Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Credit goes to Phoenix Catcher for letting me borrow some of the ideas behind his story, "Cast Between Worlds," found on this site.

So, I reached a certain point, and decided to pump this out early for you guys, since the last section ended on a cliff-hanger – aren't I nice? Its 0100 here, I haven't proofread it properly so there might be mistakes.

A/N 1: NB, part of the AU is altering Harry's childhood – I'm adopting the mildly clichéd HP fanfic device that the Dursley's abuse was far more extensive and more physical than in JKR's canon, rather than just chronic neglect and yelling at him. The reasons will become clear, so please no complaints about not following canon closely enough – if I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have written a crossover story where Harry didn't have any magic, now would I.

A/N 2: I am not a martial arts practitioner, except in my overactive imagination. I have kind of boxed myself into a corner by using Eskrima/Kali, since although it's very cool and obviously Teyla fights that way too, there isn't much specific information on it online, so I'm basically making it up as I go along, and writing fight scenes is hard at the best of times – doing it with little or no detailed knowledge is a lot worse. If anyone has anything to add or criticise, please PM me, and please don't assume everything I write is fact – I'm not Dan Brown.

Chapter 5 - City of Wonders, Part 3

"The reason lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice is that the same place isn't there the second time."

Willie Tyler

The medical team were there in less than two minutes, and strapped the XO down on a stretcher before making for the stairs at the run. Beckett was waiting for them in the infirmary, and his team put the RAF officer on the bed in the corner, one of the ones that had been part of the Ancient medical suite when they got here. It was slightly recessed – only about six inches - with a decorative semi-circular arch above the headboard.

The medics quickly removed the body armour and cut off his outer clothing to get at the burns underneath, just as Sheppard, Weir and Teyla arrived from the Control Room.

"What happened?" Sheppard demanded of a clearly shaken Ford and Stackhouse.

"Don't know sir, it kind of ... fried him, there were little arcs of electricity jumping all over him. Still got a heartbeat though. Weak, but there." They could clearly see Captain Potter's skin was burned at least a raw, abnormal red pretty much all over, and singed black in irregular strips running up and down his limbs and across his torso. If he survived this, he'd probably be horrifically crippled for life even with extensive surgery and skin grafts. Beckett noticed them and turned towards the little group to shoo them away.

"Get out! You can come back when I'm done wi–" He was cut off by the surprised shouts of his team, and a musical chime that had sounded from ... the wall?

The bed was one of four that had already been present in this room when they occupied it. Although the expedition scientists had not yet discern any specific reason for their design, the beds were integral to the wall and could not be removed short of a welding torch, so they had simply been used as normal hospital beds, since they were the right size, the smooth cushions could be easily sterilised and the configuration (backrest, height and so on) was adjustable, just like an Earth equivalent. However, if anyone had thought to have a person with the ATA gene touch the apparently decorative arch above the bed, they might have realised it was something more.

Suddenly, a curved bar, about six inches thick slid out of the wall, attached at one end to a jointed, clearly robotic arm. The human medical team jumped back in surprise, as the bar lowered to just above the Captain's forehead and then ran the length of his body in just a few seconds, beams of blue light flickering along his skin, pausing for extra seconds over the burns. Next to the bed, a large panel slid back to reveal a screen which began to display, apparently, the patient's medical data – in Ancient, unfortunately.

More surprises were to come, as the bed's structure now lit up, glowing white. The scanner – for that was clearly what it was to the reasonably tech-savvy Earthers – retracted upwards about half a metre, and then the patient lifted off the bed in some kind of anti-gravity field, and slowly turned in mid-air until he was face down, whereupon the scanner lowered and repeated its sweep up his back before retreating once more into the wall. Captain Potter was smoothly returned to the bed in a normal face up position. The glow of the bed strengthened considerably, pulsating slightly as it cocooned him in a gentle white aura.

Teyla wasn't paying attention to the Ancestors technology. She had eyes only for the Warrior, arriving just as the medical team finished removing his uniform. The 'man down' call had shaken her badly, which had itself surprised her. She had only known this man for a week, but the Captain had seemed so invulnerable, confident he could win any fight but at the same time so modest and understated about his skills – well, relatively speaking at least. She had been looking forward to testing her Bantos against his Eskrima all week – and despite her teasing and bravado, she was certain he would win.

This was, after all, a man who had not only chosen to fight a Wraith Queen at close range – Queens being stronger, faster and physically tougher than even normal Wraith, which were in turn themselves considerably superior to humans in all three traits – but had won the fight in just two strikes. She had no doubt that he would utterly dominate any sparring match they engaged in ... very, very inappropriate thoughts lie that way, think about something else Teyla! She was distracted from this deeply personal train of thought, however – but not in a good way.

Hemera! How much has this man been through! As if the prominent scars on his face weren't enough, she could now see several more. Two small, puckered roughly oval red scars were revealed, one on the right thigh and the other low on the left side of the abdomen. Another long white knife scar ran across his left pectoral. However, it was when the bed turned Captain Potter over that she, and several others, gasped in shock.

