Disclaimer: Of course I don't own them. This would all be official if I did. Failing that...

Author's Note: Yes, yes, everyone's done a holiday story. This is my version, started several years ago and only recently finished. A thousand thank yous to my betas, Sammie and Polrobin - as usual, a few of the best moments came straight from Pol.

This is rated a STRONG T, but I don't think it deserves an M by any means - you'd see this on prime time TV any day of the week. Nonetheless, you've been warned. Enjoy!

The Carter Household Holiday Rules

"Okay, who volunteers to butcher the turkey?"

A little blonde boy raced into the kitchen and skidded to a perilous socked halt on the the hardwood. "I'll do it!"

"I'll do it!" his sister answered almost simultaneously, her young hand already reaching for the butcher knife her mother held.

Lifting the implement high in the air and out of reach of her daughter, Ellie Carter shot her children her patented 'Mom Look' and turned to the other two adults hovering in the doorway. Hunger had the kitchen packed. "Okay, let me rephrase: which adult who is not me and is allowed to play with knives volunteers to butcher the turkey?"

Mark Carter grinned and turned on his baby sister. "You've got mad knife skills, right, Miss Mortal Kombat?"

"Oh, yeah. That's what they teach us in Basic, actually. Field strip this M-16 first, then carve up that turkey," Sam shot back. "So if you really want it butchered, I'm probably your girl. But otherwise..."

This time, the adults earned The Look, but it only made them smile. "Husband," Ellie pressed super-sweetly, "no one eats until this bird gets carved."

"Good Lord, man, what are you waiting for?" Sam teased, and her brother crossed the kitchen with a grumble. With the turkey in capable hands, Sam started shuttling hot serving dishes to the dining room table, moving deftly around the six-year-old boy with his hands full of forks and the already tall ten-year-old cautiously pouring milk (for the kids) and wine (for the rest) and carrying the glasses to the table as well.

It was complete and total chaos, and Sam loved it.

Soon enough, Mark entered with a platter heaped dangerously high with poultry, and Sam settled into her chair – Mark sat on her right at the head of the table, Sydney, the oldest, sat on the end to her left, and Ellie and little David took up the other side of the table. Ellie eyed the deconstructed bird with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Mark defended.

"I worry about you sometimes, dear," she answered. "Everything you cut is a little less than straight."

His sister couldn't hide her snort of laughter. "She has a point. But E for effort," she assured him.

Mark just sighed. "Let's say grace."

"Grace!" Sydney shouted, which didn't help her poor aunt contain herself at all. But they soon settled, their blonde heads dipping as they joined hands.

"Father," Ellie spoke up confidently, "thank you for this food, this home, and all that we have. But most of all, thank you for family – for those with us today, those who can't be, and those who already feast at your eternal table. Amen."

"Amen," Sam echoed softly with the table, but the last part hit hard. Their father's death was months past but still a little fresh – it never ceased to amaze her how the littlest thing could bring it all back. And when she glanced up and found Mark still holding her hand, well after everyone else had let go, she knew he felt it, too. Shooting him a quick smile, she freed her hand to take a sip of her wine before diving headlong into another subject. "Ellie, I kind of expected your family to be here today."

"Oh, yeah," the woman answered easily, not distracted from preparing a plate for her youngest. "But Evan, my oldest brother, only has today off, and then he has to work all weekend. Slave drivers," she groaned. "So my parents are in Seattle with him today so he doesn't have to travel. We'll all get together here in town Sunday."

Suddenly Sam felt awful for coming – she'd sort of invited herself, she supposed, never thinking that they'd have other plans. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was keeping you from-"

"From what? A several hour round-trip plane ride with Trouble One and Trouble Two here for just one day?" Ellie challenged, eliciting giggles from her two children. "Oh, that wasn't going to happen anyway."

"But Mommy, I like planes!" David insisted.

"Yeah, me, too. I used to think they were peaceful. And then I had children." With a smile, she added, "Besides, it means we finally let Rob take that ski trip he's wanted for... forever."

