Sam Carter /Jack O'Neill Ship Appreciation Thread 2.0

[Nynaeve506]

Oh yes, wallowing in the gutter here....

Yes well, you're the one writing those really guttery fics over there

I blame you LOL

[leiasky]

Yes well, you're the one writing those really guttery fics over there

I blame you LOL

Where?! DId I miss one?

Speaking of...Artie, isn't it about time for another fic.....?

Hmmm everyone's in the gutter already - you know what they say about a man with a big holster....

Mmm. Such dirty thoughts...

But - wasn't that particular holster, and the gun it held, rather - small?

[Artie]

Where?! DId I miss one?

Speaking of...Artie, isn't it about time for another fic.....?



Mmm. Such dirty thoughts...

But - wasn't that particular holster, and the gun it held, rather - small?

It's not the size of the ship. It's the motion of the ocean!

More fic, yessir. Been writing Sanctuary lately, yummy Helen Magnus....

[leiasky]

It's not the size of the ship. It's the motion of the ocean!

Well, if Jack is as good with his hands as he is when he's holding his guns....*cough*

More fic, yessir. Been writing Sanctuary lately, yummy Helen Magnus....

Awww. Just transpose Helen in that leather to Sam...and Jack's appreciate of her in (and out) of them....

Sam's gotta have a long leather jacket in her closet (maybe new?) that Jack hasn't seen before...

[Akamaimom]

Well, if Jack is as good with his hands as he is when he's holding his guns....*cough*


Awww. Just transpose Helen in that leather to Sam...and Jack's appreciate of her in (and out) of them....

Sam's gotta have a long leather jacket in her closet (maybe new?) that Jack hasn't seen before...

The first point:

Bringing us (slightly) out of the gutter and back into SG-1, it's interesting then that in the only instance where they could have showcased Jack actually shooting (in the Imhotep episode), he hands the demonstration over to Sam. **Cough**

AAAaaand, back we go:

Spoiler:

And if this--ahem--*symbolism*--holds true, then how would a staff weapon rate in this analogy?

Remember the line: "This is a staff weapon. It is a weapon of terror. This is a P-90. It is a weapon of war."

Thoughts?

The second point:

I can just see them on Christmas morning. . . (insert "Bbbbrringggg!" sound and funky special effects here. . .)

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Spoiler:

Gifted


The box was long, and heavy. Jack laid it across her lap and then obligingly removed her coffee cup from her hand.

Sam looked down at the gift with more than a little suspicion glinting in her eyes. "I thought we'd agreed not to do anything lavish."

"It's not." Jack smiled. Sitting in the recliner next to the couch, he reached out and set her coffee on the table next to him. At her look, he searched for, and found a coaster. Once the cup had been settled appropriately, he leaned back comfortably. "And you were the one that suggested that. I don't recall agreeing to that particular stipulation to our Christmas morning festivities."

She snorted. "Morning."

"Well. Kind of morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." She motioned at the clock on the mantel to prove her point.

"Yes." He smiled, smug. Sated. "It took a while to fill your stocking just right."

Her exaggerated groan ended with an exasperated sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Apparently, not too old."

She waited for him to stop gloating before she addressed the package on her lap again. "Well, now I feel bad, because I didn't get you anything like this."

"Like what? You haven't even opened it yet."

"Like this, Jack." She waved a hand over the box. Over the expertly tied ribbon and the elegant, gilded wrapping paper. "You even had it professionally wrapped. You're not going to go to that amount of trouble for--say--a box of Q-tips."

His eyes narrowed, a strange expression playing around his lips. "Q-tips?"

"You know what I mean. Something inconsequential."

"But, Q-tips? Who gives cotton swabs for Christmas?"

Laying both hands flat on the package on her lap, Sam rolled her eyes. "Not exactly Q-tips--but something like that. Something ordinary."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, isn't it? To do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, her gaze returning to the box on her lap. "But not lavish."

Jack sighed, extending a hand to yank abruptly at the lever that raised the foot of the recliner. "Are you going to open it or not?"

"What is it?"

"Sam." He'd used his "General" voice.

The irony wasn't lost on his wife. "Don't think you can order me to open it, either, buddy. Our vows take precedence over your stars."

"Watch it, Colonel."

