Title: Mother Hen

Author: Karen (The One In Kent)

E-mail: a_non_entity@hotmail.com

Status: Complete

Season: Anytime after Carter gets to be a major.

Spoilers: Um, just one or two – blink, and you’ll miss them. No prizes.

Categories: Cute and cuddly – apparently. Is that a category? Humour.

Content Level: C

Warnings: Nope

Summary: O’Neill makes some new friends. An answer to a Word Of The Month, although you may need to scratch around to find it! Again, no prizes.

Archives: Word A Month, Jackfic, and anyone else who takes the trouble to ask.

Disclaimer: We all know who owns them. I wish it was me, but it isn’t. You wish it was you, but it isn’t. Collective sighs all round. I made no money from this. And I’m not worth suing as my bank manager will tell you.

Notes: This is for Bridey, who’s a very intelligent audience.

File size: 66kb

They’re at the bottom of the hole. Daniel, Carter, and Teal’c.

And I’m at the top.

But it’s not one of those things where they’ve all fallen over the edge thanks to a landslide, or ‘cause Daniel fell over and dragged the others with him. Nor is it thanks to some alien creature who wants to eat them for lunch.

Nope. This time they’re there because they want to be. And everything’s all under control. Or at least it was the last time I checked. Maybe . . . but no – don’t want them thinking I’m an old Mother Hen.

Daniel’s as happy as that famous chap when he discovered Tutanwhatshisface’s tomb. And reckons he’s found something just as good down there. Carter’s happy ‘cause Daniel’s happy. And Teal’c’s carrying all the equipment, and generally making sure that the kids don’t do anything stupid in their excited, ‘Wow, we’ve discovered The Missing Link!’ enthusiasm.

So that’s three quarters of the team accounted for. Thing is the final quarter’s bored. Royally bored. Out of his skull.

I might be on guard up here, but there’s nothing happening. Absolutely nothing. Zippo. Zero. Zilch.

Hasn’t been anything happening since we arrived. A week ago.

And to start with that was okay. Because we had to set up the site. Explore a bit. Discover some ruins above ground that pointed Daniel in the direction of the cave thingy. Then we had to gain access safely – so the Three Musketeers could go play pot-holers.

And I did get asked, in case you’re wondering.

Did I want to go down there? You gotta be kidding, right? Down a hole in the ground? With my knees? And my back? Bent double the first two hundred metres? I don’t think so.

Teal’c can carry the stuff. Rank hath its privileges. I’m staying here.

To get bored.

Completely. Utterly. Totally. Entirely. Fully. Wholly. Absolutely.

And when I’ve run out of synonyms – see, I do know some fancy words – I’ll check on my team.

Or not. Because it’s only five minutes since I last called.

Mother Hen.

Yeah, right.

So I sit on a rock and look at the trees. Good old trees. I moan like Hell about them, but only ‘cause it makes Carter laugh at my expense. And the others. Well, Teal’c just raises an eyebrow, but I know inside he’s rolling in the aisles. See, if they’re laughing at me they’re okay. Humour is a good thing in a team. Keeps the folks relaxed. Keeps them happy.

And a happy team is a good team. And a good team is an efficient team. And an efficient team does its job well. And lives to go home and tell the tale. Which is just what I want.

So I make stupid comments. About trees. And anything else that comes to mind. And let them laugh at me.

Actually, I don’t mind trees. There. Secret’s out. I’d rather have trees than sand any day.

Sand equals deserts. And deserts bring on really bad thoughts. About things I’d rather not remember. A time in my life I’d forget if I could. But that would probably require a frontal lobotomy. And, contrary to popular belief, I haven’t had one of those yet.

So I’m sitting on this rock looking at the trees.

Exciting.

Oh, yeah. Absolutely riveting.

And then I see the movement.

Slow and careful, like something doesn’t want to be seen.

And suddenly I’m as alert and watchful as . . . as . . . well, as a person who’s very alert and watchful, I guess.

