"You don't talk about it much do you?" Daniel's voice brought Paul back to his current surroundings. He looked up from his desk and saw the Archaeologist stood in the doorway. He frowned and slowly looked at the small calendar on his desk. March 20th. The date of his wedding anniversary and also, ironically, the date his divorce was finalized. "I thought you might need to...confide in someone."

Daniel chose his words carefully. He'd known Paul for some time now and against all odds, they'd become friends. He knew about Paul's marriage, knew that his obsession for the Stargate had caused the breakdown, knew that somewhere in his heart Paul still loved his ex-wife. It was obvious on this day every year. He became distant, subdued. He could often be found lost in thought at his desk, like he was now.

Paul sighed softly. "Thanks Daniel but...I really don't want to talk about it." He watched his friend move from the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him and followed him as he crossed the room and sat down infront of him. Paul threw his pen down onto the report he was working on. "You're not going to give me a choice are you?"

"No...no. If you don't want to talk about it then that's fine. It's just..."

"...you think I should?"

"Well yes." Daniel lounged back into the chair. "Every year you fall into this...abyss. For the entire day you just...it's like you're not really here. I know that your divorce was a mutual decision but I can't help thinking that it was more than that."

Paul leant back in his own chair. "Such as?"

"Such as a mutual acceptance that love wasn't enough to get you through it? That you loved her so much you wanted better for her. You knew what you were getting into was too important to let go and you thought she'd be better without you. And I think she knew on some level what was going on. I think she agreed to it because she couldn't go on with the way things were." Daniel regarded Paul carefully. "And I think you still love her. I think you regret the decision you made...the one you forced her to accept. And I think you need to face up to that."

Paul studied his friend in silence for a few minutes. "We were practically strangers by the time we divorced Daniel. I would work long hours, miss mealtimes, we'd see each other for maybe ten minutes out of each day. We'd communicate in hand written notes left on the refrigerator, or via e-mails between our work places. But you know what..." Paul leant forward on his desk. "...she never stopped caring for me. She'd cook for two knowing I wouldn't be there, and leave the food for me to warm up when I got in. She sorted my mail for me, pressed my uniform, took my phone messages and relayed them to my cell phone. She wrote cards for me on my parents birthday when she knew I would forget. She never stopped being there for me even though we hardly saw each other." Paul frowned, a deep look of sorrow and regret passing over his features. "I had the most unique woman in my life Daniel. I could have had a marriage that most people only dream of. And I had to let it go."

Daniel dropped his gaze to the floor in thought. "We've all lost people we love Paul. But there's a difference." He looked up. "I had a wonderful wife who I loved with all my heart. I had a wonderful family and I was happy and content. But that's gone now. And I can't ever get it back. You, however...you could."

Paul pulled something out of his jacket pocket and looked at the pager he now held in his hand. "This...is my last link to her. When I left, I gave her this number and told her no matter what, if she was ever in trouble, I would be there for her. She is the only person who has this number. It has been silent for 4 years Daniel."