Carter slept deeply; more deeply than she would normally as a result of her anaemia, although she had always found sleep easy to come by in her on-base quarters. She had spent increasing amounts of time sleeping here rather than at home over the past few years and sometimes she despaired of the fact the bare concrete walls seemed more homely than her house.

And recently of course she had found sleep easier here because she was alone. At home sleep meant sharing a bed with her husband. A bed that was forever tainted by the memory of sharing it with another man she sometimes wondered if she could have slept more soundly beside, given a chance.

Her dreams tangled themselves most unpleasantly and she woke up feeling curiously fearful. Shaking away the clinging ghosts of sleep she sat up and stretched in the gloom, switching on a bedside lamp. Shadows fled to the corners of the room and she slipped her feet into her slippers and headed to the bathroom. Her arm ached and she rubbed the bruise absently, the ugly mark of her self-sacrifice. She didn't normally bruise when she gave blood but then she didn't normally give more than a pint of blood in one go, so she suppressed the dark thought that crept insidiously into her mind about Doctor Brightman's lack of gentleness when it came to medical procedures, blaming the bruise on the unusual circumstances instead.

There was a knock on her door. Daniel opened it before she could open her mouth to tell him to enter. His dark eyes were shining.

"He's awake."

"Jack!"

His eyes snapped open. She looked much paler than he remembered, and thinner in a pinched sort of way. "I think I have to thank you," he whispered.

She sank into the chair at his bedside, Daniel's hand on her shoulder. Her own hand crept across his covers to touch O'Neill's fingers. "Any of us would have done it Jack."

"I know."

Daniel coughed. "I'm, uh, I'm just going to get a... I'll be back in a while."

They ignored him as he left, smiling thinly; both unwilling to break eye contact. "I thought I'd lost you," she murmured as the door shut behind Jackson. "Again."

"Again?"

"You know. More... permanently."

His eyes closed. "How's Pete?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I spoke to him on the 'phone yesterday. He's okay."

"You've not been home since yesterday?"

"No."

There was a long pause.

"I've not been home since Thursday before last."

Another pause.

"I've been here."

"Watching me," he said. It wasn't a question.

I think I've made a mistake. The words hovered on her lips, unsay-able. He guessed them despite of her silence, perhaps able to read it on her face.

"We all make 'em," he said. She wondered when he had become psychic.

"Most people make 'em smaller," she returned in a small voice.

"Divorce rates being what they are I think most people make the same one."

She flinched at the word she never allowed herself to think. Divorce.

But Pete put so much into the relationship. I put so much into the relationship. Why destroy it?

The answer was obvious.

Because it isn't what I want. It's what I'm settling for. I'd rather die than lose Jack. Can I say the same for Pete?

No.

Then I have to end it.

I can't.

The same thoughts had cycled endlessly throughout the last nine days as she had kept her constant vigil at O'Neill's bedside.

She pushed them to one side again. "Has Doctor Brightman spoken to you?" she asked.

His grip on her fingers tightened slightly. "Yeah. I'm hoping they can install me a TV. Don't want to miss anymore Simpsons episodes." He smiled. "I'll be up and about in no time. Doctor Brightman's removing the stitches later today. And I've been informed in no uncertain terms sitting around is the worst thing I can do."

She half-smiled, well able to imagine the conversation between Doctor and patient. "I miss Janet." She had spoken the words unthinkingly and now bit her lip, wondering why.

"Yeah," he said softly, "Me too. How's Cassie?"

"Pete's been keeping an eye on her. I've spoken to her a few times and she's been in to see you twice. She's okay."

"And you? Daniel said you collapsed...?"

She sighed. "On my way here. Yes. Just loss of blood."

He gave her a painfully intense look and her treacherous stomach turned over as his thumb ran over the pinched skin of her knuckle. She remembered being gently tipped over backwards and onto her mattress under the force of kisses.

"Thank you."

She tried to think of the words to tell him that there was no option that existed for her not to help him; that she would rather die than lose him and nothing that she would not give to keep him in this world, with her. Even if he wasn't, strictly speaking, with her.

Actions speak louder than words.

She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Any time."