"SG-1; where's General O'Neill?"
I looked over at Daniel and Teal'c, who both shook their heads. "Sorry, sir; I've no idea," I told General Landry carefully, still not sure how to take him. He was definitely stricter than General O'Neill, and seemed much more rigid- I could only hope that he wasn't going to be like General Bauer.
I pulled at the Velcro covering my watch, then smacked it back down - one guess just who I'd gotten that little habit from! I looked over at the General. "He's not answering his phone or his cell, sir?" I asked.
"No," Landry replied shortly. The man sounded pissed - not surprisingly. It had only been a couple of days since he'd hauled me over the coals for bringing our feud onto the base, and now he had to deal with an errant General. He was probably wondering just what kind of a nut barn he'd ended up at.
I was now a little worried, and so too were Teal'c and Daniel, judging by their faces. General O'Neill tended to play fast and loose with a lot of the rules, but he was never without his cell phone, as much as he hated the thing.
"Sir ... permission to go to his house?" I said. Jack O'Neill had made many enemies during his years - not all of them alien - and he had a very bad habit of leaving his front door open. It was such a trusting gesture in a former Black Ops soldier, but when Daniel called him on it once, he said he considered the contradiction part of his charm.
Landry looked at me closely. "Colonel?" he inquired.
I returned the steady regard. "He'd do the same for us, sir," I persisted, wondering if I was about to get my second chewing out of the week.
Now Landry sighed. "Yeah; he would," he said. "Permission granted, Colonel."
"Thank you, sir," I said.
"Dismissed."
I got off my bike and made my way to the General's little house. A simple one-story building with a garden, decking and a picturesque view of the surrounding countryside, it oozed a quaint charm that you wouldn't associate with the General.
I turned the handle on his front door, pleased when it didn't open. It was about time he started locking the door. I knocked on the door. "Sir?" I called.
No response.
I knocked a little louder. "Sir? It's Carter."
Still nothing.
Now worried, I took my little tool-kit out of my pocket, then quickly and efficiently picked his lock. After years of breaking out of Goa'uld cells, a mere lock wasn't going to hold me back.
I opened the door and walked cautiously in, drawing out my nine mil. I would've preferred my zat, but we weren't allowed to take Goa'uld weaponry topside.
I went into the living room and stopped short, only just managing to stifle a squeak of surprise.
For in a big leather recliner was one missing General O'Neill, clad in black tee shirt, dark blue jeans and black boots, quite clearly sleeping.
And a tiny orange-colored kitten lay curled up on said General's chest, purring deeply in time with the General's breathing. It opened an eye, regarded me lazily, then decided to wash one of its paws.
The General had one arm dangling by his side, while the other was propped up near him. His hand rested gently on the tiny kitten's head - he'd obviously fallen asleep stroking the kitten.
It was such a ... girly thing, but I could've sworn my heart melted at the sight. For all he could be so coarse and belligerent, the General had a very tender heart. Especially where kids and dogs were concerned - every kid we ever encountered quickly worked their way into his affections. And dogs went nuts for him.
But he'd never shown any fondness for cats. I don't think he'd ever hurt one, but he always seemed ... irritated by them, and couldn't understand how much I loved their sleek, elegant ways.
But this tiny little scrap lay trustingly on the bad-ass Special Forces officer's chest. Quite cute, really.
The kitten? The General? Both? I shook my head. Focus, Colonel! "Sir," I said firmly.
Nothing.
The man who slept with one eye open off world was like a log in his own home. I still remember when he'd been switched by Loki and we'd found him curled up in a ball, ass in the air, with his head under his pillow. 'Sleeping like a baby' was very apt when it came to General O'Neill at home. I smiled fondly.
"Sir!" I said a little louder.
The kitten mewed disapprovingly, then got up and flicked its tail under the General's nose. He sneezed and sat up abruptly, rubbing his nose. "Easy there, Red," he muttered, then opened his eyes. "Carter?"
"Sir; it's 0800 hours," I replied, wiping the fond smile off of my face. No way did I want the General to see that goofy expression!
"Christ." He shot up, dislodging the kitten, who mewed indignantly, and went to his bedroom, yanking his tee shirt over his head as he did so. "Why didn't ya just call, Carter?" he yelled from inside his bedroom.
"Uh ...". I was distracted momentarily by the flash of firm tanned skin as one bare-chested General rushed past me. It was funny; I'd known this man eight years - I was used to him ... so it tended to surprise me when I would get a glimpse of bare skin and be reminded of just how sexy he was. "Your cell's switched off and you weren't answering your house phone," I told him.
I heard the shower switch on, and I gulped, picturing the jeans sliding off of his long legs, followed by ... Mind out of the gutter, Sam! "I'm gonna go now, sir!" I yelled. "I'll let General Landry know you're on your way!"
"Okay!" he hollered back. "Thanks, Carter!"
After the delayed briefing, General Landry dismissed us and I looked at O'Neill, who was sitting next to me - just like in the old days when he was still CO of SG-1. "A cat, sir?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow a la Teal'c. Funny how much more we all did that after eight years close friendship with the man.
The General grumbled and shifted in the chair. "Kitten," he muttered. He shrugged. "It was raining and she was starving - what was I supposed to do?"
I thought about that, wondering why I'd been so surprised - little lost things seemed to gravitate toward General O'Neill. But I couldn't resist tweaking him a little. "Awww, that's precious, sir," I said.
"Precious?" He grimaced. "Give me a break!"
"It is," I insisted. "Big bad Special Forces officer Jack O'Neill falls asleep with a tiny little kitten on his chest - quite the image."
He gave a reluctant chuckle. "As long as it stays between you and me, Carter ...," he said. "This is something the world does not need to know."
"Agreed," I said. I did want my revenge for that week of torment, but I didn't want those jarheads on SG-3 to laugh at him. And they would. "But it's going to cost you."
He squared his shoulders. "Okay. Lay it on me, Carter!"
I pulled my top lip in between my teeth. "Can't think of anything at the moment," I admitted. "I'll let you know."
"Fine," he grumbled, shifting once more in his chair. "I can take it."
"Yes, sir," I said, then got up from my own chair. "Anyway, I'd better go - heading off world in a half an hour."
"Yep ... you go; have fun," he said, giving me a smirk a mile wide.
Fun ... Hah. Trade negotiations with a race of people that reminded me of a group of CPAs. Not my idea of fun. "Yes, sir," I said brightly. "Oh ... and, sir?"
"Yeah."
I leaned over to him, my nose close to his, and he watched me with wary brown eyes. "You've got cat hair on your shirt," I said, plucking said cat hair off of his collar. Bright orange cat hair.
The image I had in my head when I wrote this part is from a lovely picture of RDA on where he's wearing jeans, boots and black tee shirt. If you want to see this picture, go to the site, choose the 'Media' option, then 'Gallery', then 'Jack', and it's on page 4. And if you don't agree that this is a gorgeous picture then you're insane (IMHO).
