Sanara was a courteous host. Within an hour not only had Teyla and Ronon been fed and rested, but bathed and changed. Their uniforms hung on a line just outside, looking very out of place with the surroundings. Teyla was feeling more feminine and less militant in a soft white cotton dress. Ronon looked ready to plow the fields.

Sanara smiled. "It isn't often I have guests, I hope everything is to your liking."

"It is, thank you. This dress is lovely." Teyla grinned and tried her hardest not to whirl around like a little girl. She gave in, and Ronon watched with an approving smile.

"Then you may keep it."

Teyla dearly wanted to. "I cannot."

"Please. I have several, and another in the making."

"These are of your making?" Of course. Teyla had studied the house and could see no evidence that a man lived there. Everything was in its place and ultra-clean. In the corner sat a large chest which Teyla guessed housed her sewing materials.

"This is my livelihood. We trade with four other villages on this side of the hills. I manage to earn enough to feed myself and buy what I need."

"You do beautiful work. I would be honored to possess such a finely crafted gift, thank you."

Sanara looked appropriately pleased, and turned to her fire. Teyla glanced at Ronon, who was standing politely but obviously restless. "Ronon, maybe you could take a turn at the spit and talk to Malachi? Our discussions here may not be of much interest to you."

Ronon raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile. "I'm not bothered by it. Discuss all you want." He caught the slight tilt of Teyla's chin towards the door. "Or I could help out, do something."

Teyla grinned. "Turning the spit would be doing something."

"Right." His lips pressed into a line, then quirked as his charms landed on Sanara. He walked out, his humor trailing behind him.

Teyla turned and was surprised to see Sanara staring after the large man. "So, how long does it take to make one of these?" The woman's gaze remained on the door. "Sanara?"

She jumped, snapping back into the present. "Oh, uh, a week at most. It depends greatly on the material I work with. A garment like you wear takes maybe two days. It is simple, but my best design."

Teyla nodded, her attention to detail obvious by the way she studied her surroundings. She sat at the small table in the center of the room. "Your place is immaculate. You must manage your time wisely in order to accomplish so much."

"Only I reside here, it is easy to keep after myself. I have more time than most." Sanara refilled Teyla's cup.

"You have never bonded with a male?"

"Bonded?"

"Yes, have a-a mate for life." Her smile beamed. "Someone you love." Teyla again noticed Sanara's glance at the door, and knew she was baiting her new friend, but she couldn't help herself.

"No," Sanara said, "I never found anyone suitable. I'm quite content by myself."

Teyla cast a knowing look and kept her thoughts to herself. "Tell me more about this gathering."

Sanara's face lit. "We meet at the fullest moon to celebrate our good fortune. It is the only time we allow ourselves to enjoy our gains to the extent of wastefulness. Any other time it is a sin, but the moon reminds us that we are entitled to one day of fullness."

"Do you set all of your celebrations by the phase of the moon?" She briefly recalled an interesting conversation with Colonel Sheppard about his moon, and the cultural taboos associated with it.

"Yes." Sanara seemed surprised. "When the moon disappears, we do not eat. That is our time of fast."

"Of course. And what of the union?" Sanara looked confused. "Colonel Sheppard calls it an eclipse, and says it happens when the moon passes between the sun and the planet. On his planet, the moon blocks out the sun for a brief time, and everything becomes black as night, depending where you are when the event happens."

The change was instant. Sanara stood abruptly and took their cups. "I have never seen that, nor should I wish to! Sacrilege!"

Teyla stood as well. "I do apologize. I meant no. . .disrespect. Please forget I said anything."

"I shall!" Sanara cleaned the cups and wiped her hands in agitation. "One does not speak of such. You are new here and I am liable to forgive you, but never let me hear speak of that union again. It isn't natural."

