Shot Five

The fifth one actually went down a bit easier, much to John's surprise. Maybe he was getting used to it.

John stepped away from the table, noticing that the edges of his vision were just the slightest bit blurry. Okay, so he wasn't getting used to it, he was just drunk enough that it didn't taste as bad.

John didn't care. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. He was going to end up drunk, and that was all there was to it. Besides, it would probably be fun. It certainly had been so far. John was having a great time.

"I am having a great time," John announced to whoever happened to be nearest. It turned out to be Ronon. John grinned and slapped Ronon affectionately on the back.

"Hey there, big guy. How's it goin'?"

Ronon grinned back and before John knew what was happening, Ronon's arm was around his shoulders, one hand resting on top of John's head.

"You're doin' great, Sheppard."

"I know," John replied solemnly, leaving his hand on Ronon's back and patting it slightly for emphasis. "Having a blast."

"You're a fun drunk, you know that?"

"I am, aren't I?" John replied. "Hey, are you...also drunk?"

Ronon laughed and ruffled the top of John's hair again. "Yep."

"Huh," John said. "Thought so. You're pretty fun too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." John nodded, satisfied. Then he remembered that he had had a question for Ronon from earlier, and he stumbled back a half-step so he could actually get a better look at him.

"Something wrong?" Ronon asked. He possibly thought John was in the process of falling, which, in Ronon's defense, was a fair thing to think.

"Wait, I wanted to ask you something," John said, eyes narrowed. "What...it was...what is it that you were...I kept seeing you give people money earlier. Or maybe people were giving you money. I don't know. I don't remember. But what was that? What are we payin' for?"

Ronon shrugged. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Okay," John said happily. He was at the perfect level. If he had the option to not worry about something, that was very much what he would prefer to do.

"Hey, Sheppard," Ronon asked, putting his hand back on John's shoulder. It was heavy, nearly knocking John off-balance, but not in a way that he minded. "How are you feeling?"

"What...what do you mean?" John asked. He had the strange feeling that he was about to be caught in a lie, possibly reprimanded, although that didn't make sense because he wasn't lying about anything. He was drunk, but he was supposed to be. It was for the mission. And anyways, he wasn't making any effort to hide that.

"I mean your stomach, how is it holding up? You've been drinking their homemade stuff all night, right?"

"Yeah...wait, you're tried it?" This came as an absolute shock to John. John could not in a million years imagine drinking the liquor he was taking shots of on purpose, and his drink of choice on earth had been tequila.

"Yeah," Ronon said, brandishing his cup. "That's what I'm drinking now. See?"

John didn't need to look. He could smell the sharp, gasoline-like scent of the Kuwani moonshine radiating from Ronon's cup, and he knew his friend really was drinking the same drink on purpose. John wondered if he should have his friend committed.

"Why are you doing that?" John exclaimed.

"I dunno, it's what was around, I like it, it's fine, but anyways...you know you can throw up if you need to, right? None of us will think any less of you."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think those are the rules. I think I gotta…," John gestured himself, "all the alcohol needs to be inside this."

Ronon shrugged. "But, I mean, if you gotta. None of us are gonna blame you."

"Don't worry. I'm gonna win," John told Ronon, who seemed strangely distressed by this news. Maybe he had misunderstood. John would have to be clearer.

He was just musing over how to explain that Ronon shouldn't be worried when Teyla appeared before him.

"John, it is almost time for the next drink."

John glanced at the hourglass and realized with some surprise that she was right. That had gone by faster than he'd thought. John considered, and then realized that this was the perfect opportunity to prove to Ronon that he didn't need to worry.

"Next drink. Pffh. I'm takin' two."

Ronon slapped him on the back, and John almost fell over. He grabbed Ronon's arm to keep upright, then sheepishly let it go as Teyla arched an eyebrow at him.

"John."

John frowned at the way Teyla was saying his name, all full of disapproval and responsibility.

"It's a...whassit. Power move. Shows I'm a contender."

Teyla smiled, but it looked a lot like the smile she made during sparring, and it always meant bruises. John eyed her warily and backed up half a step.

"I believe you have already firmly established that, when you took three shots at the beginning."

"But-"

"Perhaps now is the time to keep a steady pace," Teyla said, and John didn't really think that she was asking. And maybe she was right. He was already pretty drunk, and he'd only taken five shots. Maybe it was better to take it slow.

"Okay," John muttered. "Sorry, big guy."

"'Sokay," Ronon answered. "Only five more, Sheppard. You can do it."

John didn't think there was anything in the contest rules about stopping at ten, but maybe he'd missed it. Shrugging, he wandered towards the table.

Shot six

Teyla watched keenly as John drank the moonshine down. He leaned forward slightly, saying something to his opponent. Teyla couldn't hear it from where she was standing, and she sighed. John's opponent seemed to be finally feeling the effects of the alcohol, but not nearly as much as John. Whatever John had just said was almost certainly friendly, odd, and clearly the product of intoxication. Teyla wasn't worried about John, not really. He was not yet at the point where he was in any danger. He didn't even seem likely to vomit soon, considering he had managed to successfully take six shots without doing so. But the fact that he was visibly so much drunker than the Kuwanese man did not exactly bode well for their trade deal.

