Title: Memories

Season: None. Future.

Spoilers: COTG - minor one, nothing big.

Rating: G

Archiving: Heliopolis, Samandjack, fanfic.net - others please ask.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG1 and its characters are property of Stargate (II) productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and absolutely no money was exchanged. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and story are property of the author. This story may not be posted anywhere else without the consent of the author.

Authors Note: A differnet kind of story to my usual. Enjoy and feedback is welcome.

-o0o-

My very first memory, my very first image of life, was running along a hot concrete path in Florida, chasing my brother towards the beach and the relief of the cool water. I was giggling, my blonde hair waving in the sun, and I knew that I was safe, secure and loved. My parents were behind me, calling out to my brother to watch over me, to keep me safe until they reached the ocean. I didn't care. I could feel the hot concrete on my feet, the sun on my hair and skin and the breeze snapping at my bright blue swimming costume. I was in heaven. I was three.

My worst memory is of my mother dying. My father's face as he told me the news. His voice breaking as he was over come with grief. My heart breaking as I realised he told the truth. The cookies crumbling as they fell to the floor and my scream echoing around the kitchen as I collapsed to the floor, the tears running down my cheeks. I was in hell. I was fourteen.

My fondest memory, the one I hold dearest to my heart, is the day I met Jack. His face when I walked in and he realised that 'Sam' was a woman. His smile when I threatened to arm-wrestle him. His smart-alec comments about my profession. His presence. My face flushing when he caught me staring. My eyes going dry when I refused to blink and miss a second of that fascinating face. I was in love. I was thirty.

My funniest memory is of my wedding. Of Jack and Daniel arriving late and muddied. Of Teal'c frowning as he watched his friends run towards me down the aisle, of Jack's guilty expression turning to one of wonder and amazement as he caught sight of me in my dress. My heart skipping as we repeated our vows. Our wedding photographer's face as we insisted that Jack and Daniel didn't need to change, that being married in his cam's was perfectly alright by all of us. And of catching Janet and Siler kissing in a dark corner of the reception. I was married. I was thirty-eight.

My most triumphant memory is when we defeated our enemy and were free from the threat of invasion. When we finally won the war. When we could go home once and for all and know that we would not be called upon to leave ever again. When our missions would not end in death or destruction. When the world knew of our work and we were applauded and thanked for our efforts. I was free. I was forty-five.

My sappiest memory is when I became a grandmother. The tiny child I held in my arms, as Jack held me. The blue, blue eyes that looked up at me, and my daughter's voice telling me she was calling her after my mother, calling her June. Of my son-in-law watching us all with a small smile on his face, and a cigar in his pocket. I was a 'gran'. I was sixty-four.

And now, my last memory. Or at least, what I hope to be my last memory. The last one I ever hope to remember. My Jack, dying. Our beds close together as he coughs and splutters through each spasm. The years of hard work and fitness of no benefit to him as he struggles for breath, trying to beat this disease. Quitting was never something Jack did well. He retired four times before finally doing it right . This is nothing different. I watch and I wait, knowing my symptoms have not developed to this stage. Knowing that they will. Knowing if he loses the battle to stay with me until the end, I will not be far behind him.

I am eighty-four.

I am alone.

But not for long.

And I am content

-fin-