AN: There's probably only one more part after this! Tell me if you like it!

Chapter Twelve

Originally my plan had been to take Jack to the park and then to my house for a while until it was late enough that I could go back to the infirmary to sleep. Or maybe, possibly, accidentally fall asleep in my own bed and forget entirely about that whole sleeping in the infirmary thing. But the addition of Pete changes it all. No way is that unhousebroken puppy getting anywhere near my house or my beautiful hardwood floors.

I load Jack into the truck and then put Pete, or the box containing Pete, in the front. I stretch the seatbelt around the box to keep it in place. Immediately, Jack starts whining about wanting Pete with him.

"Look, John, I just spent a whole lot of money on Pete here and I'm not going to have him running loose in the truck where he's liable to get hurt. And I refuse to be faced with explaining it to you if Pete has an accident in your truck."

Jack looks duly confused by my statement, but then his expression changes to worry. "Will Pete be scared all by himself in the box? I don't want him to be scared."

I ruffle Jack's messy hair and smile, his charm reminding me why I can't ever say no to him. "Are you scared in the backseat all by yourself?"

He shakes his head resolutely. "I'm a big boy!"

I laugh, thinking of how he can't go anywhere without screaming for me. "Pete's a big boy too. He'll be just fine." I climb in and start the truck, noticing that Pete seems abnormally quiet. I have to check on him. Pete is huddled against the side of the box, his big black eyes open wide. He's shaking in fear. I reach in to pat his head and he ducks. But as soon as I gently touch the top of his head, his eyes close. Poor thing. This world was not made for tiny little dogs.

We're almost to the park - a twenty minute ride filled with nonsensical ramblings about puppies and the occasional yip of agreement from Pete - when Jack stops yammering to himself. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" I glance at him in the rearview mirror. "What's up?"

He looks puzzled. "Where's my mommy and daddy?"

Now that's a good question because I actually have no clue. Jack never talks about his parents. "Probably at home in Minnesota I imagine." He's never mentioned that they died, so I can only assume they're still alive. Come to think of it, I'd really, really like to meet them. I grin to myself at the thought - considering the recent developments, at least the recent developments prior to baby Jack, would indicate that I actually stand a chance of meeting them someday. I wonder if they'll like me - or if it's an O'Neill thing to dislike scientists.

Jack seems satisfied by my answer, although the idea of Minnesota is probably beyond his grasp. At three, locations usually consist of home and grandma's. And in my case, outer space, but then again, I was just a wee bit odd as a child. Actually, I still am.

A minute later, he pipes up again. "Sam?"

"Yes, John?"

"Daddy calls me John and mommy calls me Jack."

I giggle. "I guess I know who won that argument."

"Will you be my mommy?"

In a room full of people, his question would be exceptionally embarrassing for both of us. But since we're alone, it's just sweet. So I smile back at him. "How about if I promise I will never, ever leave you? Is that ok?" Because it is so not motherly love that I feel for Jack.

Jack smiles happily. "Ok!"

When we get to the park, I free Jack from the car seat and dig through the bag from the pet store. Jack climbs into my lap while I put Pete's collar on him - I swear his neck is smaller around than my wrist. Eventually, I turn Jack and Pete loose, after an internal crisis as to just how tight dog collars are supposed to be. I don't want to strangle him, but I don't think there will be any consoling Jack if Pete runs away.

I watch from a bench as Jack leads Pete around. He's babbling happily at no one in particular about all things doggy and Pete seems content enough to scramble around behind him. Until Pete encounters a discarded coffee cup lying in the grass. The wind is blowing just enough to make the cup rock slightly. Pete interprets the gentle movement to be a challenge. He stands there and yips ferociously - as ferocious as yipping can be, I guess - at it for a long time. The coffee cup does not back down; neither does Pete.

Jack is trying to keep moving, tugging at poor little Pete's collar. "Sam!"

Ok, so I actually find it completely adorable and sweet and amusing when big Jack whines. But that's because he only does it when he's in a good mood and teasing me and his voice is so damn sexy that I don't really care what he's saying. But at the moment, there is only little Jack and he might as well be any three year old whining and I'm astonishingly not charmed by it. I scoop Pete up and bring him back to my bench, rescuing Pete from certain defeat in the face of insurmountable coffee cup-dom and freeing Jack to run around. Pete is obviously exhausted from his constant state of panic and curls up happily in my lap.

Jack is playing on the jungle gym, nearly giving me several heart attacks every time he comes perilously close to breaking his neck. But in typical Jack fashion, he saves himself and pretends it was no big deal.

Pete wakes up from his nap and stares at me with his huge eyes which encompass nearly all of his face. I think he's trying to decide if I'm a predator. Relative to a coffee cup, I must look pretty terrifying. I pat him on the head and he blinks at me. There's something familiar about his face - the big black eyes, the tiny little mouth, his twig-like legs, his pathetically miniature body, the inverted triangular head. I'm fairly certain the Chihuahuas are the genetic precursors to the Asgard.

I hold Pete up close to my face and stare into his eyes. "Are you super smart, Pete?"

He blinks at me. Maybe he's telekinetic.

"Honestly, I've got issues with this whole calling you Pete thing. Can I call you Thor?"

He blinks again.

"Sam?"

I look up to discover Jack staring at me curiously. And here I am, blushing furiously. I really shouldn't be embarrassed in front of a three year old, but since I retained all the memories from being three, I fear Jack might too and there's no way in hell Jack will let me live down the fact that I was just talking to a dog. I smile. "What?"

"Are you talking to Pete?"

I lean down until I'm face to face. "He told me his name is Thor."

Jack scrunches up his nose. "Tor?"

I chuckle. "That could work too, actually."

Jack leans forward to stare at Thor. "Dogs can't talk, Sam."

I grin. "Ask Daniel. He's had conversations with dogs."

Jack crawls up onto the bench and then into my lap. He pats Thor on the head. "Ok, Tor." He snuggles back into my neck. "I'm hungry."

Grinning, I scoop up Jack and Thor and head back for the truck. General Hammond was right - Jack is much easier to deal with when he's three.