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Daniel Jackson

"It's open, Mo!" I holler.

"It shouldn't be," Jack O'Neill snaps back.  "And if I'm Mo, does that make you Curly?  Er - Daniel?  Whatcha doin'?" he asks in a low, warning voice that says 'STOP!"

I glare at the light-bulb in lieu of Jack.  Okay, I admit I'm poised a little precariously here, one foot on the bureau and one balanced on - um - air, but it's fine, I'm fine.  Still pissed I don't own ladders and that Mrs. Lewicki's blocked toilet takes precedence over my specially installed - for ambience and art appreciation - track lighting, according to building maintenance guy Mo, for whose alleged services I pay vast sums every month, but otherwise, fine.  I'm trying not to think about how much Mo charged me to install this little bastard in the first place.

I may calm down in another month or so.  Changing a light-bulb should not be too much to ask of my legally binding 'you want the loft you gotta pay through the nose and no, we don't DO fish' maintenance contract, and it's not like I have a choice here.  The electricity is off until I get this little bugger out, since the whole goddamned track looks as if it's wired and it keeps tripping the power thingie, which I am SO not messing with, and that means my impeccably balanced humidity and temperature controls are O-U-T, out.  I can strip off and sweat but my books, my artefacts - my God.  I can't just LEAVE them like this!

And I'm docking Mo a month's pay for giving my Sussurian grisaille tablet attitude.

"Can you spell 'dumb-ass'?" Jack asks witheringly.

"I don't need to," I snap.  "I just watch you live it."  Jack's putative stupidity fools Sam repeatedly and annoys me intensely.  She gets upset when I get snide with him in briefings, but the man drives me CRAZY.  I KNOW he's not that dumb.  "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"My opening line was going to be 'hey, there, Mohammed'," Jack says easily, "But now I'm going with how many archaeologists does it take to - "

"Out!" I snap back, gloating as the worn out little bastard bulb FINALLY gives a - okay, not an inch.  Maybe a soupçon.

"Daniel, you are seriously one pfennig short of the mark, but I'm not about to have my team come up short one archaeologist because of a fucking light-bulb, so the next thing you feel will be my hand on your thigh.  Try not to get overexcited.  I know it's been a while."

Sarcastic fuck.

"Kiss my ass, Jack," I snarl.

"That's an offer I don't get every day," Jack says pleasantly from right behind me.  "Lemme do a check it out thing and I'll get right back to you."

Large, warm hands cup my knees and slide firmly up my bare legs.  Um, all the way up, and kind of - of around.  Between.  Good strong grip he's got going there, on my thighs.  Really.  Good and - um - strong.  He wasn't specific as to the final destination his hands were making tracks for, but I've got thumbs one station from the terminus, here.  One tiny station.  And it's probably me moving, not the - not the thumbs.

The overexcited thing may be a TAD more difficult than I - I didn't think it would be difficult at all.  Why would it?  This is Jack.  As in COLONEL Jack.  I swallow hard and try not to think about thighs, inner and thumbs, stroking, and hard, anything. Everything. Um -



His voice is full of laughter.

"Your - " I swallow and try again.  "Your hands are on my thighs," I say carefully.  It needed to be said and I feel better for registering a vague protest.

"Virgin territory," Jack snorts.  "I know people who'd pay good money to have their hands where I've got mine."

Feel the leer.  I keep up a steady pressure on the little bastard bulb, which finally begins to turn, a fraction at a time, while Jack keeps up a steady pressure on me.  "How much?" I ask, curious.  "And which people?"

"Second born son for the cut-off's alone," Jack says solemnly.  "And whaddya mean, which people?  The same people who walk into walls or drop their weapons when you smile at them.  THOSE people."

"Earth to Planet Jack, come in Jack," I drip scorn.  "I think I would NOTICE if people were walking into walls.  I've been SHOVED against a few walls in my time, does that count?  The people who would quote 'pay good money' generally just ask me," I mutter absently.

When Jack's thumbs stop I realise with a little jolt it was him, not me.  He's taking the touchy-feely thing a little too - you can't just go around caressing another man's inner thighs.  It's - it's -

"Which people?" Jack asks tersely.

"I'm not telling you that!" I stutter, shocked.  "It's private.  I'm not going to betray a confidence, Jack, and you wouldn't want me to."

