"McKay?" John was up, and this time Ronon didn't even try to pull him down. John scrambled to his friend's side and was pushed violently away. He tried to reach out and stopped when he saw Rodney's eyes; dilated and scared. It was obvious that Rodney didn't know what was going on, he was still trapped in that dream world, or wherever he was. "Rodney! Rodney, you're okay! It's me, come on! It's over, it's over, you're okay." He hoped to god it really was and braced himself on the strange shore, leaning over his friend.

Rodney looked at him, fear and uncertainty clear on his face. His whole body shook, his breath coming in rapid pants, and no amount of consoling could calm him. Out of desperation, he rolled and launched himself into the ocean, frantically jumping the breakers. He lost his balance and fell, submerging, then surfacing, still pushing into the sea.

"Rodney, wait!" John rushed in behind him, the water sluggishly pulling at his legs as though to purposefully keep him back. Malachi was used to the odd waves, propelling himself across the water as Rodney took a breath and dove under.

John was waist deep and about to dive under when they surfaced. Rodney struggled in Malachi's grasp, both men fighting, one wanting the shore, the other, the waves. John made it to them and wrapped his arms around Rodney's slick chest as Malachi held his wrists, and together they forced the terrified man back to the beach. Malachi drove Rodney onto his knees, and held the shaking head between his hands as John hovered.

"Doctor McKay! What do you see? You must answer!"

Rodney shook his head, gripping Malachi's hands, trying to tear them away, gasping, his posture slumped, his gaze fixed on Malachi's chest, yet seeing nothing. Malachi's hands fell to grip his shoulders as he looked keenly at the man, searching for a sign that would tell him what he needed to know. Rodney finally looked up and muttered three words, "The moon fell."

John instinctively looked up, but the moon was still there. He saw Malachi look sharply at Ronon, and asked, "What? What is it?"

"It means we were right," Malachi said slowly, "he has seen the entity."

"Because the moon fell?" John was crouching beside them, watching Rodney closely, trying his hardest not to grab him away from the large hands that were holding him.

"It comes in many forms. It would stand to reason that, tonight, it chooses the moon."

"Because of your ceremony." John started to speak again when Rodney tore himself from Malachi's grip with a strangled cry. He stumbled in the odd sand, and John could feel his fingers brush the man's bare ankle before he jerked away. Lightning speed meant nothing to John as he watched Rodney run from them at a pace he nearly couldn't match. It was desperation that caused the flying tackle he would regret later. Holding him down was like wrestling a bear. He straddled Rodney's chest, pinned his wrists, and tried to avoid the spitting and biting. "Malachi! What the hell's happening?"

"Hold him!" The voice behind him was rapidly gaining.

John was trying. "What the hell is this?" he yelled. He knew panicking wouldn't be a good thing, but he was damned close anyway.

"Just hold him." Malachi was at his shoulder, out of breath and digging in his robe for something. Ronon had a firm grip on Rodney's legs, but it did little good as Sheppard was tossed aside. Ronon instantly leapt forward and took his place. It was easy for the heavier man to hold Rodney down, and the struggles ebbed. Malachi forced a solution down Rodney's throat and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow. And they waited, each listening to the terrified cries that eventually died away.

After a time, he was calmer, and still. He looked around in confusion, found himself embarrassingly pinned down by a worried Ronon, and saw John leaning over him with Malachi over his shoulder. The moon was just past high and normal, not super-sized, not falling on him. The breeze was cool, the trees whispered amongst themselves, probably wondering what the hell was going on. "Ronon?" he whispered, twisting his wrists. He sucked in a pained breath. "Ronon, god, get off."

Ronon released Rodney's wrists and sat back on his heels, not letting the man up. Malachi leaned in. "Doctor McKay?"

His eyes still looked a little wild, and his glances darted about as his rubbed his wrists. The moon, no, it was still there. There was no face, no creature in the night. "Is it gone?" he asked in a small voice.

"Do you know where you are?" Malachi asked.