Sam sighed again, looking back down at the gift laid across her knees. She laid her fingers to the bow. "Just so you know, I'm opening this under duress."

Jack merely cocked a brow and waited.

Grasping firmly on the ribbons, Sam carefully pulled the bow apart, then slid the ties off the box. She took her time--straightening the wire-edged ribbon and coiling it around her hand before setting it aside. Then she flipped the box over and slid a nail under the tape on the back, popping it free. She spread the paper apart, then lifted the box out, sliding the paper to the side.

"You can fold it later."

"What?" Sam looked up from her operation, a quizzical expression playing across her features. "What are you talking about?"

"You were going to fold it. Like you wrapped the ribbon up." He jerked his head towards the wrapping paper which now sat half-way under the tree. "You can do that later."

"Who says--"

"How long have we known each other?"

"But--"

"Just open the box, Sam."

She watched him as her fingers found the small pieces of tape securing the lid on the box, popping them open with her fingernail as her husband hid a smile behind his fingertips. Tissue paper. Multiple white folds of it, smoothed in even sheets over something folded equally as perfectly. She spread them apart, her movements excruciatingly precise.

"A jacket?"

"Take it out."

She laid the gift on the coffee table, kneeling next to it as she lifted the garment out of the box. It was long--more a coat than a jacket. Matte black--perfectly tanned to a buttery smoothness. Stylish, it sported a narrow collar, jet buttons and would fit snugly over her torso before flaring at the hip. The lining was blood red silk.

"Jack." Sam shook her head, holding it up. "This is the very definition of 'lavish'."

"So what?" His eyebrow lifted, daring her to refuse it. "Do you like it?"

"It's too much. With you thinking about retiring--"

"Do you like it?"

"But--"

"Sam?" He sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his ankles. "Do you like it?"

Her smile broke free then, wide--her dimples making deep divots in the peaches and cream of her cheeks. "Of course I like it."

"Well, then." He folded his arms across his stomach. "What's your problem, then? You told me you needed a coat. I got you a coat."

"But this coat--it's too much. It's gorgeous."

"Like its owner."

Sam closed her eyes and lifted the coat to her nose. "I love leather. It smells like freedom."

"It reminds you of your Indian."

"I miss it, sometimes."

"I know."

Sam folded the coat over her arm and walked towards the hall, causing Jack to frown. "Where are you going?"

"Trying it on!" Her airy reply echoed in the close space.

It only took a few minutes for her to return. The expensive leather fit her as if tailored expressly for her shape. She stepped out in front of Jack's chair and held out her arms. "Well?"

"Looks good."

"Really?"

"It looks really good." His smile widened when she lowered her hands to the belt, unfastening it and allowing the coat to gape open. He couldn't speak then, he could barely breathe as she shimmied a bit, exposing a bit--more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking you're an evil woman, Samantha O'Neill."

Her laugh drifted over him, low, throaty, intimate. A single step landed her directly in front of his chair, and she only had to lean forward a little to have her husband completely at her mercy. "I know I said that we shouldn't do anything lavish, Jack. But thank you--this is perfect."

"It is." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then drift downward. "And you're about to be lavished again."

[hlndncr]

The first point:

Bringing us (slightly) out of the gutter and back into SG-1, it's interesting then that in the only instance where they could have showcased Jack actually shooting (in the Imhotep episode), he hands the demonstration over to Sam. **Cough**

AAAaaand, back we go:

Spoiler:

And if this--ahem--*symbolism*--holds true, then how would a staff weapon rate in this analogy?

Remember the line: "This is a staff weapon. It is a weapon of terror. This is a P-90. It is a weapon of war."

Thoughts?

The second point:

I can just see them on Christmas morning. . . (insert "Bbbbrringggg!" sound and funky special effects here. . .)

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Spoiler:

Gifted


The box was long, and heavy. Jack laid it across her lap and then obligingly removed her coffee cup from her hand.

Sam looked down at the gift with more than a little suspicion glinting in her eyes. "I thought we'd agreed not to do anything lavish."

"It's not." Jack smiled. Sitting in the recliner next to the couch, he reached out and set her coffee on the table next to him. At her look, he searched for, and found a coaster. Once the cup had been settled appropriately, he leaned back comfortably. "And you were the one that suggested that. I don't recall agreeing to that particular stipulation to our Christmas morning festivities."

