Sam Carter /Jack O'Neill Ship Appreciation Thread 2.0

[MidwifeOnBoard]

Beneath the Surface just came up in my rewatch and Awww... but Awww...

[Akamaimom]

Okay--how's this?

Passing Game--spoilered for length

Spoiler:

For the purposes of this drabble, I have decided that Sam was born and raised in Colorado. I looked at a bunch of places and never could find a reference to where she really was born, so just go with it. Thanks, and enjoy!

Passing Game


"So, who's playing?"

"Patriots, Jets."

"Who's winning?"

"No one, yet. It just started." Sam looked up to where her husband stood just behind the couch.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he eyed the television as if it were about to divulge the secrets to the universe. "I didn't think you liked football."

"Oh, here and there." Sam shrugged, motioning to the book on her lap. "In and around other things."

"Why don't you have the sound up?"

"Because I'm reading."

"And watching the game?"

"Sort of." She shifted on the couch as he rounded the coffee table, leaning closer to the arm and settling her book on her other leg.

Sure enough, he sat right next to her, his hand resting automatically on her right thigh. After a moment, he looked sideways at her. "Only sort of?"

"Well, I read a chapter, and then reward myself with watching a play or two." She lifted her hand and showed him the cover of the book. "You can see why I'd need to do it that way."

The General scanned it and blanched. "McKay?"

"He wrote a book on wormhole theory." Her mouth twisted in what could only have been described as a smirk. "He said that mine wasn't thorough enough."

"So much for professional courtesy."

Sam snorted. "Rodney McKay is neither professional nor courteous."

"Proletarian and obsequious?"

Cheeks dimpling, Sam shook her head. "Jack, be nice."

His hand tightening on her thigh, Jack raised one brow. "Hey—you started it."

"I know! I know." She slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the end table to her left. "I need to be nicer to that guy."

"Why? He'd only think you were hitting on him." Jack presented his theory in all seriousness. "Then he'd make a move, and I'd see it, and then I'd just have to hurt him."

"And yet, you're smiling at the prospect."

And he was. Widely. With an air of satisfaction that lit up his face like a child's at Christmas. "Oh, yes."

Sam answered his smile with a low laugh. Covering her husband's hand with her own, she threaded her fingers through his and gave a tiny squeeze. "Just watch the game."

He squeezed back. "Who's playing again?"

"Patriots, Jets."

Jack lifted his right arm and laid it across the back of the sofa. "Go, Jets."

Sam's brows lowered. "Jets?"

"No?" Jack motioned to the screen. "Don't tell me you're a Patriots fan?"

"Who isn't a Patriots fan?"

He looked lost. "Why would you root for the Patriots? Aren't you a Colorado girl? Born and bred?"

"So?" Sam lifted one shoulder. "Just because I'm from a specific state doesn't mean I have to root for their team."

"So, no Broncos?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Eeew. No."

"Why not?"

"John Elway?" Her nose wrinkled. "Kyle Orton? No thanks." She stilled for a moment, head tilted in thought. "Although Jake Plummer, before the beard. And Brian Griese—maybe."

"Maybe for what?" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Griese was only there for a few years. And he kind of stank. He had good percentages, but he couldn't convert in the end zone."

Her eyes grew huge. "But he was cute."

Oh, the silence. Jack absorbed her words before he turned to look at his wife. She was grinning, white teeth bright in the afternoon light.

"Cute?"

"Uh-huh."

Both eyebrows rose, now. "And Tom Brady?"

"He's cute, too."

She watched him work through that, watched as his face went from befuddled to incredulous, to slightly offended. "You watch football for the guys?"

"Of course." She set her chin. "Why else would I watch it?"

He cleared his throat. "For the age-old sense of battle? For the historic do-or-die struggle of powerful men with a goal? Strength combating intelligence?"

Giving her head a little shake, Sam squinted at her spouse. "Uh, no."

He looked appalled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And passing yards? Rushing, tackles, touchdowns—"

"Don't really care." Sam leaned her head back against the couch, sighing. "For me, it's all about the big, strapping guys in the tight pants."

"I don't know whether to feel disappointed or a little excited by that."

