TITLE: Classically Inclined

AUTHOR: ReeAnn

EMAIL: ReeAnn51@nvbell.net

RATING: PG13

SUMMARY: Sam's Volvo is in the shop. Again. Sam/Jack UST.

CATEGORY: S/J Romance, Humor

SPOILERS: Desperate Measures and Prometheus.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 is a registered trademark of MGM, Gekko and Double Secret Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

STATUS: Complete.

ARCHIVE: SJD, yes.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Silly, short, sappy, one might even say syruppy. Probably needs a punderful caution. Feedback would be appreciated.

Thanks to Nicky Chevalier for her lengthy emails and endless encouragement. And to the fantastic authors on this list, for the hours of entertainment, inspiration and enthusiasm.

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Classically Inclined by ReeAnn
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"Carter, get a move on"

"Yes, sir, I need just one more minute, sir"

* * * * * * *

"OK, you're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"No doubt?"

"None at all"

"Absolutely positive that this is it?"

"Yes - now can I just get on with it, sir?"

Sam sighed as she signed yet *another* work order for yet *another* repair to her beloved Volvo. With the number of checks she had written in the last six months to 'Sergeants' Classic Cars' she could probably take responsibility for her own personal tree in the deforestation of the rain forest. The dollar amounts, while not as horrendous as some of the checks she had written a few years ago when restoring her Indian, were probably beginning to rival Siler's budget for MALP repair and maintenance.

And her team (which really only consisted of Colonel O'Neill since both Teal'c and Jonas, as aliens, lived on base, and Daniel, well he was living on another plane of existence entirely) seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with her apologetic requests for transportation and pick up between the base, her house, and the repair shop. It was one thing in the summer and fall to ride her motorcycle for the short commute, but quite another in Colorado Springs' early winter weather. And besides that. . .

"Carter! If you're done communing with nature, *some* of us have a briefing to attend!"

"Yes, sir, right now sir", Sam answered quickly, for once not anxious to get to work and review the details of their next mission. Sometimes, she thought, if only I really didn't have a life, my life would be so much easier.

As she climbed into the Colonel's truck her eyes were caught by his fingers tapping idly on the wheel as he waited, staring out the driver's side window. She couldn't help but think yet again what elegant hands he had for a soldier (artist's hands, her mother would have said).

Her breath quickened involuntarily as she imagined the feel of those hands . . . first, on either side of her face, then sliding slowly down her neck and across her shoulders, his thumbs gently tracing the line of her collarbone before continuing down her arms to take her hands in his. A quick tug of their joined fingers would bring their bodies closer together, before his right hand would slide back up her arm to thread through her hair, finally coming to rest at the nape of her neck. His left hand would move to her waist, sliding slowly up and down the so feminine curve that was always concealed by her fatigues and just made for his hand, before moving to the swell of her bottom to press their two bodies even closer together. Hip to hip, belly to belly, chest against chest, their breath intermingling as their lips . . . . ..

"Carter - what is the matter with you? Are you so out of shape that getting into my truck gets you out of breath? You're breathing like a raw recruit back from your first 10K run in full kit."

Oh my God, oh my *God*, what *is* the matter with me Sam thought as she wrenched her slightly glazed eyes up to his. "Uh, nothing, Colonel, just some idle thoughts . . . uh, about how angry all this trouble with my car is making me."

O'Neill looked at her sharply, (not really buying her words but knowing that pressing her on it would be pointless) then went ahead and put the truck in gear and wheeled out of the parking lot. She really looks stressed this morning, he thought. As much as I've loved this stolen time alone with Sam, maybe today is the day we should have that little talk I've been thinking about. Buck up O'Neill, and just say your piece; you'll both be better off and you know she'll understand, his inner voice pushed.

"Better buckle up, Carter, basic safety you know."

The sound of the belt latching was loud in the suddenly quiet vehicle.

Sam glanced at his distracted looking face and tried to think of something to say that would ease his grumpiness and prevent one of the tense silences that had recently accompanied their joint commute. Of course, she knew what the problem was, or at least the problem for her.

