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Resurrection
by Sally Murphy
How hard is it to have a life? I tried having one once, but with the wrong man. But fate gave me another chance... and then laughed in my face and said, 'fuck you, sucker!'
How long am I going to lay on this couch, watching mindless TV? I can't find the strength to get up to... do anything. I'm depressed, I know this. My friends know it. I don't give a shit anymore. God, I miss him.
Six weeks have went by, but I still haven't pulled out of this. Hammond's taken charge of the base again, and he's been persistent in trying to get me to return to work. To life. And Pete... I can't face him. I'm afraid I'd tell him how I'm really feeling... I'd break his heart. Can't say how I'd feel about that, since I think I'm pretty empty.
Two months, and Daniel's making himself a nuisance. One more phone call or message, and I think I'm going to fucking kill him. Teal'c just leaves me alone. He's like Jack, understanding grief... I love you, Daniel, but leave me alone. Just for a little while longer.
General Hammond's said time's up. I can't return yet, though. Just leave me alone.
Daniel and Teal'c have stopped by to tell me the General's going to put me on medical leave. This is going to fuck up my record, but I don't give a shit. I probably will later.
They found his body. Four fucking months later, and they finally found his body.
Why can't people just leave me alone?
I yelled at Pete. I broke his heart. I broke up with him, but shredded his heart in the process. I'll let you know when i care. God I'm a bitch.
The Asgard say they can bring him back. I say you're a lying piece of shit. Whatever you'll bring back, it won't be the Jack O'Neill we know and love. I love you, Jack.
He's back. I can't... he's standing in my living room. I feel like I'm going to throw up. This isn't him.
The Asgard say it's him. Jack says it's him. You can't bring back the dead. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I already lost my soul.. a matching set now.
I'm seeing Doctor Barren now. I laughed at her name, telling her it fits with my being. She says I'm depressed. Duh!
Six months ago Jack O'Neill died. So did I.
Six months and two weeks, I'm beginning my ressurection. So did Jack.
Eight months ago I died. Eight months and 11 days have passed, and I can live again.
Jack and I are together. Now it sticks.
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