Chapter 1 - Appetizer

The clatter coming from Jack’s kitchen finally caused Sam to reach for her crutches and hobble to the doorway.

“Do you need help?”

A somewhat-frazzled Jack O’Neill turned quickly, knocking a salt shaker to the floor where it joined a large cooking spoon. As he stooped to pick up both items he looked up at his former 2IC who was dressed in a snug pink sweater and tight black leather pants. At that moment, his inner thermostat shot up higher than the temperature in the oven.

God, she was delicious. She was so sexy. She was hot. She was … looking at him like he had two heads.

“Sir, you seem a bit off your game. Can I help?”

Jack stood and met her stare which was much safer than his prior body-scan position from the floor. Immediate mission: turn up the heat in the oven for the turkey and turn down racing heart and other peripheral operating systems.

“No, Carter, I’m fine and you shouldn’t be standing on that bum leg. The whole purpose of my having you over here for Thanksgiving was to make sure you got the rest you needed. So consider me your personal chef for the day.”

She leaned against the door frame and looked hesitant.

Jack reassured her, “I’ve taken down snake heads on other planets; I can handle a turkey in my own kitchen.”

She still seemed unconvinced so he winked at her. She rolled her eyes and shrugged and then turned on her crutches and started swinging herself back to the living room.

Backfield in motion. Damn, she was sexy even on crutches! Jack, stop that! His super-ego was stabbing him with guilt. He should not be ogling a woman on crutches, a woman whose body was perfectly toned and curvaceously tempting ...

The oven timer rang loudly and Jack jumped, dropping the cooking spoon he had just retrieved from the floor.

“You really sure about the turkey?” The voice from the living room sounded slightly amused.

“Piece of cake … I mean piece of meat.”

This was getting worse by the moment. ‘Piece of meat?!’ What the hell was he thinking?

Silence.

Maybe she wasn’t offended; maybe she was. He would never want her to think that he was feeding her as a means of seduction. Eating good food, getting filled with a wonderfully prepared meal, was a delight in itself. They had eaten so many MREs over the years that he was secretly thrilled to prepare this feast for her.

And feast it was. He had the jellied cranberry chilling in the fridge; potatoes peeled and ready to go; green beans rinsed and ready to simmer, plus a fresh spinach salad with vinaigrette dressing. He wouldn’t tell her but he had stayed up late into the night getting all the side dishes prepared so that he could devote his attention to the turkey alone and spend more time with her.

Cooking was a lot like the logistics of an off-world mission. You defined your target, gathered the necessary intel, pulled together your team and equipment, went through the Gate, engaged the mission.

His target was a small hen turkey. He had basted and patted and followed a Julia Child recipe which he got off the Internet - good intel. If he only could stop dropping his equipment on the kitchen floor, he would finish this off without a glitch and impress his dinner guest. Impress is good. The reward would be one of her megawatt smiles of admiration and, if he got lucky, a warm hug. Yeah, impress is very, very good.

Jack O’Neill was now fully engaged. The turkey had been cooking for a few hours, thermostat maintaining an even temp (the bird’s, not his). He had removed the foil covering and the bird was turning a golden brown; there was only another hour left to go. He would then make gravy from the drippings. Nothing to it.

This gourmet-cooking adventure excited him. One day, it could be a retirement hobby. Hell, he might even qualify for one of those TV Chef shows in his later years.

Everything was under control. He switched the burners on for the potatoes and green beans, rinsed his hands, took off his apron (a gift from Teal’c), and set the table for two with his best crockery.

Oh, don’t forget the candlesticks. Suave. Women love low lighting with their food.

Now he could spend the next hour entertaining Sam. Impress, Jack, impress.

Sam was settled on the sofa, her left leg propped up on a stool when he popped around the corner. She put down the latest issue of Field and Stream as he handed her a glass of white wine. He also had a glass of wine for himself.

“What happened to the Guinness?”

“My dear Carter, you may not know this, but I have quite a palate for the fruit of the vine. It’s not just all barley and hops with me.”

Sam snorted and actually spilled some of her wine. Jack hurried to the kitchen and returned with a linen napkin.

“Jack? You are so with it today. Linen instead of paper?”

This ‘impress’ thing was getting better by the minute.

“Nothing but the best, for the best.” Okay, let’s stay away from the clichés. It’s getting a bit forced.

