Two More Months
Two More Months
by purplepenguin1013
Summary: It was going to be a long two months.
Category: Humor
Season: any Season
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: GEN
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: Read the previous stories in the series beginning with Eight More Months. Feedback is very much appreciated!
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Archived on: 08/14/05
Sam hovered on the brink of consciousness, grasping desperately at the last tendrils of sleep but knowing perfectly well that she had already crossed the line into wakefulness and there was no turning back.
Maybe if she just kept her eyes closed she'd find herself restored to The Land of Nod...
Nope.
Damn.
Resigned to her fate, she cracked open a sleep-laden eye enough to register the stream of light piercing through the curtains a few feet in front of her.
Blue curtains. With that embroidery that Jack hated but accepted because she agreed to the NHL barstools in the den.
Okay, so she was on her bed during late afternoon judging by the accursed beam of light searing her cornea. She rolled her neck and glanced down at her reclining form. Bigger breasts? Check. Round tummy? Check. Uncomfortable pressure on her bladder? Check. Yup, she was still pregnant.
Her gaze slid past her slightly swollen ankles to the ends of her feet. Her toes, in particular. Sam rather liked her toes. She liked their shape, not too long or square, relatively un-callused compared to the rest of her battle-worn feet. She liked to pamper her toes when she got the chance. While hot pink polish on her fingers might undermine her authority on base, no one could tell what was going on inside her combat boots.
However, in the past few weeks it had become increasingly difficult to give her toes the attention they deserved. As bending at the waist became more of an issue, the state of her toes further degenerated.
She had fleetingly considered asking Jack to help make her toes pretty. She knew, though, that this request would be met with the same I-love-you-for-carrying-my-child-but-there-is-no-way-in-hell-that-is-happening look that had accompanied her request that he learn to hula dance during their recent trip to Maui. Whereas her proceeding to take part in the activity with half-dressed, well-developed men had convinced Jack to try dancing, she doubted having someone else paint her toes would have the same effect. Besides, she didn't like it when strangers touched her feet.
Daniel would be willing to help, if she asked. Oh, she could imagine him approaching the task with enthusiasm, describing in detail the historical origins of painting the nails for cosmetic purposes, gesturing with the hand that also held the little enamel-covered brush. Then again, cleaning up after Daniel's attempt would be more of a hassle than doing it all herself.
Now Teal'c, on the other hand, was a more realistic candidate. She had seen him apply his own eye make-up with careful precision, and he'd probably do a better job then she could any day. Teal'c would likely appreciate a home spa day more than most of her friends, male or female. Only a man with complete confidence in his overbearing masculinity could own that many candles.
She could use a facial as well. Her thoughts as to what Teal'c must use to keep his tattoo so shiny were interrupted by her stomach's audible growl. Time for food. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she allowed herself to regain her equilibrium before rising and padding down to the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator door and stared morosely at the contents within. While her pre-pregnancy kitchen would have contained nothing more than the leftovers from the previous evening's take-out and a half-gallon of questionable milk, the vast array of options before her was a sight to behold. Her keepers had decided that since she was eating for two she was going to eat damn well. Hence the display of fruits and leafy green vegetables currently stocking the fridge and the variety of pastas and cereals in the pantry.
But she didn't want those. She wanted a double bacon cheeseburger. Eyeing the kitchen walls moodily, she cursed her keepers for not being around when she needed them. Sure, they were gone because she had threatened to describe in detail the current state of her bowels if they didn't leave her alone for a little while, but that was...two hours ago.
Stupid boys.
She was about to shut the door with a completely inappropriate but oh-so-satisfying indignant, childish huff when something caught her eye.
Ooooh. Pickles.
Those could be good. And she was sure there was peanut butter around here somewhere...
Screw astrophysics. With the truly visionary concoctions she had come up with in the past few months, she wondered if she had missed her true calling as a chef.
Excited by the prospect of her newest idea for best food combination ever, she yanked the jar from the door in one swift motion. Unfortunately, her oft-forgotten altered center of balance reared its ugly head.
Sam stumbled back, attempting to maintain her balance. The jar flew from her weakened grip, sailing in a perfect arc across the room.
It was almost beautiful really, the way the sun from the window glinted off the sides of the glass jar.
She stared transfixed, balance regained, as the object of her desire approached the door jamb separating the kitchen from the next room. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the sound of the front door opening.
