Title: Weirdly ever after

E-mail: [email protected], Feedback makes a body good

Author’s Notes: See the megadisclaimers and notes on Chapter I, pt. i. Jack finally asks and Sam is happily up for some dodgeball, but they both have a pitstop or two to make.

Chapter I: Love in the Time of Dodgeball
Part ii of iii in this chapter (Still relatively PG here. Smut soon, I swear!)

Sam turned up the radio as she sped along the all-but-deserted highway. She hummed along tunelessly to a song she didn’t know, determined to keep her annoyingly sensible brain quiet. With voluble determination, Sam was living in the moment.

She glanced up into her rearview mirror, and frowned when she didn’t see Jack’s truck in the distance behind her. Her brain caught her off guard and wondered if he was stalling. A peek down at the speedometer countered that one nicely. She eased off the accelerator bringing the car down to a mere 20 miles over the speed limit.

Even so, Sam realized, glancing at the mile markers, she was standing a good chance of beating O’Neill to his house by a wide margin. Overly talkative brain or no, she didn’t relish the idea of sitting on his porch step panting. A sudden thought seized her and she smiled broadly, whipping into the right-hand lane to just make the next exit.

Turning right off the ramp, Sam glanced down at her watch, momentarily surprised by the late hour. Daniel had been the last to leave the bar hours ago. She’d had no idea that she and Jack had sat talking for so long.

She scanned the storefronts along the busy street doubtfully, breaking out in a smile as she spied a familiar logo. “Thank you 24-hour pharmacies!” She muttered as she pulled into the parking lot.

Sliding from her car, Sam strode into the store with determination. A few graveyard-shift workers glanced at her with as much interest as they could muster. She paused in front of an end-cap display, frowning. A pimply faced teenager hopped up on caffeine slid from behind the photo counter and approached her.

“May I help you, miss,” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Have you got anything besides yellow,” Sam asked with disapproval.

“I’m not sure,” he sulked, then heaved a breath, making it clear that she was asking a great deal of him. “I could check in back. What color you want?”

“Well, red is traditional.” Sam said.

The kid nodded “Red,” and trudged off.

Sam shifted impatiently, rifling through the tabloids near the register as she waited. Looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps, Sam smiled as she saw her prize tucked under the clerk’s arm.

“Great!” She exclaimed, slapping down a five on the counter. “Keep the change.”

The clerk looked perplexed. “Do you want a bag for that?”

Sam considered this, “Yeah, if you’ve got one big enough.”

The kid nodded and unfurled a few yards of plastic and stuffed Sam’s purchase inside. She snatched the bag off the counter and waved as she hurried toward the door.

“Thank you for shopping Walgreens, miss! And have a good night!” He called after her.

“Planning on it!” Sam sang out, without turning around.

**********************************
Jack was panicking. Sam’s car was nowhere in sight ahead of him. The logical part of his brain could have told him that she was probably already sitting on the porch, given her need for speed. Unfortunately, that part had checked out the minute she walked into the restaurant wearing the littlest, blackest dress he’d ever seen.

“Evil,” he whispered, shaking his head.

He glanced toward the cell phone lying on the passenger seat, confirming that its green light was blinking steadily. She’d call if she changed her mind, right? She definitely wouldn’t just not show. Jack drew a shaky breath and willed the phone to remain silent.

As he pulled into the right lane near the exit to his house, Jack blinked as a sudden thought occurred to him. Flipping his turn signal back off, he cruised past to the next exit. He made a hard right into a parking lot and jerked the gearshift into park, sliding out of the driver’s seat almost before he could yank the parking break up. Slamming the door, he headed for the store’s brightly lit entrance at a brisk clip, worried that he’d change his mind if he didn’t move fast.

This strategy fell apart when confronted with a spate of end caps that seemed to feature nothing but snack foods. Refusing to admit defeat, Jack slung a small basket over his arm and began authoritatively throwing random objects into it as stalked the aisles. More than one employee half met his eye with an expectant, helpful look that slid away as they met the murderous look therein.

Finally happening upon the aisle he was looking for, Jack stopped. He told himself he was just considering the options. After all there were a lot more than he remembered from the last time he’d needed to visit this aisle. In truth, he was paralyzed. He could easily wind up staring at the sleek, discrete black boxes until sunrise if it meant not having to make a decision.

Just as this became a real possibility, Jack heard cautious footsteps squeaking up behind him. Jack spied an overweight teenager out of the corner of his eye. The kid coughed politely.

Jack held up a warning hand, “Do not ask me if I need help.”

The clerk gulped audibly. “Yes, sir. No, sir! I’m . . . I can check you out over in cosmetics when you’re ready, sir!” He fled.

“Screw this, O’Neill, you’re not a kid!” Jack muttered to himself savagely as he grabbed a selection of boxes sporting different colored swoops across the front and chucked them in the basket. Squaring his shoulders, he headed for cosmetics.

The kid he’d scared the crap out of moments before gave him a helpful smile to let him know all was forgiven and began scanning Jack’s item with agonizing slowness. Jack drummed his hands on the glass-topped counter and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Finally, the clerk named a surprisingly large total. Jack sighed testily as he realized he didn’t have the cash to cover it and dug his credit card out. The teenager methodically checked his signature, then asked for ID. Not having the sense to be impressed by the military ID opposite his license to hurry, he began gingerly placing his purchases in a doubled plastic bag, one item at a time.

Jack’s eyes practically crossed with impatience as he watched. He began scanning the ceiling for signs of black holes. Having bagged less than half the order, the clerk slowly lifted the first bag and set it on the counter before carefully starting another double bag.

“What are you doing?” Jack snapped.

“Bagging your items, sir!” The clerk yelped.

“Just put the rest in one bag. NOW!” Jack knew he was being an ass, but he just had to get out of there.

The clerk hesitated, which was the final straw for Jack. “Oh for cryin’ out loud!” He scooped, tossed, and plopped the rest of his things into the waiting double bag. He grunted at the weight as he snatched it from the metal bagging stand, snatched the other from the counter, and started for the door.

“But, sir!” The teenager called after him in horror, “The motor oil is going to squish the raspberry zingers!”

Continue to Chapter I, part iii, Warning! Smut at last. The next part is NC-17, so you'd better have been born on or before this date in 1987 to read