Title: Tequila Blues
Author: tafkar
Summary: Daniel wakes up after a post-"we're not dead!" party.
Category: Team, OT4 if you squint a lot.
Spoilers: Not as such
Rating: G
Archiving: Always welcome; just let me know you have done so.
Notes: Written for raqs when she was having a bad day, although the idea came after I dealt with my own tequila blues (courtesy of Fenriss, who took the Jack role).



The first thing Daniel noticed was the cold seeping into his body. His eyes flew open, giving him a bleary view of white tile, at a tilt, and he realized he was curled up on his bathroom floor, between the toilet and the sink.


Yesterday - oh, yeah, another one of those oh-my-god-it's-the-end-of-the-world-and-we're-dead moments, one where SG1 had managed to snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat and then whack defeat over the head with it. After Frasier had patched the team up, they'd come back to Daniel's place to celebrate.

After a few beers, Jack convinced Daniel that tequila was a really good idea. Daniel remembered some bleary fun, and then a rush to the bathroom. He dimly remembered Jack calling, "Hey, Daniel, you OK in there?"

"M'fine, have fun, I'll be OK," Daniel responded, kneeling before the toilet like a supplicant and praying to tip over the edge from nausea to actual illness so he could get it overwith and rejoin the party.

Sam had come in at some point and stroked his head. "Poor Daniel," she'd giggled. Jack had muttered something inaudible behind her and he'd felt a male hand rub his back.

"I do not understand why so many of you partake in an activity that often leaves you ill," Teal'c said.

"'s fun," Daniel mumbled in response. Teal'c gently rearranged Daniel so the archaeologist wouldn't have any unsightly tile marks on his face, slipping a folded towel beneath his head. "Thanks, you're a good friend," Daniel slurred, patting the large man's hand before slipping away again.

Now the party was apparently over, given the silence coming from the living room. Daniel pushed himself up to a sitting position; the room rocked back and forth a little, but didn't spin. Small mercies, he thought, picking at the smear of raspberry that had somehow gotten crushed into his jeans. He leaned back against the bathtub, the porcelain cold against his bare back, and looked up at the mirror, trying to decipher the blurry scribbles.

Levereing himself to his feet, he clutched the sink and leaned forward until he could see the mirror clearly. Jack's writing, severe block capitals, marched across it in a muted pink that could only be Sam's lipstick.

  1. Take aspirin
  2. Drink water
  3. All of it!
  4. Bed.

An arrow, in the same greasy pink, pointed down at the counter.

Sam's gonna kill him in the morning, Daniel thought as he took the two aspirin thoughtfully left out for him and washed them down with half a glass of water. He began to put it down, then reread Jack's note, sighed, and swallowed the rest. Leaning against the sink edge, he considered lying back down on the bathroom floor, then shivered at the chill penetrating his bare feet and decided against it. His sweater was balled up in a corner of the bathtub, but putting it on seemed like too much effort.

Grabbing his glasses from the counter and sliding them on, he staggered out to the living room and surveyed the wreckage. It looked like Megiddo after the Egyptians had barrelled through. The carnage of pizza bones, chewed up lemon, salt, and empty bottles was too much to face, and he lurched toward the bedroom.

It was like stepping into a different world; he leaned against the door for a moment to take it all in. Candles cast a soft glow over the room. Teal'c sat on the floor by the side of the bed, kel'no'reeming for all he was worth. Sam was curled up on her side in the middle of Daniel's big mattress, half covered by his blanket, looking innocent and peaceful. Between the two lay Jack, sprawled out on his stomach to take up as much space as possible, one arm flopping over the side of the bed over Teal'c's shoulder, the other thrown around Carter's waist, as if he could protect each of them with his very presence even while unconscious.

Daniel began to leave, planning to clear a space on the living room sofa. Then Sam squinted up at him. "Daniel? Hey," she said, patting the open space beside her a little drunkenly. "Come to bed."

He carefully placed his glasses on the nighttable and slid under the covers. She wrapped an arm around him and curled closer. "You're so cold," she said.

Jack grumbled inarticulately, and she slid back toward him a little, pulling Daniel along. Jack's hand slid forward around her waist to rest against Daniel's arm. She kissed the top of Daniel's head and her eyelids drifted shut.

As the point-counterpoint of Jack and Sam's snoring lulled him to sleep, he thought how lucky he was to have his strange, screwed-up family of choice to hold him close, even if they did convince him to drink tequila.

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