Author's Note: The last chapter was just so melancholy and sad that I wanted to inject a little more humor into this particular day for all our sakes. I have a few other ideas in the works, but I've been working on rewrites for my original fiction novel (Sweethearts Old by Rachel A. Andersen) before it's published in June, so this took a bit of a back seat. Enjoy! - RS
Thursday, March 26, 2020, cont.
Sam cranked the pepper grinder three times, carefully eyeing the dark flakes descending onto the chicken breasts in a light flurry. Then, she applied the thin lemon slices to the top of the chicken and asparagus.
Would the day ever come that she could make lemon chicken and not think of Rodney McKay?
She shook her head as she slid the glass baking dish into the oven, set the cooking timer, and turned to her cello. A soft smile lifted her lips as she looked at the gift. It had been just like Jack to get her the one thing she wanted to help ease the ache of her workaholic heart.
If only she could think of something she could get him in return.
She pulled one of the dining room chairs to the living room and got herself situated with the cello between her knees. She wasn't going to be mistaken for a professional anytime soon, but she was coming along, the mathematical precision and physics of sound making the art all the more soothing to her mind.
She drew the bow across the strings as she played "Scarborough Fair," allowing her fingers to work out the notes. She grimaced as she played a sour note, her fingers still somewhat inexperienced in navigating the fingerboard.
"Hey, don't stop now. That's sounding pretty good."
Sam smiled as Jack walked down the last few steps to the main floor. He leaned over the cello as he kissed her. "Doesn't sound like I'm torturing a rat down here anymore?"
He laughed as he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Did I say that?"
She looked over her shoulder as she chuckled. "At least a half dozen times in the last week."
Jack leaned his hips against the kitchen counter. "Let's call it motivational."
She almost choked on her own saliva. "Sure, Jack. That's what it was."
"Something in here smells good."
Knowing that she wasn't going to get any more practice in until later, Sam put her cello back on its stand and joined him. "I tried my hand at a French baguette today. It's not very pretty, but it'll do for now."
Jack shook his head as he pulled her close and kissed her temple. "I never could have guessed when I met you that I'd ever see your eyes light up like that about baking bread."
She wrapped one arm around his waist. "It's soothing."
"You look like you're feeling better."
She inhaled as she looked over at him. "Yeah. Little bit. Sleep and planning an outdoor space does wonders for the mood."
"So does getting things off your chest and having a good cry."
She shook off the remnants of her nightmare, not interested in discussing their midnight chat any further. "Isn't this usually your poker night?"
He shrugged as he took another sip of his coffee. "Yet another casualty of COVID-19."
"And you're done for the day?"
He set his cup on the counter as he wrapped his arms around her waist with a flirtatious twinkle in his eye. "Barring some intergalactic emergency, I'm all yours."
Before she could answer, her phone chirped, announcing a text message. She swallowed, her attention distracted from Jack's advances. She gave him a look of apology. "It could be Cassie."
Jack read her worry as she reached for the phone, scanning the screen before pocketing it again. Her anxiety ebbed away. "Nope. Just Daniel."
Jack pulled away from her, picking up the coffee cup again. "Still trying to offload that TP?"
"Probably, but he can wait."
Jack peered over the rim of his coffee cup as he took a sip, and she tensed. "Before you ask, it wasn't Cassie that brought the miscarriage back up. "
Jack swallowed before he put the mug in the sink. "Didn't say it was."
She winced, realizing that Cassie, who was pregnant with her fourth child and due any day now, might actually have been the perfect catalyst for Sam's feelings of loss. Jack was just too kind to say it outright. That coupled with Sam's fear of losing Jack... "It's this house. It's the time of year. It's—"
"Grief, Sam. I get it. Comes in waves."
"Exactly." She walked to the oven and checked the chicken. "Dinner's almost done. Then, we can play poker."
"You win one hand against Teal'c over ten years ago, and you think you're ready to go up against me, Carter?"
She grinned. "I've been practicing."
"You do know I've played every week except for the rare exception when I was off-world or unwillingly detained for over twenty-five years, right?"
She crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Then, maybe we need to up the stakes."
"What, like play for who's taking out the garbage? Cleaning the fridge?"
She sauntered up to him. "I was thinking something a little less—" She pursed her lips to the side as she rocked onto the balls of her feet and hovered her lips near his ear. "Innocent."
He cocked his head to the side, that flirtatious look in his eye back. "Well, if that's what you have in mind, why wait for dinner?"
She grinned. "Why do you think I programmed the oven to turn off when the chicken's done?"
"I think this should be our new Thursday tradition."
Sam chuckled as she tore off part of the baguette and handed it to him, clad only in a short silky blue robe Jack had gotten her for their anniversary a couple of years back. "Just during quarantine?"
Jack leaned back against the headboard of the bed, shirtless, as he shook his head. "No need. The guys at poker will understand why they're gonna have to find a new hangout."