“I just mean that you’re someone very special but we’ve never really gotten to know each other well, other than that whole teammates thing. Now that you’re going to Area 51 and I’m on my way to Washington, I was hoping that we could establish some new rules and stay in touch.”

There! It was out in the open. His hidden agenda asserted itself. Perfectly okay. Nothing more than an extension of friendship and good will. Who was he kidding? He was gonna miss her something awful. He could not even comprehend a day without Sam in his life.

The mouth-watering aroma of turkey came wafting through the living room. With Jack’s candid words, both their senses were on high alert. The smell of turkey stirred other hungers.

Sam was touched by Jack’s honesty and realized that she, too, hardly knew the person in front of her aside from their long-term relationship as soldiers. She, likewise, wanted to change that. In fact, that was why she agreed to this very private Thanksgiving dinner at Jack’s house. She felt that she would see the man behind the uniform much better. Laughingly, she discovered the man behind the apron when she arrived. This pleased her. Sitting here in his living room, surrounded by Jack’s artifacts and memorabilia, also added to her sense of pleasure.

She was secretly filling herself up with all-things-Jack - to take with her to her new position and new life at Area 51. Most of all, she wanted to know if there could be a future for them, a future where they were finally free to express the long-hidden feelings which had never gone away. Jack’s words seemed hopeful. It was her turn to reciprocate.

“I’d like that very much. I feel that we’re just getting started on a new kind of relationship, a new friendship. Spending the weekend with you, Teal’c and Daniel, at your cabin was so much fun. I wanted more time, though, to spend with you, alone. Does that sound selfish?”

Fireworks were going off in Jack’s head. He wanted to swirl Sam around in his arms and climb a roof, shouting, “We’ve got a future!”

Instead, he sipped his wine and gazed into those adorable blue eyes and simply confessed, “It’s not selfish to make up for lost time, past regrets. I don’t want to lose you, Sam. I want there to be an ‘us’. Always.”

Her eyes misted and she clinked his glass, whispering, “To new beginnings.”

Jack reached for her wine glass and set both on the coffee table.

“C’mere.”

The first gentle kiss celebrated their new status.

“Here’s to the broken chain of command.”

The second kiss echoed the first.

“Here’s to no more rules and regulations.”

The third kiss lasted longer.

“Here’s to us.”

The fourth kiss found Sam lying on the sofa with Jack atop her.

“Here’s to our future.”

Jack couldn’t tell if bells were going off in his head or if it was the kitchen timer. He was in paradise and it could have been a heavenly chorus for all that mattered.

Sam, flushed but ever pragmatic, lightly pushed him back and announced, “Jack, I think the turkey’s done. Go turn off the timer.”

God, what a Thanksgiving!

It was all he could do to tear himself away from the woman he loved but Jack rose from the couch, helped Sam sit up, and returned to the kitchen for final preparations.

Sam sat, breathless but happy, oh so happy, and fingered the empty wine glass. Daydreams of a future with Jack were forming.

Dreams that were no longer dissipating like clouds. Dreams that could become real.

Jack’s mind was filled with Sam and their very first make-out session on the sofa. Well, it wasn’t exactly making out, but what started as a very unexpected first kiss became the prelude to a lot of pent-up emotion. It was probably good that the oven timer interrupted them. This was new territory for both and they still had so much ground to cover – like getting acquainted all over again, getting to know each other in an entirely different way.

What a day this was turning into. He was certainly not expecting to make gravy while obsessing over the sweet taste of Sam’s lips and her eagerness to return his kisses.

His hands were shaking as he took the turkey from the oven and he nearly dropped the roasting pan on the floor. Get a grip on yourself, man! He knew he was smiling like a silly school boy, feeling like he had just won the lottery.

No, this was better, way better. He and Sam had just moved their former relationship to an exciting new stage. This meal would be the first of many intimate moments between them.

Knowing just how exceptional he wanted this dinner to be, he turned his attention to the completion of the main course. Placing the turkey on a cutting board, he began simmering the drippings and adding the extra ingredients for the gravy. While the darkened broth bubbled and thickened, he took out the colander and emptied the cooked potatoes. The steam was rising and adding even further to the warmth of the kitchen and the warmth of his heart.

Jack started humming to himself as he carefully mashed the potatoes, actually whipping them into quite a frenzy. He had no idea he was so manic until a tap on his shoulder caused him to spin around and spray Sam with the soft potatoes which were still attached to the electric hand mixer. He reached for the electric plug and pulled it out of the wall as Sam looked down, in dismay, at the front of her pink sweater. In a panic, he grabbed the nearest dish towel and started patting her chest.