"You're a civilian consultant under MY command.  Your welfare is MY responsibility.  If USAF personnel have been harassing you on base for sexual - "

"Whoah!  Time out, Jack.  Who said ANYTHING about harassment?" I demand, bewildered by his abrupt change of mood.

"The proportion of female to male personnel on base is something like twenty-five to one," Jack says crisply.  "So unless every woman on base asked you out, some of those 'which people' are men."

I don't need to see Jack's face to know he's smirking his ass off when this blush bottoms out somewhere near his thumbs.

"USAF policy on same-sex relationships aside, it's totally fucking unprofessional to be making passes on base and on DUTY, and it couldn't have happened anywhere else.  You're not exactly noted for hangin' wit' de home boys after your shift is up."

There's a short, crowded silence.

"Not that your shift is EVER up," Jack snaps.  "I mean, do you even HAVE a boredom threshold?  In the purely non-sports, beer and pizza context, of course."

"I'm not a snob, I'm not a loser workaholic, just busy and chronically understaffed as you very well know.  I happen to enjoy the Friday night ritual and I'll be scuffing your coffee table again as soon as you can work out a way for me to do the work of three men and still have some kind of life.  Oh, and I'm not the helpless victim of sexual harassment," I correct crisply.  "I can take care of myself.  Jesus, Jack, I was fostered, I was in college two years younger than my classmates.  I know a hell of a lot more about predators than you do."

"The military is just as closed a society as academia, but with the rules and regs, the chain of command and the frigging MPs it's a hell of a lot safer, believe me.  You've seen and done stuff I haven't, Jack, I know that, but you have your own naïveté.  Sam too.  Her civilian alternates were much tougher, and far less open than she is, because they've fought their way through grants committees, research proposals and fellowships, the daily Darwinian grind for recognition, funding, respect and tenure.  The average faculty would chew you both up and spit you out," I say wryly.

"Your rank commands obedience and respect, and personal doesn't come into it.  It's a safety net, protection the rest of us don't have the luxury of.  To answer your question, yes, some of the people who asked me out were men.  I dealt with it just like I've been dealing with it since I was sixteen," I tell him lightly.  "You just didn't notice."

"Naïve AND repressed.  Isn't that special?" Jack drawls.

The bulb gives suddenly and I almost give with it, pitching abruptly forward, off-balance.  Jack's arms grab and tighten like a steel band around my hips as he steadies and centres me.

"Thanks," I mutter breathlessly.  Nearly sucked wall and/or floor there.  "Bulb," I prompt.  Jack relinquishes his grip with one hand, fumbles between my feet for the bulb and silently hands it up.  I give him the broken one in its place, and the new bulb just glides into its spot.  Finally!  Now all I have to do is hit the trip switch and my babies are back in business.  I plant myself solidly on the bureau and back up, Jack walking with me, still holding on as I turn in his slackening grip.  I'm expecting him to back away and let me jump down, but he doesn't.

I look at his face for the first time since he got here.  He looks as if he's over the pissed horizon and still accelerating.  I wince at his wintry eyes.  I bet it's not every day a man like Jack gets told he's naïve, though I never said or implied repressed.

"Jump down," Jack orders sourly.  "I've gotcha.  I can just picture myself explaining to ol' Doc Fraiser and Hammond you broke your ankle leaping from furniture you shouldn't have been on in the first place, right in front of me.  Just think of it like one of those lame-ass executive trust games," he adds dryly.

Lack of trust is one issue we don't have in our friendship.  I shrug and step lightly off, dropping through Jack's enfolding arms until he tightens his grip.  "Ass," I yelp.

"Isn't it, though?" Jack agrees equably.

"Um - Jack?" I have to rest my hands on his shoulders for balance as he backs up a step and swings towards the living room.  Part of me is impressed he's taking my weight without so much as a grunt, the rest of me is borderline confused/pissed.

"Naïve, huh?" Jack muses gently, angling so when he lets me drop, the ass in question lands with a thump on the couch and I go sprawling.  I'm kind of impressed the couch could take my weight, especially with the velocity of my ass-to-cushion collision.  I surge up and find myself disconcertingly face to face with Jack.

"Repressed?" he enunciates crisply, eyes glittering.