John stood up, smile on his face, and took a half-step forward. Immediately, he stumbled hard, tripping over either the chair or his other leg or just the ground. He would have fallen if he hadn't shot a hand out to catch himself unsteadily on the table. His smile didn't falter.

"John," Teyla said, running forward and grabbing his shoulder to stabilize him. He grinned at her, eyes half-lidded and sleepy-looking. "You-"

"Hey, I'm doing great," he said, not letting her finish. "I'm just-"

He took a wobbly step away from her. He managed to keep his balance this time, although that wasn't particularly comforting. He smelled like alcohol.

"You are just drunk," Teyla said patiently. "What I was going to say is that you should have something to drink."

John's smile widened, and he pointed a wavering finger at her. "Hey," he said good-naturedly. "A joke."

"John, that...was not a joke. You need to get something to drink."

"I already had plenty to drink," he said, making a sound that Teyla thought could best be described as giggling. "That's the whole thing!"

Teyla sighed. She had seen some of the people from Earth press their foreheads into their palms when they were exasperated, and for the first time, she felt she really understood the gesture. "John, you need to drink water."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I did not mean you should have more alcohol," she continued. "You are drunk, you have already consumed plenty. But a little water and some food would do you good."

He kept staring at her. She grabbed his shoulder and steered him towards a small bench in a rather secluded corner of the room. He sat down obediently, looking up at her trustingly.

"Teyla," he said. "You're being nice to me."

Teyla didn't know how to respond to this. John was one of her favorite people, and she thought that she was always rather nice to him. Even though she thought this whole thing was idiotic and he was likely to do himself harm, she hadn't truly said anything to him that would imply that. She just wanted to make sure he was as well taken care of as he could be.

She gave his shoulder a gentle pat, which was the only thing she could think of to do. "Stay right here," she said. "I am going to see if I can find you some water and something to eat."

She started to walk away. He got up to follow her.

"No, you stay here," she repeated patiently. "I will return."

John was pretty happy. He was also pretty drunk. But his team was all here, and that was nice. And he didn't feel bad, which was something he had been worried about. But he felt good, great even, just a little spinny.

But Teyla was getting him water, and that should help. John absentmindedly began picking at the edge of the sweatband on his wrist, glancing around the room.

Where was Teyla? It seemed like it had been a while since she'd left, and John was tired of sitting on the bench where she'd left him. Besides, she seemed to be worried that he was too drunk, and the best way to convince her that he was alright would probably be getting his own water.

Nodding to himself, John heaved himself off the bench and waited a beat for the world to stop swaying around him. He looked around the room, locating a table that looked as though it might have water, and headed towards it.

"John, what are you doing?"

John turned to see Teyla, staring at him with surprise.

"Getting water," John explained. "You left me."

"I told you to stay where you were," Teyla said, her lips beginning to thin. "I will bring you water, and food."

"But you took a long time," John answered, hearing the whine creep into his voice and hoping it made her take pity. He was just trying to have a good time. He didn't want Teyla to be angry, or worried.

Teyla sighed, and John saw her eyes soften. John gave her his best charming smile, and she shook her head.

"Please, John. Sit down, just for a moment."

"Okay," John agreed happily, and he was just about to go back to the bench when he wondered what Rodney was up to, and began scanning the room for his friend.

"Let us go," Teyla said firmly, taking his elbow and steering him back through the people. John waved to a few people that he'd been talking to, and he heard Teyla sigh softly in his ear.

They had almost reached Teyla's bench when John spotted Ronon, who was exchanging another wad of cash with a Kuwanese girl. John was just about to ask what Ronon was doing when Teyla tapped Ronon's shoulder. Ronon started, quickly stuffing the cash into his pocket. John nodded sagely to himself, then realized that he still had no idea what was going on.

"Ronon, I am going to get John food and water. Will you keep him company?"

"Sure. Sheppard, we're gonna play a drinking game, want in?"

"Yes," John said definitively. "I do."

"No," Teyla snapped. "John needs to drink water. Ronon, go sit down, and ensure that John sits as well."

"Aww, come on, he doesn't need a babysitter."

John felt that it was high time that he was involved in this conversation. "I probably do. I'm not real good at sitting places."

Teyla threw her hands up, and wandered off. Hopefully to get John water, possibly to do something completely different. The world was getting kind of blurry, and everything seemed a little unclear at the moment.

"Don't worry, Sheppard," Ronon said, which seemed like a fair thing to say except that John wasn't really worried about anything, and he didn't think there was something he was supposed to be worried about either.

"I'm chilling out," John informed Ronon. "Teyla is getting me water. Was I...was I supposed to be sitting? Or was that what you were supposed to be doing?"

Ronon's eyes narrowed. He appeared lost in thought. John realized abruptly that Ronon was pretty drunk too. Maybe he had already forgotten the instructions. Everything was getting very confusing. John was starting to kind of wish that he could stay at this level of drunk, which was a pretty good level, instead of continuing to drink more.