Her bemused expression only served to make him press harder, trying to dig the congealed mess out of the sweater’s threads.

“Sam, damn, I’m not usually this clumsy …”

He was stopped by a firm hand gripping his wrist while trying to keep a crutch under control at the same time. Her look was now more calculating, less shocked.

“You know, Jack, this takes ‘copping a feel’ to a whole new level.”

He stared at her, totally taken aback. He didn’t know what to do next. Sensing his embarrassment, she calmly took the dish towel out of his hand, peered down once again at her ruined sweater and began to giggle. He watched as her shoulders began to wobble uncontrollably and a rich, deep laugh replaced the giggles. She was laughing so hard that he thought she would lose her balance on those crazy crutches. He leaned against the counter and drew her to himself, wrapping his arms around her. Now they were both laughing, an explosion of mirth and mashed potatoes. He could feel her shaking in his arms and thought ‘to hell with the potatoes, Sam Carter is in my arms!’ She looked up at him and he kissed her full on the mouth. She couldn’t stop laughing and they both locked lips again trying to suppress the glee. It only served to make them laugh even more. Finally, after what seemed forever, they settled into each other’s arms, totally exhausted.

Jack gazed at her and remarked, “I never knew you could be so wickedly funny.”

“You just bring out the naughty in me.”

“I’ll have to rise to the occasion more often.”

Two witty minds swooped and converged on one unintentional pun. Jack was the first to blush and took his lady firmly by the shoulders, leading her to a kitchen chair. He could tell that Sam was about to break out in another round of giggles so he quickly dipped his finger into the bowl of mashed potatoes and placed a dollop in her mouth.

“There. Be good. Be quiet. I’ve got a Thanksgiving meal to finish.”

Before he could turn back to the stove, Sam grabbed his hand and licked the remainder of the potatoes from his finger. His heart was pounding. His peripherals were getting a workout too.

“I don’t know if I can trust you with another glass of wine over dinner if you keep up this brazen behavior.”

“It’s probably the pain meds mixing with the alcohol. Let’s say we are really getting acquainted … sir.” Sam put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Jack just shook his head in wonder.

Was this the seasoned 2IC who watched his six for the past eight years? Stood up under the stress of battle? Blew up a sun? Of course, that Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter was still in there, but a new and exhilarating version was coming into being right before his eyes. Or else, she was tipsy on the meds and wine. He made a mental note to pour her only a half-filled glass at the dinner table.

He busied himself with draining the green beans and sprinkling some herbs and butter before he placed them in a covered casserole dish.

A quiet voice surfaced behind him.

“Jack, I’m more in control now. Really. Why don’t you let me help you?”

He turned and saw that she was sitting complacently, picking pieces of potato off her sweater. She did look a bit forlorn though. Maybe he shouldn’t have teased her so much about her un-Carterlike behavior.

He walked over to the kitchen table, and tipped her chin. Her blue eyes were more serious now and she looked up at him with a weak smile. God, did she know the power she had over him? He felt himself melting into her eyes right there.

“You okay? I mean it got pretty wild in here but I don’t regret a moment. I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in years.”

“It’s just that I don’t know what came over me. Seriously, ever since we kissed in the living room, I feel like I’m stepping into a new role. There were times, in the past, when I wanted so much to be with you like this … to share in the little things, the funny moments. I know we carried our teasing as far as it would take us while I was under your command, but that was never enough for me.”

Sam paused, searching Jack’s face for something, but he didn’t know what she wanted from him.

“Now it seems like we’ve opened a floodgate. It’s heady and stimulating and, to tell the truth, a bit overwhelming. Here I am, in your kitchen, tossing double-entendres around and kissing your lips and fingers.” She sighed. “It’s all so new. Do you think we are really ready for all of this?”

So that was what she wanted. Reassurance. She wanted him to tell her that they were going in the right direction. He never felt more protective and more respectful of her vulnerability. She and he would take this slowly. He would guide her (and himself) as he did in the field. He wouldn’t rush her. He owed her that.

Jack knelt beside the woman he loved and touched her cheek gently.

“I think we’re both feeling a little overwhelmed by what happened today. I wanted you here, at my table, to make a big impression. Big man. I wanted to cook for you, take care of you. And, yes, I wanted you all to myself on Thanksgiving.”

