Disclaimer: Do not own, just borrowing. Will return characters to their rightful places ... I promise

Lizzie: Thanks so much for betaing this for me! As always, you're the best! hugs

A/N: So, in light of all the "Unending" fluff circulating the internet, I thought I'd rebel and write a story about unrequited love. This drabble is intended to be sad, implies character death, so continue at your own peril. Also, although I had written it with D/V in mind, the identity of the female character is left to the reader's own interpretation. Enjoy!

There was no doubt about it: she was being selfish. She was being selfish because she would have liked him to cry for her. She would have liked his tears to be painful, torrential, relentless, to stream down his cheeks in angry rivulets, eroding his hardened veneer and breaking through his marble stoicism. But looking up at him from where she had fallen, all she saw were features contorted with worry, even fear for her, but eyes that would remain perpetually dry.

Nevertheless, her veins had become the color of his nonexistent tears, minuscule fractals of blue growing like tree branches beneath the surface of her skin, seeded by the gaping wound in her side. Although the hot, intense flashes of pain were momentary, they were followed by a complete numbness that terrified her: the poison was usurping her bloodstream, crafting it as a vessel for its propagation. Her legs surrendered first, succumbing to the onslaught of paralysis, becoming lifeless burdens, mere appendages to the lower part of her abdomen.

Seeing as she couldn't move, she would have liked him to scream out in panic, to lose his cool, to look shattered and desperate. She would have liked him to act as though his entire world would collapse upon him if she were to leave it. She would have liked his voice to tremble when he uttered her name. But only his restrained, concerned voice addressed her, attempted to placate her, to tell her she would be perfectly alright.

But she wouldn't be. Couldn't he see that she could not even lift her arm and lay her fingers gently across his face? Couldn't he see she was laboring for breath as her muscles failed to contract? Then again, she was always breathless around him, always reaching out yet failing to touch him in any way.

She would have liked him to feel guilty, to blame himself for her current mishap ... anything. Why would he never kiss her feverishly on the lips, tell her he had always loved her, lament that it was all too late? She hated that he only held her hand, pretended that she could still feel him squeezing it tight, and begged her to hang on, to just hang on, damn it. Hang on until the rest of the team arrived with the necessary antidote. But, why should she have even bothered? She knew the antidote would have been useless. Sure, it might have given life to her estranged limbs, but what about the other numbness, the one that had been plaguing her long before she had even set foot on this forsaken planet ... ?

She shouldn't have complained, really. She shouldn't have harbored any selfish thoughts. At the end of all things, what better place to be than in his arms?

But, at the end of all things, his eyes were dry, and hers flowed freely. No, not because of the lingering traces of pain, or the fact that she could not control her tear ducts anyway. She cried for the knowledge that although she was dying, Daniel Jackson would, inevitably, move on.

A/N2: There you go! Hope you liked it... Even if you didn't, please feel free to shoot me a comment. Whilst writing this I felt the grammar was a little shaky, so please let me know if it is. All reviews are welcome ... :D