Sam was thankful the drive wasn't any longer than it was - their being together, in the shared space of the truck cab, was far too intimate a sensation for comfort. Maintaining rank and proper respect was becoming harder and harder during their drives at the beginning and end of each day. Colorado's crisp pre-winter weather made running the heater a necessity most mornings, and the occasional snow flurries only added to the cozy feeling of partnership: the two of them alone in a world made new with snow.

Coming home in the evening, the radio would usually be tuned to a soft jazz station, and in the rosy glow of the mountain sky talking about the events of the day soon became an anticipated habit. Occasionally Sam would need to stop at the store or the dry cleaners, and doing such everyday errands along with taking the car into the shop, was far too 'normal' for her to cope with. It opened wide a mental door for images of what kind of life they could have / should have had, had it not all been left in the room.

"Carter, maybe you should . . . "

"Colonel, I really want . . . "

They both spoke too loudly and at the same time. Sam noticed his hands tense and relax before changing his grip on the wheel.

"Sorry, sir, you first."

"No, no, you go ahead."

"But sir . . . "

"Major, I can make it an order . . . "

"Colonel, I just wanted to thank you again for being able to give me a lift back and forth whenever I needed one. I know it hasn't been easy or convenient, and I wanted you to know that this should be the last time. Sgt. Freeman assured me that he is positive that this time he really has found the problem, and that it won't be reoccurring. And even if it does, I'll just rent a car, instead of taking advantage of you."

Jack allowed himself a moment to ponder the visual of Carter taking advantage of him. Mmmm hmmm. *So* not a problem, he grinned to himself before continuing their conversation.

"Oh, just like you did before we met the lovely Julia Donovan and took our 'field trip' to the replicators' planet on the X303? Ah c'mon Carter, you hated driving that rental. And I seem to remember you also rented another car just before your *interlude* with the captivating Adrian Conrad? Maybe these rentals are some kind of a jinx. Do me, Jonas, and Teal'c a favor and stick with your reliable 4WD limo service. After all, where else can you get charm, good looks, and the convenience of door to door service?"

Sam smiled and looked out her window, realizing they were less than 10 minutes away from the base. "Thank you sir, I really do know this hasn't been easy, and I wanted to tell you how much I really do appreciate it. What were you going to say before?"

Turning more toward him in the cab of the truck, she was surprised to see that while his body may have looked relaxed, his hands were busily engaged in flexing and then re-gripping the wheel so tightly that she actually wondered about the tensile strength of the plastic.

Okay, O'Neill, you can do this . . . she's way more important than me anyway. You need to think of her happiness her future, not your own selfish desires. "I was just going to suggest that maybe you should consider replacing the Volvo."

There'd be a change in the plastic due to the extremes of heat and cold in Colorado, as well as the age of the . . . wait, what was he saying? "Colonel, I . . ."

"Ah, ah, ah . . . I know, you love the car, the style, you appreciate the features, the safety, yadda, yadda, yadda. But Carter, honestly, how many times has it been in for repair in the last six months? Sometimes, you just need to let things go, and older isn't necessarily better."

"I know you've invested years of your life in the Volvo. And you've had some great times together. While not your first car, I think I can understand how important the Volvo has become to you."

"Heck, I'm a guy, I know all the symbolism surrounding Americans' love affair with their cars. But times change and you need to be practical."

"Oh sir, I " . . . wait, symbolism?

"Ah, ah, ah . . .I'm not done. You're a young person, and you shouldn't be spending your life nursing along an old heap that should have been retired and sent to the junkyard long ago. Instead of an aging rustbucket, you deserve a car that's shiny and new, with plenty of zip and stylish lines, that will give you years of carefree . . . ah . . . motoring."

Sam was momentarily speechless; wanting to both shake him silly and envelop him in a hug that would never end. She just *knew* he was *so* talking about more than her car here. An old heap that should have been retired long ago, humph. Well, two could play that game, and since he had started this 'talk', she was more than ready to take it wherever it led. He had opened the door, and she was eager to see what was in the next room.

