Sam's fingers drum lightly over her steering wheel as she takes the final left onto Jack's street. She scans the road and notices a cyclist just ahead on her right; they're not in her way, but she doesn't want to make them nervous, so she lowers her speed and steers slightly closer to the middle of the road just to be safe. She's driving about 20 mph right now, so based on her extremely qualified guess, the cyclist is going at least 15 mph, probably more. "Nice," she says, privately realizing how much she sounds like Jack.

Speaking of Jack, she thinks there's something familiar about the lines of this cyclist's back and the way the muscles move under the lycra of his shirt, the hardness of him. His shoulders are the right kind of broad, his hips the familiar narrow- "Oh my god," she says. She can't stop a smile pulling dimples into her cheeks. Is that Jack? Is Jack one of those guys?

She keeps a safe distance from the cyclist and travels the gentle hills and curves of Jack's semi-secluded neighborhood, slowing even more as she approaches his house, just in case.

The cyclist relaxes and turns safely into Jack's driveway, stopping just at the front of his garage and unclipping one foot from its pedal-ohmygod he's got the little shoes, she thinks-and leaning on that leg while he releases the catch for his helmet. A familiar head of silver hair shines in the sunlight just as she's pulling into his driveway.

Jack sighs, pulling his helmet off and preparing himself for the conversation he knows he's about to have. He'd seen her car in his safety mirror and knew she was following him. Even that mile and a half of time hadn't prepared him for this. He hears her car door shut behind him and unclips his remaining foot. He drops his helmet on the bike seat and smoothes his kit over his stomach before turning around, ready to face her. "Good morning, Carter," he says.

"Good morning, Sir," she says, an infectiously amused smile broadcast on her face. "Nice bike." She can't help herself.

"I'll have you know it actually is, Carter." He's proud of his Trek, and even knowing their shared penchant for engines and speed, he's quite proud of this bike where he is the engine.

She's smiling so brightly he can't even see the sun now. "I believe it, Sir." She drops her eyes to the bike and tentatively reaches out her hand. "May I?"

Jack chews on his cheek and shrugs. "Sure." In an instant, Sam is on the ripped knees of her light jeans, fingers deftly prodding and groping his road bike and investigating every angle of it. She smiles up at him. How is she smiling even brighter?

"I admit it's not my style of bike, Sir, but it's very nice." She stands back up, fingers lingering on the handlebars. "You've even got the little shoes," she can't help saying.

"Why are you here, Carter?" Jack coughs, realizing he looks a little ridiculous to her, standing in his driveway in lycra bike shorts and shirt. And the little shoes.

"Oh!" Sam blushes as she runs back to her car. She returns with a stack of reusable takeout containers and shrugs. "You told me to just drop these off sometime this weekend…"

"Right." He holds out his arms for the containers and clutches them to his chest. "Thanks, Carter."

"Of course, Sir." She wants to ask 'So when did you take up cycling?' but she knows he doesn't feel like answering.

"So," he says, "see you Monday?"

"Yeah, sure, sir," she says, smiling.

She's chewing on her lower lip and looking at him in a way that makes the shorts dangerous. "Later, Carter."

"Later, Sir," she says. She turns and walks toward her car door.

Jack sighs and takes the opportunity to turn and march toward his front door, cycling shoes loudly click clacking with every step. He realizes this too late and turns suddenly to see Sam watching him, a giggle on her lips. His eyes roll, but he's smiling. "Enjoy the view, Carter!" He turns back around and proudly click clacks his way into the front door.