"Rose Roguery" [drabble, Jack/Sam, K]

Title: Rose Roguery
Author: A. Karswyll
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rated: K
Words: 1,254
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter
Summary: Unexpectedly brought together by their duty Jack decides to give Sam a more personal—if belated—valentine in the midst of a meeting.
AN: Written for GateWorld forum's Valenship 2012.

Lieutenant General O’Neill listened to the scientist presenting to the room drone on and on regarding structural hull stress of the Odyssey, the discovery of which two days ago had required a hasty reshuffling of the BC-304 duty roster and placed Hammond on Earth sentinel duty with Apollo maintaining its Pegasus runs while Odyssey was in the subterranean dry-docks.

His gaze swept the dimly lit room in search of mental stimulation. Illumination from the oh so stimulating slideshow flickered over the faces of those watching in one of Area 37’s larger meeting rooms filled to bursting with an array of uniforms and lab-coats seated around the table.

In the end, his eyes settled on Colonel Samantha Carter, commander of the Hammond, who was seated a couple chairs down on his left; a far more pleasant vista upon which to rest his eyes than the forty-year-old balding scientist lecturing away. Typically, she looked absorbed in the prattling and more typically, clearly understood every incomprehensible multi-syllable word spewing from the scientist’s mouth.

Jack’s mouth kicked up slightly at the corner at the familiar sight that brought warm memories to mind. He always enjoyed moments like this when he could watch her unobserved and even though the reason for being together in the same location and at the same time was not optimal—a battleship out of commission was never reason to celebrate—he enjoyed their time together nonetheless, especially in light of the holiday timing.

Saint Valentine’s Day and all its clichés had come and gone. They had sent by mail cards and chocolate treats as they traditionally had the past eight years considering their continual physical separation—first him in DC and her to Area 51, then him in DC still and her in Atlantis, and now him still in DC and her on Hammond—that meant many holidays were usually not spent, or celebrated, together on the actual holiday.

He wondered for the first and probably not last time, if Sam really had enjoyed his card and the chocolates and if there was not some way he could make the overly marketed holiday more special to her, and thus more special to them. Add more meaning to the often trivialised date…

The other corner of his mouth kicked up in glee as an idea struck.

Casting another surreptitious glance around the table, Jack opened up the briefing packet on the table before him, that he hadn’t touched when the scientist had handed it to him, and began flipping through the papers looking for the perfect page.

. . .


Sam had been paying attention to the presentation with some interest until she had felt the uncanny sensation that was familiar to her, awakened in briefing rooms much like this more than a decade ago and honed on battlefields. Her CO was watching her. Of course, he was not directly her CO any longer and had not been for eight years but she still knew of the feeling of being watch by Jack.

When the feeling left, she glanced to her right and up the table to see Jack flipping through his briefing packet. Wonderingly, she furrowed her brow as she also noted that his lips were moving minutely, almost like he was muttering to himself if not muttering under his breath.

His silent mutters stopped abruptly as his face lit up subtly with an expression that had her eyes widening in alarm. She knew that look—unfortunately.

Hastily she directed her gaze back to Dr Norman’s projected presentation, avoiding just in time the surreptitious looking she knew Jack gave the room to see if anyone was watching him, or would catch him, in his mischief.

Looking back at Jack as she continued to listen to the lecture with a half ear, she was just in time to see him discreetly detached a single page from the report.

Sam felt the old prompt to give him some sort of swift kick to dissuade him from whatever he was about to like she had for years on SG-1 but was hesitant about if she could still give him said swift kick considering he was the highest ranked individual in the room and commander of the entire program. It just really would not look good.

Both it was moot though, consider they weren’t sitting side-by-side—what idiot had thought up the seating plan?—and she couldn’t see a logical reason for her to get up and approach him as all the doors and food were to the left of the room. The full pitcher of ice water in front of his glass also crossed that option off the list…

Jack turned the type covered page over and over for a moment before folding one of the rectangular ends over and creasing it with his fingernails. He flipped the flap over and creased it again before neatly tearing the flap away to leave himself with a more rectangular sheet of paper. The small sound of ripping paper was well covered of course by Dr Norman’s lecture.

