A/N—Thanks so much for the reviews; I really appreciate them!

Disclaimer in chapter 1

8

Sam looked up to see Jill pointing behind her, indicating she had a new customer. She'd been off her game most of the morning, and was grateful for the tabs Jill kept on her. Sleep had eluded her until it was nearly time to get up, and it showed. Trying hard to look awake, Sam's forced smile turned genuine when she saw her next customer.

"Jack! What are you doing here?"

Jack's grin was practically a smirk. "You do serve coffee here, don't you?"

"Yes, but. . ."

"So, I'd like a cup," he said, straddling the stool and sitting down. "I believe you know how I like it." Sam couldn't help her own grin from forming. She figured since he could joke about her fore-knowledge, it had to be a good sign. The fact he was sitting at the counter of her workplace at six a.m. also had to be a good sign. Suddenly, her day didn't seem quite as grim.

Turning back to the coffee maker, Sam heard Jill whispering in her ear. "I hope you know that guy, because he hasn't taken his eyes off your ass since he sat down." Jill's comment caused Sam's grin to widen further. The thought that Jack was blatantly checking her out was actually flattering. She couldn't remember the last time someone had noticed her as a woman, and not Major Carter.

Placing a cup on the counter, Sam filled it from her fresh pot. "I'm a little surprised to see you. It's awfully early."

Jack shrugged. "It's a little earlier than I normally start my day, but this way I'll have time to prepare for my first class. Plus, Charlie's old enough to get himself off to school. If he isn't he'll learn pretty quick." Sam nodded, unsure what to say. "I had a nice time last night," Jack added, the volume of his voice dropping to a more intimate level.

"I did too," Sam admitted, suddenly feeling a little shy.

"We should do it again sometime," Jack suggested, gazing into her eyes as he took a sip from his cup.

"That would be nice," she agreed.

"How about tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Unless you're busy. I mean you probably have all kinds of things you'd rather be doing. Better things than going out with me. More important things. Astrophysicist things. More. . ."

"I'd love to," she said, feeling a blush staining her cheeks. Why was she feeling so shy around him? She hadn't been this uncomfortable durning dinner.

"You would?" Jack seemed astounded she'd accepted. At that moment, the cook's patience had worn thin and he yelled at her.

"Sam! Table ten! Order up! Let's go before these eggs turn into chickens!" She mouthed a "later" to Jack, as she hustled to deliver the meal the cook was pushing around under the heat lamp. The first breakfast rush had started and she hadn't had a chance to get back to Jack other than to refill his cup as she made her way down the counter. She could feel his gaze on her and it was blowing her concentration. She'd made more mistakes in the next half hour than she had her first day on the job. Maybe she should ask him to leave, but she didn't want him to go. It was reassuring to catch him from the corner of her eye and see him pretending to read his newspaper.

Sam was about to top off his coffee when Jack stood. "I gotta get going, " he said, tucking the paper under his arm. "So, about later. . . ."

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to get back to you," she said, clearing his spot as they spoke. "Do you have something in mind?"

Jack looked nervous. "I was thinking maybe a picnic?"

Sam was surprised. Jack had never seemed like a picnic kind of guy. Of course they'd shared rations in the field, but that was hardly the same as a meal planned in the outdoors. It sounded like a great idea to her, and she told him that.

"I'm done at one-thirty. How about I pick up something up on the way home?"

"If you don't mind. . . . I'm not free until four. I'll pick you up at your place?"

"Sounds good," she said, smiling him, then turning her attention to the next occupant at the counter. Suddenly, she felt a whole lot lighter.

XXXXXX

Sam and Jack were loaded with picnic goods, searching for a place to set down their burdens. "How about that tree over there?" Sam suggested, nodding towards a spreading evergreen.

"As good as any," Jack grunted, shifting the items he was carrying. Both of them were losing half their load before they reached the tree. Laughing, Sam volunteered to retrieve the stragglers if he would spread the blanket.