The Captain's back was a mass of healed-over welts and the thin ridges of even more scars, as well as larger circular ones a few inches across apparently mirroring the smaller ones on his abdomen and leg. Stackhouse mentioned firearms cause larger wounds on the other side, exit wounds he called them ... Spirits, that means he must have been shot at least twice.

However, they weren't what drew the eye – instead, a large, intricate tattoo across his shoulder blades partially concealed the ... what caused those marks, a whip? It depicted a red-orange-yellow bird of prey, majestic wings spread wide and wreathed in flame, apparently cawing in victory to the skies, with a lightning bolt clutched in one talon and a pair of familiar black swords in the other. It was surprisingly beautiful and incredibly evocative even to Teyla, who, not being from Earth had no knowledge of what such an image might mean. Even so, it somehow suited him, the artwork as powerful and unique as the man it marked. Under the image scrolled what might have been words, but the writing style was too complex and the view too brief to work out what it said.

"What in the name of God was that?" Carson wondered, mostly to himself. He approached the bed, and reached out to touch the white glow, more of a semi-opaque cloud really. His hand entered the field, and it contracted away from the intrusion, avoiding contact. Retracting his fingers, Beckett looked around at Weir.

"What's going on? Doctor Weir?"

Weir snapped out of her daze, and looked at the newly-emerged data screen, which was now clearly displaying several diagrams of the human body, with various colour coded bits she didn't have the training to understand but looked like the various circulatory, respiratory systems and so on as well as visual data - the image of the tattoo was superimposed over one of the human outlines. She took five seconds to think before making a decision.

Rodney's still on the other side of the city, and needs to keep working on the energy creature thing. Need another scientist who speaks Ancient – well, I do, but not well enough for this ... Zelenka, Grodin, Kavanagh off the top of my head. Kavanagh ... No. Just no. Peter's still working on generator tag with the cloud, Zelenka should be free.

She tapped the earpiece. "Radek, this is Weir. Where are you?"

"I'm still in the Control room, Doctor Weir."

"Good, drop everything and get down to the infirmary immediately. Some Ancient medical tech just activated, we need translation of a screen and analysis of the machine. Hurry, it's an emergency."

"On my way."

Radek Zelenka was down to the infirmary in record time. He took one look at the glowing bed, while Weir quickly described what had happened and decided to start with the screen. Taking Ancient devices apart was one thing, but doing so when there was a person's life that might be put at risk by his tampering was not ethical in the slightest.

Zelenka had spent years as a senior engineer at Area 51 – so long as they could keep their mouths shut, the US government were prepared to recruit scientists from allied countries such as the Czech Republic – while paying a sizeable fee to the government for his services for 'undisclosed reasons' as well as his pretty decent salary. As such, he had been part of the Stargate Project's R & D establishment almost since the beginning, and had had time to learn some of the various languages that the devices he worked with were based on, including Ancient and Goa'uld.

As such, he was considerably more familiar with the technical terms of the language than Weir, who had only had a year or so to learn, and had been devoting much of that time to being as head of the SGC or organising the Antarctic excavation and then the Atlantis expedition.

"That's vulnaa ... wound ... that's procedenus ... procedure, or maybe protocol ..." Radek muttered aloud as he worked thorough the Ancient pictograms. He continued murmuring to no-one in particular for almost half a minute before Beckett ran out of patience.

"Well, what's it doing to him?" Carson demanded.

"What!" Zelenka looked around, startled out of his fascination-induced reverie. "Oh, well, I think ... and this is mostly a complete guess, mind you, that it's gone into some kind of automatic emergency care protocol."

"So it's healing him?" Weir asked incredulously.

"I think so. I can work out the words subitarvis, very close to the Latin for emergency. Then there's procedendit, which is best translated as protocol, or procedure." Radek paused and shrugged apologetically. "I'm not great at this, you need a proper translator."

"Marines are escorting one up from the living quarters right now." Sheppard interjected.

"Well then, unless they completely contradict me, I'd say the bed was on some kind of standby, and when you put Captain Potter on it, it recognised he was injured – probably because of his ATA strength." Radek mused aloud. "Then from what you said it scanned him, and is now, according to that screen, has begun healing him."

"Carson, can you check Harry's injuries again?"

The entire medical team clustered around their patient again, scrutinising the electrical burns up and down his limbs through the slightly-obscuring white aura.

"Actually ..." Beckett started, "actually, they look kind of better. Certainly less damaged epidermis, on the surface at least." He turned back to the others. "But from what the Lieutenant said, this was a full-body electrical burn, which it certainly looks like from the outside. He'll have trauma to his veins, arteries, lungs and muscle tissue, disrupted central nervous system, heart arrhythmia, and a few other symptoms associated with severe electrical burns."