Dr Norman’s talking also covered her small muffled groan.

Sam swore, as he folded the paper end to end, that if he made a paper airplane she would get up and march over to give him a good kick—no matter how bad it looked!

As she watched though, Jack was not folding the piece of paper in a way she recognised from countless infirmary stays crafting up various paper airplane models. He folded the ends in until it formed a parallelogram which he folded down the centre before unfolding again. He did more folding, turning, and folding and quite lost her.

Then, unfolding the entire square he turned the page again and began folding, turning, and folding again and she lost the pattern of what he was doing just as he once more opened up the entire paper for a third time.

Really wondering now, Sam was only peripherally aware of Dr Norman’s ongoing lecture, as she watched Jack work the piece of paper until he was holding the folded and twisted piece of paper in his left hand which blocked her view of what he was now doing to the origami he was making.

Her breath caught in her throat and she flushed as his brown eyes unexpectedly caught hers and he quirked his seductive smirk at her just as Dr Norman concluded his lecture and the room was flooded with light that smarted the eyes after the hours of dimness. Clatter and chatter also filled the room as mostly everyone took the opportunity to stand, stretch stiff limbs, head for the buffet or bathrooms, or corner Dr Norman and his assistant with questions.

Jack was one of those who pushed away from the table, stood, and swiftly making his way past the three chairs, and the people in them, that separated them. Reaching her side he picked up her right hand which was on the table holding a pen and held it between both of his which let him tuck the origami into her grasp.

“Happy Valentine’s Sam,” Jack’s eyes twinkled as he released her hand.

Surprised considering the holiday had been four days ago and they’d already exchanged cards and treats, she turned her hand over to look at the origami and her heart melted as she felt a totally inappropriate sappy expression take over her face considering they were in uniform and in the midst of a highly classified meeting.

A rose.

Jack had just made her a rose.

-FINISHED

"Christmas Chatter" [drabble, Jack/Sam, K]

Title: Christmas Chatter
Author: A. Karswyll
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rated: K
Words: 640
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter
Summary: Separated by their duty, Jack in D.C. and Sam in Nevada, they take a few minutes at the end of a long day to chat about Christmas.
AN: Written for GateWorld forum's Shipmas 2011.

Home from his day in the office, Lt. General Jack O’Neill settled into a late evening of The Simpson reruns. He kept an anticipatory eye on the cordless phone placed prominently beside the TV remote as he awaited a call from Nevada. Hammond had docked at the BC-304 subterranean dry-docks today and the ship’s commander had promised to call briefly as soon as she wrapped up her duties for the day. The three hour time difference promised he would be up ‘til midnight or later.

It was well after oh dark thirty when the phone rang. The caller identification showed an unknown number but he knew the area code and happily picked up the receiver. “O’Neill.”

“Hi.” Colonel Samantha Carter’s voice sounded tired but warm on the other end of the line.

“Hi,” Jack responded with the same warmth as he muted the TV show using the remote. He did not need any background noise to keep him from feeling alone when he had her voice in his ear. “Your day went okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You sure? You don’t sound very sure.”

Sam gave a tired chuckle through the phone. “Just tired. Everything went well today. It just all took longer than expected.”

“Ah,” Jack grunted as he settled deeper into the cushions of his recliner. He knew all about those days. “Well, chin up Sam. In a few days your baby is Area 37’s to baby and you can be home for the end of the holidays.”

“Sorry about missing Christmas Day,” Sam apologised.

“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry,” Jack chided. “These things happen and we both know it. We’ll celebrate Christmas when you’re here even if it’s really your birthday. The best present is having you home anyway.”

Sam’s voice caught on the other end of the line. When she was able to speak, her voice caressing the words as she said, “Oh Jack.”

Jack cleared his throat of the emotions her voice invoked in him and forged onward. “Anyway, Cassie’s has overstocked us on the essentials already—homemade cookies and pies—and the bird is in the freezer just waiting to be cooked. Besides, even though we aren’t spending Christmas day together we will be bringing in the New Year together.”

