"Your age is showing, Sheppard."

Ronon Dex smiled widely at him and stalked slowly around the gym circle, banto stick dangling from his hand. He crouched back into attack position, dancing the stick back and forth, his grin growing with every toss.

John swiped his armband across his forehead—not that it did much good at this point, it was more habit than anything else—and switched his grip on his stick, repositioning himself in front of the Satedan. "Don't think so. Benefits of being almost drained dry by a Wraith."

Ronon gave him one second of a sneer before rushing forward, swinging his weapon with as much strength as he could muster—or at least it felt that way to John, whose teethed rattle with the impact as he raised his own stick to parry.

In any duel where he relied on his muscle to do the work, Ronon definitely had the upper hand. It was one of John's favorite things about him, especially when he had his six or was playing at back-up.

The benefit of practicing Athosian stick fighting with a real Athosian, however, was you learned to be quick or you got your ass beat—his previous sparring sessions with Teyla had taught him that. As Ronon came at him he whirled around, sliding his stick from underneath the Satedan's, and launched a quick attack at his opponent's side. Ronon grunted on impact, whirling away and straightening as he recovered from the blow.

John tossed a smile his way, shaking the sweat from his hair. Ronon returned it with an amused expression, popped his neck, and circled back into attack position.

They faced each other once more; John concentrating on his friend's stance. Each parry brought on a show of force he was sure any Wraith would tremble at—John had to wonder if his own quick response was less skill and more an attempt to avoid being socked by a seriously dangerous blow.

The gym doors slid open and Teyla made her way in, smiling at the sight of them. John's acknowledging wave cost him a bruised thigh and she shook her head in disdain at his lack of concentration.

"Teyla," he wheezed, as Ronon took a breather.

"You have not had your radio on," she chastised gently. "Doctor Weir has been calling for you."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"Not exactly. She wished to speak with you about the last mission report, that is all."

"Ah." He sniffed, crouching down to face Ronon again. "Well, she should relax a bit. This is supposed to be a day off."

"Does Weir ever take a day off?" Ronon said, re-gripping his stick.

Teyla smiled knowingly at John. "Not since I have known her. But I believe she is trying."

"What makes you say that?" John barked as he rushed at Ronon, striking as quickly as he could. The Satedan parried his blows, shoving him off.

"I believe she has at least taken her datapad outside. She is down at the East pier."

John smiled, running a hand through his hair, and crouched back down. "That doesn't strike me as taking a day off, that strikes me as working out of the office."

"You may think differently if you saw her."

He glanced over at her, puzzled, as Ronon launched his next attack. John just barely managed to dodge, rolling out of the way as the big man leapt at him. Ronon's overly forceful attack gave John just enough of an edge in agility, and he pulled up to his feet, striking at the Satedan's back with as much force as he could muster. Ronon stumbled to the floor, just barely catching himself on his hands, and gave John an acknowledging nod.

Teyla grinned at her friend as he pulled himself up from the floor. "You assume too much, Ronon."

"I'm going easy on him," Ronon replied. "It's my day off."

John smiled sarcastically. "Thanks."

The Satedan returned the smile, setting up across from him again.

"You get one more shot," John said, bouncing his stick back and forth. "Better make it good."

"Always," Ronon said, shaking his dreads out. John tensed, preparing. He could almost sense the movement in the air; his nerves tingled in anticipation.

He's going left. High. I got him.

The door opened once more.

"John…"

His eyes flickered to the doorway, where a lithe figure stood; one strap of a thin, white shirt sliding provocatively off a shoulder. He stared at Elizabeth as she edged in, shoving the strap up with her fingers, her legs looking tanned and long in a pair of cotton shorts.

Unbelievably long.

Her eyes caught his, suddenly widening. "John!"

Something hard slammed into the side of his head. Bursts of light danced across his vision and suddenly the room was tilting at an awkward, uncontrollable angle. Blackness closed in around him, accompanied by a dull thrumming sound.

A sharp pattering edged him out of the dark, along with an explosion of painful throbbing along the side of his head. He could feel cool hands running along his face, through his hair. Even their light touch brought on a wave of nauseating pain and he tried to push them away.

"I'm calling Carson," said a smooth voice from somewhere far above him. He tried to raise his hands in protest, but they wouldn't obey.

"Was it necessary to hit him with such force?" asked another.

"No more than usual," a third voice complained, an edge of worry in it. "He didn't move out of the way. He just stood there."

"What was he thinking?"

He blinked, trying to open his eyes. A blur of white hovering somewhere above him was all he got for his trouble.

"I don't think he was thinking." That third voice again, this time sounding humored. "I think he was a little distracted."

"By what?" There was a lilt to that voice. Teyla.

"I shouldn't have called out to him," said the person above him. "I didn't realize you were in the middle of sparring."

"Apparently neither did Sheppard." Ronon.

"Hey," he choked out as he sat up, biting back the urge to vomit as the throbbing intensified. "I had you on the ropes."

"Yeah, you look like it."

"John?"

He blinked again, and this time Elizabeth's face swam into view, hovering a few feet in front of him and wearing a concerned expression. Her hair curled softly around her cheeks, just brushing the thin straps of the tank that hung loosely from her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

John shook his head, trying to make sure he was seeing things properly. It was entirely possible this was a figment of his imagination—a good figment, but a figment nonetheless. "My head's still on straight, right? Everything intact?"

She tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "Two eyes, two ears, one nose, and a full set of teeth."

"That's good. Don't want to go losing any of those, they're important."

"I still want Carson to check you out, though, to make sure there's no concussion."

"You don't have to do that. I'm perfectly fine," he muttered. Ronon came alongside him, offering him an arm up, which he took against his own better judgment. He should have listened to himself, because as soon as he pulled to his feet the world rocked to the side. The bodies around him scrambled as the ceiling tilted, and he suddenly found himself wrapped in a pair of very warm, very bare arms, heading back down to the floor.

"Sorry," he managed hoarsely.

Elizabeth smirked at him as he leaned against her, managing to ease him back on the hard surface. "Fine, huh?"

"I will be." He swallowed. Her face was inches from his; eyes looking troubled, though she wore a smile. A sudden dizziness came over him. "On second thought…I think I need to lie back down."

From somewhere in the distance Ronon snorted.

"That's the most sensible thing I think I've ever heard you say." She helped him back to the ground as the gym door slid open for a third time.

"What happened?" Carson asked as he trotted over. "Colonel?"

"The sparring match between the Colonel and Ronon became rather…intense," said Teyla, coming over to stand beside him.

Beckett's cool fingers touched the side of his head; John winced as the aching intensified for a moment. "There's definitely a bit of swelling. I need to get you down to the infirmary, Colonel Sheppard, just to make sure there's no further injury."

"Just a little bump, Doc. Nothing to worry about."

The CMO looked at him skeptically. "You let me worry about what's serious and not. If you've got a bit of a concussion there that goes untreated, you'll be off duty for a while, and I don't think you'll be wanting that."

John sighed, then sat up cautiously. The room still spun, but not quite as much as before. "Ok. But I'm walking on my own two legs."

"Are you sure you do not need any help, John?" asked Teyla, studying him. He managed a smile in her direction.

"I've been knocked in the head by you before. If I can survive those, I can survive anything."

Ronon moved forward to help him to his feet, but Elizabeth gestured him away, helping John to a standing position. He had better control, and managed at least some semblance of an upright motion. "Carson and I can help him. You and Teyla enjoy the rest of your day off."

"You sure?"

"Positive." She stumbled as John's legs suddenly gave way, forcing him to throw both arms around her. She was a lot stronger than she looked and managed to lean him up back into standing position. "We'll be fine."

Ronon grinned suggestively, his eyes dancing between them. John had a sudden urge, despite the pain and vertigo, to pick up the discarded banto stick and beat him across the face with it. He was interrupted from that very pleasant thought by Carson, who took hold of one of his arms. Elizabeth edged the other from around her; together they helped him walk—very slowly walk—towards the door.

"Try not to kill him," he said softly to Teyla, who was pulling out her sticks from the bundle she brought with her. "But if you want to beat him up a little more than usual, feel free. I don't need him for a couple of days at least."

She grinned at him. "Enjoy the rest of your day off, Colonel."

"And no more distractions, Sheppard," Ronon grunted from the back. "They're dangerous."

"Distractions?" asked Elizabeth, glancing backwards. Carson looked from Ronon to her, then at John, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"On second thought…feel free to kill him." John hissed. Teyla laughed, touching Elizabeth's shoulder softly as she strode onto the gym floor.

Elizabeth nodded in response, a troubled expression on her face. She glanced up at him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I shouldn't have called out. I didn't realize it would distract you that much."

He tried to put on a sheepish face, making a concerted effort to keep his eyes up and focused on the area in front of him. Her tank top was very loose. "Well…"

"I don't think that was what did it, dear," Carson said, activating the control panel on the door. "At least not the speaking part."

She stared between them for a moment, confused. John mustered up his best innocent expression, and suddenly her eyes widened, a flush spreading down through her cheeks and neck. "Oh."

John threw Beckett a dirty look, causing spots to dance across his vision. "Thanks."

"Don't blame me. I'm not the one getting whacked across the head with a bloody big stick."

"Yet," he returned. The cool air of the hall helped a little, the dizziness fading a bit. "Look, Elizabeth…"

She shook her head, inexplicably wearing an amused expression. "Carson, do you think he'll be in good enough shape to help me out with some mission reports a little later this afternoon?"

"Providing X-Rays show he doesn't have a severe concussion, I don't see why not. I'd recommend he stay occupied for a few hours anyway, just to be safe." He paused as his headset buzzed, listening for a moment. "I've got to go ahead, I'll meet you down there."

"Thanks, Doc," John replied as he eased weight back onto his legs. The wobbly feeling was beginning to subside. Beckett nodded congenially and darted up to the Transporter a few feet ahead of them.

"All right, then," Elizabeth shifted his position a little, lifting his arm around her shoulders. "If you're feeling up to it, perhaps you'd like to join me on the East pier. It's a beautiful day out. I know it's work, but it doesn't seem so bad in the sunshine."

John glanced over at her face, looking slightly tanned with a smattering of freckles across her nose. The white shirt suited her, though there was something a little disarming about her being out of the standard reds.

A good kind of disarming.

"Well, nothing wrong with doing a little work on a day off."

"Really." She cocked an eyebrow at him, wrapping her other arm around his waist. "Ronon must have hit you harder than I thought."

"If you have a couple of good distractions," he replied with a smile, tightening the arm around her shoulders, "there's really nothing wrong with it at all."