"Oh, and why's that?" Sam fingered a slender asparagus shoot and took a bite.
"Because this is one game where I don't mind losing my shirt."
She grinned. "Told you I've been practicing."
"Not that I don't respect the hell out of that big brain of yours—"
Sam almost choked as she snickered. "Yeah?"
"But what makes you think I didn't let you win?"
She gasped and threw a piece of baguette at him, more amused than offended. "You wouldn't dare."
He laughed as he ducked. "What was that?"
She climbed over her plate and put a finger in his face as if she was lecturing a small boy, which was hard given how close she was to laughing at how easily Jack might have manipulated her in their private poker game. "Don't you ever let me win, Jack O'Neill."
He caught her wrist in his hand, his brown eyes flickering with love and amusement as he leaned in and planted a kiss in the center of her palm. "Yes, ma'am."
"Sam?"
Jack dragged his fingers up and down her arm as they lay together, and if he hadn't spoken her name, she might have fallen asleep in pure bliss. "Hm?"
"Hypothetically, if there was a promotion available—"
She rested her chin on his chest. "For you?"
He shook his head. "Uh, that's a no. As soon as I can manage it, I'm out."
A faint smile toyed with her lips. "If you say so."
"Hey, just because I've tried it before doesn't mean they won't take my retirement papers at some point."
She ran her finger over his stomach in lazy circles. "Whatever you say."
"Anyway, back to my original question: if there was a promotion available. Would you take it?"
She rolled over, the back of her head leaning against his biceps. "Brigadier? I guess it would depend on the post." Her gaze flickered up to him. "Is there something I should know?"
He knew what she was wondering, whether that retirement joke was more serious than he'd intended. Though he had to admit it wasn't off the table, it wasn't necessarily high on his priority list just yet. "Not that I know of. I'm just thinking."
She grew serious. "I don't have to command a ship, Jack. I'd be just as happy to ask for a transfer to Andrews if—"
He kissed the top of her head. "Don't be serious. I'd never ask you to do that. Besides, you wouldn't get away with a request like that. They'd ship you off to R&D again before they sent you to Andrews."
"You don't have to ask, Jack. I've loved the last few days, too. I could even go civilian and teach at one of the universities nearby."
"You'd be bored to tears, and you know it."
"I could still consult at the SGC."
"Carter, barring some unforeseen head trauma that leaves you about half the brain cells you have and puts you at the same level of intelligence as the rest of us—"
She blushed.
"I'm never going to let you tuck yourself away in a classroom until you retire, and even then, I'm going to suggest you choose a little community college in Minnesota. About ten minutes from my favorite fishing hole."
She smiled at the picture. "Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah."
They were quiet for a moment before Jack inhaled again. "But if there was a promotion, and you were offered, say, the SGC. Would you take it?"
She rolled her eyes. "I would never get offered the SGC, Jack."
He sat up slightly, presumably so he could get a better look at her face. "You honestly believe that?"
"Jack, the IOA didn't even give me a one-year-review before they fired me from Atlantis. If anyone's going to get the SGC, it's probably going to be Reynolds or Mitchell."
He shook his head. "No."
She leaned up and kissed him. "You have to say that because you're my husband."
He raised a finger as if to keep her from trying to distract him further. "No. I'm saying that as Head of Homeworld. Carter, the guys mention something about my retirement in passing, and your name comes up. You're already on the shortlist to replace Landry, assuming he holds out and doesn't retire before me."
She blinked. "What?"
"Don't get me wrong. Mitchell and Reynolds are good, but it's about time they had someone at the SGC who can read one of the science reports without having to look up half the terminology."
She leaned back, processing. "Why are you telling me this?"
He gave her a crooked grin. "I know I look like a pretty laid-back guy, but if I'm not retiring right away to a little cabin in Minnesota to fish in a pond with no fish, I'd like to have some time to process."
She relaxed into his arms as she chuckled. "Fair enough."
"I wasn't kidding when I said you were one of this country's national treasures, Carter. And I'm not the only who thinks so. What would you say if they offered you the SGC?"
She bit her lip. "I'd do some things differently."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
She let her chilly toes find their way under Jack's legs, and though they twitched instinctively at the change of temperature, he didn't move them. "It would be nice to come home to you every night."
"Again, I wouldn't have it any other way."
She pondered the question for a moment. "Well, I'd be lying if I wasn't flattered."
"But?"
She shook her head. "But nothing. Barring some unforeseen complication, I'd consider it."
"Excellent. Now, I saw your laptop earlier, and I just have one question."
"Oh, yeah?"
"How much is this new backyard going to cost us?"
Unexpectedly, her mind conjured up the perfect gift for her husband, and she was grateful she hadn't actually made any decisions about the backyard. "Oh, I don't know."
He buried his face in her hair. "That's what I'm afraid of."