"His best friend's family goes to Aspen every year," Mark explained. "And we've always told him family was too important, but he'll be home for the big Sunday bash. And that means you don't have to sleep on the couch." Mark's large, warm hand patted her knee. "It's nice to have you here. But I do wonder – why this year, all the sudden? We haven't seen you for Thanksgiving in..."

"Years, I know. I, um..." How could she explain it, exactly? Of the men who had become family to her, one was currently visiting his son on another planet, one was using the break to dive head-long into ruins thousands of years older than they should be able to be, and the third – well, he was gone. Kind of. Flying a desk somewhere half a continent away in a stuffy office in the Pentagon. Somehow, that one hurt more than the others. But she couldn't tell her brother any of that, so she did something she'd gotten lots of practice at over the last near-decade. She lied. "Our new base commander decided to shut everything down for the week. That hasn't happened since I got stationed there, so I figured, why not?"

Landry had practically kicked them all out after their last fairly disastrous mission. That made it less of a lie... right? But apparently they bought it anyway, as Mark answered only by requesting that she pass the gravy.

"I wish you could come out here more often, Aunt Sam," Sydney spoke up.

"She thinks you're the coolest aunt ever," Mark pressed with a roll of his eyes, and the little girl blushed.

"Well, I think you're the coolest niece ever; how 'bout that?" Sam told the girl, shooting daggers at her brother with her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really. Hey, can I have some of the cranberry stuff, please?"

"Sure!" Sydney practically tripped all over herself to help, very nearly dipping an elbow in the gravy in the attempt. Sam grinned at her.

"So, how's work?"

Oh, the ever-awkward question. But a grin was plastered on her brother's face, and she knew he did it intentionally. "Still classified." Since her father's reintroduction and miraculous cure followed by quick and mysterious death, the 'deep space telemetry' lie had just become too hard to keep, and they'd settled for the truth – that they just plain couldn't tell him anything. And he wouldn't want to know, anyway; the Ori scared even Sam. A little.

"What do you do?" the little girl asked.

"I'm in the Air Force; you know that."

"Well, yeah, but what do you do?"

A large, conspiratorial grin crossed her face as she whispered, "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." Sydney's eyes flew wide, and she quickly dug back into her turkey. Sam ruffled her blonde hair affectionately.

A sharp knock on the door echoed through the dining room, and while the kids ignored it, all three adults looked up. Who would come to the door unannounced late afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, when most families were eating? It didn't make sense.

"Flash must've gotten out of the yard again," Mark muttered as he got to his feet. "I'll be back." He strode down the hall and opened the front door with confidence, fully expecting one of his neighbors to have his German Shepherd in tow. What he saw instead nearly knocked him back a step.

Under any other circumstances, he might have panicked: for the family of a soldier, having a man show up unexpectedly in dress blues was almost never a good thing... but his father was already dead and his sister was safe in the dining room, so it could hardly be that. Quickly taking in the gray hair and stars on his shoulders – he'd grown up in a military household, after all – Mark greeted, "Can I help you, General?"

"Afternoon," the man greeted stiffly, but the mannerism didn't carry in the same well-worn way his father had always held. This man seemed... nervous? Unsure? "I was hoping to find Colonel Carter."

"Uh, sure. She's in the dining room. Come on in." Still confused, Mark shut the door behind the man and led the way into the house, stepping quickly aside from the hallway to let him into the room. "Sam?"

He didn't miss the look of complete and utter panic that crossed his sister's face, and she pushed back from the table with such force that her chair tipped and clattered to the floor behind her. She didn't even seem to notice. "Sir? What happened?"

"Nothing," the General assured her quickly. "It's not... I... Nothing."

That eased the panic, but not the tension in the room. If anything, it thickened, and Mark exchanged a glance with his wife. What the hell was going on?

Sam didn't seem to know, either. "Then... what are you..."