Maybe if they hadn't been forced together like this off and on for the last few months, they could have gone on as they had been . . . formal, almost distant colleagues, ruthlessly squashing any chance of a personal relationship. But now . . .

"Oh sir, I . . ."

"Ah, ah, ah, ah . . .I'm still not done. And a little shopping advice: while I prefer domestic models myself, if you want to get yourself a snappy little import, I hear that they have a lot of extra features. Don't make the mistake of tying yourself down to an outdated antique like that Volvo out of habit. You'll always have great memories of your time together, but you're a different person now than when you first . . . met."

Silence reigned.

O'Neill wondered if he'd overstepped the lines that they'd so carefully drawn, just a pair of years ago. The ones they'd been dancing around ever since, weaving in and out, saying too much and not enough. Sometimes so close that as she breathed out, he breathed in.

His feelings (really pesky things, feelings) weren't what was important.

She was.

And these oh.so.pleasant drives each day had reinforced once more just how impossible and unfair their situation was. But dammit, he had to tell her that he didn't expect her to keep on waiting, even though he knew he'd die inside if she weren't around.

The simple joy he found each day in just being around Sam was different from any emotion he'd had before. Before Sam . . . a bleak picture indeed. Before the clearness of her eyes, the softness of her hair, the brightness of her smile. Before the warmth that glowed in his belly each time he made her laugh at a silly remark. Before the swelling of his heart as she rose to successfully meet each command challenge. Before the frisson of awareness each time she was near, the singing of his body whenever they casually touched. Before . . .

Nope, he could no longer live with himself, selfishly and subtly stopping her from making a life away from him. There was no doubt in his mind that she adored her work, and felt fulfilled and satisfied in her career. No, what he could no longer cope with was the way she turned her head away from the sight of couples holding hands and gazing into each others eyes, or that pensive look when she spied a new mom cuddling an infant, or the thousand other observed expressions of a life not hers to live.

He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that life. The enforced companionship of these commutes had created a surreal fantasy of what life with Sam could be like. She would sit close to him on the bench seat of the truck (note to self: get a truck with a bench seat), but he'd take a hand off the wheel to pull her even closer, leaving his arm draped around her, like a pair of hormone crazed teenagers. Her left hand would rest possessively on his leg, occasionally stroking the inside of his thigh with her fingers. First slowly, then faster, both lightly and firmly, her nails stroking his leg in a purposefully aimless manner that would drive him insane.

He'd shoot her a sideways glance under the pretense of checking the rear view mirror, as he did right now, only to find her quizzical eyes meeting his without a blink. As their eyes held, a smile began to play on her lips, which opened and said, "Sir, take me to bed." Wait, what??

"Sir. *Sir*. There's flagmen ahead. Colonel, stop the car!" Jack braked so sharply that the inertial safety mechanism in the seat belts engaged, momentarily preventing them from speaking as small oooffs were heard in the car.

"Well, I guess I'm not the only one distracted this morning", Sam said pointedly. "What a time for the Colorado DOT to begin the bridge retrofit to meet federal earthquake safety standards. Since it looks like we'll be here a while, . . . "

"A while: is that a scientific term, Major?" O'Neill interjected, recognizing the signs of a simmering Carter, and attempting to defuse a potentially critical situation using the patented O'Neill denseness.

"Yes *sir*, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't interrupt, as I'd quite like to finish this interesting conversation about my getting a new car . . . that is, if you don't have any other thoughts on the subject?"

"No, no, Carter, I think I've said my piece." Damn, she didn't go for it. And nothing in the truck for me to fiddle with.

"Well, sir, first of all, let's discuss some of the merits of a new car. I really don't think I'd ever be seriously interested in a totally foreign vehicle."

"But Carter . . . "

"Now sir, please don't interrupt. No matter how advanced the technology, or how attractive the design, or what special features they come with, I don't think you can surpass an American made . . . *car*.

Oh crap. I wanted her to know that I think she should find someone else, but now she sounds pissed. Oh yeah, she's got my meaning all right. I don't know *why* I even try to be subtle . . . it *never* works for me.

