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Jack lingered outside Janet’s office, visibly uneasy. The muted hum of the base followed him down the hallway, but here—just outside her door—everything felt strangely quiet.
“Colonel, is something wrong?” Janet asked without looking up from the files she was sorting, her tone calm, practiced.
“No,” he muttered. A beat. “Actually—yes. I need to get Sam a gift. And I have absolutely no idea what to give her.”
Janet raised her eyes at last.
Jack stared at the floor, hands in his pockets, clearly out of his depth.
“Colonel,” she said gently, “look at me.”
He did, hesitant.
“You want advice.”
Jack exhaled, shoulders slumping just slightly.
“You’re a woman. You probably have a better sense for these things. I just… I want it to be right. Not something random. Not something obligatory.” His voice dropped. “I want her to—”
He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“I want her to like it.”
Janet studied him for a moment, her gaze sharpening with understanding.
“And you think I can help because I’m her friend.”
“Yes.”
“I can offer perspective,” she replied evenly. “I won’t tell you what to buy. If she realizes you put thought into it, that will matter more than the item itself.”
Jack sighed.
“I’m not great at this.”
“That’s not news,” Janet replied mild as ever.
“But it’s also not fatal.”
A short huff escaped him—half laugh, half defeat.
“So,” she continued, clasping her hands, “what do you know about her? What does she enjoy? What do you share?”
Jack leaned back, rubbing his temple.
“Books. Science. Astronomy. All very… obvious. I want something that shows I’ve been paying attention. But not something sentimental. And not something too personal.”
He grimaced.
“I’m bad at finding the middle ground.”
Janet nodded slowly.
“You want it thoughtful without it being interpreted as romantic.”
“Exactly,” Jack said.
“But I still want her to notice.”
“Then start with what interests her,” Janet suggested. “Something that inspires her. Ideally, something that overlaps with you.”
Jack considered her words carefully.
“Something connected to us. Just… understated.”
“That would be appropriate,” Janet agreed. A faint knowing warmth touched her expression. “And for the record—Sam will recognize the effort. She’s observant.”
Jack leaned back, visibly relieved.
“I made this more complicated than it needed to be. Thanks.”
Janet gave him a faint, knowing smile.
“If you decide you need guidance on subtle flirting, consult me first.”
Jack snorted.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
A few days later, Jack sat at his desk, determined.
The wrapping paper lay neatly folded to one side, beside a small package he had chosen with unusual care—following Janet’s advice to the letter.
He turned the book over in his hands—an old astronomy classic Sam had once mentioned in passing, practically under her breath, like she assumed no one would remember. He had.
Additionally, he placed a carefully selected bookmark.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Subtle. Very subtle.
No overdoing it.
No hearts, no dramatic declarations, no sudden deep dive into sentimental territory.
He imagined Sam unwrapping the package—the brief pause, the amused little smirk at the inscription, then that quiet, warm smile he knew so well.
He was overthinking it. He knew that.
But he wanted it right.
Wrapping the gift required a level of patience and dexterity he did not naturally possess.
After a few muttered curses, he finally managed to smooth the gold paper around the book. He secured it with a red ribbon, tying it into a careful bow that sat just slightly off-center.
Jack leaned back, hands on his hips, examining his work.
Neat enough.
Not perfect.
Human.
It’s just a small gesture…
But maybe—just maybe—she’ll notice that I actually listen.
And honestly, a little subtle flirting never hurt anyone.
He picked up a pen, reached for the small card that would accompany the gift, weighing every word as though it might detonate.
Not too much.
Not too little.
Subtle—exactly the way he preferred it.
After a moment’s thought, he wrote:
I devoured this book. I hope you enjoy it just as much—
And maybe we’ll have a chance to talk about it.
He reread the words. Once. Twice.
Nodded.
Satisfied.
Jack placed the card atop the package and checked the wrapping one last time.
No frills. Nothing flashy.
Just intention.
