Rating: G, Gen
Summary: Lost things can still be felt.
It hits at the oddest moments, different for each person. Something sets it off, something little, a reminder: a different voice, an unaccustomed word or phrase, the wrong color of hair. It doesn't take much.
The feeling is sudden, painful; the knowledge that something important is missing, some vital part is gone. For a moment, it feels like a kick in the stomach and muscles involuntarily clench tight against it, breath catches in the throat and chest for a split second before deliberately being let out again in a long, measured sigh. Shoulders are set against it, teeth set against lips, fingers curl tightly over the edge of the gurney to help distract from the sudden, always unexpected reaction.
It shouldn't have happened, the thought goes immediately through everyone's mind, to be drowned out in various attempts at making peace with the unchangeable, the inevitable.
Of them all, Jack thinks about it best: The universe has a voracious appetite for its own best creations...and so, shit happens. He should know; there's been a lot of shit in his life, with this just another in a long line of universal defecation.
But still, this loss cuts deep, a bloody knife gash that takes its own good time to heal.
They sit stoic during post-mission checks for many weeks after, their usual banter mostly absent. The new doctor doesn't notice anything unusual about the premier gate team. After all, it's serious business they're about, and regardless, it's business as usual.