He was sleeping when Sam walked into his bedroom. Truly asleep, she knew, since he was sprawled on his bed in a position that was far too awkward to be awake in. He was on his stomach, his head turned away from the door, his arms and legs going pretty much in every direction. Still slightly damp from her shower, Sam went over to the far side of his bed and knelt down to be eye to eye with him, then she reached out and gently touched his bare shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you awake?" Meaning 'are you awake enough that you'll remember this conversation?'

"Mmm-hmmm..."

Sam smiled, not entirely sure that he was. She moved her hand from his shoulder and touched his cheek, feeling the fever that was still there, although it wasn't as bad as it had been, she knew.

That got his attention, and Jack opened his eyes, although he didn't move away from her touch.

"What, Carter?" His eyes were back to being unfathomable, but Sam knew she hadn't dreamed the pain she'd seen in them the night before. True, she dreamed Daniel up, but the pain had been real. She ran her hand lightly along his cheek, wishing she knew what to do to speed things up. She was making progress with him, but he was still so distant. She'd decided in the shower that she'd try to simply be with him more, and show him she was there. He'd asked her to stay once, she was going to try and make it so he didn't have to ask again. Unless of course she screwed up and he kicked her out. Or tried to, anyways.

"Time to get up, Sir. Breakfast is almost ready, and I was hoping you'd come eat at the table with me."

"I'm not hungry, Carter," Jack said, almost automatically.

"You promised, Sir." She said, her hand still caressing his cheek. He needed to shave.

He closed his eyes and was quiet for a moment, and Carter wondered if he intended to pretend to be sleeping to get out of his promise of the night before. But just as she was ready to say something, he sighed and opened his eyes again.

"Yeah, I know." His honor was all he had left, he supposed. Bad enough he'd killed one of his best friends, he couldn't let people think he wasn't a man of his word, could he?

Sam saw hurt cloud his expression suddenly, and wondered what he was thinking. She leaned over and brushed a soft, butterfly kiss against his forehead, unable to think of any other way to distract him from whatever was hurting him.

"Go take a shower, Sir," she whispered, hoping he wasn't going to go ballistic on her for doing what she'd just done. "I'll finish breakfast."

When he didn't say anything – which wasn't such a bad thing as far as Carter was concerned, Sam touched the stubble on his jaw once more. "Why don't you shave, too, Sir? You're looking a little Grizzly Adams." Without another word, she stood up and left his room, leaving him staring at the open doorway with his mouth open.

She went into the kitchen and started breakfast, wondering what on Earth she'd been thinking. She'd kissed him! Well, kind of. It hadn't been a hot steamy kiss, of course, but it'd been a definite 'lips against his skin' kiss. She hadn't been thinking, of course. She'd simply reacted to his pain. She'd wanted the hurt in his eyes to go away, and she was fairly certain that it had. All she'd seen in his expression after she'd kissed him was surprise. No anger. No emptiness. No pain. Just shock. She did wonder if she'd gone too far, though. Would he get angry once he'd had a second to think about what she'd done? Would he use that anger as an excuse not to get out of bed and come eat? He could, she knew. Nothing better than a little self-righteous anger to keep a man sulking in his bed for at least another twenty-four hours.

When she heard the bathroom door close, however, she knew he hadn't. She breathed a little sigh of relief, and then allowed herself to grin as she remembered the shocked look on his face. He'd looked as if she'd whacked him with a board. Sam started humming as she cracked eggs into a bowl to scramble them, and when she heard the shower start, she couldn't help but smile once more. Maybe she was getting somewhere after all?

Breakfast was a silent affair. Sam had it all ready by the time he came down the hallway, and when he sat at the table she put a plate in front of him. He'd shaved, like she'd suggested, and she had to admit he looked a lot better. More like himself, anyways. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, she knew she was a long ways from getting him to go walking in the park with her, but he was out of bed and eating, and she wasn't going to complain. He was watching her a bit warily, though, Sam decided, smiling to herself. A wary Colonel was much better than an empty one, though.

"There's a game on this morning, Sir," Carter said as she handed him a slice of toast. "I was hoping you'd want to sit out here and watch it with me?"

