F is for Fraiser

"Carter! What's going..." his sentence ended too early when he heard his second in command crying on the other end of the phone. His voice lowered, weighed down by concern.

"Carter, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Sam hiccupped.

Jack ignored her apology.

"Is it Fraiser?" He asked. This was not the first time since the doctor's death that Sam had called crying, and Jack neither wanted nor needed any apologies. He had lost enough people to know what it was like, and he was honored that Sam trusted him as she did. She only nodded in response to his question, but he knew her answer the way only old friends can know; because his gut already knew most of the story.

"I'm coming over," he declared. "My favorite bakery is still open, so there will be cake."

Sam hiccupped again from fresh tears that streamed down her face, and silence fell between them. Jack held his phone a little tighter when he heard her crying intensify, as if though his strong hands around a shiny black phone would help Sam to not feel so alone.

"Don't cry, Carter," he implored, "please don't cry. Sure, Janet died, but wasn't it the honor of a life time to know her?"

Sam's eyes opened wide, and her chest stopped convulsing so violently.

"It was." She said, and her voice was still thicker than syrup from all the crying she had done over the last hour, but it now carried a little bit more optismism, a little bit more strength. Jack cleared his throat softly.

"So let's focus on that today." He said. "And let's have some cake."

He took a pause for a strengthening breath and added quietly:

"I'll have them write Fraiser on it with frosting."