She moved over, which wasn't exactly what Daniel was trying to go for. The only good thing so far was she wasn't taking up over ninety percent of the bed. Now she was taking seventy. How thoughtful. It didn't fail to impress upon him repeatedly that this was his bed, his room, and he was effectively being locked out of both. Daniel took the gun, as if she'd handed him dirty laundry to put away for her. Great. Now he was a servant.

Daniel set the gun down on the night table, away from his glasses, and looked down at her. What the hell did he do now? Share the bed, yeah right.

He could risk moving her, have him throw up on him. Something he'd prefer to avoid. He could get security, or get someone to help her to her room, both of which would involving walking down stairs, searching for help, coming back up. Even if he wasn't exhausted beyond all reason, his arms and legs already set their feet down. No, they were tired, so either do something for them or they quit. Or he could just take the last parcel of free land here and lie down.

What did he do to deserve this? If he wasn't so beat, he'd have taken the other options, but as it was, he was just going to have to tolerate it.

They were just sharing a bed. She better not get any ideas. Daniel reluctantly lay down on the open space, back to her. Ow. Every single limb protested. It was going to hurt worse in the morning once his muscles repaired themselves, and he had the anthropologist part of him to blame for it. He'd wanted to work alongside the locals, learn their methods. And he had! But now his body was killing him for it.

He tried to relax with a sigh.