"I'm – on the beach. Is it gone?"

"Why are you whispering, Dr. McKay?"

"So it won't hear me," Rodney said quickly. "It listens, it listens all the time, it knows I know, but it won't stop and it knows I know it knows. . ."

"Won't stop what, Rodney?" Malachi kept using his name, grounding him.

"Won't stop the killing. Won't stop the pain. It knows I can see," his breathing quickened, "oh god, I can see what these people are going through." He sent a shocked, pleading look to John, who was sitting beside his head. "I see them die, I can feel it. I live their pain and fear over and over again, I die with them, god, what's happening to me?"

Malachi nodded at looked at John "It's what I thought," he said quietly.

John's eyes left Rodney's for only a second to ask, "This bouncer thing?"

"There must have been contact in the gate between the entity and Dr. McKay when you were sent back. They touched, but were unable to connect. Rodney carries a piece with him, just enough to know what's going on."

"Then why does he see through the victim's eyes, and not this thing's?" John asked. He rubbed Rodney's shoulder as the tortured man closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

"Because that is what the entity wants. It projects an image to frighten the soul. It attacks from the inside, and it is more frightening to be the victim than to be the attacker. The entity can sense the fear, and uses it. As I said before, the bouncer is pulled toward the more intense emotion, and that is fear."

"Sounds like a two for one deal for this entity. One being physically victimized, and another having to watch it."

"And feel it. Yes."

John watched Rodney focus in on the conversation. "So tell me again what the purpose of a bouncer is," he said for Rodney's benefit.

"The bouncer senses the entity. The feelings and emotions are so strong, it bounces from the entity to one who has been in touch with it, usually one who ends up being the host."

John's attention jerked away from Rodney. "Host? You didn't say anything about being a host!"

"It is known for the entity to change forms in order to increase longevity. If it is dying in its current body, then it is on the search for a new one. A bouncer is one who is being prepared."

"And how many are bouncers for this thing?"

"Only one."

"Of course." John sat back. Of course just one. And of course it would be Rodney.

"There is one thing," Malachi said, leaning in. "The bouncer is the only one who can rid himself and the universe of this threat."

"Of course he is, because we can't make this easy or anything. Just how is this supposed to happen?"

Malachi merely raised a brow and looked out to sea.

John followed his eyes, and remembered Rodney's desperate flee. The way he struggled, the way he didn't want to resurface, it was almost like . . . "No. No way."

"There is no other way. If he can be convinced and do this when the entity inhabits . . ."

"He is not suicidal, and it's not going to get that far!"

"But it's . . ."

"The answer is NO!"

Rodney responded to the raised voices and squirmed underneath Ronon, trying to rise. "Guys, come on," he said in a stronger voice, "Let me up, you're crushing me."

Ronon slowly shifted to the side, and helped Rodney to sit up. "I'd apologize, but. . .not really."

"Not all that surprised." Rodney was breathing much more easily, more calmly, though he still spoke in a soft voice. "Just tell me, were you on my chest before or after the moon fell?"

"After, I think."

"So much for the ordeal being psychosomatic," Rodney said, and accepted a canteen that John had filled from the gathering. He drank slowly, then continued, "I've never felt that before, like I was here but not here, and the part that wasn't here was more important that the part that was." He shook his head in dismay and hid his face in his hand for a moment before looking up. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"No, not really." John's voice was soft as well as he crouched beside Rodney. "But I'll take your word for it." He still had one hand on Rodney's arm, and he'd be damned if he was going to let go.

Malachi was rummaging again in his pouch. He pulled out an herb, told Rodney to open his mouth, and placed it underneath his tongue. Rodney made the worst possible face and pulled away, but Malachi clamped his hand over Rodney's mouth. "Do not dare spit it out. Not yet."

"It's rancid!" Rodney muffled. "Gonna be sick."

"It will pass. Let it work, then spit it out."

John could swear Rodney was literally turning green. It would have been amusing if he wasn't so damn worried. After a moment Rodney was allowed to spit, and he glared at Malachi. "I was having fun, you know, real fun, for the first time in years. Then you put me through the wringer."

