I think of him always the same way. The memory catches up to me so often,
these days – even though it's been too many years to bear thinking about.
I'll round a corner and suddenly, he's there, springing into my mind as
clearly as if I had seen him yesterday.
He's smiling, full out. He always had a beautiful smile, that patented there-and-gone-again, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, flash-in-the-pan Daniel grin. Only this time his smile stretches right across his face, and stays there. He's looking right at me, and his eyes are so clear. So full of light. He's beautiful in that moment, despite the scrape on his cheek, the shredded and bloody uniform, the mangled left arm. Beautiful because of the look on his face. Peaceful. Triumphant. Free.
I remember him that way, and try and keep my mind from spiralling on. It's a futile exercise. Even now, I find myself gasping for breath, sitting down, clutching my fists to my eyes. I can't stop the memory from sliding to its inevitable conclusion. His right arm reaches forward, slowly, as if he is reaching through thick jelly. He isn't looking – his eyes still hold mine, smile gone. Traces of it still flicker in his face. He holds it still, hovering, for a second. Then his palm comes down on the lighted section of the panel in front of him.
For an instant, nothing seems to happen. I want to shout with joy, scream, yell – "come back, come back" - and then the screen goes blank. He's gone.
I realized later that second was nothing but an afterimage supplied by the surveillance system as it tried to compensate for the loss of information. That even as my heart leapt, it was already too late. He was dead the second his palm came down on that panel, along with the majority of the System Lords. Dead before he left base even, with that secret determination in his heart. Dead by his own hand.
Oh, good lord, it haunts me. That he wore that smile. That his eyes were so clear. He has been gone for so long, so many years, and still I ask myself, over and over, these answerless questions. Was this my fault? Should I not have seen? Not have known? How could I have missed something in him so dark that he would smile so?
We were on that planet for three days before the ships came, and he had been back for two whole months before then. I saw nothing. Heard nothing.
Everyone on base was so happy to have him back, we never looked any further. I was so happy. We thought he had come back to rejoin the fight, stay by our sides, help the team. Whatever. But all the time he was there, he was planning out his own death. We were just the means by which he could accomplish his long goal. Daniel had known of the meeting. He saw an opportunity to destroy them all. He planned it all out. Executed it perfectly. But he had to have known there was no way he would make it out. That he would die in that place.
In the months after I went through every gambit of emotions. Grief. Despair. Anger. Hatred, a bit. Joy, even – for once again we had a chance in this war. Daniel had given us that chance.
They put up on a monument to him. Carved words that spoke of his heroism, his sacrifice. I can't bear to look at it, for that wasn't what it was. That wasn't what he was.
Shin tel gertath, Teal'c called it. The highest coinage. The warrior's gambit that demands the ultimate price – to take your enemy's life at the expense of your own.
But even Teal'c did not understand Daniel fully. I do. I think now, after all and finally, I understand him.
He was a strong person. Strong-willed, I should say. And stubborn – the most stubborn person I ever met. Once Daniel made up his mind to do something – well, it got done, to say the least. That's what made him such a valuable member of the SGC.
It also made him a bit of a loose cannon, and speaking as someone who loved Daniel dearly, I probably name it kinder than most. Daniel always did what he felt was right. Always. No matter the consequences. No matter the cost. And he judged the universe, and the world, to the same kind of exacting standards. What was right. What was just. How things should be.
And that's what killed him, bit by bit, day by day. I told myself at the time that the shadows in his eyes were reflections of his sadnesses, those pains he gathered as he moved through life and lost things. His family. His wife. Sometimes it seemed life was bound and determined to take everything from Daniel that ever mattered to him. Even Abydos was destroyed as though it had never been.
But at the same time Daniel was strong. Strong enough to survive all that and all the stress and pain that came from being a part of the SGC, strong enough to carry on. And I thought he had us – his team. I thought – I hoped that was enough.
I never realized how much it chip-chipped away at him, this universe that continually failed to live up to his expectations. Even himself, setting those standards so impossibly high, falling flat, gathering strength to somehow, indescribably, stand on his feet and try again. And failing. Always, always failing to be more, to do more, to achieve more. To when it would be okay. To when it would be enough.
Oh, Daniel, enough. I saw that in his eyes in my dreams for so long, that relief. That relief that there would be no more gathering of strength, after this, to try again. That he had done all he could – not that it was enough, or could ever be enough – but that, at the end, there was nothing at all left to give. Daniel. Oh, Daniel, who died and it wasn't enough even then, for you, it was never, ever, ever enough.
I remember him now, and always, in that same way. Lightness and darkness, passion and fire and compassion and strength and an unwillingness, ever, to forgive himself for being flawed and mortal and oh, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.
Oh, Daniel, if I could speak to you now in the mists of time I would say; the harshest pains are those we clutch alone at night. Your darknesses we all shared, Daniel. Oh, forgive yourself and let go of your anguish, you did the best that you could. You did the best that you could, Daniel. You were impatient. You rushed in without thinking. You were careless and curious and slipped for a moment, now and then, and Sha're was taken and died and Skaara fell fighting for your cause and Apophis carried his knowledge of the child out into the world through the fires of death, and just because you could not have been all knowing and all compassionate does not mean that you failed them.
There were so many other reasons, Daniel, and no one is to blame. You did the best that you could, just like the Universe and all of us in it. We are none of us perfect and just. We can only try, Daniel. We're just doing our best. We are all of us, just trying to do our best.