Teyla nodded, stunned by the reaction. Her own people rejoiced during the union. She cleared her throat and looked down at the earthen floor, then glanced up. Sanara was looking apologetic. "Here," she said, "you look so nice in that dress. Let me show you my others, and if you like, I'll make one just for you." She gently took Teyla by the elbow and guided her to the chest in the corner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ronon's arms ached. He was trying not to show it, but they were, and the sweat dripping into his eyes was driving him to distraction. He had been taught to endure many discomforts, and indeed had in his life as a runner. This pain was more mental rebellion than anything. Malachi had accepted his offer of help with a yell of joy, patted his large shoulder, gave instructions as to the appropriate speed to turn the crank for even heat distribution, and ran off to complete more preparations. Ronon never got the chance for conversation, to say that something was on his mind, that his too-brief chat with Malachi just before their previous return through the gate had unnerved him. Not that he was a man of many words, but he had thought they would come and cure McKay and be home in time for a late meal, and a show which had come his way by one of the men he was training in combat, courtesy of the Daedalus.

He had become rather addicted to a reality trek show, where the contestants endured climbing, swimming, cycling, and running in the worst possible conditions imaginable, only to win a monetary reward. While their goal meant nothing to him, the challenge of it was appealing, if a bit meager, and he had found himself wondering how one entered such an event. But was he at his home preparing to watch the show? No. He was turning a spit while his teammate was suffering from a malady that Malachi apparently knew much about, but wasn't speaking of. Ronon's mood soured, and he gave the spit a hard crank.

"Ronon? What the hell are you doing?" Rodney was walking up to him, hands in his pockets. He smiled, amused at the sight of the rough-and-tough being reduced to turning the spit. "Having fun? Not to say it doesn't suit you."

"No." Ronon kept his eyes fixed ahead. He liked Rodney. It didn't mean he had to talk to him.

"No, no, you don't look like you are." In fact, Ronon was wearing a frown that Rodney hadn't seen in a while. He gestured at the clothes. "What's this about?"

"Our clothes are drying."

"You jump in a lake?"

"Cleaning." Crank.

"Teyla?"

"White dress." Crank. "Impractical."

"Oh yeah?" Rodney gave an anticipatory bounce as the image crossed his mind. That would be a sight. "I take it this is Sanara, she make house calls?" He plucked at his own shirt while continuing to eye Ronon.

Ronon noticed his scrutiny. "I wanted to speak to Malachi."

"And?"

"He's busy." Another hard crank.

"And left you with the spit. Well, well, how generous of him." Rodney winced and eyed the beast. "What is this creature, I wonder?"

"Heavy." Ronon reached out and took McKay by the arm, placing him before the crank and stepping back.

"What the. . .god – you've got to be kidding me!" Rodney grunted as he turned the wheel. Five cranks had him red-faced with exertion.

The unfortunate animal continued his turn. Ronon nodded and flashed a grin, leaning against the spit brace. This was a good way to keep the man from talking. "You have to turn it slowly. It has to be evenly heated." He slid down and took a seat on the ground, casually plucked a blade of grass from a nearby tuft, and chewed on the tip.

"You are an ass," Rodney grunted, gritting his teeth and turning the crank. The wind caught the flavor of the cooked meat and passed it through the air, causing Rodney to nearly stop. "Oh my g. . ."

"Yep."

"Oh," he stopped turning and hid his nose in the crook of his elbow, face screwed up in disgust. "Tell me that's not the meat I smell!"

"Unusual odor."

"Sure this isn't a distant relative of yours? I mean paint stripper has nothing on this! I could probably take this back to Atlantis and use it to fuel a generator or something. God, I hope they've discovered spices on this planet." Rodney coughed and continued to turn. "What did you want with Malachi?"

Ronon could sense McKay was physically giving out as much as he could sense the man's quest for answers. He tossed the blade of grass aside. "Your situation."

This time Rodney did stop turning, and Ronon instantly picked up the pace, shoving him aside. "You know, you've got a bit of explaining to do. Why are we here?" He held up his hand at the coming reaction. "I know, I know, you can't tell me."

Ronon was feeling a reluctant sympathy toward McKay. He could see it in his eyes; the uncertainty, the fear, and pure anger. The man had been through a lot, so he had been told, and had shown a survivor's instinct. There was something about his present demeanor that made it difficult to hide facts from him. "You want to know what's going on. I wish I could tell you." He shook his head, knowing the answer wasn't satisfactory. Ronon didn't expect it to be, and continued. "Okay, what happens to you, I've seen it before. But we have to be sure."

Rodney threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, yeah, okay, and my not knowing the specifics about this helps. . .how?"

"It may already be too late." Ronon gave the crank a vicious pull, his eyes steady on Rodney's.

