"Is this your thesis?" Daniel asks, holding up the monstrosity that is not nearly as edited as I'd like it to be.
"Yeah, but it's not finished."
"It's good," he says, and I can tell he is surprised that his doubt got into the words that he is saying.
"You don't think it's good?" I ask worriedly.
"No, it really is good," he stammers.
"What's wrong with it?" I ask, sitting down.
He flips through it before looking me straight in the eyes, "There is nothing of you in here," he confesses.
"It's an academic paper, not an autobiography," I remind him.
"I know, but…" he says with a shrug.
I dig out my paper on God being a Goa'uld, and set it before him. He starts to read it, and I go to check on the kids. When I've returned he's done reading, and I'm afraid that he hates it.
"Sha'uri, did I make you hate God?"
"You, husband," I say, trying to explain the complexities. "I love Jesus," I confess, even though this doesn't begin to explain how I feel about God. His forehead wrinkles, "I'm sorry, husband, that paper was crazy. But don't worry, I was not about to tarnish your reputation. I have no intention of actually publishing it."
"My reputation? I published crazier stuff than this, Sha're. But you couldn't publish it, it's classified."
"I know," I mutter.
"But it's good. It's everything a thesis should be. A surprising and controversial proposition that you support with evidence and a logical argument. And you are all over it. It's shaped by your brain. You put your heart and soul into it."
"And just like your best work, it is something that can never be published," I say with a sigh.
"What you need to do is take this one," he says, picking up my thesis, "And insert the voice you have in this one," he says, picking up the paper on God being a Goa'uld in the other hand.
"I tried to find him," I say.
Daniel's face is confused for a couple seconds, then it flashes understanding, "You mean you tried to find God?"
I laugh a little.
"I know what you are doing is nothing like what most people are doing when they say they are 'finding God'."
"I couldn't do it, Daniel."
"If he was a Goa'uld, he's probably been dead for thousands of years."
"Just like the other people in classical mythology. You know… Hathor, Ra, people like that. Daniel, I'm… not as versatile as you," I tell him softly.
"Are you kidding? You're the one who totally changed her culture."
I shake my head, "Daniel, I can't fight Goa'uld's. That's the most important part of your job and I suck at it."
He lifts up my chin with his hand so my eyes are forced to meet his. "Sha're, you are amazing! You are a better anthropologist that I am. You are an amazing linguist and you've learned almost as many languages as I did in my whole life in a single decade. And I don't really fight Goa'uld. That's mostly the job of, well, everyone but me. And you don't have to be like me. I don't even want you to be like me. I don't want to be married to myself. I want you to be you, because, and it bears repeating, you are amazing."
"Most of that was exaggeration, except for your military skills, and those were understated."
"Sha're, I couldn't have found Jesus in Israel, either. When we find Goa'ulds, it's becomes they come to us, or brainwash us, or capture us. I've never even attempted to search the entire region for a God's tomb."
"I wasn't searching for Jesus' tomb, I was searching for God's."
"Is there a difference?"
I nod.
"Sha'uri, church has become a little bit more than research to you hasn't it?"
"I'm sorry, husband," I say.
"Oh, Sha'uri, don't ever apologize for who you are." He looks really uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, Sha'uri."
"For what?" I ask.
"We've been married for years and you still don't feel like someone else. You are trying to live in my shadow. Honey, you can be whoever you want to be. You need to start making your own choices."
"I did, when you were dead," I say.
"Well, if I have to die again to free you…" he begins. I clutch onto his hand desperately. "I'm sorry, bad joke," he says. "But the point remains. You have to start being your own person, and if I am getting in the way of that, I am going to have to find a way to stop being in your way."
"You're not in my way," I tell him.
"And you're not going to start trying to fight Goa'uld?" he asks.
I shake my head, "Good, because our kids do need one parent who has a safe job."
"And you are going to do your best not to die again, right?"
