Truth Or Consequences - II

Four hours later, Sam stirred, not enough to wake herself up fully, but just enough to realize a delicious aroma had found its way into her bedroom. Opening her eyes wider, she breathed the wonderful smell in and her mouth watered. '...I actually smell that, she thought, getting hungrier by the moment.

Then she remembered and turned her face to the empty side of the bed. Not really thinking about it, she ran her hand over the rumpled section of sheet.

"Jack..." Sam whispered, a waking smile blooming on her thoughtful-looking face. "Pancakes?" she questioned, knowing she wanted some. If indeed that was what she smelled, had he made them? It sure smelled like one of her favorite breakfasts...and bacon too, bacon for sure.

Reaching for her plushy robe and moving off the bed, Sam would settle for nothing less than pancakes. Her appetite had really spiked. She felt as though she hadn't eaten in days, but remembered, vaguely, that Jack had forced her to eat some soup. She smiled again, seeming to remember she had been awfully grouchy..

"Then I must be getting better," she muttered while tying her robe closed. "I know I have a box of blueberry buttermilk pancake mix...but no syrup." Sighing, she capped, "That's for sure. I meant to get some next time I went to the market..." With a clicky snap of her fingers, she advanced on the bedroom door. She reeled back on her heels, startled, when the partially-closed door opened with a sudden shwoosh.

"Going somewhere, Carter?" Jack was glaring at her, parked at the threshold. He tightened his hold of the tray that had nearly tumbled from his grip. The sight of Sam in that shocking pink robe was startling in its own right.

"Uh...to see what's cooking, sir." Sam looked sheepish for a moment, wondering why he predictably had the same effect on her. This was her house; if anyone needed some explaining to do, she deemed it was his turn. "Is that for me?"

"It is. I had all I wanted."

"You like pancakes without syrup, sir?"

Jack looked from the short stack piled five high to Sam's look of genuine inquiry. "No. Do you?"

"Not really."

Uncannily, as though reading her mind, he said, "The pancake count's just right. You're too thin...not way too, but you could stand a little more meat on, what with your being sick."

Sam placed her hands on her shapely hips, giving Jack a predatory smile. "Then my dieting's been working."

'Dieting...like you need to...you're tasty as is, and if you don't know it, you're blind,' he couldn't help but think. Changing the subject fast, Jack interjected, "I went out and bought syrup. That's a sweet little market not far from here. You do most of your shopping there, do ya?"

"It's handy in a pinch..." This had all the beginnings of a routine conversation, Sam considered, amazed at how few of them they had ever had. The mundane was hardpressed to have any bearing when saving the world was at stake. "I usually do my shopping at Albertsons. More of a selection there, fresher fruits and vegetables."

"You're big on fruits and veggies, aren't ya..."

Sam nodded, a knowing smile starting to crest. "You betcha." What a difference not feeling at death's door made. No longer feverish, she broadened her smile; swallowing was a pleasure since her throat felt so much better.

Feeding off her quirky vibes, Jack went through the motions of a mock salute in his head. "Me...bass. About this big. I kid you not, Carter. The proportions my hands are spanning now is just right." A look of self-satisfaction came over him. "Fryin' up for all its sizzle in a pan. Taters and onions to keep it company." Impulsively, he licked his chops, then gave her a follow-up look of commendation. "You've got a fine assortment of kitchenware. The syrup's in this little stainless pitcher." He pointed with his chin. Then he said, "The butter's already melted in-between, but if you're in any way like me..." He aimed his chin in the other direction.

Sam didn't say anything, just looked at him as though he had just dropped out of the sky, from one of the visited planets.

"What? Don't tell me. Not when I went through all this trouble..." He scowled, but she knew his guff was all show, for the effect he had down pat. "Carter..."

"Hmm, hmm, let me at that, sir. I'm so hungry I could eat a whole lot more than I have in recent memory."

"That's more like it." Feeling justified, he ushered her back to bed, waiting for her until she made herself comfy back in it. He set the tray before her. "Dig in."

Sam teased, "Careful...I could get overly used to this personalized attention."

The look on his face summed it up; *she* could get used to this? What about him? Waiting on her hand and foot was its own reward, and, he admitted, it was addictive. "Well? What are you waiting for, Carter? I said dig." If he had to hover, he would, making sure she was going to chow down.

"Digging in, sir." Picking up the fork, Sam carved out the section of pancake she would eat.

"What are ya drinkin'?" he asked, moving in the direction of the door. "The oj is running low. I should have bought a quart instead of the pint."

Thoughtfully, she said, "I love your tea. If it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

"None at all," Jack said obligingly. "That's why I'm here, at least for the time being. To take the bumps out of doing for yourself as you limp down the road to recovery."

"I'm feeling a whole lot better, sir. Honestly."

"And that's good, because I'm gonna have to take off. Daniel called. Said our mutual friend, Thor needs to speak with me face to face. So, gotta go...but not before I make that tea," he vowed with an uplifted wiggle-jiggle of his index finger in mid-air.

"Uh...sir, maybe when you speak with him you might mention the matter of the Asgard being patient until I'm one hundred percent a-okay all better..."