“Yeah, I know, I just wish...” Sam sighed before deliberately lightening her voice and asking, “That bird wouldn’t happen to be named, now would it?”

“Sam,” Jack lightened his voice to match as he protested, “am I the sort of man that would feed you a turkey with a name?”

“Do you really want me to answer that Mr Doom and Gloom?” Sam dryly alluded to their last discussion about named turkeys.

“Nah,” Jack chuckled as he waved the question away with his free hand, “better not. I do promise though, that our Christmas turkey has no name.”

“Glad to hear that.” Sam approved before muffling a yawn.

“Christmas turkeys after all Sam, aren’t supposed to be named. Only Thanksgiving turkeys get names.” Jack teased and smiled to himself as he listened to Sam laugh softly in response to his humour.

“If you say so Jack.” Sam said in amusement before yawning again. “Well, I hate to make you wait up so late and talk so little, but I’m really beat.”

“You certainly sound like you’re beat. Well, goodnight Sam. See you soon.” Jack responded gently.

“Goodnight Jack. See you soon.” Sam muffled another yawn and hung up.

Jack hung up with a smile on his face. Their chat had been short but sweet. Especially as they had not ended with ‘goodbye’ or ‘talk with you later’ but ‘see you soon.’ And that was the very best way of all. Rising from the recliner, he turned off the TV, and made his way to his bed that would be lonely for only a few more days.

-FINISHED

"Turkey Talk" [drabble, Jack/Sam, K]

Title: Turkey Talk
Author: A. Karswyll
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: K
Words: 590
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter
Summary: Separated by their posts, Jack on Earth and Sam on Hammond, they take a few minutes at the end of a data burst to talk about some very special turkeys.
AN: Written for GateWorld forum's Shipsgiving 2011.

“Glad to hear everything is going as planned.” Lt. General Jack O’Neill mentally reviewed the matters of official discussion that had just occurred with the BC-304 spacecraft Hammond commander. His eye on the clock for the timed communique he was satisfied that the remaining minutes of conversation could move into a lighter vein. “Looking forward to having your Thanksgiving meal off ship?”

“Yes, Sir. The crew is looking forward to having Thanksgiving tomorrow with the Alpha Site.” Colonel Samantha Carter answered on screen. “I have heard rumours that there might be some unexpected additions to the meal.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Carter,” Jack answered blandly.

A blonde eyebrow cocked in a considering look on screen. Her reply was equally bland. “Yes, Sir. But tell me, I just learned that this year the National Thanksgiving Turkey is from Minnesota. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that now would you?”

“Turkeys are totally outside my purview Carter,” Jack protested.

“I thought in our last discussion you said that you had to work with turkeys?” Sam looked way too innocent.

“Wrong kind unfortunately,” Jack grumbled as his mood dampened for a moment at the reminder of the politician in question that had earned the ‘honour’ of being called a turkey. Almost made him long for the good old days and Senator Kinsey who at least had a clear agenda. “The real turkeys have more brains then the ones I have to deal with.”

“So Sir, do you know any of this year’s suggested names for the turkeys?”

Jack shook his head. “You know I’m not on facebook. I have no clue what the suggestions were, let alone the top ten that were submitted to the president to chose from—he hasn’t announced them yet either. Hopefully thought some of the suggestions won’t be like some of last year’s names, like Doom and Gloom.”

“You’re making that up Sir.”

“I’m serious Carter, school kids come up with the darnedest names.”

“I bet you were disappointed when Apple and Cider was chosen instead.” Sam said with a twinkle in her eye.

He gave her a roguish grin. “Yeah, but the funny thing is Carter, no one ever asks what the names of the non-pardoned turkeys are.”

On screen Sam chuckled and shook her head. “And I’m not even going to ask.”

Jack’s roguish grin morphed into a playful pout. The chime from the clock warning one minute of connection left removed the playfulness from his face. “Goodbye Sam, I’ll talk with you again during next week’s data burst. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Goodbye Jack, happy Thanksgiving.” Sam returned softly.

