I intended for this to be a drabble, but I keep thinking it's too long to be considered one. -_- All I know is that it's short, with no other purpose to serve than to get me out of this writer's block. I don't know if Daniels and Rick interact at all with each other the morning after the camp attack, so this is what I think might've happened *if* they did. Yeah, just a quick little 'what if' filler.

And oh yeah, Happy Thanksgiving all! :)
Daniels, O'Connell/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers

Friendly Fire

The devoted diligence and round-the-clock care he gave the injury had finally taken its toll on him. No longer able to fall asleep and stay asleep, Daniels decided to remain awake and alert as he continued to nurse the bullet wound in his left arm. He was standing silently outside his tent, slumped slightly with the remaining bits of fatigue. Dawn was slowly peeking up from the horizon, the great yellow disk of the sun extending its glorious rays onto the slumbering desert floor. Daniels relished in the way it reminded him of the many Southwestern sunrises he'd seen, watching them ascending up from behind the Franklin Mountains outside El Paso.

Daniels had been enjoying the rare moment of peace for the last forty-five minutes when the quiet of the Sahara morning was broken by the waking grunts and groans from the other camp occupants, coming to life like a great and ornery beast. The contagious symphony of noises had Daniels yawning with his own series of careful stretches. When he opened his tightly shut eyes, he was almost startled out of his skin when he saw the hulking figure of O'Connell emerging from the shadows of his camp, lumbering on by slowly.

The relationship between the two men wasn't exactly wine and roses; the only obvious similarity between them was their mutual home of America. Daniels tipped his head in brisk acknowledgment to his rival, O'Connell returning the gesture evenly.

"Daniels."

"O'Connell."

The mercenary did not continue his stride though, instead stopping and folding his arms, watching the direction from whence he came. He looked to be waiting for the slower members of his party to catch up. In Daniels's mind, O'Connell was begging for an engagement just by standing there in front of him, so he gave it to him. "Ye're up early."

Funnily enough, that was precisely what Rick was expecting of Daniels. He angled his head, replied, "No earlier than you apparently."

Daniels furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Been waiting on Evelyn. She's..." O'Connell paused, seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. "She's not really awake yet."

The corners of Daniels's mouth cracked into a sardonic grin. I knew that broad was gonna give 'im trouble. "She holdin' you up?"

"No, no. She's just not a morning person, that's all." Rick left it at that, wasn't about to divulge in the fact that it was the small hangover Evelyn was suffering from that was holding them up, courtesy of an impromptu drinking session the previous night. He instead refocused his attention on the dark-haired tomb raider before him, standing stiff and bored, his suspicious eyes watching his competitor closely. It was tricky conversing with the man; Daniels was prone to exploiting every possible loophole in a set of circumstances if it made him feel or sound superior. If you had a copper Lincoln in your pocket, Daniels would show up with a silver dollar and a smirk. O'Connell had wised up to this, knew when to cut off the supply to Daniels's ego before it could expand anymore. He also saw that Daniels was favoring his left arm, which he held close to his chest and bandaged tightly in frayed gauze. Rick gathered this was from the small battle they had with the black-cloaked assassins that attacked the camps just last evening. "I see you took a bullet."

Daniels seemed to bristle at the harmless observation. "You catch on quick."

Rick shrugged, brushed off the snide reply. "It holding you up?" he added casually.

Daniels narrowed his eyes peevishly, answered with a sneer, "I'm fine, but thanks fer yer concern." He gave O'Connell the once-over, was dismayed to see that he looked to be in immaculate condition, not a scratch or crease to be found anywhere on him. He felt a pang of jealousy poking him in the gut. How does this doughboy wannabe git off scot-free an' I'm the one with the busted limb?

"Alright, sorry I asked. Just looks like you're in a little pain." Rick stopped, snapped his fingers with a quick shake of his head. "Oh, I forgot, you don't really feel much of anything though, am I right?"

Daniels's face was turning an unnatural shade of red, but before he could bite back, the dull knife of Evelyn's tired voice managed to cut through the testosterone-filled tension as she ambled towards Rick. "Mr. O'Connell, are we going back down?" she asked through a smothered yawn.

Daniels couldn't help but flash an acidly triumphant smirk in the smarting O'Connell's direction. "Looks like yer ass jus' got saved, am I right?"

It was way too early in the morning to begin a formal argument with the man (especially in front of the groggy Evelyn), so O'Connell, not particularly happy that he hadn't the last word, decided to take the high road and dropped it. He tugged Evelyn gently by her arm and walked away. They were joined moments later by an equally groggy Jonathan as he sprinted awkwardly to catch up with his sister.

Daniels watched somberly as they disappeared out of sight, rubbing at his wounded appendage absentmindedly. The rest of the American party was emerging from their tents, ready to return to the excavation site beneath the Anubis statue. As his mind finally came alive completely, Daniels felt himself itching to get back down, if only for the sake of beating O'Connell to whatever treasure was hidden there.

If'n there's one thing I wanna be right about, it's knowin' I din't come to God's sandbox on this wild goose to lose out to this band a' soft-bellied dolts.