Opening up the newly-purchased Styrofoam cooler, Jack surveyed it's contents. "So, what did you pick up?"

"Nothing fancy. Potato salad, cold fried chicken. Cake."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Cake?"

"Vanilla," she confirmed with a smile.

"Where's the forks?" Jack asked, searching through plastic grocery bags. Sam was grinning, shaking her head. Of course he wouldn't want to fill up on such mundane things as a meal when there was dessert to be had.

"Carter, did you get plates?" Sam stopped dead, feeling her eyes widen. At her silence, Jack looked up.

"Sam? You okay?"

Swallowing, Sam merely nodded. "Why. . ." she cleared her throat. "Why did you call me that?"

Jack shrugged. "Bad habit, I guess. I call my friend Charlie 'Kawalsky' more often than not. Most of my other acquaintances too, I guess." At her continued silence, Jack tried to apologize. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

Sam looked down, brushing her lengthening hair behind her ears. "I'm not offended it's just that. . ."

"He calls you that," Jack finished.

Sam looked up, feeling sheepish. "Yeah." Concentrating on unpacking their picnic, Sam avoided his gaze. "I know you still don't believe me about the whole alternate universe thing, but you've kind of just proved it, haven't you?"

Jack looked confused. "What do you mean?"

She met his gaze, now. "Well, the way I reacted. Obviously I've been called 'Carter' by 'you' before, and this is the first time you," she said, pointing at him, "have called me by my last name."

Jack took a seat on the blanket, fiddling with a white plastic fork. He didn't speak, and a frown creased his brow. It was obvious he was mulling over his options: believe her or not. Sam had hoped he was starting to come to grips with the information she'd imparted, but she couldn't read his expression.

"Pass the cake, please?" he quietly asked. Sam handed him the clear plastic container and watched as Jack dug his fork into the square of cake. Several bites later, he looked up at her. "Sorry, no plates," he reiterated, apologizing for his impolite behavior.

"Yeah, I guess I spaced them." She was still watching Jack, trying to gauge what he was thinking. He sighed, as if he'd given up the fight, and was ready to go peacefully.

"Well, since 'Carter' has been taken, I guess I'll have to come up with something else."

"I don't mind if you call me 'Carter,'" she stated quickly. "It's kind of nice, actually. A little piece of home, if you will." Jack gave her a wan smile, and she realized she'd probably hurt his feelings. This was his home and she was treating Jack like the only value she saw in him and his world was a way to combat her loss.

"How about we change the subject?" Jack proposed.

Sam reached for a chicken wing, agreeing whole-heartedly. "First item of new business," Jack said. "Beer or wine?"

"You brought both?"

"Well, I wasn't sure. You can maybe read me like a book, but you're new territory for me, Samantha."

Samantha. She'd never liked her full name, but the way he said it, she was gaining new appreciation. Had the Colonel ever called her that? She couldn't remember, but the way she felt at the sound of him speaking her name, she would have found it memorable.

Jack was snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Hey, you kind of checked out there," he grinned.

"Sorry," she said, feeling her face warming. "It's a big decision, you know. Wine or beer."

"Yes, I can see it would take a lot of contemplation," he dead-panned. She noticed he was having beer, and opted to join him. With the lack of plates, they were both eating from the container of potato salad.

"I feel like Judy Garland sharing a soda with Mickey Rooney," she practically giggled.

Jack reclined back onto his elbow, still wielding his fork. "Well, you're cute enough to be Judy, but I'm way too tall to be Mickey." Sam blushed again at his compliment.

"You do that a lot, you know. The blushing thing," he clarified. Sam could feel the heat in her cheeks increasing.

"Not that it isn't adorable as hell, it's just I can't believe you haven't been showered with compliments most of your life."

Sam did her best to regain her composure. "It still isn't cool to be the smart girl," she said, stabbing her fork into the potato salad and leaving it. "And it certainly wasn't when I was going to school."

Jack rolled over onto his stomach, balancing on his elbows. "And when might that have been?"

