I watch, and am become like a sparrow that is alone upon the house-top.
Psalms 102:7
A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.
Groucho Marx
*****
Millie couldn’t say that the Good Lord didn’t try to spare her. And not just once. Two times He took the time, made a real effort, to try to stop her. Two times she ignored him. Apparently, the Almighty had never heard of the old ‘third time’s a charm’ rule.
*****
Baby It’s Cold Outside - 9:17 a.m. - Attempt No. 1
Smiling, Millie eased the cumbersome Nomad into the driveway behind Jack’s truck. Then, she spied a bright splash of color in what should have been a mostly winter-grey landscape. In defiance of the ominous weather, Samantha Carter’s sports car was parked at the curbside in front of the house.
Setting the emergency brake, Millie shut off the engine and bit her lip, trying hard not to frown. She liked Samantha. She really did. Samantha had been nothing but nice to her. It was just, Millie found her . . . intimidating . . . in a weird sort of way. In a long-legged, beautiful, brave, I-know-him-better-than-you-ever-will sort of way.
Millie opened the car door.
*****
Tennessee Bird Walk - 9:18 a.m. - Attempt No. 2
Millie slammed the door of the Nomad shut with the solid, reassuring thunk of they-don’t-make-‘em-like-they-used-to American ingenuity, took one step towards Jack’s front door, and slammed onto her ass so hard that her teeth knocked together and she saw stars. Up close and at approximately eye level, she could see the clever film of black ice that coated Jack’s driveway like an evil layer of skin.
A strange, worrisome, tingling pain shooting across the bottom of her butt cheeks, she crawled over to the frosted grass, pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, and baby-stepped her way to the front door.
*****
Fools Rush In - 9:20 a.m.
Samantha Carter pulled open the front door before Millie even had a chance to grab the handle to steady herself.
"Millie!" Samantha sounded excited to see her. In retrospect, Millie decided that Samantha had sounded perhaps a bit too excited. So, maybe the Good Lord had made a third attempt after all. Maybe third times aren’t a charm . . . not even for Him. Maybe they never had been, and it was just an ugly rumor started by some jealous, over-dressed, nasty God-wannabe.
"Hi, Samantha."
"It’s ‘Sam,’" the blonde quietly corrected, stepping back to make room for Millie to enter.
Chewing her lip, apparently deep in thought, Sam watched as Millie peeled away layer after layer of hat, scarf, gloves, anorak, fleece, and knee-high Sorels. Finally, her butt still twinging, and feeling even more diminutive as she stood sock-footed in the shadow of the tall, slender Captain, Millie looked around.
"Where’s Jack?"
"Huh? Oh," Sam blinked as if awakening from a deep sleep, "he’s . . . uh . . . he’s . . . listen, Millie, could you do me a favor?"
"I don’t know. What is it?"
Sam reached for a jacket hanging on the peg between Millie’s slightly trendy Land’s End collection and Jack’s faded North Face. "I’m supposed to stay here with the Colonel, but I really, really need to take care of something back at the lab."
"The lab?"
"Uh," Sam slipped into the jacket and zipped up, smiling, "my office. Anyway, do you think you could keep an eye on him for a while?" Without waiting for an answer, Sam darted down into the living room, and Millie watched as the woman hurriedly shoved papers, files and a computer into a laptop bag.
"Keep an eye on him?"
"Um," Sam lifted the cushions on the sofa in a desperate search for something. Finally, she muttered a soft curse and a ‘never mind,’ and latched the bag while on her way to the front door. "Yeah, I mean, he should be fine. He’s sleeping right now." She grabbed the door handle, a large smile plastered on her face.
"Wait a minute." Sam froze at Millie’s words. "What do you mean ‘he should be fine’? What the hell’s the matter with him?"
"Oh," impossibly, the smile widened, looking more like the product of a muscle cramp than joy, "he’s got a," Sam waggled a hand towards her stomach, "he’s got a thing with his . . . with his . . . shoulder."
"What kind of thing?"
"He was shot."
