I watch, and am become like a sparrow that is alone upon the house-top.
Psalms 102:7
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
Brain Damage, Pink Floyd, Lyrics by Waters
*****
Millie Guthro wasn't sure what had made her do it. Actually, that wasn't true. She knew *exactly* what had made her do it. She just wasn't sure what had made her do it *now*.
As she bicycled past the Rocky Top Pit Stop, her stomach clenched. Any other day, she would have blamed it on last night's sesame chicken - the sesame chicken she'd warmed-over two too many times this week. But, she knew that wasn't it. It wasn't even the threat of a sugar-induced bout of diarrhea. She should be so lucky.
It was guilt. Pure, simple, unadulterated guilt.
Despite the fact she really needed to stop to pick up a few staples for Jack's pantry, she pedaled past the small store, telling herself it was too hard to lug things all the way to Jack's house on her bike. She'd stop some other time. Better yet, she'd been meaning to check out that new superstore on the south side of town. While she was there, she could also pick up a vacuum cleaner filter. She knew for a fact the Pit Stop didn't stock them.
Yeah. That's why she rode past.
Still, it didn't explain the persistent ache in the pit of her stomach.
*****
The moment she spied his truck sitting in the driveway, Millie felt a loosening of muscles she hadn't realized were tense. She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much when Jack was gone more than a few days. He'd told her from the get-go his job sometimes demanded he be out of the country for days, sometimes weeks, at a time. She knew that. Still, she worried. And, this time had been the worst yet. Jack had been gone for several weeks.
Millie knocked softly in case he was sleeping but before she could slip her key in the lock, the over-sized door swung open and Jack towered over her. At the sight of him whole, she sighed softly, involuntarily. She considered the fact he sported no casts and leaned on no crutches to be gravy.
"Jack!" she grinned.
"Millie, hi." He smiled. "So, this must mean it's either Tuesday or Friday."
As he stepped aside, Millie entered the cool entryway. "Tuesday." Tossing her backpack onto the floor under the hall table, she followed him into the kitchen. "You were gone a long time this time."
His back to her, she barely heard his, "Was I?"
"I was beginning to get a bit worried, actually," she confessed.
"Oh, yeah?" Stepping into the small L-shaped kitchen, Jack leaned his elbows on the counter and began scanning the pages of a local paper spread out across the countertop. "You shouldn't worry," he told her distractedly. "You know I'm gone a lot."
Millie sank down in the chair at the small corner desk. "Yeah, I know."
Suddenly frowning, he glanced at her then back at the paper, his gaze refusing to settle in any one spot. "I assume Janet paid you."
"Oh, yeah. It worked out fine. Thanks." Using her tennis-shoe covered toes, Millie swivelled the chair in a lazy circle. "I need to make a grocery run, and thought I'd pick up some fertilizer for your rose bushes while I'm out. Can I borrow your truck?"
Turning a page of the newspaper, Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Why don't I drop you off? I need to make a couple of stops myself."
"Okay. I thought I'd give the new supercenter a run for your money."
Smirking, Jack looked out the window then back at the paper. "I thought you swore you'd never so much as darken their door."
"Yeah, well, obviously, I lied."
*****
She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and tried to decide what was wrong with him. All extremities - the ones she could see anyway - appeared to functioning normally. No visible bruises. Hell, he wasn't so much as limping or even acting sore. But, Jack just wasn't acting like . . . Jack.
He eased the truck to a stop in a long line of traffic at a red light. The mid-morning sun bore down with glaring relentlessness, throwing haphazard, blinding reflections off the surrounding vehicles and burning through the thighs of her faded blue jeans with alarming intensity. Turning her face to the open passenger window, Millie lifted her chin to the slight breeze rolling down off the mountains and smiled as it quickly dried the sweat from her upper lip.
"Inconsiderate assholes," Jack muttered.
Frowning, Millie looked over at him as he thumbed the controls on the driver's side door. "What?"
The temperature in the cab immediately rocketed as the windows silently closed. Jack flipped on the air conditioning and glanced at her. "That didn't bother you?" he said accusingly.
"What didn't bother me?"
The crease in his forehead deepening, he glanced down at the car sitting alongside him. "That," he indicated with a jut of his chin. "Damned rap. Who the hell ever came up with that and decided to call it music should be shot."
Millie turned to stare back out her window. "I like some of it." Feeling an icy finger of dread run up her spine, she glanced over to find Jack glaring at her. "What?"
In response, he said nothing. He merely turned his head to stare out the windshield, gassing the truck as the traffic began to move. She shivered slightly and adjusted the angle of the vent.