“Okay,” he murmured to himself. “That’s it. Just a gift. With a small spark of interest.”
For a brief moment, he allowed himself an image—
Sam was reading the card, her expression shifting from polite surprise to something warmer, softer.
It made him grin despite himself.
With one final, appraising look at the present, Jack stood and tucked it somewhere safe—waiting for the perfect moment when Sam would finally unwrap it.
The room was festively decorated to within an inch of its life. Strings of lights blinked softly in red and green, an improvised Christmas tree stood slightly crooked in the corner, and Janet had prepared small handwritten name cards for everyone—each one perfectly lettered, of course.
All members of SG-1 had gathered, gifts in hand.
Jack positioned himself near her package, doing his best to appear calm, casual, entirely uninvested—which meant he failed spectacularly.
“All right, everyone,” Janet said brightly, lifting her own gift. “Let’s see who drew whom. I’ll start.”
She held up a small package and grinned.
“Colonel, this one’s for you.”
Jack shot her a suspicious look.
“You got me? Please tell me it’s not a vaccination voucher or anything like that.”
Janet laughed.
“No. Not exactly.”
“I’m afraid,” he said with a grin, feigning dread like an art form.
“Open it.”
Jack turned the perfectly wrapped package over in his hands and gave it a light shake.
“I hope you won’t need to use it to prevent some kind of disaster,” Janet added dryly as he tore the red paper open.
Inside was a MacGyver Survival Kit—stuffed to the brim with coffee, chocolate, gum, a Swiss Army knife, and a tiny first-aid kit.
“Ooh, MacGyver!” Sam squealed delightedly when she saw the printed box.
Jack rolled his eyes reflexively at Sam’s affection for the fictional hero who always had a solution for everything—and rubbed it in with a mullet.
“Not bad,” Jack whistled. “Practical. And definitely useful on my next mission. Thanks, Janet.”
The box made its way around as everyone admired its contents.
Next, Sam handed Teal’c his gift.
“Teal’c… Merry Christmas.”
Teal’c accepted the small package, opened it, and pulled out a simple black knitted beanie emblazoned with the Star Wars logo.
“Samantha Carter,” he said solemnly, “this gift is most… appreciated. I am experiencing Christmas joy.”
The room erupted in laughter. That was about as emotional as a Jaffa ever got—and everyone knew it.
Then it was Teal’c’s turn.
He handed Daniel his present—a beautifully crafted tablet from Chulak, wrapped in a cloth tied with simple, dignified knots.
Daniel’s eyes lit up with fascination.
“Teal’c, this is incredible! You’ll have to tell me more about Jaffa craftsmanship sometime.”
Teal’c inclined his head.
“Your joy brings me joy, Daniel Jackson.”
The gift Daniel gave Janet contained a small statue from a distant world.
“For you, Janet,” Daniel said earnestly. “It reminded me of you, somehow.”
She studied the wooden figurine, its exaggerated anatomy impossible to overlook. After a long, heavy pause Janet burst out laughing—and everyone else, except Daniel, did too.
“Thank you, Daniel,” she said warmly once she caught her breath. “I sincerely hope this statue doesn’t come with any unpleasant surprises.”
“Didn’t you say it was a fertility symbol?” Jack teased.
“Well, thankfully that’s not something I have to worry about right now,” Janet replied with a laugh, casting Daniel a slightly embarrassed smile.
Daniel tugged at his collar.
“…I liked the craftsmanship.”
Finally, it was Jack’s turn.
He handed Sam the carefully wrapped gift—gold paper, red bow, card balanced neatly on top.
“Uh… Merry Christmas, Carter.”
Sam accepted the package gently, unwrapping it with care.
Her eyes immediately found the astronomy book—then the small bookmark—then the card.
For a brief moment, her eyes widened.
Then a warm, unmistakable smile spread slowly across her face—softening everything.
She looked up at him.
“Sir… this is a beautiful gift.”