"Oh my God!"
"Oh, no, it’s okay. It’s no big deal, really. He’ll be fine. Janet just didn’t want him here alone. She’s got him on some pretty heavy duty painkillers."
"He was shot? During a training exercise?"
"Huh?" Sam looked momentarily at a loss for words before rousing herself and opening the door. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. It happens all the time."
"It does?"
"Well, not all the time, but it happens a lot more than people realize. Anyway," Sam looked down at her wrist, the one without the watch, "I’m running late. I really do need to go. You don’t mind, do you? I really appreciate this. His meds are on the table. Janet’s number’s on the fridge. If you need anything, I’ll . . . well, I’ll see if Daniel can swing by later to relieve you."
"But-"
"This is so great. It’s such a help." Sam was backing out the door, pulling it closed despite Millie’s desperate attempt to hold it open. "I really appreciate it. Really. You . . . you have no idea. Thanks!"
The door slammed shut with such force that Millie flinched. Wondering exactly what had just happened, she peeked out the window by the door, and watched Sam’s hurried walk across the treacherous lawn. Sam opened the trunk of the sports car, tossed the laptop bag inside, slammed the lid, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Millie heard the soft throb of the motor, and frowned as she saw Sam lean her forehead against the steering wheel. Finally, just when Millie was contemplating pulling on her Sorels and risking another fall, Sam straightened, grinned, and peeled out from the curb.
*****
Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You - 9:28 a.m.
Could he be any cuter?
Millie stood beside the bed staring down at a sleeping Jack O’Neill. He was laying on his back, the covers kicked down to his waist, baring his naked torso. A large, neat bandage covered his right shoulder, and a discarded sling lay on the floor next to the bed. A weak, winter sun peeked through the blinds, highlighting a soft sprinkling of hair in the center of his chest.
Sighing, Millie studied the outline of his legs hidden beneath the thin layer of sheet and blanket; one limb was bent at the knee and the other was stretched out straight, his foot sticking out from under the sheet and dangling off the end of the bed. The injured arm was tucked against his side, but the other was thrown across the width of the bed. Even in the dim light she could see the definition of a firm bicep, the strange knot on the elbow, the long forearm, and the fingers splayed out across the wrinkled sheet.
For some reason, Jack’s hands always fascinated her. She’d catch herself watching them. It didn’t matter what he was doing - leafing through a newspaper, holding something, fidgeting, or even now when they were motionless. She felt compelled to study them; it sometimes took all of her willpower not to reach out and just touch them. For a brief second, it dawned on her that she could probably touch them now and he’d never know.
Fighting the urge, she glanced at his face, slack in sleep and - wonder of wonders - almost innocent looking. Grey hair was sticking up and out in sharp, tangled tufts, and Millie could suddenly envision a ten-year old Jack who looked much like this version, only smaller and less worn.
He looked pale, but Millie knew that if she laid her arm against his skin, his tan would become apparent. Leaning over the bed, she squinted in the dim light, studying his face. Out like Jose Hernandez. Biting her tongue, she reached down and very gently touched the hand that was resting against his hip. Jack flinched and his fingers curled slightly.
When Millie looked at his face, he was watching her, his eyes nothing more than dark, glassy slits.
"Jack?" she whispered.
There was no response except for a soft sigh. The guy was in the Darvocet zone.
*****
No More Mr. Nice Guy - 11:03 a.m.
Jell-O® was firming in the refrigerator; Jack’s meds were lined up in an orderly row on the counter; a pan of Campbell’s Chunky® was sitting on the stove top just waiting to be heated; and Millie was sitting at the dining room table. In the background, Sheryl Crow was talking about how every day was a winding road. The woman was pretty, talented, and rich. She hadn’t a clue. She couldn’t have.
Millie stared past the open pages of the paperback she’d pulled off of Jack’s bookshelf, looking at her sock feet and wondering if she should start painting her toenails. She’d always made it a habit to cover her feet. Maybe if she started painting her toenails, putting them out there in the big, wide world, things would change.