Sam gave him an enigmatic smile. "Is this your not-so-clever way of asking how old I am, Jack O'Neill?" While she was asking her question, Sam moved to emulate his posture, lying on her stomach facing him.

"Too in your face?"

"Subtlety is not your forte," she grinned. "I'm thirty-five and I know you're fifty-one."

"Don't be pushing me over the hill quite yet! I've got a few months left."

"You're right. Sorry, si. . Jack." With that small slip, Sam watched a change come over him. She really wasn't thinking of "her" Jack. It was just such a habit, she didn't even realize what she started to say. She tried to apologize, but he gave her a sad smile.

"Don't sweat it." Sam didn't know what to say without sticking her foot further into it, so she reached for the box of eclairs she'd bought for herself. Not that they were her exclusive domain, but she figured the cake would distract Jack from her treat. She was wrong.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, reaching for her box he now held at arm's length. "You've got cake!"

"And apparently I also have eclairs," he said, giving her his most wicked little boy smile. He was cute and he knew it, and God, how her heart ached to see that grin. One thing he hadn't counted on was her hand-to-hand combat skills. He might have superior strength, but she'd been military trained.

Before he was even aware, Jack was flat on his back, divested of the eclair box. Sam was astride his chest, pinning his arms with her knees as she withdrew a pastry, taking a bite. She chewed slowly, savoring the sweet cream on her tongue. Watching him, she saw Jack swallow convulsively as she licked chocolate and filling from her lips. Their gazes locked and she was suddenly aware Jack wanted to kiss her. Almost unconsciously she was moving towards him, hypnotized by his eyes. Their lips had almost touched when suddenly a football landed square in the middle of their picnic, startling them into separation.

An athletic boy, somewhere in his late teens, jogged up, to retrieve the ball Jack tossed at him. A half-hearted, "Hey, sorry, dude," was all the boy managed by way of an apology.

Sam looked over at Jack, self-conscious about what had almost passed between them. While she had over six years of history with "him," she was something new for Jack, making this "relationship"-if she could even call it that-seem to be moving way too fast.

She could understand the heady feeling of connecting with someone on an emotional level almost from the time you met. Isn't that what was happening with her? Add into that a man who hadn't dated since his wife died, and you had an explosive mix. Two lonely people with different agendas, heading towards the same conclusion.

"Come on," he said, standing and extending his hand to her. "Let's take a walk along the lake."

Sam reached up, accepting his help to stand. No matter which Jack he was, he always seemed to know what it took to break the awkward tension between them.

XXXXXX

Jack offered his hand to Sam, who took it with a smile. He almost wished she'd stop giving him that grin so he could ground himself once more. Almost wished, he thought. If she did stop, he knew he would do just about anything to make it return.

How long had he known Samantha Carter? A day or two tops? So how was it in a matter of hours he was already falling under her spell? He was even starting to give her the benefit of the doubt over her wild claims. Perhaps if she hadn't shown up, seemingly from out of nowhere, he wouldn't have been so captivated. As it was, he felt like a teenager encountering love for the first time. Even with Sara he hadn't felt this out of control. He felt a stab of guilt at that thought. Sara. Had he forgotten her so quickly?

Jack felt a nudge at his shoulder. "You okay?" she asked, gazing up at him with concerned eyes.

"Yeah. Just a lot on my mind." She nodded in understanding as if she too felt the weight of their attraction. But she had had a head start, he reasoned. No matter how professional she claimed her relationship with O'Neill had been, he could sense she wouldn't have let her guard down as quickly as she had if there hadn't been something personal between the two of them. She'd been looking for signs of O'Neill within him. Jack felt slightly ashamed he'd used that to his advantage. Last time he saw her he vowed he wouldn't kiss her until he was sure she knew who she was locking lips with. Now he was not so certain.

"So, was Charlie okay with you being gone this morning?" The question seemed to come from left field, but he recognized her attempt at getting a conversation started again.