"Don't take it pers - oof!"  I yelp as his hands strike out and cup my face firmly, pulling me implacably toward him as he leans in and kisses me hard.  A few seconds, no more, hard enough to leave me ruffled and gasping.  I'd say he shocked my socks off, but I'm not wearing any.  I blink madly and Jack's face tightens.  He pulls my glasses off and casually tosses them behind him to land on the other couch.  I'm kind of sensing he's just getting warmed up to make his point, especially when his hands settle back on my thighs in a manner I can only describe as possessive.  I'd say something if I could think of anything to say and if I could in fact speak, but my vocal chords are apparently paralysed along with the rest of me.

I just sprawl here, breathing harsh and quick as Jack pushes my thighs apart like he owns me and strokes his palms slowly over them, turning his hands and spreading his fingers to trace the path of my muscles.  Okay, I admit it, I'm shit-scared, so my legs are quivering.  Much like the rest of me.  It's - HE'S being so overtly sexual there's no room for misinterpretation, his hands grasp my hips and pull me forward as he moves in and I'm too slow, reacting a beat behind him, he's leaning in and his firm, focused mouth is hard on mine again.

He's not holding me at all, not forcing me, he's just too - too much, too damn long since I - I - I've no defence against warm, coaxing kisses and maddening caresses, and God, his fingers are BRUSHING and I'm getting hard.  I'm hard, swelling against a suddenly eager hand as Jack groans, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and the kiss is all we are.

I'm dimly aware of Jack fumbling at my buttons, each clumsy swipe of his shaking - shaking? - fingers shocking a jolt of almost forgotten sullen, low pleasure from me but more immediate, more real to me is this, this kiss.  Mint, coffee, spices and Jack behind it, sharp and rich, dancing over my tongue.  I sob my shock into his mouth as he frees my erection, one finger gentle on me, stroking lightly over the head as I gasp and shudder convulsively.  I can't bear that knife edge of pain and pleasure, reach out to him blindly, clenching my fingers deep into his shoulders as he strokes me, perfectly sure and slow, keeping time with the deep, aching thrusts of his tongue over mine.

His arm clasps my shoulders, cradles me close as I shake apart, writhing desperately, wanting and fearing release in equal measure.  Jack's grip firms, the strokes lengthening to a sweet, relentless compulsion my treacherous, needing body can't deny.  I wrap my arms around his neck and hang on desperately, wrenching free of the kiss to bury my head against his shoulder as he quickens his hand to keep pace with my spasming hips.  I'm shuddering, wracked with the fierce pleasure flaring and shocking clear through me, spilling out onto Jack as I arch into him, crying out, coming hard and long into his waiting hand.

He folds me into a bearhug and just hangs on, crooning wordless reassurances until I stop shaking, stop clinging, can actually lift my head and face him, not an easy thing to do when the scent of my own semen is heavy on him and he's just turned everything I ever knew, everything we ever were inside out.

Jack looks at me gravely, his fingers flickering up to fuss with my sweat-soaked hair, ghosting down over my cheek to brush over my lips.

"If you have to ask why, I'm doing it wrong," he says simply.  Then he smiles.  "Look at you," he shakes his head, eyes wide and candidly admiring.

I look at myself, easier right now for me than looking at him.  Flushed, sweaty, cut-off's gaping open, pooled around my hips, one 'last puppy in the shop' pitiful limp penis and an embarrassing amount of come smeared liberally all over my thighs, my belly, and Jack.  "I've got that just-fucked look," I say weakly.

"Oh, no.  You won't have that for another hour or so."  His arms tighten around me and he pulls me up with him, backing me erratically towards my bedroom.  "Bed," he whispers caressingly.

"Jack - "

"It's okay, Danny, I swear.  I want you, you can feel how much I want to make love with you."

Um, yes, I do indeed have an unmistakeably urgent erection butting against my hips with every stuttering step.

"Jack - "

"But we don't go one scream farther than you're comfortable with," Jack promises, laughing at me.  "I can't wait to see you in action, with all that experience you've got of putting down predators.  Sure you didn't mean going down?"


"Nope, sorry," Jack says clinically as we clip the door frame and his objective is in sight.  "The blush just makes you look as fuckable as you truly are.  Of course, I'm the repressed one, what would I know?"  He shoves me back and yanks at his T-shirt.

