It was raining when he left for work that morning, a leaden sky releasing cold drops that spotted his windshield and ran down the back of his neck. Maybe he should have figured out, from that, what kind of day it would be. Maybe he didn’t simply because the sky was clear the day Charlie died. After that he’d stopped trying to judge a day by the weather.

He met Carter, Daniel and Teal’c in the commissary for breakfast and halfway through waffles and cereal, they were beamed aboard Thor’s ship.

It seemed that a non-protected planet had fallen under attack from a Goa’uld and the Asgard wanted to evacuate its technologically advanced but Stargateless occupants to a safer location. These people, however, refused to deal with the little gray aliens. They wanted real, live humans to talk to.

That, of course, was where SG-1 came in. In the middle of breakfast, naturally.

The Asgard didn’t know which Goa’uld was on the way. Thor suggested Ba’al, but he was wrong. They were all wrong.

They were hovering above the planet called Durusia when the Goa’uld mothership approached. At first none of them were concerned - no Goa’uld could penetrate Asgard shields, right? But this mothership ... wow. This baby was different.

“Who the hell is that?” O’Neill said. It was the last thing any of them would say.

Call it cruel irony that they died without ever having heard the name ‘Anubis’. They never got to call it anything. There was only a brilliant flash, then nothing.

The SGC knew it as the day they lost their best. The Durusians knew it only as a fireball in the sky moments before the world ended.