"Glad to hear everything is going as planned." Lt. General Jack O'Neill mentally reviewed the matters of official discussion that had just occurred with the BC-304 spacecraft Hammond commander. His eye on the clock for the timed communiqué he was satisfied that the remaining minutes of conversation could move into a lighter vein. "Looking forward to having your Thanksgiving meal off ship?"

"Yes, Sir. The crew is looking forward to having Thanksgiving tomorrow with the Alpha Site." Colonel Samantha Carter answered on screen. "I have heard rumours that there might be some unexpected additions to the meal."

"Don't know what you're talking about Carter," Jack answered blandly.

A blonde eyebrow cocked in a considering look on screen. Her reply was equally bland. "Yes, Sir. But tell me, I just learned that this year the National Thanksgiving Turkey is from Minnesota. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that now would you?"

"Turkeys are totally outside my purview Carter," Jack protested.

"I thought in our last discussion you said that you had to work with turkeys?" Sam looked way too innocent.

"Wrong kind unfortunately," Jack grumbled as his mood dampened for a moment at the reminder of the politician in question that had earned the 'honour' of being called a turkey. Almost made him long for the good old days and Senator Kinsey who at least had a clear agenda. "The real turkeys have more brains then the ones I have to deal with."

"So Sir, do you know any of this year's suggested names for the turkeys?"

Jack shook his head. "You know I'm not on facebook. I have no clue what the suggestions were, let alone the top ten that were submitted to the president to chose from—he hasn't announced them yet either. Hopefully thought some of the suggestions won't be like some of last year's names, like Doom and Gloom."

"You're making that up Sir."

"I'm serious Carter, school kids come up with the darnedest names."

"I bet you were disappointed when Apple and Cider was chosen instead." Sam said with a twinkle in her eye.

He gave her a roguish grin. "Yeah, but the funny thing is Carter, no one ever asks what the names of the non-pardoned turkeys are."

On screen Sam chuckled and shook her head. "And I'm not even going to ask."

Jack's roguish grin morphed into a playful pout. The chime from the clock warning one minute of connection left removed the playfulness from his face. "Goodbye Sam, I'll talk with you again during next week's data burst. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Goodbye Jack, happy Thanksgiving." Sam returned softly.

Their gazes held in a soft, lingering look that said more than they ever would in words over an official and recorded channel. The minute ticked away and the connection ended.

Jack stared at the blank screen for a few moments. She had one month left on this six month tour of duty. It was not the first Thanksgiving they had not been able to spend together and he knew duty dictated that it would not be the last, but still... Someday. Someday.

Rising from his chair he tugged on the snug fit of his jacket to straighten it and closed down the laptop. Picking up his cap he tucked it under his arm and departed his office whistling the tune of L. M. Child's thanksgiving song under his breath. He had a presidential pardon ceremony to attend later today and at least at this ceremony, the right kind of turkey was being pardoned.

-FINISHED

The two toms in question for the 2011 year were named Liberty and Peace for anyone who is interested. For further information visit the Minnesota Presidential Turkey website at minnesotaturkey(dot)com/presidentialturkey/

Home from his day in the office, Lt. General Jack O'Neill settled into a late evening of The Simpsonreruns. He kept an anticipatory eye on the cordless phone placed prominently beside the TV remote as he awaited a call from Nevada. Hammond had docked at the BC-304 subterranean dry-docks today and the ship's commander had promised to call briefly as soon as she wrapped up her duties for the day. The three hour time difference promised he would be up 'til midnight or later.

It was well after oh dark thirty when the phone rang. The caller identification showed an unknown number but he knew the area code and happily picked up the receiver. "O'Neill."

"Hi." Colonel Samantha Carter's voice sounded tired but warm on the other end of the line.

"Hi," Jack responded with the same warmth as he muted the TV show using the remote. He did not need any background noise to keep him from feeling alone when he had her voice in his ear. "Your day went okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"You sure? You don't sound very sure."

Sam gave a tired chuckle through the phone. "Just tired. Everything went well today. It just all took longer than expected."

"Ah," Jack grunted as he settled deeper into the cushions of his recliner. He knew all about those days. "Well, chin up Sam. In a few days your baby is Area 37's to baby and you can be home for the end of the holidays."

