If he tries he can remember that first rush of pleasure at Sha’re’s touch. The first time they kissed, the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin.

For a time, she was all he knew of love.

He tends towards abstracts, it’s the way he’s been taught, the way he synthesizes knowledge and sees connections between complex societies and colonies of African fruit flies.

It was what he’d done on Abydos, learning their stories, their history. He’d have gladly immersed himself in their ruins, learning their culture, lost himself completely. Sha’re forced him into the present, the here and now. The feel of her, her weight upon his chest, her hand on his arm, the smallest brush of her hair. She was real, she was human, and she loved him.

Her death still weighs heavily upon him. Even when he doesn’t try to think of it, even when he barely remembers her face.

Then came SG-1, Teal’c and Sam. They rise unbidden in his mind, smoke and fire, an eery silence. Teal’c’s stern, dark face. His warm, unfailing devotion and trust. The calm that seemed to seep from him in dark, quiet rivers, even in his anger. Sam’s bright, quick mind. The laughter that rose in her, spread among them. Their ability, their willingness to drag him out from behind his desk, his ruin, his notes. Make him live, experience. Their arms around his shoulders, their hands on his back, his arm. They were real, they were human, they loved him.

Two holes, round and perfect, punched into his soul, aching and torn.

Now the emptiness, the sense of loss and being lost, bubbles up inside him, a silent stream begging to break free. The General- Newcomer, he’d said- welcomed him back, let him through the ‘gate again, but Daniel isn’t sure he belongs.

The hallway is empty. He’s wearing their clothes, staying in their base, he doesn’t have a home. Who took care of his apartment? He can’t even remember what he owned anymore, what his furniture looked like.

Footsteps behind him. Jack. He doesn’t have to try to remember Jack, the hideous well of sadness when they first met, the painful memories of his son not far enough behind him. His voice, broken and pleading, when they last spoke. Daniel couldn’t see him then, spoke into the MALP, feeling ridiculous and angry and so very guilty.

“C’mon,” Jack says, his hand rests lightly on Daniel’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

How much time had changed him, the pepper of his hair only visible in small patches near his neck and crown. The pain in his eyes, his voice is lessened now, dampened by time and distance. Daniel knows seeing him reminds Jack. Daniel wishes he’d never come back.

Home is different. Daniel saw his Sarah home only once, in a farewell party Jack threw for his men. None of them knew if they’d survive the mission. Jack hadn’t wanted to. That house had been cold, empty, not fitting for a party and their laughter, their idle chatter echoed oddly around still rooms.

It isn’t his Jack home, the second house. That one had Teal’c and Sam in every room, every corner. Their voices ringing through the rooms even when they weren’t there, as his probably had.

A new house, a completely different house near the lake outside of town. Teal’c and Sam aren’t in this house. Jack sits him on the couch, blue this time, not the brown it was before. New furniture. “Beer?” Jack asks, as he heads toward the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for a reply.

Strains of music, an aria that Daniel doesn’t recognize float in from the other room. He never liked sopranos.

“What have you been up to?” he asks.

Jack comes back into the room, a beer in each hand. He hands one to Daniel. “This and that,” he says, shrugging. He takes a pull off the bottle. “Lake’s no good for fishing, but I’ve got an awesome view of the stars.”

“You retired, why’d you stay here?”

Jack shrugs, leans back into the well worn pillows. “I knew you’d be back.”

“I didn’t.” Daniel sips his beer, lets the cold foam slip down his throat. He looks at the pictures Jack has on his wall. Pictures of them.

Jack lets him be silent for a time, but not long enough. “Nobody blames you.”

“Teal’c and Sam are dead, I’m alive. Who else is there to blame?”

“The goa’uld? The jaffa? Fate? The universe?”

“Multiple choice.”

Jack shrugs, takes a drink. “The right answer was always c.” He contemplates the beer for a moment, reading the label as if it might have the right answer, which isn’t ever c. “Where did you go?” he finally asks.

“Here and there.” Daniel feels Jack’s anger, it’s a force in the room, knows it’s for him, about him. But Jack won’t show it. “I checked in on a few people. Harlan says hi.”

“Harlan? Is there another little Daniel-clone running around?”

“No. More to the point, no Teal’c or Sam clone to bring back with me.” Jack doesn’t answer, and Daniel won’t meet his eyes. Doesn’t want to see what Jack might be thinking, what Jack might have hoped. “He wouldn’t,” Daniel whispers, reliving the disappointment, the bitter taste of another failure.

“God, Daniel.” He feels Jack’s hand near his leg, hovering over him like so much splintered glass, wondering if he might bleed should he touch Daniel, make contact. He touches him anyway, his hand warm and firm on Daniel’s knee. “What happened? That day.”

Daniel doesn’t have to work to remember this. Light, laughter, Teal’c’s deep, solemn voice. Then a flash of heat, a shadow covering the sun. “We were attacked,” he says. “They came from nowhere, from out of.... They were all around us. We never had a chance.”

He doesn’t finish, doesn’t tell Jack about how they fell on him, their bodies thick and heavy, still smoldering from the blast. Doesn’t tell Jack about the moments he spent dazed, staring blankly up at the sky, wondering at the weight upon him, the dazzling heat and light.

Jack’s hand, warm and firm on his knee, moves up to cup his shoulder, his neck. “Daniel.” Jack’s breath over his cheek.

Daniel doesn’t have to tell him. He knows.

Jack kisses his cheek, his neck, his mouth when Daniel turns to him. Jack’s bedroom is different, but his bed is the same. New sheets, new spread, same mattress, same frame. The body pressing him down, holding him against the dark, the night, is older, rougher, smoother in some places, but it’s the same. Daniel’s hands grip Jack’s, pull him closer and deeper, into him.

Sometimes it isn’t enough to remember, sometimes it’s enough to forget.