"Oh, well, that's just great. Thanks for the pep talk. Please tell me you didn't lead your men into battle on Sateda, because your optimism leaves a lot to be desired!" He was yelling, and stopped himself in astonishment.

Ronon found a spot on the ground to stare at, his muscles straining against the work. There was a bout of silence, during which he cranked and waited for McKay to continue to explode. When that didn't happen, he fully expected McKay to storm off in a huff, and was surprised to hear his voice. "My turn?"

Ronon backed away, wondering how the villagers were individually able to keep the spit turning for an hour at a time. "It's yours."

Rodney turned the spit. "So, think I should clean my uniform for this festival?"

Ronon eyed the shirt he wore with mild distaste. "You really want one of these?"

"I dunno. Looks comfortable enough. Besides, we don't know how long we'll be here, and I only packed an extra shirt." Ronon gave him a disgusted look. "Well yeah, that too, I'm just saying if I get a hole in these pants I'm in trouble."

"That's not a pretty picture."

"Got the point, Ronon, thank you."

"Rodney? What the hell?" John hurried up to them and halted as the smell caught him. "Whoa. What's going on here?"

"Cooking." Ronon said with disdain.

"You're kidding? This is slaughter! Just like the women to send the men out. Where's Teyla?"

"Girl talk."

"She's playing dress-up," Rodney added as he continued to turn the wheel. John studied the crank. "Wanna give it a go?"

"Why not?" John shook out his arms, spat on his hands, and took a grip. "Holy. . ." he grunted and pushed the crank down, then pulled it up and back towards him. "How much does this thing weigh?"

"It's heavy," Ronon agreed, and resumed his previous seat.

John decided not to say anything more. He continued his toil.

"It should easily feed everyone here, especially since I don't plan on touching it." Rodney winced in the sunlight and studied the buildings surrounding them. "I wonder where everyone is? I mean, other than. . ." he gestured toward the children who were playing in the distance, but had taken no further notice of the new arrivals.

"Must be getting ready for the party," Ronon said.

John stopped turning and looked around thoughtfully. There were no signs of activity, so apparently this gathering was to take place in another location. Maybe it was a surprise for the children who had been left behind to remain out of the way. He could see an elder watching them play, presumably his task was to oversee the young while the preparations were made. He found himself more and more curious about this gathering.

He didn't have long to wait. As the three of them sat around the pit, taking turns at the meat, more villagers came. These people did show curiosity, but none approached. John noticed long looks cast at Rodney, and the way mothers ushered their kids back upon sight of him. He sighed painfully and met his friend's eyes. His discomfort and uncertainty was obvious. He offered a small smile, but nothing more. A shout made him turn, and Malachi ran to them.

"Perfection! You men have performed excellently. We are grateful."

"I wish I could say the pleasure was all ours," John said. At least the meat smelled more like cooked flesh and less like old cockroach shells.

Malachi beamed and took both John and Rodney by the elbow. "You will need to prepare. I have clothes for you, they are comfortable. You may bathe and change. The gathering will commence as the sun sets. I must see to Sanara, then I will send for you." Malachi smiled and launched them toward his hut, then joined Ronon as he returned to Sanara's house.

The clothes were laid out on his bedding, and looked the same as Ronon wore. John picked up the shirt and held it against him. "Not my color," he groused.

"Uh-huh." Rodney was eyeing his red shirt and light pants. "Just what would your color be?"

"Oh, I don't know, a soft teal maybe, or nice burgundy. Not grey." His flippant answer disguised his growing unease. Rodney was shaking his head with the occasional wince, and John didn't like it. Not a bit. "Rodney?"

"Hmm?"

"Anything I should know?"

"Hmm? What, about this?" He lifted his shirt then dropped it back to the bed. And he landed on the bed with it.

"Rodney?" The man was lying on his back with the crook of his elbow over his eyes.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Headache again?"

"Trying to." The voice was distant.

"Yeah." He looked around and rubbed his shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "You probably need to eat." He knew good and well that wasn't the issue.

"Yeah."

John finally sighed. He sat on the bed. "Listen, don't think you can't talk to us. We're here for you. We got your back on this."

"Talk?" Rodney snorted. "I've been trying to talk. No one's talking back. Besides, I don't even know what 'this' is. Maybe it won't happen anymore. I've felt fine all day."