"Sorry about missing Christmas Day," Sam apologised.

"Hey, hey, don't be sorry," Jack chided. "These things happen and we both know it. We'll celebrate Christmas when you're here even if it's really your birthday. The best present is having you home anyway."

Sam's voice caught on the other end of the line. When she was able to speak, her voice caressing the words as she said, "Oh Jack."

Jack cleared his throat of the emotions her voice invoked in him and forged onward. "Anyway, Cassie's has overstocked us on the essentials already—homemade cookies and pies—and the bird is in the freezer just waiting to be cooked. Besides, even though we aren't spending Christmas day together we will be bringing in the New Year together."

"Yeah, I know, I just wish..." Sam sighed before deliberately lightening her voice and asking, "That bird wouldn't happen to be named, now would it?"

"Sam," Jack lightened his voice to match as he protested, "am I the sort of man that would feed you a turkey with a name?"

"Do you really want me to answer that Mr Doom and Gloom?" Sam dryly alluded to their last discussion about named turkeys.

"Nah," Jack chuckled as he waved the question away with his free hand, "better not. I do promise though, that our Christmas turkey has no name."

"Glad to hear that." Sam approved before muffling a yawn.

"Christmas turkeys after all Sam, aren't supposed to be named. Only Thanksgiving turkeys get names." Jack teased and smiled to himself as he listened to Sam laugh softly in response to his humour.

"If you say so Jack." Sam said in amusement before yawning again. "Well, I hate to make you wait up so late and talk so little, but I'm really beat."

"You certainly sound like you're beat. Well, goodnight Sam. See you soon." Jack responded gently.

"Goodnight Jack. See you soon." Sam muffled another yawn and hung up.

Jack hung up with a smile on his face. Their chat had been short but sweet. Especially as they had not ended with 'goodbye' or 'talk with you later' but 'see you soon.' And that was the very best way of all. Rising from the recliner, he turned off the TV, and made his way to his bed that would be lonely for only a few more days.

-FINISHED

Lieutenant General O'Neill listened to the scientist presenting to the room drone on and on regarding structural hull stress of the Odyssey, the discovery of which two days ago had required a hasty reshuffling of the BC-304 duty roster and placed Hammond on Earth sentinel duty with Apollo maintaining its Pegasus runs while Odyssey was in the subterranean dry-docks.

His gaze swept the dimly lit room in search of mental stimulation. Illumination from the oh so stimulating slideshow flickered over the faces of those watching in one of Area 37's larger meeting rooms filled to bursting with an array of uniforms and lab-coats seated around the table.

In the end, his eyes settled on Colonel Samantha Carter, commander of the Hammond, who was seated a couple chairs down on his left; a far more pleasant vista upon which to rest his eyes than the forty-year-old balding scientist lecturing away. Typically, she looked absorbed in the prattling and more typically, clearly understood every incomprehensible multi-syllable word spewing from the scientist's mouth.

Jack's mouth kicked up slightly at the corner at the familiar sight that brought warm memories to mind. He always enjoyed moments like this when he could watch her unobserved and even though the reason for being together in the same location and at the same time was not optimal—a battleship out of commission was never reason to celebrate—he enjoyed their time together nonetheless, especially in light of the holiday timing.

Saint Valentine's Day and all its clichés had come and gone. They had sent by mail cards and chocolate treats as they traditionally had the past eight years considering their continual physical separation—first him in DC and her to Area 51, then him in DC still and her in Atlantis, and now him still in DC and her on Hammond—that meant many holidays were usually not spent, or celebrated, together on the actual holiday.

He wondered for the first and probably not last time, if Sam really had enjoyed his card and the chocolates and if there was not some way he could make the overly marketed holiday more special to her, and thus more special to them. Add more meaning to the often trivialised date…

The other corner of his mouth kicked up in glee as an idea struck.

Casting another surreptitious glance around the table, Jack opened up the briefing packet on the table before him, that he hadn't touched when the scientist had handed it to him, and began flipping through the papers looking for the perfect page.

. . .

Sam had been paying attention to the presentation with some interest until she had felt the uncanny sensation that was familiar to her, awakened in briefing rooms much like this more than a decade ago and honed on battlefields. Her CO was watching her. Of course, he was not directly her CO any longer and had not been for eight years but she still knew of the feeling of being watch by Jack.