Their gazes held in a soft, lingering look that said more than they ever would in words over an official and recorded channel. The minute ticked away and the connection ended.

Jack stared at the blank screen for a few moments. She had one month left on this six month tour of duty. It was not the first Thanksgiving they had not been able to spend together and he knew duty dictated that it would not be the last, but still... Someday. Someday.

Rising from his chair he tugged on the snug fit of his jacket to straighten it and closed down the laptop. Picking up his cap he tucked it under his arm and departed his office whistling the tune of L. M. Child’s thanksgiving song under his breath. He had a presidential pardon ceremony to attend later today and at least at this ceremony, the right kind of turkey was being pardoned.

-FINISHED

"Smithsonian" [drabble, team, K]

Title: Smithsonian
Author: A. Karswyll
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: K
Words: 200
Characters: classic team
Summary: “Daniel, please tell me that is not the Smithsonian.”

The four intergalactic explorers and eerily silent crowd below the elevated height of the stargate regarded each other. The ones regarding each other with particular intent were the four soldiers and individuals on a speaker’s podium with accompanying guard. Behind dark sunglasses, Jack lifted his eyes from warily studying the people to the buildings beyond.

“Daniel,” Jack said in a deceptively mild conversational voice that carried over the slowly stirring crowd. “Please tell me that is not the Smithsonian.”

“Ah…” Daniel reached up and adjusted the frame of his glasses as he looked with owlish astonishment at the inauguration crowd and familiar buildings. “It looks like the Smithsonian Institution to me.”

“Carter.” It was a wordless order to find more information.

“Yes Sir,” Sam replied as she edged towards the platform’s rim, careful to move slowly and deliberately to not alarm the guards and addressed the closest uniformed body in blue. “Excuse me officer, could you tell me the date, year, and the president?” After listening to the answers and saying “Thank you” she turned back to her commander and team to report, “Sorry Sir, alternate universe.”

“Crap,” Jack sighed gustily. “Today just isn’t a good day.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c intoned.

-FINISHED

"The Aschen Confederation" Now Online

I have started posting a new Stargate: SG-1 fanfiction story online.
The Aschen Confederation
The year is 2010 and Earth has joined the Aschen Confederation. But not all realities chose to change their past. Some realities chose to change their future.
It can be read on FanFiction.NetSamAndJack.Net,  my new Google site Karswyll Central, and here. It currently has a word count of 59,250 for its 46 chapters and updates will occur twice weekly on Mondays and Thursdays.

"Extortion" Ch. 5 [short story, Jack/Sam, M]

Chapter 5

Early Monday morning dressed in her uniform, Sam leaned against the doorway of her husband's home office and sipped at the coffee in the mug she held. They had a good hour before Jack's driver would arrive to chauffeur them to the Pentagon, but Jack had been hard at work since waking up, using every minute of the weekend tying up Gold and Mackay who had been further tied to their four close friends: Wilson, McAllister, Robertson, and Sharpe.

The traces for first Gold and Mackay and then their club friends had quickly established familial relationship with six former members of the Committee organization. Searching into all six had revealed various interesting social and political activities and financial transactions. It appeared those six pampered young men were attempting to follow in their fathers' footsteps by engaging in various shadowy antics.

Most evidence also pointed to the fact that they were only on the fringes of their fathers' former activities—otherwise why would they have engaged in the colossally stupid activity of attempting to blackmail the director of the world's most powerful and secret military department by using his wife?

Well, that was the consensus the analysts had come up with and would stand until evidence supporting or disproving the theory was found. Evidence that would be secured with direct questioning following the six men's arrests and in the searches of their homes, private club, and other owned or frequented locations.

Various other individuals that were either co-conspirators or blackmail victims themselves, like those that had allowed Gold and Mackay to enter the highly restricted area housing Jack's office were suspended from their duties and were under investigation. The links to other, non-Stargate Program military activities, but regular US military activities, also meant this was a very national investigation officially under the auspices of Homeland Security Department—which was really Homeworld Security. And unlike the military officers, the Department had to walk a little more softly with identified civilian victims but Jack hoped that with the threat of their blackmailers removed they would be able to provide more information to him.