She glanced back at the printed page, then rubbed her eyes. Apparently, Jack O’Neill didn’t believe in an easy read. Ayn Rand was the lightest fare she’d found . . . well, except for a slim paperback having to do with hot military babes. Unfortunately, female porn was not to her liking, and Rand not only bored her to tears, the whole message went over her head.
Millie hated to admit it, but for a smart girl, she sometimes wasn’t all that bright. She wanted to be hit in the face with a billboard, not have to interpret some subliminal message buried in a pile of words so deep and convoluted that every other one looked like the one immediately preceding it.
"Carter!"
She dropped the book at the loud yell that emanated from Jack’s bedroom.
"Carter!"
It took a second for her to realize that she was the only one here. No one else was going to answer.
"Get your butt in here and give me a hand!"
Millie hurried down the hallway to the bedroom. Jack was sitting on the side of the bed, seriously canted to one side with his injured arm tucked tightly across his abdomen. At the sound of her entry, he squinted up at her.
"Millie?"
"Hey, Jack." She stepped into the room, trying not to notice how he’d tossed back the covers and was sitting there in nothing but a pair of baby blue boxer shorts.
"What are you doing here? Where’s Carter?"
"She . . . uh . . . had something she had to do. She asked me to stay for a while."
"Bullshit," he mumbled. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the clock on the night stand, then looked back over at her.
"What do you need, Jack? I’ll get it for you."
"Nothing."
"You want something to eat? There’s some soup. Jell-O®? Tea? Anything?"
He frowned at her. "What color Jell-O®?"
"Um . . . red. Strawberry, I think."
"No thanks."
Millie started to sit down on the foot of the bed, then stopped when she saw him wince. "When did you take your last pain pill?"
He shrugged, then grabbed his arm at the movement. "How the hell should I know? I was drugged at the time."
Millie chuckled and he glared at her. "I’ll get you one. You look like you need it." She started to leave.
"Carter’s a chickenshit, and Daniel’s a whiney-ass baby."
Millie glanced back at him. "Okay."
"And for the record, I hate red Jell-O®."
"All-righty then." Millie smiled and scrambled for the Darvocet.
*****
Hang on Sloopy - 11:58 a.m.
"You doing okay, Jack?"
Millie sat on the side of bed. Jack was sitting up, his back against the headboard and the sheet pulled up around his waist. The bowl of melting, red Jell-O® was precariously perched on his lap threatening to dump itself in the middle of the bed. She was tempted to reach over and straighten it, but the bowl was sitting right on top of his . . . anatomy.
Jack dropped the spoon back into the bowl and leaned his head back, his eyes blinking slowly. "Oh, yeah," he whispered.
"Jack?"
He rolled his head, looked at her, and grinned wickedly. "I love Doc," he slurred.
"Yeah?"
He nodded, then frowned as pain obviously eased around the edges of the medication. The bowl tilted and red Jell-O® inched closer to the lip.
"Why don’t you lay down? Let yourself rest?"
"I’m not tired. Not," he reached up with his good arm and rubbed his eyes, "can’t . . . not tired." He yawned, then chuckled softly. "Think I’m talkin’ funny."
"Naw. You’re fine."
"Hey!" He straightened, and bright red, liquid, stain-in-the-making lurched for the border of the porcelain. Jack laughed softly. "I am. I am fine."
"Actually, I think you’re stoned."
Jack picked up the spoon, watching stupidly as red drops hit the center of his chest. "Yeah." He sighed heavily and slouched back against the headboard, his eyes closing. "I feel bad."
"Yeah?" Millie eyed the spoon that was laying on his stomach. "Um," she shook herself and glanced up at him, "bad as in, you feel sick?"
He was asleep, his mouth open and snoring softly.