When the feeling left, she glanced to her right and up the table to see Jack flipping through his briefing packet. Wonderingly, she furrowed her brow as she also noted that his lips were moving minutely, almost like he was muttering to himself if not muttering under his breath.

His silent mutters stopped abruptly as his face lit up subtly with an expression that had her eyes widening in alarm. She knew that look—unfortunately.

Hastily she directed her gaze back to Dr Norman's projected presentation, avoiding just in time the surreptitious looking she knew Jack gave the room to see if anyone was watching him, or would catch him, in his mischief.

Looking back at Jack as she continued to listen to the lecture with a half ear, she was just in time to see him discreetly detached a single page from the report.

Sam felt the old prompt to give him some sort of swift kick to dissuade him from whatever he was about to like she had for years on SG-1 but was hesitant about if she could still give him said swift kick considering he was the highest ranked individual in the room and commander of the entire program. It just really would not look good.

Both it was moot though, consider they weren't sitting side-by-side—what idiot had thought up the seating plan?—and she couldn't see a logical reason for her to get up and approach him as all the doors and food were to the left of the room. The full pitcher of ice water in front of his glass also crossed that option off the list…

Jack turned the type covered page over and over for a moment before folding one of the rectangular ends over and creasing it with his fingernails. He flipped the flap over and creased it again before neatly tearing the flap away to leave himself with a more rectangular sheet of paper. The small sound of ripping paper was well covered of course by Dr Norman's lecture.

Dr Norman's talking also covered her small muffled groan.

Sam swore, as he folded the paper end to end, that if he made a paper airplane she would get up and march over to give him a good kick—no matter how bad it looked!

As she watched though, Jack was not folding the piece of paper in a way she recognised from countless infirmary stays crafting up various paper airplane models. He folded the ends in until it formed a parallelogram which he folded down the centre before unfolding again. He did more folding, turning, and folding and quite lost her.

Then, unfolding the entire square he turned the page again and began folding, turning, and folding again and she lost the pattern of what he was doing just as he once more opened up the entire paper for a third time.

Really wondering now, Sam was only peripherally aware of Dr Norman's ongoing lecture, as she watched Jack work the piece of paper until he was holding the folded and twisted piece of paper in his left hand which blocked her view of what he was now doing to the origami he was making.

Her breath caught in her throat and she flushed as his brown eyes unexpectedly caught hers and he quirked his seductive smirk at her just as Dr Norman concluded his lecture and the room was flooded with light that smarted the eyes after the hours of dimness. Clatter and chatter also filled the room as mostly everyone took the opportunity to stand, stretch stiff limbs, head for the buffet or bathrooms, or corner Dr Norman and his assistant with questions.

Jack was one of those who pushed away from the table, stood, and swiftly making his way past the three chairs, and the people in them, that separated them. Reaching her side he picked up her right hand which was on the table holding a pen and held it between both of his which let him tuck the origami into her grasp.

"Happy Valentine's Sam," Jack's eyes twinkled as he released her hand.

Surprised considering the holiday had been four days ago and they'd already exchanged cards and treats, she turned her hand over to look at the origami and her heart melted as she felt a totally inappropriate sappy expression take over her face considering they were in uniform and in the midst of a highly classified meeting.

A rose.

Jack had just made her a rose.

-FINISHED

Lt. General Jack O'Neill skilfully sidestepped another airman—not giving said airman a chance to realise they'd almost blundered into a three-star general and the hullabaloo that would follow that incident—as he navigated the strange mechanical territory where the next BC series was under development in one of Area 37's subterranean dry-docks.

The cavernous room was filled. Filled with sound from the reverberations of thudding hammers, the buzz of power tools, the electric crackling of welding, the high pitched screech of metal cutting, and under it all the chattering and shouts of those at work. Filled with airmen in blue overalls and civilians in white lab-coats hustling and bustling back and forth in no pattern whatsoever as they carried out their tasks.

Altogether, Jack was quite out of his element.

That did not deter him in the least as he navigated the obstacles in his path, searching for his target. He was on occasion forced to tap some reasonably-looking-unoccupied workers on the shoulder and ask for directions, reasoning that this was her territory and her minions should generally know where she was.

