Fic: Back in Eden (SG-1, gen, 3117 words)
Title: Back in Eden
Author: Pepper
Fandom(s): Stargate SG-1
Rating: G
Wordcount: 3117
Featured Character(s): Sara, Jack
Pairing(s): None
Summary: Trope #45: Turned into animals.
A/N: For holdouttrout, because I luff her. Hope you had a wonderful birthday, sweetie!
---
Sara had grown up with a couple of big dogs, and she'd always found them far less intimidating than the tiny, unpredictable, yappy ones, so when a large, gray wolfhound loped up to her in the park and nuzzled his nose into her hand, she just chuckled and scratched the top of his head, moving her book out of harm's way. "Hello, boy. Yes, it's nice to meet you, too. Yes, yes, you're very cute, well done."
She looked around, but no one in sight seemed to be looking for a dog. The dog wagged his tail, panting expectantly up at her.
"Oh, no - no treats from me," she said. The dog sat down in front of her, looking... dogged. "No. Go find your owner - go on."
The dog whined, slightly.
"No," she said, as sternly as she could. She gave his shoulder a firm push. "Go on. Scram."
He stood up, and backed away a few uncertain steps. Sara shooed him with her hand, and turned her body slightly away. With a resigned huff, he turned and loped off again, and Sara smiled and shook her head, and went back to her book.
Half an hour later, something touched her shoe. She looked down with a start, and met a sheepish expression gazing up from between two huge paws. The dog nosed her shoe again. "Oh, for Pete's sake!" Somehow, he had approached so stealthily that she'd not noticed him lying at her feet. His tail stirred at the sound of her voice. "You think you're Poochinsky's arch-nemesis Ninja Dog, or something? How long have you been down there?"
He sat up, looking alert and proud to be at her service - the effect ruined by the long, pink tongue that lolled out from one side of his mouth, and his comically scruffy fur that stuck up in all directions.
"Go find your owner, you stupid mutt. Shoo!"
He cocked his head in polite enquiry, whining. Sara rolled her eyes.
"Oh, c'mere." She patted her knee, and he immediately took that as permission to try to climb onto her lap and lick her face as if he was a puppy and not a dog that, if stood on his hind legs, would be taller than Sara herself. "Ow! Down! Down, you big dumbass!" She shoved him off her lap, and pulled him around so she could check his neck. No collar. Damn. "Well, that's just great. Where's your owner, boy?"
She patted down his flanks, and he wriggled back against her hand, happy at the attention. He was clean, and didn't feel undernourished, so surely he had an owner nearby - a dog that size ought to be high maintenance, eating someone out of house and home. Sara frowned, and rubbed his head. "I hope you've not been kicked out. You're a big lummox, but that's hardly your fault."
He barked.
Sara sighed, and tucked her book into her bag.
"Okay, come on then, dopey - let's go see if we can find your person."
---
"This is just for tonight," she told him, but his attention - and nose - was buried in a bowl of Mighty Dog. "The moment the pound reopens tomorrow - bam, you're outta here. You got that? Are you even listening to me?"
His tail wagged slightly, his ears bending in her direction to show that really, he was absolutely paying attention, yes, and the moment he was able to lift his head from this bowl of delicious, delicious food that somehow had him trapped, he would of course be at her command.
"Because you know, if I'd wanted to live with someone who ignored me the moment his dinner was put in front of him, I'd have stayed married."
The dog kept on eating.
Sara sighed, and headed into the living room. A few minutes later, he followed her, still licking his chops, and - without waiting for permission - hopped onto the couch beside her and flopped down, dropping his head into her lap.
"Oof!" Sara shoved aside a paw that was digging into her thigh, and glared down at him, but he merely gazed lovingly up at her. "You're hopeless," she told him. "I take you home and feed you, and suddenly I'm your favorite person in the whole wide world. Let me tell you, if you were my dog, I wouldn't be so nice. I'd be stern with you. I'd make you sit on the floor!" He opened his mouth to pant, and it looked like a smirk. She tapped him gently on the nose. "But seeing as you're a guest, I suppose I'll allow it, this once."
The dog huffed a contented sigh as Sara pushed aside the fur that fell over his eyes and tugged on the soft tips of his ears. He snuggled further into her hand, and she gave in to the unspoken plea, and scratched the top of his head.
"I don't suppose you know how to operate a vacuum cleaner, though. Typical male."
