Jack stood at the foot of the bed, hands deep in pockets, staring at the woman lying in front of him. She still looked so beautiful. So alive. He wasn't sure if this was worse, or better than if she had been marked. At least, if she'd bled, or burnt, he'd have a reminder that she was gone. Like this, she just looked like she was sleeping.

He'd done this so many times before. Sat by her bed, watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake up. For hours, sometimes. Just watching her peaceful face come back to life, listening to the monitors register her heartbeat. Just like he was doing now.

Except, she wasn't going to wake up this time.

He glanced at the clock. Three hours ago they'd been in her lab. He'd stolen coffee for her from Daniel's lab, and ordered her to stop work for a moment, and she had. He'd been telling her the story of the theft, making it sound like a top secret mission, and she'd been laughing. He'd enjoyed it, the glow of her face, the sound of her giggle. Somewhere inside him, he'd been thinking 'I bet Pete doesn't make her laugh like this'. Somewhere inside of him there'd still been hope. He'd remembered her slightly absent, sad expression when she'd come in that morning, and how that had gone now, and he'd thought 'there's still a chance'. He'd been happy, and she had been too, and it was another perfect moment with her to remember, and treasure, and build dreams on.

Ten minutes later, she was dead.

It was his fault. Once he started to shut the blast doors, he should have kept an eye on her, knowing she would try to get back in there to save her precious work. He should have been quicker to grab her as she slipped in through the gap. He should have found the right words to order her out of there. He should have kept silent, not disturbed her concentration. He should have ripped the door open, found a way to override the lock she'd activated inside. He should have been in there with her.

He should have saved her. That had been his only cause, the last few years. For everything. Saving her. Protecting her.

He'd failed.

Every time she'd gone on a mission without him, he'd been slightly prepared for this to happen. He'd dreaded it, and ignored the possibility, and put his faith in Teal'c and Daniel to protect her, but he partly expected her to come back dead. But here, on base, under his eye, under his protection, he never expected her to come to any harm.

Sam's death was his fault.

Davis stood in the doorway of the infirmary. He dared not go in. All he saw, at first, was Sam, lying on the bed. She still looked alive. He watched her a second, aware this was the last time he'd ever see her.

Then he saw Jack, standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at Sam. His hands were rammed in his pockets, and he didn't move. The light on his face made him look drawn and old.

'He's dying.' Davis suddenly thought. Jack turned to face him, and Davis stammered,

"I'm sorry...I need Shanahan's address."

Jack nodded.

"I'll tell him." He said. Davis winced.

"No, Sir, you don't have to..."

"I do." Jack said. "It's my job, she was under my command, I was there, a hundred good reasons why I should tell him, so I will, ok? Just give me a minute."

Davis nodded, and stepped away from the doorway, leaving Jack alone.

Jack went to the side of the bed, to the stool Janet had always placed there for him when Sam was here, and that he'd had to ask Brightman for. He reached out, hesitating for a second, then ran his fingers through the bright hair.

"I love you." He said softly. Then he bent down and kissed her, once, on the forehead. Then he left, to tell the man who's ring she wore that she was gone.