Title: A Maneuvering Busi
Author: Christi (christim@comcast.net)
Rating: Err…uh…we’ll call it 13+. Because occasionally, in their
starched shirts and high-waisted dresses, they have very veiled and polite references
to sex and naked ankles.
Category: Insanity in fic format. (Otherwise
known as very, very AU/romance.)
Summary: “Marriage is indeed a maneuvering busi
Author’s Note: This fic is the highly crack!ified result of an extended conversation with control_freak80,
too much sugar, and my 50th viewing of the Colin Firth edition of Pride & Prejudice. Suddenly, there
was a whole mess of people prodding me to actually write the insanity. (You know who you are. I curse you all.) As I
obviously have no willpower at all, I caved, thus producing the crack!fic before you. Of course, somewhere along the line,
it sort of…spiraled completely out of control, taking on a life of its own. The
end result is a very long AU fic that utilizes pretty
much every cliché known to man, rips off a part of almost all of Jane Austen’s
plots, and is probably insufferably OOC. But I tend to think it’s rather
lovable despite all that. As always, thank to my betas: control_freak80,
caroly_214, and kate98.
Dedication: I don’t normally bother with dedications, as I tend to think
it’s a bit pretentious for fanfic, but this had to be
dedicated to control_freak80, who’s been there listening to me ramble and
obsess over this fic daily since the crazy night of
LJ posting that spawned it. I feel like it’s nearly as much her baby as it is
mine.
--
“Life seems but a quick succession of
busy nothings.”
~
--
Small towns are worlds of their own, predictable in their tedium and
intrigues alike. The
Perhaps it was not the most exciting way of life, but most residents of
Gateshire found it acceptable enough. There was always something to do,
someplace to go, and someone to gossip about. And if these events all seemed
important at the time, but were later reflected upon as rather insignificant,
well then, there were worse things than living a harmless (if somewhat
inconsequential) life.
Of course, nothing stays the same forever, not even places like
Gateshire. People come, people go, and society adapts as it sees fit. One event
that precipitated such a shift in society was the news that the long-abandoned
estate of
While not quite the largest of
the local estates, Cheyenne Manor came in as a close second. Anyone who had the
means to simply buy such a property, sight unseen, was worthy of plenty of
speculation. It wasn’t long before the rumors began to circulate about the new
landlord and his background.
It seemed to be a truth universally agreed upon that he was a war hero
of some kind—well respected in the army and regretfully retired before his
time. That singular fact was the only detail that could be agreed upon by the
general population, the rest of the reports being so dissimilar and some so
ludicrous that no one knew quite what to expect with his approaching arrival.
Some insisted that he had married a foreign savage and had spent time
living among them in
Perhaps the most disturbing to some was his supposed Irish heritage, but
it was easily dismissed because no one knew of any Irishman rich enough to
afford luxuries like the grand Cheyenne Manor.
--
In actuality, Colonel Jack O’Neill was
Irish, but the connection was such a distant one that all he had retained from
the oft-cursed island was his surname and his somewhat questionable sense of
humor.
As for the other reports, well, there was a strange mixture of truth and
falsehood in them that only the man himself could clarify—and he was certainly
in no hurry to do so. When he finally did
arrive just after spring planting, the rumors were left by the wayside as
people became fascinated by the oddity that was the actual man.
He had brought with him scant few belongings, two general servants and a
notoriously efficient Man of Affairs named Walter Harriman. Perhaps most
scandalous of all was his last traveling companion—a tall, large, and
completely foreign fellow who rode in robes of unknown fabrics and had skin the
color of freshly-plowed earth. As if that wasn’t enough, tattoos in an alien
tongue glistened on his skin in black and gold and his name was unlike any
Christian name the residents of Gateshire had ever heard—Teal’c.
The town at large may have been able to digest these particular oddities
easily enough, especially for a high-ranking military man of wealth (and
conveniently, handsome appearance) such as Colonel O’Neill. But before the town
had a chance to adjust, the newcomer’s questionable behavior only increased. He
refused to visit anyone, even his closest neighbors the Langfords, who were
widely known and respected. When people went to visit him, as decorum demanded
of new neighbors, he was in turn either moderately civil or downright abrupt.
He rejected invitations to parties and balls, and generally holed up in his
newly acquired house without much regard to the opinions of those who
surrounded him, which is, as everyone is well aware, the worst sin of all in a
small town.
In truth, it was his intention to offend no one; Colonel O’Neill had the
sole desire to be left to his own devices and mind his own busi
A fortnight after his arrival, the general consensus was that Gateshire
was wholly unimpressed with Colonel O’Neill. Behind closed doors, however, no
one person had been the object of so much discussion since the Earl of
Langford’s niece, Vala Maldoran, had run off with a
traveling band of gypsies while she had been visiting her great uncle for the
summer. Men thought he was rude and brilliant in turn, women believed him to be
mysterious and romantic, and children began to dare each other to sneak onto
Cheyenne Manor’s land as a test of bravery.
Jack O’Neill was predictably oblivious to it all.
--
“His manners required intimacy to make them
pleasing.”
~Sense and Sensibility
--
This all might have
remained the state of affairs for quite some time had a random but fortuitous
series of events not occurred. The first was that Colonel O’Neill had taken to going
on morning walks, exploring the acres of woods and fields now under his
purview. The second was that the fencing that separated his property from that
of his neighbor’s was in a rather piteous state of disrepair, and sheep from
both estates had been wandering back and forth across the border for some time.
The third was that the Carters, long-time residents of Vorash
Hall and the aforementioned neighbors, were perhaps even more infamous than the
Colonel himself for their oddity.