Sam placed her hand on his and listened to the calming words.

“I think I wanted to test the waters, Sam. When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. Family was important. My mother’s cooking was the way she expressed her love. She wasn’t much for words of endearment but she was a fantastic cook. She used to spend hours in the kitchen, concocting some delight or other. Her delight was watching us eat what she had made.”

Jack pointed to his eyes. “I could see it in her eyes, all the love in the world. I felt so safe and protected. The words rarely came but her actions spoke big time.”

He stopped to clear his throat of the lump that started to form.

“I want there to be an ‘us’. I really do. But I don’t know what that ‘us’ is going to look like yet, and neither do you. I think we’ve got so much going on right now, with the change of command and our new assignments, that we are already maxing out our stress limits. Add today into the mix and something has to give.”

Sam was crying now, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks. He had heard her plea. They were both communicating, at a level of intensity that held both pain and promise.

Jack wiped away her tears as he continued.

“I don’t know what you see in me, really, but I do know what I see in you. You are a beautiful woman, Sam, inside and out. I wasn’t kidding about the ‘national treasure’. You’re my treasure too. I’m not good at this loving thing; I tried once but failed. I don’t want that to happen again. Having you here in my house, for Thanksgiving, is all I need for the moment. You make parts of me come alive. You give me direction. If you’re willing to take a chance on this working out for us, I’m in for the count. We’ll take it slow, one step at a time. I'll follow your lead.”

Sam shook her head in agreement, feeling like a great weight had lifted from her shoulders. Jack was giving her space to come to him, breathing room for both of them to settle into their new lives.

Jack leaned in and their lips met. They both lingered over the tender kiss, knowing that the passion and intensity which swept upon them earlier would return, later. They could wait, now that there was something to wait for.

Sam pulled away and sniffed.

“Jack, do I smell something burning?”

“Cripes!” Jack jumped to his feet and rushed to the gravy that had now boiled down to the bottom of the roasting pan. He threw the exhaust on high, opened the back door, grabbed pot holders and carried the ruined pan out onto the deck.

Sam limped over to the counter and started to fan the smoky air with the dish towel.

Now it was Jack’s turn to be forlorn. “This was gonna be a memorable dinner, my finest hour.”

Sam hugged him. “It is your finest hour and has nothing to do with gravy or mashed potatoes.”

He looked at her suspiciously; she pointed to his eyes.

“It’s all in your eyes, Jack. I’m ready for the main course.”

She flashed that megawatt smile and the world tilted back on its axis.

The dining-room table was set elegantly: white linen tablecloth, fresh flowers as a centerpiece, and two crystal candlesticks with lit tapers which provided a warm glow.

It wasn’t much of a dining-room, just a small niche beyond the kitchen but Jack had hung a breathtaking photo of an exploding star on the bare wall and it brought the corner to life.

Sam was impressed. “This is a supernova event taken by the Hubble, right?”

Jack was placing a spinach salad drizzled with oil and vinegar and crumbled bacon on the table and glanced up. “Yeah, I love that whole expanding-universe thing. Some of those Hubble shots are amazing, aren’t they?”

“I forgot about your interest in astronomy.”

“Actually, it’s more than that. The photo reminds me of what we’ve done the past eight years. It’s a shame we can’t show and tell. So I look at the photo and am thankful to just have had the experience.”

He opened a fresh bottle of wine, poured a small amount into Sam’s glass, and handed it to her as she continued to stare at the picture.

“Will you miss it? Do you miss SG1?”

He came to stand behind her with his own glass of wine and said quietly, “I’ll never be a desk jockey. I’m going to Washington because they think I’m the best man for the job. It makes me laugh. Kinda like our relationship. I can’t see what you see in me but I’m damn glad you found something worthwhile. Maybe I’ll grow into the bureaucratic routine. Who knows? It won’t be forever. Besides, I have other things on my mind now.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Come. Sit. Eat. Your food awaits you.”

They ate the salad while reminiscing about their past explorations: epic battles, menacing system lords, primitive and advanced cultures, alien technology. They had settled into a relaxed banter, two good friends who had already shared a lifetime of adventure. Yet, their biggest adventure still awaited them.

“I’m glad you’re here today.” Jack’s words were simple, sincere.

“I feel at home, peaceful. Maybe it’s the wine.” Now that they had been so honest with each other, Sam felt safe and content.

“Hey, you assured me that you’re back in control.”

