Nick carries himself with an uncertainty about basic human principles that's familiarly unsettling. Or, well, endearing, possibly. There's something a little Teal'c-esque about it, like someone who's new at this. It's present in the stilted diction, the careful speech, the precision to the words. Could Daniel have picked up an offworlder, just by chance?

He shakes his head, reaching up beneath his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. That'd be just his kind of luck, wouldn't it? It might explain the obsession with Judeo-Christian chronology. Being raised by alien conquerors that draw from Earth mythology to create their legacy has that sort of effect.

The room is overpriced for what is almost guaranteed to be a poorly built establishment, but Daniel's too tired to care at this point. He waits just outside with the two suspiciously scuffed room keys, leaning against the car and hoping Nick hasn't simply walked off with the money in hand. Daniel's not sentimental about the twenty, but Nick really did not look in the best shape and wandering through Pennsylvania at night won't do wonders for his current condition.