AN: I've got to really take the time to thank my betas. I don't think I have ever pestered and bothered and given them as much work as this story, especially here towards the end. They've been a lifeline to help me steer through it, even while putting up with my ongoing mantra of just how much hate I've got for this. It's truly a love-hate relationship (so don't worry, I don't completely 'hate' it, just…hate it…sometimes). It looks (tentatively) that there will be two more chapters. Also, thank you everyone, for reading, and leaving feedback, even if it's just 'nice job', it really helps to hear it. I'd offer you the character of your choice for a day – but, well, I don't own them! Enjoy (the length should absolve some of my guilt for taking a few days on this one).

Chapter Thirteen

"Do you think this will work?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But it's worth a shot. I can't imagine – losing everything. Having to give up what you love -"

"I can."

John was content to keep his eyes closed, and listen, not tipping off that he was back to being fully awake. The voices he recognized as Carter and Mitchell were off some distance away, muted, and John was pretty sure he hadn't been meant to overhear them talking about him.

It grew quiet again, and he wondered if McKay was around; probably not considering the brief conversation between the two members of SG-1. John doubted they'd talk about him in front of McKay; more likely Rodney was off getting his set of tests. The sedative wasn't meant to last long, and Sheppard noted the absence of the IV already. As much as he hadn't wanted to be knocked out, he figured it'd been for the best. He'd actually had a couple of MRI's before, and Lam wasn't exaggerating when she said they were loud. Like gunshots, fired in succession.

A loud sound intruded, one he quickly identified as his privacy curtain being pulled back – it was a distinctive sound, metal sliding against metal - above and to his left. He opened his eyes. "Rodney?"

"Sorry, Mitchell – that would be me." There was a breeze as the other man moved to sit in the chair beside John. "I know we haven't really met – bar room brawl stand down notwithstanding," lazy amusement was clear in his voice, "but I think we have a lot more in common than you realize."

"You're a pilot," John accused, soft and raspy. He was still a little groggy from the sedative, and he resented the connection. Because a pilot is something he might never be again. If he had to pick one person in the SGC to offer him sympathy, it wouldn't be another pilot. It was like offering running shoes to the guy in the wheelchair.

"Yes," Mitchell drawled, oblivious to Sheppard's internal thoughts. "But it's more than that. I know what you're going through."

Before Sheppard could say he really can't – and maybe John was just a little pissed at the insinuation that this guy could, Mitchell explained. "A while ago, after we defeated the Goa'uld attack against Earth, I was left critically injured." Mitchell paused, letting the information sink in, and John wondered if maybe his face was as readable as an open book, because there was something in Mitchell's voice that tipped Sheppard off that he knew what John felt.

"I was told I'd never walk again," Mitchell said, dropping the hammer stroke.

It wasn't that Sheppard was in the habit of ignoring people, but he was lost in trying to find what to say. The right level of emotional detachment, optimism and humor, so he didn't come out sounding like he needed pity, or was as emotionally wrecked as he felt from time to time – and everything that came to mind, he discarded. It wasn't like this was McKay next to him, where he could simply say 'shut up' if he couldn't handle the bonding moment. Or, if he needed it, John knew they'd progressed to the point where he did feel comfortable revealing more of himself to the scientist that had became his friend. If it'd been Teyla – someone who seemed to get into his head and know him better than he sometimes thought he knew himself, or even Ronon, whose black and white acceptance made it easy because John knew he could say something as dramatic as 'I'm going to kill myself' and the runner would say 'knock it off' and it'd be done. Then, John would've been able to find something to say.

John stared up at the ceiling - it didn't do any good to look at Mitchell, but he was thinking about what the colonel had said. The last line had been delivered with the impact that Mitchell had expected. Not being able to walk again. That was as career ending as blindness, and just about as bad – a tie, maybe. Between the two, that was a hard call to make. Paralyzed or blind. John couldn't see taking one over the other. "Why didn't they use the healing device – or did they?" Sheppard finally asked, curious.

"Nope. It was all on me." The reply was solid, mid-range, too care free for John to believe that in retrospect, maybe even Colonel Mitchell bore a little bit of resentment over what he'd had to endure. "Hell," continued Mitchell. "Imagine what it'd be like if Sam was called in to heal every soldier." John had to admit, it was probably a good point. Mitchell kept talking, and there was that indefinable emotion there that John couldn't pin down, and he doubted that Mitchell himself realized it was there. "Even within the SGC it'd wind up being too much for her. It's not a feasible solution, and I was just another F302 pilot."