"It was for your own good," John said as they helped him stand. "Can you walk?"

Rodney did stand, and wavered. "Do I have to go back to the gathering? Cause I really, really just want to sleep for about eight millennia."

"Sleep is what you need, my friend. I will drive you back myself. You two," he nodded at John and Ronon, "enjoy yourselves. I insist. Everything will be fine, and I will see you when you return." He picked up Rodney's discarded shirt, socks, and shoes in one hand, and took Rodney's elbow in the other. They took a different route, heading back to the village.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The morning was too damn bright. Rodney could feel the light pressing on his reddened lids, forcing them open though he wanted nothing more than to just keep them closed. Everything was blurry, which was a good enough reason to succumb and close his eyes again. A soft cool cloth pressed against his forehead, a gentle caress tousled his hair. He smiled, remembering when he had come down with the fever when he was very young, back when his mom was actually. . .mom.

The hand withdrew quickly, and Rodney opened his eyes. It took a moment to focus, then settled on Teyla quickly wringing the cloth out over a small basin. Rodney blinked a few times, then realized what had happened. "Teyla, what did I say?"

She merely smiled. "It is normal for a soothing touch to remind you of a parent. How are you feeling?"

The question was weighed heavily before it was answered. "Not so good."

"You've had a fever most of the night. Malachi says it is normal." She slapped the cloth flat and started to fold it. "I should have been there."

To do what? Chase him down the beach? Under any other circumstances. . . "I-I'm glad you're here now. You do have a gentle touch." He slowly wiped at his face, feeling so not like himself.

"I'm am told it is feminine wiles, but I am glad you approve." She placed the fresh cloth on his head. "Ronon and the Colonel have gone back through the gate to confer with Dr. Weir."

"I see." Rodney closed his eyes.

"Everything will be fine."

Brows raised over closed lids. "Everyone keeps saying that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Weir looked astonished. Carson looked downright scared. He was unable to sit still, and paced back and forth behind John's chair. "Do you mean to say this thing is trying to take over his body so it can kill others?"

John winced. "Thanks Carson, I hadn't put it in quite those terms myself. But yes, that's one possibility."

"And right now he can feel and see what the victims feel and see?" His voice remained shocked.

Elizabeth raised her hand. "Wait. Explain this again."

John sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. "Okay. The way I see it, this entity is like a nightmare that becomes real. It's like a psychic link. The bouncer first senses the fear of the victim, picking up on this projection from both the victim and the entity. The entity feeds upon this. I'm guessing a bouncer is a person who is compatible with the entity. It is capable of actually inhabiting a body for short periods of time before wearing it out. Being a bouncer not only feeds the entity emotionally, but it can temporarily provide a physical link in addition to a psychic one."

"Would sedating him help until we can figure out a solution?" Elizabeth asked.

John looked at Carson, who gave a shuddering sigh as he stopped. "I don't know. If he is sedated I suppose it could prevent the entity from completely taking over, simply because it wouldn't want to be in a body that is motionless, and therefore useless. On the other hand, if it is attacking Rodney mentally, what's to stop it from finishing him off and making him completely insane?" He realized what he said, and checked himself. "Can it really not find another body?"

"I don't know, but I don't think sedating him is a good thing. For all we know this thing is in his head already, and I don't want Rodney trapped with it." John leaned back in his chair, studying the table before him as he thought out loud. "Malachi suggested an alternative which I'm not at all fond of."

"Which is?"

John gave a small shrug. "Rodney could drown himself."

"What the bloody hell?" Carson leaned over John, one hand on the table and one on the back of John's chair. "You can't be serious, man!"

"Didn't I say I'm not fond of it?"

Carson pushed away in irritation. "You didn't have to bring it up at all!"

"I only did because I thought it might help find a solution!"

"How? By finding which way is less painful for poor Rodney to do himself in?"