"What kind of game?"

"Basketball."

"You don't like basketball, Carter."

"Oh, it's not so bad, Sir. Dribbling, shooting a little ball into a basket, sweaty guys running around in shorts. What's not to like?"

He looked at her suspiciously.

"It's either watch the game with me, or come to the park and feed ducks with me."

"Don't you have some place you need to be, Carter?"

She hesitated, wondering if he were trying to drive her away like he had so many times in the past few days, but realized this was an honest question. He truly wanted to know why she wasn't off playing with one of her gizmos.

"No, Sir. I'm exactly where I need to be."

He grunted noncommittally and finished his breakfast in silence, and Carter wondered if she'd said too much. She ate quietly, respecting his desire to not chat, and stood when she was done, reaching for his empty plate.

"I'll do the dishes, Carter," O'Neill said, pulling his plate away from her so she couldn't take it. "You've done enough." His voice was angry, and she wondered what was going through his mind, but she didn't argue with him.

"Yes, Sir."

"Go... relax or something."

He stood up, still not looking at her, and took her dishes into the kitchen with his own. Sam sat at the table a while longer, listening to him putter around, and unsure what to do next. She didn't want to read, and didn't want to leave him alone.

"Carter."

Sam jumped, aware she'd been daydreaming.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Go find something to do. Okay? Anything."

"Yes, Sir."

She walked into the living room and began rearranging the throw pillows on the couch. Then she moved the books on his coffee table into a different order.

"Carter!"

"I'm sorry, Sir."

She went out onto his deck, unable to think of anything else to do. The air was a little chilly, since it was still early, but the day was bright and the birds were singing. Sam closed her eyes and leaned against the railing, enjoying the light breeze that ruffled her hair and clothing and brought the fresh scent of the nearby pine trees to her.

"Hey."

She jumped again. Sam hadn't heard him open the door to the deck, and hadn't heard him approach. She turned to look at him, and frowned.

"You shouldn't be out here dressed like that, Sir." She told him. He didn't even have any socks on. "You're sick, you know?"

"So everyone keeps telling me." He kept his voice and expression carefully neutral, so Sam wasn't sure if there was an implied criticism there or not. He shrugged, looking down at his bare feet.

"Are you really going to watch the game with me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"It'll be on in a few minutes."

He didn't say anything else, just turned and walked back into the house, and Carter watched him go, wondering yet again what she was going to do with him.

She was right about one thing; O'Neill had to admit as he walked back into the house. He wasn't dressed to go outside. The morning air had chilled him, and even though he'd only been out there for a minute or so, his hair was still wet from his shower and he hadn't worn anything on his feet. The house was warm, but he found himself shivering slightly, and he went down the hall to get himself a blanket.

Sam saw him disappear down the hallway as she entered the house, and sighed, wondering if he had changed his mind about the game and had decided to go back to bed. She didn't follow him. She wasn't in the mood to nag or bully him, and she had to admit that if he wanted to go to bed, it was only fair. He'd done far more than she'd expected him to already that morning. She sat down on the couch, and picked up the remote, turning the TV on to the right channel. Great. She was going to end up watching a basketball game she had absolutely no desire to watch. Worse, she was going to have to watch it alone.

She looked up when she heard him returning, though, and smiled when she saw the reason he'd left. He had his comforter wrapped around him. Feeling a little guilty for doubting him, she was silent as he came into the living room, although her heart gave a little jump for joy when he sat next to her on the couch instead of taking one of the easy chairs. Probably the couch afforded a better view of the TV, she mused, but she didn't say anything.

"Last chance." He said, shifting on the sofa until he was comfortable.

"Sir?"

"If you don't want to watch this, now is the time to say so. I'll go back to bed, and you can go do something more interesting."

"No. I'm fine, Sir. I want to watch it." She looked to see who was playing. "I'm a big fan of the Kicks."

"That's the Knicks, Carter," O'Neill corrected. But he didn't say anything else. Carter blushed, caught in a lie, but he didn't seem to mind, and she knew that any other time he would have found it funny. She settled in to watch the game, unaware as she did so that Jack had unconsciously moved himself a little closer to her.