I'll Do It

Tag to Miller's Crossing: I felt there were some big holes left in the story. Hopefully, this fills one of them.

SGA and Co.: not mine, now or ever. I just play with them and put them back when finished.

"If I...choose...to do this, will it hurt?" I looked the Colonel in the eye. My heart was already broken by the death of my child, my will was gone because of the impending death of Jeannie Miller. I had nothing left but pain, and no real desire to have it piled on.

He took a deep breath before answering. "I won't lie to you. It hurts. Like nothing I can describe." He must have read my shock before I could tamp it down. "IF you...choose...to do this, I can make sure you are sedated. It's not much, but you won't be conscious enough to feel anything."

I gave a watery snort. I had nothing to lose, while they had everything to gain. Sarah was dead, and it wasn't their fault. A flaw in the nanite power design wasn't something they could have foreseen. As much as I had been willing to throw away my life in prison, this was...so final.

I closed my eyes, alone in my decision. At least if I went this way, I could see Sarah and my wife again. "I'll do it."

I looked up in time to see the Colonel tense at my answer. Had he really thought I would say no? Hell, logically, this was the only out of the box answer to all the questions that would work. "I said–"

"I heard ya." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "I just..."

The pause grew to fill the room, sparking a dread in my stomach. "How soon can we get this done? I don't need time to think about it."

He thumbed his radio. "Sergeant, bring me my bag." The soldier stepped into the room, delivered the bag, then stepped out. "I can't ask anyone else to do this. It has to be between us."

I nodded as he withdrew the bottle of narcotic and handed it to me. The label was one I was familiar with. It was strong stuff, used in combat wards. "I understand." I slid my sleeve up as he drew the clear liquid into the hypo.

He paused, meeting my eyes one last time. "Thank you," he said, before driving the needle home.

I felt the warmth spread rapidly, my legs growing unsteady. All I could manage was a wobbly nod. The last thing I heard him say was, "I'm sorry."