It was comforting, though, having a warm, hairy presence in the house. He was a good listener, if not much of a conversationalist. He didn't mind being shoved onto the floor when she decided to put her feet up - he simply rearranged himself so that he was stretched along the length of the couch, muzzle resting on his paws, eyes closed, no doubt in blissful contemplation of a full stomach and a comfy place to doze. He didn't seem to need entertainment, either, and thumped his tail happily whenever she addressed a remark to him. Just before bedtime, she opened the door to the garden, giving him a last chance to use the facilities, and laughed at his excited, uncoordinated scramble to get outside.
Once he was safely back in, she locked the doors, and she headed up to bed at last - and he slithered past her and up the stairs. "Oh, no, you don't." He stopped at the top and looked down, enquiringly. "Come on back down - you're not jumping into bed with me, just like that."
He lolled his tongue out in what resembled a nonchalant grin.
"No! I mean it, this time. Here, boy. Get back down here! Heel."
She stood her ground, and eventually he gave a whiny sort of grumble, and skittered stiff-legged back down the stairs.
"Damn right I'm the boss," she told him. "Sit." He sat. "Stay." He stayed. She stomped up the stairs, and glanced back at the top.
He was sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking as pathetic as only a dog could, his entire body drooping with disappointment and resignation. Sara rolled her eyes, more at herself than the dog. But it was just one night. He was going to the pound, first thing in the morning. And there he'd stay, until someone claimed him or adopted him...
"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, and turned away. "Come on, then!"
There was a joyful yelp, and he raced back up the stairs, and bounded through the bedroom door she held open for him.
"Sara O'Neill, you're a complete sucker," she told herself, following him.
Miracle of miracles, he'd actually claimed a place on the rug at the foot of the bed, and not on the bed itself - at least he had some manners. He stayed put while she got ready for bed, and she put on her nightclothes in the bathroom, feeling awfully silly about it. The dog tilted an eyebrow in her direction when she emerged, looking distinctly like he was laughing at her sudden prudishness.
"Oh, you can shut up," she muttered. She climbed into bed and snuggled down, listening as the dog yawned and settled himself for the night. Maybe she should get a dog, she thought, as she switched out the light. Not one this insanely huge, of course - but maybe something a little more reasonable. Maybe she'd have a look around, when she took him to the pound tomorrow...
In the middle of the night she was startled awake by a loud thud and a man's voice, muttering. She kept her eyes closed, adrenaline flooding her body, and slowly reached for the baseball bat beside her bed.
"Dammit, what the hell...?" the man muttered, and her heart stuttered with a sudden wave of recognition.
"Jack?" Sara let go of the bat and sat up, fumbling quickly for the lightswitch.
"Sara?" It was Jack's voice, sounding fuzzy and confused. "Must've fallen out of bed..."
"Jack, what the hell are you doing here?"
There was a startled pause, and his head appeared suddenly from beyond the foot of her bed. "Sara? What the hell am I doing here?"
"I just asked you that!"
"Well, I don't know!"
They stared at one another. Sara's eyes narrowed as she took in his bare shoulders. "I suppose you don't know where your shirt is, either?"
Jack glanced down at himself. "Uh, no. Nor my pants."
Sara gaped at him. Then she snapped her mouth shut, painful memories of their last encounter returning. It couldn't be... "I don't suppose there's a dog down there with you, is there?" she asked. It made no sense - but then, neither had the last time. But for that previous encounter, she'd never have leaped to this ridiculous, impossible conclusion.
"A dog?" He looked around. "No. I didn't know you got a dog."
"I didn't." He frowned back at her: confusion always made him irritable. Sara collapsed back onto her pillows with a groan. "This is going to be another one of those classified things, isn't it?" she asked the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what exactly he did, now. At least this time it wasn't Charlie. She couldn't have taken that again. The last time had been... impossible.
Jack sighed. "Well, I don't really remember, but at a guess - yeah. Sorry. What happened?"
"There was this dog," she said, still staring at the ceiling. "He kind of... followed me home. He was sleeping at the end of my bed."
"Oh," he said, as if that explained everything.
"I was gonna take him to the pound tomorrow."
Jack winced. "Right. Yeah. I, uh... I don't suppose I could use your phone?"
"Downstairs - you know where."
"Thanks." He stood up, and she noticed with sudden amusement that he'd wrapped the rug around his waist. He'd never been shy, before - maybe it was an age thing. Or a divorce thing. Admittedly he was a little softer around the edges than he had been ten years ago, but she still thought he was the sexiest man she'd ever met. Probably always would.
