O'Neill stared at the place Sam had vacated so abruptly, shocked. Not by her tears, but by the fact that he hadn't noticed before just then how much pain she was feeling. Had he really been that blind? So consumed in his own grief that he'd managed to ignore the people around him? What the hell was wrong with him? He was her commanding officer – her friend – and he'd left her to deal alone with something that she should never have had to deal with anyways. And then to make matters worse, he'd added to her hurts by burdening her with his own.

"She's tough, Jack, remember?"

He looked over and saw Daniel standing near the kitchen entrance, his arms folded and that same look on his face that he always wore when he was right and he knew it.

"Shut up Daniel," Jack said, pushing his chair back and standing up. He didn't need his imagination to tell him what to do this time.

He walked to the guest room, and hesitated outside the closed door. Muffled sobs that were heart-wrenching enough were made even more so by the fact that he had no idea how many other times she'd cried alone. Times that he should have been with her. Jack opened the door without knocking, and went in. Carter was sitting in the middle of the bed, sobbing into a pillow as though it were the only friend she had. She looked up when the door opened and shook her head, trying to tell him to leave her alone, but Jack had no intention of doing that. He crossed the room quickly and sat on the bed, then gathered her into his arms.

She tried to resist, but he was the stronger of the two, now, and he wasn't going to let her go. He tucked her head under his chin, much the same way she'd held him so recently, and he rocked her gently, holding her closely as she cried.

The front of his t-shirt was drenched by the time her sobs turned into sniffles. Sam didn't move, though, and O'Neill didn't ask her to. He didn't speak at all while he held her, he just gave her the support he should have given her a long time ago. One arm held her close while the other rubbed the back of her neck, loosening muscles that were knotted with tension. He didn't know how long they sat there together, her body finally beginning to relax, her breathing returning to normal as the crushing grief began to ebb into something more manageable.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered into his shirt.

"Hmmm? For what?"

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you," Sam said, still holding him closely. "Not the other way around."

He shook his head, and put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were smeared. "Let me take care of you for a little bit, okay?" He pressed a soft kiss against her lips, but didn't deepen it. The kiss was for reassurance; nothing more, and he didn't intend to let it become more. Not when she was this vulnerable. He smiled, softly, and she returned it, although her own smile was fairly shaky.

"You're a mess, Carter." He told her, wiping her cheeks with his hand.

"Yes, Sir, I know." She didn't mention he'd been a mess far longer than she had. She didn't need to; they both knew it already. "I'm going to go take a shower, I think." She told him, thinking the hot water would relax the muscles she could feel knotting in her lower back and shoulders. Besides, it might help with the headache she was getting.

"You do that," he whispered, letting her go reluctantly, and watching her every move as she stood up and walked out of the room.

When she came out of the bathroom, wrapped snugly in his bathrobe, she found him sitting in the living room, staring off into nothing. For a moment her heart plummeted, thinking that he'd withdrawn once more, but he looked up when she came into the room, and she saw that the familiar empty look wasn't present.

He stood up when she entered the living room, and went over to her, his brown eyes watching her intently.

"How do you feel?" He asked her.

"I'm fine, Sir. A little tired."

He nodded, unsure what to say. How did one apologize for being selfish and uncaring?

"Want some coffee?"

Sam smiled and shook her head, "No, thanks. I think I'm going to go to bed." She hesitated a moment, waiting to see if he wanted to talk, but he didn't say anything. She had a feeling, though, that he wanted to say something, but he couldn't figure out exactly how to say it. He was quiet, though, and she nodded, as though to tell him that it was okay, they could talk later.

"Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Sam."

He was still standing there long after she walked down the hall and closed the guest room's door behind her.