fandomtownies | Caritas, Friday Evening

"Apparently I didn't show Vader the respect he felt he was due," she shrugged.

"Ah well, a detention from Vader is practically a badge of honour. And since his idea of proper respect probably consists of cowering and kissing his feet, it's never going to happen," he reached out to squeeze her fingers, "at least not from you."

"Kissing the feet of the being that killed one of the best warriors I've ever known?" Sam snorted, glad he understood that. "Not hardly. Throwing up on them is always a possibility, though."

Nodding in understanding, Jack said, "You'd have detention for the rest of the year. Might be worth it, though." Wanting to steer them away from unpleasant topics, he decided to change the subject. "I'll admit, I'm disappointed. I was hoping you might run me ragged on Saturday, exhaust me until I can hardly move."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Lethal. "What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing specific. Thought I'd place myself entirely in your control. Your every wish, my command." Jack hid a grin. "I'm sure you could think of something to do with me. But you'll be in detention," he added sadly.

"I'm sure I could," Sam said, already coming up with vague ideas, "there's always after detention."

"That works. I've got gun club at noon, so that'll just whet my appetite." He traced a series of arcs on the bar, then tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. "What do you think? The gym? Or somewhere else."

"The gym will work. And if you're looking for something to do, you should try a jog or a swim, to build your endurance."

"The gym it is. And there's other ways to build endurance, but they need a second," or a third, or a fourth, "person," he teased. "But if I can't find anyone, I'll run around the island a few times."

"Wrong kind of endurance," Sam said dryly, "and trust me, you don't need any more of that kind."

Jack tipped his head back and laughed. "If you say so." He couldn't contain his grin. "There is something I need, though. Two things, actually," he said seriously. "It's why I'm here."

"Shoot."

"The first, a drink, dealer's choice, and the second," he snuck his hand across the bar and snagged the front of her shirt, "you. Or as much of you as I can have while you're working."

"A drink I can do," she said, pouring him a double Jack and Coke, not struggling too hard against his grip on her shirt. "And you know you've got me. But not as much as you might get later."

Jack smiled, managing to avoid all but a touch of smugness, and tugged gently, leaning forward. "Can I get a taste? Just to tide me over."

Sam grinned and leaned forward on the bar, balancing her weight on her forearms. "I suppose...can't have you wasting away, after all."

"It'd be a terrible waste," Jack agreed as he moved closer and closed his free hand around Sam's wrist. He slowly stroked his hand up her arm, across her shoulder, and then trailed it up her neck to gently grasp her chin. "And you'd miss me."

Blue eyes widened and met Jack's. "I would."

It sent an entirely unexpected rush of warmth through him, and he paused, the passionate kiss he'd intended becoming something much simpler as he pressed his lips to hers, trying to express that warmth.

Sam was okay with simple, not that kissing Jack ever was. The things he pulled from her, the things she felt when she was with him--they overwhelmed her. She sighed and rubbed her thumb over his temple. "I've said it before, but you need a warning label.

"Then people would stay away from me. And that wouldn't be any fun." He leaned into her touch, smiling slightly, feeling warm and mellow and entirely content -- which he usually did when he was with Sam. "A Property of Sam and Cedric sign will do for the moment."

"I wish I knew how to do embroidery."

Jack stared, blinked, then snickered. "Embroidery. Yeah, I have trouble seeing that." He brushed a finger across her cheek, then picked up his drink. "Maybe you could learn to tattoo?"

"Tattoos are permanent," Sam said quietly as she reached for a rag to wipe up some water rings.

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