Disclaimer: I do not own the Stargate franchise or the characters within. I write only for enjoyment in continuing my favorite series in these fictional stories.
Grief.
chapter one
She drew the darkly colored shirt to her nose and breathed in, deeply. It smelled of pine and soap and his own unique manly musk. She missed him...so very much. Three weeks...it had been three whole weeks, plus a day.
All she had left now were his clothes still in the dirty laundry pile that she had neglected since that day. Necessity would need her to deal with the dwindling supply of clean clothes and linens for herself soon. Maybe tomorrow...there was always tomorrow. For now...
His scent was strongest on the shirt. He had worn this shirt the day before his last. She smiled sadly as the vision of his image wearing the shirt filled her memories. His lean frame filling the shirt out so appealingly. His dark unruly hair sweeping the neck of the shirt collar just so.
Memories...it was all she had left now...oh...and his dirty laundry, especially this shirt that held his scent the strongest. She could not even bear to say his name yet, the memories were hard enough to bear right now.
She had reluctantly passed on all his other clothes to Zenek, her friend's eleven year-old son who was perhaps the farthest from a match to the clothes, and was in fact, the opposite end of any familar comparison she may see when the boy started wearing the altered clothing. She could not give the clothes to another man, for that man would have had to have been long and lean...too close...too close.
Zenek was just a child and was also fair and chubby, furthering the curve of any comparison she may feel once the clothing was in use, were she to recognize any of it. She lived far out from town, so she would rarely see the boy. She knew she would avoid him completely now...just in case.
She folded the shirt carefully. She would not wash the last traces of him away. She placed the shirt amongst her own, willing his lingering scent to permeate her own.
ooooo
Sheppard was on his way back to the gate to return Dr Bushnell to Atlantis...more specifically, to the infirmary. A probable broken ankle the reason. The rest of the research team, plus the rest of his team were still exploring the ruins located a few kilometers further out from the nearest village. He didnt like leaving his people, even for the estimated thirty minutes he had figured it would take to transport the injured man back home and then return to the site, regardless of the lack of any foreseeable danger.
Colonel Sheppard tried to keep Jim, aka Dr Bushnell engaged in conversation, in the hopes that the small talk would keep the archaeologist's mind occupied, and therefore not focused on his ankle pain. John knew from experience just how badly a broken ankle could hurt.
It shouldn't have mattered that the weather had suddenly turned ugly, the Colonel was the best and most experienced pilot in Atlantis. Even though Jumper One responded to him like a second skin, he never took anything for granted.
A lightning bolt directly to the power conduit relay cut the connection between ship and man. The experienced pilot, ever vigilant, hit the manual switch immediately, but it was too late. He had been skimming along the treetops due to the atmospheric turmoil the storm produced and there had been no room for error. They were going down.