Vala woke up groggily in an unfamiliar room. The door was closed and she could faintly smell something cooking. There were people talking. She sat up, trying to get her bearings. Her head was foggy, everything felt stuffy. She couldn't breathe and when she sat up she got dizzy.

Leaning against the pillows, propping herself up, she took a deep, labored breath. Something rattled in her chest and made her cough. Something goopy and yellow came up. Almost gagging on the sensation she spit it out into her hand immediately.

"Ugh, god…" she flinched at the sight of it.

A couple seconds later the door opened and Daniel stood framed by the lights in the other room.

"You okay?" he asked, almost whispering.

"What is this?" she asked holding her hand out. "Is there something growing inside of me?"

Daniel didn't even look, he grabbed a tissue from the box and cleaned the goop from her hand.

"Nothing's growing," he assured her, sitting on the edge of the bed and once again feeling for a fever. "Think you could eat something?"

"I just want to die," she moaned.

Daniel chucked at her. "It'll pass soon, no need to die." He stood up and tossed the tissue in the trash. "I'm going to get you some soup. I'll be right back."

When he left she reached over to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. The soft glow illuminated the room. A framed photograph caught her eye. A young couple sat on a rug in what looked like a large tent. The woman had a scarf tied around her head, the tails trailing down her shoulder combining with the flowing locks of her curly brown hair. The man had a shaggy mop of dark brown hair that hung into his eyes, he wore glasses and he seemed to be laughing at whoever was behind the camera. Between the couple, standing up, making him the same height as the seated adults was a little boy no more than four, cubby with baby fat. He was looking over his shoulder at the woman, but you could tell he was grinning. She returned his gaze, her mouth slightly open, mid-word.

Daniel returned with a tray and Vala put the photograph back. He set the tray across her lap on the bed and even though the mere idea of food made her stomach churn, she couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. There was a large coffee mug of soup, a plate of crackers, water, and a mug of hot tea.

"You don't have to eat anything you don't want to," he told her, fussing with the tray as he put it down, trying to get the legs on even surfaces. "You really should drink, though. Oh, and," satisfied the tray was sable he reached in his pocket for her prescription bottle. "Time for another one."

Vala settled back into the pillows, "I'd say it smells good, but I can barely breathe."

"Hopefully it tastes good enough smell won't matter."

Vala took the offered pill, then looked over the tray. The soup looked good, but she felt ill at ease with the idea of food, so she opted for the tea. It was sweet and had more than a hint of mint in it. She sighed contentedly and almost sank into the bed.

Daniel smiled a little. "My mom used to make it like that," he said, nodding to the picture on the bedside table.

"These are your parents?" she asked, picking up the picture again, studying it more closely. "You look like your father." She knew that smile anywhere, the jaw line.

"I know," he answered, a hint of pride in his voice.

"You were a cute baby."

"Thanks. Try a cracker."

"Where was the picture taken?"

Daniel took it from her and looked at it. "I have no idea. We took that set up with us to every dig. It could be Egypt, Belize, India…. whenever I think of my childhood home I think of that tent, not the apartment in New York."

"What was it like?" Vala asked, pushing the thought of her childhood home out of her mind. She felt ill enough without those memories.

"I don't remember much," he admitted.

"What were your parents like?"

"My mom made tea every night," Daniel told her, putting the photo back in its place. "My dad would put some sort of liquor in his. I remember him pulling a bottle out of a trunk every night. I remember them reading to me a lot. My mom would tell me stories about growing up in Holland; my dad grew up in Wisconsin, both of them on farms. Both only children so the stories were always about pet chickens and escaped goats."

"Goats and chickens?" Vala asked, almost laughing but it triggered a cough again. Daniel put an empty cup in front of her and she spit that yellow gunk out.

"I don't come from a very dignified line," he told her with a self-deprecating smirk, ignoring the phlem. "Crackers staying down okay?"

"For now."

"Do you want to try the soup, or do you not want to risk it?"

"Can I have more tea?" she gingerly put the cup back on the tray.

"Of course. Give me a few minutes." He put the empty water glass on the nightstand. "You can use that if you cough anything else up." He took the tray back and left the room.

Daniel startled when he found Sam in the kitchen putting their chili bowls in the dishwasher. She looked at him and smiled, rolling her eyes.

"She asked for more tea," he said lamely. "I can make you some, too?"

"I wouldn't want to get in the way," she teased him.

"She's never had the flu before. She doesn't know what to expect. She coughed up some mucus and thought something was growing inside of her."

"Um-hum," Sam went back to the dishes.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," she told him.

"Um-hum," Daniel imitated, putting the kettle on. The truth was, he had forgotten Sam was still there. Something had sparked in his chest when Vala asked about his parents. When she seemed so interested in him. Vala wasn't one to go much further than surface level with people. She'd been burned too many times and didn't let people in easily. It made him feel, special he supposed, that he was allowed in. Even if it was just because of a fever.

"Are you sure you don't want some?" Daniel asked Sam preparing two cups this time. "There's more than enough."

Sam looked over his splay of ingredients as he assembled the drinks.

"Fresh mint, imported tea…." She looked it over. "Raw sugar. "

"I have milk, too. I know you put milk in your tea." Daniel tried to shove down the feeling of guilt and embarrassment that filled his chest. So what if he was making tea and soup for Vala. He hadn't bought this stuff for her exclusively. He'd make tea for Sam and when he made drinks for his friends he made it the way they like. Sam liked milk, so he'd give her milk.

"Did you fly it in from Harvard, Illinois?"

"What?"

"It's the milk capital of the world," Sam explained.

"How would you even know that?"

"How do you not? Useless trivia is your specialty," she teased him. "And apparently, so is making the fanciest tea and chicken soup known to man."

"I got a little carried away at the store, sue me. That's a no on the tea?"

"No, thank you." She let the matter drop. Daniel would figure it out in his own time. That's what she always told Vala. If Sam pushed the matter too far he'd just put up a bigger front than he already was. Let him pamper Vala, she deserved it for all his bluster and thick-headedness. "I think I'm going to head out. It's getting late."

Daniel glanced at the clock as he rubbed mint leaves, releasing their oils before dropping them in the tea cups. "Time flies when you're making fun of poorly informed documentaries."

"Call if you need any help." Sam dried her hands on her jeans. "I won't tell Jack your chili was better than his."

"Do me a favor and don't even tell him I made it. He'll be gloating for years." Daniel gave Sam a hug. "Thanks for brining Vala some clothes. I didn't feel right going through her," he cleared his throat. "things."

Sam laughed. "You're such a mess." She gave Daniel a peck on the cheek and left.

Daniel finished making tea and found himself straightening his shirt and checking his hair in his reflection on the toaster. He did a quick breath check, and blinked away the chili stink. He grabbed a mint leaf and chewed on it to fix the problem as he took the two cups of tea into the bedroom.