Hello, all! This is a post-"Forever in a Day" fic, dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of Sha're's death. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Stargate and all affiliated characters aren't mine... :(

(they are, however, on my christmas list ;D )

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“I love you too,” I murmur. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jack and Sam take a step closer, shielding me from the outside. Usually I’d be grateful, but now I’m too wrapped up in my own grief to care.

She’s dead. The most amazing woman I’ve ever known…My wife, is dead. I’ve been searching for her for three years, and now that search is over.

I close my eyes, my hand still tracing her jawline. My head is starting to ache, but I ignore it.

Why did it have to be her? She never did anything to anybody. A dutiful daughter, a wonderful wife, and a magnificent human being. Was her only crime being beautiful? That’s why the goa’uld chose her, right?

I unconsciously try to pick at the sociological implications of this: does it mean that human stock will gradually become less ‘beautiful’? Or do goa’uld usually allow humans to mate before they are chosen as hosts?

I clench my jaw, my hand making an involuntary fist. The sudden surge of anger drives these thoughts away.

Logically, I know Sha’re didn’t do anything wrong. That sometimes, bad things happen to good people. Anthropologists know that when people don’t understand the reasons for something, they try to come up with a rationalization. If somebody is hurt or killed, the reason was punishment from the gods. I don’t believe in gods: I’ve come across too much belief and not enough proof to believe anyone is watching my every move from above.

What’s the explanation, then?

Somebody better could’ve saved her, an insidious voice says. If you’d been more focused on finding her, she’d be alive. If she’d married a better man, she’d still be alive.

You should never have joined the original Abydos mission, the voice says. Stepping through the gate that first time sealed her fate.

I try to capture the idea, to analyze it, see if it has any truth; but my head is aching more fiercely with every second. I’m riding waves of pain, and I know if I so much as move my head I’ll be dizzy. As the pain spikes, I can’t help but let out a little whimper, and my body tenses.

---

I’m on my back. How did that happen? A blurry Jack is kneeling in front of me, and an even blurrier Teal’c, carrying Sha’re’s body, is standing behind Jack.

“Hey, buddy,” Jack says, hand tapping my face to ground me. “How ya doin’?”

I look at Jack, but my eyes quickly drift up to Teal’c. “My head hurts,” I say quietly, breathily. Something is pushing on my chest. I put my hand on my chest, but nothing’s there, even my vest: somebody must’ve taken it off.

“Daniel,” Jack says, tapping my face again. My eyes dart to his face. He smiles absentmindedly. “Listen to me, okay? Anything hurt besides your head?” I start to slowly shake my head no, but quickly realize it’s a bad idea to do so. My eyes squeeze shut as the pain overwhelms my senses. It washes over me like a wave at the ocean, one that fills your mouth and nose and eyes with salt water and leaves you gasping afterwards. My eyes are open, but the pain has blacked out any vision. As my sight slowly clears, I can see Jack gazing worriedly at me. I lick my lips, intending to answer his question verbally, but he turns away. “Teal’c,” he says to the big man still behind him, “go tell Carter that Daniel’s not getting outta here without help. Best thing would be a stretcher of some kind, I think.”

Teal’c nods silently; bows to me, Sha’re’s body still in his arms; and exits the tent. Jack turns back to me. “We’re gonna get you outta here, okay? You’re gonna be fine, Daniel, got it?”

I mouth the word ‘okay’ and Jack takes that as a good sign. He smiles slightly and pats my shoulder.

“She’s dead,” I say quietly.

Jack looks at me, sober. His eyes are grim.

“She’s dead,” I repeat. “Teal’c killed her.”

Jack grimaces. “It wasn’t his fault, Daniel,” he said. “If he hadn’t—”

“I know,” I say, my voice cracking. “But Sha’re’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Pity is nowhere, but empathy is evident in his expression, his posture, his eyes.

His son died. Friends of his died on missions, him watching and powerless to help. He knows how I feel.

My throat is closing up. I squeeze my eyes shut, and tears appear on my eyelashes. I try to stifle a sob, but fail miserably.

Jack’s easing me up, leaning me on his shoulder. He hugs me, and I hold on like there’s no tomorrow.

---

I haven’t felt like this since my parents died. Only that time there was nobody to hold onto after their bodies were crushed. Everyone was running around, calling ambulances, trying to get the Jacksons out, and nobody noticed their son. I tried to help, but was pushed away. I ran up the long steps to the Indian exhibit, my favorite, with the Iroquois and the Navahos and the Tlingits from Alaska. I wished we’d gone to Alaska, instead of Egypt. The only thing in Alaska was ice, and you could break ice with your teeth. Ice wouldn’t have crushed my parents, made them bleed and scream and then go still with their eyes still open, staring blindly at the temple they’d worked on for months.

They found me in Central Park, that time. My parents had shown me the Ramble, and I got as lost as I could in there. An Italian woman who spoke no English (except ‘hello’ and ‘toilet’) had been sightseeing, and heard me. She brought me to the police, who thought I was a runaway. I didn’t care what I was, at that point. Nobody cared enough; or if they did, they didn’t understand.

---

I haven’t felt like this since I was addicted to the sarcophagus. I can’t stop crying, but Jack’s there, and holding me, and whispering nonsense into my ear: “It’s okay, you’re okay, this isn’t your fault.” Over and over again. Like after my addiction to the sarcophagus, I feel guilty. There are a million things I could have done, I think, that would have prevented this from happening. “I’m sorry,” I keep whispering. Over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

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I'm pretty sure (almost positive) there will be a continuation to this, so look out for it! Oh yes, and review! If you like it, and review, I'll finish sooner! Promise! And if you specify in your review, I will also review your story! Thank you...

Emilie :)