She snorted. "Morning."

"Well. Kind of morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." She motioned at the clock on the mantel to prove her point.

"Yes." He smiled, smug. Sated. "It took a while to fill your stocking just right."

Her exaggerated groan ended with an exasperated sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Apparently, not too old."

She waited for him to stop gloating before she addressed the package on her lap again. "Well, now I feel bad, because I didn't get you anything like this."

"Like what? You haven't even opened it yet."

"Like this, Jack." She waved a hand over the box. Over the expertly tied ribbon and the elegant, gilded wrapping paper. "You even had it professionally wrapped. You're not going to go to that amount of trouble for--say--a box of Q-tips."

His eyes narrowed, a strange expression playing around his lips. "Q-tips?"

"You know what I mean. Something inconsequential."

"But, Q-tips? Who gives cotton swabs for Christmas?"

Laying both hands flat on the package on her lap, Sam rolled her eyes. "Not exactly Q-tips--but something like that. Something ordinary."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, isn't it? To do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, her gaze returning to the box on her lap. "But not lavish."

Jack sighed, extending a hand to yank abruptly at the lever that raised the foot of the recliner. "Are you going to open it or not?"

"What is it?"

"Sam." He'd used his "General" voice.

The irony wasn't lost on his wife. "Don't think you can order me to open it, either, buddy. Our vows take precedence over your stars."

"Watch it, Colonel."

Sam sighed again, looking back down at the gift laid across her knees. She laid her fingers to the bow. "Just so you know, I'm opening this under duress."

Jack merely cocked a brow and waited.

Grasping firmly on the ribbons, Sam carefully pulled the bow apart, then slid the ties off the box. She took her time--straightening the wire-edged ribbon and coiling it around her hand before setting it aside. Then she flipped the box over and slid a nail under the tape on the back, popping it free. She spread the paper apart, then lifted the box out, sliding the paper to the side.

"You can fold it later."

"What?" Sam looked up from her operation, a quizzical expression playing across her features. "What are you talking about?"

"You were going to fold it. Like you wrapped the ribbon up." He jerked his head towards the wrapping paper which now sat half-way under the tree. "You can do that later."

"Who says--"

"How long have we known each other?"

"But--"

"Just open the box, Sam."

She watched him as her fingers found the small pieces of tape securing the lid on the box, popping them open with her fingernail as her husband hid a smile behind his fingertips. Tissue paper. Multiple white folds of it, smoothed in even sheets over something folded equally as perfectly. She spread them apart, her movements excruciatingly precise.

"A jacket?"

"Take it out."

She laid the gift on the coffee table, kneeling next to it as she lifted the garment out of the box. It was long--more a coat than a jacket. Matte black--perfectly tanned to a buttery smoothness. Stylish, it sported a narrow collar, jet buttons and would fit snugly over her torso before flaring at the hip. The lining was blood red silk.

"Jack." Sam shook her head, holding it up. "This is the very definition of 'lavish'."

"So what?" His eyebrow lifted, daring her to refuse it. "Do you like it?"

"It's too much. With you thinking about retiring--"

"Do you like it?"

"But--"

"Sam?" He sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his ankles. "Do you like it?"

Her smile broke free then, wide--her dimples making deep divots in the peaches and cream of her cheeks. "Of course I like it."

"Well, then." He folded his arms across his stomach. "What's your problem, then? You told me you needed a coat. I got you a coat."

"But this coat--it's too much. It's gorgeous."

"Like its owner."

Sam closed her eyes and lifted the coat to her nose. "I love leather. It smells like freedom."

"It reminds you of your Indian."

"I miss it, sometimes."

"I know."

Sam folded the coat over her arm and walked towards the hall, causing Jack to frown. "Where are you going?"

"Trying it on!" Her airy reply echoed in the close space.

It only took a few minutes for her to return. The expensive leather fit her as if tailored expressly for her shape. She stepped out in front of Jack's chair and held out her arms. "Well?"

"Looks good."

"Really?"

"It looks really good." His smile widened when she lowered her hands to the belt, unfastening it and allowing the coat to gape open. He couldn't speak then, he could barely breathe as she shimmied a bit, exposing a bit--more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking you're an evil woman, Samantha O'Neill."

