Sam sits in the commissary absently prodding her blue jello with a spoon and sighs. She's not sure why she feels like shit, but she does. She'd gone to the infirmary, but walked out with a clean bill of health. So it's all in my head. She sighs and manages to spoon half a cube of jello into her mouth.

"How the hell are there no cookies today," someone says, and Sam turns to look. It's one of the SG5 people. She doesn't remember all of their names.

"There are cookies," says another SG5er, waving a lemon shortbread square in front of his teammate.

"I mean chocolate chip though. They've always been here and now they aren't. It's been all week"

"Oh, shit; I think you're right."

Sam realizes that although she hadn't meant to, she did notice there were no chocolate chip cookies available in the commissary lately. She didn't want any; she hated chocolate chip cookies. That taste and smell only reminded her of the day her mom died. She shrugs it off and heads out of the commissary.

A tired voice pulls Sam out of her thoughts as she walks by the access door to the commissary kitchen. "Look, I don't control everything that comes in here." She recognizes the voice of the officer in charge of the food. There's muffled conversation she can't quite make out. "I'm sorry; I can't override an order from the Second in Command of the base, and if he says no more chocolate chip, that's it."

The Second in Command of the base, Sam thinks for a confusing moment before it dawns on her that she knows exactly why there are no more chocolate chip cookies at the SGC. She wanders the corridors and offices where she thinks she might find him before finally landing at the star map in the briefing room overlooking the Stargate. He's sitting there, face cradled in his hands. It's late, she realizes. She pulls up a chair next to him and bumps his shoulder with hers.

"Carter," he says.

"Sir."

Silence passes between them like a stream, gentle and passive. They both know they can cross it, but it takes a while to make that decision.

She breaks it first. "Sir, why did you order chocolate chip cookies off the base?"

He sighs. It's a deep, low, ragged sigh that almost makes her apologize for creating it. "Carter…"

"Why?"

"Chocolate chip cookies make you sad."

"How do you know that, Sir?"

Jack finally meets eyes with her before dropping his gaze to the pen he's found. "The, ah, memory thingy from when we went to get your Dad."

"Oh, right." Sam didn't realize he'd seen all of the memory. "I used to love chocolate chip cookies," she says.

"Me, too," he says.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, him partly feeling like he blew it by going overboard this time, her feeling mildly annoyed that he went this far but also realizing how much she appreciates it and thinking that chocolate chip cookies aren't a necessary work comfort, after all.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Always," he says, leaning his shoulder slightly into hers.