"You were supposed to be sitting," Ronon said definitively. "Over there. Now."

"That…," John pitched forward slightly and patted Ronon in the center of his broad chest, "you sound like the kind of guy who isn't gonna take any nonsense. Yeah."

John followed Ronon's instructions, settling himself down on a bench, possibly the same one where Teyla would expect him to be and possibly a different one, and waited for her. Ronon continued to hover nearby, which John thought was rather nice of him. He told Ronon so. That made Ronon smile.

Teyla returned with a glass of water and a plate of something tan. "What is that?" John yelled when he saw the food, pointing at whatever she was carrying. He saw several heads swivel to look at him. He ignored them.

"John, hush," Teyla said. "It is a type of bread they make here. Similar to what we had with dinner."

"It...it looks like a tortilla," he said. "A pita...a pita bread. A piece of pita bread. Is it supposed to be flat?"

He reached for the plate without waiting for an answer, but Teyla pulled it away, handing him the glass of water instead.

"Drink."

John drank. The water made his stomach slosh in a not-so-good way, but it was easy to forget about, especially when she handed him a piece of bread. He tore small pieces off with his fingers and munched on it happily until the timer went off again. Teyla pulled him to his feet, sadly, relieving him of the rest of his bread, and brought him back to the table for his next drink.

Shot Seven

Rodney made it back to the center just in time to see John down the next drink, wobbling slightly as he stepped away from the table.

"Rodney!"

John seemed very loud. Did he mean to be that loud? John lurched forward, catching himself on Rodney's shoulder, and smiled at him.

"Hi, Rodney!"

"Do you mean to be this loud?" Rodney asked him, steadying John slightly as he swayed back and forth. John considered for a moment, then smiled sleepily.

"Dunno. I doubt it. 'M very drunk."

"You are," Rodney agreed, watching as John's eyes floated lazily around the room before landing back on him.

"Did you have any food? The whatsit, pita's pretty good. Teyla made me eat it. She thinks I'm gonna lose."

Rodney snorted. John was seven shots in, and although he was clearly very drunk, he wasn't showing any signs of feeling sick. Besides, Rodney had bet money on John winning, and he himself was feeling a little drunk and overconfident.

"You're not going to lose," Rodney told John.

John tipped against his shoulder slightly, and Rodney grabbed his arm to steady him. Clumsily, John patted Rodney's shoulder with his free hand.

"Thanks, Rodney. 'S nice."

"I have been known to be," Rodney told him. "On occasion. Don't tell anyone, though, it's a secret."

"Okay," John whispered, very loudly. "Safe with me. Promise I won't tell. 'M good at secrets."

"Which secrets are we talking about here?" Rodney asked curiously, turning John around to face him. "Are any of them about me?"

"Secrets, McKay."

"But-"

"No," John informed him, and then, for no apparent reason, placed a hand on top of Rodney's head. Rodney blinked.

John lowered his voice conspiratorially. "One of them is that you're nice."

"Thanks, Sheppard," Rodney said. He'd meant it to sound sarcastic, but he didn't think it came out that way.

"You know, I have a plan," John said. "It's a…." He stumbled forward a bit, trailing off. He was slurring badly by this point, eyes glassy.

Rodney wasn't sure if he had a plan. He wasn't even sure he had a train of thought.

"What's the plan?" Rodney prompted finally.

"Oh. I think I wanna take...more shots at once. Ya know. Prove myself. Get the edge. Like they'll be all like 'Wow, Sheppard can take a lot of shots.' And they'll give us the...the bes' trade deal ever."

"I do not think that's a good idea," Rodney said firmly. "You need to pace yourself, you've already drank a lot, your kidneys need time to process it…."

"Okay yeah, you're probably right!" John said cheerfully. "Hey, where's Ronon? I wanted to ask him something."

"What did you want to ask him?"

John had already started wandering off, but this stopped him up short. "Oh, um, I forget."

Rodney stared at him blankly. This wasn't...it wasn't that Rodney wasn't having fun, but for the first time, it crossed his mind that this was potentially dangerous. John had...Rodney had consumed enough alcohol that he struggled to do the basic math in his head. John had had seven shots over the course of about two hours, but the ABV of the beverage John was consuming was completely unknown. It could be acting in his body like far more than seven drinks - Rodney simply had no way of knowing. Rodney had no idea how much longer John could keep going at this pace, but there was the potential for him to do his body serious harm.

"Are you sure you're...um…."

"Alright, bye!" John said, far too loud, and staggered off into the crowd with a small pat that was probably supposed to be to Rodney's shoulder but ended up on the side of his neck.

Rodney didn't follow him - he didn't want the Colonel to feel stifled, like Rodney was always watching over his shoulder. Before the next timer went off, Rodney caught a few glimpses of John - hanging off Ronon's shoulder, demonstrating how to throw a football, sipping on another glass of water.

By the time John had settled down at the table for his next drink, Rodney had almost managed to put his fears aside. Maybe John really would be fine, and Rodney was just overreacting. Either way, he hoped that it would be over soon.