"There's a robe behind the door."
"Um, thanks."
He grabbed it, and disappeared out the door. She listened to the soft pad of his bare feet as he walked down the stairs.
And then she checked under the bed, just in case.
Jack came back up a few minutes later, wrapped in her worn flannel robe - if only she'd left the chiffon one out! - and sat on the edge of her bed. "They're coming to pick me up," he said, and looked down, plucking at her robe. "And bringing clothes. Although cerise does bring out my eyes."
She gave a soft snort of laughter. She'd curled up around one of her pillows, facing the door, but hadn't managed to catch any of his phone conversation. "Jack," she said, and reached for him, the gesture so automatic that it was a shock when her hand closed over his and she realized they'd not touched in - god, years, literally. "Am I ever going to know what happened?"
Jack pulled her hand onto his knees, and stared down at it. "Probably not," he admitted, playing with her fingers. He glanced sideways at her. "I'll see what I can do," he offered, to her surprise: he'd always insisted that she was better off not knowing about his work. He smiled briefly, and then looked away, and she knew he was going to change the subject. "So what kind of dog was he?"
"A Pekinese," she replied, promptly.
"A Pekinese?"
She had to laugh at his expression of outrage. "You know, if you want to keep up the whole 'nothing weird happened' pretense, you're really going to have to work on those reactions. He was an Irish wolfhound." Jack brightened. "He was kind of sweet, really - in a big, stupid way. It was nice having him around for a while."
He smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and for a moment it was so familiar that it hurt. "I'll wait downstairs so they don't have to ring the bell. Go on back to sleep."
She smiled, a little sadly. "Take care of yourself, Jack," she said. "Now go on - scram."
---
Sara glared down at her car dashboard as she pulled to a stop in the parking lot outside the pound the next day. She really hadn't meant to come here, but somehow she'd found the car turned in that direction. "Getting independent, are we?" she asked it. "Because I can fix that."
The car didn't respond. And perhaps she did need to get a dog, after all.
After registering her details with the receptionist, she was handed a set of "kennel cards", and sat down to look through them. Ten minutes later, while she was trying to decide whether a greyhound would be too much work or just good exercise, a tall, familiar figure strode in through the door. Sara looked up, and raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"I'm here to pick up three strays," said Jack, leaning urgently over the reception desk. "Colonel Jack O'Neill. I called earlier."
"Oh, yes. A Great Dane, and two Labradors - one chocolate, one golden," said the receptionist, accepting his ID and looking it over. "You really ought to have your dogs spayed or neutered if they're liable to escape, sir."
He blanched, his eyes wide. It was a moment or two before he was able to stammer, "Please tell me you haven't-"
"No, Colonel, not this time," she said, and his shoulders sagged in relief. "But it's City policy, if they come into the pound a second time-"
"Oh, there is no way I'll let this happen again!"
The receptionist frowned at him. "You will be charged for room and board this time, though. Please wait here, I'll bring them through."
"Jack?" said Sara, when the receptionist had gone. Jack turned quickly. It was a measure of his concern that he'd not noticed her until now. Sara thought about the strange incident of the dog in the night-time, and wondered about the identities of the ones he was collecting now.
"Sara? What're you doing here?"
"Déjà vu?" she said. "I'm, um..." She waved the cards, suddenly feeling awkward, as though... as though he'd caught her out on a date. Which was just ridiculous.
"Oh, right." He sounded a little smug. "The wolfhound got you jonesing for a dog, huh? That's..." He frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure if that's gratifying or disturbing."
"Weird, I'd say. So what're you doing here?"
"I'm here to pick up some frien...nds' dogs. Some dogs who are friends." He waved at the words that wouldn't come out right. "They - and the, uh, wolfhound - overpowered their guard and escaped, yesterday." His smile quirked into being, and she could only guess at what the look in his eyes meant. "I'm here to collect them before anything... else happens." There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but after a moment she closed her mouth. Jack gave her a wry, grateful smile.
The receptionist returned, hauling on the leash of a Great Dane who was straining to be free, and followed by another staff member who was trying to curb two excitable Labradors bent on examining everything they passed. All three barked excitedly at the sight of Jack, and he grinned as they tried to bound towards him, holding up a hand. "Whoa, sit." Instantly, they stopped and sat. Jack looked startled.