I couldn't even have told you what Jack was wearing until he started tearing his clothes off.  I back away as he shucks and flings without finesse, my contribution to the ongoing debate about my willing participation or lack thereof being to shove my cut-off's down, kick them away and slide under the covers, sure of one thing only.  I'd bet my Budge I have a lot of cracks about naïveté and repression in my future.

"Don't read anything into this," I mutter defensively when Jack shoots me a quick, approving nod.  I'm tempted to point out I've got a death grip on the quilt even Teal'c couldn't break, but I think I'd blow any chance I had to come off as nonchalant instead of abject.

I wish I hadn't thought 'blow'.

Jack strides briskly up to the bed, and of course my gaze has to blatantly fixate at groin height.  I used to think Jack's ego was bigger than the both of us, but this looks even bigger than that.

"No way, no WAY that is going to fit!" I bleat.  I mean, I can't IMAGINE.  "Um - "

"Don't read anything into that?" Jack says lightly, all wolfish grin and innocent eyes as he prowls towards me.  "Do you have anything we can use?"  He looks at me for a moment.  "For lubricant," he prompts.  "Anything?  Don't you have a drawer?  Every guy - every gal - has a make your own entertainment drawer."

I have a drawer.  It's got three books, a half-eaten pack of chocolate walnut cookies and a tube of muscle relaxant.  Herbal scented.  I will die at the stake before I'll admit that, obviously.  I glare at Jack, who grins, shakes his head at me indulgently and swaggers off muttering darkly about me having to have Sunblock.  Something.  Somewhere.  He's gone just long enough for me to panic completely, but he has returned in triumph clutching a bottle of massage oil and the Sunblock, which I lost in the kitchen the last time my books and I ate out on my balcony.

Not that I REALLY needed the evidence of a frenzied high-speed search as proof he wants me.  I glance at his engorged penis momentarily and gulp.

"Oil?" Jack queries casually.

"Archaeologist," I shrug.  Agonising muscle spasms are just part of the romance of fieldwork.

Jack waves the bottle beguilingly.  "Neck rub?"

He bursts out laughing as I scramble out from under my quilt, embarrassment forgotten.

"Guess that's an offer you don't get every day."

"No," I agree steadily as Jack slips the Sunblock under the pillows and climbs up on the bed.  I turn and sit facing the dim light filtering through the frosted windows as Jack spoons up behind me.  A few moments later his hands are cupping my shoulders, thumbs stroking firmly over the nape of my neck.

"Okay?" Jack asks.

"A little more pressure.  I won't break," I encourage him.

"Actually - never mind."


"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, working his fingers blissfully deep into my muscles.  "Jesus, you're tense."

"Occupational hazard," I murmur, hunching my shoulder when he slows his movements.

"I didn't realise.  You should have said.  I'd have helped you out, no problem.  We'd have wound up having sex a lot sooner, for one thing."

"We - we would?" I ask weakly.

"I think we've established fairly emphatically just which of us in this relationship is naïve and repressed and it isn't me," Jack says gently, kissing the nape of my neck consolingly.  "You were just one big orgasm waiting to happen and if I wasn't the sappy one, the one who cares about shit like not on base, and not on duty, I'd have gone down on you right there in the showers."

"The showers?" I seek to clarify the least relevant point, a little dazed at the thought of Jack's mouth being anywhere on me.

"I have other plans for your office.  Sunblock type plans."


"I find the thought of fucking you at your own desk incredibly arousing."

Standing up?  I'm still trying to puzzle out the logistics when Jack's magical fingers start to massage in small, firm circles and all I get out is a helpless moan of appreciation.  I certainly have no objections when he tips me gently onto my side and then onto my stomach.  He straddles me, but not even his expert touch on my tense neck deflects my attention from his penis, heavy and hard against the small of my back.  Jack drizzles on cool oil, making me shiver, and glides his palms over my back, smoothing over the oil, then working deep into the muscles with the heels of his hands.

It feels incredible.  He - Jack is incredible.  Perfect pressure and pace and caring, melting away the tension.  I feel loose and limber, incredibly light and boneless in a way I can barely remember.  Libidinous too, but I've had mine already and fair's fair.

