"Come on, Carter," she heard Colonel O'Neill say from the doorway. Having just spent ten days in a cargo ship with him, Teal'c, Daniel and a bomb, Sam wasn't in the mood for company. She turned around anyway.
He leaned into the door jamb, crossing his arms lazily. "We've got a plane to catch."
She wondered if she'd missed something in the briefing. It seemed unlikely, since she'd done 95% of the talking. The more likely possibility was that he was up to something. "A plane?"
"Yep. One hour. Get hopping."
Sam had not planned to spend her week of leave with mosquitoes and worms. "Sir, if this is an invitation to go fishing ..."
"Who said anything about fishing? We're going to Area 51. Got to catch a transport at Peterson."
Now she was sure he was up to something. She decided to play dumb. "Area 51, sir?"
He strolled into the room with a scowl, and she knew right away the irritation was fake. "We've got some complaining to do about a very poorly designed bomb, remember?"
"Sir, the bomb wasn't designed at Area 51." And she knew he knew it. "Would you like to take it up with Lawrence Livermore?"
"Oh." He wasn't faking disappointment well, either. "Oh, well. Spellman and Weber are still there, right? Because I have a few choice words to share with them, too."
Ah, that was what he was up to. Sam shut her eyes and shook her head minutely, thinking of scrawny, scared Spellman and MUD-obsessed Weber. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, sir."
"Neither was riding an asteroid through a planet. When has that ever stopped us?"
She sucked in her lips to keep from smiling. "Sir, to be fair, they had no way of knowing about the recall device. It was completely alien tech, and there were more than thirty other --"
"Ah!" He held up one finger. "No backing out, Carter. I need you to run interference if they start spewing technobabble at me. Which they will."
"I don't think I ever backed in, sir."
"Funny."
"I thought so."
He tapped his watch. "Fifty-five minutes!"
"Wouldn't you rather go fishing, sir?"
He raised a shocked eyebrow. She couldn't tell if that was fake or not. "Are you coming with me?"
"Sir, you know I --" Wait. He was still up to something. She could see it in his eyes. "Was this all a ploy to get me to go to Minnesota?"
"No!" He looked around the lab; luckily, there was nothing on the bench but the spillover from her inbox. He extended a hand towards one of the piles and then thought better of it. Finally he said, "Not at first."
"I knew it!"
The colonel winced, calling up some chagrin.
Sam dropped her indignant act and let out a smile. His lips started to curve in response.
"You have to admit that Minnesota is a lot more fun than Area 51," he said. "Okay, it's more fun for me than Area 51."
"Safer for Spellman and Weber, too."
"Yes! Yes, that. You'll be putting their lives in grave danger if you say no, Carter."
Sam chuckled. "Sir, I ..." Would like to say yes, she realized. Apparently she wasn't as sick of his company as she'd thought, and apparently he wasn't sick of hers at all. "Remember that conference at Stanford? It's this weekend."
"Oh, right. Something about" -- he pretended to search for the word -- "wormholes?"
"Yes, sir, wormholes." She grinned at him. "You could always come to the conference, sir."
Panic flickered across his face before he figured out she was joking. "You know what, Carter? I think I'll go fishing."
"I think that's a good idea, sir."
He gave her the smile that used to make her toes curl. It had been a while since she'd seen it, and it took her by surprise.
"Good luck with your paper," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
"Call me at the cabin if you want."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm still going to write those guys a sternly worded email."
"I'm sure you are, sir."
He drummed his fingers on her lab bench a few times. "Have fun, Carter," he said as he turned to go.
"You too."
Sam sat down, surveying the piles again, and decided to check her email instead.
"Hey," Colonel O'Neill called from the hallway, out of sight, "Livermore's not far from Palo Alto, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Thanks for reading!