*****
As she pushed the cart towards the automatic doors, Millie glanced at her watch. Right on time. She'd told Jack it'd take forty-five minutes to circumnavigate the inside of the store. She'd been right. Geesh, the thing was like a football stadium. And, of course, the things she'd needed were on opposite ends of the playing field. The good news was, if she'd planned on hitting the treadmill later, she could have crossed it off her list. Shopping here had to place a close second behind a triathalon.
Jack was waiting. The big diesel truck idled noisily in the first spot past the handicapped parking. Catching his eye, she waved a hand and started towards the truck as he climbed out to help her unload the cart.
The blaring of a horn made her jump. She stared up at the grill of a mud-covered SUV. Glancing past it, her gaze locked with that of the driver - an unshaven man about her own age. With a fierce glare, he waved her on. Smiling, Millie hesitated slightly before taking a step. The engine revved and the vehicle bucked towards her. She flinched and frowned up at him. What the hell? The driver smiled. Watching him steadily, Millie started forward. The engine revved again.
"Don't *even* think about it!" Jack yelled. Both Millie and the driver looked over to find Jack striding towards them. Fury transforming his features and movements, Jack launched himself at the driver's door and yanked it open. Before Millie could grasp what was happening, Jack was trying to haul the man from the vehicle.
"What the-," the driver gasped as he struggled against Jack's grip and the stranglehold of the seatbelt which held him at the waist and across one shoulder.
Shoving the cart out of the way, Millie ran towards the men. "Jack!"
He was oblivious to everything around him; he was focused solely on the man in his clutches. "Just what the *fuck* were you trying to pull? Huh?" The stranger's body still half inside the truck, Jack furiously shook him by the shoulders. "Answer me, you son-of-a-bitch!"
"Jack!" Millie grabbed onto a long forearm, trying to pry Jack loose from the driver.
"Get the hell off me!" the man demanded.
A small crowd was gathering just outside the doors to the store, watching in stunned silence as Jack tried to wrestle the man from the SUV.
"Jack, don't!" Millie's heart from racing. "Stop it!"
"You think you can just run people down and get by with it?" Jack accused.
Seatbelt still locked, the man was hanging by the strap around his waist. Trying to fight off Jack's rabid grip, the man kicked. Jack easily dodged the sharp-toed boot aimed at his groin. He threw a retaliatory punch to the man's middle, then went down like a shot when the other boot delivered a solid blow to the inside of his left knee.
Grunting softly, Jack rolled and struggled to get back on his feet. Panting noisily, desperately, the driver shoved Millie out of the way and managed to crawl back inside his vehicle and slam the door. Millie fell back against Jack, both of them hitting the pavement as the SUV lunged like a ponderous beast across the tarmac, leaving scattered shoppers and the smell of burnt oil in its wake.
Quietly, Millie and Jack untangled themselves.
"I saw the whole thing," an old man declared and reached down to offer Millie a hand up. "Young punks nowadays. Are you all right, young lady?"
Millie nodded, grateful for the help. "Thank you. Yeah, I'm okay."
"What about your husband?" The gentleman turned his attention to Jack, who had regained his feet and was standing there looking lost and breathless. "Are you hurt?"
Staring in the direction the SUV had taken, it took a moment for Jack to realize someone had spoken to him. He blinked and stared down at the elderly man who had a steadying hand on Jack's elbow. Forcing a tight smile, Jack gently pulled his arm free. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks."
"Don't mention it, son. If I were twenty years younger, I'd have lent you a hand. Then we'd have shown that young fellow what was what."
Jack nodded distractedly and glanced at Millie who was rubbing her elbow. "Are you hurt?"
Despite the fact her arm throbbed from elbow to shoulder, she shook her head 'no.' Truth be told, she wasn't quite sure what Jack would do if she admitted to an injury, however slight. Thanking the man once again for his help, Millie collected her backpack from where she'd dropped it on the pavement while Jack limped over to retrieve the cart. Without speaking, they loaded the bags into the truck and crawled into the cab. Jack started the pick-up and eased out of the parking lot.
Leaning against the passenger door, discreetly holding her arm, Millie stared out the window at the bright summer day and wondered what the hell had just happened. She'd never seen Jack so angry. She'd never seen him out of control. As he pulled the truck onto the freeway to head for home, she glanced over at him. Despite the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his hands were trembling.
"Jack," she said, amazed at the calmness of her voice, "you're bleeding."
He glanced at her. His features were pinched and pale. "What?"
She pointed with her good arm. "Your neck. It's bleeding."
With a shaky hand, he reached up and touched the back of his neck where blood darkened the collar of his denim shirt. "Dammit," he mumbled, looking at his fingertips.
"Do you want me to-"
"No." Trembling, blood-stained fingers gripped the wheel. "It's nothing. Just leave it."