Separately, none of the
facts would have amounted to anything particularly notable, but when combined,
they led to Colonel O’Neill wandering rather aimlessly through the woods on his
far property line when a rather muddy shoe fell from a tree above and landed
with a solid thump squarely atop his head.
Understandably
bewildered, he bent over to pick up the offending piece of footwear. “What in
heaven’s name…?”
“I did not throw it at
you,” an undeniably female voice said from the tree above him. “It just slipped
off.”
He looked from the shoe to
the tree and back again. “I am not certain I believe you.”
“Have you ever tried to
climb a tree in shoes like that? Not practical at all. No grip.”
“Well, why didn’t you
wear more appropriate footwear then?” he asked, not bothering to ask why his
mystery conversation companion was in the tree in the first place—that, he
assumed, would be revealed in due time.
“I didn’t know I was
going to be climbing trees today, now did I?” she pointed out rationally. “But
this tree has the best view of the fence, and I needed to see where it’s broken
through.” She was silent a moment before adding, “Now that I think of it, I should have thrown that shoe at you.”
Feeling more than a
little disconcerted by this statement from a mysterious tree-dwelling stranger,
the Colonel stared up into the branches of the tree above him. “Have I done
something to incur your wrath?”
“The fence is on your
property, and therefore, your responsibility. Yet, when you neglect it, it’s my sheep that go missing. So, other than
leaving it in its current pathetic state of disrepair, no, you have done
nothing to provoke me. But I am certain you will eventually. Consider the shoe
an advance against future wrongs.”
Not really knowing the
correct response, as Jack O’Neill wasn’t exactly the most refined in everyday
situations, let alone scenarios involving renegade slippers, he merely said
what was on his mind. “In that case, shouldn’t I get both shoes? Best to get a
head start on these things, you know.”
Something that sounded
suspiciously like an indelicate snort reached his ears right before a second
shoe sailed straight at him. This one he managed to catch before it hit
anything vital. “Well, you certainly are a singularly unique sort of man.”
“Coming from the young
lady in the tree, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Ah, but I shall soon be
in a tree no longer. I’m coming down,” she corrected before a flash of a muddy
petticoat and white ankles entered his line of sight. He turned because it was
the gentlemanly thing to do, or so he supposed—not that he was feeling
particularly like a gentleman at the current moment.
Or that he ever did,
really. Still, it seemed best to at least try.
A gentle thud sounded as
a body hit the ground behind him, and when he turned around he finally caught
glimpse of his mystery woman. Not nearly as young as she sounded, he decided as
he studied her flushed face. But beautiful in an uncommon kind of way—wide blue
eyes and coils of golden hair and a smile unlike anything he had ever seen—and
Colonel O’Neill had seen a lot in his time. “May I have a name to put to the
face of my attacker?” he asked, trying to be charming.
“Samantha Carter. My
father owns Vorash Hall, just south of here. And
you’re Colonel O’Neill.”
“How did you…?”
She took one shoe from
him, then the other, using his shoulder to balance herself while slipping them
back on, as though such a casual display of intimacy was an everyday
occurrence. “News travels quickly in Gateshire—gossip even faster. You’re
rather infamous these days.”
Not quite certain how to
feel about that, the Colonel decided to circumvent the issue entirely. “Well, I
am pleased to meet you, flying footwear and all. And I will be sure to send
someone out to look at the fence as soon as I get back to the house.”
She had the grace to
look a bit embarrassed by the whole incident now that she had two feet firmly
planted on the ground, both literally and figuratively speaking. “Thank you, on
both accounts.”
Perhaps it was Teal’c’s influence, but he found himself bowing ever so
slightly in response. “Of course.”
Seemingly flustered,
Miss Carter flushed. “Yes, well. I should return. Mr. Siler, my Man of Affairs,
wanted to discuss tenant rates this afternoon.”
Surprised in spite of
himself, O’Neill spoke before he had a chance to think about what he was
saying. “Is that really a matter with which you need concern yourself?”
Stiffening, Miss Carter
glared rather indecorously in his direction. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”
He was fairly certain
that there was no safe response to such a query. “Well, it is certainly not
usual for a lady of your position to attend to such matters.” He may have
forgotten a lot about British gentility in his years of travel, but that much
was very clear.
“Perhaps. I, however, am
not very ‘usual.’”
With that, she flounced
off through the trees, leaving a somewhat bewildered Colonel staring after her.
He wondered how long it would take Walter to discover what he could about his
new neighbor—for once, he had a bit of an interest in the matter.
--
Walter would have little
trouble in uncovering information about the Carter family, or even Samantha
Carter in particular—she was a favorite subject of discussion in town. It
seemed that her entire existence was a string of social gaffes, each more
shocking and unseemly than the last. They began in her childhood and continued
into a timeframe as recent as last week—though if the gossipmongers had known
of the incident in the woods that afternoon, that estimate would have been
revised once again.
The Carter family was
respected and ridiculed in almost equal measure. They came from a long history
of money and good breeding, and General Carter was widely known as a hero in
the Royal Army. However, his near constant absence since the death of his wife
almost two decades ago had endeared him to no one in Gateshire, and the fact
that he let his daughter run his estate rather than hire some kind of manager was
considered by some to be downright offensive. Luckily, he was rarely around for
anyone to tell him so, and when he was
present, no one would have dared mention it.
