He sounds just like the Jack she remembers--the same flippant, slightly self-deprecating sarcasm--and her heart skips a beat. But he's soaking wet and it's cold out and he's sitting here talking like he's talking to a Replicator, and she knows the first priority is to get him inside and into dry clothes. "No Replicators," she says, "and nobody has a hand in your head. You're fine. It's me, Sam."