That first day was a rough one. It was a battle of wills that Sam would
have lost if the price of losing wouldn't have been so high. She did a lot
of threatening that day. She threatened to have Janet come over and put him
on an IV if he didn't eat his breakfast. She threatened to have General
Hammond come over with written orders for her to stay after the fourth time
he'd tried to kick her out of his house. She threatened to give him a
sponge bath if he didn't shower and wash his hair. He did all of the things
he told her, but he was quiet and distant the entire time, and after his
shower he went right back to his bed and stayed there the rest of the day
with his eyes closed and his back to her. She responded by pulling a chair
into his room and spending the day sitting next to him reading one of the
books she'd brought with her.
Sam tried very hard not to take his actions personally. Tears threatened a few times and she felt wrung out well before lunchtime, but she didn't break down, and she didn't cave in to his depression, which threatened to overwhelm her as well. She talked to Janet a couple times that day, but when the doctor offered to come over, she declined the invitation, saying that she was doing okay. Which wasn't completely true.
Dinner was a fiasco. Jack was tired of being bullied, and had refused to eat. Sam was too exhausted to argue with him, and simply walked out of the room. She picked at her dinner, but she didn't have any more of an appetite than Jack, and soon found herself sitting alone on the sofa, staring at the TV that she was too tired to get up and turn on.
O'Neill found her asleep on the couch later that night. He'd woken after a particularly bad nightmare and had gone in search of a glass of water. He stopped in the entranceway of the living room, and leaned against the wall, watching her sleeping there. She looked so worn out, even from across the room, and Jack knew it was his fault. The thought made him feel guilty, which only made him feel more depressed than he already did. He walked back to his room and took the comforter off his bed, carried it out to the living room and gently covered her with it, careful not to wake her. He wasn't ready to deal with his hurt, and he knew if she woke, she'd want to talk. He watched her sleep a moment longer, then sighed silently and went back to his bed.
The next day was almost as bad as the first one. At least at the start. She bullied him into eating a large breakfast to make up for his missed dinner, and he'd tried to refuse once more. Sam didn't allow him to miss his breakfast, though, and Jack had snapped at her. It was really the first emotion of any sort that he'd displayed since she'd moved in with him, so instead of being hurt, Sam had taken it as a good sign. She'd been almost cheerful when she'd pulled up her chair next to his bed for another day of reading and watching him sulk in his bed. So cheerful, in fact, that O'Neill grumpily rolled out of his bed and carried his blanket to the couch where he wouldn't have to put up with her.
Since she'd long since put his Beretta out of reach, Sam wasn't worried about him being alone, but she had to admit that without him in his room, it was kind of dumb to sit in there and read. She left her book on his nightstand and went out to join him in the living room.
"Stop following me, Carter," Jack growled.
"Yes, Sir."
He glared at her, but she didn't say anything else, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes once more. He didn't want to face the world. Or her. She didn't take it personally. Not this time, anyways. Instead she went into the kitchen and started cleaning the breakfast dishes, humming to herself cheerfully as the bright sunlight that filtered through the curtains boosted her spirits and made things seem a little better. O'Neill wasn't so impressed with the sunlight, or the humming, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he drifted off to sleep with her crooning in his ears.
"Sir?"
Jack opened his eyes and saw Frasier kneeling in front of him. He blinked owlishly a few times, trying to figure out where he was, and then looked around.
"Where's Carter?"
Janet smiled and promptly stuck a thermometer into his mouth. "She's out getting some fresh air. She'll be back soon." She reached out and took hold of his wrist, checking his pulse. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"
"Fine."
He didn't look fine, but he was sitting up, which was a sight for sore eyes as far as Frasier was concerned. Even better, he'd asked for Carter, which showed concern. Any emotion at this point was a start in the right direction, although the doctor was still concerned. His temperature was still high, and he sounded slightly congested. And there was still a dead quality to his voice that wasn't at all like him.
"Any headaches?"
"Just Carter."
She gave him a piercing look, and Jack sighed.
"No. No headaches."
"That's good. Any coughing?"
"No."
"Spots in front of your eyes?"
"No."
"Blurry vision?"
"No. I told you, I'm fine."
"Uh huh." She ran her hand along his cheek and neck, then up to his forehead. Jack had to admit that her cool hands were soothing, but he only admitted it to himself. He closed his eyes, suddenly tired beyond measure.
"Colonel?"
"I'm fine."
"Let's get you back to bed, shall we?"
He stood up, and walked to his room, followed closely by Frasier, who turned down the blankets on his bed. Someone – presumably Carter – had made it, and Jack suddenly had the desire to feel the cool sheets against his bare skin. He pulled his shirt off, struggling with it until Janet had to help him pull it off. Only then did he crawl into his bed and under the blankets, quietly sighing with pleasure as the sheets cooled his heated skin.
Janet made sure he was warmly covered, and then forced him to drink a glass of water. She was still concerned that he was dehydrated, although he looked better than he had.