“I am. Not to worry. I’m in a very mellow zone right now. I like being able to talk to you like this.”

“We just spent twenty minutes talking about stuff we can’t tell the world.”

“It’s a good place to start, Jack. We have something to build on.”

Jack was quiet for a few minutes, swilling the wine around in his glass. “I never thought about it quite like that.”

Jack rose and took their salad plates into the kitchen. Sam sat quietly while he brought the turkey, cranberries, green beans and what was left of the mashed potatoes to the dining-room table.

Even their moments of silence were comfortable now. Outer space, inner space. They were finding a new rhythm to their relationship.

“White or dark?” Jack queried as he began carving the turkey. “I’m a breast man myself.”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “You already proved that with the mashed potatoes.”

Jack waved the carving knife at her as Sam’s mischievous eyes twinkled. “Hey, cut that out. I know I owe you a pink sweater.”

Sam laughed and turned the sleeves up on the blue-flannel shirt she was now wearing. She had changed out of the ruined sweater before they went into the dining room. The baggy shirt was Jack’s peace offering, a temporary solution to the loss of her pullover. Still …

“I appreciate the change of clothes but that sweater was a favorite.”

“The blue in my shirt really compliments your eyes and hair. So what if you’ve taken the shirt off my back.”

“Jack, you’re such a martyr. And this shirt came from your bedroom drawer, not from your back.”

Chastised, he returned to slicing the turkey. “You didn’t answer me, white or dark meat?”

“Dark, I’ll take a drumstick.”

“I never figured you for a drumstick kind of gal.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Jack placed a large brown drumstick on Sam’s plate. “Turkey drumsticks are honkin’ big and often tough, whereas the white meat often melts in your mouth. I just thought you’d prefer the white.”

“Have I ruined my image? Do you need dainty and demure?” Sam asked, before digging into the drumstick. “I like sinking my teeth into a good piece of meat.”

Once again, Jack was startled by her bawdy wit. “You’re just full of surprises tonight.”

“I promise to treat you gently after dinner and only nibble on your neck.” Sam licked her lips, sat back and smiled. Talk about new images – here was Jack in his apron, carving a turkey and passing the mashed potatoes. Domestic Jack. He looked so cute.

“What?”

“Just thinking. You’ve done a fine job with this meal. I like the Jack-in-the-kitchen routine. I could get used to it. I’m not all that interested in cooking. I’d rather rev up my bike and take it for a spin.”

“See? We compliment each other. I cook; you ride. I’m really getting into this kitchen stuff myself.”

“Maybe I’ll buy you a cookbook for Christmas, and a non-electric potato masher.”

“By the way, what size sweater do you wear?”

Sam finished her turkey and fixed him with a stare.

“Jack O’Neill, you are so transparent. Here you are, back to ‘copping a feel’. I’m a six, in better labels.”

“Oh, you’ve got a six alright.”

Sam cleared her throat. “That’s not what I said. I’m a size six, since you asked.”

“What’s the part about ‘better labels’?” Jack looked genuinely confused.

“It’s a girl thing. Women just know, by the name on the label, whether they will have a true fit or not.”

He stopped clearing the table. “Ya gotta be kidding, right?”

“No, I could find a size-six dress and, if it’s not my regular designer, I may barely squeeze into it.”

“So that’s why women spend so much time in dressing rooms.”

“Yeah, size matters.”

Blue and brown eyes converged. They were back in the gutter.

While Sam chuckled, Jack retreated to the kitchen. “I think I’ll get dessert.”

Chapter 3 – Dessert

Jack stacked the dinner dishes, put the leftover turkey carcass on the kitchen table, and took the piece de resistance from the fridge. The idea for dessert came to him quite suddenly and he just knew that it would be the perfect ending to a special meal. He didn’t even consult a cookbook.

So far, Sam seemed to be enjoying everything he set in front of her. He looked down at the now bare drumstick from her plate. Lord, that woman could eat. He was thrilled that everything was going so well.

Sam had not felt so relaxed in a long, long time - actually, euphoric. She felt pampered and loved and would never have imagined that Jack could be so attentive in such a down-home kind of way. The dinner was wonderful. They talked and teased and seemed so at ease with each other.

Just months before, both of them were finding ways to run from each other. Her dad was trying to tell her something when he died; she was afraid to listen. The truth did catch up with her, though, and by some miraculous twist of fate, she and Jack disengaged themselves from desperate relationships and finally faced each other. Today confirmed what she always knew, that she and Jack were meant to be together.

