When Carter returned to O'Neill's house she was feeling better and had to admit that she was glad Frasier had come over and kicked her out for a while. She hadn't wanted to leave, telling the doctor that she was fine, and didn't need a break, but Janet had known better, even if Sam hadn't. She was smiling as she walked in the door, but it faded when she noticed immediately that O'Neill wasn't sleeping on the couch anymore.

"I put him to bed," Frasier said. Janet had been fixing dinner in the kitchen, and had seen Sam's automatic glance at the sofa when she'd walked through the door.

"How is he?"

"Fine. At least that's what he keeps telling me."

"That's what he tells me, too," Sam said, setting down the bags of groceries she'd purchased while she was out. "And then he clams up."

"I know. He's really a mess, Sam. I'm beginning to wonder if we shouldn't take him back to the SGC and take care of him there. It's probably very hard on you to be here with him."

"It is hard, Janet," Sam agreed, but she shook her head. "He's not as distant with me as he was that first day. I think we're making progress."

"It's your call, Sam. If you want to keep trying..."

"I do."

"We'll give it a few more days, then."

"Thanks, Janet. And thanks for sending me out today."

"You're welcome. Anytime."

Carter helped Frasier finish dinner, then put a tray together for Jack and wondered what kind of fight he'd put up this time. Janet smiled when she mentioned it, and offered to take it in to him, but Sam declined. She could make him eat. Usually.

"I'm going to head home, Sam," Frasier said. "If you need me, call."

"I will, Janet. Thanks."

She saw the doctor out, and then carried the tray down to O'Neill's bedroom. He was asleep. At least, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be resting peacefully. She hated to disturb him, but she also didn't like the thought of him missing any meals. Walking over, she set his tray down on the nightstand, and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Sir?"

He opened his eyes, looking at her with a moment's confusion. That was another way to tell that there was something wrong, Sam knew. Usually he knew exactly where he was when he woke up, and she'd seen him look confused more than once, now. She reached out and pressed her hand against his cheek, pretending that it was to check for fever, but more because she absolutely had to touch him. Expecting him to pull away, Sam steeled herself for a sharp comment. But one didn't come. He simply closed his eyes.

"Carter?"

"It's time for dinner, Sir." She said softly, unable to keep the hope from her voice that he hadn't snapped at her, and hadn't withdrawn immediately.

"I'm not hungry, Carter."

"You need to eat, Sir."

"I'm not hungry, Carter." He opened his eyes, and looked at her, and she was surprised to see a pleading look in them. All she'd seen the last few days was a steady succession of blank stares. "I'll eat breakfast tomorrow and not complain. I promise."

Sam watched him thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if this was a new tactic he was using to get out of doing what he didn't want to do. It didn't matter, though, in the end. There was no way she could say no to him when he looked at her the way he was just then. Finally she nodded.

"All right, Sir," she said, standing up and reaching for the tray. "You don't have to eat tonight, but you have to eat as much breakfast as I put in front of you."

"Fine." He closed his eyes again, and she started to leave the room.

"Hey... Carter?"

She turned back and looked at him, but he hadn't opened his eyes.

"Sir?"

"Maybe you could come back and read for a while, if you don't have anything else to do...?"

Her eyes went to the book that she'd left by his bed, and she smiled, suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks. He didn't want her to read to him; she knew that much. If he'd seen the book, then he knew it was something he'd never understand. He just wanted her company. And that was good enough for her.

"Let me put this away, Sir, and I'll come back and keep – and read for a while."

He nodded, and she left the bedroom and returned the tray to the kitchen. Taking care of the dishes as quickly as she could, she dried her hands and returned to his room, hoping he hadn't changed his mind.

His eyes were closed and his blankets had slipped down off his chest and pooled at his waist while she'd been gone. Sam reached over and covered him back up, watching to see if he was going to react, but he didn't. She lingered with her hand on the blanket, wishing he'd say something, but half afraid that if he did it'd be something designed to drive her out of his room. When he didn't say anything, Sam settled herself in the chair next to his bed, and curled up with her book, only inches away from him should he wake and need anything.