Jack woke to the sound of a vaguely familiar whistling. It took him a moment to identify it as the coffee maker. Coffee? Who—he felt next to him. Daniel was missing. Blearily, he looked at the clock. Its glowing red numbers informed him that it was just past three. In the morning. He was going to hurt Daniel.

Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of bed and ambled down the hall. The light was on in the kitchen. He walked in to see Daniel heading for what looked rather like a packrat's nest. The coffee table was pushed to a far wall, and books, papers, and pictures were spread on the floor, surrounding a hole with a notebook and a couple pens. Daniel was working? At three in the morning? Sure, the man was a workaholic, but this bordered on the ridiculous.

Daniel himself was in flannel pants, socks, and one of Jack's oversized sweaters. His hair was still rumpled from sleep—or his attempt at sleep—and his glasses were absent. After a moment, Jack spotted them by the notebook.

Jack sized up the situation in an instant. It was three in the morning and Daniel was making coffee. Something was wrong.

Daniel settled himself into his work, slipping on his glasses and keeping the coffee mug close by. Jack took a couple steps and then leaned against the wall, smiling fondly. Even if it was three o'clock, Daniel looked absolutely adorable. Then he spoke up. "Having fun?"

Daniel jumped, then twisted around to look at Jack severely. "Don't do that!" he scolded.

"You know I hate to wake up to an empty bed," Jack said neutrally. "What's wrong?"

Daniel looked back at his work and tried to seem innocent. "Couldn't sleep."

"Obviously. Coffee isn't going to help that cause, either," Jack pointed out. Daniel exhaled heavily.

"I know," he muttered.

Jack pushed himself from the wall, resettled himself on the couch, and patted the seat beside him invitingly. Daniel looked at the couch for a moment, then the mess on the floor, and then joined Jack on the couch. He immediately scooted into Jack's offered embrace, his feet tucking between the couch cushions. Finally, Jack asked softly, "So why can't you sleep?"

Daniel was quiet before answering, "Sha're."

Jack understood immediately and cursed himself for forgetting the date. This was the second week of some rare downtime, and he'd only taken cursory notice of what day it was. That it was Sha're's death-day had escaped him entirely.

Daniel, of course, had remembered.

"I'm sorry," Jack said.

"No need. I just…" Daniel buried his face into Jack's neck, and Jack could feel Daniel's warm breath. "I didn't even remember until we got into bed."

And Jack knew that that was the real problem. Not so much that it was the day Sha're had died, though that naturally depressed Daniel, but that Daniel had forgotten the event all together. Jack began to absently rub comforting circles on Daniel's back as he thought of what to say. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that Daniel wasn't expecting him to say anything, so he reached for one of Daniel's hands with his free one. Little by little, Daniel began to relax.

"C'mon," Jack whispered, "we can snuggle just as easily in bed as out here, and I'm getting cold."

A low rumble in Daniel's chest might have been a chuckle, but he only nodded against Jack's shoulder. The colonel stood first, and pulled Daniel up next to him. Daniel looked at the mess he had made and bit his lip in indecision.

"We can clean up when the sun's up," Jack muttered, and led Daniel back toward their room. Daniel didn't resist.