Following another pointed finger, he skirted another large block of ship-hunk-in-progress and came face to face within something he thought he'd never be forced to encounter again.

Him, standing here.

Carter, standing there.

Between them a force-field that hung in the air like blue frosted window.

Thunk—Jack jolted at the sound and his breath gusted out. As he was once more in the here and now the throat-tightened moment became a scene of exasperated amusement: there was even a man hitting stuff with something that looked like the torch-thingies on Apophis' ship for cryin' out loud!

Not him though, an airman was tapping on the force-shield with the odd-shaped doohickey in a line—not smashing away at the control panel like he'd done all those years ago—as Colonel Sam Carter, on the other side of the shield, was making notes on her tablet.

Sam lifted her eyes and they widened upon catching sight of him: "Sir!"

Jack gave her a lopsided grin in return. "Carter."

"What are you are you doing here?" Sam had a confused look on her face.

"Making sure someone is on time for tonight," Jack tapped the face of his watch. "Someone who has a long history of getting caught up in work."

Sam looked half abashed and half indignant as she grumbled something inaudible under her breath. Then taking a breath, she lowered the tablet and addressed the airman: "That should do it for now lieutenant. We'll resume the tests in the morning."

"Yes ma'am," the lieutenant agreed as he stopped tapping at the force-field and the blue dissipated.

"If you'll wait a minute Sir," Sam addressed him, "I'll shut down the shield and we can be on our way."

Jack nodded and waited patiently for her to complete her task. When she returned and crossed to his side he said: "You know this area best Carter, lead the way."

"Yes Sir," she nodded.

Jack followed close on her heels as she wove through men and machines and much, much sooner than it had taken for him to find her they had left the development dry-dock behind and boarded the elevator for the surface.

"Well, that's got to be a record," Sam remarked.

"How so?" he frowned.

"For getting through there without being stopped once by someone with a question."

"Glad to be of service," Jack quipped. There was nothing like stars on a uniform to get people out of the way. They stepped out of the elevator into the red-and-white checkered shack on the surface and exiting, Jack's driver was prompt to open the car doors for them. They made small talk, mainly for the benefit of the driver than to fill the silence between them, on the way to the main base and both were glad when they reached it.

Sam directed him to where her Volo was parked and duffle bag in hand, Jack located it while she disappeared into the building for the locker rooms to change into civvies.

Jack tapped a finger against his leg as he waited, thinking about the evening he had planned. It hadn't been easy finding anything as special as this date was to them. He had checkout out a lot of locations, museums, nightclubs, and even a chocolate factory, but they weren't what he was looking for and the events, circus acts and casino shows, weren't it either. But luckily, theatre always came through for him as Nevada Opera was performing Puccini's Madam Butterfly.

His thoughts refocused when Sam emerged and strode across the parking lot wearing a curve-hugging red shirt with a v-neckline and a classy knee long black skirt. He let his eyes wander over her provocatively, giving her a cheeky grin when their gazes caught and she flushed adorably.

"What about you? You changing?" her gesture included his uniform from head to toe.

"Soon, gladly," Jack answered. "I've got a suit jacket in my bag. Could you pop the trunk please?"

Jack put his duffle bag in the trunk as soon as it was opened and he shrugged out of his uniform jacket. Tucking it into his bag, he took out the suit jacket that matched his uniform slacks—picked up for that very reason—and put it on. Loosening his tie a bit with one hand, he closed the trunk with his other.

Sam was behind the wheel already so he folded himself into the passenger seat.

"So, what are the plans for tonight? Or are you still not telling me?" Sam asked as she turned the key.

Jack considered it as the engine rumbled to life. It was a two hour drive into Las Vegas, would it be better to tell her now or wait till they were at dinner and tell her as he'd planned? Finally he said, as he'd been saying in the beginning, "It's a surprise."

She gave him a pout that Jack wisely did not tell her he found adorable under the circumstances. Placing his hand over hers on the gear stick to keep her from shifting yet he leaned over the console and lightly kissed her, "Just a little longer wife."

Sighing softly, she gave him a tender smile and said, "Okay just a little longer. And Jack? Happy anniversary to you too."