Wow - Part 10 already. Who'd believe this started life as a one-shot based on my giggles watching McKay's recording on the Atlantis episode Letters from Pegasus? I'm glad people are liking it (based on the reviews I've received so far - just gone past the half-century mark).
I'm not up to speed with some of the acronyms people use during reviews and would be glad for clarification of the following:-
- LMAO
- ROTFLMHO
- OMG
Thank you!
And now on with the story (Finally!). This chapter is a double POV. Beware: very little fluff! Highly angsty and with some bad language.
Sam
I smiled at the General. "You should call her Hathor, sir," I said.
He choked and coughed. "Christ, Carter!" he gasped. "Why would I name this little critter after that snaky bitch?"
Could I pull this off? I got up and sat down on the arm of his 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," I taunted.
Suddenly, a warm hand curved round my neck. The General muttered, "You talk too much, Carter," then he kissed me.
Hard and fast - I didn't have time to enjoy it before he released me, looking at me with angry eyes. "Sir?" I said.
"That bitch raped Daniel, tried to turn me into a freakin' Jaffa, tried to snake me and made us believe everyone else was dead," he said in low deadly tones.
Oh, God ... He'd always claimed he didn't remember anything of that first encounter with Hathor. "I'm sorry, sir," I said, losing my taste for the silly games we'd been playing. When I thought about it, he was completely right. Daniel had been drugged by Hathor - he hadn't been a willing sexual partner. That was rape. I think women sometimes forget that men could get raped too.
"Spare me the platitudes, Carter," he said now, getting up from the recliner so abruptly that I staggered. "Just don't even try to joke with me about her."
"Yes, sir," I said formally, respecting the barriers the General was putting up. He'd always been an intensely private man and for him to share even a little bit of what he'd felt about Hathor had taken a lot out of him. I put down my unopened bottle. "I should go, sir," I added, stroking the kitten who had taken the General's place on the recliner. "I hope she enjoys the toys."
His eyes softened slightly, but his mouth was still a tight firm line, and I wondered what was going through his head right now. "Thanks, Carter," he said.
Jack
The door closed silently behind Carter and I sighed, marveling at how I'd gone so quickly from flirting to seething anger. Not with Carter. Not even the snaky bitch-queen Hathor. I'd killed her and managed to resolve some of my issues with her by doing that.
It was what she'd done to Daniel that still burned me up. And Carter had come in for the backlash. Unfortunately, meeting Cromwell's god-daughter had reminded me of Iraq with all its attendant horrors and thinking about Hathor at the same time had just been too much.
I picked up Red and sat back down, letting her curl up in an impossibly small ball on my thigh as I found my thoughts going back to dark places - places I would never leave behind. I could hide from my memories, joke, laugh, flirt, but the memories would always be there.
I had horrible, ugly things in my past. Things that I wasn't proud of, and things that I shouldn't be proud of, but was.
Like my skill at killing. I was proud of that. The knife across the throat, the bullet between the eyes, the drugging then drowning ... The Special Forces division had picked up very quickly on this particular skill of mine and I'd found myself in the murky world of Black Ops.
It was on one of these unofficial missions that I was left for dead in Iraq. Cromwell hadn't even thought to investigate further and had bugged out. And I'd spent four months as a 'guest' of the Iraqis, where I'd honed my killing skills.
By the time I was rescued, I'd been able to add garroting, hanging and eviscerating to my dubious abilities.
But, for all my skill, I'd never been able to kill that sick, sadistic bastard who'd run the POW camp.
Rape. An ugly word for an ugly act. My team had never understood why I'd spent so much time with Daniel after she had left the SGC. Especially considering I'd claimed not to remember anything.
That had been a lie. I remembered everything. The way her smooth skin, firm flat stomach and soft full breasts had felt pressing up against my own naked chest ... the strange burning as she altered my physiology to enable me to carry her young ... the pleasure I felt when she gave me the smallest smile.
And Daniel had gone through more than that. He'd also had the guilt of a little part of him (the drugged-out part) having enjoyed it, and feeling like he'd betrayed Sha're. Strange as it may sound, when he finally accepted that he had been raped, he was able to let go of some of his guilt. Drug-induced sex was rape.
But it had taken many weeks to get him to that point, and I'd been with him for every anguished outpouring. He never knew why I'd been the one to listen to him but, for once, had chosen not to question me. I would never have told him, anyway.
Rape.
Men raped women.
Women raped women.
Women raped men.
Men raped men.
And a certain group of Iraqi soldiers raped American POWs.
I'd been luckier than some of my fellow prisoners. Some of them had been permanently damaged by their experiences. Some hadn't lived to tell their tale. The guard assigned to me had been new, young and impressionable, and wanted to please his CO, but developed a crush on me. He'd tried to be gentle, to prepare me, had wanted to kiss me.
And a small part of me was grateful for his care. At least I'd been able to return to a full and very enjoyable active sex life after my recovery period.
It hadn't stopped me from killing him the first chance I got, though. When he was lying on his back, weak and spent after enjoying my body, I stabbed him in the guts with his own knife, then slit his throat. I'd gotten out of the camp that night and had been picked up by a group of Marines near Basra, emaciated and feverish.
I winced as I felt claws dig into my thigh, and looked down to see Red paddling away, trying to rearrange the muscles into a more comfortable nest. I smiled slightly and plucked her off my leg, laying her down on the settee. She mewed grumpily, stretched, then curled up once more.
Carter was right, I mused, trying to steer my thoughts away from my black past. 'Red' was a pretty lame name. What had she suggested? Something cute or a woman I admired? "Lucy?" I said out loud.
Nothing.
"Marge? Lisa? Patty? Selma?"
Squat. Evidently not a Simpsons fan.
And then it hit me. The one thing that had kept me going through all the shit I'd had in my life. The one thing this tiny little scrap of life represented. Asha. The Indian for 'hope'.
"Asha," I murmured. Red looked up and eyed me quizzically then got up and made her way to the edge of the settee, looking at me pleadingly. I leaned over and picked her up, letting her drape over my shoulder. "Asha it is," I said.
While there is life, there is always hope.
This was very angsty, but I truly believe Sam bypassed good taste when she joked about a serial-killing mind-controlling rapist to one of the victims. A little more angst to come in the next part, but I will start getting things back on a lighter footing soon, I promise. I just don't think that someone with Jack's past can be all fun and games. Something has to come back to bite him in the ass once in a while.
I think Asha is a lovely name - my six month niece is called Asha Rose, and she's very cute, so am probably biased. LOL.