"Except for the headache."

"Except for that."

"We just want to make sure that. . .you know. . ." John checked himself and rose, sensing Rodney sit up behind him.

"Make sure what? I'm not crazy? That the stress and strain of everyday Atlantis hasn't caused me to lose it?"

"It's not that."

"Tell that to Carson! He's trying to thrust the Evil Heightmeyer at me. Not that she isn't hot, but our bedtalk probably wouldn't lead to much."

John was saved from answering by the arrival of both Ronon and Teyla. Ronon had changed, his labors at the spit requiring it. And Teyla. . .well of course he stared. He had seen her in a dress before, but never something so. . .feminine. And simple. And charming. "Nice." She smiled at his approval, not asking for anything more. Her gesture suggested, 'what, this old thing?' while her smile accepted the compliment. Even Rodney temporarily forgot his tirade.

"So," she said, and the men turned as one to stop gawking, "where is this gathering?"

"Not sure. Malachi said he would send for us," Rodney replied.

"Sanara had to leave, and sent us over here," Ronon supplied. "So I guess we all go together."

"Yeah, about that, look, I uh. . ." Rodney waved his hand in the direction of his clothes, "of course I guess I could just go out back and . . ." John had already removed his shirt, and stopped at this pants, his eyes finding Teyla's.

"Oh! I–I will wait outside." Teyla pointed over her shoulder with a smile. She tried not to let inappropriate thoughts cross her mind.

Maybe it was the dress. She hurried out.

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The gathering was held beside the ocean, which surprised the team, for there had been no hint of salty air on the wind, nor a view from the high hills. The reason for the near evacuation of the village was clear; it was a damn long way by cart, and by the time they had arrived the moon was high and the festivities were well underway. They were greeted with loud hails and cheers, and pulled from the cart and pushed towards the fire and the food tables. The creature they had roasted for hours was placed on a nearby table with no other foods whatsoever. John tapped Malachi on the shoulder. "Why put it way over there?"

He looked surprised. "That is the offering. At this time we must share with everyone, especially the gods."

"So you're saying . . . we don't eat that?"

"Schranknot?" Malachi looked startled. "Why, does it please you?"

"NO! I mean, no. I mean . . . no, it doesn't."

"It is tough and rancid. But the gods enjoy it."

"And . . . for that I thank them." John sighed with relief and was led to a tray full of fruits and breads. He saw slices of meat further down, and saw Rodney practically being fed by Sanara who insisted he try everything on the table. With an evil grin he joined them. "Well?" He gave Rodney a knowing look.

"Oh my god, Colonel," Rodney muttered around his mouthful, "this is the best stuff. . .here. . ." he dipped three fingers into a bowl and scooped out a large dollop, then unashamedly shoveled the food into John's mouth before he had time to react. Fingers were wiped on a cloth, and Rodney moved on to sample more. John stood there, frozen, reluctant to swallow. Rodney had just stuck his fingers in John's mouth, was he seriously supposed to eat that glop now? But the taste settled on his tongue and he found himself grabbing bread and going for more. Rodney was right. It was damn good stuff. Even Ronon, who could pack it away, was having more than his usual share. Teyla had caught the attentions of a young man and was grinning away his advances. The colonel looked up as the moon emerged from the cloud cover and filled the area with a smooth, white light. The villagers fell silent, then erupted in cheers and prayers and raised cups. John glanced at Rodney and saw him caught up in the glee, his own cup raised, and he smiled at John. At least he was happy. Must be the food, though he was pretty suspicious of the content of the cup. He felt a heavy presence at his shoulder, and turned to Ronon. "What is it?"

"We have to talk." Ronon wasn't as happy as the others. His face was serious, and behind him Malachi's was as well.

"Where?"

"Beside the water." Ronon pulled John by his arm and Malachi followed. They walked down the beach, then turned and hiked through the foliage a short distance before emerging back beside the salt water.

The sands were crystalline. The moonlight spun the light into diamond fire as it reflected, forcing John to shield his eyes until his vision adjusted. It was like standing on a thousand miniature pearlescent lightbulbs. "Why here? I can't see."

"Your vision will adjust. Not all of our beachfront is like this, but this is the place."

"Place for what?"

"You friend must be tested here."

