"Apple pie, banana cream pie, blackberry pie, blueberry pie, boysenberry pie, buttermilk pie, butternut squash pie, chocolate cream pie, coconut cream pie, Key lime pie, lemon ice box pie, lemon meringue pie, Mississippi mud pie, peach pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie, shoofly pie, sweet potato pie—"

"Jack!" Sam laughed at her husband as she rolled out the chilled pie dough. "I know your Grandma O'Neill's crust recipe makes about eight single pie crusts, or four double crusted pies—but that's a little too many kinds of pie!"

Jack had a teasing twinkle in his eye even as his face formed a pout. "You asked what kind of pie I'd like."

She shook her head in amused exasperation, shaking strands of long brown hair into her eyes which she brushed back from her face with her flour-free forearm. She had walked right into that one. She'd known long before her marriage just what Jack thought about pie. And cake. "Alright, alright, what kind of pie would you like for Thanksgiving then? Can you pick four types of Thanksgiving pies?"

"Apple pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and sweet potato pie." Jack answered promptly.

She nodded in agreement with those choices. They were traditional Thanksgiving pies and more importantly she knew they had all the ingredients needed. She pointed a flour-dusted finger at the fridge. "Apples, there." Then pointing to a kitchen counter drawer and the cupboard above, she concluded, "Peeler, there. Bowl, above. Get cracking mister. We've got to get these pies done this morning if we're going to get that turkey in the oven this afternoon."

Jack fetched the items with a grin that said he knew he'd gotten her goat. He took over the counter space beside her and within moments he was cutting a shiny red apple peel away from the white flesh in a neat spiral. She passed over the first crust filled pie plate and Jack started cutting the chunks of peeled apple into the ready plate and she started rolling out another crust.

They worked contentedly side by side in the music filled kitchen, their tasks separate but together would create a greater whole. Sort of like them, she mused. She snorted at the utterly domestic allegory.

"What?" Jack used his shoulder to nudge hers.

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Just a crazy thought."

"Crazy thought? You don't have crazy thoughts—according to certain aliens you have stupid thoughts, but not crazy thoughts. And I never think you have crazy thoughts—wacky ones, like using an F-302's hyperspace generator to bypass the shield of Anubis mothership to get in to destroy his superweapon, blowing up suns, and strapping an active Stargate to the bottom of the X-302—but not crazy."

"Rodney thought that was crazy. And you did agree that blowing up a sun was crazy."

Jack waved that point aside with the peeling knife. "What does McKey have to do with this?"

"He thought strapping an active Stargate to the bottom of the X-302 was crazy."

"See? That just shows how dumb he is. My point is, stupid, wacky, or crazy, your ideas are always better than anything we come up with." His shoulder nudged hers again. "So come on, share. I promise I won't find it crazy."

"Promise?" She put another crust into another pie plate and picked up another chilled ball of dough to roll out.

"Promise." He held the knife peeler up like a man taking an oath.

"Well… I was just thinking that we're sort of like pie."

Jack gave her a decisively blank look. "Pie?"

She whacked him lightly on the arm with the rolling pin. "You said you won't think it was crazy."

"Hey!" He protested in offence as he rubbed at the spot, rubbing off the flour left behind by the rolling pin. "I didn't say anything!"

"You thought it." She accused.

"Alright, alright." He said in aggravation. "Tell me why we are like pie."

"We're greater than the sum of our parts. Pie is just crust and filling with spices and separate they are okay, but together they make something better. Together, we make something better."

Jack's aggravated look faded as a corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile that was warm and quiet. "Okay, yeah. We're like pie." He leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. When he drew back his breath whispered over her lips. "But I gotta say Sam, you're the sweet inside and I'm the crusty outside."

She laughed and drew him back down for another kiss. Didn't he know that it was the crusty outside that made the sweet inside so good? And on this day of thankfulness, she gave thanks that this 'crusty' man was all hers.

-FINISHED