Physical and mental - John knows all about how those two things work together. Mind and body. Hands and heart. It's like military drills - practicing reactions over and over until the body can do it without the mind's participation. He does it all the time. He can lead a team into an unsecured room, letting his body take over, letting his feet walk forward and his hands hold his weapon at the ready and his eyes search the corners, and all the time his mind is figuring things out, planning, expecting the unexpected. Flying is the same way. His hands know what the controls for eighteen different aircraft feel like; his feet know the pedals, his fingers know the stick.

His body and mind are learning new things in old ways. His hands are coming to know the puddlejumper, the fighting sticks, the Wraith stunners. His mind is absorbing diplomacy and new words and leadership and regret for the mistakes he's made, the lives he's lost.

John's hands can field-strip his nine millimeter in less than a minute. He doesn't have to look down, he knows it by touch. The slip of gun oil and steel, the click of the rounds in the clip, the easy snicking sound of the safety engaging. He's done it for so long that he doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to make the decisions. His hands take over and do the work and get the results without asking his brain anything. It's the easiest thing in the world.

But he wishes his hands were touching skin, knowing that he'd touch it just as carefully, just as reverently. But, he thinks, if he could get his hands on the skin he wants, he wouldn't have to compartmentalize. He'd be able to do both together - mental and physical. Mind and body. Hand and heart.