WackyJacqsFanFiction

Punch The Clock

 

Author's Note: Some days, being ‘The Man’ does have its perks. Written for ‘National Punch The Clock Day’, which takes place on 27 January each year. Set sometime during Season 8, pre-Affinity.

Pairing: Sam/Jack.

Rating: Teen.

First Published: January 2013.

Status: COMPLETE. 

 

"Have a good evening, General."

 

"You too, Airman," Jack answered as he handed the sign-out sheet back to the young officer and waited on the elevator.

 

Dressed in slacks and a long sleeved round neck jumper, Jack hooked a finger into the label of his leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. As outward appearances went, Jack was ever the professional and remained neutral. Inside however, he was jumping for joy at the fact that he was finally able to leave the base on time - for the first time - since he took over from Hammond four weeks ago.

 

Jack sighed. As it turned out - and despite what his former team might have told him - being 'The Man' definitely had more cons than pros attached to it. Therefore, he was determined to make it out of Cheyenne Mountain at a normal hour, go home, have a couple of beers and catch up with The Simpsons before he completely lost his mind.

 

"General O'Neill!"

 

Jack sighed heavily. He'd been so close.

 

Maybe if he just decided to ignore whoever was calling his name, he'd still be able to leave. Closing his eyes, he could actually visualize the ice cold beer with his name on it; could virtually taste the liquid as he took that first tantalizing sip and it hit the back of his throat. The bitter aftertaste and the brief satisfaction...

 

"General O'Neill?"

 

Jack's eyes snapped open, dark and threatening. Spinning abruptly on his heel, he scowled as he came face to face with Sergeant Allen. Not giving anything away, Jack internally smirked when the officer jumped back from him and paled suddenly.

 

Allen had made Sergeant three months previously, but had only been transferred to the SGC a week after Jack took over the reins. So while the man had proved his worth to be stationed at the most secret facility in the world, he was also still new enough at the base not to realize that he should have just left Jack alone as he was punching out for the evening.

 

Staring at his subordinate, Jack could see his Adam's apple bobbing and a thin line of sweat forming across his brow. Sighing louder, Jack decided to throw Allen a bone - but not before raising his eyebrows in exasperation.

 

"Sergeant?"

 

"General, Sir. Uh, Walt... uh, Sergeant -"

 

"Chief Master Sergeant," Jack cut in gruffly.

 

"Ah, yes, Sir. Chief Master Sergeant Harriman is looking for you. Sir."

 

"Is he now?"

 

Allen nodded quickly as he watched General O'Neill's jaw tighten. "Yes, Sir."

 

"And what does dear Walter want?"

 

Allen hesitated, not quite sure how to refer to the officer in question. "Uh... he mentioned something about a form requiring your signature, General."

 

Jack rolled his eyes. He figured as much. All he seemed to do the last four weeks was sign requisition forms for toilet rolls and ball point pens.

 

"I left Walter with strict instructions that I was heading home for the evening, Sergeant."

 

He nodded again, slower this time. "Yes, Sir, he... mentioned that. But he also said that was before he realized he needed your signature. Something to do with an overhaul of the gate diagnostics..." He trailed off when he saw the General really didn't appear to care, so he thought back to the last words Walter had said to him. "Uh... Colonel Carter requested the overhaul, Sir."

 

He watched closely as his commander digested the latest piece of information and found himself intrigued at the very brief change in General O'Neill's expression. He suddenly wondered if there was more to the base gossip than he first realized.

 

"Did she now," Jack mumbled, drawing Allen's attention. "Remind me to thank her tomorrow," he grumbled to no one in particular.

 

He sighed once more before opening his arms wide and giving the Sergeant an expecting look. "So... where is it?"

Allen frowned. "Sir?"

 

"The form, Sergeant. The form so important that it's coming between my very important... social... time," Jack finished with an exaggerated wave of his hand.

 

"Oh. Uh, he still has it. Sir."

 

Jack's head dropped to his chest as he slowly and silently counted to ten.

 

"Umm... Sir?" Allen warily hedged when the General didn't move after a minute.

 

"Where's Walter now," he asked with a sigh.

 

"Control Room, Sir."

 

Jack nodded absently, before dismissing the Sergeant and following him down the corridor.

 

*** 

 

Twenty minutes later and Jack was making his way back to the elevator to head home - albeit in a much fouler mood than he had been - before his run in with Sergeant Allen. He had just lazily saluted the Airmen on duty once again and stepped into the elevator when a female voice drifted along the corridor.

 

"General!"