That'd be like calling McKay 'just another scientist'. He was the scientist. It might not be a pleasant thought, to consider some lives more disposable than others, but it was what it was. Rodney was the on-site genius, and there was only one of him. Sheppard had wondered if this entire trip was for his benefit, or McKay's. He had a pretty good suspicion that if he'd been the only one with the job-ending injuries, he'd be on the Daedalus with a one-way ticket to a rehabilitation home. Air Force Colonel's were a dime a dozen, but highly intelligent and skilled Stargate trained astrophysicists weren't.

John shook his head slightly. "You're a member of SG-1," he argued.

"I wasn't back then. Just one more soldier – but that's not why I'm here, Colonel." There was a sound that made Sheppard think the man had leaned forward in the chair. When he continued his voice was sincere. "Look – I'm crap at this. What I'm trying to say is just hang tough, I've been there. It's not easy, but you'll get through it."

Did Mitchell know John's history? The black mark that made too many of his colleagues regard him with barely concealed distaste – distrust. He didn't want to be here, having this conversation with this guy. "I'm not you," John said stiffly. "You don't know anything about me."

There was a rueful chuckle. "Not exactly. I read your file – read the mission reports from Atlantis. Sorry it couldn't be a two-way street, but, anyway -"

"You've read my file?" John didn't know whether to be pissed or – relieved. He could hear the amusement in Mitchell's voice, could imagine the smile on the man's face.

"And you wouldn't – if the positions had been reversed?" Mitchell asked lazily. "Sheppard, there are a lot of rules in the military – and not all of them are the right rules. I'd like to think someone who cares enough to screw their career over human lives is someone worth keeping around."

Well, that sucked on a lot of levels. One, John couldn't see Mitchell to gauge the man's opinion of him – was he being serious or patronizing, and two, Mitchell's comments meant Sheppard had to face that maybe he couldn't keep judging every one in the military by the same book he'd been clinging to since everything had gone to hell in a hand basket over the skies of Afghanistan.

Before he could formulate a response – and John really didn't know what to say - there was a page over the intercom calling for Colonel Mitchell to report to the General's office.

"Guess I should've turned in that report after all," Mitchell deadpanned. John heard him stand. A hand tapped against his leg – "I'll be back, to see how it's going." Mitchell started to walk away, but the footsteps stopped. "Think about what I said."

The sound of Mitchell walking away started again, and Sheppard heard the door open as the colonel left, shutting behind him. The conversation left Sheppard confused. The unexpected support was…unexpected. Despite General O'Neill's talk in the helicopter to 'quit being stupid', John had known if it hadn't been for pressure from Elizabeth, he wouldn't have been on the expedition. O'Neill hadn't been as condescending as Sumner – but Sheppard knew the man had viewed the black mark on his record, and considered it against him. The fact that Mitchell didn't automatically judge him for what was on paper flew in the face of everything John had told himself to accept after he'd accepted the orders to McMurdo. Ironically, the same mindset Mitchell was advising now, is what he'd told himself then. That he'd learn to get through it, one day at a time – but then he'd found that he liked Antarctica, and the quiet simplicity of life at McMurdo.

John stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on the fact that he wouldn't have to get through anything anymore, because the damn device would work, and that would be it. He tried not to dwell on the waiting, but his mind circled from one point to the next, and always ended up on what he would do if this didn't work.

"John?"

Sheppard flinched, and turned quickly towards the voice. "Teyla?" He hadn't heard anything – but then again, this was Teyla.

"Rodney is finishing with his tests. Colonel Carter has gone to retrieve the device," she explained, and he could tell from the pitch of her voice that she'd moved nearer to his side as she talked.

He nodded. The butterflies that bloomed were ignored. "Ronon?"

"Teal'c has convinced him to watch…Star Wars," she said, with a question in her voice.

"Good movie," John smiled. "You'd like it." It was the stupid things, like realizing he'd never see Star Wars again, if this didn't work. And he hadn't watched the movie in years. Suddenly, seeing Han Solo swoop to Luke's rescue, blasting Vader off his buddy's tail, seemed like the thing to see. "What I'm trying to say, is that you don't have to stay – go watch the movie."