Sam glanced to the man sitting next to her. Black t-shirt, jeans. Bare feet propped on the coffee table. Gray hair splayed twenty ways from Sunday in a bed head so profound that she was slightly astonished it wasn't acting on its own accord.

She turned, a secretive, sly smile playing on her lips. With a move more testament to the skill and persistence of her yoga instructor than anything else, she shifted so that she straddled his lap, palms flat against his chest. Leaning close, she bit her bottom lip even as she watched him run his tongue along his own. His breathing had grown a little erratic.

She cocked a brow. "Still wondering?"

"Yes." He tried to look serious. "Decisions, decisions."

She twisted her body around to glance at the television before turning back to frown at him. "Jets just scored again."

His chuckle danced under her palms. Suddenly, he raised both hands and framed her face, pulling her close for a kiss that lasted well through the commercial and twenty-two yards into the kick-off return. Thumbs warm against her cheekbones, he tasted at the corner of her mouth before meeting her eyes again. "And the extra point?"

"It was good, crapnabbit." Sam nodded, scowling a little. "Right through the uprights."

"That takes skill."

"They got lucky."

He kissed her again—lingering—pulling away only long enough to whisper against her lips. "Sam."

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I'm definitely not disappointed."

"Jack."

"Yeah, Sam?" His fingers were in her hair, now, and edging downwards.

"You might get lucky, too."

[Pol]

Sharon...nice ficlet.

And....dropping by to add, blog updated today.

[hedwig]

Okay--how's this?

Passing Game--spoilered for length

Spoiler:

For the purposes of this drabble, I have decided that Sam was born and raised in Colorado. I looked at a bunch of places and never could find a reference to where she really was born, so just go with it. Thanks, and enjoy!

Passing Game


"So, who's playing?"

"Patriots, Jets."

"Who's winning?"

"No one, yet. It just started." Sam looked up to where her husband stood just behind the couch.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he eyed the television as if it were about to divulge the secrets to the universe. "I didn't think you liked football."

"Oh, here and there." Sam shrugged, motioning to the book on her lap. "In and around other things."

"Why don't you have the sound up?"

"Because I'm reading."

"And watching the game?"

"Sort of." She shifted on the couch as he rounded the coffee table, leaning closer to the arm and settling her book on her other leg.

Sure enough, he sat right next to her, his hand resting automatically on her right thigh. After a moment, he looked sideways at her. "Only sort of?"

"Well, I read a chapter, and then reward myself with watching a play or two." She lifted her hand and showed him the cover of the book. "You can see why I'd need to do it that way."

The General scanned it and blanched. "McKay?"

"He wrote a book on wormhole theory." Her mouth twisted in what could only have been described as a smirk. "He said that mine wasn't thorough enough."

"So much for professional courtesy."

Sam snorted. "Rodney McKay is neither professional nor courteous."

"Proletarian and obsequious?"

Cheeks dimpling, Sam shook her head. "Jack, be nice."

His hand tightening on her thigh, Jack raised one brow. "Hey—you started it."

"I know! I know." She slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the end table to her left. "I need to be nicer to that guy."

"Why? He'd only think you were hitting on him." Jack presented his theory in all seriousness. "Then he'd make a move, and I'd see it, and then I'd just have to hurt him."

"And yet, you're smiling at the prospect."

And he was. Widely. With an air of satisfaction that lit up his face like a child's at Christmas. "Oh, yes."

Sam answered his smile with a low laugh. Covering her husband's hand with her own, she threaded her fingers through his and gave a tiny squeeze. "Just watch the game."

He squeezed back. "Who's playing again?"

"Patriots, Jets."

Jack lifted his right arm and laid it across the back of the sofa. "Go, Jets."

Sam's brows lowered. "Jets?"

"No?" Jack motioned to the screen. "Don't tell me you're a Patriots fan?"

"Who isn't a Patriots fan?"

He looked lost. "Why would you root for the Patriots? Aren't you a Colorado girl? Born and bred?"

"So?" Sam lifted one shoulder. "Just because I'm from a specific state doesn't mean I have to root for their team."

"So, no Broncos?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Eeew. No."