Her laugh drifted over him, low, throaty, intimate. A single step landed her directly in front of his chair, and she only had to lean forward a little to have her husband completely at her mercy. "I know I said that we shouldn't do anything lavish, Jack. But thank you--this is perfect."

"It is." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then drift downward. "And you're about to be lavished again."

Awesome!!

I'm jealous of your mad ficlet skills.

[leiasky]

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Spoiler:

Gifted


The box was long, and heavy. Jack laid it across her lap and then obligingly removed her coffee cup from her hand.

Sam looked down at the gift with more than a little suspicion glinting in her eyes. "I thought we'd agreed not to do anything lavish."

"It's not." Jack smiled. Sitting in the recliner next to the couch, he reached out and set her coffee on the table next to him. At her look, he searched for, and found a coaster. Once the cup had been settled appropriately, he leaned back comfortably. "And you were the one that suggested that. I don't recall agreeing to that particular stipulation to our Christmas morning festivities."

She snorted. "Morning."

"Well. Kind of morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." She motioned at the clock on the mantel to prove her point.

"Yes." He smiled, smug. Sated. "It took a while to fill your stocking just right."

Her exaggerated groan ended with an exasperated sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Apparently, not too old."

She waited for him to stop gloating before she addressed the package on her lap again. "Well, now I feel bad, because I didn't get you anything like this."

"Like what? You haven't even opened it yet."

"Like this, Jack." She waved a hand over the box. Over the expertly tied ribbon and the elegant, gilded wrapping paper. "You even had it professionally wrapped. You're not going to go to that amount of trouble for--say--a box of Q-tips."

His eyes narrowed, a strange expression playing around his lips. "Q-tips?"

"You know what I mean. Something inconsequential."

"But, Q-tips? Who gives cotton swabs for Christmas?"

Laying both hands flat on the package on her lap, Sam rolled her eyes. "Not exactly Q-tips--but something like that. Something ordinary."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, isn't it? To do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, her gaze returning to the box on her lap. "But not lavish."

Jack sighed, extending a hand to yank abruptly at the lever that raised the foot of the recliner. "Are you going to open it or not?"

"What is it?"

"Sam." He'd used his "General" voice.

The irony wasn't lost on his wife. "Don't think you can order me to open it, either, buddy. Our vows take precedence over your stars."

"Watch it, Colonel."

Sam sighed again, looking back down at the gift laid across her knees. She laid her fingers to the bow. "Just so you know, I'm opening this under duress."

Jack merely cocked a brow and waited.

Grasping firmly on the ribbons, Sam carefully pulled the bow apart, then slid the ties off the box. She took her time--straightening the wire-edged ribbon and coiling it around her hand before setting it aside. Then she flipped the box over and slid a nail under the tape on the back, popping it free. She spread the paper apart, then lifted the box out, sliding the paper to the side.

"You can fold it later."

"What?" Sam looked up from her operation, a quizzical expression playing across her features. "What are you talking about?"

"You were going to fold it. Like you wrapped the ribbon up." He jerked his head towards the wrapping paper which now sat half-way under the tree. "You can do that later."

"Who says--"

"How long have we known each other?"

"But--"

"Just open the box, Sam."

She watched him as her fingers found the small pieces of tape securing the lid on the box, popping them open with her fingernail as her husband hid a smile behind his fingertips. Tissue paper. Multiple white folds of it, smoothed in even sheets over something folded equally as perfectly. She spread them apart, her movements excruciatingly precise.

"A jacket?"

"Take it out."

She laid the gift on the coffee table, kneeling next to it as she lifted the garment out of the box. It was long--more a coat than a jacket. Matte black--perfectly tanned to a buttery smoothness. Stylish, it sported a narrow collar, jet buttons and would fit snugly over her torso before flaring at the hip. The lining was blood red silk.

"Jack." Sam shook her head, holding it up. "This is the very definition of 'lavish'."

"So what?" His eyebrow lifted, daring her to refuse it. "Do you like it?"

"It's too much. With you thinking about retiring--"

"Do you like it?"

"But--"

"Sam?" He sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his ankles. "Do you like it?"