And I’m up on my feet and making my way very slowly, and carefully, towards the tree line.

I think about calling the kids, but they’re several hundred feet into the Underworld. And not due out for a while. Best place for them if there’s going to be trouble. I decide not worry them. After all it might be a false alarm, and Teal’c would only come charging out for nothing.

Charging? Up that hole? Maybe not.

At the tree line I stop. Can’t see anything much. Can’t hear anything either. Just birds twittering, and trees rustling in the breeze. Sweet.

No - there is something there. I can hear a sound. Something, or someone, in pain, and trying real hard to disguise it.

So I quietly make my way in between the trees, taking care to disturb nothing on the forest floor with my feet as I move, or brush against a branch with my shoulder or head. I clear the way with the barrel of my gun. One piece of foliage at a time, then place my foot down with delicacy, pause, and wait, and listen. Then repeat the sequence. Again. And again. And again.

And then I hear the pain. And I’m getting closer. And closer.

To . . .

A fox.

At least that’s what it looks like.

Kinda.

And a sick fox at that.

Who met something higher up the food chain that took a fancy to him. And nearly had him for dinner.

So there we are. Mr. Fox and me. Eyeing each other. Neither of us quite knowing what to do next. Him ‘cause he’s too injured to make a run for it. Me ‘cause I’m just relieved he’s not something more dangerous.

He’s a funny off-grey colour, and smaller than a fox. But in every other fashion he could be a fox. So Foxy will do for now. He’s got a set of viciously deep claw marks running across his flank, another set across his face, and a nasty bite mark on his shoulder.

Looks distinctly the worse for wear.

Looks at me with suspicious eyes.

Sick, suspicious eyes.

And whines in pain.

Kill me or let me die in peace.

Yeah. Know that feeling.

Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Jack O’Neill, you’re just a sucker for any hard luck story that comes along.

Even if it’s not human.

And likely to bite your hand off if you get too close.

Despite that, and feeling slightly foolish, I tell Foxy to sit tight. That I’ll be right back. ‘Cause Carter might talk to her plants, but I don’t usually talk to anything that can’t give me a sensible answer – unless I’m looking in the mirror, but that’s another story.

Foxy does as he’s told and is still there when I get back.

And has acquired company.

Mrs. Foxy.

Heavily pregnant Mrs. Foxy.

Great.

I decide that I might be chancing my arm – literally – if I try and treat the expectant father at this stage, so forego the antiseptic cream, and settle for just sitting there in a "Getting To Know You" kinda fashion.

Until the afternoon slides away, and it’s time to go and meet the Underworld Explorers.

***

Funnily enough I don’t mention my new found acquaintances over MREs that evening. But I’m eager for the Holy Trinity to be gone in the morning. Too eager, I think, because Carter gives me an odd look as they start off down into the bowels of the planet.

But after clearing up the camp, and taking a walk around, and up to the top of the nearest ridge to ensure everything is as it should be hereabouts, I’m off to check on the neighbours.

Who’ve increased in number over night.

Foxy and his wife are now the proud parents of six little Foxes. Or Foxys. Or whatever.

Mrs. Foxy is trying her best to feed them, but my guess is she hasn’t eaten properly lately, and isn’t producing much milk. And is too exhausted after the birth to go hunting for herself. And papa is in no state to go anywhere. He’s lying there looking real sick.

Sooooooo . . .

It’s Uncle Jack to the rescue, I guess.

Trouble is I don’t know what might be haut cuisine for a fox native to P3 something or other. So I decide that the only thing I can really serve up on the menu are MREs.

Would that be medium rare or well done, sir?

Eyes follow me as I leave, and have this pathetically hopeful look in them when I return. Like Daniel begging for another day’s study at a set of ruins he swears are vital to understanding the history of the universe. Yep, poor old Foxy looked that desperate.

It’s kinda like he’s accepted me. I’m was either goin’ to kill him, and if I was goin’ to do that I’d probably have done it before now, or help him. So he seems to have decided it’s the latter, and is prepared to go with the flow.