 

Jack slammed his index finger into the button to stop the doors from closing and ground his teeth together. Any other time, he'd love nothing more than to see Carter, if only for a second, but since it was her fault he'd been kept late on base, he was going to make this the exception.

 

Deciding to be even more petulant, he remained standing inside the elevator. If she was looking him, she'd have to come to him. He was 'The Man' after all.

 

He waited on her approaching. And he waited. When no blonde astrophysicist appeared, he frowned. He went to take a step forward when her voice drifted from around the corner.

 

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm coming. I'm just signing out."

 

He sighed, nodding his acquiesce, even though she couldn't see.

 

After a moment, he leaned against the wall of the elevator and waited on Carter showing up. When Jack heard the sound of her footsteps hitting the metal floor beside him, he looked up and his eyes widened.

 

Carter was indeed signing out for the evening, because she was no longer in her BDUs. No, she had obviously chosen her bike as her means of transport to the base this morning because she was dressed in her leathers. And what nice leathers they are too, Jack mused as his eyes travelled up and down her body.

 

"Sir?"

 

Jack's eyes flew to Sam's at the question and he suddenly realized he'd been caught checking her out, and quite possibly drooling as well. He snapped his mouth shut as she continued to stare at him, slightly confused.

 

"Is everything okay, Sir?"

 

He really wanted to say, 'Everything was more than okay,' but instead opted for something safer.

 

"Uh... yeah. Just peachy, Carter." He gave her a wide, fake grin as he answered, relaxing ever-so-slightly when she smiled in return.

 

"Good."

 

The elevator doors slid shut and they began their way to the surface.

 

Unlike Jack, Sam seemed to be paying no attention to the suddenly charged atmosphere in the small space as she fiddled with the cuff of her jacket. Her back was to the General but she knew the instant his eyes landed on her.

 

Jack silently argued with himself to remain staring at the elevator doors, but he quickly found his gaze sliding towards his left where Carter was standing. From the subtle scent of lavender and vanilla which had followed her into the elevator, to the way she held herself, standing tall and proud in her gear. From the way her tousled blonde hair teased the top of her collar to how the material of the leathers molded to every, perfect curve in her body, including her oh-so-perfect six.

 

"...exciting, Sir?"

 

Jack involuntarily straightened. He'd been so lost in admiring Carter's six that he hadn't realized she'd been speaking.

 

"Uh, sorry, Carter. What was that?"

 

She stopped adjusting her jacket and met her CO's eye.

 

"I asked if you had any exciting plans for this evening, Sir."

 

Of their own accord, Jack's eyes gave Sam another once over before he forced them back up to meet her - slightly flushed - face. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

 

"Uh... Pizza. Beer. The Simpsons," he stated with the most casual shrug he could manage.

 

Sam nodded slowly.

 

"You?"

 

"Oh, I was, ah, actually going home to do the same, Sir. Well, just without The Simpsons," she added with a small smile when Jack raised a brow in disbelief.

 

The elevator came to a stop and Jack gestured for Sam to go first as the doors slid open at the surface. Smiling her thanks, they made their way across the parking lot and Sam turned to say goodnight to the General when she hesitated. Tilting her head to the side, she observed the General as he shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to another.

 

"Y'know, I was thinking..." He started, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Why don't you join me... for pizza... and beer?"

 

Sam's eyes widened at his proposal and as he met her gaze, she gasped lightly at the intensity in those chocolate brown orbs.

 

"It's been a while since we've just... hung out," Jack continued when she remained silent. "Y'know, since I've been made 'The Man' and all," he finished with an awkward grin.

 

"Sir, I... Thank you, Sir, but..." Sam winced as she stumbled over her answer. Shaking her head slightly, she was just about to say why she couldn't go, when she caught his almost pleading expression, just before it faded.

 

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Will you make me watch The Simpsons?"

 

Jack sighed dramatically. "You don't know what you're missing."

 

Raising an elegant brow in disbelief, Sam smirked as Jack rolled his eyes and relented. "Fine, no Homer or Marge. I promise," he grinned, seeing her still skeptical look.

 

Finally she smiled that megawatt smile and Jack swore his heart stopped beating.

 

"Okay then, Sir. If I meet you at your house, say -"

 

"In thirty?"

 

Sam nodded in agreement. Pulling her helmet on, she bid the General goodbye before making her way towards her bike. Jack stood and watched her walk away, not bothering to hide his grin as he admired her leather clad six one final time.

 

With a wide grin, he went over to his truck and jumped in.

 

Yes, some days it did pay to punch the clock late after all.