Jack could barely sleep, thinking about the next day's lunch, and he woke up as early as the birds. He meticulously prepared the stew in his cabin, selecting the finest ingredients and seasoning it with his culinary skills. The savory aroma filled the air as the stew simmered on the stove. He set the table, ensuring everything was in its place, creating an inviting atmosphere.
With the clock ticking towards 1300, Jack glanced at the entrance, waiting for Sam to arrive. Minutes stretched into an eternity, but there was no sign of her. Annoyed and frustrated, he took the casserole and headed to her cabin, his anger building as his steps progressed.
The brisk walk across the forest brought him to her doorstep. Knocking firmly, he waited, his impatience growing. When Sam finally opened the door, her expression had shifted from surprise to irritation. She had seen him approaching on her surveillance monitors.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her arms crossed.
Jack held up the casserole.
"Lunch. I figured you forgot, so I brought it over."
Sam's eyes narrowed.
"I never agreed to your invitation."
Jack's frustration boiled over.
"You didn't say no either! I waited for you like an idiot, and you never showed up. What's your deal?"
Sam sighed, her gaze flickering away.
"I don't do socializing, Colonel. And I certainly don't need anyone checking up on me."
Jack's irritation turned to concern.
"Look, I don't know what you're running from, but you can't avoid people forever. You need help or someone to talk to. I'm offering that not because I pity you but because I genuinely want to help."
Sam's eyes softened for a moment, but then she hardened again.
"I don't need your help or anyone else's. I've managed just fine on my own."
Jack took a deep breath, realizing that pushing her too hard might drive her away.
"Fine. If you ever change your mind, the invitation stands. Enjoy your solitude."
With that, he turned and left, leaving Sam alone in her cabin with conflicted emotions on her face.
After he left, Sam hesitated momentarily before retrieving the cold casserole and bringing it back into her cabin. She had observed him on her monitors, but the unexpected lunch delivery caught her off guard. She placed the pot on her kitchen table and stared silently at it. The aroma wafted through the air, tempting her senses. Eventually, curiosity got better, and she rose to inspect its contents.
"Hum, smells good," she mumbled, moving the pot to heat it, her stomach growling. Tender chunks of beef mingled with fresh vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and onions—all bathed in a savory broth seasoned with aromatic herbs. The scent alone was enough to make her mouth water.
Sam had only eaten a little besides coffee and toast that day. Despite living alone for years, her culinary skills mainly stayed the same. Cooking was necessary for survival, and she preferred simple, canned meals requiring minimal effort. Occasionally, she would buy meat or treat herself to a fast-food meal to reminisce about the days when she was Samantha Carter, and her life seemed limitless, with space as her ultimate frontier.
Since she was very young, Sam aspired to be an astronaut, and all her studies and endeavors were geared toward that goal. However, when she encountered Captain Jonas Hanson, everything took a sharp turn, and they started their awkward relationship to the great disappointment of her father. Her dreams then derailed, and she found herself labeled a deserter. Now, the only space she could aim for was the expanse of stars above her head. Despite her altered circumstances, Sam continued to gaze at the night sky whenever it was clear, finding solace in the vast celestial realm that once symbolized her unbridled aspirations.
Sam stared at it as the stew heated, lost in her thoughts. When it was finally ready, she filled a plate and sat to eat, closing her eyes to savor the flavors.
"Oh," she moaned appreciatively, surprised by how delicious it was. It was her first homemade meal since leaving Georgetown more than ten years ago.
However, an unexpected wave of emotions hit her as she finished her plate. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and Sam quickly wiped them away.
"Stupid wimp," she groaned, tossing the empty plate into the sink. Grabbing her coat and rifle, she decided to release some built-up stress through shooting. Activating her alarms and locking her cabin, she headed into the forest's solitude.
Jack stormed back into his cabin like a whirlwind, slamming the door with a force that resonated through the bolts. Frustration and annoyance were evident on his face, starkly contrasting the encounter with his enigmatic blonde neighbor, Sam Anderson. She had stood him up, and it became increasingly clear she had never intended to show. Jack raked both hands through his hair and let out a loud curse, settling onto his couch with an intense gaze fixed on the fireplace.
