Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. To those people who queried where to find the picture that was mentioned but poorly referenced (still getting to grips with formatting things for this site), the full address is www dot jackfic dot com.

And now on with the story!


Carter leaned over to me, her lips close to mine, and I watched her warily. Was she about to plant one on me? O'Neill; you are such an egomaniac! "You've got cat hair on your shirt." She waved some orange strands of hair at me.

Crap. There went the bad-ass General image! "Ah." I brushed at my black tee shirt and watched as several more cat hairs went floating away. "All gone now, Carter?"

She brushed at the side of my neck, and I started slightly, surprised at how ... good that innocent contact felt. Yeah; she was gorgeous, but things had been so professional between us for so long that I thought I'd moved on.

I'd tried to - with Kerry Johnson. She was nice, beautiful, good sense of humor and she'd genuinely liked me. We were good together - and I don't just mean in the sack! - but she decided that she needed more and had ended it shortly before Jacob died. And Carter had been engaged to Pete Shanahan.

I hadn't hated the guy - he barely came in under my radar - but he just seemed so ... white bread compared to Colonel Sam Carter. But she'd been happy with him, so I was happy for her. I couldn't have her as things stood and, although I was a bastard in many ways, I'd never played dog in the manger.

But now ... now Pete was out of the picture, and I was no longer Carter's CO. And we'd started flirting again.

"All gone," Carter said. "See you later, sir?"

"Ah ...". I blinked and focused. "Right. See ya later."

"Hmmm." She put her hands on her hips, regarded me thoughtfully, then drooped her eyelid in a lazy wink before sauntering out of the briefing room, adding a little extra sway to the movement of her hips.

I changed my mind about that 'innocent' contact. There was nothing innocent about Carter. Evil, evil woman.


The same evening

I pulled to a halt at the stoplight and gave a quick appreciative glance at the slender brunette in a red Vette next to me. Hey; I'm a guy - of course I looked! But I didn't leer. I was heading for that dangerous time - mid-life crisis - and she was easily half my age. I was determined not to become some pervy old geezer.

A movement appeared in my peripheral vision and I turned my attention back to the brunette, who ran her hand through her hair before blowing me a kiss. "Hey, there, handsome," she drawled.

"Hi," I replied, nonplused. I'd gotten used to women coming onto me over the years - some subtly, some not so much - but it had usually happened when I was in the Class A's. Seems women like a guy in uniform.

But at this moment, I was in a black tee shirt and jeans that had seen better days, my eyes were covered by shades and the wind had blown my military crop every which way so it looked even more chaotic than usual.

"Traffic's a bitch, huh?" she continued, waving her hand to the great queues of cars and trucks, backed up for near on a mile.

"Yeah," I grunted, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. It had been one meeting after another today and the last one had been the worst. Budgets ... yech! I whipped off my sunglasses and massaged the bridge of my nose.

"So ... no ring, no tan line, no briefcase. You're not a yuppie and you're not married. So far so good," the woman said, not seeming to care about my monosyllabic responses. "I'm Claire."

"Jack," I replied. "And you're on the money so far." It had been a while since I'd flirted, but I found I was starting to enjoy this. I looked over at her. "No ring, no tan line, no briefcase," I repeated. "Movie industry or rich daddy?"

She chuckled. "God; no!" she said. "No ... I work as a clerk at a Corvette dealership - I'm just taking this baby out for a test run before it goes up for sale."

"Ah."

"So ... what do you do, Jack?"

"Air Force," I replied.

"Right ...". She looked at me assessingly. "A Colonel?"

"Till a year ago," I said. "Then I made Brigadier."

"Really; wouldn't have pegged you as a desk jockey," she replied. She gave me a slow smile. "You still have that I know how to kill you in a hundred different ways look about you."

"Yeah?" I was pleased that I'd evidently lost nothing during my year chained to a desk.

"Oh, yeah," she replied. "Mygodfather had a similar look - he was the toughest bastard ever ... except at home. He was Special Forces."

"Ah. Anyone I might have known?"

"Frank Cromwell."

Talk about a conversation killer. My hands clenched on the steering wheel. Cromwell had been dead for nearly seven years, but I still couldn't forgive him for leaving me to rot in that Iraqi jail.


Now in a foul mood, I let myself into the house and headed straight to the kitchen, dumping my bags on the island counter. A skitter of tiny claws could be heard on the polished floorboards and Red came barreling in, evidently delighted to see her new human.

Unfortunately, she hadn't yet learned how to stop and she collided with my jeans-clad leg, giving an indignant mew.

I bent down and scooped her up, scritching gently behind one ear. She purred blissfully and stuck her little nose into my face. "Miss me much?" I asked. I chuckled slightly at my own foolishness, but couldn't help feeling pleased at the rapturous welcome. I'd gotten used to being alone since the divorce, and had forgotten how nice it could be to have someone waiting for you.