"Yeah," he grinned. "He accused me of having a sleep-over."

Sam coughed at that. "Really? I hope you set him straight!"

"Are you kidding? I have to do something to make him think his old man isn't over the hill and in the valley beyond!"

Sam slapped his arm none-too-gently. "Jack! He's an impressionable kid! What kind of an example is that setting if he thinks we slept together after one date?"

Jack stopped walking. "Was it a date?" Sam seemed flustered by his question.

"I. . .I guess it was. I mean you asked. . . ."

He pulled her closer, running his fingers into her hair. "And is this a date?" he asked softly. Her eyes were staring straight into his and he felt as if he was tingling everywhere at once.

"I. . .Yes," she confirmed shyly. She tried to look away but the fingers of his free hand guided her chin to face him again. Slowly he closed his eyes, leaning forward, capturing her lips with his.

At first Sam just stood there, either too surprised or too outraged to move. He hoped it wasn't outrage as he slipped his hand to the back of her head, caressing her neck. Their tongues tangled, and for endless moments the outside world ceased to exist. When they finally broke apart, Sam stared at him with such passion, he wondered why they had to be in a public venue.

"Oh, God. . . ." she breathed, and then she was kissing him again. They did even better the second time, Jack decided, and truly thought his brain had short-circuited. Pulling her closer, he rested his chin on top her head, stroking her soft hair.

"Wow," he managed, wondering how it was he had any breath left to speak.

"Yeah," she added, as inarticulate as himself. Sam buried her face in his chest, clutching the back of his shirt for a minute before pushing away.

"Sam?" he asked, wondering at her sudden change.

"Um, we should probably go," she said, tracing her lips with her fingers. He wondered if she was trying to memorize the feel of their kiss, or wipe the sensation away.

"Did I. . .?"

She turned around to face him, eyes pleading. "Please, Jack, it's not you. Don't ever think. . . ."

"Then what?" he asked, taking her by the shoulders forcing her to look at him.

"I'm so conflicted about. . .him," she said. "I don't want to use you as a stand-in. You're a great guy. You deserve someone who cares about you for your uniqueness, not someone who sees another man every time she looks at you." She started to pull away but he held her fast.

"Sam, we can talk about this! Sure it's weird, but you'll love me once you get to know me," he joked. For some reason his words caused her to burst into tears, and she didn't fight him as he pulled her close. "What did I say?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"It was our first mission," she said, moving away, wiping her eyes. "I told the Colonel he'd love me once he got to know me."

"And I'm guessing he did."

"I. . .I've never really been sure. I mean I thought. . . ."

"Then he's an idiot. Which begs the obvious question: why would you want to be with such a loser?" Again he was joking, but it seemed everything that came from his mouth set her off again. "Sam, come on," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He didn't do crying women. Sara could get him to agree to almost anything just by looking as though she might cry. The fact Sam had left his shirts damp two days in a row was making him feel like he was totally ill-suited to say anything to her.

The mood for their picnic had been destroyed, brought down by his impetuous actions. Why the hell hadn't he given her a little space? Jack rubbed his hand over his face.

"Do you want to go?"

Sam didn't answer immediately. "I guess so. I'm sorry I reacted so badly. That I keep reacting badly. I'm usually not this emotional or indecisive."

Picking up her hand, Jack ran his fingers over hers. "You've been through a lot. Lost a lot. I know how that feels." Sam nodded.

"Why don't you come over? We'll just watch some TV, nothing special, just hang out so neither one of us has to go home to an empty house."

"Isn't Charlie home?"

"He's probably at his girlfriend's. If he isn't, he'll be in his room, leaving me to rattle around the house. . . ." He tried to pout but just couldn't do it. At least the face made her smile. "No pressure," he promised.

A grin pulled at Sam's lips. "Okay. Besides," she said, poking him in the chest. "I can't leave you with all that cake, can I?"

A/N—To celebrate posting this chapter, I made eclairs at work today :-)!