"Plus, there's the issue of reliability and faithfulness. Some of these import companies come and go so quickly. I wouldn't want to develop a *relationship* with a make that could just disappear in a flash, how could you have any confidence that they'd be there when you needed them? And I wouldn't be surprised if some of the maintenance costs were, um, out of this world. So, all in all, I think my preference is for something more home-grown."

Oooohh, Sam, you can be so devious . . . I had no idea! A make that could just disappear (Orlin, anyone?) Oh yeaahhh . . . and just as I've *always* said, how *do* we know the Tollan and the Tok'ra will be there when we need them? I love you so much, sweetie . . . But your Volvo . . .

Jack opened his mouth, ready to speak.

"And before you say anything about my Volvo, you *do* realize that while Volvo originated in Sweden, now that the company is owned and operated by Ford, it's as American as you or I? Surely spending as much time in Minnesota as you have, you realize the value of that Scandinavian influence, don'cha snookums?"

"Yes, Carter, but . . . snookums??? Carter, what . . ."

"Just another minute sir, really." Oh, this is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. His face when I called him 'snookums'!! I don't know why we haven't had this conversation before now.

A car horn beeped angrily. Jack started, being so wrapped up in Sam's conversation that he hadn't realized the stopped traffic was being waved through. Giving the truck some gas, they began moving forward.

"Now, about my 'Volvo'. First, and I'll agree that this is so shallow, but I love the sleek look of the body. I've never been one for those massive SUV' s, rounded sedans or geeky-looking designer cars. I prefer a leaner look in cars that belong to me. Now my . . . Volvo . . . is both powerful and sporty, and yes, very sexy. "

Yeesss. She thinks I'm sexy. She thinks I'm sexy. OK, must focus. She thinks I'm sexy. No, focus *now*

"You'll probably think I'm nuts, but I find taking care of a car can be a very sensual experience. Sometimes I even dream about washing it all over with a creamy liquid soap, rubbing my bare hands along its powerful exterior lines!"

Jack pulled into the base parking lot, absently returning the salute of the gate guard. Oh, Sam, you're killing me here. You can talk cars all day long. And Daniel thought *he* was the one with a gift for language!

"Now you may also be concerned about the condition of the leather seats. While I admit there are a few creases and nicks here and there, I think it just adds to the Volvo's overall good looks."

"There's nothing I like better in the summer than putting on a pair of shorts and a tank top and going for a long drive. Sitting skin to skin so to speak, with the heat of the sun and the air caressing my hair . . . well, the experience is just indescribable."

Jack lifted his hand and removing his cap, scrubbed his fingers vigorously against his scalp and through his hair, letting out a deep sigh.

Sam's lips twitched as she continued, "I also adore the color, I can't imagine having a car that's not silver. I'm confident that there's still plenty of horsepower under the hood too, to go thousands and thousands of days more. And even though the Volvo's engine isn't exactly new, because I'm a woman who takes a great deal of pleasure in the entire *driving* experience, I prefer knowing that the drive shaft of my vehicle is a proven performer."

Jack walked uncomfortably next to Sam as they crossed the parking lot and entered the base, thankful for the length of their fatigue shirts. Yup, that old drive shaft was sure acting up this morning . . .

"And of course, I can't forget that Scandinavian influence", Sam continued as they entered the empty second elevator taking them down to level 28. "As the original inventors of the three-point seat belt, I couldn't feel safer and more protected than with my Volvo. There is no doubt in my mind that it will always be there for me. Sure, it needs more maintenance now that it did five years ago. But I know and love all its idiosyncrasies, and you should know that I plan on spending the rest of my days with it."

Nodding to Sgt. Davis as they passed through the control room, Sam quietly hurried on. "Being part of the SGC and away from home so much, I don't spend as much quality time around the car as I'd like . . . but that doesn't mean I'm going to give up on it and that I'm not willing to wait. Although if there was a way to get behind the wheel sooner, I'd jump at the chance."

As they entered the briefing room, Sam had one last remark. "My Volvo is a classic, that will never go out of style, or out of my heart. Good morning, General."

Finis

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