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It was something about the texture. Jack took childish delight in cramming his hands in the clay and squishing it through his fingers before scooping it back into mound at the center of the slow-spinning pottery wheel. Eyeing the clay, he cupped his hands around it, smoothing it into a rough cylinder before hollowing it and drawing up the sides between his palms.
He'd tried to take a pottery class a year ago. Jack thought it would be more meaningful than sitting on his couch during downtime, drinking beer and watching tapes of hockey when he already knew the scores.
But then there'd been the whole going to Hell thing to rescue Jacob, and getting shot again and Fraiser with the big needles and the physical therapy... After that, he decided beer and his VCR were plenty meaningful.
Until he found himself, for the twenty-third time, explaining just how he knew what a coronal mass emission was. And sitting there watching - for the twenty- third time - Carter frown at her diagrams, Hammond rub the back of his head, and Daniel almost spill his coffee, Jack had a sudden horrible vision of sitting on his couch, watching the same hockey game for the rest of eternity.
So, while he really, really wanted a good night's sleep and he probably wouldn't be able to look at a Froot Loop again for a very long time, and one of these time loops he just might shove Frasier's penlight up her nose, he was damn well going to get something meaningful out of this universal reset button.
Jack dunked his hands in a bowl of water and then slid his thumbs along the edge of the half-formed pot, flaring the mouth. It was satisfying, watching the clay take shape under his hands.
Maybe this was how Carter felt about all of her-
"Colonel?"
The pot collapsed with a wet slurp.
Sighing, Jack turned off the wheel and looked up. And blinked. Sam stood in the doorway. Smiling.
"What are you doing, sir?"
"Uh..." Jack clamped his hands over the clay. "I'm... making mud pies."
"Very elaborate mud pies."
So this was good, the Carter smiling thing, even though he felt a slow flush creeping up his neck as her gaze flicked between him and the pottery wheel.
"Well, anything worth doing is worth doing right." Jack squished the ruined pot back into a little mound. "Can I help you, Carter? My clay is drying out."
"Daniel's looking for you, sir. Something about the translation and-"
Wait. Was she staring at his arms?
"Carter, I've been working on the translation for... for a damn long time." Jack surreptitiously examined the big streaks of clay on his skin. Oh hell. As if he didn't look silly enough sitting there... "A damn long time of listening to Daniel mispronounce the same damn word. I needed a break."
"So you're... making pottery."
Jack rubbed at the dried clay, but only succeeded in smearing more on his skin. "Well, the technical term is 'throwing' pottery, Carter." He scrubbed his hands clean on his pants then scraped at the clay with his nails, flaking away little bits.
"Oh. Right."
He wiggled his fingers in the bowl of water and started rubbing again, but that just made a soupy mess and pulled uncomfortably at his arm hair.
"Sir?"
"Yeah?" Jack's head snapped up. Sam now stood across from him, bending down to poke at the remains of the pot, her face inches from his. She was still smiling.
He forgot all about his arm.
"How were you planning to bake it?"
"Bake it?"
Sam frowned a little, examining her clay-covered fingertips. "You know... when you put it in the kiln."
Oh, God, she'd kill him if he laughed. "Uh, I think you mean 'fire' it, Carter."
"Oh." She stared at the clay and he stared at her. It was cute when her ears turned pink like that.
"Well, I had this idea. Your naquedah reactor would bake it like that."
Her eyes slid back to his, and Jack's mouth went dry as he watched her lips curve up. And he wondered, for a second, what she would do if he leaned forward just a bit...
Then she stood up, and he remembered to start breathing again. "I'm not sure I could justify that as appropriate use of resources, Colonel. I don't think the Joint Chiefs are interested in revolutionizing the world of hand-crafts. So I should tell Daniel..."
Clearing his throat, trying not to stare at her mouth, Jack said, "That he conjugates Latin like a girl."
"Of course, sir." Sam didn't quite roll her eyes. "I'll tell Daniel you'll find him later."
Just as she reached the door he asked, "What would you do, Carter? I mean, if you knew you could live the same ten hours over. No consequences, just hit reset."
There was a long pause, and her ears started turning pink again. "I'm not sure I should tell you, sir."
"Oh, come on. You won't remember."
"That's not the problem, Colonel. You will."
"Chicken." He grinned, and this time she did roll her eyes.
"Nice try, sir." But she paused in the doorway. "No consequences?"
"Nope. None. Nada."
Sam opened her mouth. Then closed it and shrugged. "I guess I'd do something... fun."
"'Fun'? That's it?" Jack threw up his hands. "No consequences whatsoever and all you can think of is something 'fun'?"
"Well, you're making pottery! That's not exactly death-defying. Sir."
She stood there, caught halfway between laughter and exasperation, and he wondered, again, what she would do if he just got up, walked over and...
"Well, think about it." Daniel, in the back of his mind, sounding thoughtful. "If you know in advance that everything will be going back to the way it was..."
Holy crap.
"Colonel?" Sam was still standing in the doorway.
"Uh yeah, Carter. Sorry. Just thinking."
"...you could do anything."
"About?"
Jack scooped some water onto the wheel, squishing the clay back into shape. He knew he was grinning like an idiot. "Doing something meaningful."