‘Right, now, sir, I want you to understand that the food selection is not what I’d choose to serve up, but I’m not spoiled for choice here.’ I grin at him, apologetically. ‘So will macaroni cheese do? It may well taste like something else, but macaroni cheese is what it says on the packet.’

I don’t believe this.

I’m having a conversation with a fox, for cryin’ out loud.

A one way conversation with a fox.

I swear ‘Gate travel is getting to me.

I open the packet, and leave it open for Mrs Foxy to lick away at.

Ladies first, if you please.

And I need to treat your wounds, sir.

At least I didn’t say that out loud.

He watches me suspiciously and I decide that discretion is the better form of valour. Because I’m Special Forces trained, I’ll have you know, and I notice when a scenario has Take Extreme Care written all over it.

So I try and make a good impression by just sitting there for a while, looking all unthreatening and extra friendly. And after a while one of the youngsters, who all seem rather more developed than I think fox cubs of barely a day old would be back on Earth, staggers over to investigate. Knows no fear, and mighty curious. Too curious, for his own good, really.

And before I know where I am all the kids have names.

Yeah, well, it’s easier if they all have names. So shoot me. It’s not like I’m getting attached or anything. I know what’s what if they’ve got names. Can do a roll call more easily. And it would be much more difficult if they were things like Shorty, Dumpy, Grumpy, and whatever. I need names I can relate to. They’re easier to remember.

So, the curious one gets to be Daniel. The slightly plumpish one – George. And the darkest coloured one becomes Teal’c. The female is Carter. The smallest one – Doc. And the annoying one, who keeps trying to push his brothers and sisters around, is Ra, because Apophis is way too much of a mouthful.

So I sit there and call them by their names and generally pass the time of day, and hope that the sound of my voice will soothe papa.

Eventually, I take the antiseptic cream and remove the top. I leave the tube lying down for a while so he’ll get used to the smell, and then squeeze some out and reach forward, slowly.

I hold him down by the scruff of the neck and apply the cream to the injured areas. Just call me Doc Fraiser! He seems to accept what I’ve done. So we all just sit there in a companionable sorta fashion. And I feed Mrs Foxy another couple of MREs.

I’m getting to quite like the tranquillity of it all. Makes a change from honkin’ big spaceships cluttering up the place, and hordes of Jaffa trying to barbeque you with their staff weapons. Or unfriendly natives who decide we’re not welcome the minute Daniel opens his mouth to say, ‘We’re peaceful explorers . . .’ Quickly followed by, ‘Oh, shit . . . run!’

Sitting with my back to a tree so I can see back to the cave where the kids are, hopefully, having fun I tell Foxy and Co. all about the SGC and SG-1. Just to pass the time, you understand. And they all seem real interested, ‘cause none of ‘em wanders off or anything.

Most of ‘em go to sleep after a bit. But I refuse to take offence.

****

I’m still keeping quiet at chowtime, but I think Carter might be on to me because she wanted to know why we were missing several packets of MREs. I couldn’t tell her I fed them to Mr. and Mrs. Foxy, now could I? I’ve got my reputation to consider. So I told her I got hungry during the day. Desperately hungry, I could see her thinking, bearing in mind that MREs are pretty indigestible at the best of times. I think I might need to come up with a better cover story.

Still, they all disappear to do their Journey To The Centre of The Earth thing next morning, without too much of a backwards glance. And I’m off to check on the Foxy folks.

They’re all looking much more energetic. I’d fed and watered papa and mom again before I left yesterday. And I play head waiter again, before settling down to talk politics of the Universe with them – about the Tollans being unfair for not sharing their stuff, and how it’s right to be suspicious about the Tok’ra, and that the Asgard really need to get off their little grey butts and be a little more proactive about things.

They’re a very intelligent audience, I have to say. They don’t disagree with me about anything. And by the time I’ve finished Daniel, George, and Doc are asleep on my lap, and mom’s licking my hand like she’s known me all her life.

