John set his pistol aside, then picked up Rodney's. They'd worked a deal; John would do Rodney's weapon maintenance today, if Rodney started lessons with Teyla. Rodney had argued against it for a while, but hadn't seemed terribly disappointed when he gave in at last. A week on this damn planet with no hope in sight of leaving soon was leaving them all frustrated and bored. John still hoped that Rodney would come up with a solution, but it wasn't looking good.

Teyla was leading Rodney through the moves of a basic attack and response in the area where they had cleared a large patch of grass to use for the makeshift mattress. Rodney's face was set in concentration, and he nodded along whenever she made a point. He was doing pretty good, but John could tell that he was getting frustrated whenever Teyla's stick tapped against him. As her forceless strike landed again, he stopped, arms dropping to his sides.

"I'm doing this wrong," he said.

"You are doing fine, Rodney. Do not be so hard on yourself."

"No, no, I want to get this. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

John smiled. Teyla looked a bit flummoxed. Only Rodney would expect himself to conquer a subject the first time he was given a lesson. She licked her lips, then began gesturing with the sticks.

"Think of it as if I am fire, leaping forward with great force and energy. You are water, ebbing gently away only to surge forward and quench my flames."

Now it was Rodney's turn to look flummoxed. John rubbed his mouth, covering his urge to laugh. Rodney would never forgive him.

"Oh. Well." Rodney was obviously groping for a response. John could sympathize. "That's very poetic."

Teyla inclined her head. "It is a metaphor, a way of thinking about movement. When one takes the form of water, one may retreat like a river flowing away, or one may attack like a great storm surge. It is not strength or weakness, merely being."

Rodney nodded. "Right. Flowing. I can do that." His face said anything but.

John checked the safety, then tucked Rodney's Beretta beside the rock he was sitting on. He wiped his hands on the cloth, then walked over to the pair. He nodded to Teyla, and she nodded back.

"Think of it this way," he said once Rodney looked over at him. "When she attacks on a straight line, you need to get off of that line. So you step out and back at a forty-five degree angle, and she can't reach you."

Teyla arched a brow, and he hoped she didn't think he was trying to take her place. Teyla was a good teacher, but her frame of reference was as distant from Rodney's as could be for two people who got along as well as they did. John waved her forward. Teyla nodded again, then stepped into the basic attack in slow motion. John stepped out, demonstrating his point.

"You see?"

Rodney nodded, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. "I think so. Can we try again?"

Teyla squared up with Rodney as John moved out of the way. Rodney hit the forty-five perfectly, if a bit clumsily.

"Very good," Teyla said, nodding to both of them. "Now attack."

Rodney stepped back onto the line, bringing his right stick forward to snap against Teyla's.

"Good. Now again, a little faster."

They repeated the combination several times, increasing the tempo slightly each time. Rodney failed to get out of the way on the last, and Teyla's stick tapped his shoulder. Rodney winced, but Teyla was obviously taking it easy on him since he didn't bother to complain.

"Now what did I do wrong?"

"It is only a matter of letting the motion become natural," Teyla said gently. "You are concentrating too much on stepping, and that takes time."

"Yes, tell the genius not to think. That'll work," Rodney said, but he still looked determined. For all of his initial griping, he seemed to want to do this.

John stepped back in and laid a hand on Rodney's lower back. Rodney jumped a little.

"Easy, McKay." He stroked his thumb over the tense muscles, waiting until Rodney settled back into position. "Just let yourself go with it."

Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Rodney's pants and nodded to Teyla. She stepped forward to attack and John moved off line, yanking Rodney backwards as he did so. Rodney stumbled a little, but he was out of the way and still on his feet.

"Jesus! Warn a guy next time!"

John did snicker a little then, but he got it under control quick enough. "Did you feel that? No standing up when you move. You just sort of let yourself fall into position."

Rodney looked back at him like he was insane. "How was I supposed to feel anything? I was too busy not landing on my ass."

"Exactly," John agreed. "Now let's do it again, but pay attention this time."

He grabbed onto Rodney's waistband again, then watched Teyla. She seemed pleased, though John couldn't tell what made him think that. Then they were moving, John concentrating on guiding Rodney without pulling him over, while still keeping on his own feet.

"Okay, now attack," he said, giving Rodney a tiny push. He spotted the problem as Rodney awkwardly moved forward. "Wait," he said as Rodney touched his stick against Teyla's.

John darted around Rodney, squatting down in the grass. "You need to pivot your foot before you step forward again," he said, then coaxed Rodney's foot into the proper position. "Otherwise you get hung up."

He looked up. Rodney was smiling at him, a little bemused smirk. John waited for something teasing and quite possibly juvenile.

But "Okay," was all Rodney said, then he shifted into the beginning position. "Again?"

They repeated the process five more times, Rodney slowly getting the pivot coordinated with the previous motions. Finally Teyla stopped.

"Very good," she said. "Do you see the motion of the wave? Ebb away, then crash forward."

Rodney nodded, a grin on his face. "I get it."

John stepped away, but continued to watch as they moved on to another beginning combination. Teyla and Rodney worked well together, with none of the ego games John had witnessed in most of his other hand-to-hand classes. Of course he expected nothing less of them.

Rodney was getting a bit scruffy, John noticed. He had a tendency to forget to shave when he was buried in a project, and John supposed the cold water they used didn't encourage Rodney to remember. John rubbed his chin. His own razor was starting to dull, and he was low on replacements. Pretty soon he'd be shaving with his knife.

That made him smile. For some reason he remembered that scene from Crocodile Dundee, where Hogan was trying to impress the chick, pretending to shave with his knife. He wondered if Rodney had seen the movie. It had been a great first date movie, funny and romantic enough to get a girl friendly, but somehow he didn't think Rodney would have been able to hold back the sarcastic remarks long enough to make a move.

John winced as Teyla took Rodney to the ground. He landed hard. She had obviously moved on to the 'how to fall' part of the class. Rodney got back up rubbing his back and muttering about something. Teyla poked him in the side with one of her sticks, and he moved back into position. Teyla, now, she could handle a knife as well as she handled those sticks. John bet she'd have the perfect touch for shaving a man, sure but gentle-- and he probably shouldn't be thinking about that. He smiled. Rodney would appreciate the idea, though.

Teyla tossed Rodney again, but he landed much better this time. He had a big grass stain across his back when he got up. John supposed it didn't matter--there weren't any natives around to impress. There wasn't going to be anybody to impress for quite a while. No natives, no new razors, no new clothes because they were stuck on this planet until Ford came back.

John rocked on his feet, fighting the urge to take off, to walk the perimeter, to do something besides facing his team with that knowledge sitting like a big fat elephant in the room. It wouldn't accomplish anything. Instead, he waved to Teyla.

"How about taking a turn with somebody who can fight back?"

She glanced at Rodney, still on the ground after the last throw. "Is there someone here who can do so?"

Rodney laughed, and Teyla grinned. Well. John didn't mind getting the snot beat out of him in the interest of team morale.