"Don't sweat it, Carter, like I said...connections. Thor's cool."

"The coolest, sir," Sam agreed.

"They're getting cold." He scowled at the plate before her. "Less talk and more eating up."

"Yes, sir," Sam complied, "right away, sir." And she watched him leave so she could make short work of her short stack. Half way in, she realized she had an appetite that was more than a match for this pile-up of pancakes. Something her mom used to say echoed in her mind...'eat for the hunger that comes...' Sam's eyes misted, but she fended off the tears.

Hunger, and how. As close as she had been to tears, Sam gave into her smile to think how satisfying it was discovering yet another of her CO's latent talents, with a decidedly culinary bent this time, among his many. The pancakes melted in her mouth. She closed her eyes while she chewed and quite unbiddenly, some pretty fantastic thoughts about what life would be like if, by some insanely plausible reason, it really could be Jack and she...happily ever after. Pete tried putting in an appearance in her train of thought, but he had missed the, 'all aboard,' and was left at the station.

After a hard day at the SGC, Jack and she coming home together, unless she was scheduled to be off world for a while. They'd compare notes on what sort of day they'd had. '...Never going to happen, dreamer...' Sam reproached herself, 'if he had wanted it any other way, he would have told you so by now.' She began shaking her head just as Jack streamed into the bedroom with the tea that had proven to be a hit with her.

Pete was the one she'd be comparing notes with for as long as they both lived.

"It might taste sweeter this time around. I got kind of carried away with the honey." Sam's bemused expression buckled when she winced, a moment before he was placing the steaming mug before her on the tray. "What?"

She gave him a squeamish look, as though walking on eggshells was a skill that came naturally. "Uh...uh...sir? Did?"

"Did?" Jack said, not meaning to sound so short.

"Did you just call me 'honey?'"

"Now, why would I do that, Carter?"

"That's what I'm wondering, sir?" She knew this line of questioning was uncomfortable for him.

Maybe it was high time she nudged him out of his comfort zone before it was too late. She had practically committed to the one man who had actually asked her to share his life with him, but her mixed emotions deserved better than being told it would all be all right once she was married to Pete.

One thing was crystal clear though...Brig. General Jack O'Neill brewed a mean tea; his initial offering hadn't been a fluke, she thought, sipping more. It was sweeter and that made it even better. If only life, specifically--hers--was as uncomplicated as this wonderful mug of tea.

He decided that her misunderstanding him might be the glimmer of an opening, a sliver of a chance to see where this might go. "Just for argument's sake, say I did. We both know it wouldn't go any farther than this room, am I right, Carter?"

She was about to say, 'right,' but backed down. This was nervy, she analyzed, but downplayed the instinct to play it safe. "Are you in the habit of addressing women who are engaged as 'honey,' sir?"

"Are you?" Jack took several steps away from the door which he had no intention of going through at the moment. Thor could wait; this was more important, and about time.

"Am I what?" Sam felt her cheeks heat up and the tea had nothing whatsoever to do with increased body heat. She had a strange feeling about what was coming next.

"A woman who's engaged, officially?" he said with a honed edge to his voice. '...Not this time...' he swore to himself. '...This time I want to hear it like you mean it, Carter...'

What? Sam stared into his face, wondering what form of possession had come over him? For a man she readily counted on for skirting the trickier high ground of interpersonal issues, he was letting her down. And as she contiuned taking him in, waiting for him to say, 'Never mind. None of my business,' she realized that just maybe what had come over him was the same thing that was way overdue for them both...conviction.

"I said yes," Sam confessed, trying like mad to glimpse what was going on in his mind. Figuring out the algorithms of cyclic subspace intergers would be simplier, way simplier. There was something in his eyes she'd never seen before and it made her want to dive through the event horizon to safety. But, no. Not this time. This time she would meet whatever it was he was determined to have her admit head on.

"You're really gonna marry Pete then." He looked remorseful in that instant, as though shooting himself in the foot was the way to go. How many times do you have to hear her say so, Jack thought, browbeating himself.

Had she heard a question or a statement? Hard to tell. Sam admired him though for wrestling with the apprehension she saw in his whole bearing, and bringing the bear of voicing himself on the matter into captivity, finally. "Yes," she said, hearing how offhanded it sounded, and followed up with, "Why, sir? Don't you think I should?" Words began rolling off her tongue. "Frankly, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever be asked, by anyone. Not that I was starting to feel desperate; I have my work, and the interests it's generated. Being a wife isn't the defining line for me, but, well. You know, sir...it's nice to be asked, at least...once."

'...Can of worms...' streaked through his mind, and it served him right for thinking he could open it without getting cut on the lid. Standing there, his not saying anything, served no purpose. But a comeback, one that could absolve, eluded him.

Sam, as gently as the fall of snowflakes reminded, "Uh, sir...Thor?"

Jack looked stymied, as though just the sound of her words reached him, not their import. "Huh?"

"Thor, sir," Sam repeated, nearly sounding cryptic. "Don't keep him waiting. He never keeps us, and since we, or rather I need more time to recover, I think you should get going...sir."

Jack nodded, but didn't look as though he was ready to go anywhere, at least for the moment. "Y'know, Carter, I didn't mean to..."