Papa’s looking very much more the thing, too. After dozing and listening to me with his chin on his paws he makes an attempt to get up. He’s decidedly wobbly, but he makes it onto all four paws before collapsing back down again.

A stubborn critter.

Reminds me of someone I know.

The wounds are healing well, and he’s keen to be up and about.

Yep, definitely familiar.

He and I share an understanding look, before he decides that enough is enough, and leaves me in charge of the team whilst he sleeps.

Mom’s doing okay, too, and goes off hunting. Obviously considering me a suitable babysitter, a promotion of which I’m somewhat proud.

When she comes back there’s evidence of meal around her mouth, so I assume that MREs are off the menu from now on. Which is kind of a good thing, because I’m not sure how I’d continue to explain my expanding appetite to Carter.

So mom settles down and lets the kids suckle and I watch in a distantly-related-uncleish sorta fashion, and the day drifts away peacefully. And I realise that I’m surviving the Investigation and Excavation Time That Usually Bores The Colonel To Tears far more easily than usual.

‘You’re all okay company, ya know?’

Papa opens an eye and looks at me, then, licking his lips, he dozes off again.

Recovering from a bruising and a battering is sleepy business. I know. So I let him sleep, and watch mom and the kids play. And after a while, when they’ve worn themselves out, Daniel, George, Doc and Sam go to sleep in my lap, and the other two kids curl up against the side of my leg with mom. And the sound of gentle foxy snoring can be heard.

And Uncle Jack keeps watch.

Just in case.

And scratches the kids affectionately behind their ears every now and then.

Just to keep them feeling safe and looked after, you understand.

I’m not really a pet person.

***

Next morning as I’m settling down at the base of the tree I have to admit, ‘I almost blew my cover last night.’

Foxy looks at me with a jaundiced eye.

‘Daniel wants to stay for an extra three days.’

He tilts his head in appreciation.

‘Yeah. Three days. And do you know what I said?’

Looking up at me from under furrowed eyebrows he sighs, and settling his chin on his paws he moves his head from side to side.

‘No? No guesses? Okay. I said fine. Fine! How dumb is that?’ I complain in disgust.

He shrugs.

‘I never, never say fine when Daniel wants to stay on extra days. I moan. I complain. I grumble. I do everything except say fine.’

He watches, listens, and waits.

‘Yeah, well. It’s not that I’m embarrassed or anything.’

He gives me a knowing look.

‘I swear I’d introduce you to the gang, it’s just I have my hard-nosed and cynical image to consider.’

He closes his eyes in disgust. And settles down to go to sleep.

Finding myself suitably ignored I look at mom, but she’s cleaning the offspring and judiciously occupied.

‘Aw, shucks guys. Don’t be like that.’ I complain.

But they’re offended.

And I’m in bad books.

Still, Daniel’s extra three days mean that I might just get to see this assignment through. Papa’s doing well, and can stand for longer and longer periods now. Mom trusts me to mind the kids if she needs to go hunting, and the said kids crawl all over me with the boisterous enthusiasm of the very young.

And I watch it all with a quiet heart, and a slightly embarrassed smile.

Never really was one for pets, as I said.

And I know that Carter’s suspicious ‘cause I haven’t groused with my usual enthusiasm.

Just haven’t been able to quite find the spirit for it.

***

Next day papa and I take a walk together. It’s his first real mission since he was mauled. And he does well, showing grit and determination to get up and about, and stay with the team leader. Who tells him how well he’s done with a fair amount of pride, and we settle down to be included in his offspring’s antics. And after a while he goes to sleep and I’m left in charge again, as Mrs. Foxy goes off in search of dinner.

The kids roll over my outstretched legs and try to crawl up my vest so I have to keep lifting them off and telling them in a stern voice that I’m not there as a climbing frame. I seem to have lost my touch in the giving orders stakes, because they just ignore me and carry on doing their own thing.