He's smiling, full out. He always had a beautiful smile, that patented there-and-gone-again, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, flash-in-the-pan Daniel grin. Only this time his smile stretches right across his face, and stays there. He's looking right at me, and his eyes are so clear. So full of light. He's beautiful in that moment, despite the scrape on his cheek, the shredded and bloody uniform, the mangled left arm. Beautiful because of the look on his face. Peaceful. Triumphant. Free.
I remember him that way, and try and keep my mind from spiralling on. It's a futile exercise. Even now, I find myself gasping for breath, sitting down, clutching my fists to my eyes. I can't stop the memory from sliding to its inevitable conclusion. His right arm reaches forward, slowly, as if he is reaching through thick jelly. He isn't looking – his eyes still hold mine, smile gone. Traces of it still flicker in his face. He holds it still, hovering, for a second. Then his palm comes down on the lighted section of the panel in front of him.
For an instant, nothing seems to happen. I want to shout with joy, scream, yell – "come back, come back" - and then the screen goes blank. He's gone.
I realized later that second was nothing but an afterimage supplied by the surveillance system as it tried to compensate for the loss of information. That even as my heart leapt, it was already too late. He was dead the second his palm came down on that panel, along with the majority of the System Lords. Dead before he left base even, with that secret determination in his heart. Dead by his own hand.
Oh, good lord, it haunts me. That he wore that smile. That his eyes were so clear. He has been gone for so long, so many years, and still I ask myself, over and over, these answerless questions. Was this my fault? Should I not have seen? Not have known? How could I have missed something in him so dark that he would smile so?
We were on that planet for three days before the ships came, and he had been back for two whole months before then. I saw nothing. Heard nothing.
Everyone on base was so happy to have him back, we never looked any further. I was so happy. We thought he had come back to rejoin the fight, stay by our sides, help the team. Whatever. But all the time he was there, he was planning out his own death. We were just the means by which he could accomplish his long goal. Daniel had known of the meeting. He saw an opportunity to destroy them all. He planned it all out. Executed it perfectly. But he had to have known there was no way he would make it out. That he would die in that place.
In the months after I went through every gambit of emotions. Grief. Despair. Anger. Hatred, a bit. Joy, even – for once again we had a chance in this war. Daniel had given us that chance.
They put up on a monument to him. Carved words that spoke of his heroism, his sacrifice. I can't bear to look at it, for that wasn't what it was. That wasn't what he was.
Shin tel gertath, Teal'c called it. The highest coinage. The warrior's gambit that demands the ultimate price – to take your enemy's life at the expense of your own.
But even Teal'c did not understand Daniel fully. I do. I think now, after all and finally, I understand him.
He was a strong person. Strong-willed, I should say. And stubborn – the most stubborn person I ever met. Once Daniel made up his mind to do something – well, it got done, to say the least. That's what made him such a valuable member of the SGC.
It also made him a bit of a loose cannon, and speaking as someone who loved Daniel dearly, I probably name it kinder than most. Daniel always did what he felt was right. Always. No matter the consequences. No matter the cost. And he judged the universe, and the world, to the same kind of exacting standards. What was right. What was just. How things should be.
And that's what killed him, bit by bit, day by day. I told myself at the time that the shadows in his eyes were reflections of his sadnesses, those pains he gathered as he moved through life and lost things. His family. His wife. Sometimes it seemed life was bound and determined to take everything from Daniel that ever mattered to him. Even Abydos was destroyed as though it had never been.
But at the same time Daniel was strong. Strong enough to survive all that and all the stress and pain that came from being a part of the SGC, strong enough to carry on. And I thought he had us – his team. I thought – I hoped that was enough.
I never realized how much it chip-chipped away at him, this universe that continually failed to live up to his expectations. Even himself, setting those standards so impossibly high, falling flat, gathering strength to somehow, indescribably, stand on his feet and try again. And failing. Always, always failing to be more, to do more, to achieve more. To when it would be okay. To when it would be enough.
Oh, Daniel, enough. I saw that in his eyes in my dreams for so long, that relief. That relief that there would be no more gathering of strength, after this, to try again. That he had done all he could – not that it was enough, or could ever be enough – but that, at the end, there was nothing at all left to give. Daniel. Oh, Daniel, who died and it wasn't enough even then, for you, it was never, ever, ever enough.
I remember him now, and always, in that same way. Lightness and darkness, passion and fire and compassion and strength and an unwillingness, ever, to forgive himself for being flawed and mortal and oh, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.
Oh, Daniel, if I could speak to you now in the mists of time I would say; the harshest pains are those we clutch alone at night. Your darknesses we all shared, Daniel. Oh, forgive yourself and let go of your anguish, you did the best that you could. You did the best that you could, Daniel. You were impatient. You rushed in without thinking. You were careless and curious and slipped for a moment, now and then, and Sha're was taken and died and Skaara fell fighting for your cause and Apophis carried his knowledge of the child out into the world through the fires of death, and just because you could not have been all knowing and all compassionate does not mean that you failed them.
There were so many other reasons, Daniel, and no one is to blame. You did the best that you could, just like the Universe and all of us in it. We are none of us perfect and just. We can only try, Daniel. We're just doing our best. We are all of us, just trying to do our best.