Jack cleared his throat, trying to hide the sudden warmth creeping into his cheeks.
“Uh… you mentioned it once.”
Sam let out a soft laugh as Jack fidgeted with his coffee cup, his face still faintly flushed.
She didn’t miss it.
Of course, she didn’t.
She never missed anything.
The gift exchange wound down with renewed laughter over the statue Daniel had given Janet.
Daniel blushed slightly; he clearly hadn’t meant anything by it. Janet waved the figurine at him one last time, grinning, and Teal’c raised an eyebrow in silent amusement.
Jack, meanwhile, kept stealing glances at Sam, quietly replaying her reaction in his head—the widening of her eyes, the soft curve of her smile, the way she’d touched the bookmark with almost reverent care. It was a moment of warmth and humor in the middle of the SGC—and a small, subtle spark between Jack and Sam, just enough to keep his chest a little too tight and his thoughts a little too busy.
Afterward, the room had nearly emptied.
Only a few strings of lights still blinked softly, casting warm reflections against polished metal and shadows across the small Christmas tree. A faint echo of laughter lingered in the air like the afterglow of a good song.
Jack and Sam stood side by side, the wrapping paper from her gift neatly folded on a nearby table—her way of treating the moment with care, he suspected. She held the astronomy book close, fingertips lightly brushing the cover.
“So,” Sam said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “you really put thought into this.”
Jack scratched the back of his head and offered a crooked grin.
“Well… I figured I should make the effort. Didn’t want you thinking I’m some kind of old Grinch.”
Sam smiled, a faint sparkle in her eyes.
“A Grinch who gives astronomy books and engages in subtle flirting.”
Jack cleared his throat again, cheeks warming as though someone had nudged the thermostat up a notch.
“Subtle… yes. Very subtle. Kind of my trademark. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
She laughed softly, the sound warm and low.
“I noticed, Colonel.”
A brief silence settled between them—only the gentle glow of the lights and the low hum of the SGC around them. The world seemed to narrow to just this corner of the room, where the base’s endless urgency faded into something calm and still.
Jack took a small step closer, not enough to cross any lines, yet unmistakably intentional—just like the gift had been.
“So… the offer’s real,” he said softly. “If you’d like, we could talk about the book sometime. Maybe over a cup of coffee… or two.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, still smiling, playful and sure of herself.
“At least two cups, Colonel.”
Jack grinned broadly, relieved that she’d taken it exactly the way he’d hoped.
“Two cups. That sounds doable.”
Sam laughed, and Jack couldn’t quite suppress a small, triumphant smile. It was only a moment—a tiny spark between them—but sometimes that was what Christmas at the SGC was really about: warmth, humor, and a quiet reminder that even amid missions and chaos, there was space for moments just like this.
Sam looked at him, amused—the kind of look that lingered a beat too long—and Jack returned it with a brief, mischievous smile that said everything he wasn’t ready to voice out loud.
Christmas at the SGC might not have been traditional—but in its own chaotic, heartfelt way, it was exactly right.
Jack hadn’t been expecting company.
His house was dimly lit; the Christmas tree stood slightly crooked in the corner, a string of lights blinking at irregular intervals—like it shared his skepticism about seasonal enthusiasm.
The faint scent of pine and cold winter air lingered in the living room. Jack sat on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand, the cushion beside him still holding the faint warmth of his own body. The TV was on mute—some old black-and-white movie—more company than entertainment.
Then: a knock at the door.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just a quiet, familiar rhythm that tapped directly against his ribs.
Jack set the bottle aside, stood, and opened the door.
Sam was there.
The book in her hand.
Snow melting on her coat collar.
Her expression uncertain—but unmistakably warm. It took Jack a moment to find his voice, because the sight of her on his doorstep on Christmas Eve wasn’t just unexpected—it was something dangerously close to hope.
“Carter? Uh… hi. I thought you were with your brother. Or… somewhere more festive.”