"Wow," said the man who'd been trying to keep the Labradors from crocheting their leashes together, "I was beginning to think they were unmanageable! How did you do that?"
"It never usually works," said Jack, bemusedly. He stepped forward to take the leashes, and crouched down in the midst of them, ruffling the nearest head. "Hey kids. I hope you've been behaving yourselves. Yes, I'm here to rescue you from your villainous captors." He smiled up at the pound staff, no real sting in his words, and the dogs took that as permission to leap up again and start investigating their surroundings, the people, one another, and especially Jack, nearly knocking him to the ground in their enthusiasm. He glanced back and rolled his eyes, and Sara smiled at him.
"You need a hand getting them to your truck?" she asked.
"Nah, I'll be-" The Dane, at that moment, decided to trot over to check out Sara, neatly yanked his leash out of Jack's hand, and Jack was only just able to catch the two Labs as they made to head after their companion. "Uh, actually, you know, I'd really appreciate that," he said, holding firmly on to their collars as the pair turned their wandering attention back to him, wagging their tails and licking his face. "Okay, yes, very nice, I love you both, too - come on, down. Down."
Sara let the Dane sniff her hand, and then caught his leash as she patted him on the head. "Dogs are your favorite people," she said, reminiscently, and looked up, meeting Jack's surprised expression. She smiled, a little embarrassed at having remembered, and shrugged.
"Well, you know," he muttered. "Not exclusively." He shoved himself quickly to his feet and looking at the receptionist. "So, what're the charges, where do I sign...?"
Once they'd gotten the three safely loaded into the back of Jack's truck, Sara brushed off her hands and stared at Jack, who was staring at her. "Well, I'd better get going." She gestured back at the pound, and her abandoned kennel cards. "So, goodbye, again." She glanced at the three doggy noses pressed wetly to the glass, watching them, and then back at Jack, who was thumbing the brake light and looking like he was at a loss for words. As ever. With fond exasperation, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Go on. Before one of them does something they'll be truly embarrassed about later." He didn't bother to deny her implication, and just smiled mischievously.
"You're the best, Sara," he said, gratefully.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, pleased despite everything. "I'm calling you when I need someone to dog-sit!"
---
END.
Author: Pepper
Fandom(s): Stargate SG-1
Rating: G
Wordcount: 3117
Featured Character(s): Sara, Jack
Pairing(s): None
Summary: Trope #45: Turned into animals.
A/N: For holdouttrout, because I luff her. Hope you had a wonderful birthday, sweetie!
---
Sara had grown up with a couple of big dogs, and she'd always found them far less intimidating than the tiny, unpredictable, yappy ones, so when a large, gray wolfhound loped up to her in the park and nuzzled his nose into her hand, she just chuckled and scratched the top of his head, moving her book out of harm's way. "Hello, boy. Yes, it's nice to meet you, too. Yes, yes, you're very cute, well done."
She looked around, but no one in sight seemed to be looking for a dog. The dog wagged his tail, panting expectantly up at her.
"Oh, no - no treats from me," she said. The dog sat down in front of her, looking... dogged. "No. Go find your owner - go on."
The dog whined, slightly.
"No," she said, as sternly as she could. She gave his shoulder a firm push. "Go on. Scram."
He stood up, and backed away a few uncertain steps. Sara shooed him with her hand, and turned her body slightly away. With a resigned huff, he turned and loped off again, and Sara smiled and shook her head, and went back to her book.
Half an hour later, something touched her shoe. She looked down with a start, and met a sheepish expression gazing up from between two huge paws. The dog nosed her shoe again. "Oh, for Pete's sake!" Somehow, he had approached so stealthily that she'd not noticed him lying at her feet. His tail stirred at the sound of her voice. "You think you're Poochinsky's arch-nemesis Ninja Dog, or something? How long have you been down there?"
He sat up, looking alert and proud to be at her service - the effect ruined by the long, pink tongue that lolled out from one side of his mouth, and his comically scruffy fur that stuck up in all directions.
"Go find your owner, you stupid mutt. Shoo!"
He cocked his head in polite enquiry, whining. Sara rolled her eyes.
"Oh, c'mere." She patted her knee, and he immediately took that as permission to try to climb onto her lap and lick her face as if he was a puppy and not a dog that, if stood on his hind legs, would be taller than Sara herself. "Ow! Down! Down, you big dumbass!" She shoved him off her lap, and pulled him around so she could check his neck. No collar. Damn. "Well, that's just great. Where's your owner, boy?"
