Sam couldn't decide what was worse, thinking, or trying not to think, or knowing that either way she and a very fragile Jack were doomed. Could she continue living only in the present, not allowing herself to think of the past, let alone the future? Or should she give in to the despair that was threatening to drag her down into the suffocating blackness that kept tugging on her and think about where she was and what she was going to do with herself and the now shell of a man she was protecting with everything she had left to give.
Jack, he was the only reason she hadn't ended her sorry existence earlier, although he didn't even recognize her presence now. They had broken him, so completely; all that was left were memories. It hurt, but she'd never even admit it to her subconscious, that all he remembered were Charlie and Sarah. But if she chose to be honest with herself she'd realize that wishing someone's insane ravings to be of the (forbidden) unrequited love that someone felt for her was a touch selfish.
No thinking. Sam commanded herself. For Sam, thinking about anything other than what she was doing at that precise moment was too dangerous an endeavor.
She finished boiling the water and gave it to Jack. She tried not to listen to what he was saying. She felt it would be intruding into his privacy, and it was a not so subtle reminder that they (and the rest of the galaxy) had been through too much.