"Keep working on that screen." Weir ordered. "Assume that the bed is doing something positive, since after all it is in the medical ward. Major, you and McKay come up with a plan to deal with that energy creature. Get to it people, this thing just took out one of our best, I don't want anyone else to become the victims of this ... darkness."

Oh, FUCK that hurt, was Harry's first thought upon waking. He hadn't yet opened his eyes, and was still half-unconscious, so all he registered was the all too-familiar feeling of heartbeat monitors and an oxygen tube. Great, another bloody hospital. Kandahar again? Then, memory returned, and he opened his eyes to see the illuminated segmented panels of the Atlantis infirmary ceiling. He was mildly surprised to find that he was not, in fact, in pain, and neither did he feel the disconnected, rather hazy sensation of being high as a kite on painkillers.

Must have done less damage than it felt like – and it felt like a lot!

Slowly, so as not to attract the attention of any well-meaning but irritating medical personnel nearby, Harry raised his head and had a quick look around. Unfortunately ... not my lucky day. Beckett spotted him.

"Ah, Captain Potter." Carson's smile was at least genuine, unlike so many other military doctors Harry had been treated with, whose professional expressions unfortunately often looked anything but genuine after day after day of reassuring critically wounded patients. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Right." Harry shuffled up further onto his elbows. "How long was I out?"

"About twenty-four hours. You'll be pleased to hear we got rid of that energy creature."

"Oh, good. Why ... doesn't it hurt? That thing got me; last thing I remember is just ... pain. A lot of it."

"Well, we're not entirely sure, but that bed you're lying on," Beckett gestured vaguely at the wall behind him, "appears to be some kind of Ancient healing device. Not sure why we didn't notice it sooner, but when we put you on it, the thing scanned you, then just emitted this ... glow around you. It did that for about eight hours, and was pretty bloody amazing, let me tell you."

"You already are, doc." Healing device? That sounds promising.

"Well, yes." Carson grinned, slightly sheepish at his enthusiasm. "You had second and third degree burns pretty much all over your body, Captain. At least eighty per cent."

Ouch. "Ah ... that sounds like it'd hurt more than it does right now."

"Yes, it would; be glad you weren't conscious. Anyway, for eight hours we just watched those burns ... decrease. I'm not sure if it's healed your internal trauma, so we'll have to do some tests. I'll just let Doctor Weir know you're back with us, and we'll get started, since you say you're not in any pain?" Carson added, professionalism overcoming his near-childlike enthusiasm for whatever this device was for a moment.

Harry sighed. Doctors. "Yeah sure, Carson. Let's get on with it."

Having been poked, prodded, X-rayed, MRI'd, and had penlights shone in his eyes again and again, Weir, Sheppard, Teyla and Zelenka showed up, hopefully to rescue him from the extra special circle of hell called 'a full physical.' They let him suffer a little more, though; just for kicks, apparently.

"So, what happened while I was out?" Harry asked as he endured further pointless pokes.

"Well, we found out that the Ancients captured the energy creature to do research on Ascension. You know; higher energy beings and ... suchlike." Sheppard explained, oh-so precisely. "Of course, after being locked up in a small box for ten thousand years plus, their test subject was a little irritable, and hungry – as you found out."

Harry glared at him. "Thanks for reminding me of that."

I'd say the Cruciatus curse hurt less than that thing.

"Ah. Sorry." Sheppard looked suitably abashed, so Harry let it go.

"And then?"

"Well, then – better brace yourself for this – Rodney saved the day." Sheppard deadpanned, or so Harry thought.

"No, seriously boss, what happened?"

"I'm not kidding!" Sheppard protested. "He really did!"

Harry groaned, to general amusement. "Oh great, because his ego clearly needed more stroking as it was." He glared at Carson again, who was still poking at his ribs for some presumably important medical reason. "Anyway, what'd he do?"

"Surprisingly, he risked life and limb to throw a naquadah generator through the gate, which tempted the shadow to follow it."

Harry thought about this for a second. "Does he still have the shield generator on him?"

"Well, it fell off for a while, but yes, that's what he used to survive without being toasted to a crisp."

"Hmmm. Lucky him." Harry eyed the Scottish doctor again. "You done torturing me, yet Carson?"

"Aye lad, I suppose I am." Beckett turned to Weir and Sheppard. "It would seem the Captain has been completely healed, at least of the injuries sustained from contact with the entity."

"But not previous injuries?" Weir asked, gesturing to Harry's scars.

"Apparently not, although we don't know why. However, he is back to how he was before, as compared to his pre-expedition medical file. So, although I'd like to keep you under observation," Carson sighed dramatically, "I don't really have any justification. If anything odd happens, come and see me."

"Sure thing, doc."

"Now then." Carson continued with a nod, "I'm rather interested in the bed here which healed you, Captain." The others made similar sounds of agreement.

"Uh-huh." Harry thumped the bed cushions slightly with one hand. "Any suggestions?"

"Well ... try touching that arch above the headboard." Zelenka suggested, his accent growing slightly stronger in his excitement, as he clutched a tablet computer more tightly. "That's where the scanning device emerged from."