She patted down his flanks, and he wriggled back against her hand, happy at the attention. He was clean, and didn't feel undernourished, so surely he had an owner nearby - a dog that size ought to be high maintenance, eating someone out of house and home. Sara frowned, and rubbed his head. "I hope you've not been kicked out. You're a big lummox, but that's hardly your fault."
He barked.
Sara sighed, and tucked her book into her bag.
"Okay, come on then, dopey - let's go see if we can find your person."
---
"This is just for tonight," she told him, but his attention - and nose - was buried in a bowl of Mighty Dog. "The moment the pound reopens tomorrow - bam, you're outta here. You got that? Are you even listening to me?"
His tail wagged slightly, his ears bending in her direction to show that really, he was absolutely paying attention, yes, and the moment he was able to lift his head from this bowl of delicious, delicious food that somehow had him trapped, he would of course be at her command.
"Because you know, if I'd wanted to live with someone who ignored me the moment his dinner was put in front of him, I'd have stayed married."
The dog kept on eating.
Sara sighed, and headed into the living room. A few minutes later, he followed her, still licking his chops, and - without waiting for permission - hopped onto the couch beside her and flopped down, dropping his head into her lap.
"Oof!" Sara shoved aside a paw that was digging into her thigh, and glared down at him, but he merely gazed lovingly up at her. "You're hopeless," she told him. "I take you home and feed you, and suddenly I'm your favorite person in the whole wide world. Let me tell you, if you were my dog, I wouldn't be so nice. I'd be stern with you. I'd make you sit on the floor!" He opened his mouth to pant, and it looked like a smirk. She tapped him gently on the nose. "But seeing as you're a guest, I suppose I'll allow it, this once."
The dog huffed a contented sigh as Sara pushed aside the fur that fell over his eyes and tugged on the soft tips of his ears. He snuggled further into her hand, and she gave in to the unspoken plea, and scratched the top of his head.
"I don't suppose you know how to operate a vacuum cleaner, though. Typical male."
It was comforting, though, having a warm, hairy presence in the house. He was a good listener, if not much of a conversationalist. He didn't mind being shoved onto the floor when she decided to put her feet up - he simply rearranged himself so that he was stretched along the length of the couch, muzzle resting on his paws, eyes closed, no doubt in blissful contemplation of a full stomach and a comfy place to doze. He didn't seem to need entertainment, either, and thumped his tail happily whenever she addressed a remark to him. Just before bedtime, she opened the door to the garden, giving him a last chance to use the facilities, and laughed at his excited, uncoordinated scramble to get outside.
Once he was safely back in, she locked the doors, and she headed up to bed at last - and he slithered past her and up the stairs. "Oh, no, you don't." He stopped at the top and looked down, enquiringly. "Come on back down - you're not jumping into bed with me, just like that."
He lolled his tongue out in what resembled a nonchalant grin.
"No! I mean it, this time. Here, boy. Get back down here! Heel."
She stood her ground, and eventually he gave a whiny sort of grumble, and skittered stiff-legged back down the stairs.
"Damn right I'm the boss," she told him. "Sit." He sat. "Stay." He stayed. She stomped up the stairs, and glanced back at the top.
He was sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking as pathetic as only a dog could, his entire body drooping with disappointment and resignation. Sara rolled her eyes, more at herself than the dog. But it was just one night. He was going to the pound, first thing in the morning. And there he'd stay, until someone claimed him or adopted him...
"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, and turned away. "Come on, then!"
There was a joyful yelp, and he raced back up the stairs, and bounded through the bedroom door she held open for him.
"Sara O'Neill, you're a complete sucker," she told herself, following him.
Miracle of miracles, he'd actually claimed a place on the rug at the foot of the bed, and not on the bed itself - at least he had some manners. He stayed put while she got ready for bed, and she put on her nightclothes in the bathroom, feeling awfully silly about it. The dog tilted an eyebrow in her direction when she emerged, looking distinctly like he was laughing at her sudden prudishness.
"Oh, you can shut up," she muttered. She climbed into bed and snuggled down, listening as the dog yawned and settled himself for the night. Maybe she should get a dog, she thought, as she switched out the light. Not one this insanely huge, of course - but maybe something a little more reasonable. Maybe she'd have a look around, when she took him to the pound tomorrow...
