What should have been a slow week of down time for nerdy linguistics stuff and big guy workout stuff and egghead gate diagnostics stuff and leadership style bugging the commissary staff about changing up the cake flavor rotation stuff quickly became stressful on Tuesday when Sam took a doozy of an of electric shock from one of the panels in the gate control room. Some kind of circuit-overload-thingy-majig or whatever, they'd told Jack.

He'd felt his heart drop into his ass when he saw it happen, felt his tension ease slightly when she blinked her eyes open and groaned into his chest as he lifted her from the floor and cradled her close. He ran to the infirmary, stopping only when he had no choice but to stand still on the elevator, heart pounding so hard he knew she could feel it through both of their BDUs.

Doc Frasier had made him wait outside while they checked Sam over for what felt like hours before the staff got her situated in those bright white patient scrubs that made you look sick even if you weren't, and Jack was finally allowed in to visit. Sam sat upright, a serene if a little strained expression on her face. "I'm okay, Sir," she'd said. "It's not something I want to do again, but I'm all right."

"Carter, sparks literally flew out of the wall at you."

"I know."

He'd stood there, awkwardly bouncing ball to heel on his feet, struggling to not reach out to her and struggling even harder not to remember what happened the last time he'd seen electricity surge into her body and what he'd had to do as a result. He poked a finger against the edge of the bed and drawn it against the seam he could feel there. "How long you in for?"

"Couple days at least, Sir."

"You need anything?"

"Actually," she had said, and her eyes stared into his so big and bright and hopeful that he would have cut his own arms off if that's what she asked for, "could you water my plants, Sir? It's not a lot of work, and I'll write down everyth-"

"I'll do it. Of course I will. Just tell me what you need." He'd scrambled into the chair next to her bed and reached for the notepad and pen kept on the bedside table. "Tell me everything."

So it is that he finds himself in Sam's home, having finally used the key she'd given him years ago. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper with her instructions for each plant including their locations in her house. He is a fairly serious gardener himself and doesn't really need the instructions, but he will follow them to the letter anyway because they are hers. He finds the watering can and spray bottle under the sink, fills both with fresh water, and starts to go about his business.

As he pours water into the collection pan under a particularly robust spider plant, he remembers something Sam had told him years ago, that she talks to her plants. He turns the thought over in his head and chews the inside of his cheek for a moment before shrugging and tenderly bringing his long fingers to graze over one of the leaves. "Hey, big guy. Nice to meet you, name's Jack," he says, and he realizes he doesn't feel silly at all. These are Carter's plants, goddammit, and he won't let them wither with loneliness on his watch.

He cheerfully makes his way through her house, chatting it up with her plants-the locals, as he's decided to call them-and giving them the water and conversation they need. It's exactly the activity he needs to ground him, to keep him from thinking too hard about the last time he saw her, much too recently, in those scrubs and in that bed.