"I'm going to go report to General Hammond, Colonel. Call if you need me, I'll be right out in the living room." He didn't answer, but she wasn't worried. Sam had told her that he wasn't responding to very much, but that there had been a few signs of minor improvement. They would just have to wait until he was ready, Janet had told Carter.
Sam tried very hard not to take his actions personally. Tears threatened a few times and she felt wrung out well before lunchtime, but she didn't break down, and she didn't cave in to his depression, which threatened to overwhelm her as well. She talked to Janet a couple times that day, but when the doctor offered to come over, she declined the invitation, saying that she was doing okay. Which wasn't completely true.
Dinner was a fiasco. Jack was tired of being bullied, and had refused to eat. Sam was too exhausted to argue with him, and simply walked out of the room. She picked at her dinner, but she didn't have any more of an appetite than Jack, and soon found herself sitting alone on the sofa, staring at the TV that she was too tired to get up and turn on.
O'Neill found her asleep on the couch later that night. He'd woken after a particularly bad nightmare and had gone in search of a glass of water. He stopped in the entranceway of the living room, and leaned against the wall, watching her sleeping there. She looked so worn out, even from across the room, and Jack knew it was his fault. The thought made him feel guilty, which only made him feel more depressed than he already did. He walked back to his room and took the comforter off his bed, carried it out to the living room and gently covered her with it, careful not to wake her. He wasn't ready to deal with his hurt, and he knew if she woke, she'd want to talk. He watched her sleep a moment longer, then sighed silently and went back to his bed.
The next day was almost as bad as the first one. At least at the start. She bullied him into eating a large breakfast to make up for his missed dinner, and he'd tried to refuse once more. Sam didn't allow him to miss his breakfast, though, and Jack had snapped at her. It was really the first emotion of any sort that he'd displayed since she'd moved in with him, so instead of being hurt, Sam had taken it as a good sign. She'd been almost cheerful when she'd pulled up her chair next to his bed for another day of reading and watching him sulk in his bed. So cheerful, in fact, that O'Neill grumpily rolled out of his bed and carried his blanket to the couch where he wouldn't have to put up with her.
Since she'd long since put his Beretta out of reach, Sam wasn't worried about him being alone, but she had to admit that without him in his room, it was kind of dumb to sit in there and read. She left her book on his nightstand and went out to join him in the living room.
"Stop following me, Carter," Jack growled.
"Yes, Sir."
He glared at her, but she didn't say anything else, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes once more. He didn't want to face the world. Or her. She didn't take it personally. Not this time, anyways. Instead she went into the kitchen and started cleaning the breakfast dishes, humming to herself cheerfully as the bright sunlight that filtered through the curtains boosted her spirits and made things seem a little better. O'Neill wasn't so impressed with the sunlight, or the humming, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he drifted off to sleep with her crooning in his ears.
"Sir?"
Jack opened his eyes and saw Frasier kneeling in front of him. He blinked owlishly a few times, trying to figure out where he was, and then looked around.
"Where's Carter?"
Janet smiled and promptly stuck a thermometer into his mouth. "She's out getting some fresh air. She'll be back soon." She reached out and took hold of his wrist, checking his pulse. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"
"Fine."
He didn't look fine, but he was sitting up, which was a sight for sore eyes as far as Frasier was concerned. Even better, he'd asked for Carter, which showed concern. Any emotion at this point was a start in the right direction, although the doctor was still concerned. His temperature was still high, and he sounded slightly congested. And there was still a dead quality to his voice that wasn't at all like him.
"Any headaches?"
"Just Carter."
She gave him a piercing look, and Jack sighed.
"No. No headaches."
"That's good. Any coughing?"
"No."
"Spots in front of your eyes?"
"No."
"Blurry vision?"
"No. I told you, I'm fine."
"Uh huh." She ran her hand along his cheek and neck, then up to his forehead. Jack had to admit that her cool hands were soothing, but he only admitted it to himself. He closed his eyes, suddenly tired beyond measure.
"Colonel?"
"I'm fine."
"Let's get you back to bed, shall we?"
He stood up, and walked to his room, followed closely by Frasier, who turned down the blankets on his bed. Someone – presumably Carter – had made it, and Jack suddenly had the desire to feel the cool sheets against his bare skin. He pulled his shirt off, struggling with it until Janet had to help him pull it off. Only then did he crawl into his bed and under the blankets, quietly sighing with pleasure as the sheets cooled his heated skin.
Janet made sure he was warmly covered, and then forced him to drink a glass of water. She was still concerned that he was dehydrated, although he looked better than he had.
"I'm going to go report to General Hammond, Colonel. Call if you need me, I'll be right out in the living room." He didn't answer, but she wasn't worried. Sam had told her that he wasn't responding to very much, but that there had been a few signs of minor improvement. They would just have to wait until he was ready, Janet had told Carter.