Harry just looked at the innocuous curved piece of pseudo-plastic dubiously, before pushing off from his sitting position from the bed and reaching unceremoniously out to touch the thing. To the others, it lit up from within; to Harry, it lit up inside his mind as well.

Like the Jumper and the door, he felt and instant mental connection, like a kind of OS program window had opened up in his mind's eye. Unlike the other two, however, it was pretty simple.

Emergency mode activation – running pre-scan sweep – no patient detected on bed – insufficient power for non-emergency activity – return to standby mode –

Harry blinked, still unused to the sensation of being linked to something in his very own mind. The Jumper had at least been something relatively familiar – an aircraft – and the door crystals had been very simplistic relative to the Ancient gateship, barely more than a few simple lines of command code, basically just 'open', 'shut', and 'lock'. This device, however, was somehow both at the same time. From the initial touch, it would appear to be very simple, but he felt the presence of something behind it, like most of the programming for the bed-healing-whatever device was shut down, but ready to go. On standby, I suppose.

"It's on shutdown now, probably ... for power reasons, I think. Can you check if this thing drew a lot of power when it was active?"

"Already have," Zelenka answered immediately, "and yes, the medical level was pulling a lot of power during whatever it did to you. Fortunately, the entity was distracted, first by the failed trap out in the lab on the North-East pier, and then by the Stargate's activation, or else it might have made the Infirmary it's next meal, yes?" Carson blanched slightly, but Weir was more interested in something else.

"You got all that, just from touching it?"

Harry turned back to the group. "Yep, bit like the Jumper and the door crystals just before that thing got me."

"And you didn't think to mention this?" Weir demanded incredulously.

"I did, in my mission report for the rescue op." Harry replied defensively, being at something of a disadvantage dressed in just hospital scrubs and going barefoot. "As for the second, I've been unconscious as you may recall. Between the two, I was busy setting up the detachment."

"Fair enough." Weir relented. "We did bring you because of your ATA strength, amongst other things, and apparently I didn't read that report carefully enough – I think it was about two AM when I got around to it, which might be why. Anyway, start using this little talent, please, Captain, no one else can apparently interface with the technology to that depth. We need to know your limits and the possibilities as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am. And sorry, ma'am." Harry shrugged. "I don't think it'd quite sunk in that I was the only person who could do that kind of thing, ma'am."

Whoops, overdoing the respectful juuust a tad.

"There's a few too many 'ma'am's' in that little speech, Captain." Weir told him with a smile, "but I'll let that slide."

"Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am, very generous of you ... ma'am." Harry replied, with a perfectly deadpan expression. Weir just rolled her eyes and left, taking Zelenka with her.

"You sure you're good to go?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes, sir. Frankly, I feel a lot better than I have in days."

"Good. Take it easy for a bit though; start poking around the Ancient systems from the control room." Sheppard ordered. "Or, you could do paperwork, of course. Choice is yours."

Harry was rolling his own eyes now. "Oh boy, such enthusing alternatives you offer, Major."

"I know, right? I'm just generous that way. Later, Harry." Sheppard departed. Then it was just Teyla.

"I am glad to see you recovered, Captain Potter." Teyla told him, but the slight upturn of her lips belied her serious tone. "After all, we still haven't had that sparring session. I am beginning to think that you think you might lose ..." she trailed off suggestively.

With just about anybody else – any other man, she amended herself with an internal smirk – she would have expected some sort of showy protest to that insinuation, something along the lines of 'Certainly not!' or 'In your dreams!' Recovering bravado, and all that. However, not from this man.

No, this man just smiled mysteriously. "You keep thinking that, alz'eyma. You keep thinking that." Without breaking eye contact, he called, "Hey, Carson, you got my uniform around here?"

The doctor pointed at a pile of clothing on a low table below the foot of the bed. "Spare uniforms – we sort of destroyed the set you had on. One of the Marines collected your armour and guns, Santorini I think his name was, said something about checking them over after your close encounter."

"Thanks Carson." The Captain shrugged off the lightweight hospital shirt after a moment's hesitation, reaching for the uniforms. As he pulled on a dark brown t-shirt, he commented conversationally, "You know, most ladies might have left by now. Bit of privacy, and all that."

Teyla couldn't prevent a positively devilish smile from crossing her features. "I keep telling you, Harry, I'm not a ... lady." She drew it out, maximising the insinuation. Spirits, what is with me today? Might as well go all the way. "After all, I've seen most of it already."

Captain Potter looked startled for a moment before his wits returned, and he riposted. "But you haven't seen it all, have you?"

Teyla lost it and looked away blushing for a moment before shaking her head and laughing. "Ah, I think I will give you your privacy at this point. You might get ideas."

The Warrior grinned broadly. "The only ideas I'm getting, Teyla, are the ones you're putting there."

Ooooh, that's a little too close to comfort … change the subject!

"Anyway," Teyla cleared her throat, only slightly put off. "Tomorrow morning, before breakfast. I want to settle our little competition. Unless some other life threatening crisis intervenes, of course."