Samantha herself was the
real cause for concern in the minds of many citizens. The disgrace of being
raised without any female role models to speak of was bad enough, and her
behavior only highlighted the indelicacies such neglect had given rise to. Naturally
headstrong, obstinate, and outspoken, the general opinion was that she knew
entirely too much about busi
Unfortunately, despite
her many faults, it was a bit difficult to actively dislike Samantha Carter. She had a brilliance that shone, even
through her sometimes considerable temper, as well as the gift of charming
people without any particular effort that had served her well on more than one
occasion. It had also led to what was perhaps the largest blemish on her
reputation as a respectable young woman—the string of jilted fiancés she could
boast to. Most had lost count of the exact number of men that had flitted in
and out of Samantha’s life, but the fact was that they were both very numerous
and very dismissed.
But none of that mattered
where she was headed this particular morning—on a visit to one of her tenants
and closest friends, Janet Fraiser.
Her continued
camaraderie with the town’s midwife was yet another strike on young Samantha’s
record of public opinion. Besides being more than a degree or two lower than
Samantha on the social ladder, Janet Fraiser was generally considered a public
menace—until someone found themselves in the midst of a particularly difficult
labor, that is.
Mrs. Fraiser had married
young, and though the marriage had been a good one for someone of her family
and wealth, the middle-aged son of a relatively prosperous local farmer, it was
apparently fraught with marital discord. After three years, she had left her husband, taking it upon
herself to move into a small cottage on the Carter estate, paid for with the
profits of her midwifery and the various other small medicinal services she
offered to passersby. When the man she had married died unexpectedly in a
farming accident several years later, she seemed genuinely undisturbed by the
news—she hadn’t even donned the traditional black of a mourning widow.
To make matters worse,
several years ago she had aided a young servant girl who had found herself in a
family way out of wedlock. It had been a difficult delivery and while she had
managed to save the baby, the young mother had died. Instead of doing the
expected and sending the child away to an orphanage in the city, Janet had
chosen to take the baby under her own wing, raising it alone. As Miss Carter
was the only person in three provinces who had supported her decision, she had
become the child’s godmother. So a friendship was forged that lasted to this
day, much to the disdain of the general public.
Of course, Samantha
Carter had long ago given up caring about the opinion of the general public,
which is why she gave no thought to strolling down the lane to see her friend
on this or any other morning.
“Good morning, Cassie,”
she called to the girl hanging laundry on a line in the yard.
Taking the excuse to
abandon her chores, the eleven-year-old girl ran to her enthusiastically,
wrapping her in a hug so tight that Samantha struggled to breathe. Ruefully,
Samantha thought that if everyone showed affection so easily, the world might
be a much friendlier place. “Sam! Did we know you were coming?”
“No, I was just on my
way home and thought I’d stop by. Where’s your mother?”
“In the kitchen. She was
mashing something when I checked last.”
Besides being a midwife,
Janet had a considerable talent for making poultices and teas. Everyone in the
town used them, although no one admitted to it. Janet didn’t particularly care
one way or the other, as long as she was paid.
After one last hug,
Samantha head inside, ducking through the low threshold and smiling at the
sight of her friend elbow-deep in herbs. “There you are.”
Janet smiled, wiping her
hands on her apron to go and greet her friend. “Yes, as usual. What a pleasant
surprise! Can you stay long? I could make some tea.”
“Regretfully, no. There
are some busi
A cupboard wedged into
the far corner was laden heavy with mysterious jars and bottles; Janet picked
out one easily and handed it to her. “Don’t be ridiculous, just take it. What
did Mr. Siler manage to do to himself this time?”
Mr. Siler was known
throughout this county as being one of the best men around—and also one of the
most prone towards incident. “To be honest, I’m not certain. I know a plow was
involved. One moment, he was fine, and the next he’s got another gash.”
The slightly older woman
nodded serenely. “Men are like children in that respect—and many others.”
Quickly exasperated with the subject of the opposite sex, Janet turned her eye
to Samantha’s somewhat haphazard appearance, which really wasn’t that unusual.
“You really should just try wearing those old trousers of your father’s if
you’re going to prance around the countryside like you do. Much more
practical.”
Ruefully studying her
muddied petticoats, part of Samantha silently agreed. “Yes, well, one scandal
at a time. I’ve been unseemly enough for one day, and it isn’t past
Delighted (but, to her
credit, trying not appear as if she was), Janet smiled. “Do tell.”
Waving her hands as if
to brush the whole matter into nothing
“So he does exist,” Janet remarked dryly. “And?
How did you find him?”
Hesitant of her feelings
on the matter, Samantha fretted over the matter. “Vexing. And diverting. And…I’m
not quite certain, really.”
Janet knew that for
Samantha, such uncertainty was an altogether uncommon occurrence. “I was in a
tree and he—well, I accosted him.”
Her friend blinked in
surprise. “Samantha, I know I’ve been pressing you to expand the limitations of
your role in society, but even I think that’s going a bit too far.”
“Oh, no! It was an
accident. My shoe fell off.” The delicate skin of her pale cheeks flushed a bit
as she admitted, “I think he may have seen my ankle.”
At that, Janet merely
rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid.”
--
“One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own
best.”
~Persuasion
--
Walter Harriman, Esq., had been watching for the return of his employer
all morning, and so when the man finally approached the house from the east, he
was so relieved that he didn’t at first notice the decided difference in Colonel
O’Neill’s manner. “Sir,” he said, falling in step with the Colonel, “I have
several forms for you sign. Also, the post has come this morning. There were
three invitations to dinner and one to a ball of some sort that you’ll need to
take into consideration. And finally, the housekeeper has brought a rather
troublesome matter to my attention…”
O’Neill barely glanced at him, an event that was too-oft repeated for
Walter’s preference. “Yes, yes, Walter, but I’m sure you can handle all that.
Have you seen Teal’c?”