Warm fingers enveloped his colder ones, and she said, "We will watch it together, when you are healed."

Voices growing louder interrupted any reply he was going to say, and right away he picked out McKay's sarcastic bluster – "I'm just saying that my brain happens to be a valuable commodity for mankind, and make sure you don't screw it up with that thing – leave holes, or gaps, or take IQ points with it when you turn it off."

"It doesn't work that way, McKay," Carter replied testily.

"So you say, but have you ever – oh, look, sleeping beauty is awake."

John really missed the ability to glare. He still tried, but he wasn't sure how effective it was when he couldn't see. "Can you set that thing to remove his ego?" he poked.

"But that's what you love the most about me," McKay replied cockily. John listened to the progression of feet. He knew Carter was there, McKay and Teyla, but he'd heard someone else.

"How do you feel, Colonel?" asked the someone else from off to his right. Doctor Lam.

"Ready," he admitted. And despite poking fun at Rodney, he got what McKay was saying. "It won't do any damage, right? Because as much of a pain in the ass as Rodney can be, I prefer him as is."

"The healing device is perfectly safe," Lam assured him. "Now, who wants to go first?" she asked, too upbeat for John.

The room got quiet – waiting. Everyone probably thought he wanted to go first, but suddenly, he wasn't ready. Nerves, the what-ifs, call it what you will, but John didn't want to be first. "McKay," he offered. "I'll wait."

"I can't believe you're volunteering me to be the guinea pig," Rodney retorted. But the thin humor underlying the not-so cutting statement let John know just how much of it that Rodney got. He knew why John had volunteered him to go first. John needed the extra time with the hope, because if it failed, then that was the end. No hope, no more promises of a miracle cure – the only thing that would remain would be the need for John to accept how it would be for the rest of his life, and he wasn't sure he could do that.

"That's exactly it," agreed Sheppard. "But Teyla will have to tell me if your head spins in circles and you vomit pea soup. Or start repeating random numbers and obsess over the zipper on your pants."

"Colonel," remonstrated Lam.

"Doctor, this is merely their way of pretending they are not nervous."

John frowned in Teyla's direction. "They are right here."

"No kidding," chimed in McKay. "You spend two months living together, and suddenly everyone thinks they're the authority on your hidden objectives."

"Am I wrong?" Teyla asked pointedly.

"That's beside the point." There was a sound of clothes shifting, and John wondered what was going on before Rodney continued, "Fine – just, do it. I've still got a headache despite the meager pain killer you gave me, and I'm tired of feeling like my right hand is going into temporal convulsions."

John slid off his gurney, fighting back some mild queasiness left over from the sedative, and allowed Teyla to guide him towards McKay. She'd never let go of his hand from before, and though he appreciated the support, his palm was getting sweaty. Once she had him anchored to McKay, he wiped the perspiration against his pants, and fumbled for Rodney's right. The one that was shaking – trembling with uncontrolled muscle spasms that he knew wore McKay out, and added to the general weariness from what they'd been through. "Let me know if you feel two heads growing, or anything unusual and potentially maiming," Rodney whispered his way.

"Will do," John whispered softly back.

He wasn't sure where Lam and Carter were standing, but when the device turned on, John heard the humming somewhere in front of him, and up, towards McKay's head.

"That's not bad," McKay murmured, sounding oddly sleepy. "In fact – this is actually…pleasant. Carson would be out of a job if we had this on Atlantis."

But John's attention drifted from Rodney's words to the hand clasped in his own. He placed his other further up on McKay's arm. The trembles were sputtering like a misfired engine, and the time between new tremors became longer – until suddenly they were gone, and didn't come back.

"Rodney?" he asked, wondering if McKay could see out of his right eye again. Wondering how he felt.

The humming clicked off, and feet moved towards him. "He's asleep," Lam whispered, pulling his hands off of Rodney. "Your turn."

"Teyla, stay with him." It wasn't exactly an order – more like a strong request.

She touched his arm briefly. "Are you sure?" she asked. "He is sleeping, and you may need -"

John shook his head. "I'm fine - just…he should have someone there if he wakes up."

There was understanding amusement in Lam's voice when she said, "I think he'll be asleep for a while, Colonel – now, you, back to your bed."