She lifted the book slightly, her gloves half-removed, fingers pale from the cold. A small, restrained smile appeared—one that tugged gently at his chest.
“I’d like to take you up on your offer, Sir.”
The words landed squarely in his chest.
Not unexpected.
Yet somehow more than he’d anticipated—like the moment you spot a shooting star you weren’t watching for.
Jack cleared his throat and stepped aside.
“Yeah… of course. Come in.”
They sat on the couch—not too close, not too far.
Just a breath between them, but a breath that felt present.
“Beer?” Jack offered. “It’s the only drink in the house. Wasn’t expecting company.”
Sam shook her head, cheeks still flushed from the cold.
“Maybe later, sir.”
She opened the book carefully, almost reverently; the sound of the turning paper seemed louder in the quiet house.
Jack realized his heartbeat synced with it—ridiculous, but undeniable.
“It’s a really beautiful edition,” she murmured, fingertips gliding across the page.
“Yeah,” Jack replied, his voice low, his smile subtle but steady.
Careful, O’Neill.
Don’t swallow your own tongue.
“It is.”
She leaned in ever so slightly. Their shoulders brushed—a small, warm pressure that stole just a moment’s breath from him. He pointed to a passage he’d marked—not a grand declaration, just something she’d once said she loved.
Her perfume—something light, clean—mingled with pine from the tree.
Then—on a page they both tried to turn—their hands brushed.
Not intentional.
Not planned.
But their fingers lingered a moment too long.
Warm.
Still.
Familiar.
Electrifying.
Sam held her breath.
So did Jack—because pulling away felt like stepping back into regulations.
For one quiet second, it felt as though the SGC, the rules, the ranks—all of it—faded gently into the background.
Just two people caught in the gravity of something unspoken.
Sam lowered her gaze to their hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice barely a thread.
Jack shook his head, just slightly.
“I’m not.”
Her eyes lifted—blue, steady, searching. The space between them felt… altered. More defined. Less avoidable.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Jack replied, matching her tone.
“It is.”
Their hands didn’t separate right away.
No radios crackled.
No alarms sounded.
No one barked orders.
Just a man and a woman.
A book.
A quiet, genuine Christmas.
Sam finally exhaled—a tiny tremor of relief—and smiled. Warm. Honest. A little overwhelmed.
“Thank you for the gift, sir.”
And Jack—Jack-freaking-O’Neill—blushed.
Softly.
Honestly.
Inevitably.
“You’re welcome… Carter.”
Their hands had only just parted when
Sam reached into her jacket pocket.
For a moment, she looked nervous—Carter-level nervous, which was barely perceptible but unmistakable to him.
She pulled out a small, simply wrapped package. Brown paper. Uneven green ribbon.
Not regulation.
Not impersonal.
Jack blinked.
“For me?”
Sam nodded, her voice gentle.
“I have something for you, too. Nothing big. Nothing special.”
A pause.
Just a heartbeat too long.
“Just something I saw… and thought of you.”
Jack swallowed. The words hit deeper than he liked.
“Carter… Sam… you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.”
He took the package, his fingers brushing hers—this time deliberately, deliberately slow.
A faint flush crept across her cheeks, warming the cold of her skin.
“Okay,” he murmured, sitting up straighter.
“Let’s see.”
Sam watched him as though the moment itself mattered as much as the gift.
He opened the paper with unusual care.
Inside: a small metal figurine.
A tiny fisherman—older, relaxed, rod resting loosely over his shoulder—sitting on the edge of a dock.
The expression: calm, mischievous, peaceful.
Jack stared at it.
His breath caught—quiet, but real.
“Sam…” His voice dropped. Rougher now.
“This is…”
“I thought of your pond,” she whispered, “and the way you always say that someday you just want… peace. And that you’re not sure you’ll ever really get it.”
Jack swallowed again. Too hard.
She knew him far too well.
“It’s not nothing,” he managed, voice lower than before.
“It means more to me than you realize.”
