What's up my fellow SG1 nerds! My life is pretty much emotional turmoil at the moment, so this isn't gonna be one of those "I'll update every week/two weeks/month/whatever, because I honestly can't make promises. This is a "I'll update when possible" kind of thing. With that said, subscription is free, so rejoice! :D
-this has been edited because the month didn't make sense in relation to the weather and wedding arrangements-

The next morning as Jack was making breakfast, a disheveled Sam Carter entered the kitchen wearing a short floral printed dress. She looked tired.

"So, French toast?" He asked, even though he had already put the toast in the pan.

"Yes sir," Sam yawned.

Jack turned one of the pieces of toast and sighed.

"Carter, I swear, you either stop calling me "sir" or I'll give you a reason to call me "sir."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, imitating Teal'c perfectly. It was a question and a challenge.

"I'll go back," Jack responded to the silent question, "out of retirement."

Sam reached for his fridge, pulled out a Diet Pepsi and eyed him skeptically.

"No you won't." She said with certainty and she and her soda took their place at the kitchen table. She had studiously ignored all the wedding food that had been stored in Jack's fridge as she got out her drink but her stomach still churned at the sight.

Jack set the table with toast, coffee, syrup, and a bowl of sugar. As Sam dug in she made an approving noise.

"How come you held out on us?" Sam inquired. "You're a good cook, sir."

Jack grinned.

"Ah!" He wagged a finger of warning, "you do that, and people always want you to cook. You'll be a victim of your own success."

Sam shook her head as she polished off her toast, and began sipping her coffee.

"I didn't say you were that good," she grinned.

A simple wedding pagoda had been erected in the yard, decorated in thin white fabrics, white roses, and green leaves. A red carpet led up to the structure, and chairs were put out for the guests to sit on each side of its crimson path. She and Pete were going to be joined in marriage inside that damned thing, and now when Sam looked at it she felt sick. She walked between the chairs mindlessly, kicking the grass in front of her. Her emotions were starting to stir deep inside her, and she feared them. Samantha Carter, alien ass kicker extraordinaire, was suddenly afraid of crying. The night before, when she and Jack had talked in his closet, she had cried, she had felt as if those tears would never end. So now that they had gone away, she wanted them to stay away. If she started crying again, she didn't know if she could stop.

Jack watched her from the porch, wanting to give her space but at the same time feeling the distinct urge to walk up to her, hug her tightly, and tell her that everything was going to be alright. He shuddered slightly, who knew Jack O'Neill was so full of clichés. Sam continued kicking the grass.

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed, walking down the stairs and towards her, "stop kicking my lawn! I worked hard on that."

His lopsided smirk gave away just how serious he was being. Sam almost smiled. He crossed the distance between them quickly and stood in front of her, blocking her path, and looking at her intently. Her eyes welled up under the scrutiny; something about him coming closer made her emotions come all the way to the surface finally. Standing among the empty chairs was so symbolic of what had happened the day before, and there he was, with two strong shoulders that she could cry on. It was too much.

"Sam," Jack said quietly but determinedly, "it's okay. You just went through hell, it's okay to be upset."

She heaved, and he pulled her close as her body convulsed in his arms.

"I just left him there," she sobbed in to his sweater, "I left him standing there and he looked so destroyed."

She pushed away from Jack gently, and wiped her tears on her denim jacket sleeves.

"But I just walked away," she choked, "I broke his heart."

Jack adjusted his sunglasses needlessly, looking for something to say.

"Sam…" was all he could get out, and he hoped she heard all the things that he wanted her to hear. Their wordless communication had evolved over the years, and he hoped it would make up for his currently rubbish comforting skills.

"I really messed up, Jack." Sam said quietly.

Jack didn't say anything, he knew contradicting her would do no good; it would only serve to make her feel patronized and angry. At the same time he didn't want to agree with her too readily and possibly be crowned the biggest jerk in all of Minnesota. So they stood in the grass, Sam's bare feet dirty, covered in mud which had gotten wet from an overnight summer rain. He noted that her toenails were perfectly done in deep purple, and he wondered if Sam had ever had a pedicure before in her life. He knew surprisingly little about her, even though he considered her one of his closest friends. The Air Force had been in the way for so many years, and you don't ask your subordinates about pedicures. Or maybe it was one of those things that men just don't notice, Sara had always said that men were hopeless at noticing things like new manicures and newly trimmed hair.

"Whatcha thinking, sir?"

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Sam.

"Pedicures," he said with his typical blunt honesty.

Sam snorted with laughter, and no matter how decent and upstanding Jack tried to be, he couldn't help but feel almost overwhelmingly happy about the fact that she was there with him, and not somewhere else, not with Pete.

Damnit. This could get complicated.

All constructive criticism is welcome, mean comments are not welcome. I will tell Santa on you if you're not nice to me. Praise is also welcome, but that's just because I'm human and I enjoy stuff like that. Spread the love, homies.