Jack hitches down, straddling my thighs now, working his wiles on the small of my back.  I cave with a lot of whimpering, raise no real protest when he hitches down again and eases my thighs apart to kneel between.  His touch has been careful and caring, so I'm not really prepared for him to kiss my ass, and not just kiss, but lick and grope and take tiny bites at until I'm quivering from head to foot, squirming and groaning beneath him.

"You like that?" Jack asks, sounding pleased.

"I'm inexperienced and celibate, Jack, not - not - " Not frigid.  Not by choice.  I don't do casual, and I couldn't give up on Sha'uri, couldn't, not when I knew she'd fight to the death.  Not even after - she did, though, fought Ammonet to the death for me and the boy, and I couldn't let go, even after all hope was gone.

Jack tumbles me over, stretching out at my side, and this time I'm ready and wanting.  I lift my head and kiss him, revelling in the crisp lines of his firm lips and his filthy, filthy tongue as he opens, sucks me in and bites down.  His arms wrap around me and pull me in close as we launch into some serious kissing.

I didn't know, I really didn't.  I never suspected how good it would feel to be held by strong arms and a solid, capable body.  I don't know how Jack knew when I didn't, but it feels good, it feels right, right enough and close enough to make my eyes sting.  He knows that too, lips and hands urgent on me but never less than gentle as he kisses, licks and strokes all of me, knowing what he's doing to me, knowing I'm shaking apart, all the fear, and loneliness and bitter regret rolling right over and through me and I let it.  I let it all go, give it all up to Jack, let him pull me wide open.

He's on me, doing things to me, with me, in me, all of him smooth and warm and wanting.  I want too, can't get enough of this unsuspected pleasure of strength and weight, heat and hardness, broad bones, hair every damn place.  I want all the things he's whispering he's going to do to me.  I want.  He has me maddened with wanting, so damned turned on I can't see straight.

I find myself on my stomach again, chin propped on my hands as Jack eases a pillow beneath my hips.  Carefully stroking fingers inside me made Jack shiver and shake, but watching what I did for Jack gave me more pleasure than what Jack did to me.  I've got nothing but trust, a killer erection and the certainty no matter how bad I am at this, he loves me anyway.

Christ, Christ, FUCK.

Loves.  Me.  Jack loves me.  The truth of who I'm with and what we're doing and why, what this all MEANS hammers home.  "Tell me," I manage to gasp it out as I feel a slick, snub touch probing behind me.

"Didn't I tell you if you had to ask WHY, I was doing it wrong?" Jack demands.

"Jack, please."

"Aw, for cryin' out loud," Jack bitches.  "If it'll make you happy to know what a pathetic sap I am, fine," he calls as the touch becomes insistent pressure.  "I love you."

"I love you too," I gasp and blinding orgasm sheets over me and through me, just like that, just from KNOWING. I'm coming hard, spurting all over my bed and - and Jack isn't waiting, I thought he'd wait, give me a - "Jack!" I cry as he pushes into me and I just open to him, letting him stroke right into me, in deep, and there's pain for all his care and I'm still coming, still letting go, finally letting him in.

He waits until I claw myself back from it, stop shaking, start breathing, his hands and mouth soothing and careful, a little anxious.  The sense of his litany sinks in as I unclench myself, one aching piece at a time.

"Okay, I'm okay.  Just - wasn't expecting - "

Wasn't expecting to wind up with tears soaking my pillow, filled, filled almost beyond bearing with joy and life, sorrow, pain, embarrassment and Jack.  I flex a little and Jack slips in deeper, hissing.  God, he's on me, in me, all around me.  I clench my muscles around that hard, hurting presence, deep inside, Jack groaning, a greedy, needing pleasure sound. This, the physical act, doesn't do anything for me, but that, what I do for Jack, that's everything.  I consciously relax and slow my breathing.

"God, you are perfectly fucking wonderful, Danny," Jack groans and moves deep inside, a subtle, sure stroke, and he moves again, and again, each stroke deep, slow and easy.

I'm more interested in Jack fucking me than being fucked, trying to absorb the unreality of it all, of having him here, having him inside me.  Having Jack.  I had him all this time, and didn't know it.  Didn't know myself.  Regret will eat me alive, that I do know, so I focus on the now, on Jack, stroking sweetly into me, moaning his pleasure, raining passionate kisses over my nape and into my hair.  I focus on small things, like how heavy Jack is, how I feel every muscle in his thighs flexing between mine, the soft hair chafing against my skin as he rocks and thrusts.  I feel his heat, his sweat trickling over my back, the smoothness of his skin for all the dusting of hair.  I know his strength, each thrust is jolting me a little on the bed, but his strength isn't greater than my trust.