She stood up to stretch her leg and studied the picture of the exploding star. Without knowing it, she began to hum.

Jack peeked in to ask if she wanted coffee or tea and was surprised to hear Sam humming. Her back was turned to him and that gave him an advantage. He stayed silent and drank in her presence.

Forget the sexy pink sweater; she was a knockout in his blue shirt. The candlelight flickered on her back and hair. God, how he wanted her, but they would take it slowly, as he promised. It would be her choice to change the pace.

“Humworthy?”

She jumped, caught in her own reverie, and turned to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“You were humming.”

“I was?” The color in her cheeks deepened.

“Penny for your thoughts.” He came to her side and put his arms around her.

“Nothing much, nothing profound.”

“No techno babble to confuse me?”

There it was again, the Sam Carter megawatt smile. He could fill himself on a diet of her smiles and never go hungry.

Her eyes were shining brightly. “I never knew I could be this happy.”

“Now that is definitely humworthy.” His lips found hers and they lingered over a long, loving kiss.

“Ready for dessert?”

“Can anything be more tasty than this?” She pulled his face down to her again and they kissed once more, tongues touching and eliciting sounds of pleasure.

He was grinning widely as he placed his fingers on her lips. “Sit down. I’ve got a surprise. I made an original dessert, just for you.”

The room had suddenly gotten very, very 'hot' and he was glad to return to the safety of the kitchen for the final course.

“Do you want coffee or tea?” he called back.

“Coffee, black. That would be great.”

Jack put the coffee on, added whipped cream to his original concoction, and then marched proudly into the dining room.

At first, Sam wasn’t quite sure what was on the plate. In the candlelight, she could only discern a rather large, dark mass of something in the middle of whipped cream, lots of whipped cream.

Jack was beaming. He set the dessert in front of her, awaiting her reaction.

“Jack?”

She seemed a bit … puzzled? How could she not know what this was? She remained quiet, probably touched by his thoughtfulness. Impress, impress. Way to a woman’s heart, Jack. Why wasn’t she gushing?

“Jack, could you turn on the room lights?”

“Sam, why would I do that?”

“To let me see what I’m about to put in my mouth. Did you say this is an original recipe?”

“Yes, one of your favorites with a slightly exotic flair.”

Sam took her dessert spoon and poked at the wriggling circle of …

Omigod, it was blue jello! A mound of quivering blue jello with some kind of dark raisins or fruit swimming inside, surrounded by a ring of whipped cream.

“Jack, it’s quite … unique. Does it have a name?”

She was trying hard to work up some enthusiasm. She sure as heck didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“You can’t tell?” He seemed disappointed.

She decided to bluff. “I think the chef should be the one to first utter the name of any new creation. It’s a form of 'owning'.”

She could see that he wasn’t getting her drift. “Jack, all great artists name their paintings first and then unveil them to the world. I think you should say the name first and I’ll … I’ll applaud.”

Jack looked down at the blue jello and then back at her. Not taking his eyes off her face, he quickly spoke, “Le Stargate Bleu”.

Sam clapped politely and said “Magnificent!”

Jack was getting even more excited. Taking a knife, he used it as a pointer to further define all the nuances of his creation.

“Sam, you really did catch on, right? I mean, I used the whipped cream for the Gate and then set the blue inside for the event horizon. Kawoosh! It came to me in a dream last night.”

Sam had never struggled so hard in her life to keep a straight face.

“Jack, it’s brilliant – 'art imitates life'. The little dark things inside are just the only parts confusing me a bit.”

Jack prodded the blue jello with a fork and extracted a cranberry. He held it up for Sam’s inspection.

“Cranberries inside the event horizon?”

“Sure, they symbolize the molecular deconstruction – I thought you’d be impressed. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving.”

A very full Sam Carter rested her head languidly against Jack O’Neill’s shoulder. Suddenly, she sat up and shook him awake.

“What?”

“Stuffing. You never made the stuffing.”

“Yeah, I thought I forgot something. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Sam lay back against Jack’s shoulder.

“Guess I should set you up in the guest room.”

Both were too exhausted to move and continued to watch the flames flicker in the fireplace.

“It’s been an awesome day, couldn’t have asked for better. We have a lot to be thankful for.”

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Don’t make the spare bed up on my account. I’ll be glad to sleep with you.”