Truth be Told: Excerpts from the Autobiography of Dr. Kerry Johnson
Rating PG 13 (just to be safe)
Spoilers: mild reference to "Threads" nothing else
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Stargate world. MGM/Sony Double Secret and Gekko beat me to it.
The following is an excerpt from the notes of Dr. Kerry Johnson, Assistant Director, CIA.
Regardless of what's been said, I want you to know the truth. I know that the whole SGC thinks that I'm some evil "other woman" who sought to destroy the great love of Jack O'Neill and Sam Carter, but I'm not. I'm generally a very nice person, I break for animals, contribute regularly to charities and I always, always floss before bed.
I have to admit, the first time I saw Jack O'Neill, well the old hormones kinda kicked in. Let's face it, he's a very, very attractive man, with distinguished career (he's saved the planet how many times?) and he has the entire Simpsons video library. Truly, on the surface, my kinda guy. He wasn't married, dating or in the closet (I asked! That Siler- he's a fountain of gossip-y information if you smile at him and ask about naquadah generator outputs). So, being the over-35 career woman who wants more, I swiftly planned my mission. Get Jack O'Neill into a social situation and jump him. Hey, at least I'm honest, lots of people live with the delusion that sex isn't important. HA! If the sex is bad, well, roll credits is all I have to say.
I digress, often it seems... So, and this is God's honest truth, I maneuvered Jack O'Neill into bed with every intention of warming it for the foreseeable future, not kicking his 2IC out of it. Well, I'm not sure they ever shared a bed before, but you get the drift, n'es pas? A little beer and Simpson's marathon and I'm over for a delightful interlude of sleepovers and really excellent Spanish omelets. I'm on cloud nine, he's nice, no diseases, he cooks, and, are you ready for this? He puts the seat down! I know, it was like Christmas came early. How many man actually, without nagging, put the seat down? Truly a miracle for all the behold.
So, it's not that we're hiding the fact that we're hot-bunking, but we don't announce it, either. He's the base commander, I'm an outsider, it would have looked odd, is all. But, I start to get these looks, from staffers and airman. Not hostile, overtly, but not exactly "WOOOHOOO! You go girl!", either. Then, fate smacks me upside the head with a 2' by 4', Col. Carter stops over one Saturday afternoon while Jack is turning some very nice Omaha steaks in to charcoal. Well, stupid me, I watch dumbfounded at the Romeo and Juliet of the SGC reenact the balcony scene. Stupid? Yes. Embarrassed? No, he didn't have a tattoo that said "properly of Sam Carter" on his very nice bum. (hmmm. Note to self: next SO gets a tat.)
What am I? Cruella DeVille? Of course I kick him in the ass and tell him to get together with her. Life is short and they've been horribly, horribly lucky to not have been killed or worse in the years they've served at the SGC. I told him to resign his commission and make with the smoochies, it's not like it's unprecedented or anything.
I feel better now. You know that I am not, in fact the spawn of Satan or some cruel, vapid hooker in fishnet tights and a Oscar de la Renta pin stripe suit (although, I did see one at Macy's that was divine. Next payday, maybe). So enough with the haters, I did my part in the great SGC command-wide attempt to get those two to hook up. And hey, if I should win the betting pool (thank you, Siler!), well, I did nobly step aside. And really shouldn't I get compensated for losing that fine, fine looking man?