A/N: Sg1-camper asked me to write something happy, and this was honetsly the best that I could do. It's all for you, sg1-camper! I owe a big thanks to recoilandgrace for inspiring/editing/encouraging this. I wouldn't have posted it if I weren't for her. :)

Disclaimer: I'm not Fox.

"The Plan"

School was just supposed to be something to do until she could find a husband. That had been the plan. That's why she started out in child psychology. It wasn't supposed to take her all the way to her doctorate. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with books and theories and helping people. She certainly wasn't supposed to let her love lead her to the workplace.

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with working, or that the home was Where She Belonged. It was just the life that she, personally, wanted. Why spend all day in a cold, stiff office when you could split your afternoons between Play Doh and the park? That's the life she planned for, and was going to have, no matter what. The studying, the graduating, the working—that was just filling up the space until she could lead the life she dreamed of.

It took her longer than she expected to find someone to share her life with. Still, it wasn't too late. She had enough time to build a family brick by brick, and make sure that it was sturdy and stable and didn't crumble the way her own family had. She could take her parents' mistakes and learn from them and make up for them. And that would make her happy.

She wasn't supposed to have fertility issues. She wasn't supposed to be so good at her job that every day it would suck her in a little deeper. The plan was that she'd get pregnant and walk away from all of this. It was supposed to be natural and easy. She would love her husband, and they'd start a family, and it would all work out. She wasn't supposed to fall in love a third time.

She wasn't supposed to give up when the pain became too much to bear.

Now, she sits in an office that feels so empty. It doesn't matter how many pixie stix are in the jar, or how many picture frames she has, or how much stuff she acquires—it won't crowd out the feelings of shame and loss. It won't stop her from wondering why her life turned out this way, and what she's being punished for. Whatever it is, she can't atone for it. She can only try to fill her life with things that lift her spirits, but mean nothing. Pudding, cotton candy, Danielle Steel—they fill up her time and they soothe the pain, but they're ultimately meaningless. And temporary. In a way, they're diminishing her, bit by bit. She knows that. And she likes it that way.

Because if she would take the time to take stock, she'd realize that catching all of the liars in the world won't change the fact that she was only a mother for fifty-seven days. It won't change the fact that the man she loved wasn't strong enough to be the man she needed him to be. And it certainly won't change the fact that every day, she looks through the transparent walls and sees just another thing that she can't have. Even if she had the courage to try for it, she wouldn't know how. She's not good at getting what she wants. She's only good at making other people happy.

It just wasn't supposed to be like this.

But maybe that's because before, she didn't understand the rules. The universe must work differently for her than it does for everyone else. People are supposed to love one thing at a time, but she can be in love with two men at once, just not in the same way. People are supposed to give love out and have it come back around, but she is a machine that works and works and never gets fed. Getting noticed, being appreciated—that's for the rest of the world. Not for her. She's lucky that she's strong enough to endure it, that she can take in the sorrow and turn it into sympathy. She should be grateful that she has the talent necessary to suck it up without spitting it back out.

She shouldn't feel so lonely, but she is. That's just the new plan.

So, she's strong. She finds little things that stop her from being miserable, and she tells people that they make her happy. She puts on a smile and pretends that happy is something that she can actually have. She lets herself love people, but she doesn't ever expect to be loved back. It hurts, but less.

But sometimes, she's not strong enough to hold the world up. Sometimes, there are people who she can't comfort, and there are problems she can't solve. Sometimes, even this new universe with its new rules can't help but fall to pieces. If she can't stop it, she can at least self-destruct in private so that she can maintain the illusion that she's just fine.

And, tonight, when the only light on is the small lamp at her desk, she thinks it might be okay to clear out the buildup of regret and hopelessness. It's okay to take the world off of her shoulders and cry, just a little. And if those small, solitary tears turn into a torrent of sobs, that's okay, too. This is all a part of the new plan. She's being a little weak now so she can be strong later, when she'll be needed, when she'll produce more of that tenderness that they expect from her.

The sobs overcome her so completely that for a moment, that's all there is in the world. Just crying. It doesn't matter why or where or to what end. All of existence is just a heaving and a sighing as the pain wells up inside and takes over, spilling out and making her content analysis warp and blot. It's too much and it's not enough and she's feeling more than she can stand. And even though she's not sure that she has any strength left, she'll keep crying until she's purged the weakness from herself.

She jumps a bit when she realizes that there are hands on her shoulders. He's not supposed to be here. If her own currents weren't sweeping her away, she could pull herself together and give him a reason to let her suffer in peace. Not that he'd take it. But maybe she can fool him into thinking that this is less than it is, that it's the case or a comment and not her whole life.

When the hands move from her shoulders down her arms, then wrap around to contain her, she has the sudden urge to run. He feels it, because he holds on tighter. A chill straightens her spine as she realizes that he's holding her, and she sits taller when she feels the soft kisses pressing against her neck. They've never done this before.

But then, he's never seen her like this before.

He's pulled her so close that she can feel the steady beating of his heart against her shoulder blade, and she wonders if he knew all along. He's acting with too much confidence to have not thought this out beforehand, as if he's been waiting for the chance and now he's taking it. Her heart starts to speed up because she's not sure what to do. She'd given up on this.

Something between curiosity and hunger makes her turn around to face him, and just as she parts her lips to ask him what he's doing, his mouth is on hers, and she knows. He's gentle and slow, and she's not afraid to just give in and let him fix her. When he pulls back from the kiss, she can look into his eyes and smile at what she sees. She can lean forward and wordlessly ask for more, knowing that she'll get kisses that are deep and meaningful. It should be too much to take in, but it isn't. Somehow, it's natural and familiar. And when he takes her by the hand and walks her out of the office, she knows that she can cling to his side and have him wrap his arm around her. She knows that she doesn't have to hold all of that weight on her own anymore.

And maybe it's better this way.

END