You’re losing it, O’Neill. In more ways than one. Just don’t let the Intrepid Underworld Explorers hear you talking to the furry troops. You’d never live it down.

‘Hey, kids, does it say colonel anywhere on my uniform? I said no climbing!’

I put Sam aside and remove Ra from my shoulder. He’s living up to his reputation as a true pest, and is more persistent than his siblings. Might have to rename him Apophis after all. George nibbles my fingers, and I try tickling them all, in order to keep them from scrambling up Mount O’Neill. Seems to work, too. And before long they’re all lying on their backs with their paws in the air begging to be next in the tummy scratching game.

‘Ahhhhh, cute.’

Crap.

Caught off guard.

Big time.

Crap.

Carter’s grinning her face off. So’s Daniel. Teal’c . . . . isn’t . . . . thank God.

I don’t believe it. I’m Special Ops trained for cryin’ out loud. And my own team crept up on me. But, maybe that’s the point. They’re not a threat, and I knew that. Sensed it. So ignored their approach. That’s my excuse and I’m damned well sticking to it.

‘A real Kodak moment, sir.’

‘Yeah, Carter. Go on. Have your fun.’

‘Available for babysitting duties, sir?’ She smiles with innocent sweetness. ‘I hear Siler’s bitch has just had pups.’

‘We can obviously provide references,’ Daniel pitches in.

‘Indeed. You would appear most qualified, O’Neill.’

‘Teal’c! Support, buddy! Gimme a break here. You’re supposed to be on my side. Warriors together and all that.’

‘I see no evidence of warrior-like behaviour here, O’Neill. You are indeed displaying the qualities required of an animal nursemaid.’

I swear one day Teal’c is going to overstep the mark with his "I’m sorry, I haven’t a clue about Earth humour. This is just me being literal," act. One day . . .

Still, I usually say they can laugh at me, ‘cause a happy team is a good team, and a good team is an efficient team, and all that. But as a rule that’s about things I’ve said. Things I’m in control of. Not being caught unawares being all gooey eyed over cute little fox cubs – that would be Carter’s description you understand, not mine. I’m not a pet person. I would never use the word cute in this context.

‘Want to introduce us, sir?’

‘Yeah, Jack I bet you’ve given them all sweet little names.’

Ah.

Now there’s a thing.

‘You have haven’t you, sir?’ Carter’s going to have a field day with this.

‘First name terms already, Jack? And I thought I was the communications expert around here.’ Daniel’s grinning that wide faced I’m slightly superior to you, but I’m willing to let you have your say and put your foot in it, grin.

Doc crawls into my lap, and George distracts me by nipping my thumb.

‘We can’t leave you on your own anywhere, can we, sir?’

‘Caught getting all friendly with the natives! Mister Caution. Colonel Guns To The Fore And Let’s Take These Negotiations One Step At A Time. This’ll be headline news at the SGC, Jack.’

I can take it. A happy team is a good team . . . .

George nips my thumb again. Holding on this time. I gently remove him.

‘It would seem that a peace treaty’s been signed, in our absence, Daniel.’ Carter’s getting real close to a court martial for insubordination.

Just remember – a happy team is a good team. A happy team is a good team.

Ra climbs up my vest and sits on my shoulder.

‘Yeah, good work, Jack. I can see you’ve got things all under control here,’ Daniel grins. ‘But I’m a little worried. Are you trying to do me out of my job?’ I frazzle him with a stare. ‘Yey, Gods, Sam! I’m redundant.’ Makes no difference.

No control over the kids.

Ra bites my ear.

No control over the kids! Whichever team they’re on.

A good team is an efficient team.

Does it say colonel anywhere on my uniform??

Probably. Prefixed by – Highly Embarrassed. Caught With His Guard Down. Rumbled. Butt Of All Jokes For The Next Century.

‘I hope you observed strict protocol, Jack . . .’

An efficient team gets to go home safely . . .

‘. . . you have to start with ‘We’re peaceful explorers from Earth,’ otherwise it’s all null and void.’