"Why not?"

"John Elway?" Her nose wrinkled. "Kyle Orton? No thanks." She stilled for a moment, head tilted in thought. "Although Jake Plummer, before the beard. And Brian Griese—maybe."

"Maybe for what?" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Griese was only there for a few years. And he kind of stank. He had good percentages, but he couldn't convert in the end zone."

Her eyes grew huge. "But he was cute."

Oh, the silence. Jack absorbed her words before he turned to look at his wife. She was grinning, white teeth bright in the afternoon light.

"Cute?"

"Uh-huh."

Both eyebrows rose, now. "And Tom Brady?"

"He's cute, too."

She watched him work through that, watched as his face went from befuddled to incredulous, to slightly offended. "You watch football for the guys?"

"Of course." She set her chin. "Why else would I watch it?"

He cleared his throat. "For the age-old sense of battle? For the historic do-or-die struggle of powerful men with a goal? Strength combating intelligence?"

Giving her head a little shake, Sam squinted at her spouse. "Uh, no."

He looked appalled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And passing yards? Rushing, tackles, touchdowns—"

"Don't really care." Sam leaned her head back against the couch, sighing. "For me, it's all about the big, strapping guys in the tight pants."

"I don't know whether to feel disappointed or a little excited by that."

Sam glanced to the man sitting next to her. Black t-shirt, jeans. Bare feet propped on the coffee table. Gray hair splayed twenty ways from Sunday in a bed head so profound that she was slightly astonished it wasn't acting on its own accord.

She turned, a secretive, sly smile playing on her lips. With a move more testament to the skill and persistence of her yoga instructor than anything else, she shifted so that she straddled his lap, palms flat against his chest. Leaning close, she bit her bottom lip even as she watched him run his tongue along his own. His breathing had grown a little erratic.

She cocked a brow. "Still wondering?"

"Yes." He tried to look serious. "Decisions, decisions."

She twisted her body around to glance at the television before turning back to frown at him. "Jets just scored again."

His chuckle danced under her palms. Suddenly, he raised both hands and framed her face, pulling her close for a kiss that lasted well through the commercial and twenty-two yards into the kick-off return. Thumbs warm against her cheekbones, he tasted at the corner of her mouth before meeting her eyes again. "And the extra point?"

"It was good, crapnabbit." Sam nodded, scowling a little. "Right through the uprights."

"That takes skill."

"They got lucky."

He kissed her again—lingering—pulling away only long enough to whisper against her lips. "Sam."

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I'm definitely not disappointed."

"Jack."

"Yeah, Sam?" His fingers were in her hair, now, and edging downwards.

"You might get lucky, too."

"Crapnabbit". Never heard that word before. I like it.

[yessika]

Yep....it's the time of the year again. But are people up again for Secret Santa?

If we have at least 15 people wanting to sign up, I'll organise it again

Sign me up!!

Okay--how's this?

Passing Game--spoilered for length

Spoiler:

For the purposes of this drabble, I have decided that Sam was born and raised in Colorado. I looked at a bunch of places and never could find a reference to where she really was born, so just go with it. Thanks, and enjoy!

Passing Game


"So, who's playing?"

"Patriots, Jets."

"Who's winning?"

"No one, yet. It just started." Sam looked up to where her husband stood just behind the couch.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he eyed the television as if it were about to divulge the secrets to the universe. "I didn't think you liked football."

"Oh, here and there." Sam shrugged, motioning to the book on her lap. "In and around other things."

"Why don't you have the sound up?"

"Because I'm reading."

"And watching the game?"

"Sort of." She shifted on the couch as he rounded the coffee table, leaning closer to the arm and settling her book on her other leg.

Sure enough, he sat right next to her, his hand resting automatically on her right thigh. After a moment, he looked sideways at her. "Only sort of?"

"Well, I read a chapter, and then reward myself with watching a play or two." She lifted her hand and showed him the cover of the book. "You can see why I'd need to do it that way."

The General scanned it and blanched. "McKay?"

"He wrote a book on wormhole theory." Her mouth twisted in what could only have been described as a smirk. "He said that mine wasn't thorough enough."