Her smile broke free then, wide--her dimples making deep divots in the peaches and cream of her cheeks. "Of course I like it."

"Well, then." He folded his arms across his stomach. "What's your problem, then? You told me you needed a coat. I got you a coat."

"But this coat--it's too much. It's gorgeous."

"Like its owner."

Sam closed her eyes and lifted the coat to her nose. "I love leather. It smells like freedom."

"It reminds you of your Indian."

"I miss it, sometimes."

"I know."

Sam folded the coat over her arm and walked towards the hall, causing Jack to frown. "Where are you going?"

"Trying it on!" Her airy reply echoed in the close space.

It only took a few minutes for her to return. The expensive leather fit her as if tailored expressly for her shape. She stepped out in front of Jack's chair and held out her arms. "Well?"

"Looks good."

"Really?"

"It looks really good." His smile widened when she lowered her hands to the belt, unfastening it and allowing the coat to gape open. He couldn't speak then, he could barely breathe as she shimmied a bit, exposing a bit--more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking you're an evil woman, Samantha O'Neill."

Her laugh drifted over him, low, throaty, intimate. A single step landed her directly in front of his chair, and she only had to lean forward a little to have her husband completely at her mercy. "I know I said that we shouldn't do anything lavish, Jack. But thank you--this is perfect."

"It is." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then drift downward. "And you're about to be lavished again."

I just about spit my drink all over my monitor when I read the bit about 'filling the stocking'.

Bwahahaaa!

Nicely done

[hedwig]

The first point:

Bringing us (slightly) out of the gutter and back into SG-1, it's interesting then that in the only instance where they could have showcased Jack actually shooting (in the Imhotep episode), he hands the demonstration over to Sam. **Cough**

AAAaaand, back we go:

Spoiler:

And if this--ahem--*symbolism*--holds true, then how would a staff weapon rate in this analogy?

Remember the line: "This is a staff weapon. It is a weapon of terror. This is a P-90. It is a weapon of war."

Thoughts?

The second point:

I can just see them on Christmas morning. . . (insert "Bbbbrringggg!" sound and funky special effects here. . .)

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Spoiler:

Gifted


The box was long, and heavy. Jack laid it across her lap and then obligingly removed her coffee cup from her hand.

Sam looked down at the gift with more than a little suspicion glinting in her eyes. "I thought we'd agreed not to do anything lavish."

"It's not." Jack smiled. Sitting in the recliner next to the couch, he reached out and set her coffee on the table next to him. At her look, he searched for, and found a coaster. Once the cup had been settled appropriately, he leaned back comfortably. "And you were the one that suggested that. I don't recall agreeing to that particular stipulation to our Christmas morning festivities."

She snorted. "Morning."

"Well. Kind of morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." She motioned at the clock on the mantel to prove her point.

"Yes." He smiled, smug. Sated. "It took a while to fill your stocking just right."

Her exaggerated groan ended with an exasperated sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Apparently, not too old."

She waited for him to stop gloating before she addressed the package on her lap again. "Well, now I feel bad, because I didn't get you anything like this."

"Like what? You haven't even opened it yet."

"Like this, Jack." She waved a hand over the box. Over the expertly tied ribbon and the elegant, gilded wrapping paper. "You even had it professionally wrapped. You're not going to go to that amount of trouble for--say--a box of Q-tips."

His eyes narrowed, a strange expression playing around his lips. "Q-tips?"

"You know what I mean. Something inconsequential."

"But, Q-tips? Who gives cotton swabs for Christmas?"

Laying both hands flat on the package on her lap, Sam rolled her eyes. "Not exactly Q-tips--but something like that. Something ordinary."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, isn't it? To do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, her gaze returning to the box on her lap. "But not lavish."

Jack sighed, extending a hand to yank abruptly at the lever that raised the foot of the recliner. "Are you going to open it or not?"

"What is it?"

"Sam." He'd used his "General" voice.

The irony wasn't lost on his wife. "Don't think you can order me to open it, either, buddy. Our vows take precedence over your stars."

"Watch it, Colonel."

Sam sighed again, looking back down at the gift laid across her knees. She laid her fingers to the bow. "Just so you know, I'm opening this under duress."

Jack merely cocked a brow and waited.

