It was past ten o'clock when Jack O'Neill climbed the six flights of stairs to Daniel's apartment.  His place was nice enough, in a good neighbourhood, but it had no elevator.  Jack had a sneaking suspicion that Daniel liked it that way.  It was hell on his knees, but tonight he was too anxious to notice.  Hammond had told him this afternoon about Daniel's forced leave, but that wasn't what he was worried about.  What concerned him was that he'd left the base without so much as a word to anyone.  A stable Daniel Jackson didn't leave the base with a half–finished translation and a cup of coffee still on his desk.  Jack had left several messages on Daniel's answering machine, before he was unable to get through.  So here he was, checking in with his wayward archaeologist. 

Jack hadn't been surprised at Daniel's behaviour after Sha're's death as some of the other's had.  He was worried about him, but not surprised.  Worrying about Daniel had seemed to be a full time job for all of them recently.  Teal'c locked himself in his quarters in endless sessions of Kel'no'reem, Sam fretted endlessly, following Daniel around the hallways, and Jack was just plain concerned.  He remembered the look in Daniel's eyes that first time on Abydos, after Sha're had been gunned down by that Jaffa.  His desperate pain, his frantic disbelief, and that was after he'd only known her two days.  He couldn't imagine what he was going through now, but he wasn't going to leave him alone for it.

The door to Daniel's apartment was locked, and Jack knew there was no way Daniel was going to answer it.  He managed to jimmy the lock, for his own good, Jack reassured himself.  Instantly he was struck by the look of the living room, usually kept in meticulous order, artefacts adorning the walls and bookcases.  But the floor was littered with shards of glass and porcelain, paper and dark stains.  The phone lay on the floor, its cord ripped from the wall.  Daniel Jackson sat in the middle of it, on the couch with his head slumped.  The half full bottle of liquor on the table and the glass in his grip didn't escape Jack's notice, nor did the bloodstained napkin that was wrapped around his other hand. 

Tentatively, Jack stepped through the mess on the floor and stopped by the couch.  Not too close, he thought, not yet.  "Daniel?" he asked softly, hoping to rouse his friend in the gentlest possible way.  When Daniel lifted his head, Jack was struck by the haggard look on his face.  Bright blue eyes stared out at him blankly from red and swollen rims.  Dried tears dotted his face as his mouth twisted to let out a horrible, choking laugh.  "Jack!" he cried, "You can't ever leave it alone, can you?" he drawled.  Jack expected him to be angry.  Lord knows he hadn't wanted to see anyone after Charlie's death.  Daniel was probably furious he had come, especially after he had been the one to let him down.  We'll find her, Daniel.  I promise.  It had been purely meant to comfort him at the time, but Jack knew now he never should have said it.  Daniel had believed it, believed in him and he hadn't delivered.  Yeah, Jack was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. 

"Colonel Jack, come to fix poor Daniel's broken heart" he slurred, and Jack noticed immediately that Daniel was dead drunk.  "Well I'll let you in on something, O'Neill with two l's" he continued.  "It's not something you can cello-tape back together.  The pieces are scattered to the wind" he waved his arm and lost half of his drink to the floor.  "Like Osiris" he added as an afterthought.  Jack slowly lowered himself to the arm of the couch, still a safe distance from where Daniel sat. 

"How much have you had, Daniel?" the last thing he needed was alcohol poisoning on top of everything else.  "Wellll…" Daniel started, discarding his almost empty glass in favour of the bottle.  "I started with wine…but that didn't really work so good…well…whatever.  The rum was okay, the whisky even better.  But the vodka…the vodka is perfect.  Dries me out, you see.  No more tears" he pointed clumsily to his wet cheeks.  All the while, Jack edged closer, until he was seated next to Daniel on the couch.  "Daniel…" he began, reaching for the bottle, "I know what you're going through".  With a resolute smash, the bottle of vodka shattered against the apartment wall, leaving it's contents dripping onto the floor.  "No you don't!" Daniel cried as he jumped away from him, backing away from the couch shaking his head.  "You don't know a thing about what I'm going through". 

Daniel seethed with anger, and began to pace the room.  "You think you understand…you think you know…but you don't.  You have no idea!"  As suddenly as it had appeared, his anger dissipated, and Daniel slumped onto the couch opposite.  "She's dead" he sobbed, his head resting between two hands.  "She's dead, Jack" he said, raising his head slightly "And I killed her".  Jack recognised this…a drunken self-pity he had seen so often in himself.  He moved to sit on the table, directly facing the broken man before him.  "It wasn't your fault, Daniel" he tried to reason, even though he knew it wouldn't do much good.  "For so long after…Charlie, I knew I'd killed him.  My gun.  My arrogance.  But it was an accident".  Daniel turned to look at him, a strange smile on his face, "But Sha're wasn't an accident, Jack.  Teal'c may have shot her, but I'm the one who killed her".  He hauled himself up again from the couch and walked to the other side of the room, pulling a fresh bottle of vodka from the cabinet. 

"I left her there, Jack.  I left her in that pyramid to get captured and tortured and…" fresh tears formed in his eyes as he choked the words out.  "It was my fault".