John leaned forward, his chair turned, angry eyes focused on the doctor. "I didn't say that, I said I was trying to find a solution!"

"Oh, aye! A permanent one, by the sound of it!"

"Gentlemen!" Weir's fists were clenched, her expression stern. "This is difficult enough without the two of you making erroneous assumptions." She steadied her own breathing. "Is he in any pain?"

John shook his head, still looking at Carson. "Not until he's facing a vision, and afterwards. Other than this he's plain ole' Rodney."

"It is safe to bring him back here?"

John winced. "I don't think so, no."

"And can Carson do anything for him on the planet?"

John held Carson's eyes. He saw the pain there. Rodney had known the medical doctor longer than any of them, and they had a firm friendship. He understood the pain, and knew he was about to cause more. "Probably not, no." Carson's slump confirmed his fear.

"Then I suggest you return to the planet and find a solution there. In the meantime, Dr. Beckett will be on call for immediate departure should the need arise." Her eyes were wide with conviction, her point not to be argued.

John was chagrined, and rose to leave. He stopped at her gentle tone. "John. Let's bring him back home in one piece, okay?"

Carson turned, his demeanor softening. John merely gave a nod, and exited.

Carson wasn't going to let it go. He caught up with John in the hallway. "Are you certain there is nothing I can do to help?"

"Sure. You can sit on his chest the next time he wants to take an unexpected swim."

"Colonel," Carson stopped him by taking his arm. He let go as John turned to face him impatiently. "You need your own rest. At least share a drink with me before you return."

"There isn't time."

"Doctor's orders, Colonel. I'll not have you returning in this state. It'll do Rodney no good to see it, and you know that."

John inhaled deeply, and gave in. "Guess I can fill you in a bit more."

"Aye, I'd like that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John returned to the village to find Rodney chopping wood. The sight was so unexpected, and so unlike Rodney, that he stood stock still and took in the view. Rodney's already tight shirt was wet with sweat, his arms glistened. His face was red, and he was breathing more heavily than was healthy. John just knew he was going to fall, and when he saw the man stumble slightly as he reached for the log he'd just cut, he called out, "Are you trying to give yourself a heart-attack?"

Rodney turned and dropped the axe without picking up the wood. "Colonel." He panted and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

John surveyed the mess. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Rodney was nowhere near catching his breath.

"It looks like I just walked into a bad dream."

"Funny you should phrase it that way."

"Funny that the image has come up twice in one day." John's brows were knitted close. "You haven't . . ."

"No. And yes. Sort of."

"Not a very coherent answer."

"Best you're going to get." Rodney picked up the axe again. He sagged, the blade narrowly missing his foot.

John made a motion to grab for it. "Are you insane? Chopping wood?"

"Possibly."

"You've never done anything physical in your life."

"I resent the implication. Besides, they don't exactly have a lab here, you know. No intranet. Just a lot of plants and woods and clothes and cooking. Mundane."

"So you decided to chop wood."

"It was that or chopping heads." Rodney wielded the axe once more with trembling arms, and this time John managed to catch it before it completed the upswing. Rodney's back jerked, and he glared. "Now who's insane? Are you trying to wrench my arm out of socket?"

"You're gonna hurt yourself. Now let's get something to eat, I'm hungry."

"Yeah." Rodney let the axe fall from limp hands. "You're right."

John picked it up and propped it against the log, then regarded his friend. "You okay? You know, with the. . ." he pointed to his head.

"No. Thought currently I'm as sane as you, which admittedly isn't saying much."

"Peas in a pod, I'd say." John scoffed and led the way back to Malachi's hut.

In fact, Rodney did seem fine, especially after getting some food into him. His expression had lost its former haunted look, his eyes brightened, and he went about trying to find something to do that required less physical labor. "Gotta be something here worth while," he groused, and the sour look that accompanied the complaint set John's fear at ease.

"Maybe you can manage a feat of engineering to make that devil spit easier to turn." The look Rodney sent him made him smile, but later that day he found Rodney turning the crank slowly, studying the mechanism.