In point of fact, Walter made it a point to know where the exotic man
was at all times, in part because O’Neill invariably would ask and in part
because Walter had a slight fear of the man. “Last I saw him, he was in the
study. Sir, I really need you to look at some of these…”
For a blessed moment, Walter though he might be making progress, because
O’Neill actually took some of the
items that Walter had been waving in his general direction. However, as they
headed into the house, he gave them little more than a passing glance, instead
calling out, “Teal’c! Oh, Teeeaaaaal’c…”
Appearing silently and without warning, the large black man emerged. “I
am here, O’Neill.”
Walter jumped about a foot at the sound of his voice and then spent the
five minutes after that pretending as if he hadn’t. O’Neill, of course, didn’t
even flinch.
“Teal’c, good! Listen, there’s a fence that needs mending. Care to lend
a hand?”
At this, Walter felt a pressing need to chime in. “Sir, really, we can
send someone out to…”
Teal’c bowed slightly. “I would be pleased to aid you in your task,
O’Neill.”
Walter sighed. Of course he
would.
“Excellent!” Looking around the formal room vaguely, O’Neill continued,
“We’ll need tools…”
Knowing that it was now a lost cause, Walter supplied, “In the stables, sir.
I’ll have someone bring out the necessary equipment.”
For this, he received an enthusiastic slap on the back. “Thank you,
Walter!”
Walter just nodded and walked back towards the exit, wondering yet again
why he had taken this position.
--
Having finished most of her busi
Luckily, her good friend Daniel Jackson had visited the prior afternoon,
and being the wonderful friend that he was, had provided her with several of
the most recent scientific journals. There was not a day that passed by that
Samantha was not glad for Daniel Jackson’s friendship, and thus, for the turn
of events that had precipitated his somewhat unique position in life. The best
that could be said for his true blood lines was that they were unobjectionable,
which wasn’t saying very much at all. However, as a young man, he had found
himself the victim of tragic circumstances when both of parents perished in a
boating accident.
Having no other relations willing or able to take him in, life would
likely have been very unkind to poor Daniel had fate not intervened in the form
of Lord Langford, the Earl of Abydos. He resided in Abydos Abbey on the south side of Gateshire and was one of Gateshire’s most esteemed citizens. Lord Langford’s only
child, a daughter named Catherine, had determined not to wed, having lost her
fiancé decades ago in a mysterious disappearance at sea. At the loss of any
promise for heirs, Lord Langford had taken in Daniel, who had already proved
himself to be a particularly bright child.
All of this was little consequence to Samantha except that it meant
Daniel had access to several of the newest publications in the areas of
scientific discovery, a subject upon which Samantha could dwell for endless
hours. Ever obliging and willing to encourage his friend’s somewhat unique interests,
Daniel normally brought over whatever he could find when he came to call, and
yesterday had been no exception.
Happily locating one of the aforementioned pamphlets, Samantha set out
across the hills, preferring to do her reading in the solitude of the
countryside rather than in the house that always seemed too stuffy and
over-crowded with servants and the like. While she traveled in no conscious
direction, it was perhaps not only by chance that she wandered to the far
boundary of her family’s extensive property.
To be fair, Samantha was so engrossed in her reading that she took note
of very little around her, including the sounds of conversation and hammering
floating over the breeze towards her. She was only pulled violently out of her
science-induced reverie when a very loud and really, very rude curse was yelled
in the air by a definitively masculine voice, one she already recognized:
Colonel O’Neill.
Looking up, she was startled to find herself nearly upon the Colonel and
his companion, both of whom were focused on her, though the Colonel was shaking
his hand where he seemed to have just hit it squarely with a hammer. But more
startling than his expression of shock and pain or his companion’s alien
appearance was the fact that both men (who had assumedly been working outside
for some time) had completely divested themselves of their shirts, leaving only
an expanse of muscled, sweaty, and tan skin visible in the sunshine.
“Oh. Oh! Oh, I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just…well, I
wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, you see, and….” She began to back
away, flustered. “I do apologize.”
Before she could flee completely, O’Neill called out to her. “Miss
Carter! Please, it’s all right. As I was informed just this morning, the land
on the east side of this fence belongs to you and you alone—you have intruded
nowhere.”
Turning back and wondering if she’d ever recover from this mortifying
experience, Samantha tried to make amends while doing her best to look
everywhere but at the two men before her. “Yes, well…all the same…”
O’Neill simply shrugged it off. “Do not let it worry you further.” A
moment of awkward silence descended upon them and Samantha shifted silently,
wondering if there was some social etiquette lesson she had missed that allowed
for situations such as these. “Oh! Miss Carter, this is my comrade and good
friend, Teal’c. Teal’c, this is Miss Carter.”
Embarrassment lost against curiosity and Samantha performed a pretty
curtsy in the big man’s direction. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
His bow was more of a tilt of the head, regal and strangely flattering.
“And you, Miss Carter.”
Finding his quiet demeanor soothing to her somewhat frazzled nerves,
Samantha studied the markings that adorned his body. When she realized that he
was watching her, she blushed a bit. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude; I
was just admiring them. Are you of Egyptian descent, then? They seem very
similar to the markings my father would on occasion copy down in letters to
me.”
Her interest, rather than being offensive, seemed to please Teal’c and
surprise O’Neill. “Indeed, Miss Carter, I originated in
“I would say so,” she replied with a bit of a laugh in her voice. Though
he did not laugh in return, she thought he saw the spark of humor in his deep
eyes and it eased her mind further.
After the short moment of silence that was so common among new
acquaintances, O’Neill started a new subject, while trying to subtly reach for
his discarded clothing. “What were you reading? You were so enthralled…”
Looking down at her surprisingly forgotten pamphlet, she fingered it a
moment. “Oh. An
Experimental Enquiry Concerning the Source of the Heat which is Excited by
Friction.”
