The cadet snagged the last shopping cart in what had probably been a long row of them, and looked down at his list as he maneuvered the cart out of the metal pen it had been in. The thing had a wheel that wouldn't turn which made it drag with an awful rubbing noise that made him wince, but he couldn't see another cart to trade for.

"Just my luck," he muttered to himself. "I always get the shitty cart..."

The top of his list – which was the bottom half of the list O'Neill had started with – had milk on it. Ian headed for the dairy section, dodging running kids and swerving around a teenager that thought it was fun to run with his cart and hop on the back and ride it. Ian fought the urge to tip him over and instead stopped in front of the milk section.

Whole milk, 2, 1, or skim... Ian looked at his list again. Milk. Turning it over, hoping that it'd magically say on the back exactly what color of lid he was supposed to buy for Sam, he sighed.

"Shit."

"Oooo, you said a bad word..."

Ian looked down and saw a young boy standing beside him, looking at the pudding that was next to the milk. The boy was looking up at him with a smug look on his face.

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did." The boy said. "You said shit. I heard you."

"You said it, too."

"I did not."

Ian shook his head, wondering what he was thinking, getting involved with this conversation. "Whatever..."

"I'm Corey."

"Congratulations."

"You're supposed to tell me your name, too." The boy pointed out.

"What kind of milk does your mom buy?"

"The one with the blue lid, why?"

"No reason."

Ian took a gallon of the blue-lidded milk (2) from the display, and put it in his cart, then looked back down at his list.

Eggs.

Yeah, that was easy enough. He turned and headed further down the aisle, ignoring the fact that the boy was following him. He stopped at the eggs and pulled down a dozen of the jumbo ones and put them in his cart.

"You're supposed to look at them," Corey told him.

"What?"

"The eggs. You're supposed to look at them."

"What for?"

He shrugged.

"My mom looks at them."

"I'm not your mom."

A woman came over and reached for a dozen eggs, opening the container and looking at the eggs in it for a brief moment before closing it and walking off with them.

"See?"

Ian scowled at the boy, and reached for the eggs he'd put into the cart, opened the container and looked at them. Maybe it was to make sure they were all there? Since there weren't any spaces, he had to assume they were.

"Whatever."

He put the eggs back in the cart and looked at the list again.

Cake mix.

He headed for the baking aisle and found it to be incredibly crowded with people. And this aisle held the cart that held the screaming child, Ian noticed with a grimace. Wrangling his way through the crowded row, he dodged carts and a couple more children, trying to ignore the screams of the one that really had to have that candy bar or he was just going to die.

There were more kinds of cake mix than there were types of milk. Ian looked back down at the list, but he already knew that it didn't say what kind of cake Sam wanted. Chocolate? White? Black Forest? Jesus, there were even different flavors of chocolate, as if chocolate wasn't enough to choose from. He grabbed one white and one chocolate fudge.

"My mom gets the one with the spoon on it."

Corey had followed him, and was still full of advice.

"Is your mom here in the store?" Ian asked.

The boy nodded.

"Then I think I hear her calling you."

Corey cocked his head, slightly, a look of concentration on his face.

"I don't hear anything."

"Listen harder..."

Ian grabbed frosting for each of the mixes he'd gotten, and then looked down at the list again.

Bacon.

That would be easy enough. He turned and weaved his way out of the baking aisle, more than relieved to be away from that screaming little kid and headed for the meat section. The store was well-labeled, he had to give them that. He stopped at the bacon, and realized it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. There were an amazing number of different kinds of bacon as well. He looked around to see if Corey was there, and then grabbed up a couple packages of regular bacon and looked back down on the list.

Fruit

Ian looked at the list again. Fruit. Just fruit. Not any particular kind of fruit. Obviously Sam – presuming she wrote the list – knew that Jack knew what kind of fruit she liked, and had known she only had to put fruit. Ian, of course, didn't have a clue. He headed for the produce aisle; already certain he was going to have more than enough to choose from. Oh well, he'd get whatever he saw, and if Sam didn't want to eat it, he would.

A pile of cantaloupes was closest, and Ian picked one up and started to put it into the cart when an all too familiar voice spoke up from somewhere around his navel.

"You're supposed to squeeze it and smell it..."

"What?"

Corey shrugged.

"My mom-"

"She does not."

"Yes, she does."

"She sniffs the fruit?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

Corey shrugged again.

"I think you're full of shit..."

"She squeezes it, and smells it," he repeated.

Ian squeezed the cantaloupe, and put it to his face, pretending to smell it.

"There. Happy?"

"I didn't say you had to. I just said my mom did."

Ian rolled his eyes and put the melon in the cart and looked for some other fruits. Apples and oranges were probably a safe bet. He pushed the cart over to the display, and picked up a bag of each, looking down at Corey, who had followed him.

"She doesn't smell them..." He told the cadet.

Ian nodded, and put them in his cart without smelling or squeezing them. Apples, oranges, cantaloupe... what other fruit? He picked up a weird looking one that was labeled as a pomegranate.

"What's that?" Corey asked.

"A pomegranate."

"What is it?"

"It's fruit. Doesn't your mom buy it?"

Corey shook his head.

Ian shrugged and grabbed a couple more. At least the boy didn't have any advice for him. He put it into the cart, and looked back at the list, figuring he had enough fruit.

"You should get bananas."

"What? Why?"

"Everyone likes bananas. You could make banana bread with them when they rot. My mom does."

Ian shrugged and walked over to the bananas and grabbed a bunch.

"Those are too green."

"They're not that green."

"The green ones taste bad."

Ian sighed, and put the ones he'd grabbed back, picking a bunch that were more yellow. He was just putting them into the cart when Jack O'Neill came up to him, pushing a cart that was filled with big bags of dog food and a lot of canned goods.

"Hey, Ian," Jack said, coming to a stop beside the cadet. He looked down and saw Corey standing close at hand. "Who's this?"

"Martha Stewart."