"Tested? I don't like the sound of that." John turned to Ronon, who said nothing. "Listen, I've kept my mouth shut around Rodney as regards to what little I do know, so you mind letting me in on the rest of the tale?"

Ronon sighed heavily, which greatly disturbed Sheppard. The man rarely let his emotions show, unless it was anger. Apprehension was never convincing in a warrior's guise, and to see it now made the bulky man seem smaller. His troubled gaze turned to the water. "When I was a boy, I heard stories of a being that traveled from person to person, inflicting pain and torment on all he touched. It's nothing but evil. It used to travel from one host to another, trying to find a way to return home."

"You sure that's not some sort of kiddie tale to keep you from wandering into the woods late at night?"

"Why would I want to stay out of the woods at night?"

John chose not to explain. The implications suddenly struck him, and he paled. "So you're saying this, this thing, is trying to take Rodney's body?"

"In a manner of speaking." Malachi stepped forward. "It travels through the gates. It was here shortly before you arrived. We had hoped it would leave with you."

"That's why you ushered us back through the gate? Oh, thanks a lot!" He stepped forward in anger. "We came here in peace, and you send back a monster that's affecting one of my team."

"We intended no harm. And it did leave us. It was killing us, torturing us."

"So everything's okay now, because it's tormenting us instead! Odd sense of diplomacy you people have here!"

Malachi met his advance, nose to nose. "You journeyed to us. We tried to avoid this. This is the first gathering we have been able to have in three cycles. We were afraid to bring the villages together, for fear it would spread through them. At first it was undetectable, for the moon can bring on a kind of madness, but this was different. This was violent. It had to go, and when news arrived of your coming through the gate, we thought it was a good way to send it back."

"And just how do you send it back? I mean, you can't pick this thing up and throw it!"

"It is the creature's own choice. Whether or not it decided to go was a risk we were willing to take."

"And who the hell are you to decide?" John yelled out.

"It was not intentional! We just thought it would use the transport to leave us."

"Well, your plan backfired!"

"Sheppard," Ronon said calmly, trying to return to the issue at hand.

John sighed and regained his temper. "So, now what?"

"Now we find out if this entity truly resides in your friend, or if your friend is merely a bouncer."

"And what the hell is a bouncer?" John looked from Ronon to Malachi.

"A bouncer," Malachi explained, "is a person who can sense the activities of the entity, and experience it. He shares the essence of the entity. He is in touch with it." He frowned. "Usually the entity has trouble remaining with one host, and is pushed away to find another, but not before causing irreparable damage."

"But either way, this thing is in his mind."

Malachi shook his head. "I don't think so. Not yet. If he is a bouncer, and I believe he is, then his association with the entity isn't known to the entity itself, at least not yet. You see," he threaded his fingers together, "a bouncer doesn't take the entity's own thoughts. He is being pulled toward the strongest emotion in the vicinity of the entity, and that is usually his victim."

Sheppard was feeling more and more uneasy. "I don't get it."

"He sees what the victim sees," Ronon supplied.

"What kind of fucked-up, metaphysical thing is that?"

"We don't know how much control this thing has," Malachi said. "If he is a bouncer, then it is imperative we try to sever the link before he's driven mad."

"Just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it? Why can't we tell him this?"

"We can," Malachi said, "but not until I have worked the rites. If he is a bouncer, we may be able to use that."

"How?"

"By tracking the entity through him. If caught at the right time, we can rid ourselves of this plague forever."

Sheppard put his hands to his head and walked a few steps away. "Okay, now this is sounding more and more like a very bad idea!" He turned. "If he does this, then these nightmares continue. He'll go crazy. You mean to make him go through this?"

"The choice would be his." Malachi looked at Ronon.

"Sheppard . . ." Ronon sighed, and leaned in as he gripped John's arm. "A lot of this information is new to me too. But you know I wouldn't hurt McKay." Ronon's face held more emotion than John was used to seeing. It made him wonder just how much more he knew.

"Right." John glared at Malachi. "I still say we find another way, should it come to that. But for right now, let's see what we're dealing with."

Malachi nodded. "When the moon is highest, we will bring him here. And we will know."

"Hang on, hang on," John had turned his face to the sky; now he looked back at the festivities and then to Malachi, "how do you know about this? If Ronon heard this as a child back on Sateda, then how do you know about it here?"

