Work Text:
"You know, the locals probably already have names for all of these," Sam pointed out. "Also, they probably designated completely different constellations."
The colonel lazily stretched his arms out above his head as he lay on the grass beside her. "True, but this is more fun."
Sam couldn't argue with that. Besides, she was desperately in need of something to take her mind off the fact that they were currently stranded.
They'd been able to dial Earth with no problem, but when they tried to go through the wormhole, the colonel had walked smack into the event horizon like it was a brick wall. After some experimentation, they'd figured out that they could still send radio transmissions back and forth, but for some reason the 'gate was refusing to allow solid matter to pass through in either direction.
Daniel was taking this opportunity to have the time of his life making friends with the locals, and Teal'c was busy watching him to make sure he didn't get into any trouble. Sam spent her days working on the DHD while the colonel obligingly played the rubber duck; their nights were spent under the stars, coming up with increasingly ridiculous names for constellations that didn't exist.
"Look at that one," she said, pointing at a long trail of stars that stopped just short of crossing the Milky Way. "It kind of looks like a saxophone."
"Hmm. The Big… Saxophone. Saxophone Major… actually, the more I squint at it, the more it looks like a snake to me."
"A snake snake, or a Goa'uld snake?"
"Ugh. I meant a snake snake, but— hey, look, another donut!"
Sam rolled her eyes. "That's the fifth donut you've found this hour alone. Maybe you're just hungry."
"Of course I'm hungry, Carter. These people apparently don't believe in processed sugar."
She tried and failed to suppress a smile. "They're pre-industrial, sir. They don't have processed sugar."
"Their loss." The colonel propped himself up on one elbow to point across Sam at a small patch of stars. "What about that one?"
Sam followed his gaze. "It kind of looks like a seahorse."
"Really? Looks more like my sidearm to me."
She really ought to tell him to stop making her laugh so much before either or both of them ended up doing something they would subsequently regret, but she was having far too much fun to care. "Don't sell yourself short, sir."
"I meant my actual sidearm, Carter," he said with a smirk that belied his words. "But I'm flattered that you think so well of me."
Sam reluctantly gave in to the warning bells in her mind that were urging her to redirect the conversation to safer ground. "That one over there looks like a peanut."
"Huh. Yeah, it does." The colonel sighed. "God, I miss peanut butter."
"Sir, we've only been here for three days."
"Yeah, but it's been two weeks on top of that since the last time the commissary had PB&Js. And they didn't even have the good peanut butter."
Sam giggled. "The one just under it kind of looks like one of the steaks we had at O'Malley's."
The colonel sighed again, this time louder and with exaggerated longing. "And now I miss those steaks. It's a damn shame we got ourselves banned. They were really good steaks."
"Yeah, they were."
And now they were coming dangerously close to talking about things they shouldn't even be thinking about. So much for safer ground.
"Carter?"
"Yes, sir?"
There was a brief pause before he spoke again. "Carter, as long as we're stuck here, you might as well drop the 'sir'."
"Yes, sir— I mean— Colonel—" Sam cut herself off with a sigh that was half exasperated, half regretful. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I can."
It was the colonel's turn to sound regretful. "Yeah, you probably shouldn't."
Sam rolled her head to the side to look at him, finding herself mesmerized by the night sky reflected in his eyes. "I want to, though."
"Carter…"
"I know."
She omitted the sir on purpose, but he didn't comment on it. They both knew it was just an excuse, anyway.
"Carter, hypothetically speaking… if we had to stay here, what would you do?"
"Hypothetically speaking…" Sam smiled. "The first thing I'd do is reinvent the telescope."
"Somehow I knew you'd say that." His eyes grew soft and warm. "Then what?"
"Well, I assume you'd spend that same time building a proper fishing dock."
"Naturally." Jack inched closer to her. "Does that mean I'd finally be able to persuade you to come fishing with me?"
She unconsciously mirrored his movements. "If anyone could, it'd be you."
"You never agreed to before."
"Before, it wasn't hypothetical."
Jack reached out to brush a lock of hair back from her face, and she didn't stop him. "If you don't find a way to fix the DHD…"
"I might not."
He didn't believe her any more than she did, judging by the longing, somewhat rueful look on his face. "You will, as long as you keep working on it. It's what you do."
Dammit if he wasn't right. "But until then…"
"Until then…" The corners of Jack's mouth turned up in a barely perceptible smirk as he gently nudged her forehead with his. "What happens— hypothetically— under Saxophone Major stays under Saxophone Major."
Sam burst out laughing. "God, we're terrible at naming constellations."
"I don't know. I personally think 'The Baker's Dozen' has a nice ring to it."
"Technically, that's more like a group of asterisms than a true constellation."
"Wait, now I'm confused again. Is the Lesser Peanut an asterisk or a constellation?"
"It's an asterism within the Peanut Gallery constellation."
"Ah, of course. Silly me."
Sam tucked her head under Jack's chin as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. The nights on this planet tended to become rather chilly; it only made sense to share body heat, or so she told herself. "Yes, you are."