No woman, not even Sara, his ex-wife, had affected him like this before. There was something about this Sam that transcended mere physical attraction. Jack felt an inexplicable pull toward her, wanting to unravel the mysteries surrounding this intriguing woman. Despite her obvious beauty, her intelligence and the suspicion of military training intensified his curiosity. Jack was eager to explore the interior of her cabin; he sensed it held more secrets than met the eye.
Getting up, he added more logs to the fire. Persistence was one of Jack O'Neill's defining traits. When he set his mind on something, he pursued it relentlessly. In the case of Sam Anderson, he was determined to win her over, even if she wasn't aware of it yet. A gut feeling told him they were meant to be together, and Jack trusted his instincts. Whistling, he headed to the kitchen to plan his next move, fueled by the conviction that he and Sam were destined for something significant.
With a determined glint in his eyes, Jack set about creating another special homemade meal for Sam. He moved around his cabin kitchen with purpose, assembling ingredients and humming a tune under his breath. The rustic charm of his cabin added to the ambiance, creating an inviting atmosphere for the culinary endeavor. The aroma of homemade lasagna wafted through the air as he deftly moved about the kitchen. The rustic charm of the space seemed to intensify with each carefully measured ingredient.
The kitchen counter was adorned with fresh ingredients—rich tomato sauce, layers of lasagna noodles, ground meat, and a medley of Italian herbs. As Jack expertly assembled the layers in a baking dish, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the prospect of making another homemade meal for his elusive neighbor. It would be the last thing she was expecting.
The oven's warm glow enveloped the kitchen as he slid the lasagna inside, the anticipation of the bubbling, cheesy perfection filling the room. While it baked, Jack prepared a simple salad with crisp greens, cherry tomatoes, and a tangy vinaigrette, providing a refreshing balance to the hearty lasagna.
As the lasagna neared completion, Jack turned his attention to the presentation. He fetched a vintage wicker basket that had belonged to his grandmother—a cherished family heirloom. It added a touch of nostalgia and a hint of sentimentality to the gesture.
With the lasagna's savory aroma permeating the cabin, Jack carefully placed a portion into the basket, ensuring the layers were intact. The salad, neatly arranged in a separate container, accompanied the main dish. A loaf of freshly baked garlic bread completed the ensemble, adding an irresistible fragrance to the culinary symphony.
Taking a moment to appreciate his handiwork, Jack secured the lasagna-laden basket with a checkered cloth reminiscent of a quaint picnic setting. Jack couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as he surveyed the feast he had prepared. For dessert, Jack had prepared a simple yet delectable apple pie, its golden crust perfectly flaky and the filling a harmonious blend of sweet and tart apples, cinnamon, and sugar—a dollop of freshly whipped cream crowned with each slice, adding a touch of indulgence.
He carefully arranged everything in the old wicker as a bottle of red wine, chosen for the occasion, and completed the ensemble.
Jack returned to Sam's cabin with the laden basket in hand. The evening had cast a soft glow over the forest, and the air carried the comforting scent of pine. Jack's determined steps echoed his resolve to win Sam over, one homemade meal at a time.
Seeking solace in her secluded forest corner, Sam had a personal firing range where she honed her marksmanship skills and unleashed the pent-up frustrations that haunted her since she had settled in that cabin and moved away from civilization. The secret spot, a bit of a trek from her cabin, allowed her to train in peace and embrace the cathartic release that only a day at the range could provide.
After a rigorous session involving precision sniper training and intense physical exercises against the reliable log adversary she had nicknamed "Marcus Aurelius" after the second year there, a reminder of the first biography her father had given her when she was ten years old, Sam returned to her cabin fatigued but mentally relieved. The various strains on her body served as a testament to the intensity of her workout. However, the physical exhaustion provided a welcome respite for her mind.
As she approached her cabin, a serene oasis nestled within the quiet forest, the tranquility was disrupted by an unexpected sight. He was seated on a log in front of her cabin, a substantial basket resting on the forest floor beside him. His sudden appearance again tensed Sam's muscles all at once. Her automatic response was to reach for the trigger of her rifle, an extension of her practiced and vigilant nature, even if it was already the second time he was there that day.