*****
Good Clean Fun - 12:06 p.m.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, one jean-clad knee pressed against Jack’s hip, Millie could feel the heat of him seeping through the thin layers of the cotton sheet and worn denim. Her hand shaking, she leaned forward and very gently picked up the bowl, setting it on the night stand. Watching his face, she grabbed the spoon and lifted. It was already sticking to the fine hairs on his stomach. Wincing, she looked back down, pried the spoon loose, and set it in the bowl. Then, biting her bottom lip, she began washing the red stains from his chest and stomach with the warm, damp washcloth.
Smiling to herself, she looked up to find Jack watching her. His eyes glazed, he smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Hey."
Millie blushed.
He glanced down at the hand on his chest, then back up at her eyes. "Whatcha doin’?"
"Um . . . ."
*****
Cry Me A River - 1:43 p.m.
"Sam’s right in the middle of an experiment of some kind, and she can’t come to the phone."
Millie sighed and rubbed a hand through her hair. She had to get out of here. Jack was laying upstairs, sprawled drugged and half-naked across the bed, and she had no self-control. All in all, not a good combination.
"Well, do you know how long she’s gonna be?"
"Um . . . I don’t . . . hang on a sec." Daniel apparently covered the phone, because Millie heard voices - plural - and incomprehensible mumbling before he came back on the line. "Uh, I’m not sure, but I think it’s going to take a while. A long time."
Crap! "Okay. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Well, Samantha said she was going to see if you could come by later."
"Um . . . ."
"So, can you?"
"Can I what?"
"Can you hear me now?" she petulantly yelled into the phone. "What the hell do you think I’m talking about?"
"Okay, okay, just calm down."
"I am calm, dammit! You’re not the one stuck here with a man who’s-," Millie stopped herself before she blurted out ‘about to be molested.’
"A man who’s what?"
"Daniel," she was getting a headache, a really, really bad headache, "can you come over and stay with Jack or not?"
"Uh, well . . . not."
"Why?"
"It’s . . . it’s classified."
Standing at the kitchen counter, Millie fingered the bottle of Darvocet and wondered if Jack would miss just one or two. "Well, thank you. I’m sure Jack appreciates your thoughtfulness. I know I certainly do."
She slammed the phone onto the cradle, cutting off Daniel’s protest.
Jack was right. Samantha was a chickenshit, and Daniel really was a whiney-ass baby.
*****
Sugar Shack - 2:52 p.m.
If there was one good thing about Jack’s house it was this: the man was a junk food junkie.
Millie shook the last Little Debbie® Oatmeal Cake from the box. She’d had two already, but since there was only one left, she might as well finish off the box. Wouldn’t want to be wasteful. She shoved the box in the trash, on top of the two empty Diet Dr. Pepper® cans, and the wrapper from the king-sized Snickers® bar she’d found in the cabinet behind the empty jar of peanut butter. The Snickers® didn’t count - it had been so hard she’d only managed to eat a third of it before realizing that not only couldn’t she taste it, but she thought she’d chipped a tooth. Turned out the ‘chipped tooth’ was merely a petrified peanut wedged between two perfectly fine molars. She’d gotten a good laugh out of that and then, better safe than sorry, she’d tossed the remains of the candy bar and had looked up her little friend, Debbie.
Noshing on the stale oatmeal patty, she glanced at the clock. The Darvocet was going to wear off any moment. She just knew it.
Weird . . . she felt all jittery. Maybe it was the sugar, or the caffeine.
She swallowed the last of the cake, and glanced at the clock again. Maybe it was because she knew she should check on the half-naked, stuporous man upstairs.
She glanced at the clock . . . and spied the cookie jar. Oreos®!
*****
Fever - 3:17 p.m.
Feeling overly full and a little queasy, Millie stepped into the darkened bedroom and cautiously approached the bed.
Jack had rolled onto his stomach and was now stretched sideways across the center of the bed. His only covering was a narrow strip of sheet that was stretched across his butt. He was sprawled with his bare feet dangling off the side and his injured arm tucked under his stomach. The good arm was hanging over the opposite side of the bed, and his head was bent at an awkward angle with his cheek pressed into the edge of the mattress.
Ow, that was going to hurt. Maybe she should wake him up, and make him turn over.