In the middle of the night she was startled awake by a loud thud and a man's voice, muttering. She kept her eyes closed, adrenaline flooding her body, and slowly reached for the baseball bat beside her bed.
"Dammit, what the hell...?" the man muttered, and her heart stuttered with a sudden wave of recognition.
"Jack?" Sara let go of the bat and sat up, fumbling quickly for the lightswitch.
"Sara?" It was Jack's voice, sounding fuzzy and confused. "Must've fallen out of bed..."
"Jack, what the hell are you doing here?"
There was a startled pause, and his head appeared suddenly from beyond the foot of her bed. "Sara? What the hell am I doing here?"
"I just asked you that!"
"Well, I don't know!"
They stared at one another. Sara's eyes narrowed as she took in his bare shoulders. "I suppose you don't know where your shirt is, either?"
Jack glanced down at himself. "Uh, no. Nor my pants."
Sara gaped at him. Then she snapped her mouth shut, painful memories of their last encounter returning. It couldn't be... "I don't suppose there's a dog down there with you, is there?" she asked. It made no sense - but then, neither had the last time. But for that previous encounter, she'd never have leaped to this ridiculous, impossible conclusion.
"A dog?" He looked around. "No. I didn't know you got a dog."
"I didn't." He frowned back at her: confusion always made him irritable. Sara collapsed back onto her pillows with a groan. "This is going to be another one of those classified things, isn't it?" she asked the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what exactly he did, now. At least this time it wasn't Charlie. She couldn't have taken that again. The last time had been... impossible.
Jack sighed. "Well, I don't really remember, but at a guess - yeah. Sorry. What happened?"
"There was this dog," she said, still staring at the ceiling. "He kind of... followed me home. He was sleeping at the end of my bed."
"Oh," he said, as if that explained everything.
"I was gonna take him to the pound tomorrow."
Jack winced. "Right. Yeah. I, uh... I don't suppose I could use your phone?"
"Downstairs - you know where."
"Thanks." He stood up, and she noticed with sudden amusement that he'd wrapped the rug around his waist. He'd never been shy, before - maybe it was an age thing. Or a divorce thing. Admittedly he was a little softer around the edges than he had been ten years ago, but she still thought he was the sexiest man she'd ever met. Probably always would.
"There's a robe behind the door."
"Um, thanks."
He grabbed it, and disappeared out the door. She listened to the soft pad of his bare feet as he walked down the stairs.
And then she checked under the bed, just in case.
Jack came back up a few minutes later, wrapped in her worn flannel robe - if only she'd left the chiffon one out! - and sat on the edge of her bed. "They're coming to pick me up," he said, and looked down, plucking at her robe. "And bringing clothes. Although cerise does bring out my eyes."
She gave a soft snort of laughter. She'd curled up around one of her pillows, facing the door, but hadn't managed to catch any of his phone conversation. "Jack," she said, and reached for him, the gesture so automatic that it was a shock when her hand closed over his and she realized they'd not touched in - god, years, literally. "Am I ever going to know what happened?"
Jack pulled her hand onto his knees, and stared down at it. "Probably not," he admitted, playing with her fingers. He glanced sideways at her. "I'll see what I can do," he offered, to her surprise: he'd always insisted that she was better off not knowing about his work. He smiled briefly, and then looked away, and she knew he was going to change the subject. "So what kind of dog was he?"
"A Pekinese," she replied, promptly.
"A Pekinese?"
She had to laugh at his expression of outrage. "You know, if you want to keep up the whole 'nothing weird happened' pretense, you're really going to have to work on those reactions. He was an Irish wolfhound." Jack brightened. "He was kind of sweet, really - in a big, stupid way. It was nice having him around for a while."
He smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and for a moment it was so familiar that it hurt. "I'll wait downstairs so they don't have to ring the bell. Go on back to sleep."
She smiled, a little sadly. "Take care of yourself, Jack," she said. "Now go on - scram."
---
Sara glared down at her car dashboard as she pulled to a stop in the parking lot outside the pound the next day. She really hadn't meant to come here, but somehow she'd found the car turned in that direction. "Getting independent, are we?" she asked it. "Because I can fix that."
The car didn't respond. And perhaps she did need to get a dog, after all.