Since he hadn't been able to complete the festivities of the previous night, his friends decided to hold a small, impromptu bonfire. Malachi consented happily, showing Teyla a small clearing where they could have some privacy. Sanara made it a point to help Ronon gather wood for the fire, under the amused scrutiny of Rodney, who insisted to John that precise mathematical ingenuity was required for the proper placement of the wood. After his tower tumbled twice, he shuffled aside and let John set up the perfect campfire, all the while muttering that hell, there hadn't been a use for a campfire in Russia because the outside temperature was cold enough to freeze the flames solid. John merely poked at him with the sticks in hand, and managed to get a wan smile out of his friend.

The moon rose once more, still disturbingly large, but otherwise normal. It lay half hidden behind the tall trees, peeking through on occasion to make sure the inhabitants were still there to worship.

It was John's idea to start the game of truth or dare. Several drinks in found the group feeling very relaxed without any threat to their surroundings. They were careful not to take in too much, to stay alert. It was one thing to get drunk with the villagers, and entirely another to do so alone on a strange world, but they all felt the strong desire to chill out, as John put it. Rodney seemed ready to down the whole keg that was presented to him. It was no mystery that the fall of night and the rise of the moon had him on edge.

"Teyla," John said, holding in a belch and adjusting his numbing rear on the log, "how old were you when you got your first kiss?"

Teyla frowned, swallowing the evil brew heavily. "I do not believe that is any of your business, Colonel."

"Oh come on, Teyla. It's part of the game!"

"Would it matter to us as team mates, or even friends, if I were to answer?"

John's brows raised. "I, uh . . ." he caught Rodney's smirk, "no, I don't guess so."

"Then I decline to answer."

"You'd rather take a dare?"

"I thought these questions were supposed to be of a 'did you or didn't you' nature?" Rodney half-asked.

"Depends on which rules you play by."

"Oh, I see, and this is the John Sheppard 101 class of perfect ways to make an ass of yourself in front of your friends." Rodney thumped his chest with his fist and made no attempt to hold in his belch. No apology followed.

"Oh nice. You don't need pointers from my book."

"You do better!"

John pulled back and let loose a belch that had Teyla wincing in the wind. "You men are weak."

"Is that a challenge?" John teased.

"Now, I wouldn't want you to change your worthy opinion of me," Teyla smiled, and stood, excusing herself.

Rodney tilted his cup toward her an appreciation. "One classy lady right," he swallowed deeply, "right there."

"Yeah, she's something." John leaned toward Ronon. "Of course, she's no Sanara."

Ronon hid his face in his cup. "Cut it out, Sheppard."

"Oh, come on! She's cute!"

"Colonel! What is it with you and drink and setting people up in their love life?" Rodney snorted and stared at the fire.

"I was just saying!"

"You're just being juvenile!"

Ronon refilled his cup. "She's nice, but she isn't really my type."

"What is your type," Rodney snorted, "a female Amazon-Klingon? Someone who throws furniture while you read love poetry?"

"And duck a lot," Rodney added with a grin.

Ronon raised a brow. "Sound interesting."

"Unbelievable." Rodney continued to stare into the fire.

John and Ronon exchanged a rather conspiring glance. "And what would you consider a good date, Rodney? Showing a girl around your lab, infusing her with technobabble so that she can't remember who she's with?"

"McKay's babble would remind her who she's with and ruin it," Ronon said flatly. They waited for an answer, for some witty repartee. Both men knew the teasing was childish, and they did it deliberately.

But Rodney just stared into the fire, saying nothing, his eyes widening, his face pale. He stood slowly, half-reaching for the log he had been sitting on. His back was bent with the weight of something unseen, his eyes bright. John rose to his feet and slowly walked around the flames, casting a sidelong glance at Ronon, who came to his side and asked, "McKay?"

Rodney shook his head ever so slightly, eyes still pinned to the fire, hand still reaching down to the log as though he were to fall over. John cursed, recognizing what was about to happen. "Rodney, what do you see?" The voice was low but intense.

