Work Text:
"Carter, c'mere."
Swiftly looking both ways, the Colonel hustled her into the storage closet, and slammed the door behind him. They were enveloped in darkness, and Sam found herself automatically leaning forwards and tilting her face up, pursing her lips expectantly. There was a click. And a moment of silence.
She waited a little longer, and then opened her eyes, and blinked into the light of a torch.
"...Carter?"
She lowered her chin quickly. "Sir?"
"What are you...?"
"You wanted to talk to me, sir?"
"Um. Yeah. I wanted to... Did you think I was planning on—?"
"What did you want to talk to me about, sir?" she interrupted, quickly.
The Colonel set the torch down on a shelf. In the minimal light, she couldn't make out much of his expression. "Um," he said. Luckily, she could read his tone of voice. He'd not been thinking about their previous little indiscretions when he'd hustled her into this closet. This was legitimate, official closet business. Not closet pleasure.
So embarrassing.
"Sir?" she prompted, aware that she was really overworking that word.
"Uh, yeah." He shook his head slightly, and closed his eyes. "Carter. I think we may have a foothold situation." He opened one eye, and squinted at her.
"Really?" God, this was probably her most inappropriate timing ever.
"Yeah," he sighed. He opened both eyes, but didn't elaborate.
"A foothold situation, sir?" she asked, a little impatiently. She could really go for some kicking of alien butt right about now.
"Mm." He reached out a hand, never taking his eyes off her, and grabbed the torch.
"Sir?"
He clicked off the light.
---
END.