samandjack.net



“Sam?” Jack asked, descending the narrow stairs.

“In the kitchen!” she announced.

Jack sniffed suspiciously. It did smell good. He cautiously stepped forward and entered the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag which Oma had provided, along with the paint-stained work overalls he was wearing. “What are you doing?” he asked jovially upon seeing her wearing an apron, and flour covering a good portion of the worktop.

“I’m baking a cake,” she announced proudly, turning to face him.

Jack couldn’t keep the huge smile off his face, and he chuckled.

“What?” she asked frowning.

He stepped forward, entering her personal space. “It’s just that you have… um…” he gestured with his hand toward a spot at the left base of her nose.

Sam self-consciously rubbed her cheek, managing to smear more flour on her nose and cheek.

Jack’s grin widened. “Let me…” he said, reaching out and gently removing the flour with his thumb. His hand lingered on her cheek for an instant and their eyes locked. Jack leaned forward slowly…

“Sam!” came Oma’s voice, and the spell was broken. Jack and Sam separated quickly as Oma entered the house. “I’ve got some fresh eggs for your…” she started to say, then turned a nice shade of red. “…Sorry!” she excused herself, realizing she had caught them in a rather intimate moment.

“Don’t be!” Sam replied hastily. “Jack was just clearing my face from unwanted flour!”

“She…uh, had plenty next to her nose,” Jack said in an embarrassed tone.

Oma smiled. “Well, I brought you fresh eggs… for your cake…”

“Thanks!” Sam beamed, taking the proffered basket and proceeding to put some on the flour-covered counter before putting the rest in the refrigerator.

Jack observed her, amused. “What did you do to Sam?” he asked Oma. “Cooking was definitely not her forte!”

“Jack!” Sam exclaimed, sending a wash cloth at him.

Jack caught the cloth before it hit him and grinned.

Oma watched the exchange with her own grin. “Well, Jack, you know she’s a teacher, but she can learn, too!”

Jack chuckled. “At any rate, it smells delicious,” he concluded, his eyes alight with joy.

Sam observed him while he engaged in idle banter with their landlady, a warm feeling invading her insides. Ever since they had come to this world, and precisely this house, she had discovered new sides to Jack O'Neill she had only barely suspected. It looked like he was enjoying the new life they had been forced into living. His job was easy to him, and she knew he enjoyed helping Jim when he was around the house. Both men had gone fishing together in a nearby pond twice already, and they appreciated and respected each other.

Jack had offered to completely renovate the guest house, much to Oma and Jim’s pleasure. So in his free time, that’s what he was doing. He had already completed her room and the bathroom, and now he was painting his room. He had fixed some leaks in the plumbing and upgraded the electrical wiring in most of the rooms, and with Jim’s help, he had even checked not only the roof of the small house, but also the roof of the main house. In short, Jack was quite the handyman, a side of him Sam hadn’t known and yet was immensely pleased to discover.

On her part, she had to admit the almost rural lifestyle they were living had its good sides. Oma had taught her the basics of baking, and even though — despite the various legends abounding at the SGC — she knew her way around a kitchen, the woman’s simple advice had helped her improve her skills, and she liked it. The lack of time and the stressful life she had back in her Colorado Springs were the main reasons for her lack of interest in cooking in general. Now that the rhythm of her life was — by far — quieter, she was discovering something her mother hadn’t really had time to teach her. She had to acknowledge Jack’s superiority when it came to preparing meat — not grilled, though — but she was proud to have a few more complex recipes on her list.

Her musings were interrupted by Jack. “What do you think, Sam?” he asked.

She frowned. “Er… what did you say?”

“I was asking if you’d like to come and share the Thanksgiving meal with us,” Oma supplied. “George and his wife will be arriving next week, and we’d be happy to share,” she said, a gentle smile gracing her rotund face.

“We wouldn’t want to intrude. Thanksgiving is about family; I…”

“And friends, Sam. Family and friends, and you are our friends,” she insisted.

“Oh! Well… In that case,” Sam acquiesced, “Yeah… Okay… You’re okay with that, Jack?” she stuttered, suddenly thinking of his presence.

