A Taste of the Sun
She said it was because her mother had made it for her, that it reminded her of sunshine and birthdays. He remembered, because when she spoke of her mother her smile changed, became brighter, somehow. That had struck him, because he would have thought that remembering a deceased parent would be painful.
But not for her; not for Samantha Carter.
They had driven through rush hour traffic in D.C. into Alexandria, a trip that had taken them more than two hours. When he had been ready to bash his head against the steering wheel she had leaned against the window, watching him with amusement. He had glanced at her and stopped drumming his fingers, saying that yes, obviously having a chauffeur had spoiled him but no, he was still capable of driving.
Once they had reached the restaurant and learned that the wait was three hours, he had been ready to turn around and drive right back into D.C., where his position as Advisor to the Joint Chiefs would get him a table immediately. The slightest touch of her hand on his arm had halted that thought immediately and her quiet suggestion that they wander around the little shops until they were called suddenly made sense.
Ninety minutes later they sat down at a table and ordered their drinks; the matron had shuffled the waiting list when an older couple offered to let the ‘young’uns’ have their place. A light dinner followed, each talking about nothing and everything in the relaxed manner only achieved outside of work and service areas.
And then dessert was served: chocolate cake for him, and key lime pie for her.
“Mm.” The generous forkful of pie went into her mouth; the fork alone slid out with a smidgen on red lipstick. Her eyes were closed, a blissful expression on her face.
“That good?” Frankly, he was jealous of the fork.
“It's always been my favorite; this restaurant's is the best. Mom made it.” One eyelid cracked open and gave him a blue-eyed glance that was all too knowing.
“Mine only baked cookies.” He took a second bite of his cake and tried to avoid squirming under her gaze.
“Oatmeal?” Another chunk of the sugary concoction vanished.
“Walnut.”
“Sorry.” Her fork lifted again; he wasn’t going to be able to stand it this time. Grabbing her hand, he swallowed the bite as she watched him, eyebrow raised.
“ ‘s good.” He said finally after he had finished chewing, savoring the creamy, tart texture of the pie.
She only smiled.
And so he has a ritual, now, every time the Daedalus is scheduled to leave Earth and head for home… because, face it, the Lanteans were college kids finding their own way in the universe, and Earth had to let them go. A storage container is carefully packed in with all the others and during the three week journey it stays cold, making sure the key lime pie is fresh when it reaches her desk.
Jack sends it as a reminder of home, of what she has left behind and what waits for her when she returns. He has to do it, because he won’t lose her too.
But not for her; not for Samantha Carter.
They had driven through rush hour traffic in D.C. into Alexandria, a trip that had taken them more than two hours. When he had been ready to bash his head against the steering wheel she had leaned against the window, watching him with amusement. He had glanced at her and stopped drumming his fingers, saying that yes, obviously having a chauffeur had spoiled him but no, he was still capable of driving.
Once they had reached the restaurant and learned that the wait was three hours, he had been ready to turn around and drive right back into D.C., where his position as Advisor to the Joint Chiefs would get him a table immediately. The slightest touch of her hand on his arm had halted that thought immediately and her quiet suggestion that they wander around the little shops until they were called suddenly made sense.
Ninety minutes later they sat down at a table and ordered their drinks; the matron had shuffled the waiting list when an older couple offered to let the ‘young’uns’ have their place. A light dinner followed, each talking about nothing and everything in the relaxed manner only achieved outside of work and service areas.
And then dessert was served: chocolate cake for him, and key lime pie for her.
“Mm.” The generous forkful of pie went into her mouth; the fork alone slid out with a smidgen on red lipstick. Her eyes were closed, a blissful expression on her face.
“That good?” Frankly, he was jealous of the fork.
“It's always been my favorite; this restaurant's is the best. Mom made it.” One eyelid cracked open and gave him a blue-eyed glance that was all too knowing.
“Mine only baked cookies.” He took a second bite of his cake and tried to avoid squirming under her gaze.
“Oatmeal?” Another chunk of the sugary concoction vanished.
“Walnut.”
“Sorry.” Her fork lifted again; he wasn’t going to be able to stand it this time. Grabbing her hand, he swallowed the bite as she watched him, eyebrow raised.
“ ‘s good.” He said finally after he had finished chewing, savoring the creamy, tart texture of the pie.
She only smiled.
And so he has a ritual, now, every time the Daedalus is scheduled to leave Earth and head for home… because, face it, the Lanteans were college kids finding their own way in the universe, and Earth had to let them go. A storage container is carefully packed in with all the others and during the three week journey it stays cold, making sure the key lime pie is fresh when it reaches her desk.
Jack sends it as a reminder of home, of what she has left behind and what waits for her when she returns. He has to do it, because he won’t lose her too.