Malachi looked somber. "The entity originated here."

Sheppard turned to Ronon, but he said nothing.

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The festivities continued. The people ate and drank and frolicked, and Teyla and Rodney joined in. John and Ronon stayed aside, however, awareness of the upcoming event waylaying any attempt at relaxation. John even questioned Malachi as to whether Rodney should be drinking quite so much, but Malachi insisted it would make the trial easier on him. So John watched and waited as he hovered on the edge of the crowd. Every once in a while Rodney caught his eye and sent him a questioning glance, once which was answered with a smile and nod and lift of his own drink. Teyla and Sanara were sitting on a bench, heads close together, giggling like schoolgirls. It was a side of Teyla he had never seen, but figured had to be buried deep down somewhere in amongst the warrior. It was good that she could be so carefree. But she did keep an eye on Rodney, and that pleased him more. She may have made a new friend, one with whom she could have nice little girly-chats, but her priorities were not questionable. Not to mention, well, she was stunning, and watching her was a pleasure. He always felt she was beautiful, but it was easy to just think of her as Teyla, and not as an alluring woman. He needed to be reminded now and again.

The moon shone directly overhead. Malachi signaled to John, and he in turn sought out Ronon, who was caught between Teyla's amusement and Sanara's blatant attention. The latter was shyly listening to his explanation of. . .something. . . and staring with the adoring look of a woman with a crush. She's got your number, he thought humorously, and cleared his throat as he approached. "Uh, Ronon, as much as I hate to interrupt, we have some business to attend to." He sent a gracious smile to Sanara, and allowed his gaze to linger on Teyla, sending her a secret message.

"Oh," Sanara muttered, "this would be the test for your friend." She turned to Teyla. "I'll explain over another drink."

Teyla's eyes widened slightly. "Explain, but . . . I am going with them." Sanara shook her head which just made Teyla more insistent. "No, you don't understand. He is my teammate as well, I should be present."

"You can't. Women are not allowed."

"This is an exception." Teyla sent John a pointed look.

John wanted to have her there. He wanted that strength, that rationality, and started to tell this lovely lady where she could get off, that they were a team. But something in Ronon's face held him back. "Teyla, maybe you should stay. . ."

"Colonel!"

"Now, we'll fill you in on all the gory details, I promise," he said lightly, seeing Malachi's displeasure increase at her insistence. He walked away, heading for Rodney.

"I will not allow you to dismiss this!"

It was the fiery temper of a righteous woman. He knew that. And he knew she had every right to be there. John led her aside, wincing as she subtly pulled away. "Teyla," he said in a low voice, "you know I'm not trying to keep anything from you, hell, you probably know more about this than any of us, and after this . . . test . . . I want to hear it all. Something is going on here that I don't understand, and no one is talking. I'm not much more enlightened than our," he shifted his gaze and stared, "drunk, dancing physicist over there. . .dancing?" The situation was surreal enough without watching Rodney bob like a lost buoy. He refocused on Teyla. "I promise you, once I know what's going on, you'll know. But right now we have to play by their rules. Rodney's life depends on it." His eyes finally landed on hers, and saw guilty submission. "Now I did find out a bit more tonight. I'll tell you everything I know, later. Just play along. Talk to Sanara. She may have a different take on all this, right now we need all the info we can get. Okay?"

Teyla studied him, and nodded. She wasn't trying to be difficult. She knew that, and he knew that.

John gave a nod in response. "We'll meet up after this gathering is over and trade facts, piece together this puzzle, solve it, and blow the hell outta Dodge."

"Yes." She still wasn't happy, but she was reassured.

They took a different path this time, going through the trees closer to the waterline and emerging in the small, private clearing beside the sea. Malachi stood at the water's edge with a confused Rodney. He spun as John and Ronon showed up. "Now what's going on?" Demanding and uncertain eyes glared over the two men. "And where's Teyla?"

"She's talking with Sanara. Sulking a bit cause she's missing the show."

Rodney folded his arms. "What show?" He wavered slightly, obviously intoxicated. John could only hope it would mean the task would either be easier, or he wouldn't remember a damn thing.

John tried to sound more flippant than he felt. "Remember when we said we were going to find out what's wrong? Well, here we are."

