"I want to take a picture of you."
Sha're smiled, eyebrows crinkled and head cocked sideways. It was the smile she wore when Daniel said something in one of his many languages that weren't one of hers.
"A picture," he repeated, tugging his arm free from where her head was pillowed on it and miming the click and flash.
"I remember," she said, grabbing his arm and returning it to where it was. It was early, light seeping into their home around the edges of the heavy curtains. They hadn't slept yet. "With the camera, yes?"
"Yes! Before I start work at the temple today. I want to take a picture of you first, before I forget to."
Sha're raised her head to look at Daniel, resting a hand on his chest and her chin on her hand. "How many pictures do you have left?"
Daniel thought, but the number eluded him. He threw the blanket back and stood, cold morning air sending a shiver across his naked skin. It was a welcome jolt in the absence of coffee. He lifted the camera from where it sat on his desk, safely away from the mess of journals and pens and paper and charcoal. Not that it needed to be - it was heavy-cased and military grade, waterproof and fireproof and who-knew-what-else-proof. It would probably survive whatever Daniel could manage to do to it.
"Eleven." He didn't even know how he was going to process the film once it was full. The hardest part was going to be finding an appropriate darkroom, one without any dust contamination. Was there anywhere on all of Abydos that wasn't thousands of years deep in dust?
Sha're beckoned him back to bed. She squirmed at the touch of his cold feet but let him press them against her warm ones.
"You should save them," she said. "You wanted to record the things in the temple that wouldn't last, yes?"
Daniel's throat closed up hard around his Adam's apple. She wasn't wrong. He did want to ration the film out between crumbling architecture and peeling paint, capture symbols and language before they eroded. How could he explain to Sha're that there was a part of him seized with terror that all the good he had found was fleeting? From a logical standpoint, she was right. He had no reason to worry that this would last less than the rest of their lives. And yet...
"For our children," he decided, brushing her hair back and letting his hand fall to rest against the warm swell of her cheek. "And their children, and all the children we won't live to see. They'll have the picture, they'll get to introduce their husbands and wives to you and say, see, our children will be beautiful, it runs in the family!"
Sha're rolled her eyes but smiled and snuggled closer against Daniel's chest. "So you want me to play matchmaker from the afterlife!"
He shrugged. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone then seemed to think for a moment, breath warm on his neck.
"If it makes you happy, my Dan'iel," she said, "you can use one of your pictures on me. But I am not going anywhere, and that is final."
He smiled into her hair and let his eyes fall shut. Of course she knew his worries. She always did. Even if a part of him still didn't believe her, he could silence it just for a few hours, push it aside for them to sleep the morning away. The picture could wait just a little longer.