By the time Ian came out of the shower – wearing dark blue sweats and another white t-shirt and looking refreshed and still a bit damp – Jack had started a fire in the fireplace and was now sitting on the sofa with Sam's head on his leg as she stretched out, relaxing. Jaffer was lounging in front of the fire, and the TV was on – showing a college football game, although the sound was down so low you could barely hear the announcers.

Sam didn't lift her head from Jack's leg, but she did look up at Ian when he walked over.

"Warmer?"

He smiled and nodded.

"Much. Thanks."

"Miami's playing Tennessee," Jack told him. "Are you a football fan?"

"Of course."

"Chicago?"

Ian snorted.

"Who'd go for them?"

Jack scowled.

"People from Chicago."

Sam laughed, and Ian walked over and ignored the big easy chair in favor of sprawling on the floor beside Jaffer, who was more than willing to share his warm spot with the cadet.

"I'm an Eagles fan."

"I thought you were from New York?" Sam asked.

"I live in New Jersey, technically – although I was born in New York. I hate the Mets, hate the Yankees, I hate the Giants – I kind of like the Jets, but not enough to root for them – and I don't like the Knicks – I'm not a big basketball fan."

"Rangers?" Jack asked.

Ian shrugged, running his hand along Jaffer's shoulder, which prompted the lab to roll over and present his stomach to be rubbed.

"Hockey's fun to play, but not to watch. But I'll watch the Islanders and the Flyers if I get desperate enough."

"Hockey's the greatest thing since sliced bread," Jack told him, stoutly.

Ian shrugged again, and rolled over onto his back, shifting so he could use Jaffer as a pillow.

"If you say so, Jack. It's your house, after all."

"That's right, it is..."

"And I was told to never argue with geriatrics."

Sam snorted and Jack scowled down at her.

"You heard him... when he finds himself dumped headfirst into a snow bank, he's not going to be able to come running to you whining..."

"It hasn't snowed enough to make a decent snow bank," Sam told him, turning her head – still without lifting it from his leg – and looking towards the window. Through the gossamer curtains she could see that the snow was still falling. "I wonder if the snow will slow down air traffic...?"

"Only if there's a lot of it," Jack assured her. "It's Colorado; they're used to a lot of snow."

"Well, yeah... that's true..."

Ian watched the two of them as he rubbed Jaffer's belly, idly. The last place he would have expected to be this Thanksgiving was at their house – he hadn't even known them all that long, really, and they were really opening their home up to him and treating him like one of the family. Better than his own family, even. He'd figured he was going to end up just hanging out at the academy for the five day holiday – since it had been a forgone conclusion that his dad was going to have other plans than spending it with him – and Ian's mother would be with him (as she should be, he admitted). Besides, it was too much of a travel hassle to go all the way to New Jersey just to spend a couple days at home. Especially if it was empty.

This was much better than the academy – although he'd been a bit pissed at Shawn for asking Jack and Sam to take him in without asking Ian, first. He hadn't wanted to intrude and he wasn't sure that they wouldn't have taken him just because they felt obligated to because Shawn asked. But they were treating him great – and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Even if he was getting picked on – he had to admit he liked that, too. Although he couldn't think of anyone else he'd put up with it from.

"What do you do for fun, Ian?" Sam asked him, pulling him out of his reverie.

"At school?"

She smiled.

"At school you run, I know. What about when you're home? What do you do?"

"I box. I go to the park with Bubba..." he ignored Jack's grin at the name of his dog – yeah, like Jaffer was any better a name than Bubba? "I hunt, shoot, drive fast when I can get away with it, play around on the Internet and I do a lot of reading."

"What do you read?"

"You box?" Jack asked.

"Yeah." Ian flexed his arm – producing a finely shaped bicep. "Of course I box – every red-blooded American boy should box."

"And you fence," Jack added.

Ian shrugged.

"Only when pressed."

"Busy," Sam said, impressed.

"It gives me something to do..." He said, trailing off, his hand finding a slightly rough spot on Jaffer's side. He looked down and parted the hair, and saw a very thin, almost unnoticeable scar. He traced it with his finger gently, and found it ran along the lab's side pretty far. "Wow, how did he manage that?"

"Scar?" Jack asked.

Ian nodded.

"He's had his share of incidents," Jack told him, evasively. No sense getting into that.

"You think that's an impressive scar, you should see some of Jack's," Sam told him. "He's got one right on his butt that-"

"I'll pass," Ian told her, smiling, while Jack grabbed a throw pillow and held it over her head to muffle her voice. Sam giggled, and pulled the pillow away.

"It's a cute one, though..."

"Everything about me is cute," Jack said, preening. "That's why she loves me, you know?"

"That's what I hear..." Ian agreed.

"What did you hear?" Jack asked.

"What?"

"What did you hear about me?"

"Who says I heard anything about you?"

"You just did."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Did-"

"Guys..." Sam broke that up, sensing that they'd be able to go one like that forever without annoying either of them. But it was already getting to her.

"He started it," Ian said, before Jack could.

"I'm going to take a nap." Sam said. "Why don't you two find something to do and play nice?"

"You're sleeping out here?" Jack asked.

"If I don't, you'll probably destroy the house."

Jack frowned, looking over at Ian.

"So... you box?"

He nodded.

"No." Sam said, before either of them could get any bright – or not so bright – ideas. "You're not boxing." That was all she needed, one or both of them getting beat up. "Why not play chess?"

"You play chess?" Ian asked Jack.

"Of course. I practically invented the game, you know?"

"I believe it," Ian told him, sitting up. "I hear it's thousands of years old."

Sam smiled, and Ian didn't manage to duck before the throw pillow came sailing in to hit him in the face.

"I'll get the board," Jack said, giving Sam notice so she could move her head and let him up. Which she did. Ian stood up and brought her the throw pillow, and then headed for the dining room table, where they'd be out of the way.

Sam tucked the pillow under her head, and closed her eyes, pleased with herself. That'd keep them out of trouble for a while. Jack was an excellent chess player, after all.