"I'll be there, Teyla," was his solemn promise, but with eyes dancing in a way that only made her feel even more flustered.

Harry watched the beautiful Athosian leader leave with a half-amused, half-speculative look. I wonder if she's just flirting or if this nascent friendship is going somewhere ... interesting. However, he was distracted from his thoughts by Carson's barely suppressed snickering from across the room – apparently, he was a regular source of amusement now. That will never do.

On the end of a rather piercing look, Beckett raised his hands in surrender. "No need to get mad, laddie. I was just wondering if you were always such a ladies man?"

Harry laughed as he continued dressing."No, not in the slightest. I did spend my sixth-form years in a co-ed military school, though; there were some distinctly, um, forthright personalities there. Eventually, the only defence was to stop being embarrassed at the mostly-not-serious flirting and come out of my shell to start hitting back, so to speak. Especially when my best friend was one of the worst of them. Besides, Teyla's a classy lady, right? Got to bring out my A-game."

Carson was laughing as well, now. "Think you're onto something there, lad? Or will you be shot down?"

"Like you probably were in Med School, Carson?"

"Och, low blow. We geeks run the world really, though."

"You keep telling yourself that, doc." Harry shot back as he left to find Santorini and retrieve his gear. "Besides, we're not on 'the world' anymore, you may recall."

The next morning found Harry up early for the match, again, so he moved to the gym for a quick workout. Since he hadn't gotten back into his on-base workout routine, he just stuck with a basic British military Personal Fitness Test: a mile and half run, best time, and as many sit-ups and push-ups as possible in a two minute period each. On a good day, he could hit slightly over eight minutes on the 1.5 miler – averaging around 4 minute mile speed – and one-hundred twenty reps of the other two exercises, or two a second for two minutes. He'd build up to more intensive workouts later. The rest of the time he spent sinking into his meditative state, clearing his thoughts of any extraneous clutter.

Like the last time, he felt Teyla approach the gym – at the same time as he sensed several other people leave their respective rooms and head the same way as well.

Crap. Should have expected spectators; the rumours have had a week to do the rounds after all, and Carson heard us yesterday - he's Scottish, which mean's he's pretty much automatically a gossip about anything non-professional, it's not like there's anything else to do in Scotland. From the placement … Weir, Sheppard, Ford and the First Sergeant I think. I can put up with that.

Harry disliked fighting in front of anyone who wasn't someone he knew and trusted. Apart from the 'showing off' part, he also preferred not to let anyone get a full handle on his skills – being underestimated was useful.

Teyla got there first. Harry let his eyes return to normal and twisted around. He got as far as "Hi," before his brain caught up with his eyes – and just about short-circuited. Teyla's idea of sparring dress this time around was literally a dress; well, a lightweight calf-length brown skirt slit a long, long way up the thigh paired with a tight-fitting, short-cut tank top, made of some blue-silver patterned material that, ah, accentuated her assets rather effectively. She was also carrying practise staves, slightly different to his but similar enough, and was barefoot.

Oh boy. Never had to deal with that kind of distraction when sparring with hairy-arse SAS troopers, that's for sure.

Harry nearly laughed, remembering when Hetty Kirkland had pulled something similar when they were practising at boarding school, when her dad wasn't around to object on seeing her distract him so effectively.

Well, Hetty was 'forthright', that's for sure. I blame teenage hormones for getting my arse kicked then - definitely don't have that excuse now though.

"Uh, salam Teyla." Top tip for Special Forces linguists – when covering for gaping like a goldfish, use mildly-mysterious Arabic try to recover some semblance of dignity. "We're about to have company, I suspect," he added.

The door slid open then and Weir and Sheppard entered, closely followed by Ford and Sergeant Major Edward Saito, who quickly took in Teyla's attire then winked at Harry surreptitiously.

Cheeky bastard.

Saito could get away with that kind of thing, being the First Sergeant and very, very good at his job. Besides, Harry liked the man, and he wasn't the kind of superior arsehole who'd come down on one of his men just for having a little joke at his expense – frankly, if his two direct superiors hadn't been here, he would have come straight back with his own (probably rude) retort. Saito wasn't being sexist; well, maybe a little, he was a macho Force Recon jarhead after all, but he also was a very experienced hand-to-hand fighter according to his file, an instructor in MCMA, Marine Corps Martial Arts, a blend of karate, judo and jujitsu custom-designed for the Corps – and he probably knew exactly how 'distracted' his XO was going to be when they got started. Harry was human, after all. Well, mostly.

"I didn't realise there'd be such a large peanut gallery, sir." Harry addressed Sheppard while studiously ignoring the SNCO.

"We're all rather interested in this, Captain." Weir told him for the group.

"Ah. Let me guess, there's a betting pool?"

The look on Ford's face said it all. Harry pointed at him, "Ah-ha! Who's the favourite?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." Ford's innocent recovery was almost perfect. Fortunately for him, Teyla interrupted before Harry could push any further.

