Conversations on Hearts

It was testament to how boring her life had become that something so ordinary and by the book had her all atwitter. A teenager again, that was precisely how Janet Fraiser felt, but only in the good way. Every time she came back to her office, her heart pounded.
The beginning had been innocuous. On Monday, she had come to the mountain in a very bad mood; the more cheerily people greeted her, the more foul her mood became. By the time she had reached her office, SGC personnel of all sizes were leaping out of her path. Janet hadn't cared. A little coffee, maybe a candy bar from the vending machine, and she would have been as chipper as ever. She hadn't got the chance to do that. One little thing made her day so much brighter by itself. On her desk, she found a chocolate rose, long plastic-stemmed and rich. She had melted, pulled out of her irritability by the kind act of person unknown.
Janet had assumed the kind culprit was one of her staff imparting cheer for everyone, but the rose had just been the beginning, and it had just been for her. Tuesday, it was a bottle of her favorite red wine, from an excellent year. Following through on that theme on Wednesday, two beautiful wine glasses appeared on her desk, filled with chocolate champagne truffles. It was on this day that she had clued in she had a bit of an admirer, one who had researched her favorite things.
The gifts continued, while she tried to figure out the bearer. On Thursday, it was a Yo-Yo Ma CD, and that sold her; Yo-Yo Ma's playing could reduce her to quivering jello. By the time Friday rolled around, she had been bouncing and not hiding it from a soul. The entire infirmary staff maintained they had no part in the week's mysteries. They hadn't even had insight on his identity. It was someone very stealthy, which didn't help given her place of employment. When the gift certificate for a day of pampering at a spa appeared, she had found she didn't give a damn who this anonymous person was.
Thrumming her fingers against the desk, Janet realized she couldn't sit in her office all day in the hopes of catching someone in the act. She had work to do, and, really, it wasn't in her best interest to put a crimp in the incognito Romeo's style. Rising, she left the confines of the office to do a routine check on her current patients. SG8 had 'gated to a planet thriving with what turned out to be a highly virulent plant comparable to sumac, except that every member had suffered an adverse reaction. Simply because she didn't trust them not to itch, she had restricted them to the infirmary for the next few days. Lieutenant Bannion had suffered the worst, so Janet headed toward her first to check if the steroid was doing the trick.
"How are you feeling today, Melissa?" she greeted, already knowing the answer. The poor woman had blistering sores all over her hands, neck and face.
"Oh, you know. Better than before. Anything from you-know-who yet?"
"No. I'm getting a little worried he's all talk and no action. Not that he's talked or anything. Oh, you know what I mean." She felt her cheeks flush. She really was acting like a schoolgirl, wasn't she?
Clearing her throat, Janet prescribed herself a dose of mental sense and focused on the wounded at hand. Perusals of all four of them told her that all but poor Melissa was responding well to the steroid. She wanted to try a cortisone cream, which was the only thing not at her immediate disposal. She glanced at her office as she left the infirmary for supply, as if someone could possibly have got in there while she was so close. She made it to supply and back in record time, administered the cream and busied herself with routine tasks.
Or tried to.
Curiosity got the best of her, and she frequently checked her office. Better than a gift would be if the admirer himself were there. Neither made appearances. Soon, the end of her shift arrived. Janet was disappointed, by the apparent abandonment of her unknown beau and by her own foolish hopes. She swung by SG8 one last time before heading to her office for her jacket. Clicking on the light, she saw it immediately - her deep red dress and strappy sandals were carefully hung where her jacket normally was. Cassie was a conspirator in this, then. Her eyes riveted to the desk, where she saw a black velvet jewelry box. Opening the box, she gasped at a garnet earring and pendant set that matched the dress perfectly.
Sitting down, Janet noticed a folded piece of paper sat where the jewelry box had been. She unfolded it and read the simple message: Please go put on the dress. She looked a mess. She needed additional prepping. Thank goodness she kept her locker equipped. Humming to herself, she journeyed to the locker room for a shower, change and sprucing up. Nervous anticipation made the tasks take longer than she wanted, and she realized mid way through she didn't know where she was supposed to go once dressed to the nines.
In the end, she went back to her office because it had seemed the focal point during all this. It was the right thing to do. She saw the glow emanating from the room while she was still a fair distance away, and as she got closer, she smelled something divine. Peering around the door, Janet gasped at the transformation. Strategically placed candles lit the desk turned dinner table. Soft cello music played. She entered, frustrated that she remained alone. Fingering the plates of beautifully presented food, her gaze landed on a string of conversation hearts.
My. Affect. Ion. For. You. Is. Vast.
Janet was already smiling when Teal'c filled the doorway, holding a single, real rose and a breathtaking smile of his own.
The Beginning...
The End

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Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a parody for entertainment purposes only. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted anywhere without the consent of the author.