Jack does not consider himself a sentimental man, but he is fiercely loyal to the handful of people in his life for whom he cares deeply, and that loyalty can, at times, manifest in ways that seem what might be described as sweet. Or sentimental. But Christmas is hard.

This year, for some reason, he's agreed to host a team Christmas at his house. The prospect is overwhelming because he hasn't had a Christmas tree in years and he hates the holiday, now, and it fucking sucks in general. He forgets who asked him to do it, but he remembers he agreed because it's Cassie's first time. Fuck.

Christmas changes once children are involved. For Jack, Charlie's birth had made Christmas into something magical and otherworldly. When Charlie died, Christmas did not turn back into the vaguely pleasant and colorful holiday about cheer and capitalism he remembered. It had become a ledger of pain, grief, and loneliness because no gift he could give or receive will ever fill or take away the space left by his dead child. He's learned to live with it, but there's that time every year when it becomes Christmastime for everyone else and high alert potential sadness time for him. Every year. It's exhausting.

But Cassie is involved now, and as much as it stings, he loves it. She's never had Christmas or seen what it's like when the lights go on and the music starts and there are bright parcels under a tree. It's enchanting and much too tempting for him to ignore, so he doesn't, but he knows he can't do it alone.

He calls the only person he trusts to help. "Carter," he asks when she answers her phone. "Can you help me with Christmas?"

"Of course, Sir."

The first thing Sam does when Jack arrives at her house to pick her up for shopping is give him a hug. She doesn't say anything about why, and she doesn't have to. Jack knows a supportive hug when he receives one, and he welcomes it. She knows at least a little of what he's dealing with during a very child-focused holiday, and she's telling him in as gentle a way as possible without making him talk about it. "Thanks," he says.

"Always," she replies.

The mall is bustling when they arrive, having stopped for coffee on the way. Jack looks around, for the first time in a long time feeling lost and confused. Sam Takes his arm and tugs him toward a toy store. "C'mon," she says. "We'll start with some Cassie presents to put us in a good mood."

She's so right. Jack has the time of his life inspecting new toys and silly objects for kids as they load up a cart full of goodies for the little girl they've both a little bit claimed as their own, somehow. Jack is attracted to all the bright flashy things he can find, and the only reason Cassandra won't receive an entire car full of gifts is that Sam talks Jack down from at least some of the items by reminding him of her not far off birthday. "We better grab some batteries, Sir," she says, glancing at him as he grins into the flashing Simon Says in his hands.

Later, as they walk through a department store looking at made up trees and fake mantles, Sam turns her gaze toward Jack and rests a small hand on his elbow. "Do you have a tree, sir, or should we get one?"

"Do I have a tree?"

"A Christmas tree, sir. Do you have an artificial one already, or should we get one?"

"Uh, we should get a fuckin real tree, Carter, if we're doing Christmas."

She laughs and nods. "Okay, fair enough. But what about decorations?"

She's got him there. Sara had any of that stuff because he'd never wanted to deal with it again. So they wander the area and pick up a few boxes of lights and garland and baubles, and Jack feels like this is a touch superficial, but also wants to make sure Christmas is right for their little girl when the time comes. He spots a box of paints meant as a gift for an artistic child, though, and he tosses it onto the pile.

"Sir, haven't we gotten enough for her?"

"Pinecones, Carter. Didn't you ever paint one for the tree? I've got a shitload of them in my yard; I figured we could, ya know. Together."

Sam's eyes glow an obscenely bright blue as she nods at him. "Yeah. Good thinking."

The afternoon continues with Jack and Sam picking out the things they need to build a Christmas at his home, including selecting a real live tree. They eat lunch, continue the shop, then make their way to his house to start the process of converting the spartan home into a Christmastime wonderland. Lights go up outside and inside; the tree is decorated. Small stockings are hung along the mantle and Jack idly wonders if he now needs to fill them each with presents for the bit.

By the time darkness falls, you'd never know he didn't wake up with Christmas on the brain, and he can only say that because Samantha Carter saved his ass. It's as cozy and cheery as any North Pole wannabe location, and Jack finds himself actually excited to see Cassie's reaction.

He brings her a beer and clinks it with his. "Thank you, Carter," he says. "I hate Christmas."

"Me too, Sir."

He twitches toward her and runs his eyes up and down her face. She shrugs. "Right, of course you do," he says, thinking about how young she was when her mother died and how absent he knew Jacob had been as a father. It occurs to him that over-spoiling their friends and adopted alien kiddo could be therapeutic for both of them. They could maybe use this as an excuse to try again at an obnoxious, painful holiday that will never otherwise go away. "Wanna try to like it this time, Carter?"

"Sure," she says, smiling brightly.