A/N: In writing about Pi Day I discovered that there is actually a "pi approximation day." Apparently, 22.7 is actually a closer approximation of π than 3.14. That would make it, if you flipped the European dating system around, that July 22 is Pi Approximation Day. Thus . . . a second story.

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Set after Thor's Chariot (original airdate: 7/31/98): "SG-1 returns to Cimmeria, and finds that without protection from the Asgard the planet has been invaded by the Goa'uld."

Approximations of Why

"It's a cake."

"Yes."

"How is that something for…"

"It's 'Pi Approximation Day.'" Jack sighed, his voice tight with barely suppressed impatience.

"Yes, I know that. Or I didn't until you said, but…it's a cake."

"Yes, but it looks like a pie. Therefore…" Jack waited, an expectant look on his face.

Finally Teal'c broke the silence. "Daniel Jackson, I believe that O'Neill is providing an approximation of a pie in the form of–"

"A cake." Daniel's voice was faint. "Oh. Wow. That's…"

"Perfect, right?" Jack glanced from on to the other. "No?" He shrugged and carefully lifted his concoction from the table. Shaking his head at Daniel he headed toward the door. "Carter'll get it, she's the bright one of the group!"

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Jack tapped once on the doorframe of Carter's lab, carefully balancing his . . . not pie . . . behind his back. He'd given it a great deal of thought and come to the conclusion that despite their having made a "date" of sorts a few months ago, Carter would most likely not follow through. So . . . it was up to him.

He'd waited. It was late. Really late. Or really early, depending upon your perspective. Later meant less people. Less people meant less . . . crap later. And he was all about less crap.

Jack tapped again.

At her distracted, "Come," he eased into the room and nudged the door closed behind him. The soft 'snick' of the latch engaging wasn't enough to pull her from her work, so Jack waited. Not patiently, no. That wasn't his style. But . . . self preservation and past experience had taught him that it was better to wait for her to acknowledge him than it was for him to interrupt her.

So . . . waiting.

After a while he sighed. He couldn't help it. Really, how long could one man stand there with perfectly good not-pie in his hands and with an exceptionally beautiful woman in front of him and not sigh?

Not long.

"Sir?"

Jack couldn't help it. Her "how long have you been here" expression was just too . . . too . . . engaging not to just chuckle. He flashed her the barest of grins and nodded, grateful that she'd finally emerged. "Carter."

He took a long step toward her table, looking for a place to set his present. Carter must have seen his look because she stood and quickly cleared off one end of the table.

"Did you need something, Colonel?"

"Nope."

"Oh." She fidgeted with a small glass tube, clearly distracted.

"Carter."

"Sir."

"Put down the tube."

"Okay." She dutifully set it aside, then paused as her hand lifted away. "Um . . . why?"

"Why?"

Now he had her attention. He knew the exact second when her focus turned from its inward attraction to him and he enjoyed knowing that he, well, knew. "You're asking your CO 'why,' Captain?

She straightened instantly and the perfect officer mask fell into place. "No, Colonel. Sorry. How can I help you."

Jack relented. He flashed another smile and waved her to her stool. "C'mon, Carter. I was kidding. You can always ask 'why.' In fact," he paused as he settled himself adjacent to her. "I insist."

"You do?" Sam took an absentminded sip from her coffee and grimaced. She frowned into the cup and then looked up at him. "Coffee, Colonel?"

She rose and poured them both a cup before he could answer. When she placed his before him, Jack marveled again. She made it exactly as he liked it. Just as he could do the same for her. Nice.

"So . . . today."

"Um . . . is . . . wow. Saturday."

"Yes. And . . .?"

Carter spread her hands wide. "Got me, Sir."

"Does the number twenty-two point seven ring a bell?

"N-n-ooo . . . wait. Ohhh."

Jack watched as she ducked her head. He enjoyed the blush as it crept up her neck and disappeared into her fair hair. With a gentle flourish, he produced his not-pie and set it before her.

And waited.

One long moment passed before a grin crossed her face, followed by a chuckle. This was chased by a loud burst of laughter that was echoed in the light dancing in her depthless blue eyes.

And all the air was sucked from the room. Jack couldn't breathe. Couldn't tell, for a moment, if his heart was still beating. The unalloyed pleasure on her face was something he would crawl across the desert to see again, let alone be the cause of.

He'd made Carter smile. Hell, he'd made her light up.

And she'd made his heart stop.

Bonus.

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to say something.

"It's . . . it's an approximation of a pie, isn't it, Sir?"

"It is."

"And . . . you knew that."

"I did." Jack scratched his head. "Do."

Carter turned the not-pie, rotating it to see it from all angles. She shook her head at his attempts to inscribe numbers using frosting and then swiped a finger along the base. She popped the frosted finger into her mouth and her low hum of pleasure was almost Jack's undoing.

"Uh. Plates?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Over on the bookshelf. I'll –"

"No. You enjoy. I'll be back." Jack used the movement across the room to suck some much needed air into his lungs and to get his pulse back under control. Returning to the table, he produced plastic utensils from the pockets of his BDUs and handed them over.

Carter dished them each generous slices and the two ate in silence for a few moments. Midway through her slice, Carter tipped her head and looked at him.

"What?" Jack glanced down, worried that he'd spilled.

"Why, Sir?"

"Why the pie? Or the not-pie?"

Carter shook her head. "No. Why the 'why' earlier? The thing you said, about wanting me to ask, 'why'? Insisting on it?"

"Because you asking 'why' is what you're supposed to do, Carter. You're my Second. You shouldn't question my decisions, but you shouldn't just blindly follow either. I think you're smart enough to know the difference and to know when to ask . . . 'why.'"

"Oh. Thank you." She dropped her gaze away and toyed with her fork for a moment, then glanced from her watch to the closed door before turning her eyes back to his. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his, reaching. Open and guileless.

Jack watched as she took a long, steadying breath and waited for the inevitable.

"Sir. You . . . this is something we could have done with everyone else. Teal'c, Daniel. Why wait until–"

Jack shook his head and took a last, large bite of his not-pie. He stood and brushed a few errant crumbs from his shirt. "I said you can always ask, Carter. I might not always be able to answer . . . at least not the way I'd . . . or you'd . . . like, but you can always ask."

"Why ask if you're not able to answer?"

"'Cause . . . well, you never know. Some things I can answer, and some things you gotta just take on faith."

"Like pi."

"Or an approximation thereof."

End.