“Sure am! We’ll bring the cake,” he winked at Oma, earning a playful slap from Sam.

After Oma had gone, Jack came to check more closely what Sam was doing. “So? Baking a cake?...”

“I actually like doing it; it’s kind of… relaxing…” she said, resuming what she had been doing before his interruption.

“I know what you mean,” he said, turning his back to the worktop and leaning against it. “I had forgotten what it was to do handiwork on a house!” He reached for a glass, poured water into it from the sink, and drank it in one gulp.

“I didn’t know manual labor was so appealing to you,” she said, amused.

“I did a lot of it when I was younger. Helped my Dad with the cabin, renovated the room where we were gonna put Charlie while Sara was pregnant… She was knitting, I was painting; I even tried my hand at carpentry with his first crib… Afterwards, when he was born and I was recruited for the Special Forces, I didn’t have that much time anymore,” he concluded softly, a shadow briefly darkening his features.

She smiled sympathetically.

“It was a long time ago!” he said in a lighter tone, detaching himself from the counter and standing up to his full height. “I should go back and finish painting my room; I’m tired of the sofa!” he winked. “I should be done in about half an hour. The days are shorter now, and I’d rather use natural light than electric. There’s a wine shop not far from the airport in Rutland; I’ll check it out and get a bottle or two. Knowing Oma, she won’t let us help out that much, and I don’t like going to a dinner empty handed…”

“I’ll bring the cake! You said it yourself!” she said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt your baking abilities, Carter, but that’s your gift, not mine!” he chuckled.

She looked at him intensely as his chuckle died by itself in his throat. “It could have been our gift… Not yours, nor mine… just ours…” she said softly before turning her back on him.

Jack sighed and approached her from behind, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean….”

“I know what you meant, Sir,” she said, not looking at him and putting emphasis on the last word in response to his ‘Carter’.

Jack said nothing. His hand lingered on her shoulder briefly, then he retraced his steps up the stairs.

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‘The pain squeezed him from inside, leaving him breathless and in a cold sweat. He tried to call out to her, but she did not reply, baking cakes in the kitchen, oblivious to his pain and his silent screams…’

Jack woke up with a start, clutching at his stomach. He took a few deep breaths. A dream, it was just a dream… But how vivid! He lay back down on his bed and attempted to recover his elusive sleep. At 0500, tired of tossing over and over, he got up and went down to the kitchen to start making coffee. He could see Jim coming from the main house, heading to the stables. Maybe he should lend him a hand… A sudden nausea prevented him from doing anything but run to the bathroom and retch acrid bile.

He went back to the kitchen and tried to calm his upset stomach. ‘Something I must have eaten…’ he thought. Deciding against coffee, he opened a cabinet and took a teabag from Sam’s reserve.

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Thanksgiving was finally upon them. Jack had been busier than usual this week, having to replace the second pilot who was on sick leave, but that meant more money, and Sam was happy that their goal of reimbursing every cent of their initial “loan” from the Studio would be met sooner than expected.

She was getting ready when he came back from Rutland. She wore only her bathrobe, and had worked to make her short hair a bit puffy. She had also put on a little make up: mascara to emphasize her deep blue eyes, blush on her cheeks, and a discreet touch of lipstick.

Jack had entered the house silently as she came out of the bathroom, oblivious to his presence. Only when she heard the noise he was making did she notice he was back.

“Oh!” she said, smiling, “the bathroom is all yours; I’ll just go and put my dress on…”

Jack knew he was staring but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the vision standing before him.

She frowned. “What?” she asked.

“Is ‘wow!’ eloquent enough?” he blurted out, swallowing audibly.

She chuckled. “Well, thanks! We’re expected by 1930… Hurry up!” she shook her head at him, as she headed for the stairs.

Jack remained transfixed in the same spot for a while after she had gone before finally heading for the bathroom.

He shed his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water massage his shoulders. Today had been a long day, but thankfully he was off the rotation for more than three days this time. He had to admit he was unusually tired, but considering the feverish atmosphere leading up to the Thanksgiving holiday, he supposed it was to be expected. Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself and draped the towel around his hips. He looked at his image in the mirror and fingered the dark, thick growth barring his face.