"What now?" she asked, her impatience thinly veiled as she approached.
Jack remained seated, watching her with care. Noticing the bandaged hands and even small traces of blood, evidence of recent intense physical activity, he pondered the possibility of bare-handed combat. He had no idea with whom, but was she nuts?
"Hi. Since you won't come to my cabin, I decided to come to yours instead," he said with a genuine smile.
Sam greeted him through gritted teeth.
"What are you doing here?" she repeated, her fingers hovering near the trigger of her rifle.
Jack stood up slowly, keen not to startle her.
"I've made you dinner, and I was hoping to be invited in," he said, maintaining a friendly demeanor.
Sam raised both eyebrows simultaneously.
"Excuse me?" she demanded, moving towards her front door while keeping a wary eye on him.
Jack gestured towards the large basket beside him.
"It's a delicious dinner," he assured her.
Sam eyed the basket and then turned her gaze back to him. He seemed to be unarmed.
"I didn't ask you for anything," she replied coldly.
Jack sighed, sensing her suspicion.
"Look, I have no ill intentions towards you. I just wanted to have a nice meal together. That's all," he explained.
A sudden chill enveloped Sam's perspiring body as the wind picked up. She had intended to take a long shower upon her return, and now she was discussing meals. With him!
"OK, look, I appreciate the gesture, but, like I said, I don't socialize so you can stop with this," she said, pointing at him and the basket.
Crossing his arms, Jack acknowledged the dropping temperature.
"All right, but can we at least enjoy this nice meal I've prepared without freezing out here?" he suggested. "And then I promise I won't bring you anything unless you ask me," he added and winked.
Sam struggled to restrain herself from shooting him on the spot. Hastily reviewing how she had left her cabin and ensuring nothing significant was in sight, she begrudgingly agreed.
"OK, fine. Let's eat, and then you'll leave me alone," she conceded, opening her front door.
Jack couldn't believe his luck as he quickly grabbed the basket and followed her inside. Upon entering, he was left momentarily speechless by the sight that greeted his eyes.
Sam's cabin boasted a spacious living room adorned with handcrafted wooden shelves displaying an extensive collection of books and magazines, a sight Jack had never encountered outside a library, much less a cabin in the woods. He recognized several military books, but most seemed to be around science with names Jack couldn't pronounce. She said she had been a math teacher before her accident, but her library went clearly outside that scope. There were no pictures or anything that looked personal on display. No family photos, boyfriend, husband, dogs or cats. The centerpiece was a stone fireplace, currently dormant but flanked by a neatly stacked pile of chopped wood in a large basket. The entire space exuded a sense of tidiness and order despite its smaller size than his, as Jack estimated it only had one bedroom behind a closed door.
Though showing signs of wear, the couch boasted inviting cushions, and two well-maintained rocking chairs added to the cozy atmosphere. Like Jack's, the kitchen had an aged and rustic charm but was immaculately clean, with minimal signs of use except for a relatively new coffee machine.
"So, generator?" Jack inquired as he placed the basket on her sturdy wooden kitchen table.
Sam secured her rifle in a cabinet and locked it, retaining her Glock. She removed her coat and hung it, responding, "Yes," as she started the fire.
Jack observed with interest as she expertly brought the fireplace to life. He could hardly do it better or faster. She knew her stuff.
"Yeah, me too, but mine needs to be replaced. It's always failing me. It's a bit old, like me," he smiled.
Sam stood up, glancing at him.
"Can't you call someone to repair it?" she suggested while retrieving two plates from her cabinet.
As they moved about the kitchen, their bodies inadvertently brushed against each other, and Sam instinctively stepped back.
"Sorry," Jack apologized.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, warmth rising in her cheeks.
Jack glanced at her cabinets. Everything was arranged in a precise order and place.
"The food is now cold. I need to reheat it. Aluminum foil?" he inquired.
Sam opened a nearby cabinet, handing him a pack, wondering what he was doing with aluminum foil. She quietly set the table as he tended to the food, giving him some glances. Her heart raced; he was the first person to enter her cabin. Her hand trembled when she placed the glasses and quickly tucked them into her jeans. Jack remained engrossed with her oven, checking the temperature and the progress, unaware of her inner turmoil.