But that wasn't important. All that mattered were her pickles, her so dearly desired pickles, plummeting to their inevitable doom.
With a decisive smack, the jar slammed into the doorway, and for a fleeting moment she hoped that it might survive its hapless journey- hope that was crushed when the jar finished its descent, shattering in an explosion of glass, gherkin, and brine.
The pounding of feet in the hallway drew her attention from the remains of her Nobel Prize for Food (it had to exist, right?).
"Sam, are you-"
She briefly caught sight of her husband's face reflecting an unmasked fear she had seen few times in the years she had known him.
However, with his eyes locked on his wife, searching for signs of injury or distress, he failed to notice the growing pool of pungent liquid littered with supple cucumbers before him.
His feet hit the puddle, sliding momentarily forward and then lifting up in the air from the sheer velocity at which he entered the room. Sam caught sight of the bottom of his shoes as her husband's body seemed to hover momentarily parallel to the floor. She winced as he landed, flat on his back, smacking his head against the floor.
"Sam, what was-"
Her head shot up and she locked eyes with the concerned gaze of one Daniel Jackson. She was too late in her warning, watching with a mixture of fascination and horror as Daniel's feet tangled with Jack's outstretched arm. The ever-graceful archaeologist tumbled straight forward, his elbow connecting with a particularly sensitive region of Jack's anatomy.
Sam was glad she was already pregnant.
Another set of footsteps could be heard pounding through the hall following Jack's high-pitched squeal. Sam watched in awe as Teal'c struggled to preserve not only his balance but also his dignity as his feet skid across the liquid and collided with the bodies on the floor.
His arms spun so quickly Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he'd created a wind tunnel and lifted clear off the ground. His upper torso shifted back and forth to some unheard rhythm.
Sam decided then and there that when she took up her true calling and earned her degree from Le Cordon Bleu, Teal'c had to pursue his hidden dream and become a dancer.
Teal'c's battle with gravity was short lived, however, and ultimately physics would not be thwarted. He pirouetted one last time before he found himself sprawled across his friends.
She would not laugh. She would not laugh.
"Either that's a pickle against my side or Daniel is entirely too happy to be lying across me."
Daniel of old would have turned red and swiftly removed himself from the compromising situation.
"Oh come on now, Jack, if I swung that way, I could so do better."
"Hey! I'll have you know that between my rank and my irresistible charms, I am-"
He glanced up at his wife.
"-could still be a great catch. If I were interested. In men. Or women. But I am interested in women. Well, not women but...one wo-man."
Teal'c managed to find his footing and removed himself from his position atop Daniel. Caught up in his exchange with Jack, Daniel didn't even notice.
"If by irresistible charms you mean the capacity to live off calories derived solely from beer and the ability to create more noxious fumes while asleep than that gas-guzzling monstrosity you call a car, then it's a wonder you've managed to find not one but two people who would be willing to marry-"
"Hey, I've spent plenty a-night on the far side of the tent to keep from asphyxiating from the ungodly smells that have come out of your-"
"Wow, five syllables, when did Sam manage to find a four hour chunk of time to teach you that one?"
The silence as Jack attempted to formulate an appropriate response was interrupted by a quiet chuckle from the Jaffa.
"Teal'c...you okay?"
"I am uninjured, O'Neill."
"Care to clue us in as to what's so funny?"
From her position, Sam knew exactly why she thought it was so hilarious, but figured if she wanted that double bacon cheeseburger and a new jar of pickles, discretion would be wise.
"We have found ourselves `in a pickle.'"
"Teal'c, that was terrible," Daniel decided as he pushed himself off Jack and sat back on the floor.
"Yeah, stick with the strong, silent thing. You pull that off much better." Jack then turned to his wife. "You know, Sam, there are more effective ways of getting the pickles out of the jar."
"Yeah Sam, we would have been more than happy to open it for you, all you had to do was ask," Daniel smiled sweetly up at her.
Sam's amused smile flattened as she rolled her eyes. Tables turned, Jack continued. "I know your hormones are out of whack, but violence is never the answer." His lips stretched into a sardonic smile. "Make love not war."
"Is that not the event that resulted in Major Carter's current condition, O'Neill?"
"Now that was better, T!"
Sam groaned.
It was going to be a long two months.
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