Pressing her forehead to the warm glass, Millie closed her eyes until she felt the truck come to a stop. When she looked, they were home. Jack's home. They sat there for a moment, the diesel rumbling quietly.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She didn't ask for what because she was pretty sure she knew. "It's okay."
His eyes hidden behind his dark glasses, he frowned in the direction of the front door. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just-"
When she didn't answer, he turned his head in her direction and forced a tight grin. She had no idea if his eyes met hers.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he repeated.
She forced a smile of her own. "You didn't." She shrugged, the movement provoking another round of aching that erupted from her shoulder and shot towards her elbow. "Anyway, it's over. No big deal."
"Yeah." His smile hardened. "No big deal."
*****
Millie sank back onto the thick green lawn and squinted up at the sky. She'd never been a world traveler, and she'd always wondered if the sky was this beautiful anywhere else in the world. She seriously doubted it. Sitting here, she could pick out at least four different shades of indescribably beautiful blue. The only thing missing was a multi-rainbow - something she'd been told was unheard of in other parts of the country. Here, it was not uncommon to see a double or even a triple rainbow. Sighing softly, she sat up, crossed her legs Indian-style, and studied the rose bushes.
She hadn't lied the first time she'd met Jack: she did hate roses. Mainly because they guaranteed thorns and bees. Plus, they were too showy. She preferred simpler fare. Give her daisies or sunflowers any day of the week. Better yet, Lily of the Valley. That was her all-time favorite. Simple, sweet and fragrant.
Humming softly, Millie reached over, pulled a stray weed and wondered yet again what was wrong with Jack. Since they'd arrived home nearly two hours ago, he'd barely spoken. He'd helped her unload the bags, then had disappeared into his bedroom. He'd emerged a short time later sporting a clean t-shirt with a white bandage neatly taped to the back of his neck. Right now, he was in the garage working on the trimmer.
Rubbing her sore arm, Millie stared past the fence row of flowers. She knew whatever was bothering Jack must have something to do with wherever he'd been and whatever he'd been doing the last few weeks. It had to. She'd never seen him like this before and despite denying it earlier, he *had* scared her. She'd seen the look on his face as he'd attacked that man. And, while she liked to think it was only because he'd been protecting her, she had a sneaking suspicion it really hadn't had anything to do with her at all. In fact, she kind of thought Jack had just been looking for a reason to lash out at someone. Anyone. Unfortunately for the stranger, he'd picked the wrong person to harass.
Kind of like how Millie herself had lashed out during her last trip to the Pit Stop. The fact that she'd finally complained to management about the disgusting personal habits of one Connie 'Booger Fingers' Blankenship had less to do with the cashier picking her nose in public than it did with a grudge dating back to high school. Just because Millie had found herself on the receiving end of a really, really, really bad day, the unsuspecting ex-cheerleader had found herself the unwitting victim of the old adage 'misery loves company.' Millie had yet to return to the Pit Stop. She wasn't sure what would be worse - knowing she'd gotten Connie fired, or having to face her if she still worked there.
She wondered if Jack felt as guilty about his outburst as she did about hers. At least in his case, they'd all escaped relatively intact. She hated to think what *could* have happened. If Jack had managed to wrestle the guy out of his vehicle, she had no doubt that the stranger would have ended up in the hospital and more than likely Jack would have ended up in jail.
Despite the warmth of the sun, Millie shuddered at the memory of the look on Jack's face. She couldn't recall ever seeing a hatred so intense, a fury so savage. The Jack she knew was so different. He was funny and smart and athletic and sexy and irritating as hell, but she never would have described him as frightening. Deadly. Not until today.
Millie absently reached for the trowel she'd stabbed into the dirt under the nearest rose bush, then jerked when her hand touched something cool and soft instead. Staring down at the ground in front of her, it took a moment for her brain to translate what she was seeing. When it did, she yelled and began back-pedaling across the verdant lawn.
"Oh, God." Stumbling, she gained her footing and ran towards the safety of the house. "Oh, shit. Oh, crap." Shuddering, she hugged herself and danced nervously from foot to foot on the deck. She groaned. "Ew!"
"Millie?" Jack stuck his head around the corner of the garage. When he saw her on the deck, he frowned. "What's going on?"
Momentarily speechless, she pointed towards the fence row. "It's . . . I saw it . . . over there. Holy crap." She hugged herself tighter, her heart still racing.
Jack stepped around the corner of the house. "Saw what?"
Shivering, Millie managed, "Snake. A big, huge, ugly, gross, disgusting snake." Jack froze and his face paled. "I touched it. I put my hand on it."
Rousing, he commanded, "Don't move. Stay right where you are."
As he disappeared back into the garage, Millie needlessly yelled, "Oh, don't worry. I'm not setting foot in your yard and I'm not touching your damned, stinking roses ever again. Ever!"
Jack reappeared carrying a hoe. "Where'd you see it?"
