Jack sighed, scrubbed
both palms over his face, rumpled his already unruly hair, and blinked
bloodshot eyes.
"Crap," he muttered.
"What did I do to deserve this?" Weary beyond words, he stared off into
space, and then searched his desktop for his cup of coffee. In a
half-hearted manner, he patted various piles of paperwork that hid his
salvation.
"Oh, for crying out loud,
I distinctly remember Walter handed me that danged thing when I got off
the elevator this morning. Now, where did I put it?"
He opened a side file
drawer, sighed and then shut it. "Nope, not there either."
"Looking for something,
sir?" Just the hint of a feminine giggle came from the blonde-haired
Lieutenant Colonel standing in his open office door with both hands
behind her back.
Jack scowled. "No giggling, Colonel."
She stepped forward and
produced his coffee cup from behind her back with a flourish. Then she
brought it to his desk.
Jack met her halfway,
shot out of his chair whereupon it proved Newton's Law of Motion by
colliding against the far wall with a thud. The noise was ignored in
favor of the specially brewed stimulant of the god's that beckoned
him.
He cradled her hands and
then promptly moved his fingers toward his real goal, the still-warm
cup. "Where did you find this? I've been looking all over for it."
She grinned and hooked a
thumb over her shoulder. "Out in the Briefing Room. I came up early to
go over my notes for our next mission briefing," she looked at her
watch, "in five minutes."
Oblivious to her words, Jack continued to sip at the hot liquid.
"Sir?"
Jack jumped. "What?"
"Our briefing? In five minutes?"
"Oh, that." Jack turned
back to his desk and picked up a file at random.
"Have a rough night?"
Jack turned and sloshed his coffee. "Why, does it show?"
"Umm, yeah."
"Oh."
"Wanna talk about it?" She hesitated. "Sir?"
He shrugged and walked
back toward his wayward chair, after he carefully deposited his cup on
his desk. "Ya got a minute . . . or five?"
She smiled and flashed
her teeth and pulled up a chair. "Always, sir."
Jack picked up his coffee cup and inhaled the aroma.
"Remember that puppy that
I'm taking care of for Cassie while she's off at college?"
"That cute little Yorkie named Jack?"
He huffed out a breath.
"That's the one, only it's so not cute. In fact, I'm considering calling
her and demanding to know why she named the hound from hell after her
favorite uncle."
"Hound from hell? But it only weighs two pounds, max. Are you sure
we're talking about the same dog?"
"Unless her dog was
kidnapped by aliens and replaced by this one, we are."
Carter smirked. "No, it
couldn't be. He's only about that long . . ." she added, holding her
hands about a foot apart.
"Listen, Carter. I'm not
kidding. This dog has done what all the System Lords failed to do. That
little mutt is breaking me."
When Jack sneaked a quick
glance at Carter, she strategically hid her grin with her hands.
"Sounds serious, sir," she mumbled.
"Every morning, at three
AM that pup from hell whines until I get out of bed to take him outside
to pee. I walk him to his favorite spots, Pee Central and Poop De
Ville." Jack gestured expansively with his hands, and just missed his
coffee cup.
"Go on."
"Back and forth for hours
we walk, when everyone else on this planet is asleep. He barks at
fireflies, eats twigs and grass, but does he pee? Or poop?" Jack
clenched his teeth and began worrying at the edge of the file in front
of him with the fingers of one hand.
Carter shrugged.
"I get nada from him,
zip, nothing. All noise and no substance, so to speak, so, I take him
back into the house." Jack rubbed his hands together. "Can you guess
what that little fur ball does then?"
Wisely, she said nothing.
"He trots over to my
coffee table and then piddles all over my rug, Carter. And then he craps
a log of his own in front of the fireplace. That's what that over-sized
rodent does."
Jack blew out an
explosive breath and cupped his forehead in his hands. "I'm at my wits
end. I don't know what to do. I've thought about strangling the mutt and
burying him in the backyard, but am afraid the neighborhood cats would
dig up the evidence."
"You could try calling Cassie," suggested Sam.
"No, I can't let her down
like that. I promised I'd watch out for the little fart."
Jack got up to pace. Then
his face lit up. One forefinger in the air, he announced. "Wait a
minute. I know the perfect solution!"
Carter looked nervous and nibbled her lower lip. "Sir?"
Jack rifled through his
middle desk drawer, withdrew a shell-shaped object and held it up to his
mouth. He tapped it and when it lit up, he cleared his throat and spoke
into it.
"Testing, one, two, testing . . ."
Sam looked doubtful. "Sir"
Jack's eyebrows met his hairline as he donned his most innocent
look and spoke into the shell. "Thor?"
The End
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