I give myself up to him, learn his rhythm and try to make it better for him, arching carefully into each thrust, clenching around him when he's deepest, gloating at the way he shakes when I do.  It's not unpleasant, but I guess I'm like all those women who have to fake orgasms, and do it because they crave the closeness.  I'd do anything for Jack, anything.  I always would, which I guess is why he never asked, why he had to take a godawful risk to shock an orgasm out of me and a little sense into me.

Speaking of which - um - I can't be.  Not again.  It's just afterglow, right?  He can't be stroking into my penis, whatever it feels like, can't be connecting, can't be making the blood rush, can't be.  Jack rolls his hips as he thrusts, angling for - Jeez!  I fall on my face, gasping and trembling violently as tight, heavy pleasure throbs sweet and low.

He's fighting himself, muscles trembling with the struggle to keep control, not to drive, not to hurt, but he needs, and his rhythm falters perceptibly, roughens, quickens, impossibly deepens as I push back into each thrust, wanting that raw, urgent ass-clenching pleasure again and again.  He plunges into me and I clench and hold him, rigid and heaving as he howls and comes inside me, and I'm there, I'm with him as heat pours into me and the pleasure pulses out of me.

I'm bereft when Jack eases free of me, but I turn at once and grab him, pull him down into a tangle of limbs, heaving ribs, sweat and sticky satiation.

"Ewww," Jack whines, "Wet spot.  Switch."

I roll happily over him and snuggle in, awaiting his reaction to the wetter spot.

Jack hitches his butt, pats the sheet and shoots me a distinctly admiring, slightly rueful look, before he yanks me close and hugs the shit out of me.  "Daniel, you dog," he growls in my ear.

"You said it yourself.  An orgasm waiting to happen.  You were only out on quantity."

"But not quality," Jack gloats.

I stroke my hand over his belly.  "Jack?  I'm kind of new to all this - us - so I was wondering?  Are you, um, fuckable too?"

"Absolutely," Jack agrees promptly, obviously thinking he's buttered me up enough to start playing with my hair.

"Good," I say brightly.  I slide my hand down and play with his hair too, which makes him snort something about his dick runneth over.  "I have fantasies too."  If I'm being scrupulously honest, I have to admit they've never included Jack, but they are bona fide if nebulous sexual scenarios.  "The University library has study booths."  Lockable, which I'll be sure to point out if Jack asks.

"My observation platform," Jack ripostes, taking the library gig in his stride.

"Your couch."

"No."  Jack pats the wet spot meaningfully.  "No."

"Flexibility re the couch," I murmur, idly stroking his balls, "could lead to graphic demonstrations of flexibility on my balcony."

"Deal," Jack agrees crisply.  "Just give me an hour or so, and some protein.  Raw meat is probably a necessity if I'm going to keep up with you."

I smile up at him.

"NOW you go all shy on me?" Jack asks incredulously.

"I'm nervous.  You've turned my life upside down in an hour, Jack."

"Or a second, or a lifetime."

I sit up, shocked.  "Jack?"

"Hell, if I'd known I'd be waiting over a YEAR for the clue bus to hit you, I'd have bailed LONG ago," he says defiantly.  Then he glares ferociously.  "Shut up," he snarls.  "I'm not that desperate.  I've had - offers," he sniffs.

"Thanks," I say cautiously, "I think."  I'm not actually sure whether he's just told me I'm the best thing or the worst thing that couldn't happen to a pissier colonel.

"I'm noted for my loyalty."

"I've seen puppies that pale by comparison," I agree earnestly.

"No matter how undeserving the cause." Jack loftily ignores me.

"Or how hot," I say, apropos of nothing, letting my fingers do the walking all over encouraging signs of an early revival.  "Do you like games?" I ask huskily.

"Fetch?" Jack snaps.

"I was thinking 'spank the monkey'."

Jack drops his chin and surveys the state of his terrain.  "The spirit is willing, Danny, but the flesh - " he shrugs.

"In that case, Mohammed will just have to come in the mountain."