After reheating everything, they sat at the table, their nerves palpable. Sam hadn't eaten with another person for years, and Jack appeared entranced, too fascinated with her even to pick up a fork. Blushing, she looked at the plate of delicious lasagna.
"Why do you keep staring at me?" she asked.
Jack cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed that he had been caught.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, shoving pasta into his mouth.
They continued to eat in silence. Although he had poured her wine, she didn't touch it.
"Don't you drink alcohol?" he asked, noticing the untouched glass.
Sam swallowed her food and cleaned her lips.
"No," she said, her mind drifting back to the last discussion with Hanson, fueled by his intoxication with whiskey and all that had happened after. She never touched alcohol again, even if she hardly drank any even then.
"Any reason in particular?" Jack pressed.
Sam put the fork down.
"Is this an interrogation? Because if it is, you can leave," she said coldly.
Jack also swallowed and raised a hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It was just a question, but you don't have to answer. Hey, you can ask me all the questions you want," he offered.
Sam resumed dinner in silence. After some moments, she asked him a question.
"Where are you stationed?" she inquired.
Jack coughed slightly.
"Colorado Springs," he said.
Enjoying the food, Sam nodded. She knew it well, being there while attending the Air Force Academy.
"Doing what?" she continued.
"Deep Space Telemetry," he said, aware of how that sounded.
She gave him a long look while she ate.
"Deep Space Telemetry," she repeated slowly, almost smiling.
He knew that the cover story was ridiculous, so Jack just nodded.
"So, what? Do you watch satellites? Aliens?" she asked, an amused expression on her face.
Jack tried to smile but knew he failed.
"Something like that. It's classified, actually," he said.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Really?" she asked, her interest now piqued. She needed to dig a little deeper into Cheyenne Mountain's activities.
"Yes," he said, finishing his dinner.
"OK. Family?" she asked, although she had already read his service record.
"Divorced," he said.
"Oh," she said, trying to sound surprised.
He got up and, taking the plates, brought the dessert. They ate in silence.
"So why a math teacher?" he asked, curious.
Sam looked at him with the fork in mid-air.
"What?" she asked confused.
Jack could recognize a liar when he saw one. She was lying about being a math teacher as much as he was about Deep Space Telemetry.
"You said you were a math teacher before your accident," he said, eating the pie.
Sam blushed slightly. Right. Keep the mind in the game, Samantha. No distractions.
"I was. I always liked numbers and was good at it," she said, staying as near the truth as possible.
Jack glanced at her extensive book collection.
"You seem more like a science person than a math one," he noted.
Sam bit her lip.
"They aren't that different in many aspects. I like them both," she said with a defiant tone.
Jack continued to eat his pie.
"Where did you learn how to handle guns so well?" he asked, suddenly serious.
Sam stopped eating, pushing the plate aside.
"It seems it's time for you to go, Colonel," she said coldly.
Jack didn't move a muscle.
"OK, don't answer, but I don't want to go. I like being with you," he admitted.
Sam continued to stare at him, her blue eyes blazing.
"Can't say the feeling is mutual," she said.
Confident, Jack smiled.
"Now you are lying," he said.
Sam blushed until her cheeks turned red like the living room fire. Jack put his plate aside and joined his hands on the table.
"Look, you obviously have something to hide. I get that, but I don't care. I honestly don't give a damn if you are wanted for murder in ten states. As long as you don't plan to kill me," he added with a mischievous smile.
Sam continued to look at him without blinking.
"I'm attracted to you and want to know you better. There, I've said it," he said, leaning back in his chair.
Sam didn't move a muscle; her eyes locked on his.
"Like I said, I think it's time for you to go, Colonel," she said in the same tone.
Disappointed, Jack swallowed, trying to contain his frustration.
"OK. Thank you for having dinner with me. I won't bother you again," he said, getting up and putting everything inside the basket.
Sam continued seated, observing him. When he finished, he put his coat on, looked at her again, and left silently. Sam closed her eyes and let her head fall on the table. This had been a bad idea from the start. She should have left as soon as Major Paul Davis found her.