She scrabbled her way onto my shoulder and proceeded to drape herself round my neck like a warm - fuzzy - necktie. I shook my head as I proceeded to unpack my groceries. "Cats are so weird," I mumbled.

Groceries unpacked and kitten still round my neck, I poured some kitten formula into a saucer and put it on the worktop. "Hey, Red; chow's up," I said.

Nada.

I attempted to pluck her off my shoulder, but she just dug her little claws in - not enough to do any damage, but enough to warn me against trying to move her again. Fine. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of my take-out cartons - no scientific experiments gone wrong for once.

Digging a fork into the noodles, I made my way into the living room and sat down on the settee. The doorbell rang and Red dug her claws in with fright. "Crap!" I yelped, then got up when the bell rang again. "Christ; where's the fire?" I grumbled.

I yanked open the door and saw one leggy blonde Colonel in a pale blue knee-length skirt, simple tee shirt and sandals that strapped round her ankles. Nice. "Hey," I said.

"Hi, sir," she replied. She turned and knelt down, giving me a flash of pale slim thigh - pretty sweet - then got back up with a large box full of cat toys. "I thought you might like these for the kitten," she said. "They belonged to Schrodinger."

"Thanks, Carter," I said. I held open the door for her. "Ya wanna bring 'em in?"

"Sure." She gave me a definite smirk. "Nice scarf, sir," she added.

When had she become such a smart ass? I was definitely rubbing off on her, and not in a fun sexy way either. "Nice legs," I replied.

She nearly dropped the box. Hah! Round one to O'Neill! "Sir?" she squeaked.

"A-ah! Carter; we're off duty and I'm no longer your CO," I said, hoping to rattle her even further. "You know my name - use it."

She blinked, and I could almost hear the cogs in her giant brain whizzing around. Then a strange smile appeared on her lips. "Of course ... Jack," she said in a purr to rival Red, then added; "You have nice legs too."

Round two to Carter, I conceded reluctantly as she went into my living room and began to sort out the toys. Red jumped off my shoulders and headed over to the new human to check her out.

She gave Carter a cautious sniffing, and appeared to approve, for she began batting happily at one of the toys, sending it skittering over the floor. Carter gave Red a gentle stroke. "She's really cute," she said, getting up and depriving me of the view of her long legs. Mean. "Have you picked a name yet?"

I shrugged. "I've been calling her Red," I said.

"Sir; that's lame!" she protested. "Call her something that means something! Maybe a cute name or a woman you admire?"

"I could call her Sam," I said mischievously. "But the gossips on base would have a field day if they heard me talking about having Sam wake me up by licking my nose and sleeping on my chest."

She started scratching behind Red's neck, sending the kitten into the throes of ecstasy. "I bet that's a pretty nice place to sleep, Jack," she commented absently.

"Carter?"

She looked horrified. "Crap; did I say that out loud?"

"Yep." I tried to hold back my laughter. I failed and creased up at the expression on Carter's face.

She looked at me in combined horror and mortification, then her eyes crinkled up and she began to laugh also. One of the many good things about Sam Carter - she knew how to laugh at herself. A far cry from the stick-up-her-butt officer she'd been at our first meeting. "After a day with the Burani, I needed that giggle!" she said as we calmed down.

I nodded my head - I'd needed a laugh too after running into Cromwell's god-daughter and being yanked back to one of my many bad memories. "Yeah," I said. I waved my hand to the kitchen. "Fancy a beer, Carter?"

"Ah ... yeah; sure," she said. She made her way over to my settee, and sat down, smoothing her skirt back down to her knees. "So ... any idea where she came from?" she added.

"Zip," I called as I made my way back to my refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of beer. "Figure she was either dumped or she came from one of the feral cats that seem to prowl around."

Red - maybe sensing we were talking about her - followed me into the kitchen and dug her claws into my pant leg. I already knew what that meant, and I bent and scooped her up, letting her drape over my shoulder once more. Geez; even my pet kitten was weird!

I went back into the living room and handed Carter her beer, then sat down in the recliner. I opened my beer and took a long pull, then noticed her examining me with that look she tended to reserve for really bizarre bits of technology. "What?" I grumbled.

She smiled at me. "You should call her Hathor, sir," she said.

I choked and coughed, startling my furry collar. "Christ, Carter!" I gasped. "Why would I name this little critter after that snaky bitch?"

She got up and sat down on the arm of my chair, stroking the kitten's head. "Because she's female, she's got red hair and ... she's got you wrapped around her little finger, Jack," she taunted. The smile became a smirk.

How to wipe that smirk off her face? I'd always been a man of action rather than words. I curled my free hand round her neck, muttered "You talk too much, Carter," then covered her lips with mine.


Questionablelight - thanks for the cat on shoulder idea! Hope you didn't mind me pinching that for Red and Jack.