Sam nodded too. "I know, sir, I know." Sagely, she said, "One of those conversations you know you should have had years earlier...well, maybe..."

Jack's sigh drifted to Sam's ears and it was anybody's guess what he could possibly say next.

He felt as if he were drowning now, and the line being thrown might not reach him. He looked at Sam, wishing for all of what they would never have, and hating how hard he was taking it, powerless to change a single thing. "I guess there's a lot to that phrase, 'more than meets the eye.'"

"Sometimes, sir, it's only the eyes that count."

Jack rammed down the urge to go to her right then and there, sweep her up into his arms and away from all the incidentals that stood in their way. But, instead, he just lingered by the doorway, as though he'd put down roots.

As was her habit, Sam saved him. "Will you come back once you've spoken with Thor?"

"Come back?" The thought of her never wanting to see him again kept running through his mind.

"Yeah. I'd rather hear his concerns and verdict in person, from you, face-to-face, rather than being told over the phone. So will you?"

"Guess...so..." He blinked and snapped himself out of his momentary lapse. What had happened here? He had wanted to tell her how things really were between them, and instead, he had fled into the twilight zone. Maybe there really were parallels between that show, so ahead of its time, and the real world. "Sure. You-betcha."

Now that was the Jack O'Neill she'd known all these years, and loved. "And...if I'm feeling up to it, I'll make dinner." Not even hesitating, she divulged, "You might like my souffle. If you even like them, that is."

Jack waved her idea off. "Hmmm, yummy, souffles." Then his tone turned pragmatic. "You might think you're up to it, Carter, but I'll take a raincheck on your making dinner. *I* will." His inflection left no room for dissension. "As soon as I'm done with Thor, I'll be back to get started."

Sam blowed on the tea to cool it off more. She was hardly at death's door now, so why was he still so intent on taking care of everything? He looked as though he had a bee up his bonnet, so to speak, so she permitted letting the status quo hold sway. "Well...okay. Oh." She looked pleased and said, "Your pancakes were great, by the way. Would it be fair to ask if you've ever done any moonlighting as a short order cook?" Testing her tea, she raised her eyes, looking thoughtful as she considered him.

Jack shook his head, but revealed, "Close, but not quite. I picked up a few tricks of the trade from Charlie Mox, the s-o-c who fried up tons of delicious, stick-to-your-ribs stuff at Hank's, my dad's brother, diner where I worked a couple of summers during high school."

Sam thought about that nugget of personal information, imagining her CO as an industrious teen in jeans, who had probably had any girl he'd wanted. "Well, if this day job doesn't work out..."

"Don't think I haven't thought about that," Jack told her with a distinct look of being one step ahead of the game on his face. "So...dinner?" His eyebrows raised as though he'd called them to stiff attention. "What would ya like me to whip up for ya?"

"For me, sir?" The emphasis on the 'me' cried out for her having preceded it with 'little old.'

"Who else, Carter? Now, name your poison." And before she remarked on his lethal choice of word, he beat her to it. "Not to be taken literally, naturally."

"Uh, no, sir...naturally." She looked as though she was giving it some thought. "Well, if...a steak, some crinkle cut french fries...and, now don't laugh...spinach swimming in butter wouldn't be too much trouble...sir..."

"After the Complex, I'll head back to that sweet little market again."

Unassumingly, Sam said, "Sir...they don't have the crinkle cut french fries I like. Albertsons does. I mean, if it's not too much trouble..."

'...Trouble...' Jack thought, and smiled what he thought was more to himself. '...Nothing we've ever been through was that since we went through it together...' "No, Carter, no trouble at all." Just about to go through the door, he stated, "That'll be the day."

"And maybe..." Sam hesitated, unsure whether she should take another crack at that 'can of worms' her CO had clumsily opened. "Just maybe we could finish the discussion concerning my upcoming nuptial..."

Jack cast a pained look her way; Sam wished she had a camera. "Look, Carter, just forget I ever opened my big pieho--"

Folding her arms over her chest, Sam stated with a serious tone backing her resolve up, "Which you should have opened way before I went ahead and promised myself to another man." The look in her eyes stopped Jack dead in his tracks for several long moments.

When he finally got his tongue working again, he fairly whispered, "Talk...some more?"

"A good deal more...sir."

"Don't go anywhere," he stipulated, thrusting his index finger at her. "I won't be long."

Calling out to his retreating figure, Sam demanded, "I'm holding you to that..." Shrugging her shoulders, she rolled the 'dice.' "Jack!"

The delayed reaction was priceless, when, as though on cue, the general stuck his head back inside the bedroom. His eyes framed the question before his mouth did. "Jack?"

"Jack," Sam said definitively, but in the next breath sounded chastened. "Sir..."

"Jack's fine by me, Carter," he ceded candidly, his bearing taking on a whole new aspect. "And...and...well." What was he about to do? Oh, yeah...have a meet with Thor, then get Sam what she wanted for dinner so he could cook for her. "Like I said, I won't be long. Count on it."

And, as with the first time, he missed Sam's smile this second time around too as he left her bedroom.

... ... ... ...

End