"What is a 'betting pool,' exactly?"

"Gambling on the outcome of your fight," Weir explained.

Teyla's smile was positively cherubic. "Well, since that's a foregone conclusion, I don't think we need to know the odds, do we Captain?"

"Of course, alz'eyma Emmagan." Harry turned to her, and bowed facetiously. "Although not necessarily the way you think."

Since the others were enjoying the show just a little too much, Harry gestured to the mats. "Warm up? Then half-speed to start."

Even though he was still pretty warmed up from before, Harry ran through his own stretches again, watching Teyla do the same. Her set wasn't quite as comprehensive as his; the Athosians had never had benefit of the relatively advanced state of sports science back on Earth, but they covered all the major and most easily injured muscle groups so she wasn't going to strain anything.

Once they took positions, Harry surprised her with a slight bow – apparently that wasn't an Athosian tradition. Nonetheless, it only took her a second or two to return it, before settling into a combat stance.

"I'm going to run through the major strikes of Eskrima in sequence with one baton, half speed, just so you have an idea of the general style and I don't injure you when we speed it up." Harry told her, and waited for her nod.

"One." Right side, inward to the left side of the neck. Teyla parried with her right, stepping away but turning into the strike. "Two." Mirrored on the other side. "Three." Left ribcage/elbow. "Four." Same thing, right side. "Five." Thrust to the stomach. "Six. Seven." Stabs to the left and right shoulder joints. "Eight. Nine." Crouched, strike to the left and right knees/legs. "Ten. Eleven." Back up again, stabs at the right then left eyes/temples. "And twelve." Overhead, down on the crown of the head. Teyla blocked that one with both sticks crossed; a strong block, but leaving her open for...

"Ah, I've still got this one." Harry swung his left hand out, stopping short of clipping Teyla's ribcage as she tried to disengage from above. "Eskrima's flexible, and very adaptable. Although the demonstration was one baton, I will use both; but I also might ditch one or both of the staves and go for a grapple or empty-handed, maybe kicks as well."

Teyla nodded again. "Bantos is roughly similar, without the stabbing strikes. Those do not work very well without a sufficiently long blade, which we never could make. However," she flashed a beautiful, brilliant smile, "Now I can include them."

"Indeed." Ah, crap. Distractions!

Eskrima doesn't really have many specific 'moves'; not, at least, of the kind of fancy complex manoeuvres that have imaginatively descriptive and often faintly ludicrous names – Wing Chun and Kung Fu in particular suffer from this. Knowing many techniques but ignoring the founding principles creates a lethargic and predictable fighter. Anyone who tells you that Eskrima has a set way of doing something is probably wrong.

For using one-handed or dual-wielded weapons most Eskrima masters speak in terms of 'the flow', moving fluidly from strike to parry to counterstrike, staying unpredictable while using quick, short footwork to dodge your attacker's strikes – the term 'eskrima' is a Tagalaisation of 'esgrima', the Spanish word for fencing. There is no one single style of Eskrima; it's an umbrella term for a large number of Filipino Martial Arts, or FMA. It's sometimes called Arnis, and is also known as Kali in the USA and Europe. It covers a vast array of potential implements or situations, including impact, edged, flexible or improvised weapons as well as grappling, throws, kicks and, despite its reputation as a two-weapon style, places great emphasis on 'empty-hands' fighting.

All that said, while the key principles of Eskrima are indeed fluidity, stability and simplicity, that doesn't mean that eskrimadors don't throw in flashier, more complex sequences aimed at ending the fight quickly.

Unlike most styles that include weapons, Eskrima teaches weapons first, as it actually uses the same movements to execute strikes and blocks with rattan as to do so with no weapons at all, so someone who thinks that an eskrimador is helpless without his rattan sticks is in for a really, really nasty – and painful – surprise; there's no such thing as being gentle in wasn't designed for non-lethal self-defence but to kill armoured Spanish conquistadors and survive vicious street fights by using whatever was to hand.

The Spanish authorities banned its teaching and weapons so underground practitioners had to adapt to using wooden batons, farming blades like machetes and other shorter, concealable weapons such as daggers or butterfly knives. Because of these laws, and because Eskrima was a 'common folk' fighting style, it was never really written down, and instead passed down through familial or communal ties, and each generation updated and adapted it as the circumstances of the Filipino people changed.

This informal teaching style, which continues today, is very unlike the highly formalized schools of more established Japanese or Chinese martial arts; proclaiming oneself a 'Master' in the Philippines was considered utterly ridiculous until just a few decades ago, as it would more than likely get that person killed in a street fight by other 'eskrimadors' looking to make a name for themselves. As a soldier, Harry hadn't bothered learning the modern, formalised competition variants of the art – he had studied Eskrima in parallel with other 'pure' combat arts - Krav Maga and Tae Kwon Do - and his personal variation was designed to put hostile targets down quickly, quietly, and very permanently.