O’Neill paused in the fluid movement of buttoning
his shirt, seemingly a bit bewildered. “Pardon me?”
“An
Experimental Enquiry Concerning the Source of the Heat which is Excited by
Friction,” she recited once again. “It’s a new theory from Benjamin
Thompson on the validy of thermodynamics as seen through the old caloric model.
Very controversial, because he challenges the old belief that…” Seeing that his
eyes had taken on a strange sort of glazed look to them, she stopped. “It’s
just a bit of light reading,” she finally offered a bit sheepishly.
For a moment there was no reaction at all, but then the corner of his
mouth turned up in a strange sort of half-smile that Samantha found strangely
attractive. It even distracted her from the fact that he was tying his tie
completely incorrectly. “Right. And here we thought we were being highly
intellectual in our meager attempts to fix a fence.”
She glanced down at the fence, then back at him. “Definitely not. You’re
doing it wrong.”
--
Studying the fence, Jack could not find any significant fault with it,
so he wasn’t entirely certain what Miss Carter was talking about. “I’m afraid I
don’t understand. I fashioned this joint after the rest of the fences
surrounding my property.”
“Yes, to the woe of all your neighbors,” she replied, crouching next to
him and running a strangely capable hand down the wood of a crossbeam. “The
previous owner of your home cared more for his pocketbook than he did for the
welfare of his neighbors or even his animals. As such, all of your fences were
built quickly and cheaply. But if you take more time and cross-support the
beams here and here, it will last you twice as long. Perhaps longer still if
the winters aren’t too harsh.”
Now that she explained it and had pointed out the precise location of the
flaws, they seemed glaringly obvious, explaining the general tilt to the fence
that had been perplexing him. Even Teal’c seemed impressed by the quiet
confidence reflected in Miss Carter’s explanation, because even in his country,
finding such knowledge in a woman was rare indeed.
Searching for something to say that wouldn’t offend the woman who he had
already gathered could be prickly with regards to issues of her sex, Colonel
O’Neill finally cleared his throat. “Well, it seems that I have a problem then,
doesn’t it?” She shot him a confused look, so he further clarified, “I do not
wish to be the source of any inconvenience for my neighbors. They do not know
me well as of yet and I doubt that keeping my fences in such a questionable
state would endear me to them at all.”
Not that he was worried about that sort of thing—he honestly had little
care for the opinions of others. Still, there was a problem and he had been
presented with a solution for it—it seemed only natural, in this situation, to
act. “We will begin remedying this tomorrow. It may be slow going, but we
should be able to have most of the fences repaired before the end of the
season.”
At least now he had something to occupy his time. He was getting tired
of trying to find spots to fish in the lake where Walter could not easily
discover him.
Miss Carter remained kneeling next to him, eyes trained on his features,
studying him. “If you like…” she began hesitantly. “That is, if you would care
for—well. I know the perimeters of your property almost as well as my own, and
by extrapolating geographic elements as well as sheep grazing patterns, well, I
think I could show you what areas need tending to the most. If you wish.”
O’Neill really hadn’t caught much of that, but he did understand that her offer meant spending a considerable length
of time with the unusual lady, which was something that he found appealing.
“You wouldn’t mind? I do not wish to take you away from your considerable
duties at home for too long.”
Another peculiar look crossed her face, as though she had expected to be
reprimanded for such an offer. “No. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Very well then. Teal’c and I shall meet you here…tomorrow
She smiled then and in the face of such an expression, it was impossible
not to smile even a little in return. “Yes, that shall be fine.” She turned to Teal’c
and curtsied a little, then took her leave.
The two men watched her make her way down the hill until she was out of
sight. “Teal’c?”
“Yes, O’Neill?”
“I…she’s not…she’s very…different, isn’t she?”
“Indeed.”
--
“It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy--it is
disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people
acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”
~Sense and Sensibility
--
The next morning dawned a bit rainy with a touch of grey fog, which was
not at all uncommon for a seaside town like Gateshire. Still, Samantha set out
a little early to the meeting place in order to avoid a late arrival. After
all, being prompt was one of the first lessons you learned as a General’s
daughter.
Her mare was pleased to be out of the corral, trotting through the mud
with little to no protest. The fog thinned out as she made her way up the hill,
and she was momentarily surprised to see Colonel O’Neill and Teal’c already
waiting, sitting astride two geldings patiently.
She had spent most of her evening the previous day preoccupied with thoughts
of them. They were oddities in Gateshire, and as a long-established oddity, it
was something she could appreciate. More than that, however, she wondered about
their backgrounds—what motivated a man who by all accounts had been on the path
for General to retire and move to the country abruptly? What kind of man did it
take to inspire a foreigner to follow him across the sea and do the same? Was
there a sordid history there, as some suspected, or was it just their
respective wishes to cease the soldiering life—Lord knew that her father had
often considered doing the same, despite his dedication to the job.
None of it really mattered, she supposed, but it weighed on her
nonetheless. Still, she could be determined to think only of the present—for
now, her world consisted of fences and sheep and being pleasing company.
Pulling up next to the fence easily, she nodded at her companions. “Good
morning. You haven’t been waiting long, I hope?”
“No, we just got here,” O’Neill assured her. “So tell us, Miss Carter—which
direction?”
She pointed north, where the fence stretched down the hill and into the
mist. “Most of the damage is on the north side—this area was repaired not too
long ago.”
They set off in a companionable silence, and would have continued in that
manner for some time had Teal’c not surprised her by breaking it. “You have a
fine animal, Samantha Carter.”