"Oh, well, I, ah... I was in the neighborhood," he stammered, and her brother knew that was a lie. Heck, even his six-year-old probably saw through that one.

"In the neighborhood of... Earth?" Panic flashed across her face again as she glanced toward the brother, as if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to. Mark had thought the metaphor pretty amusing, but a sharp look from Ellie kept him silent. Her eyes moved purposefully from the man to her sister-in-law and back, then met her husband's again – there's something going on here, the look said. Something big.

"Well, you know, I had a few days," the man answered noncommittally.

"Yes, sir," she said simply, and a taut, thick silence filled the room as they stared at each other, gazes locked, chests moving quickly with nervous, shallow breaths. Neither seemed to know what to say or where to go from there.

Mark looked again at the man, hard, and suddenly he realized he'd seen him before – he'd been among Sam's friends at their father's funeral. He knew he'd been introduced to him, talked to him, but he had no idea what his name was. And while the man wore a name badge on the opposite side of his chest, he was pretty sure his wife would slaughter him on the spot if he moved. Or spoke. Or interrupted the odd little encounter in any possible way.

It was Sydney, oblivious, still eating, who shattered the moment. "Mom, can I have some more sweet potatoes, please?"

"In a minute," Ellie hissed softly.

But the little girl's simple question hit the General like an arrow. His eyes snapped wide as they took in the table, the food, the half-eaten plates for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should never have... I'm sorry." Abruptly, he spun on a heel and headed back for the hallway.

"Sir, wait."

The desperation in her words brought the man to a complete halt just inside the room. He didn't turn around, and Mark watched as his sister's mouth moved silently again and again, her eyes glued to his back as she struggled for words.

"Well, you know, you can't leave." Ellie's overly cheerful voice cut through the quiet, and both heads turned to face her.

"I can't?" he asked reflexively.

"He can't?" Mark echoed.

"Of course not," their hostess lied easily as she pushed to her feet, and Mark was pretty sure he was the only one who caught the mini-glare she sent his way. "It's one of the Carter rules – nobody leaves on Thanksgiving without eating."

"Mommy," their smallest child guffawed, "there are no rules for Thanksgiving!"

A firm hand clamped on top of the small head. "Yes, David, there are."

But the unspoken will behind her words didn't quite carry to his young brain, and his fork hit china with a clang. "Aunt Sam, are there Thanksgiving rules?"

The way the General's muscles tensed was obvious even under his heavy jacket; Sam's reaction was even clearer. After a moment, he turned slowly to meet her eyes, and Mark got the definite feeling that his entire being leaned heavily on the next words from her mouth. They were a long time coming.

"Sure there are, David," she answered softly, her eyes never leaving the older man in front of her. "You have to have turkey. The cranberry sauce can't come from a can. And... you'd better visit on an empty stomach, because you can't leave without dinner."

Just the slightest ghost of a smile crossed her face, but the tension eased almost immediately. The General's tiny step toward her spurred them all into action.

"I'll get a chair," Mark volunteered and disappeared down the hall.

"I'll get you a plate!" Ellie ducked into the kitchen.

The two officers were left staring at each other over the table and the heads of her niece and nephew. Getting past the dinner invitation had bought her time, but Sam's heart beat like a jackhammer in her chest. What was he doing? "I'll, um, get a beer," she murmured finally, tearing her gaze away to start toward the kitchen herself.

"Two, please," he managed.

"It was for you, sir."

"Oh."

Her quick exit left him standing awkwardly in the dining room while the two children continued to purposefully shovel food into their mouths. It made him wonder what generally went on in the house that neither reacted to the strange behavior – or even the chair that still lay on its back across the table. As he moved to right it, the girl finally seemed to notice him.

"Hi!" she greeted. "I'm Sydney."

A miniature but confident hand shot his direction, and he shook it. "Hi, Sydney. I'm Jack."

To her credit, she waited a full ten seconds – giving him time to step away a bit – before she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Mom! It's been a minute! Does that mean I can have more sweet potatoes now?"