He came out of the bathroom carrying his bundle of clothes and went up the stairs in his towel. Sam’s door was closed as he passed, headed to his own room.

His current activities here didn’t call for fancy dressing, but he had bought something a bit more classy than his usual jeans and flannel shirts for this occasion. He had even bought a tie but decided against it in the end. The white button-front shirt, open at the collar, with the dark blue blazer was enough, in his opinion. Dark grey slacks, added the final touch of elegance to his tall frame.

He exited his room and went downstairs. Sam was already there, waiting for him. He stopped in his tracks and their eyes locked.

She was wearing a long black dress with thin straps and a necklace he didn’t know she possessed. A dark shawl covered her shoulders, and her silhouette was raised a couple of inches by the elegant heels gracing her feet.

“Pardon me for saying this, but you look stunning!” he said in a breath.

His blunt statement diffused the tension a bit.

“You’re not so bad yourself!” she said appreciatively. “I must say I didn’t like the mustache that much!” she said, acknowledging his shaving of the atypical facial feature.

“It itched…” he said by means of an explanation. “Where’s the necklace from?”

“Oh!” she blushed, fingering the pearls. “Oma lent it to me for the occasion. She thought it looked gorgeous with the dress.”

“Oma helped you pick the dress?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You know, just because she’s over 60 and a farmer’s wife doesn’t mean that she hasn’t got taste!” she said, smiling.

“Oh, I know that she has; I’m just surprised that she went shopping with you, that’s all,” he said, shrugging. “Well?” he resumed, smiling broadly and stepping forward, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Let me get my coat and the cake, and don’t forget the wine; I put the bottles under the shed to cool down a bit before we go.”

“Nice thought, thanks,” he said as he opened the front door and waited for her to join him.

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Oma and Jim’s house was warm, thanks to the big fire burning in the fireplace. They were quickly introduced to George and Amy, his wife, who already knew everything about the inhabitants of the small house.

Jack noticed Amy staring unabashedly at him while they were having drinks before dinner, and he found it a bit disquieting. At some point before they finally took their seats around the big oak table, she even murmured to her husband, eyeing him while doing so.

As they sat down to dinner, Jack was seated across from Amy and next to Sam, who was oblivious to the attention her companion was drawing.

Once the turkey was brought and served, Jack had finally had enough. He summoned every ounce of self-control and diplomacy he still possessed and spoke. “Excuse me, Amy, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been staring at me ever since the beginning of the evening,” he remarked with a forced smile.

George chuckled.

Jack turned his attention to the man. “Well?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

“Well, Amy thinks you’re Richard Dean Anderson in disguise…” George smiled good-naturedly.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Jack muttered, rolling his eyes.

Poor Amy had turned crimson, earning the hilarity and amusement of all the people seated around the table save Jack.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she muttered, mortified. “It’s just… You look so much like him, it’s unbelievable!”

“Well, I had a mustache that I shaved just this evening…” Jack said, deciding not to be angry at the woman’s obvious infatuation with his alter-ego.

“You never thought of using this to make money?” she blurted out.

“Well, actually I did, once… but it wouldn’t have been fair to the guy, would it?” he smirked.

“I was so in love with MacGyver!” Amy resumed, obviously relieved her attitude hadn’t offended him too much.

“Who?” Jack asked.

“MacGyver, the character he portrayed back in the 80’s…” she supplied. “He made amazing things from scratch, you know!”

“I’m sorry; I probably wasn’t watching TV back then,” Jack smiled.

“Oh, but he was a real phenomenon! How could you miss him?!” Amy continued, excited.

“Amy, drop it… you’re embarrassing Jack,” George said gently upon seeing the pained look of their guest.

“I’m sorry…” Amy blushed again. “You look great… Er…” she turned crimson.

Jack smiled cockily, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Yeah, I get that a lot!”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Sam said aloud, rolling her eyes and diffusing the rest of the tension for the evening.

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