Stepping closer to the bed, Millie pushed the discarded sling aside with her foot, and immediately blanched and felt faint as she spied a pair of pale blue boxers curled beside the night stand.
Oh, geez!
She glanced back up at the bed.
As if on cue, Jack mumbled softly and rolled over. The sheet stretched, caught, then gave, and a slender, naked hip was revealed as Jack settled on his back with a moan of pain.
Her heart racing, Millie forced her eyes away from the muscular thigh and smooth hipbone, up past the dark hair that pointed to the navel - an ‘inny’ by the way - and across the flat planes of the stomach and chest to the handsome face that was screwed up in apparent agony.
"Jack?" Suddenly worried, she approached the bed. "Are you okay?"
He gasped, and blinked up at her. "Millie?" His voice was soft, and sounded ‘off.’
She knelt by the side of the bed. He was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his forehead. "Jack, you’re sweating. I think you have a fever."
"Hot," he mumbled and started to toss aside the remains of the sheet.
"No!" Millie blushed and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Um, don’t."
He tried to escape her hand on his forehead, and frowned at her. In the process, she got a good look at his eyes. They were glittery and unfocused.
"Jack, I think I should call Janet."
"My arm hurts."
"You were shot, remember?"
"What?" He looked at her like she had a third eye, or maybe a big goober hanging on the end of her nose.
"You were shot. Doctor Fraiser sent you home this morning." A bit early if you asked her.
"Big crickets."
"What?" When Jack didn’t answer, Millie felt her pulse quicken. "Jack?"
He blinked slowly, then frowned. "A big cricket shot me, but it wasn’t Mother. She was nice."
"Of course, she was." Okay. She was definitely calling Janet. She patted his arm and forced a smile. "Jack, I’m going to-"
"Pee."
"What?"
"I need to pee," and that being said, he was groaning and struggling to sit up.
"Oh, geez."
*****
Jumpin’ Jack Flash - 3:23 p.m.
"Okay, okay. Just . . . oh, geez." Oh, geez. Why couldn’t she stop saying ‘oh, geez’?
For the first time in a really long time, Millie felt lost. She didn’t know whether she should be helping Jack to stand up, or shoving him back into bed and covering him up.
Seeing as how he was struggling his way to his feet, she was pretty much out of options. As she hurried around the bed and stood near his knees, Jack removed any doubts about her next move. With his good hand, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled himself upright with a loud curse. The sheet dropped back onto the bed and Millie was left with her arms full of a trembling, completely naked Jack O’Neill. Not quite what she’d had in mind during all those sweaty, dream-filled nights.
Damn, the man was hot. And not in that way. Well, he was . . . but he was also burning up with fever.
Jack draped his good arm across her shoulder, took one shuffling step, and then suddenly stopped. "Oops."
"What?" When she looked up at him, he was staring down at himself. It was reflex to follow his glance. Wasn’t it? "Oh, geez." She squeezed her eyes closed. It was the only right thing to do. Wasn’t it?
"I am so going to hell for this," she mumbled, and opened her eyes.
*****
Smokin’ In The Boys’ Room - 4:57 p.m.
"Millie," there was a soft tap on the door, "are you okay?"
Sitting on the floor, her arms braced across her knees, Millie took another drag on the cigarette, smothered a cough, and dropped her head onto her arms.
"Millie?"
She heard a soft click, looked up, and saw Janet peeking around the edge of the bathroom door.
"Go away," she said nicely.
Janet smiled and eased into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and sitting on the floor across from Millie. She reached out, and Millie handed her what was left of the cigarette. Janet took a deep drag, then sighed.
"So . . . bad day?"
Millie grimaced. "Very funny. Is Jack okay?"
"He’ll be fine. I changed his antibiotics. That usually does the trick with him."
"His fever was high. He was talking about weird stuff - getting shot by big crickets, his mother."
Janet laughed and finished off the cigarette. "Yeah, that would be . . . weird, all right." She lifted the lid of the toilet and tossed the butt inside, then flushed. "I’ll stay around for a little while. Make sure his fever goes down."