The two fighters carried on running through the basic drills for each form; strikes, blocks, and footwork. That done, Harry and Teyla faced each other a few metres apart across the mats once again.

Teyla had already admitted to herself that she was probably outclassed – now she was certain. The Warrior moved with an almost inhuman speed and precision born of long practise and incredible physical conditioning – and that was at half-speed. She mentally braced herself, and fell into a defensive opening stance, one baton high and to the front, the other low and to the side. If she judged his character right, he would be an aggressive, dominating fighter who would seek to take the initiative immediately.

She wasn't disappointed. The captain exploded into motion, going from a seemingly-relaxed standing start to a full-on assault, not even bothering with an opening stance which would normally give some basic indication of intent. It was all she could do just to block the first few strikes that seemed to come out of nowhere, chained together variations of the twelve basic attacks he had shown her.

Then, unconsciously, she grinned, nearly laughing in the exuberant joy of the dance; at finding someone at last who could come close to her level - or exceed it. Having survived the initial rain of strikes, she found the rhythm of the fight and began counter-striking, not really serious blows but quick attacks that forced him to slow down and defend himself. The interchange of attacks was far too quick for the audience to really register, let alone keep track of.

Harry had the same look, she noted in passing, as he leaned back to let one of her staves pass harmlessly in front of his face. Then he tensed slightly, and she jumped back out of the way of the low kick intended to sweep her legs out from under her. Teyla quickly re-engaged, but he was already coming back onto an even stance, too fast for her to take advantage of his moment of off-balance after the kick.

They continued testing the other's defences for some time, filling the gym with an irregular but rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the rattan sticks meeting. Occasionally they broke apart to circle for a few moments, or one would throw in a more complex attack that would be fended off. Harry had reach, height and strength advantages on Teyla, but she found she could just about match his reflexes and speed, and she was lighter on her feet. This surprised her somewhat, but a detached part of her mind noted as they broke for a moment that no-one, not even her original bantos mentor Charin had been able to push her skills this hard once she finished formal instruction.

Then as she executed another downwards attack with her right-handed weapon, Harry changed his defence. Normally, he would turn into the strike while blocking with his left, right hand beginning some kind of counterattack. This time, he stepped outside her attack – to his left, her right – and dropped his left rattan entirely. His right-hand stave struck inward, forcing her weapon down and out of the way across her front as his now free left hand briefly gripped her wrist, preventing her from pulling away.

Then, in a flash, he had weaved his right hand – still holding the rattan – over, around and under the inside of her forearm, trapping her weapon under his armpit and using the leverage to twist her wrist uncomfortably around and down. His left hand pushed down on her elbow, locking her arm straight out and forcing her down on one knee, his remaining rattan coming to rest across the back of her neck in a clear indication of what a blade might do.

The end of the match was so sudden, there was a few heartbeats of stunned silence before Harry asked, though breathing heavily, "Yield?"

"I yield." He released her arm gently, allowing her to stand upright again, and turn to the others. He didn't step away though.

The audience collectively exhaled a breath they didn't realise they'd been holding.

"Wow." Weir stated, too astonished at the raw speed and skill from both fighters she'd just witnessed to come up with anything better. The diplomat just shook her head as if to clear it. "That Wraith Queen didn't have a chance, clearly."

"If you're in a fair fight, you've done something wrong," Harry quipped, to general amusement. "Still want to learn, Doctor Weir?"

"That'd be a yes."

Sheppard tossed the Captain the rattan he'd thrown away. "Room for two students?"

Harry and Teyla shared a look. "Well, we've got two instructors." Teyla gave him another brilliant smile at the compliment. "I won't just teach you Eskrima though, but combine it with a mix of other things; joint locks, throws, knife wielding, all the low, 'unsporting' street fighting tricks you could use on a Wraith in hand-to-hand. They're bigger and stronger than us puny humans, so they'll simply absorb any punches or kicks thrown at them. I'm sure Teyla's Bantos has some stuff to throw in too."

"You want to arrange sessions for the Marines, sir?" The First Sergeant asked, also clearly impressed.

"Give it a few weeks. We still need to learn each other's styles, and then we'll come up with a training programme. Wraith soldiers might prove far too difficult to beat in hand-to-hand, and we'd have wasted training time and effort on something unnecessary."

"I hope you don't intend to test that personally, sir? At least, not deliberately?" Saito inquired cautiously. He wouldn't, would he?"

"Who else will?" Harry smirked, then shook his head, to Teyla's hidden relief. "But no, I'm not going to deliberately engage a Wraith at close quarters, Top. Not without trying to shoot it first, at any rate."

"Glad to hear it." Sheppard told him. "Anyway, back to the grind, marines. See you at chow." With that, the others left as a group, leaving her with her opponent.

"It has been a long time since anyone has bested me in a fair fight, Captain." Teyla said, turning to Harry, then suddenly realised how close he was – and how much taller. She only came up to just above his broad shoulders, and he seemed to tower over her for a second before taking a step back away from her.

