Mere Shadow
The man sat in a chair by the bedside, his head cradled between his hands, his grizzled hair adding to his weary countenance. In the bed sat a woman, a friend of his, humming softly to herself. When the familiar tune ended, there would be a moment of stillness before the song would start again: always the same key and always the same tune.
"I'm so sorry," the man whispered. "I did everything I could—I'm so sorry this happened." The humming had stopped, as though the woman had been listening to what the man had said, and then it continued, right where it left off, the woman's gaze ever straight ahead.
The man knew what had happened to her was not his fault. It was the Goa'uld that had done this. They had taken this woman, so strong and courageous and full of life, and, with torture the man could never begin to fathom, had stripped away everything that made her the person she was, leaving behind nothing more than a mere shadow. Yet still he blamed himself, though there was nothing he could've possibly done. She would never be herself again.
"Sir?" the woman spoke suddenly.
"Carter?" he looked up in surprise to find that she was looking straight at him.
"Where's Daniel and Teal'c?" she asked wistfully.
"They're reporting back to Hammond," he answered softly, a slight tremor in his voice.
"Sir," she reached out and took one of his hands, "are you alright?" His chin began to tremble as tears filled his eyes.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be fine."
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End.