"I'm the show?" Rodney's voice sank, and apprehension filled his eyes. He suddenly looked sober.

"Well. . .yeah."

Rodney turned to Ronon, then to Malachi.

Malachi pulled out several small pouches. "First you must remove your shirt and shoes."

"You're kidding me."

"Rodney," John threatened half-heartedly, "just do it."

Malachi merely looked at him.

Rodney hesitated. Slowly he knelt down and unlaced his boots and removed his socks. The shirt was stripped over his head and tossed aside. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he did his best to stand proudly.

"Raise your arms above your head."

Okay, this was more of a challenge. Considering the amount of partying he had been doing – which, come to think of it, was highly unusual for him so what the hell was that about – he was reluctant to even think about raising his arms, but complied. Malachi lit an herb in a large sea shell dish and fanned it until a sweet smelling smoke swirled about him. A deep chant rose from Malachi's throat while circling Rodney, infusing him with the luscious scent. John and Ronon watched intently, neither seeming uncomfortable by the ceremony. Which was more than could be said for Rodney.

Once he was more sweet-smelling than any man had a right to be, he was told to lie back on the sands and look up to the moon. Rodney cast a wary glance at John, who just nodded, and sat on the sand a few feet away from his friend; close enough for reassurance, but out of the way so as to not interfere. Rodney reached down. The sand was cold and beady underneath his palm, unlike anything he'd felt before. Laying back felt like reclining on a bed of pearls. He looked at John once more, uncertainty clear on his face, then focused his attention on the night sky.

The orb of the moon above him was much larger than he was used to, looking very much like the moon rising over the mountains back home, when it was so large and heavy that any upward lift seemed impossible. This moon was so heavy it would fall right out of the sky and right on top of him. As he stared, it grew larger, rounder, whiter. The deep chants continued.

John wasn't sure what to think about the situation. He kept up a good show for Rodney, but the truth was he was about as uncomfortable as he'd ever been, watching his friend half-strip and lay there while god only knew what was going to happen. He also felt like he should be going through the trial with him, as his superior officer, or as close as they got, and the guilt of not being able to help was eating at him, even as he tried to squelch it. He noticed every twitch in Rodney's arms, watched his chest swell and subside with each breath. Rodney's eyes were pinned on the insanely large moon above them, and his eyes widened. John watched, holding his breath, and wondered just what his friend saw.

Running. Branches whipping his face. Fleeing an enemy that couldn't be seen, nor heard. The only sound was his blood pounding in his ears between the catches of his breath. His legs were lead, his arms were numb. He collapsed in a heap, pushed to his feet, collapsed again. He was spent. He couldn't move. And above him, a foul breath told him he'd been discovered.

"Malachi. . .what is that. . ."

John frowned at Rodney's whisper. He obviously saw something in the sky, something above him. Hopefully not inside him. He looked up, hoping to see what Rodney saw, but the only object was the huge moon making its slow orbit. Rodney was becoming agitated, his breathing quickening, and yet Malachi did nothing.

The man circled above him like a bird of prey until it merged with the moon filling the sky above him. He stared as it faded from white to light grey, then darkened. The circular line contorted, the edges sharpening, the inner surface melting into the face of a demon.

He stopped breathing.

Eyes blazed over him with suffocating darkness, the features clouded yet as piercing as the edge of a rock. It leered at Rodney, mouth gaping, huge craters like molars yawning at him, swallowing him, his large stone visage pressing slowly down towards him, filling his sight, the weight crushing his body . . .

John was up on his knees in the sand when Rodney cried out in fear. Ronon pulled him back down, but his own frown showed he was seconds away from whipping Rodney up and carrying him through the gate. John watched with growing concern, then anger, as panic passed over his friend's face. As he just watched. Only watched, not knowing what was going through that brilliant mind, not having a clue. Damn!

The face pressed ever closer, and Rodney couldn't move. The air grew heavy, the demon-moon had heavily devoured the whole sky and was still coming at him, slowly, down, down, down, completely filling his vision. . .it was bearing down on him and he couldn't move . . . .

Rodney's breath caught and he panicked as the stone leaned in to crush his skull, but just touched the tip of his nose, and stopped. He gasped for air as it suddenly disappeared. Closed his eyes. Prayed. And the scream came.