"I-I. . ." he shook his head again and winced, then leaned. Ronon caught him as he went down and set him on the log. Rodney's eyes never left the flame. "Darkness. Trees. God, not again, I can't. . ."

John was suddenly feeling very sober. He knelt down in front of the nervous man. "It's okay, Rodney. Where are you?"

"It's not me."

" . . . Right. Then," John shook his head in confusion, not sure what to ask, "who are you?"

"I don't know." Rodney's voice sounded rushed, almost panicked. "I-I-I can't tell!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, we're here. Look around you. You see anything familiar?"

"No! I can't. Something's behind me. . .I have to go. . ." Rodney's breathing quickened. John grabbed his arm before he could stand.

"Where?"

"Away. That's all I know, oh god. . ." his eyes widened even more and he stood, trying to pull away, ". . .shit. . ."

"Rodney?"

"Colonel! I'm scared. I mean th-this person is scared to death, it's coming. I've never been around when it comes like this, but it's coming, I usually just sense the actual attack. . ." his breath was coming in snatches like he had been running, "coming closer. . ." he started to back away. John kept a grip on his arm and walked back with him, allowing him to move as needed but reluctant to let him go.

"What's coming? Rodney!"

"I don't know! I can smell it, it's rancid." His face pulled tight. "Like death." He whipped his head around to the trees behind him. John grabbed the other arm as well, turning him around, stabilizing him. Wild eyes stared back, eyes that fought for reason. "Let me go," Rodney begged.

"No."

"John, please. . ."

The use of his name scared him. "I can't do that, Rodney! You know that!"

"But it's coming, it's . . .oh no . . . " Rodney's focus was turned inward, and he suddenly yanked back, his face a mask of horror. Ronon reached out and caught his arms, resisting the frantic motions. "Wait, stop!" Rodney cried out. "Are you crazy?" The voice rose to a fevered pitch. "You'll kill me!"

"We're helping you. . ."

"Then LET ME GO!" Rodney tore himself away and launched towards the trees. John cursed under his breath, feeling an all too familiar sense of deja vu. Teyla could be seen in the distance, and John called out to her while sending Ronon after Rodney. She joined him quickly, and together they followed the sound of crashing shrubs and yelling.

Rodney was obviously terrified out of his mind, whether from what he could see or what he was "channeling" John had no clue. But he did know that this was far from a safe situation. Dammit to hell. "Rodney!" They continued the chase, crushing the plant life around them, stumbling over gnarled roots and stones. John slapped his palm on a boulder and whirled around it, and fell over his friend.

He was crouched down, staring at his palms. Teyla knelt down and took his hands in hers, then yelped and pulled away, startled. "Blood. . .Rodney?" She grabbed his hands again. "Rodney, let me see!" She forced his hands down and looked at his chest, then ripped his shirt open. "Colonel!"

"Shit!" John whipped off his jacket then pressed it to the heavy flow of blood, easing Rodney to the ground. Rodney just stared at his hands held before his face, his breathing still rough. "It killed her, it tore into her chest." His breaths slowly quieted, and became shallow. He gasped as his body seized, "She's dying, she feels it. I feel it."

"Dammit, Rodney!" John grabbed his chin and peered into his face, forcing his bewildered eyes to meet him. "Rodney! Listen! Stay with us, okay?" What the hell was this? His eyes flew over his friend. Ronon took over for John, pressing the jacket hard against the wounds.

"Dying – she's scared," he whispered quickly, "she's scared and she hurts. God, someone go to her, she's all alone."

"Where is she?" Teyla had no idea what made her ask that, but Rodney pointed weakly in response.

She looked to Sheppard. "How does he know this?"

"Just go! Don't let her die alone, no one should have die alone . . .god . . . ."

"McKay, you're hurt, what happened to you?" Ronon asked quickly, ready to go on a hunt.

"Too late. It's too late." His voice was beyond a whisper, almost a breath. "She's gone."

And so was the blood.