She found him huddled in a miserable ball, shaking and pale – and looking even worse than he had before. Something she wouldn't have believed possible. She went to the door and closed it firmly, shutting out the rest of the world, and walked over and crouched beside him, setting her hand gently on his shoulder.
He flinched at the touch, and turned to her, his expression completely bewildered and lost.
"Go away, Sam…"
His voice was harsh and empty, and once more she thought she could feel her heart break.
"Jack… it's okay."
He shook his head, and leaned against the wall, away from her.
"It's never going to be okay. I'm going crazy. I really think I am."
Sam sat down beside him, and leaned against the same wall he was leaning against, right beside him.
"You're not crazy, Jack. You're just injured."
He shook his head.
"I heard that dog talking in my head. I know it's a boy. It is, isn't it? A boy, I mean. I can even feel that he's part Jaffer – although I don't know what that means." A sob escaped as his voice cracked over Jaffer's name, but he managed to get the rest of the sentence out.
"He's Jasmine's puppy," she told him, reaching out and touching his leg. He was clammy and shaking, and it was unnerving to see him so upset. "Shawn and Gina thought-"
"Ian's behind it," Jack interrupted, and she wasn't sure if he was angry about that or not. And didn't know how he'd figured that out in the state of mind he was in just then.
"Yes."
"What do they want? What does he want?"
"They – he – thinks the puppy might help you… regain your equilibrium."
Jack shook his head.
"Nothing will. Jaffer's gone. I wish I was, too."
"Don't you say that," Sam snapped, suddenly angry. "Don't you ever say that. You have two small children who love you and need you, and you have a son who doesn't have a clue what's coming – and he's going to need you, too. And I need you."
He shook his head, again, feeling another ache in a long line of them as he realized that what she said was true – and the realization that he couldn't bring himself to care just then. Nothing could pierce that emptiness inside him that Jaffer had left. Not even Sam, who he loved more than anyone.
"I need him, Sam… I miss him so much… you don't understand…"
His voice broke again, and this time he crumbled against her as she wrapped her arms around him and held him.
"It's okay, Jack. Really…"
He shuddered, but didn't reply, and Sam put her hand against his cheek and pressed his face against her own.
"Really," she told him. "We'll fix it."
He just shook his head again, and his tears soaked both of their faces.
OOOOOOOOOO
The American people liked and respected Jack O'Neill. They liked and respected him when he'd saved the world from certain alien invasion. They'd liked and respected him even more as the Director of the Homeworld Defense Network – as it'd ended up being called – and they'd even carried that liking and respect over to the polls when it came time to vote him into office. Yes, they liked Jack O'Neill.
But they loved Jaffer. An entire generation had been raised watching O'Neill and Jaffer interact. They'd seen the big lab when he'd been next to Jack the first time he'd been presented to the world by the press, and Jaffer had stood by his side the first time Jack had been sworn into office in public – when he'd become Director of the Homeworld Defense Network. He'd been standing by Jack's side when he'd announced the birth of his daughter – grinning like an idiot, which had made the American people like him even more.
Jaffer made sportsmen drool, children oooh and awww, and the majority of the female population smile at the blatant flirting in his expression. Everyone loved him – even cat people. And the announcement of his passing stunned them all. Immediately there were crowds of people gathering around the gates of the White House, all hoping for a glimpse of Jack, or Sam – or even one of the kids, or hoping for a chance to show support to a guy that absolutely had to be reeling from the loss of a dog that they'd all been able to tell he'd loved.
They brought memorabilia, too. Flowers were placed along the fence line, several feet deep, or hung on the fence itself. Pictures of the lab – or other labs that were owned by those showing their respect – were hung on the fence as well. As were cards made by people of all ages, and left where the Secret Service could see them and debate what to do with them. They were, for the moment, simply left where they were, and members of the press could be found taking pictures of them, or other things, or simply interviewing those mourners who had gathered.
Jack was oblivious to it all, of course, as was Sam. The Secret Service were watching the crowds carefully – you never knew when some kind of psycho might use such a distraction as a chance to cause mischief or worse – but at the moment everyone was well behaved; talking to each other, or surreptitiously wiping tears so no one would tease them later if they were by chance caught on some news tape bawling, or sifting through the cards and letters and flowers, reading with interest what others had written. Or just staring at the White house blankly.
None of them saw the Gateship fly overhead. Some might have felt the slight change in air pressure around them, but when they didn't see anything they assumed it was simply a change coming in the weather – or just a slight breeze that was a little odd. Most were too preoccupied to even care.
Inside the craft the pilot was watching the scene below with a slightly sad and somewhat impressed expression. He wasn't the biggest dog lover on the planet – although he'd really liked Jaffer and felt bad for Jack O'Neill – so he couldn't really understand why so many people would crowd around just to pay their respects to the memory of a dog. Even a really cool one like Jaffer had been.
"Gateship One, this is Andrews tracking…"Major River Hayden keyed the communication system of the Gateship.
"Go ahead, Andrews, I'm listening."
"The Secret Service are requesting that you land in the park, Major," the voice on the other end told him. "Behind the main house is a grove of poplar trees with a small clearing in the middle of them…"
River gained a little altitude, turning the ship to look towards the back of the White House. From what he'd heard, every president who lived in the White House had planted a tree in the park that surrounded the residence. Their own way to leave a legacy, he supposed. The only problem was…
"Andrews, this is Gateship One. I don't have a clue what a poplar tree looks like."
They all looked the same to him. Green.
There was a slight hesitation, and then the voice came back on.
"Hold on, Gateship One… we will advise…"It was about three minutes later when River saw a small group of Secret Service agents leave the rear entrance of the White House, looking up – although not directly at him. One of them made a gesture towards a small group of trees – which looked exactly like every other tree he could see – and made a 'landing' motion with his hands.
"Gateship One, so you see them?""Affirmative, Andrews," River said, aiming the ship for the small clearing in the center of those trees. Which looked like every other clearing, really. Apparently one had to be a botanist to live in the White House. Or at least to land there. "I'm landing now. Please advise them to stand clear."
"Roger, Gateship One."
The Secret Service guys stayed where they were, watching, and with a barrel roll that none of them could see, River brought the Gateship in for a perfect landing. A few minutes after that, he popped the rear hatch and moved out of the ship, joining the agents who were still standing where they'd been waiting.
"Welcome to the White House, Major Hayden," one of them told him, extending him his hand.
River took it with a grin, his usual sense of humor restored fairly quickly.
"Thanks. Where do we go now?"
"River!"
There was a mad rush of small people suddenly rushing towards him from the house, and the agent who had greeted him gave him a rare smile.
"Apparently, A&W."