The photographic studio responsible for the fabrication of the photographs had also been located—via the financial transactions. While the proprietor initially claimed client confidentiality, he had become very cooperative when the entire Department started breathing down his neck to explain that Wilson had given him the photographs with the man and woman having sex, a remarkable look-alike, for the woman of the photographs that Gold had supplied to him.

Considering the woman's remarkable resemblance to his wife and that it actually was Cameron Mitchell in the photographs had Jack very interested in locating the look-alike and learning the results of the Lt. Colonel's questioning; who Landry had informed him a phone call ago, was sweating buckets in one of the SGC's interrogation cells. Jack could well believe it. Even if Mitchell was entirely innocent of the situation, there was still the fact that he had had sex with a woman that looked like Sam and all that could imply.

Ending his latest phone call, Jack hung up the receiver and looked over the six dossiers on his desk that been compiled over the weekend of the young men to his wife. Like her, he was already dressed in most of his uniform and their jackets—his freshly ironed—were waiting in the entrance way for when they departed for the Pentagon.

"I made eggs if you are interested in more breakfast," Sam offered softly, knowing that as Jack had been up hours before she had, he had already served himself a bowl of cereal.

"I would like that," Jack pushed away from his desk and set his briefcase onto the polished surface. He neatly stacked the six dossiers into the case and shut the latches. The five by seven envelope with the manipulated pornographic photographs was already sitting in the bottom of the briefcase.

With briefcase in one hand, Jack picked up his forgotten mug with its cold coffee, and after dropping the case in the entrance way, made his way into the kitchen to find Sam had poured him a fresh cup of coffee. Seating himself at the table he patted the chair beside him and once Sam had taken a seat beside him, twined their fingers together and showed off his dexterity by eating the eggs on the plate before him with his other hand.

Holding hands was just one such demonstration of affection that they had both showed, and needed, this past weekend as they investigated the blackmailing scheme against themselves. Those manipulated photographs had struck a solid blow, but already they were rebuilding the foundations stronger.

. . .

Exchanging smirks of accomplishment Harvey and Donald entered the section in the Pentagon that housed presidential advisor General O'Neill's set of offices again and were pleased when they were shown promptly into the general's office by his aid Davis.

As formally dressed as he was during their previous visit, the grey haired man once again looked up at them over his reading glasses only now he sat slumped in his chair and a defeated aura hung about him.

Hastily, and almost clumsily, O'Neill hurried to his feet at the sight of them being ushered into his office. "Mr Gold, Mr Mackay," he grovelled.

Harvey waved back the general dismissingly and he and Donald confidently took seats. "I see that the weekend to think things over has been good for you."

"Yes, it would be most unfortunate if decisions made in haste were to damage the career of yourself, your wife, or the president's term in office," Donald added pointedly.

"Yes, yes," O'Neill agreed with a cringe before asking with timid hopefulness as he picked up and began worrying a pen. "But certainly we can come to some… mutually beneficial agreement?"

"I am sure you can help us," Harvey said superciliously.

O'Neill looked anxiously at them as he worried the pen harder. "Help you? How?"

"Certainly a man who has the president's ear would know how to help us."

"B-but… I… I can't, what I do is highly classified and…"

"Come now O'Neill," Harvey pressed with a glint in his eye, "we wouldn't want any tabloids to get those pictures would we?"

"Surely what you do isn't worth the scandal—in fact it would certainly be impinged by such a scandal wouldn't it?" Donald added. "I think we'll start by reviewing your current projects."

The fingers worrying the pen in his grip stilled and with the defeated air of a man walking to his own execution, O'Neill reached forward to press the talk button of his office telecom. "Bring in this weekend's project files Carter."

Harvey noted that O'Neill had attempted to stall them and made a mental note to exert a suitable punishment for it a little further into their dealings.

