Hope you enjoyed my first original! I have two more dream chapters until it's all my work. The dreams aren't necessarily important--I merely wanted to humor myself--so you can skip on to the next origianl chapter (Aftermath) if you wish. Again, not the least bit offended. -grins-

X

"Get out of my way," she said, pointing the gun at him. The look in his eyes told her that he wasn't going to budge. He had his own, rather ridiculous looking weapon pointed at her. "Get out of my way or I will shoot you." She didn't mean it, but she pretended to.

Slowly, he moved to put his gun down, evidentially believing her. Why wouldn't he? She didn't know him, and she'd kill him if he pointed a gun at her again. No... she wouldn't. But she comforted herself with the pretense of that thought. Plus, he was standing in front of her escape.

He raised his arms in surrender. He was looking at her, really looking at her, as if he could see her soul in her eyes. As if he really knew her. There was tenderness in his—it pained her not to remember.

She was shaking with fear. Two weeks ago, she'd woken up in a building like this one and hadn't remembered anything of her life. Merely flashes of memories filled with demons and fire seemed to give her implications of who she'd been. And in one day, suddenly she was being chased, held captive, and told that she wasn't even from this world. Her instinct was to run—far, far away.

And then she'd seen him.

"You don't remember who you are," he said. "But I do. You won't shoot."

She saw his eyes fill with pleading, as if to say, "Prove me right."

She wanted to.

Who am I?

The sounds of gunfire from behind her made her jump. She quickly glanced back, itching to run. She spun around, still pointing the gun at him. She wanted to leave. Now. She wanted to leave and run and hide.

"If I let you go, I know you're going to make yourself disappear." How did he know her so well? She felt herself torn in two, wanting to run yet yearning to stay with him, not really able to comprehend why. She felt exhausted, as if she'd been in constant motion her whole life—running from something, or someone. Seeing him made her desire to stop.

"You've been running so long, it's almost second nature to you." The words were soft, yet penetrating. Was he reading her mind?

"You don't remember it," he continued, gazing at her meaningfully, "but you made a decision to stop running." She felt herself caving; slowly the floodgates were opening. "It's over..." he said gently. "Now it's time to come home."

Home. The name sounded sweet and secure when he said it, as though he and home were connected. Just as if they were one and the same.

She was crumbling. The gun in her hand was shaking, hesitating. A tear slid down her cheek. Closing her eyes she shook her head. Her mind saw fragments of memory, people she knew, a place she called home. Daniel.

And then everything came flooding back—memories of Daniel, his face, his smile. She remembered him, who he was, what he meant to her. Her mind was instantaneously harassed with transparency—recognition hanging like a curtain in her mind. The memory of her life was there, but she couldn't seem to lock on to faces and voices. The only face she knew, with absolute certainty was his.

She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her, willing her to remember. She remembered.

"Daniel," she whispered, her voice shaking with shame.

When she spoke his name, he began to lower his hands. He hesitated, not from lack of wanting to hold her, but simply making sure not to scare her by moving too quickly.

She willingly surrendered her gun to him, wordlessly begging him to take it. How could she have pointed the gun at her Daniel? How could she have thought he was against her? Shame engulfed her. She couldn't meet his gaze.

He stepped closer, hearing in her silence the necessity to be held. He could see in her downcast eyes that she was blaming herself. As he took her in his arms, he again felt the rush of needing to hold her—a rush he'd had many times before, but he once again wrote it off as simply needing to find and hold a sister. But he didn't hold her like a sister. Though he was gentle, and though she clutched him, shaking with fear and sorrow, he dug his face gratefully into her hair, wrapping himself around her. He saw the rest of his team fall into formation behind and off to the side, observing the reunion with knowing smiles. But at that moment all that mattered was that he had his Vala back.

She held firm to the memory of him smiling playfully down at her—a memory that had happened two and a half weeks before. She took much comfort in the knowledge that whatever happened, Daniel would keep her safe. With her face fitted into crook of his neck, she smelled the familiar scent of him and drew strength from the nearness of him.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate SG-1, merely dreaming and pondering....