Sam’s smile curved—uncertain, shy, steady all at once.
“Good. Then it was worth the risk.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Risk, huh?”
“Yes.” She looked at the figurine, then at him.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was… cheesy.”
Jack let out a soft huff.
“Carter, I love it.”
Sam laughed quietly—warm and relieved.
Jack looked at the figurine once more, thumb brushing its cool metal surface. Then he looked at her—and didn’t look away.
“Thank you,” he said again.
Not a courtesy. A confession.
“You’re welcome.”
They settled back beside each other. Close.
The book rested across their knees.
Their hands brushed again over a turned page—sparks, pulse, breath—
—KNOCK.
Both of them jumped.
Before Jack could react, the door swung open.
“Jack?” Daniel called cheerfully.
Jack’s eyes widened.
“…Why are you here?”
Teal’c stepped in behind Daniel, wearing a knitted beanie like a ceremonial crown and layers of color that screamed Christmas spirit and Jaffa stoicism simultaneously.
“It is inappropriate to be alone on such a significant holiday,” Teal’c intoned.
Daniel nodded, juggling boxes.
“Also, Jack—you said yesterday you were just going to eat pizza and watch a movie. And honestly? That sounded… sad.”
Jack bristled.
“It was not sad. And I’m not alone.”
Teal’c took in the scene—their proximity, the gifts, the book resting between them.
His eyebrow rose exactly half a centimeter.
“We are interrupting,” he said calmly.
“No!” Jack blurted.
“You’re not interrupting.”
Sam cleared her throat softly, cheeks pink.
“Not at all.”
Daniel’s eyes darted between them.
“So… is this one of those things where you later pretend nothing happened?”
Jack sighed, defeated.
“Yes, Daniel. Exactly that. Nothing happened. We were reading.”
Soon, all four of them were on Jack’s roof, bundled in blankets and winter coats, mugs of hot chocolate steaming in their hands, cake balanced precariously on plates.
Daniel fiddled with his thermos.
“Careful,” Jack warned. “Don’t spill it on the white blanket.”
Daniel scowled.
“I’ve got it under control!”
The thermos wobbled dangerously.
Sam nudged Jack with her shoulder. His piece of cake threatened to slide off the plate.
“Watch your cake,” she whispered—crumbs stuck to her chin.
Jack leaned over, brushing it away with the back of his finger—slow, deliberate.
“Hey… you’ve got a little something.”
She laughed softly, breath puffing white in the cold.
“You didn’t have to—”
“But I did,” Jack said, eyes warm.
“Just ensuring perfection.”
Daniel interrupted the banter.
“So. About that fertility statue I gave Janet—”
Jack snorted.
“Oh, you mean the Busty Fertility Idol? Daniel, thank you for everyone’s amusement. Janet was… very pleased.”
Sam whispered, eyes twinkling.
“I can’t believe you actually paused to admire it.”
Jack smirked.
“I paused because I tried not to burst out laughing. Doesn’t mean I admired it.”
Daniel frowned, defensive already.
“Do you think it made her uncomfortable?”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know, Daniel. Maybe only after you said she reminded you of it.”
Daniel blinked, horrified.
“It wasn’t meant as a reference! It’s a culturally significant—”
Jack cut him off with a slow shake of his head, voice low and mercilessly amused.
“Daniel… you have no idea how to handle women. None. Less than me. And that’s saying something.”
Sam’s head turned — just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye.
Not wide, not obvious — but warm, lingering.
A tiny curve touched her lips, the kind that held memory and meaning.
Jack felt it without looking directly:
she knew exactly how much he’d learned.
And that maybe — just maybe — some of it was because of her.
Daniel recoiled like he’d been stabbed with academic dishonor.
“Excuse me? I’ll have you know my intentions were purely anthropological.”
Jack, still aware of Sam’s gaze on him, didn’t rush his next sip of hot chocolate.