The door behind them opened again and the brisk sound of heels against wood echoed loudly in the enclosed space. The initially dismissing glance at the entry of O'Neill's secretary turned to stares as both young men suddenly realized that it was not the man that had shown them into the office, but a blonde woman. A blonde woman who was intimately familiar to them because of the pornographic photographs they'd had made up. Her unexpected presence and current glacial expression sent a trickle of worry down their spines.

Her heels clicking together as she stood at attention beside the general's desk and formally presented the clipboard to O'Neill. "The warrants as requested Sir."

Harvey and Donald exchanged surprised looks—warrants? What was this old man playing at now?

"Thank you Colonel," the general accepted the board and flipped through the handful of pages clipped to its surface. After assuring that the last signatures were all in their proper places the general set the clipboard down. He then methodically took off his reading glasses, and with measured deliberateness folded them, and placed them on top of the search and arrest warrants.

Harvey and Donald stiffened in their seats at the icy shudder that clawed down their spines as General O'Neill suddenly seemed to change. Gone was the defeated oldness, in its place was a lethal readiness as dark brown eyes pinned them with brutal hardness to their seats.

They were unable to look away from his hard gaze as more uniformed bodies began to enter from the open office door. Only they were not the uniforms of officers, but uniforms of the military police.

"You are under arrest for blackmail, attempted blackmail, slander, and treason," Jack enumerated in a glacial voice that had broken the will of alien warriors and had no problem breaking the wills of Harvey and Donald and nearly had them pissing their pants.

"I want—I want my lawyer," Donald managed to whimper as he became aware of the MP hands closing around his arms.

"I don't think Mackay gets it, does he Colonel?" Jack asked rhetorically.

"No Sir," the blonde at his elbow replied crisply.

"Listen up boys. I am only going to say this once. What I do does not officially exist. If you can figure out how to get daddy's lawyers to defend you against something that does not exist, let me know. Until then, enjoy your cells."

As the MPs dragged the now whimpering and blubbering young men from his office, Jack made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. Disgusted at their antics and the fact that those weak young men had caused him and Sam so much pain.

Harvey Gold, Donald Mackay, Marcus Wilson, James McAllister, Colton Robertson, and Lucas Sharpe—the latter four were also in the process of being arrested once located—were about to discover that they were guppies pretending to be sharks and like any little fish that went swimming with the big boys, they would get eaten.

Sam moved from her position stiffly at attention beside her husband to close the door. Once the wooden panel was shut she made her way back to her husband and took a seat in the chair Gold had just been removed from.

Not liking that she had put his desk between them, Jack got up from his chair and rounded his desk to take a seat in the chair Mackay had been in. When he reached out between the space that separated the two chairs and grasped her hand, he was reassured when she twined their fingers together. Her free hand came up to rub at the wedding ring on his hand that was laced with hers.

"So, that's the beginning of the end of that?" Sam asked softly as she looked at the polished band. She knew that while the investigation would continue and the trials occur months down the line, the outcome considering the secret nature of the program and Jack's international authority would ensure that it was dealt with quickly, quietly, and severely.

"It is," Jack affirmed as he lifted up his other hand to cup her cheek. Sam gave a half-hearted and lopsided smile and leaned her face against his touch.

"Just, no more getting yourself blackmailed okay?" she joked feebly.

"I can't promise you anything beyond the fact that no matter what is shown to me, I will always believe in you."

Seeing the loving reassurance in his dark eyes Sam gave him one of her true, light up the room smiles, and in that moment of suspended time they knew that whatever else was thrown at them they were strong enough to stand against it as long as they had each other, and believed in each other's love.

-FINISHED


AN (Which really should have gone in the first chapter): The purpose of this short story does not really do justice to the Byzantine potential of the plot thread. The purpose was to prove to myself that I was capable of writing to a self-imposed short story limit – five chapters with each chapter not exceeding three typed pages in length. So, if writers reading this feel they can write a far more satisfactory story of the Byzantine plot I barely touched upon, please do so and tell me about the story because I would love to read it! 

Thanks for reading and to Jack O'Neill – Happy Birthday!