Grasping firmly on the ribbons, Sam carefully pulled the bow apart, then slid the ties off the box. She took her time--straightening the wire-edged ribbon and coiling it around her hand before setting it aside. Then she flipped the box over and slid a nail under the tape on the back, popping it free. She spread the paper apart, then lifted the box out, sliding the paper to the side.

"You can fold it later."

"What?" Sam looked up from her operation, a quizzical expression playing across her features. "What are you talking about?"

"You were going to fold it. Like you wrapped the ribbon up." He jerked his head towards the wrapping paper which now sat half-way under the tree. "You can do that later."

"Who says--"

"How long have we known each other?"

"But--"

"Just open the box, Sam."

She watched him as her fingers found the small pieces of tape securing the lid on the box, popping them open with her fingernail as her husband hid a smile behind his fingertips. Tissue paper. Multiple white folds of it, smoothed in even sheets over something folded equally as perfectly. She spread them apart, her movements excruciatingly precise.

"A jacket?"

"Take it out."

She laid the gift on the coffee table, kneeling next to it as she lifted the garment out of the box. It was long--more a coat than a jacket. Matte black--perfectly tanned to a buttery smoothness. Stylish, it sported a narrow collar, jet buttons and would fit snugly over her torso before flaring at the hip. The lining was blood red silk.

"Jack." Sam shook her head, holding it up. "This is the very definition of 'lavish'."

"So what?" His eyebrow lifted, daring her to refuse it. "Do you like it?"

"It's too much. With you thinking about retiring--"

"Do you like it?"

"But--"

"Sam?" He sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his ankles. "Do you like it?"

Her smile broke free then, wide--her dimples making deep divots in the peaches and cream of her cheeks. "Of course I like it."

"Well, then." He folded his arms across his stomach. "What's your problem, then? You told me you needed a coat. I got you a coat."

"But this coat--it's too much. It's gorgeous."

"Like its owner."

Sam closed her eyes and lifted the coat to her nose. "I love leather. It smells like freedom."

"It reminds you of your Indian."

"I miss it, sometimes."

"I know."

Sam folded the coat over her arm and walked towards the hall, causing Jack to frown. "Where are you going?"

"Trying it on!" Her airy reply echoed in the close space.

It only took a few minutes for her to return. The expensive leather fit her as if tailored expressly for her shape. She stepped out in front of Jack's chair and held out her arms. "Well?"

"Looks good."

"Really?"

"It looks really good." His smile widened when she lowered her hands to the belt, unfastening it and allowing the coat to gape open. He couldn't speak then, he could barely breathe as she shimmied a bit, exposing a bit--more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking you're an evil woman, Samantha O'Neill."

Her laugh drifted over him, low, throaty, intimate. A single step landed her directly in front of his chair, and she only had to lean forward a little to have her husband completely at her mercy. "I know I said that we shouldn't do anything lavish, Jack. But thank you--this is perfect."

"It is." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then drift downward. "And you're about to be lavished again."

*cough* ... is it warm in here??? Are there any fans nearby???

[Akamaimom]

Awesome!!

I'm jealous of your mad ficlet skills.

Well, we all can't write those WONDERFUL Shipmas illustrated stories. Some of us have lesser "normal" skills.

I just about spit my drink all over my monitor when I read the bit about 'filling the stocking'.

Bwahahaaa!

Nicely done

Thanks! But why was that funny? (she asks innocently. . .)

*cough* ... is it warm in here??? Are there any fans nearby???

And no, silly. It's cold in here--that's why Sam needed her gift. Right?

[IggyMing]

[CENTER] It’s 3 Days to Shipmas
Continued

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is, once again, awesome!

The second point:

I can just see them on Christmas morning. . . (insert "Bbbbrringggg!" sound and funky special effects here. . .)

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Brilliant! I am in awe of your ability to write up something at the drop of a hat. Wish I could do the same.

[yessika]

The first point:

Bringing us (slightly) out of the gutter and back into SG-1, it's interesting then that in the only instance where they could have showcased Jack actually shooting (in the Imhotep episode), he hands the demonstration over to Sam. **Cough**

AAAaaand, back we go:

Spoiler:

And if this--ahem--*symbolism*--holds true, then how would a staff weapon rate in this analogy?