"Is he asleep?"
Janet nodded and scratched her head, then glanced over at Millie. "Are you okay, or do you always sneak into Jack’s bathroom for a smoke?"
"I’m . . . I’m fine."
"Okay, now I know you’ve been hanging around him too long." Janet reached for the pack of cigarettes and matches laying on the floor - the ones Millie had dug out of Jack’s night stand - then seemed to change her mind. "So, what’s going on?"
Millie crossed her legs and leaned forward, rubbing her eyes as if trying to rid herself of the vision.
"Millie?"
At the concern evident in Janet’s voice, Millie looked at the other woman. "I saw him naked."
"Um," Janet started to smile, then frowned and reached for the cigarettes again. She took her time lighting one, glancing at Millie over the pinpoint of flame before shaking out the match. She took a deep drag on the cigarette, and twirled the spent match between her fingers. "And?"
"And? That’s not enough? There has to be an ‘and’?"
"Isn’t there?"
Millie shrugged. "I feel bad, that’s all."
Janet squinted at her through a haze of smoke, and offered the cigarette. When Millie shook her head, Janet flicked ash and the match into the toilet. "Are you saying it wasn’t everything you’d imagined?"
"No, I mean, he was . . .," Millie blushed and met Janet’s eyes. The woman was smiling. "Actually, he was . . . well, you know."
"Yes. Yes, I do."
Both women sighed and grew quiet.
Finally, Millie cleared her throat. "It’s just . . . I looked."
"As opposed to, what? Not looking?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, the poor guy was out of his head with fever and he was standing there butt naked and I was gawking at his, well, at his frank and beans when I should have been, I don’t know, doing something."
"Did you fondle his . . . frank and beans?"
"What?" Millie was shocked. "Ohmigod, no! Of course not."
"Did you shove him down on the bed and molest him when he couldn’t defend himself?"
"Janet-"
Janet laughed. "Well, then what the hell are you upset about? So you looked? You think I don’t take a gander once in a while?"
Millie couldn’t help it - she chuckled. "You do?"
"What? Are you kidding me? The guy’s gorgeous. I get maybe, on average, a dozen guys going through my skilled fingers every day. Trust me, I know gorgeous when I see it." Janet took a long pull on the cigarette. "I also know well-endowed."
Millie giggled.
Janet frowned. "Is it butt naked or buck naked? I can never remember."
"You know, Samantha’s the reason I’m here in the first place. She ran out on him."
"Yeah," Janet laughed, "she told me."
"She did?"
Janet shrugged and flushed the smoldering cigarette butt. "She’s no Nurse Nightingale. Well," groaning, she stood up, "I’d better go check on Mr. Naked Guy."
"Oh, before you leave . . . something’s been driving me nuts."
"What?"
Millie reached over and opened the vanity, holding up a large box of tampons. "Are these yours?"
Janet laughed and slipped out of the bathroom.
*****
If I Had a Hammer - 9:28 p.m.
"Don’t do that!"
Millie screwed up her courage, and continued to hold onto Jack’s waist. "Forget it, Jack."
"I can do it myself," he grumbled.
"You can’t. Now, quit it." She slipped his left arm over her shoulders and hung on. He continued to try to walk on his own, despite the fact that he was too weak to escape her grasp and was trembling from the effort. Millie grunted as he stumbled and fell against her. "Dammit, you’re going to make us both fall."
"Am not."
They were both exhausted. Worse, Jack was nauseated, in pain, and miserable. This had been their third trip to the bathroom in the last two hours. Millie had tried getting him to just vomit in the trash can, but he refused. Even as he was hurling, he kept assuring her he was fine, that it was just a reaction to the pain meds. A phone call to Janet confirmed that he was probably right. At least his fever was down.
"Go home," he barked. "I don’t want you here."
"Yeah? Well, screw you."
*****
Pillow Talk - 2:07 a.m.