"So much for professional courtesy."

Sam snorted. "Rodney McKay is neither professional nor courteous."

"Proletarian and obsequious?"

Cheeks dimpling, Sam shook her head. "Jack, be nice."

His hand tightening on her thigh, Jack raised one brow. "Hey—you started it."

"I know! I know." She slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the end table to her left. "I need to be nicer to that guy."

"Why? He'd only think you were hitting on him." Jack presented his theory in all seriousness. "Then he'd make a move, and I'd see it, and then I'd just have to hurt him."

"And yet, you're smiling at the prospect."

And he was. Widely. With an air of satisfaction that lit up his face like a child's at Christmas. "Oh, yes."

Sam answered his smile with a low laugh. Covering her husband's hand with her own, she threaded her fingers through his and gave a tiny squeeze. "Just watch the game."

He squeezed back. "Who's playing again?"

"Patriots, Jets."

Jack lifted his right arm and laid it across the back of the sofa. "Go, Jets."

Sam's brows lowered. "Jets?"

"No?" Jack motioned to the screen. "Don't tell me you're a Patriots fan?"

"Who isn't a Patriots fan?"

He looked lost. "Why would you root for the Patriots? Aren't you a Colorado girl? Born and bred?"

"So?" Sam lifted one shoulder. "Just because I'm from a specific state doesn't mean I have to root for their team."

"So, no Broncos?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Eeew. No."

"Why not?"

"John Elway?" Her nose wrinkled. "Kyle Orton? No thanks." She stilled for a moment, head tilted in thought. "Although Jake Plummer, before the beard. And Brian Griese—maybe."

"Maybe for what?" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Griese was only there for a few years. And he kind of stank. He had good percentages, but he couldn't convert in the end zone."

Her eyes grew huge. "But he was cute."

Oh, the silence. Jack absorbed her words before he turned to look at his wife. She was grinning, white teeth bright in the afternoon light.

"Cute?"

"Uh-huh."

Both eyebrows rose, now. "And Tom Brady?"

"He's cute, too."

She watched him work through that, watched as his face went from befuddled to incredulous, to slightly offended. "You watch football for the guys?"

"Of course." She set her chin. "Why else would I watch it?"

He cleared his throat. "For the age-old sense of battle? For the historic do-or-die struggle of powerful men with a goal? Strength combating intelligence?"

Giving her head a little shake, Sam squinted at her spouse. "Uh, no."

He looked appalled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And passing yards? Rushing, tackles, touchdowns—"

"Don't really care." Sam leaned her head back against the couch, sighing. "For me, it's all about the big, strapping guys in the tight pants."

"I don't know whether to feel disappointed or a little excited by that."

Sam glanced to the man sitting next to her. Black t-shirt, jeans. Bare feet propped on the coffee table. Gray hair splayed twenty ways from Sunday in a bed head so profound that she was slightly astonished it wasn't acting on its own accord.

She turned, a secretive, sly smile playing on her lips. With a move more testament to the skill and persistence of her yoga instructor than anything else, she shifted so that she straddled his lap, palms flat against his chest. Leaning close, she bit her bottom lip even as she watched him run his tongue along his own. His breathing had grown a little erratic.

She cocked a brow. "Still wondering?"

"Yes." He tried to look serious. "Decisions, decisions."

She twisted her body around to glance at the television before turning back to frown at him. "Jets just scored again."

His chuckle danced under her palms. Suddenly, he raised both hands and framed her face, pulling her close for a kiss that lasted well through the commercial and twenty-two yards into the kick-off return. Thumbs warm against her cheekbones, he tasted at the corner of her mouth before meeting her eyes again. "And the extra point?"

"It was good, crapnabbit." Sam nodded, scowling a little. "Right through the uprights."

"That takes skill."

"They got lucky."

He kissed her again—lingering—pulling away only long enough to whisper against her lips. "Sam."

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I'm definitely not disappointed."

"Jack."

"Yeah, Sam?" His fingers were in her hair, now, and edging downwards.

"You might get lucky, too."

Love it!

[Lucycat]

Do we know she grew up in DC? I looked, and I couldn't find a reference to where she'd been raised.

