Little Red (mylittleredgirl) wrote,
Little Red

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fluff! SG-1! Sam/Jack!

I have escaped the one-track-mind Sheppard/Weir clutches for the day, apparently. I don't expect this to last. ;)

But for now!

Title: A Typical Morning
Author: Little Red
Category: Stargate. Sam/Jack. FLUFF.
Rating: PG
Summary: Most important meal of the day.
Spoilers: There once was a character named "Pete."
Author's Note: This was a test of the Emergency Fluff System, and a gift for besyd. And then I made her beta it.

They have breakfast together.

Not every morning -- their lives are built on unexpected circumstances -- but often. On the good mornings, they do.

She has almost always been at work for an hour or two by the time their appointed breakfast hour rolls around -- if she went home at all -- and more often than not, despite his insistence that he's not at all a workaholic like-some-people-he-knows, he's there early, too. It occurs to her at some point that it would be easier, more efficient, to just grab something to eat at her desk, but this is a tradition of sorts, and traditions are important.

Sam isn't sure when it started. As with all things between them, it probably snuck up on them gradually when they weren't looking. They both drifted into the cafeteria around the same time one morning, and the next, and the next, and it just made sense to sit together.

They talk about work, mostly. As the years pass and she falls more and more in something with him, she worries that that's strange, that it means she doesn't really know him or he doesn't know her, that she can't legitimately call him her friend -- or anything else -- when they don't really talk about themselves.

And yet -- work is almost all she thinks about. She has been on a few mostly-silent dates over the years -- or, worse, the ones where she isn't silent and receives only blank stares in return -- and infinitely prefers the easy conversations she has with him.

And when he gives her blank stares, at least she knows he means them fondly.

"Salt?" Jack says, waving a hand to rouse her from her reverie. She slides the condiment across the table with a smile and drifts back into thought as he shakes it over his plate of eggs.

The comfortable silence is nice, too. He'll have pages spread out over the table to read, or she'll be frantically pencilling ideas down before they escape her brain. Sometimes they're just too tired and hungry to care about anything except actually eating.

It's still nice to have the company. Her house always seemed too empty in the morning to eat in by herself. Even when it wasn't empty, when she had Pete to snuggle her and kiss her awake and leave her toothpaste in the wrong place, Sam found herself slipping out the door for work early to make her other breakfast appointment.

Tradition, after all. Beyond that, she was always too tired to deal with breakfast with anyone else in the morning. Pete always wanted to talk about things other than work.

"Hey." Jack nudges the edge of her plate with his fork. "Not hungry?"

He looks worried, and she smiles to put him at ease. "Just thinking."

It's quieter this morning, here in her kitchen, than in the cafeteria. With no extraneous sounds to distract her she can hear him clear his throat.

"I thought we talked about the thinking," he reminds her, and though he's smirking, she can see the edge of trepidation in his hands and face.

She doesn't blame him. They're deep in unfamiliar territory. Now that there is a rest-of-their-lives -- and she knows that's what she agreed to when she invited him home -- they won't always be able to talk about work.

She'll have to start thinking about things besides work, then, too. It surprises her how much she's looking forward to that now.

"I'm not thinking anything bad," she says, and realizes that that's completely true. "I promise."

Jack's smile is a little calmer around the edges. "Good. Now, eat your breakfast or the cook'll be insulted."

She rolls her eyes and takes a bite, used to his pestering her to eat something and not at all used to him cooking it for her. Not at all used to having him in her house, in her bed, in her life in this new way that has her alternately bouncing inside with excitement and staying up nights with what she hopes are senseless fears.

But this -- breakfast together -- this is familiar.

Sam opens her mouth to ask a question about the latest policy changes from the office of homeworld security, but changes her mind. She doesn't really want to talk about work this morning. But now he's looking at her, aware that she was going to say something, and all she can think of to fill the space is "This is nice."

Because it is.

And when he kisses her on the way to the sink with a handful of dishes, Sam can say for sure that breakfast with Jack O'Neill makes for the best kind of morning.


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