Millie pointed in the general direction. "Over there by that bag of fertilizer." As Jack limped across the lawn, Millie inwardly cringed. Garden implement in one hand, he pushed the rose bushes back with the other and peered beneath them.
"I don't see it. What kind was it?"
"What *kind* was it? Are you kidding? It was a snake. Two pointy ends and a middle."
He shot a glare in her direction then suddenly took a step back. "Dammit," he muttered. Easing the hoe under the bush, he carefully lifted the snake off the ground and turned around, depositing the squirming reptile on the lawn. "That's it?" he chuckled, looking up at her. "This is the huge boa constrictor that nearly had you by the throat?"
"It's not funny! Besides," she conceded, "it looked much bigger from where I was sitting."
Smiling, Jack leaned over and picked up the garter snake by the tail. Holding it aloft, he looked over at her. "So, what do you think - rattlesnake, copperhead, cottonmouth maybe?"
"You're a real comedian. A regular Jerry Seinfeld."
Jack laughed as the serpent writhed against the hold on its tail. Slinging its tiny body back and forth, it lunged towards Jack's face. Flinching, he dropped it. "You little shit," he mumbled. Instead of making a dash for the fence row, the panicked reptile coiled itself across the toe of Jack's boot. Lifting his foot, he tossed the creature onto the grass, raised the hoe and delivered a killing blow. From her vantage point on the deck, Millie saw the snake curl up, then slowly unwind, its fragile body nearly severed in half. Jack lifted the hoe and calmly watched as the reptile flopped uncontrollably. Then slowly, deliberately, he raised the hoe and struck again.
Feeling the ebbing of her sudden cowardice, Millie stepped off the deck and cautiously approached. The snake was even smaller than she'd thought. Of course, considering it had been effectively halved, its reduction in size might be an illusion. She flinched when Jack raised the hoe and once again struck the now dead serpent.
"Jack?"
Grunting softly, he pulled the implement free and ignored her. He aimed and struck again. And again.
"Uh, Jack?"
He was oblivious to her presence. Sweat dripping off his face, his arms yanked the blade from the earth, raised the hoe, swung, delivered a slicing blow, and raised the sharp instrument again. The snake became four, then eight, then twelve, until Millie lost count of the pieces. The lawn was a patchwork of divots and slashes. Blood and dirt mingled. Dirty scars she would later meticulously mend and patch, but for now her eyes were riveted on the damage Jack wrought. She was so concentrated on what he was doing, his muttered string of curses nearly escaped her.
"Fucking bitch," he whispered as the blade severed another section from the tail. "Fucking snakehead bitch." Over and over.
Forcing her eyes from the ground at his feet, Millie looked at him. It was the face of the man who had recently attacked a stranger. Studying the hard planes of the once friendly face, she noticed the bandage on the back of his neck. A small, perfect circle of blood darkened the center of the pristine gauze.
"You're bleeding again," she whispered more to herself than to him.
Tan arms lifted, muscles rippled, and the red dot grew on the downward swing. She was mesmerized by the cadence of the savage dance. So hypnotized by the strange beauty of its rhythm that it stopped several seconds before she realized the deadly waltz had come to an end.
Jack was panting, breathless, hunched over like an old man. Slowly, he dropped to his knees and stared at the destruction laid out before him.
Millie found herself sitting on her butt in the grass without knowing how she'd arrived there. Still staring at Jack, she met his gaze when he turned his head and looked at her. Drenched in sweat, he was trembling and gasping for breath.
"She's gone. She can't hurt us," he quietly informed her.
Millie frowned. "Jack, what happened to you?" He didn't answer. "Wherever it was you've been, something happened, didn't it?"
His shoulders slumped and he took a deep, ragged breath. "It's over. I'm fine. We're all . . . fine."
"I know you probably can't talk about it, but . . . ." Feeling helpless, Millie stretched out a hand towards him, but stopped when he pulled away from her touch.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking embarrassed. "I just . . . I'm okay. Really." As if to prove it, he forced a shaky, sickly smile.
Millie studied his features; she watched as he caught his breath and regained control. She could only hope he was right.
Jack dropped a trembling hand onto her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I promise."
She forced herself to endure the sweaty grip on her injured arm. "Well, then, as long as you're sure."
His smile slipping, Jack released her and stared down at the bloody remnants of the harmless snake.
"So," Millie joined him in surveying the scene of the horrific crime, "you're sure it's dead?"
Jack chuckled harshly and when Millie looked up, he was aiming a genuine, heart-wrenching smile her way. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
<finis>
Author's Note: I think Jack had to have hauled home a lot of baggage from Hathor's little gig. Other than that, what can I say about a story that quotes both the Bible and Pink Floyd?
© April 2005 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.