Title: The Perfect Dinner

Author: helsinkibaby

Fandom: Stargate SG1

Pairing: Carolyn Lam/Agent Barrett

Rating: PG

Word Count: 672

Spoilers: None

Notes: For demon_faith, who challenged me to write this pairing using the prompts secrecy, jalapeno peppers and “For the Good Times”

I try to tell myself that I shouldn’t be nervous. That this is just another date with Malcolm, that we’ve been seeing one another for a couple of weeks now, that I should be over the first-infatuation-all-must-be-perfect phase.

And I am.

Kind of.

But this is not just another date with Malcolm.

This is the first time that he’s come over to my apartment. The first time I’ve cooked for him. Which is why the place has been cleaned to within an inch of its life and I’ve been paying extra special attention to the preparation of dinner.

Which isn’t easy when he keeps trying to distract me.

“I’ve told you before, I can’t tell you what’s in the sauce. It’s my grandpa’s super secret recipe. It would be an insult to generations of Lams to let it pass outside the family.”

I’m only partly teasing, but when I look up, the smile on his face is enough to make me weak at the knees. “What if I promise not to tell anyone? I’m NID, remember, we’re good at keeping secrets.”

Instantly, his face falls, as if he’s said something he shouldn’t, and I parry quickly with, “I’m a doctor and a granddaughter. I’m better.” Then, changing the subject completely, I hand a him a pot of pasta. “Here, drain this for me… the colander’s beside the sink.”

He turns towards the sink, giving me a rather nice view in the process. “Well then I’ll respect your family traditions,” he says, half turning and neatly catching me in the act of admiring the view. I quickly busy myself with taking the casserole dish out of the oven, hoping the heat will give me an excuse for my flaming cheeks, but I can still hear the smirk in his voice when he continues. “After all, I wouldn’t like to end up in some karaoke bar someplace, crooning ‘For the Good Times’…”

Curiosity has me forgetting my embarrassment. “I don’t think I know that one?”

He looks surprised, as if it’s not possible that there is a person in the world who doesn’t know what the song sounds like. He stares at me, as if to make out if I’m teasing him again, and when he realises that I’m serious, he starts to sing.

“Lay your head upon my pillow… Hold your warm and tender body close to mine… Hear the whisper of the raindrops, blowin' soft against the window… you really don’t know it?”

It’s no coincidence that all I can do is shake my head; after all, the first time I ever heard him singing I couldn’t speak either. That was why I kissed him, and I’m fairly sure that if I did that now, dinner would be the last thing on both our minds. After all, the lounge and kitchen weren’t the only rooms that got a thorough cleaning today.

He looks at me strangely, and I’m sure that what I’m thinking must be showing in my face, so I make a big show of dishing up dinner, ladling out chicken and vegetables and sauce, putting the pasta he gives me alongside it. It smells fabulous, makes my mouth water, but when I look over at him, he looks distinctly worried.

“Are you ok?” I ask him, looking at the plates of food, then back at him.

“Carolyn… are there jalapenos in the sauce?”

For a split second, I think he’s trying to get the recipe out of me again. When his eyes meet mine, however, I realise that’s not it. “You’re not…”

He nods. “Deathly allergic.”

I look at him, then back down at the delicious, mouth-watering meal that I spent so many hours slaving over. Then I sigh, shrugging my shoulders. “OK then… how about pizza?”

Tilting his head, he takes a step towards me, puts his hands on my hips. “How about not?”

That’s when he kisses me.

That’s when I know that I was right a few minutes ago – dinner is just going to have to wait.