Remember the line: "This is a staff weapon. It is a weapon of terror. This is a P-90. It is a weapon of war."

Thoughts?

The second point:

I can just see them on Christmas morning. . . (insert "Bbbbrringggg!" sound and funky special effects here. . .)

Spoilered for length--and a little **hubba hubba** action. . .

Spoiler:

Gifted


The box was long, and heavy. Jack laid it across her lap and then obligingly removed her coffee cup from her hand.

Sam looked down at the gift with more than a little suspicion glinting in her eyes. "I thought we'd agreed not to do anything lavish."

"It's not." Jack smiled. Sitting in the recliner next to the couch, he reached out and set her coffee on the table next to him. At her look, he searched for, and found a coaster. Once the cup had been settled appropriately, he leaned back comfortably. "And you were the one that suggested that. I don't recall agreeing to that particular stipulation to our Christmas morning festivities."

She snorted. "Morning."

"Well. Kind of morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." She motioned at the clock on the mantel to prove her point.

"Yes." He smiled, smug. Sated. "It took a while to fill your stocking just right."

Her exaggerated groan ended with an exasperated sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Apparently, not too old."

She waited for him to stop gloating before she addressed the package on her lap again. "Well, now I feel bad, because I didn't get you anything like this."

"Like what? You haven't even opened it yet."

"Like this, Jack." She waved a hand over the box. Over the expertly tied ribbon and the elegant, gilded wrapping paper. "You even had it professionally wrapped. You're not going to go to that amount of trouble for--say--a box of Q-tips."

His eyes narrowed, a strange expression playing around his lips. "Q-tips?"

"You know what I mean. Something inconsequential."

"But, Q-tips? Who gives cotton swabs for Christmas?"

Laying both hands flat on the package on her lap, Sam rolled her eyes. "Not exactly Q-tips--but something like that. Something ordinary."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, isn't it? To do something extraordinary?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, her gaze returning to the box on her lap. "But not lavish."

Jack sighed, extending a hand to yank abruptly at the lever that raised the foot of the recliner. "Are you going to open it or not?"

"What is it?"

"Sam." He'd used his "General" voice.

The irony wasn't lost on his wife. "Don't think you can order me to open it, either, buddy. Our vows take precedence over your stars."

"Watch it, Colonel."

Sam sighed again, looking back down at the gift laid across her knees. She laid her fingers to the bow. "Just so you know, I'm opening this under duress."

Jack merely cocked a brow and waited.

Grasping firmly on the ribbons, Sam carefully pulled the bow apart, then slid the ties off the box. She took her time--straightening the wire-edged ribbon and coiling it around her hand before setting it aside. Then she flipped the box over and slid a nail under the tape on the back, popping it free. She spread the paper apart, then lifted the box out, sliding the paper to the side.

"You can fold it later."

"What?" Sam looked up from her operation, a quizzical expression playing across her features. "What are you talking about?"

"You were going to fold it. Like you wrapped the ribbon up." He jerked his head towards the wrapping paper which now sat half-way under the tree. "You can do that later."

"Who says--"

"How long have we known each other?"

"But--"

"Just open the box, Sam."

She watched him as her fingers found the small pieces of tape securing the lid on the box, popping them open with her fingernail as her husband hid a smile behind his fingertips. Tissue paper. Multiple white folds of it, smoothed in even sheets over something folded equally as perfectly. She spread them apart, her movements excruciatingly precise.

"A jacket?"

"Take it out."

She laid the gift on the coffee table, kneeling next to it as she lifted the garment out of the box. It was long--more a coat than a jacket. Matte black--perfectly tanned to a buttery smoothness. Stylish, it sported a narrow collar, jet buttons and would fit snugly over her torso before flaring at the hip. The lining was blood red silk.

"Jack." Sam shook her head, holding it up. "This is the very definition of 'lavish'."

"So what?" His eyebrow lifted, daring her to refuse it. "Do you like it?"

"It's too much. With you thinking about retiring--"

"Do you like it?"

"But--"

"Sam?" He sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his ankles. "Do you like it?"

Her smile broke free then, wide--her dimples making deep divots in the peaches and cream of her cheeks. "Of course I like it."

"Well, then." He folded his arms across his stomach. "What's your problem, then? You told me you needed a coat. I got you a coat."

