FAREWELLS

It was a hot summer's day, hot and humid, and there was only the merest hint of a breeze. MacGyver tugged at the collar of his dark shirt, feeling the sweat running down his back as he stood quietly, listening to the all-too-familiar words of burial.

"From dust ye are come and to dust ye shall return." Mac had always found that thought a little unsettling, although his good friend, Father Lafferty, assured him that it spoke of the physical, not the spiritual form. Still, it was hard for Mac to imagine the Colonel turning to dust. No, not Colonel, but a General since they'd last worked together, Mac reminded himself. Hammond had been a vibrant man, soft-spoken perhaps, but that quiet Texas drawl carried authority and when he spoke people listened.

Now that voice was silenced. Although Mac hadn't seen him for a number of years, he had always known in the back of his mind that the Col - - General was there, somewhere. He sighed as the brief service ended and the honor guard fired their salute. First Harry, then Pete, and now Hammond. Sometimes he felt like his world was slowly emptying.

Mac didn't know anyone else at the service, although there had been a considerable crowd, largely military. He was glad, although not surprised, to see that the General had been so highly regarded. Hammond had been a man of high integrity and had always earned great respect from his co-workers, regardless of rank - or lack thereof. Military or civilian, he'd treated them well and brought out the best in them.

After Taps was played, the crowd slowly dissipated, led by Hammond's family. Mac lingered to say a private farewell. He noticed one small knot of people who also stayed behind. Two military and two civilians, it seemed. He kept his distance as the large black civilian bowed profoundly and then stepped away, head bowed, face impassive. The other civilian, looking slight in comparison, pushed back his glasses, bent over to lay a hand on the coffin, murmured a few words and then turned to join the first. They walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder, toward one of the remaining cars.

The woman wore Colonel's eagles. She was smaller than her companions, with short, shining blond hair under her hat and an impressive group of medals on her uniform. She cut a trim figure as she saluted sharply, ignoring the tears now rolling down her cheeks. Mac was startled when she dropped abruptly to her knees and laid her cheek on the casket, one arm stretched across the polished wood. She remained that way for a moment until the other man touched her gently on the shoulder. Then she collected herself and rose gracefully back to the poised military posture she'd shown before. The two exchanged a long look and a few words, his hand on her arm, before she moved away.

Mac remained where he was, waiting patiently. He had thought himself unnoticed and was surprised when the man turned slightly and spoke, raising his voice just enough to be heard.

"You a friend of the General's?" he asked. Mac took the question and tone of his voice as an invitation and came up to the graveside.

"I worked with him on a few projects a while ago," he answered. "Name's MacGyver."

Now that he was near, he could see that this man was also a General. He removed his sunglasses and the two regarded each other for a moment. They were very much the same height and build, both with brown eyes, but the military man had short, graying hair, while Mac's decidedly un-military hair was still brown.

"Jack O'Neill," the General introduced himself. "I don't think I ever heard George mention a MacGyver."

"No? Well, as I said, it was a while ago. He was just a Colonel then. We've exchanged the odd Christmas card and talked on the phone a few times, but I haven't - hadn't - seen him in years. I take it you served with him?"

"Yeah," O'Neill said, sadness evident in his voice, "the last 12 years. It's hard to believe that he's …."

"Gone," Mac finished the sentence with a sigh.

"He was a good man," O'Neill said reflectively. "I know people say that all the time, but he was a genuinely good man. He's going to be missed."

They both looked down at the casket, lost in their own thoughts but somehow drawing comfort from the other's presence. One of the cemetery workers shifted, his shovel clinking, and the mood was broken.

"I suppose we should head on out," Mac said. O'Neill nodded his agreement, but they both lingered one more moment before turning away.

As they walked across the dusty grass to the road, O'Neill said, "The family is having a small party to share remembrances. Why don't you join us? I'm sure you'd be more than welcome."

Mac shook his head. "Thanks, but I spoke with the family at the wake last night. I think -- I think I'll just head back to my hotel. It's been a long couple of days."

"Are you sure? There'll be cake, oh, and ice cream," O'Neill said persuasively.

"Ice cream?" Mac stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah, oddly enough, it was the one thing George asked the family to have at his funeral. Are you okay?" Jack looked at him, a little concerned by the arrested expression on his face.

"Ice cream," Mac repeated softly. "He couldn't have known…" Then he smiled and said, "You know, I think I would like to come to the party."

At the cars, Teal'C, Daniel and Samantha watched the two men walk across the grounds together.