"Daniel" Jack moved order to rest a hand on the younger man's shoulder.  "You never stop blaming yourself" he said gently.  "You never feel any less guilty, but it does get better.  It takes time…but it does get better".  He stood there, a reassuring hand on Daniel's shoulder, listening to his ragged breath, watching his chest rise and fall.  Eventually, he reached to pry the alcohol bottle from Daniel's limp grasp, pleased that he didn't put up a fight.  They stood in silence for a few long moments before Daniel spoke, his voice much calmer now.  "Remember when you told me that sometimes you could forget?" he said.  Jack nodded in the affirmative, he remembered that night well.  "That's what I fear most" Daniel admitted.  "Forgetting.  That after a while I'll forget the exact colour of her eyes, the smell of her hair, her laugh.  I'll forget what it was like to hold her, the way she used to scold me when I stayed out in the desert too long, and how I made it up to her". 

"Daniel…"

"I know, Jack, I know.  'It's healthy to hold onto those memories'.  But what if I can't?  What if I wake up one morning and all I can remember is that there was once a woman I loved?"  Daniel stumbled over to the couch and collapsed onto it, hands coming up to cover his face.  The bandage around his palm was brought to Jack's attention.  Leaving the Daniel on the couch for a moment, Jack went into the kitchen and rummaged around in search for some soft of first aid kit.  Jack settled for a wet rag, some antiseptic and a fresh bandage. 

Returning to the living room, Jack sat himself next to Daniel, who was in the same position as he'd been left.  Carefully, Jack pried Daniel's injured hand away from his face, relieved when he didn't protest.  Fresh tears had formed on his face, but he made no effort to wipe them away.  Jack had only seen Daniel cry once before, recovering from his sarcophagus addiction, and the similarities to his present state were striking.  Pushing those unpleasant thoughts from his mind, Jack focussed and cleaning Daniel's hand.  Carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandage, Jack winced as he saw the cut up flesh of Daniel's palm.  "Jesus, Daniel, what happened?" he questioned.  Daniel remained silent, but a quick glance around the room was more than enough proof.  Shattered glass lay in small piles across the floor and near the walls, and it wasn't too hard to conclude that Daniel had taken his anger out on his glassware. 

It appeared Daniel hadn't paid too much attention to his injury, probably thanks to the natural dulling effects of the alcohol he had consumed.  He didn't even flinch as Jack removed a shard of bloody glass from his palm, or when he poured a generous amount of antiseptic over the wound and fresh blood appeared.  The pair sat in silence for several minutes, Daniel staring vacantly into space while Jack attended to his wound.  He seemed to be sobering up ever so slightly, Jack noticed happily, at the very least he was past the irritability and anger.

Daniel brought his hand up to view his freshly treated wound.  Staring at the bandage, Daniel took a deep breathe.  "Sha're used to laugh at me" he finally managed to say.  "Said she never knew a man who got into trouble as often as me".  A soft almost-smile graced his lips as he continued to stare at his hand.  "She was always having to treat one injury or another – a bruise from falling down a rockshaft, a cut from trying to reign a wild mastage.  She used to laugh – and I swore the sound was from heaven".  Jack smiled, pleased he was at least opening up about Sha're.  Daniel had never told him much about their time together, and Jack never asked.  But he knew from experience that it was best to think about the good times – it was the only thing that kept you sane. 

The two men sat in a companionable silence for a while until Daniel asked suddenly "Have you ever been happy, Jack?"  He was surprised a little, but answered a little too quickly "Of course I've been happy".  Daniel was suddenly energised again, sitting up rigidly, grasping Jack's forearms until he swore there were going to be bruises forming.  "No, I mean really happy" he said, a note of desperation in his voice.  "So happy that you couldn't even imagine, so that every moment felt like a dream that you didn't deserve".  Daniel released his grip on Jack and broke down again, tears brimming in his eyes, his face crumpling in despair as he lost the energy to hold himself upright.  His head fell heavily onto Jack's shoulder, and he cried into his jacket.  Jack let him stay there, patting him soothingly on the back, even though the position was uncomfortable as hell.  "But I woke up" he barely heard Daniel mumble into his shirt.  "I woke up".

Heaving an unconscious Daniel into bed was not easy task.  The younger man had managed to pass out some time ago, but not without crying enough tears to fill the Nile.  At least he was over the worst of it, Jack comforted himself.  He was past the numbness and the despair, the uncontrollable anger at the world and at himself.  He'd be fine…eventually.  Only bothering to remove Daniel's shoes, Jack dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed and pulled the covers around him.  With any luck, he'd sleep it off.  Which is what Jack planned to do…as soon as he was finished by the bomb site that was Daniel's living room.  He sighed as we worked his way through the piles of glass and porcelain.  At least he'd managed only to break his kitchenware it seemed, along with a few glasses.  Most of the artefacts in Daniel's collection remained untouched.  Right, Jack thought, so he'll have nothing to eat or drink with but he can keep the archaeological ambience of the room. 

 Sorting though some of the piles of paper, Jack soon came across some ratted parchment amidst the field reports and junk mail.  It was written in Abydonian, but it wasn't Daniel's hand.  It was decidedly feminine, it must be Sha're's, Jack concluded.  Yep, definitely Sha're's he decided, noticing the smudges in the ink which were obviously tear stains.  Daniel must have had it in his robes, tucked away somewhere when he came back to Earth, a keepsake from Abydos.  It could be a letter, a writing lesson, or something as simple as a shopping list, Jack chuckled.  But now it was part of Daniel's memory, the only thing he really had of her.  He couldn't keep the clothes she had been wearing, they were Amaunet's, as well as being tainted by a huge gaping blast hole in the chest.  Jack abandoned his cleaning and sank down onto the couch, staring at the small piece of paper in sorrow.  Things would never be the same, for Daniel, or for the rest of SG-1.  The ghost of Daniel's wife, rather than the ghost of Daniel's hope, would haunt his team forever.