's hands...

Jack? When the hell did she start thinking of him as Jack?

Probably right around the time he had his hand on your ass, mused a little voice in the back of her head.

Oh, hush, Sam told the voice as Mr. Pimply Smart Ass plunked a piece of cake, complete with a sputtering candle, in front of her.

"Make a wish!" Cassie urged, poking her in the side.

Sam immediately, instinctively, looked across the table.

He was still smiling.

She blew out the candle.

*****

It wasn't long before dessert was finished, gifts were packed away, the bill was sorted out, more hugs and birthday wishes and goodbyes were exchanged, and then it was just her and Jack.

Sam wondered how he'd managed to orchestrate that.

He followed her out to her car, helped her load the various gift bags and boxes into the trunk, and when Sam turned, she found he was watching her.

And he was wearing *that* grin again.

"Uh, Colonel..."

"Jack," he corrected.

"Really, sir..."

"*Jack*."

Sam took a breath. She did not need this. Not *now*. Not when all she could think about was just how nicely his jeans fit him and how good he smelled. "I need my license."

"What happened to stealing it back?"

Slamming the trunk closed, she brushed past him, unlocking the driver's side door. "Really, sir, I don't think-

"Come on, Carter," he interrupted. "It's only fair..."

Sure. Fair. *That* was the word for it. Sighing, Sam glanced over her shoulder. He was standing just behind her. Grinning.

Damn, damn, damn.

"All right, arms out." She could do this. Just... be professional; pat him down, retrieve her license, and then home to a nice long run.

Sam's fingers marched quickly, purposefully across his chest, not lingering though she could oh so easily imagine the contours of his skin beneath the worn flannel and the t-shirt he wore under it.

Yes. A nice *long* run. And a very cold shower.

Okay, not in the jacket, not in the shirt pockets. Which left the pants.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that she was all but molesting her commanding officer, at *his* invitation, she slid her hands around to the small of his back.

And then down.

His breath hitched infinitesimally as her hands dipped into the back pockets of his jeans, the first sign she'd seen that this was affecting him in any way. Stomping ruthlessly on the tiny surge of satisfaction that welled at the sound, she slowly pulled free (Oh, God don'tsqueezedon'tsqueezedon'tsqueeze) and then hesitated, her hands now hovering at his waist.

Two pockets left.

"What's wrong, Carter?" How could he be so casual, so calm right now? "Can't finish what you started?"

Not to mention absolutely childish.

Sadly, it worked.

Hooking her fingers though his belt loops, Sam twisted, pinning Jack against the side of her car.

His eyes went wide, and she didn't restrain the smug satisfaction this time. "Uh, Carter..."

"What?" Her hands settled on his hips, her thumbs traitorously rubbing small circles against the denim.

He actually started to squirm.

Whoops.

The Air Force officer in her wanted to apologize for the breach of professionalism, but for one, Sam couldn't figure out just how to phrase it ("Sorry sir, I really didn't mean to stimulate you"?), and two, he was just too close, too warm for her to think about anything professional.

Oh, hell, she really, *really* hadn't thought this through and damn him for egging her on and damn herself for falling for it and oh, oh it was getting hard to breath and when she did all she could smell was *him* and his shirt was un-tucked so all she'd have to do was move her hands up just a little...

Her fingers just grazed bare skin along his sides and he shuddered.

"Am I hot or cold?"

"Oh God," he choked out. "Hot. Very, very hot."

Holding her breath, Sam eased her hands into his front pockets.

His empty front pockets.

"Sir..." Wait. When had his arms locked around her? And oh, he had buried his face against her neck and she could feel him breathing against her skin. Not good. Very not good.

Sooooo very good...

With a low groan Sam broke away and slumped against the car next to him. "Shit."

"Yeah." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Bad idea."

"Very." But oh, commented that little voice in the back of her head, so *so* worth it.

Sam had to agree.

Thankfully, Jack seemed to feel the same. Chuckling, he leaned a little closer and confided, "Honestly, I'm not sure if I should kill Daniel, or kiss him."

*There* was a picture. "Daniel?"

"It was his idea," Jack explained. "The whole stealing your license bit."

Oh yes. That.

"Speaking of," Sam elbowed him lightly in the side, "where the hell did you put it?"

There was a pause. "My sock."

"Your..." Sam burst out laughing. A second later so did he, and they went on like that for a long time. And when he casually slipped an arm around her, Sam didn't think it was so bad to lean against him, just for a minute, still muffling the occasional snort of laughter.

This certainly wasn't the way she'd expected the day to end, but really, she couldn't have hoped for anything better than this.

Even if there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight.

"Look, Carter..."

"If you're about to apologize, don't." Sam held up a hand. "If anyone should, that would be me. I never should have, I mean, I didn't intend-"

"Carter?" His tone was full of affection, and she swore felt his lips brush across her hair.

"What?"

"Shut up."

She did.

END

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