A bit taken aback by the stoic man’s compliment, she replied without
thinking too thoroughly. “Oh, yes. Jolinar was a gift
from my fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” O’Neill parroted before she had realized her slip.
“Oh. Ex-fiancé. Martin Tokra. Nice man—a
barrister. Dead now, I believe.” It was interesting, from a scientific
perspective—she could hear herself
rambling inanely, and yet, she couldn’t seem to stop it.
“…Ah. Jolinar? That’s an interesting name,
especially for a horse,” O’Neill commented, having the grace to ignore the rest
of it.
Samantha couldn’t help but smile, running her fingers through the thick
mane. “Yes. As our courtship progressed, it became increasingly clear that
Martin was in fact, still taken with his first love—a fine lady by the name of Jolinar. In the end, she married the man and I kept the
horse.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up ever so slightly, perhaps with a bit
of bewilderment. “And yet you name your animal after her?”
For lack of any better response, Samantha shrugged. “A gesture of
thanks, you might say.”
If either man were the type to laugh, she thought they might have just
then. As it was, she drew half-smiles from both of them, which she considered
to be a fine beginning.
--
After arriving at the first place in the fencing that really needed
repair, they dismounted so that Miss Carter could show them all the faults in
its current construction one more time—preferably with an explanation
consisting of much shorter words, because he really hadn’t gotten much out of
the last one: something about levers and pivots and the gravitational forces on
a slope compared to a horizontal plane and after that, Jack had stopped trying
to follow along.
Luckily, it seemed as though Samantha had caught on, for this time, she
merely pointed to one end of a board and said, “This needs to go up here.”
Now those were instructions he
could follow. He looked at her and smiled. “Why didn’t you say that the first
time?”
“I did.”
Jack was pretty sure she hadn’t, but it didn’t matter. If Miss Carter
said the fence needed to be fixed, then he’d take her at her word—after all,
she certainly had more experience with such matters than he or Teal’c did. The
specifics of the situation weren’t really a requirement. “As you like,” he
teased lightly, and was rewarded with a wide smile in response.
“Forgive me. I’ll try to remember to speak more plainly for your benefit
from here on,” she said lightly.
“Such a gesture would certainly be appreciated. I’m not sure my
constitution could handle being exposed to such serious matters on a regular
basis.”
In response, she rolled her eyes, a delightfully unreserved reaction
that he reveled in. “Somehow, I think you would manage just fine.”
“You give me too much credit,” he assured her, noticing that her eyes
kept trailing from his face to his throat. It wasn’t much of a movement, but it
was slightly distracting. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
To his surprise, the lady that had just been jesting with him so freely flushed.
“Oh. It’s nothing. Well…” she stepped a bit towards him, arms raising a bit.
“Do you mind if I…?”
Truthfully, he hadn’t the slightest clue what she was about to do, but
he figured that any excuse to touch the ever increasingly attractive Miss
Carter was allowable. At his nod, she stepped even closer and her hands came to
rest on his…tie?
Nimble fingers picked at the knot, quickly loosening it and beginning
the process of refastening it before he realized that it must have been put on
incorrectly. He wasn’t sure if her attention to detail was flattering or
embarrassing, but at least she was kind enough not to tease him about it.
In fact, when she noticed what must have been a rather chagrined look
cross his features, she merely smiled kindly. “It was a small error—I might not
have noticed it all except that you did the same thing yesterday when putting
it back on.”
“I did?” he asked, startled at that information.
“Yes. My father has similar problems—he’s so accustomed to his
regimentals that he often finds pedestrian clothing more foreign to him than
even Mr. Teal’c’s garb might be. I can’t tell you how
frequently I have had to reorder some piece of his attire.” A final pull and
she pulled away, studying him. “There. Much better.”
He touched it and found that it pinched significantly less now.
Interesting. “My hero.”
Delight filled him when another roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh
were her only reply.
--
"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the
other."
~Emma
--
A week later, Walter Harriman was at the end of his rope. He had known
when taking this job that his employer had a history of being difficult to deal
with, but the true extent of the man’s obtuse nature could never have been
anticipated. Instead of tending to matters that legitimately needed tending to,
like dealing with the demands of tenants or the repair and restoration of the
East Wing and its subsequent decoration, the man had spent the last seven days
tending to that fence, a task even the lowliest farm hand could have easily
completed.
What’s more, O’Neill had yet to accept any invitations from the local society.
Not one tea attended or card game played or ball danced at—in fact, Walter
himself was more widely known in Gateshire society than the man he worked for,
a state of affairs that could not be allowed to continue if Colonel Jack
O’Neill was to have any kind of positive reputation in his new neighborhood.
Desperate to change the status quo, Walter was forced to resort to
extreme measures. After careful consideration, he decided that the best course
of action would be to simply prevent the Colonel from continuing his work on
the fence. Having decided on this course of action, he was prepared when O’Neill
came to him one Thursday morning, looking predictably puzzled.
“Walter,” he started, bewilderment in his voice, “do you know where all
of the nails might be?”
“Nails, sir?” Walter parroted.
“Yes, for the fence. We had a whole…I didn’t think Teal’c and I had gone
through that many, but today they’re
not….” He trailed off, glancing back at the stable as though it would suddenly
provide him with a suitable answer.
“Perhaps you have gone through all the nails on hand. I can have someone
run down to town and fetch some, if you like.”
“I…no, no, don’t worry about it. Teal’c and I can go ourselves this
afternoon.”
“Very well, sir.”