“Yeah,” he drawled, “because nothing spreads holiday cheer like gifting your colleague a mythologically-endowed statue and then complimenting her… similarities.”
Sam pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter —
but her eyes flicked toward Jack once more, softer this time, as if privately acknowledging his self-deprecating honesty.
Daniel threw up his hands, exasperated.
“I wasn’t flirting! I was appreciating craftsmanship! It’s history. My field. My passion. My responsibility to—”
“To accidentally make women blush?” Jack offered.
This time Sam let out a full, bright laugh —
and Jack felt it settle somewhere warm behind his ribs.
Sam’s eyes lingered on Jack for a heartbeat too long — warm, knowing — before she looked away again.
Jack didn’t turn his head, but he felt it. Felt her.
The moment hummed quietly between them.
Daniel, who had been busy adjusting his thermos and muttering about anthropological intent, didn’t catch a single flicker of it.
Teal’c, however, did.
His gaze shifted from Sam to Jack and back again — just once, just enough — the way a seasoned warrior notes the movement of stars before battle.
No reaction, no comment… but his eyebrow rose a fraction, the barest sign of recognition.
Where Daniel saw nothing, Teal’c saw everything.
And said nothing — for now.
Daniel rubbed his forehead, exasperated.
“I swear, you’re all reading into things that aren’t there.”
Teal’c inclined his head, voice even.
“On the contrary, Daniel Jackson.
There are matters present you have not yet observed.”
Daniel blinked, completely lost.
“Like what?”
Teal’c simply looked up at the stars —
a man who has decided the universe will reveal the answer in its own time.
Jack did not look at Sam.
Sam did not look at Jack.
But both of them felt seen.
“It is calming,” Teal'c said solemnly, “to view the Tauri sky without danger.”
Sam shifted closer to Jack. Just a few inches—but enough.
Enough that their shoulders touched again.
Jack glanced at her, careful, deliberate.
“You know… I can show you Orion.”
He pointed upward.
“See, here’s the belt… and there’s Betelgeuse.”
Sam leaned in, tracing the constellation with her finger—close enough that he felt her breath brush the back of his knuckles.
“I never realized it looked like that from here,” she said softly.
Jack couldn’t resist a subtle lean closer, brushing Sam’s hand as he adjusted his own mug.
Their fingers met again—warm, familiar, electric.
Sam glanced down at the mug and then at him, lips twitching.
“You’re trying to make me drop my hot chocolate,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” Jack said, eyes bright with mischief.
“Or maybe I’m just… helping.”
She shook her head, laughing quietly.
A crumb from Daniel’s cake landed on her sleeve—again.
Jack brushed it away, fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.
The sky stretched endlessly above them—stars bright and cold—contrasting with the warmth between them.
After a long moment of quiet starlight, Teal'c noted:
“Daniel Jackson, it's time to leave this place.”
Daniel didn't understand at first why the evening should end so suddenly. Then he looked at Sam and Jack, and it dawned on him.
“Alright…. time to go.“
“O’Neill. Major Carter. We leave you in peace to enjoy this special night.”
Daniel waved dramatically.
“But don’t have too much fun.”
Jack shot him a dry look.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
A few seconds later, the roof fell into a serene silence.
Only Jack and Sam remained—shoulders brushing, hot chocolate cooling beside them.
Jack turned to her, voice soft.
“Ready to finally talk about the book… uninterrupted?”
Sam leaned closer, warmth radiating through the winter air.
“Yes.”
The stars glittered above—vast, cold, ancient—while warmth gathered quietly between them.
“Thank you for tonight, Sir,” she murmured.
“Jack,” he corrected gently.
Her smile softened—knowing, warm, a little unguarded.
“Jack.”
Jack turned his hand toward hers.
Slowly, carefully, he placed it over hers.
Sam closed her fingers around his—steady, confident.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
They stayed like that—hands linked, shoulders touching, breath mingling with the cold—
two people who knew a universe full of rules…
…and for this moment, had only the stars above them.