Work Text:
Sam watches him from the doorway. He's propped up in the infirmary bed, right arm secured in a sling, struggling tirelessly to rip open the little sachets of sugar and the poorly designed paper tea-bag packets with his left hand and teeth.
“Colonel,” she greets him warmly. “I’d ask if you need a hand, but I can already see that you do.”
“Carter, thank god you’re here. If I have to mangle one more little milk container I swear, I’m going to completely lose it,” he groans, immediately relenting and throwing items onto the tray-table in front of him.
“It’s okay, sir. I’m happy to help.”
“Of course you are,” he says admirably, watching her as she effortlessly finishes what he started—with her two fully functional hands.
“How’s the arm?” she asks, handing him the plastic mug (the contents presumably lukewarm by now).
“Still broken in three places. Though the plate and screws help tremendously. Attached beats unattached any day.”
“Look on the bright side sir; at least I didn’t have to splint it for you.”
“Yes, there is that.”
One of the nurses places a tray of dinner onto the table in front of him, and she's certain that she's never seen him look at something inanimate with such contempt.
“Colonel?”
He glowers at the lidded plate a moment.
“If I lift that lid… and it’s a whole petty-excuse-for-a-steak which requires both a knife and a fork… heads will roll.”
She looks hesitantly between him and his hidden meal, before lifting the lid up slightly to peek inside, then setting it back down again. “Would it be the same result if it’s a whole chicken leg? And whose head specifically would we be talking about—it’s not a proximity based decision is it?”
He groans again. “This is ridiculous—I can’t cut anything. Someone is punishing me, Carter.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case, sir.” Although, with the annoyance he causes half the time he’s in here, there’s actually a pretty good chance the unmanageable meals are intentional. “You don’t have to say yes, but since I'm here, I could cut this into pieces for you?”
He gives her a look that's somewhere between gratitude and relief. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem, really.”
She sets about reshuffling his tray into an order that makes more logical sense to a person who can’t use their dominant arm, and then starts cutting the chicken up for him. She can feel him watching her while she does; to the point that it starts to make her feel a little uneasy.
“Are you okay, sir?”
He seems to snap out of his reverie and gives her a half-hearted nod.
Then her eye catches the sight of Lieutenant Rush working on the other side of the infirmary, and Sam becomes instantly suspicious. It's no great secret that a lot of the men on the base have a crush on the nurse, and it occurs to her that the Colonel could very well be one of them. She's eyes him sceptically.
“You know sir, when I came past yesterday I actually thought you were getting by okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah… and now that I’m noticing that the lovely Lieutenant Rush is on call tonight…”
“Who?” he frowns, looking around the infirmary.
“Oh please. Don’t act like you don’t know,” she admonishes with a smile. “Are you hamming this up so she’ll come help you with your dinner?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Come on, Colonel. If our roles were reversed, I might consider clumsy hands for some extra attention too.”
“Carter, I am shocked at you.”
“I can stop if you want. You can press your call button and see if she’ll come help you," she chuckles.
“I really can’t believe you think I’d do that."
She gives him a disbelieving look, and then Janet appears holding his medical chart.
“Can’t believe you’d do what?” Janet interrupts.
“I think I’m onto something,” Sam says and glances at his perfectly cut up meal.
“Oh that. I thought you would have cottoned on days ago. Isn't it interesting that every time you visit his left hand skills take a downwards trend?” She arches her eyebrows at him disapprovingly.
Then he seem determined to avoid both women’s gaze; finding the IV line more fascinating then it really is as he tries to appear as innocent as practically possible.
“You can have more morphine now if you need it, Colonel?” Janet supplies a change in subject, though clearly not the slightest bit guilty for outing him.
“Yes. Please. Lots.”
She obliges, injecting a dose into his cannula, and Sam watches him relax back into his pillows at the immediate warm haze of relief that's being delivered. Then Janet steps away, yanking the curtain half-closed behind her, effectively screening them from the infirmary staff.
He turns to her, his eyes a little glassy and a dopey grin on his face, while she gives him a surprised look.
"What? Can you blame a guy for trying?” he says.
“You’re faking it so I will feed you and make your coffee?”
“It’s tea. And don’t make it sound like a sexist thing, Carter. It’s so not that. Also, it’s not faking if your arm really is broken, and mine really is broken.”
She shakes her head at him, unable to suppress a smile from playing over her lips.
He pats the side of his bed with his good hand, and raises an eyebrow at her in question; obviously trying to see if, despite being caught out, she’ll still entertain his behaviour.
“You’re high,” she says plainly, amused but not budging.
“Yes. I am. I couldn’t think of a more perfect excuse for my mouth getting carried away with me. Can you?”
She shakes her head again, but finds herself inexplicably obliging and sitting down in the limited space next to him, watching his brown eyes become doughier. “Is your mouth going to get carried away with you?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful.”
“That’s the morphine talking.”
“It’s really not.”
He looks so perfectly boyish right now; playful and charming. She imagines he’s this relaxed most of the time outside of the base—narcotics aside.
“Do you want me to feed you?” she asks.
“God yes.”
How can he possibly make this sound sexy? It’s not supposed to be sexy.
“You’re terrible. Shouldn’t you hate being coddled?” She forks up some chicken and offers it to him.
“Not by you.”
This feels so ridiculous, and luckily she can sort of explain this away if someone sees them, thanks to him. And maybe Janet.
“I’d do this for you, you know,” he says softly, still smiling at her.
“What, fuss over me?”
“Take care of you,” he clarifies.
It doesn’t escape her attention that his fingers are very cautiously skimming her over hers between them. She lets her fingers tangle with his.
“I know you would.”
They spend so much time tramping feelings down; it’s odd to see him being so open with her. It’s been a long time since they’ve shared any kind of moment between them, and she wonders if this is his way of reminding her that he's not forgotten. Of course, he'll blame the drugs—she will too—and she knows chances are they’re not going to talk about this a week from now anyway.
“What else would you do for me?” she asks, finally allowing herself the indulgence.
“I’d make you breakfast… make you coffee… make you com—”
Squeezing his hand, she cuts him off. “Slow down flyboy.”
“I was going to say 'make you comfortable',” he grins, “But sure, that too.”
“Oh.”
That’s embarrassing.
“Oh,” he parrots. “I know you want to get into my pants, Sam, but let’s just stick with dinner for now.”
So damn embarrassing.
“Just to be clear this doesn’t count as us having dinner. This is me feeding you dinner.”
“Yeah. I know. Thanks Carter.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Discreetly, she keeps tangling their fingers together between them, and takes her time to help him finish his meal. Even though she knows full well he doesn’t really need the help. He just wants the attention. Her attention.
And she really likes that.