O’Neill wandered off, still looking a bit bewildered, and Walter sighed
with relief. A trip to town was a beginning, albeit a small one. At least this
way people could see him, and he’d be forced to exchange words with at least a
small handful of people. Now he simply had to figure out what to do with the
thirteen boxes of nails currently residing under his bed.
--
Samantha Carter gritted her teeth and tried to walk a little faster
without actually giving in to the urge to pass out. For once she was dressed up
in full visiting gear. Certainly, that was reason enough to be uncomfortable,
but on top of the unfamiliarly formal attire, the only corset she had been able
to find that morning was at least one size too small. She had been putting off
obtaining another new one and now was suffering for her procrastination, barely
able to draw breath in the horridly tight undergarment, let alone gasp in
enough air to properly hasten her way to the afternoon tea to which she was
perilously close to being late for.
Her monthly tea with Lady Travell was what Samantha thought of as a
necessary evil—evil because the woman was everything that people thought
Samantha should be and nothing she
actually wanted to be, but necessary
because keeping the appointment meant staying on the narrow edge of good
opinion that was so dearly held both by Gateshire citizens and, more
importantly, General Carter himself. In one of her few allowances to these
opinions, Samantha continued to don her most staid outfit, tightest corset, and
horrifyingly prim boots in order to spend a miserable afternoon once a month
discussing whatever small talk Lady Travell threw in her direction while in the
company of all the other ladies of “good” society.
Of course, things never seemed to go quite smoothly. Today, for
instance, Samantha had merely been running an experiment on the pH of soil with
regards to the growth rates of various plants and before she knew it, it was
past
All of this contributed to her current rush, trying to make her way through
the main part of town without getting any of the abundant mud in the streets
permanently mashed into her petticoats, a feat she had never quite mastered.
(In fact, she quite suspected that the secret to walking through all sorts of
muck and coming through unscathed was one of those skills passed down from
mother to daughter, and as such, she had been doomed to failure by
circumstance.) Still, she was making a fair amount of progress—more than two
thirds of the way there and still no major stain marring her voluminous skirts.
That is, until she looked down for a good place to cross a particularly
muddy section of street and was nearly run over by a solid wall of muscle and
man coming from the opposite direction. The impact registered, and for a few
seconds time seemed to slow while her balance wavered, then failed her. With what
she would be a bit disturbed to know came out as a squeal, Samantha went
reeling back into the mud, pulling her assailant down with her.
A few horrified seconds later, she opened her eyes to see Colonel
O’Neill staring back at her. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, inching her way
out from under him and standing up to take stock of the damage, “forget
throwing shoes. I should have shot
you.”
Strangely, this seemed to please him, if the smirk on his face was any
indication. “Oh, come now. You hardly seem the type to be perturbed by a bit of
dirt.”
Uncertain as to whether or not he meant that as a compliment, she just
let it pass for now. “Any other day, you might be right. But today, I am
supposed to spend an afternoon politely discussing embroidery techniques and
proper menu planning over lukewarm cups of tea.”
O’Neill’s expression of distaste was an almost perfect personification
of her own feelings on the prospect. “Good heavens. Why? That sounds dreadful.”
“It is, rather,” she admitted, giving up on her clothing as a lost
cause. “Well, at least now they’ll have something interesting to talk about
when I leave,” she said dryly.
“There are worse things than providing amusement for others,” O’Neill
allowed.
Blinking at him, she smiled. “You should know. Your tie is on wrong
again.”
“I’m standing here, covered in nearly as much mud as you are and
probably looking twice as ridiculous, and yet you choose to criticize my tie?”
She shrugged. “I enjoy it.”
“Ah. Well then, by all means….”
Wondering why in the world a man as supposedly capable as he couldn’t
seem to manage it, she stepped forward and adjusted the wayward accessory for
him. Once corrected, she stepped back and met his eyes only to find them
strangely expressive with an emotion she could just label as fond curiosity,
and even then, it lost something in translation. “I think,” he began slowly,
“that if you must attend boring teas that last for hours, you’d best come to
Cheyenne Manor for them. I’m sure Walter can dredge up some suitably awful tea,
and while Teal’c and I know little of weighty things like sewing techniques, I
am certain that we could manage to entertain you if we put our minds to it. If
all else fails, we could go fishing.”
“Fishing?” she repeated.
“Yes. The fish in my lake are quite something, you know, and Teal’c
doesn’t appreciate the art of fishing quite as much as I’d like.”
Somehow, she didn’t find that entirely surprising. But neither did she
find it surprising that O’Neill himself was a fan of the sport. “Well, I accept
the offer of tea, but we’d best put off the fishing for another time. I’ve
given the town quite enough to gossip about this week, I think.”
Looking down at the mayhem of her stain-covered dress, O’Neill smirked
again. “You can always tell them that it was my handiwork.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Yes, because that would lessen the scandal,” was her sarcastic
reply before continuing on her way.
--
“How quick come the reasons for approving what we like!”
~Persuasion
--
To Jack’s surprise, Miss Carter not only took him up on his offer, she
arrived early the next afternoon. Even more surprising than her prompt visit
was her choice of chaperones—Janet Fraiser, the local midwife, and….
“Daniel!” Jack exclaimed, more than a little confused at seeing the man
from his past standing unexpectedly on his doorstep.
The younger man blinked, equally taken aback. “Jack.”
Miss Carter wrinkled her nose, looking between the two of them. “You two
are previously acquainted, I take it?”
“Obviously,” Mrs. Fraiser pointed out, looking amused at the men’s
discomfort. “The question is how?”
The story was long and rather sordid and not really one Jack was fond of
recollecting. After all, there were very few polite ways to explain his state
of mind four years ago after the death of his son and subsequently, his wife.
Luckily, Daniel took the lead and answered the question.