After registering her details with the receptionist, she was handed a set of "kennel cards", and sat down to look through them. Ten minutes later, while she was trying to decide whether a greyhound would be too much work or just good exercise, a tall, familiar figure strode in through the door. Sara looked up, and raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"I'm here to pick up three strays," said Jack, leaning urgently over the reception desk. "Colonel Jack O'Neill. I called earlier."
"Oh, yes. A Great Dane, and two Labradors - one chocolate, one golden," said the receptionist, accepting his ID and looking it over. "You really ought to have your dogs spayed or neutered if they're liable to escape, sir."
He blanched, his eyes wide. It was a moment or two before he was able to stammer, "Please tell me you haven't-"
"No, Colonel, not this time," she said, and his shoulders sagged in relief. "But it's City policy, if they come into the pound a second time-"
"Oh, there is no way I'll let this happen again!"
The receptionist frowned at him. "You will be charged for room and board this time, though. Please wait here, I'll bring them through."
"Jack?" said Sara, when the receptionist had gone. Jack turned quickly. It was a measure of his concern that he'd not noticed her until now. Sara thought about the strange incident of the dog in the night-time, and wondered about the identities of the ones he was collecting now.
"Sara? What're you doing here?"
"Déjà vu?" she said. "I'm, um..." She waved the cards, suddenly feeling awkward, as though... as though he'd caught her out on a date. Which was just ridiculous.
"Oh, right." He sounded a little smug. "The wolfhound got you jonesing for a dog, huh? That's..." He frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure if that's gratifying or disturbing."
"Weird, I'd say. So what're you doing here?"
"I'm here to pick up some frien...nds' dogs. Some dogs who are friends." He waved at the words that wouldn't come out right. "They - and the, uh, wolfhound - overpowered their guard and escaped, yesterday." His smile quirked into being, and she could only guess at what the look in his eyes meant. "I'm here to collect them before anything... else happens." There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but after a moment she closed her mouth. Jack gave her a wry, grateful smile.
The receptionist returned, hauling on the leash of a Great Dane who was straining to be free, and followed by another staff member who was trying to curb two excitable Labradors bent on examining everything they passed. All three barked excitedly at the sight of Jack, and he grinned as they tried to bound towards him, holding up a hand. "Whoa, sit." Instantly, they stopped and sat. Jack looked startled.
"Wow," said the man who'd been trying to keep the Labradors from crocheting their leashes together, "I was beginning to think they were unmanageable! How did you do that?"
"It never usually works," said Jack, bemusedly. He stepped forward to take the leashes, and crouched down in the midst of them, ruffling the nearest head. "Hey kids. I hope you've been behaving yourselves. Yes, I'm here to rescue you from your villainous captors." He smiled up at the pound staff, no real sting in his words, and the dogs took that as permission to leap up again and start investigating their surroundings, the people, one another, and especially Jack, nearly knocking him to the ground in their enthusiasm. He glanced back and rolled his eyes, and Sara smiled at him.
"You need a hand getting them to your truck?" she asked.
"Nah, I'll be-" The Dane, at that moment, decided to trot over to check out Sara, neatly yanked his leash out of Jack's hand, and Jack was only just able to catch the two Labs as they made to head after their companion. "Uh, actually, you know, I'd really appreciate that," he said, holding firmly on to their collars as the pair turned their wandering attention back to him, wagging their tails and licking his face. "Okay, yes, very nice, I love you both, too - come on, down. Down."
Sara let the Dane sniff her hand, and then caught his leash as she patted him on the head. "Dogs are your favorite people," she said, reminiscently, and looked up, meeting Jack's surprised expression. She smiled, a little embarrassed at having remembered, and shrugged.
"Well, you know," he muttered. "Not exclusively." He shoved himself quickly to his feet and looking at the receptionist. "So, what're the charges, where do I sign...?"
Once they'd gotten the three safely loaded into the back of Jack's truck, Sara brushed off her hands and stared at Jack, who was staring at her. "Well, I'd better get going." She gestured back at the pound, and her abandoned kennel cards. "So, goodbye, again." She glanced at the three doggy noses pressed wetly to the glass, watching them, and then back at Jack, who was thumbing the brake light and looking like he was at a loss for words. As ever. With fond exasperation, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Go on. Before one of them does something they'll be truly embarrassed about later." He didn't bother to deny her implication, and just smiled mischievously.
"You're the best, Sara," he said, gratefully.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, pleased despite everything. "I'm calling you when I need someone to dog-sit!"
---
END.