He got back to the apartment, paused in only semi-feigned horror as he took in the body, and then immediately dialed security. They came, verified that Quistin was indeed quite dead, and took the body to the infirmary. He was questioned and mentioned Jacks, and a search was initiated; they found the boy hidden in one of the cabinets in the bedroom, and when he saw the little white face and wide, frightened eyes he doubted the wisdom of sending Kat away alone for the first time. What was he going to do with this child? His father and mother were gone, and the boy had probably heard enough to scar him for life.

I'll do what I can, Jacks. Your father asked me to take care of your mother; it looks like it's you instead.

Owen had already given his story: he'd heard about Terrence and been shocked, and gone to deliver the news to his wife and found Quistin's body instead. As the one familiar face in a sea of interrogating officials, Jacks quickly attached himself to Owen, and Owen did his best to fend off the guards. The boy wouldn't talk at all. The smell of blood was still heavy in the room when they finally let them leave, and Owen easily convinced the social services officer that Jacks would be most comfortable with an adult he knew. Facilities to house orphan children on the IF Command Post were limited, and the officer was more than happy to sign a temporary custody assignment for Jacks over to Owen.

Through the entire ordeal, Jacks didn't cry, didn't scream and didn't speak a word. On the trip to Owen's apartment, he lay quiet and limp with his cheek on Owen's shoulder and made no noise at all. Owen had been using his spare room as an office, and so he made Jacks a bed on the couch, but Jacks would not leave his side, and he ended up dragging the couch into his room instead.

"Are you hungry, Jacks?" he asked gently once they were settled.

Jacks shook his head, and Owen sighed and took the small boy into his arms. It took time - he didn't know how much time - but Owen knew to wait, and when the tears came, he held Jacks tight and let him cry. He knew the boy had loved his father greatly, but it was his mother he cried for, and Owen soothed him as best he could. At first he had intended not to tell him anything at all, but his resolve broke under the weight of the child's grief, and at last he couldn't bear it any longer.

"She's safe, Jacks," he said at last, "she's safe, and she's coming back, but you can't tell anyone, not anyone, do you understand?"

The effect was astounding. The boy blinked his eyes free of tears and sat up straight and stared into Owen's face with an intensity that reminded him strongly of Nathan. Owen didn't look away, and Jacks looked up into his face until he'd satisfied himself that what Owen said was the truth.

"Where did she go?" he asked at last, his voice hoarse and his nose stuffed up from crying.

"She had to go away, Jacks," he said simply. "She went to find your father. But she'll come back. She promised."

And just like that, the tears stopped.

"She promised?"

Owen nodded, and Jacks rubbed at his face and burrowed into the blankets and said nothing else, and Owen sighed and settled down next to him.

He got to the doorway in time to see Jacks dropping easily to the floor from the counter, a bright red cup in hand. At a very healthy six and a half, Jacks exhibited none of the typical clumsiness of a growing child, but watching him fall made Owen nervous anyway. The guilt on the boy's face when he stood upright pretty much cancelled out any anger Owen could have mustered against him, but being parental required him to say something.

"I sort of prefer that your boots and our food don't share surfaces. You could have just asked if you needed something."

Jacks fiddled with the cup, looking bereft. "But you were busy."

Owen experienced his own stab of guilt. Finding a way to reply to the missive he'd received from Earth without being tracked had taken a great deal of his time, and as a result Jacks had been on his own a lot more than in the past. Jacks had regained a great deal of his self-confidence since his parents had left in their respective fashions over a year ago, but though he didn't try to draw attention to himself, Owen could tell he desired it greatly. The mournful expression on Jacks' face convinced him that he had in fact been trying to save Owen trouble and not to cause mischief.

Owen crouched and opened his arms, and Jacks ran into them and hugged very tightly. Owen hugged him back and kissed the top of his head. "I'm never that busy," he said gently. "Ok?" Jacks nodded into his shoulder, and Owen sighed and hefted Jacks in one arm so he could open the fridge with the other.

"What do you want to drink? Milk? Juice? Let's see." He rummaged, conscious that Jacks appeared to have gotten a lot heavier overnight. "Looks like Kathy left some vodka." Jacks made a face and Owen grinned at him. "How about a strawberry Jackerie?" That got an extremely enthusiastic nod, and Owen grabbed the milk and set it on the table. The grenadine was in the back, and he leaned Jacks over so the boy could grab the bottle and then set Jacks and the bottle on the table next to the milk and shut the refrigerator door.

Jacks hadn't liked Kathy much, and now that it didn't look like she was coming back, Owen decided he pretty much didn't like her either. He'd heard somewhere that women loved a single father, but most of the kind he came across seemed to look at Jacks as cute in theory and troublesome in practicality. Owen didn't have a lot of patience for that type, and so for the most part he and Jacks were on their own. It had been a long time since Owen had had long contact with a child, and he and Jacks had both made concessions to make their little duo work.

But it did work.

Owen got the cover for the cup out of the drawer and handed it to Jacks with a flourish. Jacks took it eagerly and watched Owen pour milk and grenadine into the red cup, and then handed it back so Owen could shake it up. Jacks had expressed a curiousity in mixed drinks, and Owen had explained alcohol content and color very carefully, and after a very small sample Jacks had heartily agreed that it was not for him any time soon. The Strawberry Jackerie was Jacks' very own mixed drink, and it usually brought up his spirits.

When the mixture was a dark pink color - Jacks really liked the sugar - Owen handed it back with a straw and scooped up the Jack and the Jackerie and took them into the living room, and they were just settling in to watch a movie when his terminal chimed.

"Be right back," he said to Jacks' instantly petulant face, and slipped away apologetically.

A few moments later, he came back and turned off the television. Jacks squeaked in protest, but a look at Owen's face made him blink and lose track of his temper. "Why'd you turn it off?"