"But this coat--it's too much. It's gorgeous."

"Like its owner."

Sam closed her eyes and lifted the coat to her nose. "I love leather. It smells like freedom."

"It reminds you of your Indian."

"I miss it, sometimes."

"I know."

Sam folded the coat over her arm and walked towards the hall, causing Jack to frown. "Where are you going?"

"Trying it on!" Her airy reply echoed in the close space.

It only took a few minutes for her to return. The expensive leather fit her as if tailored expressly for her shape. She stepped out in front of Jack's chair and held out her arms. "Well?"

"Looks good."

"Really?"

"It looks really good." His smile widened when she lowered her hands to the belt, unfastening it and allowing the coat to gape open. He couldn't speak then, he could barely breathe as she shimmied a bit, exposing a bit--more.

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking you're an evil woman, Samantha O'Neill."

Her laugh drifted over him, low, throaty, intimate. A single step landed her directly in front of his chair, and she only had to lean forward a little to have her husband completely at her mercy. "I know I said that we shouldn't do anything lavish, Jack. But thank you--this is perfect."

"It is." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, then drift downward. "And you're about to be lavished again."

Wow! I love it!!

[SamJackShipper93]

hlndncr - I think that you should definitely repost these on the Shipmas thread on Saturday so that everyone can enjoy these. They are just so funny!

[hlndncr]

hlndncr - I think that you should definitely repost these on the Shipmas thread on Saturday so that everyone can enjoy these. They are just so funny!

Since I've spent all my spare time writing pic stories instead of Shipmas presents, it's highly likely you will be seeing these again.

[hedwig]

Since I've spent all my spare time writing pic stories instead of Shipmas presents, it's highly likely you will be seeing these again.

Well, there is Valenship not too long after Shipmas ... so you can always get ready for that.

[hlndncr]

It’s 2 Days to Shipmas
Look What I Received

Bregman: We are here today with Dr. Janet Fraiser, one of the world’s foremost experts in the field of shipper medicine. Dr. Fraiser, thank you for being with us.


Janet: Thank you for having me.


Bregman: Dr. Fraiser you treat shippers year round but with Shipmas coming up you have an especially difficult job. What can you tell us about that?


Janet: As you know the shipper holidays are a time of joy and celebration. Unfortunately, there’s a darker side to these events. I treat a lot of shippers on these occasions who may suffer anything from very minor ailments to a severe trauma.


Janet: I’m here to bring awareness to these conditions and hopefully prevent harm from coming to as many shippers as I can.


Bregman: What are some of the ailments common to Shipmas and other ship celebrations Dr. Fraiser? And what kind of prevention or treatment options do you recommend?


Janet: I think the best way I can help you understand is to go over some past Shipmas cases.


Janet: Last year Mr. Quinn suffered from picspam wrist. It’s an inflammation of the joints due to the repeated clicking of the mouse when submitting numerous replies containing images of great Sam/Jack moments.


Bregman: What’s the treatment?


Janet: First I’d recommend doing some lesser picspamming on the regular ship thread leading up to Shipmas in order to get your clicking muscles in shape for the big event.


Janet: Then on the day make sure you pace yourself. Not only does this prevent injury but it means there are lots of Sam/Jack pics for shippers to drool over throughout the entire day. A win for everyone!


Janet: Next we have gutter fever.


Janet: Repeated forays into the gutter and extended viewing of certain gifs (and the shippers know which ones I’m referring to) leads to an elevated temperature that can only be brought down with some cooling, but still very satisfying, fluff.


Bregman: Dr. Fraiser, this case looks serious.


Janet: Ah yes. Ship exhaustion. Colonel O’Neill once tried to stay online the entire 24 hours.


Janet: I encourage shippers to get plenty of sleep the night before Shipmas, and don’t be surprised if the regular thread is a little dead for a few days following the holiday.


Janet: Now this is an interesting one. Three years ago Sergeant Harriman was brought into the infirmary with a severe case of squee shock.


Janet: Shippers should know that the Sam/Jack art, vid and fic list packs a powerful punch. Don’t try and take it in all at once.


Bregman: What about this injury Dr. Fraiser?


Janet: Ah, Siler. All I will say is never run through a thread nekkid while carrying a giant wrench.