John let the doctor help him back to his gurney and re-settled on the bed. The butterflies were back with their larger friends, albatrosses – yeah, that was a pretty good description. His stomach felt tight from the nervous clenching. He'd force his muscles to relax, only to find them tensed moments later.

"Hey," greeted Mitchell from somewhere down by John's feet. "The General wanted me to wish you good luck."

"You didn't have to come back." John's voice was hoarse – the nerves were beginning to eat him alive. He hadn't even heard the colonel approach.

"I know." Mitchell's answer was short and to the point – something Sheppard was beginning to equate to the man's personality, but there was also that lazy humor clear in his tone. "I also thought you might want to know; Teal'c is trying to convince Ronon that building a lightsaber is a worthwhile project. So – you might want to speed this healing thing up before they raid the lab for parts."

John started to sit back up. "What?"

There was a low chuckle from Mitchell. "They're even rounding up Doctor Lee to help, I think."

"Cam," the doctor warned, pushing John back with a hand on his chest.

"If you're ready, Colonel?" Carter moved closer to his side, and John smelled her perfume. It was lighter and more subtle than the scent Teyla wore on Nokomis, and it did nothing for his unsettled stomach. John nodded, just enough to get across his answer, and tightened his jaw, trying to get prepared mentally if not physically. Lightsabers. Jesus.

The device began humming like it had with McKay, and he felt warmth build in his head. He wondered if it was supposed to do that, but the level maintained a comfortable feeling and never grew to a painful amount. John kept his momentary fears to himself. It actually felt – lulling. The humming noise combined with the warmth, he felt…sluggish.

John was barely aware when it clicked off, but a soft touch on his shoulder made him roll his head in the general direction. "Done already?" he asked, his voice slurred a little from the sleepiness that had crept up on him out of nowhere.

"Colonel, it's been ten minutes," Lam replied. She lifted his hand, and took his pulse. "We've turned the lights down. The tiredness is a normal after-effect, but before we let you sleep, can you open your eyes for us?"

His eyes were closed? Frowning, he blinked a few times, finding it hard to keep them open, but as he tried, the light and blurry objects began to appear, brief snapshots each time he got them open. "There's something there," he muttered. John really wanted to get up, and look, and find out how good he could see again, but the lethargy held him tight in its grip. "Why am I so tired?" he mumbled.

"It's the healing process. The device works by using your own energy to heal the damage," Carter explained. Still blinking, John was finally able to place a voice to a blurry figure the few times he managed to keep his eyes open for more than a second.

"I can see," John muttered, and he knew he sounded drugged, but he was also excited. The draining fatigue was making the entire thing almost anticlimactic, and he realized that part of the problem was the fact that Rodney had already slipped into his own healing sleep, and he'd insisted Teyla stay with McKay. Ronon was watching Luke do that Force thing, which left him with none of his team to share this with.

"Get some sleep, Colonel. Your eyesight will be there when you wake up."

Mitchell's voice was warm, and during slower intermittent blinks, John could make out a blurry smile from the man standing at the end of his bed. He tried to raise up, but the persistent Lam pushed him firmly back down. Your eyesight will be there when you wake up – he repeated it to himself. Those were probably the sweetest words John had ever heard, and he gave up his fight to stay awake. His world wasn't dark anymore, and John wanted to announce it to the world even as the fatigue sucked him into a healing sleep.

OoO

Waking up later was probably something John would forever remember as one of the defining moments in his life; when he opened his eyes, slowly at first, and then keeping them open for longer every time, he saw – everything. Despite some lingering fuzziness that Lam assured him would dissipate as his optic nerve stabilized and essentially retrained itself, John stared at the gurney he was on. His eyes roved from the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, to the pale green privacy curtains, to his team lounging around his bed.

Rodney, with a broad grin as he locked eyes with John, and saw that Sheppard was staring at him. John fought to swallow the painful lump, nodding a small amount – yeah. He could see. He pulled his eyes away from that oddly beautiful face, and moved over, smiling at Teyla.

She nodded to him, "You can see again, John." When she took a deep breath, and blinked a few times herself, nostrils flaring with the strong emotions of having him returned to them –

"And you're a sight for sore eyes," he breathed.

Ronon pushed off the bed he was leaning on. "Good. I wasn't going to follow anyone else's orders, and I like missions with you – plenty of opportunity to kill Wraith."