"Sure as hell wasn't an easy win though, Teyla." He grinned at her, clearly happy to have found a worthy training partner. "Might go your way next time," he added over his shoulder as he went to find the bag he'd brought up.

"Oh, it will, Captain. Maybe not next time, but some time, soon."

"Your determination does you credit, sadiiqi."

"That is not one I have heard before?"

His smile returned, full force. Spirits, that smile again. "Sadiiqi is the Arabic for a friend, specifically female actually. A man would be sahiibi."

"Ah." Why does him using that word seem like some kind of step? Remember, don't push too much. "Was it hard to learn? Arabic, I mean."

"Yes, took me a few years to get it down properly, and that was with good teachers and full immersion in Arabic-speaking countries. It has sounds and letters that don't exist in English at all, and those can be hard to pin down. I also speak the Afghani languages Pashto and Dari passably well, and can just about get by in Farsi and Urdu– I can't write in any of them though, just speak, and read in Pashto and Dari. All five – including Arabic – are spoken reasonably close together geographically on Earth, but they're all quite distinct."

By now they were heading out of the gym and towards the stairs. "There was something I've been meaning to ask…" Teyla began, unsure of how personal this question might turn out to be. "When you were injured two days ago, in the infirmary I saw you had some artwork across your back? A tattoo, yes?" The Warrior stiffened, almost imperceptibly.

"Yep." His tone was a little forced.

Great start, Teyla. Might as well continue, since I've already made a hash of it.

"Can I ask what it is of?"

Harry wasn't entirely sure why he answered. Perhaps Teyla's friendship meant more to him than he'd consciously realised.

"The image is of a Phoenix, the immortal fire-bird. It's a mythological creature that crops up in most ancient cultures on Earth – an anka in Arabic cultures, the fenghuang in China, or a ho-oh in Japan. It is immortal because every time the Phoenix dies, a hatchling is immediately reborn from the ashes of its predecessor. It's associated with the Sun, and is considered to be symbolic of quite a lot of things; timelessness, renewal, resurrection, redemption, those sorts of things." Definitely not going to mention I've met one, or been saved by it. Hey, I wonder if Fawkes can manage intergalactic travel?

"And the writing beneath it?" She's persistent, that's for sure. But just curious. Sorry Teyla, too personal.

"I'd rather not say."

"Oh … I apologise, Harry; I let my curiosity get the better of me."

"Don't worry about it. Maybe someday." Harry smirked as an idea came to him. "Tell you what; I'll tell you what it says the day you beat me in a sparring match."

Teyla's answering smile lit up the darkest depths of his soul. "I will hold you to that, Harry."

REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW PLEASE REVIEW!

For a visual representation of the slick finishing move Harry pulled on Teyla, go to Youtube and search for 'human weapon eskrima judo krav maga,' and the top video should be the one I found it in. It's about 1 minute 20 seconds into the video.

I really, really tried to work a Chuck Norris reference into the post-fight scene, after which Teyla would ask 'Who is Chuck Norris,' to general amusement, and maybe a punch line along the lines of "So Chuck Norris isn't the ruler of the Multiverse" or some other Chuck Norris 'fact'. Unfortunately, due to my own rules about sticking to realism wherever possible, I have to acknowledge that Chuck Norris facts did not become mainstream until late '05 at the earliest, and SGA Season 1 is in '04. *sad face*Also, it would have been a bit artificially shoehorned in, to say the least.

Hemera is the Ancient Greek goddess of the day, one of the first 'primordial deities' who gave birth to the Titans. I needed some more Athosian invective other than 'spirits!' (which is rather … Turian – shout out!) and 'Ancestors!', both of which were being overused.

I'm borrowing some of the less well known Earth mythology to backfill the Athosian's own beliefs, which are more Shinto-style ancestor-veneration than Christian-style worship which I am familiar with, but they also look to the Alterans/Atlanteans/Ancients as gods, so maybe Hemera was one of the Ancients who returned to Earth, who knows? Although the mythological references do kind of makes Teyla's internal monologue sound a bit like a certain Princess Diana of Thermiscera (aka the DCU's Wonder Woman), I did make comparisons to the Amazons during City of Wonders Part 2, so that's appropriate I suppose.

Transliterated Arabic dictionary

Pronunciation varies between national/regional dialects; capitals for pronunciation stress/emphasis as I think it is, advice welcome.

Shokran – Thank you (SHO-kran)

Afwan – You're welcome (AF-wan)

Ma'salaama – goodbye (mah-sal-AA-ma)

Ela al'lekaa – I'll see you soon (eh-la al-LEH-ka)

Maasa el'khair – Good morning (mAA-sa el-Kair)

al'zeyma – Leader, feminine (al-ZEY-ma)

Aasifa – apology, feminine (ah-HASi-fa)

sadiiqi – friend, female (sa-DEE-kee)

sahiibi – friend, masculine (sah-HEE-bee)

muharib – warrior, masculine (mu-HA-rib)