Why?

"Why, Colonel?"

I've managed to avoid the question all day, but what do I say to her now? Daniel, Teal'c, and the General left minutes ago, but it's apparent that she has no intention of following them. In her mind, we have an unfinished conversation to complete – about things I'm not particularly eager to discuss. I don't want her last memory of me to have been my anger, or my hurt. She doesn't need that.

But she has questions she wants answered, and how do I answer them? The truth, while honorable, is not an option. How could I put that burden on her? She wants to know why I accepted the download -- volunteered for it, actually -- over sacrificing the knowledge contained there or letting one of the other members of my team take the information into themselves.

What I said to Daniel that day was strategically correct. If it had been him, there wouldn't be anybody left to translate what the host was saying once the knowledge began to take over. Thinking on it, I wonder why he never took it upon himself to teach others what he's learned. When I see him on Monday, I'll have to ask him about training some of the other geeks at the SGC.

Then there was Teal'c. But the device wouldn't accept him, we knew that from our first experience. That left me or Carter, and how could I sacrifice her? Her mind, which the world so often relied on for survival. And, more importantly to me, at least, her heart, her soul, her self. The SGC can't survive without her, I'm convinced, and I, personally, wouldn't want to.

Which brings me to the other reason – the stronger reason - that I made the choice I did. The reason that I can't possibly share with her, no matter how often she asks. I know now that I could not survive without her presence at my side. Unfortunately, it's become clear that she does not feel the same. She's moved on, found somebody else.

So if somebody has to be sacrificed, I choose myself. I don't want to live without the hope that one day, we'll be together, but that hope is lost. That life – a life without her – is no life.

As much as I'd once considered taking it myself, though, I found that I do not have the strength to do it. Not blatantly . . . an empty room, a pistol in my hand. I have no doubt that, had the Air Force not come for me that day, I wouldn't have gone through with my half-baked plan. No matter how I felt or feel at any given moment, I'm a soldier first, last, and always. I do not have it in me to die any other way.

But I realize, as I examine my predicament, that I am no longer as cautious as I used to be, almost eager to fall in battle, to rid myself of the ache in my chest each time I think of her in another's arms, which is really every time I look at her.

The day Fraiser was killed, I stepped out from my cover unconcerned about what could or would happen to me, only concerned about warning of the approaching Jaffa. Some people would call it heroic, but I know that heroism had nothing to do with it. I could have sounded the alarm, fired my weapon, done everything I did without breaking cover, but I did so anyway. It wasn't even anything I thought about. I was running on one hundred percent instinct, and that instinct said that I no longer cared if I died that day.

Am I suicidal? I honestly don't know, but I do know that one of my purposes for living – the defense of this world in a fight I'd undertaken seven long years ago – is now my only purpose. And if finding the Lost City, as Daniel calls it, is to provide us with the ultimate weapon to finally defeat the Goa'uld, then what purpose is left for me?

My mind raced when the forces of Anubis were descending on us, as I pushed Daniel away from the device, tossing my hat at him and taking his place. I knew that once this battle was complete, the cost would be my life, and I was ready to sacrifice that – not that it's much of a sacrifice.

Nobody has ever asked me what I felt, experienced, as I was caught in that machine. Not five years ago, and not a day ago. While it held me, the pain was intense, but it didn't stop my mind from thinking. Last time, it was thoughts of the SGC. . . of earth . . . being battered by the System Lords. It was a future that, in many ways, came to pass, although much of the violence of it was diverted because of what was happening to me. Our first meeting with the Asgard, so early in our fight with the Goa'uld, saved a lot of destruction and death.

This time, the visions I saw . . . the future I imagined . . . was different. It was her future, her life, with a husband, family, happiness . . . It was something I knew I couldn't watch, even if I was happy for her own content. It's a reality I'm almost glad to say I will not have to watch.

The choice I made was my own, for my own very strong reasons. But I can't possibly explain them to her. I don't want to leave this life with my death on her conscience.

A small part of me, too, holds anger at her for this feeling inside me. We had an unspoken pact, she and I, made in that empty room so long ago when I admitted that my feelings for her went deeper than the mere friendship we'd portrayed to those around us. Hers were the same, she claimed, and before we left the room, I swore mine would never change. I guess my anger lies in that it appears hers now has. I fought for the day when we could be together, but now, no such day will ever come. Another has won her heart from me, and I reprimand myself as much as her for not having acted sooner. In time to have given up my position if that's what it took to have her forever.

God, am I waxing poetic or what? But what do I say? I cannot tell her all that has gone through my mind. And she won't wait forever for an answer to her question.

"Colonel?" she asks, as if responding to my very thoughts. I know I have to respond.

"Yes, Carter."

"We could have found a way. I don't agree with Daniel that finding the Lost City is the only way earth can survive. Why did you do it? You knew it wold mean your death." The sadness in her voice comforts me somewhat, but I still know I did the right thing, for me, for the SGC, and for the planet. And yes, even for her.

But I can't explain it to her in a way that would make sense to anyone but me.

"I did it because it had to be done. Because it was my choice."

And I follow my last say on the matter with a silent thought. And because I love you.