John chuckled. That was about as close to openly admitting any affection as the runner had gotten in their two month ordeal. "You never follow my orders."

"Teyla told me not to."

She turned her head around to glare at Ronon. "That is not what I said."

McKay slid off his bed, and dropped into a chair next to Sheppard. John realized that he was still lying in bed, and he didn't have to anymore. It was over. No more tests, beds, wheelchairs, guiding hands – nothing. The smile returned in force. His eyes locked back on to Rodney. Seeing Ronon and Teyla arguing, seeing the matching grin on McKay's face, seeing everything all over again - it was like seeing the Thunderbirds for the first time, or waking up for school only to find the ground covered in white and finding out it's a snow day. It was magic.

"I assume we're all back in Technicolor?" Rodney queried, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You're a bit fuzzy, but what else is new," he joked. John gestured towards McKay's right side. "How about you?"

"Fuzzy? I was never fuzzy – but if you're poorly inferring I'm still indefinable, mysterious, that edge of something…then yes, I still am – it's McKay, Rodney McKay – and look, there's Pussy Galore," he returned, thumbing towards Teyla. "As to your question, everything's good as new." Rodney rolled his shoulders and looked rueful. "Better than before, actually – I always had this tennis elbow -"

"Doctor Lam ran more tests while you slept," interjected Teyla, frowning at the reference to herself that she didn't understand. "She seemed pleased with the results." She cocked her head slightly. "Who is this Pussy Galore?"

Pleased. John figured that was probably the mildest term possible for how he felt. When Beckett had offered the hope of the healing device, he'd felt a lot of emotions, and most of it had been fear – that it would fail, or only get him partially healed, still incapable of flying. Now that it had worked – pleased. It didn't do how he felt justice. Not even close.

"A very attractive woman of film legend," Rodney answered with a sugary smile. "And you happen to be a very attractive -"

John groaned. He could completely see this going bad. "Athosian that could kick your ass."

"What are you trying to say, McKay?" Ronon stated, folding his arms.

"Relax, Chewie -"

Sheppard's eyes opened wider. McKay didn't know that Teal'c had shown Ronon Star Wars. The look on Ronon said it all.

"Are you calling me an oversized furry animal?" Ronon bristled, folded arms unfolding.

"Teal'c had him watch Star Wars while we were being tested and treated," John explained dryly, as Rodney's jaw dropped.

"Great," McKay retorted. "Another one of our cultural icons demystified. Look – being called Chewie isn't an insult, now if I'd compared you to an Ewok -"

While Rodney blundered into having to explain Return of the Jedi, John took the opportunity to study his team without them realizing what he was doing. Staring at their faces, he was surprised at how changed they looked from what he remembered before the mission to Nokomis. Everyone seemed older, and he wasn't sure if it was because his memories of them had grown vague or if it was a result of what they'd gone through.

John tried to figure out what the change was, when it came to him. It was their eyes – that was the difference. Older, wiser – sadder. Something indefinable was reflecting back, and he wondered if they knew it. He wondered if the same went for him. Because Sheppard hadn't been able to see, would his eyes still reflect the damage? Then again, maybe to them, they all looked the same. Maybe it was the problem with gradual change – it happens slowly, and you never see it happen until one day it's just there, but because he hadn't seen them for so long it stood out to John like tattooed proof of their hard experiences in Nokomis.

It wasn't like other missions that had gone bad. Those missions had been short, life or death, but everything was resolved in such a short span of time that they'd often been left without the time to really get the implications before another crisis had loomed. Not this time. Two months of recovery, and living in a stifling underground city, never sure if they'd get out, if they'd recover, if they'd get to live their old lives again.

John drank in their faces – knowing it would be a while before he tired of doing it, and then moved on, realizing that 'Chewie' still looked pissed at Rodney. Deciding to change the topic and smooth feathers, he asked, "So, who won – Teyla or Ronon?"

"Five letter word for girl power?" cracked McKay.

"You owe me a hundred," Sheppard smirked. That was when the Star Wars topic finally jarred a memory from before. "And, just so we're clear, no lightsabers," he said, staring at a suddenly guilty looking Ronon. "Lasers are dangerous – and that weapon you've got is bad enough."

"It wasn't my idea," the runner defended.

