~Finding a Balance~

The day was gray. Clouds rolled across the sky, heavy with rain, pushed along by southerly chill that blew down from the mountains. Daniel was tired and recognized the sting of his eyes as a sign he'd spent far too much time with his nose in his book, instead of enjoying what little was left of the day curled up on a deckchair at the end of the pier with Jack. He barely remembered the car ride to the general's cabin; courtesy in part to the relaxant Janet had given him when he'd left the infirmary a day prior, and the rest due to sheer exhaustion. Jack would call it coming down from the adrenaline rush of being kidnapped, tortured, and chased through the jungle by some little-known extremist faction. Daniel preferred to call it like it was… exhaustion.

He bookmarked the page he was reading and set the book down on the floor. Outside, he could just see Jack huddled on the pier with his fishing line trailing off into the fog that was starting to roll in with the night. And somewhere behind him, in the small galley that passed for a cabin kitchen, Sam and Teal'c were cooking dinner, their voices floating to him, soft and muted.

Daniel was as relaxed as he was ever going to be. Sam had ushered him into an over-stuffed armchair by the window and plied him with blanket. A pillow supported his injured leg and a steaming hot mug of hot chocolate sat on the window sill, within easy reach.

All nice and normal, all safe. Only he didn't feel safe. Thirst gnawed at him, even though he was no longer dehydrated, and he smacked his lips, expecting them to be dry and cracked. He felt hot, yet shucking the blanket did nothing to cool him. He also felt fear, but the jungle was thousands of miles away and only snow-capped mountains surrounded him now. There was no one hunting him, no more threats of imminent death… and yet the slightest movement on his periphery had him spooked.

Jack said it would pass and waved Daniel's ordeal off with the suggestion of downtime for the team and a spot of fishing. He could hardly protest when the decision had been made while he was enduring a round of physical therapy.

So here they were. Jack's "No Laptop" rule put to bed any suggestion of work and left Daniel making a selection from the general's well stocked bookshelf, and, somewhere among twenty year-old copies of The Fisherman's Almanac, he managed to find a rather battered but early edition of Leonard Cottrell's Lost Cities. The spine was damaged and the cover tattered from over-use, but the book itself had figuratively and literally stood the test of time. It made for a decent enough read.

"Daniel?"

He jumped slightly when Sam touched him on the shoulder, his movement enough to make her move around the chair to face him.

"You okay?" she asked, picking up the book. Daniel nodded and smiled warmly as she read the title of the book and rolled her eyes at him. "A thousand and one fishing books and you manage to find a book on archaeology."

"You'd think the general planted it there for me to find."

"Ha! He probably did." She reached over and took the cup from the window sill. "How about I get you another cup, this one's gone cold?"

"Cold? It's only been there a few minutes."

"Daniel… you fell asleep. I gave you the hot chocolate several hours ago. Remember?"

"I... ah…" Had it really been that long?

"It's okay," she said squeezing his shoulder on her way past to the kitchen.

How could he feel tired when, according to Sam, he'd been asleep most of the afternoon? Daniel reached up and took his glasses off, settling them on top of the blanket. Outside, the fog had settled across lake and Jack was walking back towards the cabin with his fishing tackle under one arm and the deckchair under another. Daniel smiled and rested his eyes, banishing the jungle and its oppressive heat and equally oppressive insurgents, and replacing them with friends, warmth and the promise of a good book.

The End