Well.. I guess the only reference I remember is in Season 2 (don't know episode name) where she and Jack go to DC to get the medals and she refers to DC as her "old stomping grounds". Of course, this probably means when she was stationed at the Pentagon before she went to Colorado... so, I'd agree with hlndncr on that one.

[Lucycat]

Thanks for the drabble, AKAM!! I love it when you post those!!

And, btw, I watch football the same way Sam does! I, unfortunately, don't have a hot husband to distract me when my team is losing!

[Akamaimom]

Thanks for the drabble, AKAM!! I love it when you post those!!

And, btw, I watch football the same way Sam does! I, unfortunately, don't have a hot husband to distract me when my team is losing!

My husband's boss gets all jealous during football season, because his wife can't stand football, and I adore it. I often win the "best wife" award in the office. I was a hand's down champion one year when I got my husband an AR-15 for Christmas.

But the guys are cute, too. And Brian Griese is cute, in a neanderthal kind of way. But then, Sam likes that, too, right?

[hedwig]

Well.. I guess the only reference I remember is in Season 2 (don't know episode name) where she and Jack go to DC to get the medals and she refers to DC as her "old stomping grounds". Of course, this probably means when she was stationed at the Pentagon before she went to Colorado... so, I'd agree with hlndncr on that one.

The episode is "Secrets".

It was never stated where Sam was born, but as others have suggested she undoubtedly lived in a variety of places whenever Jacob got transferred to various posts. She spent at least two years in D.C. working on the Stargate project (according to something Hammond said to McKay and Col. Simmons in "48 Hours") before being assigned to the SGC. Beyond that, though, I don't think it was ever mentioned where she was born or the places she lived.

[Akamaimom]

The episode is "Secrets".

It was never stated where Sam was born, but as others have suggested she undoubtedly lived in a variety of places whenever Jacob got transferred to various posts. She spent at least two years in D.C. working on the Stargate project (according to something Hammond said to McKay and Col. Simmons in "48 Hours") before being assigned to the SGC. Beyond that, though, I don't think it was ever mentioned where she was born or the places she lived.

That's why I just summarily decided that she was from Colorado--for my own purposes. I'm fairly certain that she would have traveled extensively with her dad. My friend's dad was in the Air Force, and she spent four years in a Swiss boarding school while he was stationed in Saudi Arabia. Who knows where she would have ended up?

So, that kind of stuff, we get to make up. **phew**

And "crapnabbit" is what you say when you don't say other swear words. YOu have to make them up.

[Lucycat]

My husband's boss gets all jealous during football season, because his wife can't stand football, and I adore it. I often win the "best wife" award in the office. I was a hand's down champion one year when I got my husband an AR-15 for Christmas.

But the guys are cute, too. And Brian Griese is cute, in a neanderthal kind of way. But then, Sam likes that, too, right?

Can't say I know what AR-15 is... something to do with football?

Personally, I prefer baseball... you can see their faces! But, then again, in football... whose looking at their faces?

Sorry... back OT

[Akamaimom]

Can't say I know what AR-15 is... something to do with football?

Personally, I prefer baseball... you can see their faces! But, then again, in football... whose looking at their faces?

Sorry... back OT

It's a gun. I like that stuff, too.

And on topic:

and , sitting in a tree.

[Lucycat]

It's a gun. I like that stuff, too.

And on topic:

and , sitting in a tree.

You bought your husband a gun? Whoa... hey, that sounds like something Sam would get Jack!

[Akamaimom]

You bought your husband a gun? Whoa... hey, that sounds like something Sam would get Jack!

I did that, too. Sam gives Jack her father's vintage Winchester in "Taken".

An AR-15 is the civilian form of a military weapon called an M-16. And it's not a "gun", like I said--it's a rifle. D'oh! on my part!

And I can totally see them giving each other weaponry. Or the reverse--something TOTALLY non-weapon like. . .

[trinity3]

Hey everyone.

Yep....it's the time of the year again. But are people up again for Secret Santa?

If we have at least 15 people wanting to sign up, I'll organise it again

Sign me up please, but as per usual I can still only do fic