Author: Moonbeam's Predilections
Genre: Stargate SG-1 (season 8)/ Highlander crossover
Word count: 480
Prompt: Word #10 - Slugabed
Jack was half-way through the front door before it occurred to him that, contrary to how he'd left it prior to the past week's off-world mission, it was unlocked. He froze with one foot across the threshold.
Sharp eyes scanning his home for any visible signs of disturbance, Jack quietly sidled over to the coat closet and the gun secreted away in its depths. Slowly, Jack eased the .38 from under a baseball cap. Some bullets were retrieved from the pocket of a winter coat he'd never worn in all the 20+ years he'd owned it. Moving carefully to make no additional noise, he loaded the pistol one bullet at a time until he was satisfied he was armed.
Then he moved out to start reconnoitering the potentially hostile territory of his own house.
He started through the darkened living room, choosing to leave the lights off and navigate by memory alone. A quick perusal not only turned up no intruders, it eliminated the idea of robbery as motive for the break-in. His television, stereo, and a dozen other valuable and easily stealable items were still sitting pretty in their places. Jack couldn't help noticing that not even the week's worth of dust they'd collected while he'd been gone had been disturbed.
Moving even more cautiously now because, quite frankly, robbery had been the least threatening scenario to have flashed through his mind, he moved on to the kitchen.
One look at the beer bottles lined up on his dining table with the folded note bearing the name "Jonathan" in front of them, and Jack tucked his gun away with a sigh.
There were only three people in his life who ever called him by his given name, not counting the various and sundry telemarketers who'd give the System Lords a run for their money in sheer evil annoyingness: his third grade teacher, Mrs. Patterson; his mother, god bless her soul in heaven; and his father, who'd probably looked god in the face and given him that "I know something you don't know" smirk.
Ruefully, Jack mentally acknowledged that's probably where he'd picked up his habit of Goa'uld-baiting. Ah well, at least he'd come by it honestly, he smiled to himself.
Still grinning, Jack reached out and unfolded the note.
If you happen to come home tonight, there's a plate of left-over sweet'n'sour ribs in the fridge waiting for you. I'm tired, so I'm going to bed. Try not to wake me if you have to leave at some insanely early hour in the morning, Mr. Brigadier General. (And when were you going to tell me about that, hmmm, young man?)
P.S. You're out of beer.
Jack chuckled quietly, and resolved to help Methos greet the dawn in the tried and true method perfected during his childhood. All he needed was the balloon.
The water was the easy part.