"And then when I was nine, my folks moved here from Hutchinson, Kansas."
"Why?" Jack yawned.
Millie leaned back against the headboard and pulled her feet up on the bed. Jack was laying beside her on his left side, his injured arm propped on a stack of pillows in front of him. "Well, the economy was horrible, and Dad was having problems making a living on the ranch. So, he found a job in Colorado Springs repairing small engines, and Mom took a job as a teller at one of the local banks."
"What about you? Do you regret that they moved you here?"
Millie shrugged. "If I’d stayed there, I’d probably have ended up marrying one of the local boys and have a houseful of kids by now."
Jack was staring at her; she could feel his gaze. "So, do you regret that they moved you here?" he repeated.
Millie smiled sleepily. "Sometimes." She plucked at the hem of her shirt. "What about you? Regrets?"
"Sure. Doesn’t everyone?"
Millie thought about the little boy and the woman that she could see in the picture on the night stand behind Jack’s shoulder.
"I’ve screwed up a hell of a lot of times," Jack added, "but hopefully, I’ve done a few things right along the way."
"What you do, it’s important, isn’t it?"
Despite how he was laying, he managed a minute shrug in response. "I’d like to think so."
"And it’s not Deep Space Whatever, is it?"
"Telemetry," he supplied.
"You’re not training people."
He stared up at her, his face unreadable.
Millie smiled. "I just have this feeling that you’re doing something way more important than you even realize."
"I hope you’re right," he whispered.
*****
The House of the Rising Sun - 6:47 a.m.
Millie awoke feeling lost and hung over. Moaning, she lifted her head and looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. The sun was peeking in the window across the room, inching up the far wall. Oh, it was Jack’s room. Relieved, she dropped her head back on the pillow and snuggled down under the covers. It was still early. No rush. She could lay here until-
Jack’s room! Her eyes shot open, and she was suddenly fully awake. And, she was laying on her right side, face to face with Jack O’Neill.
"Morning," he smiled.
"Morning."
"So, was it as good for you as it was for me?"
"Huh?" Millie raised her head.
Jack laughed. "You know - the vomiting, the tossing and turning, the fever. Did I forget anything?"
Millie smiled and pulled the covers up around her chin. "Don’t tell me you don’t remember me stripping you naked and having my way with you."
"Um, I kind of don’t remember that part." Jack grinned. "Hope I didn’t scream too loud. Might wake the neighbors."
"Only once, when I grabbed your bum arm." Millie closed her eyes. "Go back to sleep, Jack. It was a long night."
"Long, huh?" When Millie looked at him, Jack was smiling wickedly. "Well, thank you, ma’am."
*****
Leader of the Pack - 8:53 a.m.
"Actually, Carter, there’s no need. No, really, Millie and I are doing just fine. Yep. She spent the night." Jack smiled at her from across the room. "So, you and Daniel just go back to whatever you were doing. No, I insist. Millie and I can manage without you. Hang on a sec." His injured arm in a sling, Jack laid the phone aside, took a couple of sips of coffee, and stared out the window at the backyard before picking up the phone again. "You still there? I was thinking - since I’m out of commission for a week or so, you and Daniel should take advantage. You know, catch up on all that stuff that’s been backlogged."
As Millie watched, Jack squinted out at the falling snow, obviously listening to something Samantha was saying. "Yes, I’m aware of how much backlog there is." He listened again, then smiled. "Yes, I realize that it’ll take the two of you at least three weeks working day and night. But look at it this way, Captain, you could be stuck here with me playing nursemaid." Jack glanced over at her. "Right, Millie?"
Millie laughed softly, and bit into a fresh, warm Krispy Kreme®. Life at Jack’s house - sweet!
<fin>
Author’s Note: Thanks, Lynette, for the beta! When I started this, I was feeling nostalgic. Then, I began feeling a bit depressed when I realized just how many of these little tunes I can still hum by heart. But, those baby blue boxers - or the lack thereof - pulled me out of my depression and put a smile on my perverted face.
© January 2005 Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.