McKay had this introspective look, and John groaned. Why did he suddenly think when they got back to Atlantis that parts would start disappearing, and the Force would suddenly be with them all –

Even though John could see again, his hearing was still in high gear. Because of it, he heard the approaching group of people before any of his team did, so it wasn't a surprise when SG-1, including Jackson and Teal'c, arrived with Lam and General Landry. The area around John's bed grew a lot more crowded, but God, he could see it all.

"Colonel Sheppard, Doctor Lam tells me the treatment was successful," Landry said with the same smile that John had sensed before in his tone, but hadn't been able to see.

Jackson looked warmly at Carter. "Sam's our miracle worker."

"Indeed," intoned Teal'c. "Ronon – I have found another show I believe you would like, if you are not -"

Sheppard straightened on the gurney. "No lightsabers," he warned.

Teal'c smiled slightly, and bowed just a touch, the warrior's way of acquiescing, John figured. Ronon had gotten a feral grin, and slapped Teal'c on the back. "I'm free."

As they walked off, John shared a look with his remaining team, then back to the other members of SG-1. "Colonel Carter, I appreciate what you've done– but tell me he's not going to show him another Star Wars movie?"

Landry snorted. "Actually, it's The Rocky Horror Picture Show." When Jackson, Carter and Mitchell's eyes opened in surprise, Landry shrugged. "I saw the DVD case in his pocket. He's your teammate. I just run the place – I'm not the morale censor."

"If either one comes to my infirmary dressed in drag, I'm holding you responsible," Lam scolded, but the subtle smile wasn't lost on any of them.

"Right," Mitchell said, shaking his head for a second. "Sheppard – we were wondering if you and your team would like to go out for a drink, you know, shake off some of the tension you guys have been under after everything."

McKay snapped his fingers, twice, "Oh, hey – I know this museum -"

"I was thinking more of a bar," drawled Mitchell.

The entire time everyone was talking, John found himself staring. Taking in the appearances of SG-1, from Mitchell's short brown hair to Sam's ruffled blond style. Faces to names, something he hadn't thought he'd ever be able to do again.

"Where you go is at your discretion, Colonel, but remember, Teyla and Ronon are new here, so don't do anything stupid," Landry reminded. "And no all-nighters; all of you have reports that need to be filed -" he looked pointedly at Mitchell more than the others, "- still."

Teyla looked to John. He shrugged. Why not – maybe it was what they needed to erase some of that haunted look to them all. "Sure," he agreed. It'd give him more excuse for people watching. He felt like an idiot, but the simple act of staring was more appealing than ever.

Jackson pulled a paper out of his uniform jacket, and stared at it awkwardly, before handing it to Carter. "Er, why don't you make the reservations – I went there last time with Jack, and -"

She nodded, smiling briefly. "I got it, Daniel."

"Right," he said. "Okay – I've got some more translations to work on before we go, so – Colonel, or, Colonels, I will see you at -," he looked at his watch, "– seven?"

Everyone agreed on seven o'clock, before filtering away to their respective duties. Landry left to do more of the General thing that he bitched about on his way out the door, something about a Sergeant in a civilian hospital with two broken legs from a skiing accident. Lam left with him, and John figured it was because the Sergeant needed transport to the SGC infirmary.

Daniel Jackson left needing to work on an artifact SG-1 had discovered on their last mission and dragged Carter with him to answer some technical questions that had made her eyes get this rabid look to them, which left Mitchell. He rocked on his feet, before asking, "So, guess we're the ones with nothing to do – basketball?"

A game of basketball and then an evening out with SG-1 and his team, it was tempting, but the reality of introducing Ronon and Teyla to bars wasn't lost on him. Granted, neither one was unfamiliar with seedy places in the Pegasus galaxy – but it wasn't Earth – where the freaks literally did come out at night. As much as John was pretty sure that he should listen to the bell of trouble tolling in his ear, he also wanted to go work off some of the bottled tension he'd been under for so long; play hard, party hard. He hadn't done that in a long time, and the last time had also been with someone named Dex.

Shaking off long buried memories, John smiled. "Sounds good," he accepted. "But I get Teyla on my team."

Mitchell sported a boyish grin as he slapped Rodney on his back. "Deal – let's go; Doctor McKay, I've got some shorts you can change into."

Later, as he ducked another punch, and watched as Teal'c threw a guy across a table, John muttered, "An Athosian, a Satedan and a Jaffa walk into a bar…"