“Jack…sorry, Colonel O’Neill…was the commanding officer of the platoon
of soldiers I journeyed with to
As a young man, Daniel had gone through a short period of rebellion
where he had utilized his skills in languages to travel and employ himself as
an interpreter for wayward citizens of the Crown. The last, and certainly the
most notable, of these journeys had been to northern
“Ah. When you met…?” Samantha began, understanding dawning in her eyes.
“Sha’re. Yes.”
“Right!” O’Neill chimed in, remembering the unlikely, but fervent
attachment that had developed between Daniel and the young tribal princess. He
had left Daniel there and naturally assumed that he would still be there.
Obviously, that assumption was incorrect.
“What happened with…all that?” Jack finished a bit stiltedly.
A flash of pain lit up Daniel’s features and Samantha put her hand on
his arm briefly in a comforting gesture that Jack was surprised to find himself
envying. “She died.”
“Oh. I…I’m very sorry.” He really was, if that made any
difference—Daniel’s happiness with Sha’re had been a
rare and strangely beautiful thing.
“So am I.”
Silence descended on them all and Jack shifted his weight from one foot
to the other, acutely conscious of the awkward air that hung over the group.
“Oh! I forgot to introduce Teal’c. Teal’c, this is Daniel Jackson.” Teal’c
nodded in greeting. “Daniel, Teal’c is from an area not too far from Sha’re’s village, just further down the
This information seemed welcome to Mr. Jackson. “Really?”
“Indeed, Daniel Jackson.”
The affirmation sent Daniel into a detailed discussion of locations and
tribes and cultural practices that filled the air as the group made their way
into the garden, where Walter had decided the tea should be served. O’Neill seized
this opportunity to insinuate himself next to Miss Carter once again, and
because he could immediately see that Mrs. Fraiser was both clever and
tolerant, he knew that if he dallied a little behind the group, she would be
moderately neglectful of her chaperone duties and allow them to tarry awhile.
“There’s more to that story, isn’t there?” he couldn’t help but ask.
The expression that crossed Miss Carter’s face was profoundly
empathetic. “Yes, although I am afraid I am not informed in every particular of
the situation. As you may now realize, Daniel wrote to me quite often on his
travels. When he wrote of his marriage I steeled myself against the reality of
never seeing my friend again—only to get word nearly a year later that his wife
had died and he had not the wherewithal to return home again. I made
arrangements as quickly as I could from this distance, and back he came. He
told me there was a massacre and more than that he has not said, nor have I
asked him. He does not speak of the whole affair often.”
O’Neill found himself in the rather unique position of once again
admiring this young woman with whom he was only barely acquainted. “You did him
a great service with neither explanation nor reason. I fear not many would have
done the same.”
Her eyes met his own, wide and guileless. “Daniel is as near to a
brother as I have, and he was in pain. What else was to be done but assist him
in his time of trial?”
A smile played along the edges of his mouth at her sincerity. “What
deeds must be accomplished to earn such devotion from you, I wonder?”
At that, she merely laughed. “Perhaps one day, you shall find out.”
Strangely, he found himself looking forward to it.
--
An hour later, Samantha Carter found herself as surprised as anyone to
realize that they were actually having a nice time. The unlikely company of
five had relaxed enough to engage in some real conversation—conversation where
nothing like table place settings was even mentioned. And while the tea was as
lukewarm as it would have been had she drank any at Lady Travell’s
house, it was because the tea had been sitting neglected for some time rather
than simply being served that way.
While Daniel and Janet quizzed Teal’c on the cultural practices of his
native peoples, Samantha took a moment to let the air of Cheyenne Manor seep
into her. She had always loved this estate, and visits to it were always looked
forward to with great delight because of its spacious layout and welcoming
feel. Somehow, the effect seemed enhanced under the purview of its new owner,
though admittedly, there seemed to be a bit of an echo now that the house only
sheltered two men.
Turning to her host, she was a bit taken aback to find him watching her
silently, his intense scrutiny making her feel more than a little awkward.
Nevertheless, she pressed on, refusing to let it throw her off her train of
thought. “Do you find that country life is everything you thought it would be,
Colonel O’Neill?”
Mulling over his response for awhile, the Colonel finally replied, “Yes
and no. It’s a pleasant change from city life or even life in the military, but
not as remote as I initially thought it would be. Walter constantly has to
remind me that there is a society to be dealt with, even here. And the house is
bigger than I expected—I fear it’s a bit extravagant to house just Teal’c and
myself.”
“I don’t know, I think it suits you. But then, I’m probably biased, as
I’ve always loved this house and longed to have a better acquaintance with its
occupants.”
Abruptly, she realized how forward that must have sounded, but there was
no polite way to retract such a statement. Once again feeling a little off
kilter, Samantha reached for the sugar as a distraction—only to accidentally
knock her arm into the teapot, spilling the remains across the table in a
large, sweeping stain that seeped into the cloth below. Without being
consciously aware of it, a profanity escaped her lips as she tried to mop up
the mess. When she did finally
realize her error, she could only be absurdly grateful that the offending word
had come out in Russian—only Daniel would know her ill manners.
Then again, considering the mixture of shock and amusement present on
Colonel O’Neill’s face, maybe not. “I suppose you speak Russian?” she asked,
already resigned to her fate as an unseemly wretch of a woman.
“Only words like that,” he replied. “I can’t believe staid and proper
Daniel would teach you such a thing.”
“I most certainly did not,”
Daniel was predictably quick to protest.
“No, he didn’t. I picked up that charming little habit from Mr. Narim, I’m afraid.”
To Daniel and Janet, this, of course, made perfect sense. However, it certainl