"Coffee. Usually. Sometimes tea if I want to be less, you know." He makes a wiggly, noncommittal hand gesture that is exactly the opposite of informative because he realized too late that he didn't actually know where the sentence was headed when he began. "Back home people really got on my case about it. Which I guess makes sense when you make a habit of hitting the forty-eight-hour mark without sleep on a regular basis and don't actually notice until someone points it out." Yeah, oops. "Though in my defense, they should've known better than to put a coffeemaker that close to my office. They realized that pretty quickly though. Put a stop to it. Unfortunately."

He frowns a little to himself at the memory. The coffeemaker had to be promptly transplanted back to the commissary and never again placed in such proximity to the office of one caffeine-dependent insomniac archaeologist. He still resents that command decision.

Yet despite the amount of coffee he's had so far, Daniel supposes the alcohol-to-coffee ratio must be skewed in favor of the former because he's starting to slur his words a bit, even if they're still tumbling out at just as breakneck a pace as ever.