. . . unless they’ve been murdered off-world by their commanding officer, following extreme provocation.

I place Ra back amongst his family, and then carefully remove Doc from my lap. Papa’s woken up and is eyeing the newcomers with suspicion. Getting to his feet he stands in a defensive, this is my family and I’ll defend them to the hilt even if I’m not feeling quite up to scratch, kinda way.

Good man. Animal. Fox. Whatever.

Okay. There’s nothing for it. I’m gonna get the ribbing of the millennium anyway, so I might as well go the whole shebang. Deep breath. ‘They’re with me. Promise you. They’re no threat.’ I reassure him.

He tilts his head, and looks less worried. ‘We’re off now. Leave you in peace.’

Carter’s looking like she’s gonna explode with mirth. ‘See ya all tomorrow.’ I continue, as if I talk to the animals, in front of my team, every day of my life. ‘Daniel lift your jaw back into place, right now. And, Teal’c, if you so much as say a word I swear I’ll do something very horrible and very permanent to you. Once I’ve thought of something suitable.’

And gathering what shreds of dignity I have left, I march off to camp.

***

The next morning they’re gone.

We’ve packed up, and are ready to move out. That’s why Curley, Larry, and Moe got back early, yesterday. They’d finished. Ahead of time. Just my luck. They got back to the camp-site, found me gone, went off searching, and discovered their CO doing his Doctor Doolittle impersonation.

After an evening of constant teasing, I decide I’ve nothing to lose by going and checking on my second team before we leave. Decorum’s gone out the window, so what the heck.

But when I get there – they’re gone.

And I find it hard to hide how disappointed I am.

Not that I got attached or anything, but I’d have liked to have seen the mission through, and made sure they were okay before we ‘Gated home.

Ah, well, never mind.

I shrug at my team. And buffoon my way around it. ‘You must’a scared ‘em when you showed up yesterday.’ I say. ‘Looking at your ugly mugs must’a made ‘em want to leave.’ Which is tame revenge for the abuse I’ve had to suffer, but it’s the best I can do.

I will not show how disappointed I am.

I turn my back on the place where I found an outlet for my boredom while the kids had fun. I will not admit I had fun too, in an odd kinda way. Hard-hearted Air Force colonels do not get sentimental over two adult foxes and their cute cubs. And I’m merely quoting Carter - she said they looked cute. I would never use that word in relation to animal offspring, and anything I’ve been involved in over the last few days.

She also said I looked cute – with the scratching tummies thing. And she had seen me in a whole new light. I’m filling in the court-martial papers the minute we get home.

Respect has just gone way down hill around here.

So we hike out, and reach the Stargate not long after, because it’s not far.

And Daniel’s dialling home, when Teal’c says, ‘I believe you have a delegation to see you leave, O’Neill.’

And there they are. Sitting at the edge of the clearing in a row, papa down to Doc on the end. And he gets up and strolls over.

‘Okay, then?’ I ask. Knowing that Carter’s smirking like there’s no tomorrow behind me.

He stands and assesses things a while, then dips his head a couple of times, and rubs up alongside my legs. I guess he’s saying I’m fine now and thanks for the support. Come by any time. Take care. That sorta thing.

‘Yeah, you take care, too.’ I say, as I hear the Stargate woosh open behind me.

He turns away and ambles off to his family all lined up neatly together.

I turn and walk by my team, all lined up smiling like they’ve each won a million dollars, and are going to enjoy spending every cent.

I decide that this time I’m going to be first through the ‘Gate.

‘Oh,’ I turn around. He stops and looks back at me. ‘Take care of the kids now I’m not around, ya hear? Let’s face it – Daniel’s always wandering off where he shouldn’t, Sam’s getting way too big for her paws, and as for Teal’c – you need to keep a sharp eye on him!’

And, grinning, I step through the horizon with, ‘Jack??’, ‘Sir??’, and ‘O’Neill??’ following me back to the SGC.