The sun was high overhead, heating the air. Ronon frowned in displeasure at the man walking around in the haze. McKay shouldn't be standing, much less walking. He should be dead. The amount of blood flowing from that wound was enough to put a seasoned soldier into the ground. And yet he walked, without a mark on him.

He had carried the man back. Refused to acknowledge the protest that he was fine. It was not right. He should be dead. Sheppard had glanced at his blood-stained jacket and tossed it into a corner, not knowing what to say. It was gone this morning.

Ronon didn't know what to do. He watched, afraid to touch McKay again. If the man looked his way, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He knew his teammate was becoming frustrated by his actions, by his silence and avoidance, but he need time to. . .think. And even now, sitting on a long bench outside his hut and watching the kids play innocently, concentration was impossible. Why could McKay not walk somewhere else, why did he insist on staying within his line of vision?

His frustration was compounded by the approach of Malachi. The man had not been able to explain what had happened to McKay, why his wounds were inflicted, then healed with no scaring. Nor had he been able to find any evidence of a murder deep in the night. "How are you, my friend?" Malachi asked simply.

Ronon did not answer.

Malachi leaned against the wall of the hut where Ronon temporarily resided. "You ask many questions that I can not answer, and you resent me for that. I understand. But you must understand, this is not of my doing. I did try to warn you. I told your team to return through the gate."

"Which we did," he responded flatly. "Too late." Ronon had been breaking a twig into equal pieces between this thick fingers as his mind worked out the problem. His eyes stayed on McKay, he made no attempt to look at Malachi. Which would be the worst sight, he was hard pressed to say.

Malachi made a move to sit on the bench beside Ronon, then reconsidered. "Your Colonel Sheppard and Teyla are still searching for the body. I have to say the lack of evidence proves the possibility of Dr. McKay having a – a fit."

This time Ronon did turn towards Malachi. Malachi wished he hadn't. "A fit?" His voice was poisonous. "You call this a fit? He was bleeding. We couldn't stop the flow of blood as it streamed from his chest. You didn't see it." He leaned in. "Do not dare to presume we are lying, or that McKay has had a 'fit'". He spat out the last word as his eyes fixed on the man he resented watching. "He should not be alive. He should have died instantly. No wound, no mark, no evidence. He should be dead." Ronon paused sighed, flinging the rest of the twigs into the distance. "And I can't stop thinking."

"And what is it you're thinking?" Malachi managed to sit on the corner edge of the bench, and saw the man consider his options, to tell or not to tell. "I'm not your enemy, Ronon Dex. I wish to help Doctor McKay as much as you. I would enjoy nothing more than to smite this demon and rid the people of it forever. But I need you, and you need me. And we both need Doctor McKay. If you keep these feeling and fears," he nodded as Ronon looked at him sharply, "yes, fears, to yourself, then we can help no one. Now is not the time to harbor secrets and ill-wishes that may be fed upon." He waited.

Ronon wasn't a man to hide his feelings, if they needed to be heard. He threaded his fingers together and stared at them, then looked off into the distance. It was obvious to Malachi that talking was hard for him, and he respected that. But he also saw the need in his eyes that countered such a habit. "I can't explain it. It's. . .it's in my gut. I don't understand what's happening to him. And I wonder if it can happen to any of us."

The words were honest, the tone unexpressive. Malachi responded with as much honestly as he had been given. "It can. The entity can take any host. But this situation is different, because it hasn't taken Doctor McKay as a host. It is out there, somewhere, but we don't know where. It is the one killing, so far as we know. Your Rodney is merely an extra set of eyes."

"No. He's in training." Ronon glared. "I know military tactics. This thing is desensitizing him and preparing him. What if McKay starts the killing?" His eyes darkened.

Malachi was surprised by the man's insight. "That is something we must stay aware of."

It was an answer Ronon didn't like. He stood quickly. "I have to walk."

Malachi stood with him. "Talk to him, Ronon. I know you are a runner. You are strong, stable, the survivor. Of all people, he needs you by his side right now."

Ronon heard the words, but had no intention of acting on them. Not until he found himself face to face with McKay, who had come around the corner of his hut. Malachi promptly vanished.

He saw the man start. He fully expected Rodney to mutter an apology and push his way around, but he didn't. Instead Rodney muttered, "Sorry," and lowered his gaze, then looked up with such a hangdog look that Ronon thought he had been kicked. Well, of course he had. Stupid.

"You okay?" he asked Rodney gruffly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Rodney nodded faintly, his sight leaning towards the ground, carving out an escape route that his body was about ready to follow.

But to his surprise, and Ronon's, the larger man took his shoulder and squeezed it hard. "I'm glad," he said in a low voice.

"Me too," Rodney responded quickly, and in an amazed voice. He studied Ronon's face as though looking for the catch.

"Let's walk." Ronon talked more openly if moving, and while he was personally convinced that Rodney would have little care to share his fears with him, Ronon could at least fill him in on what he knew.

They headed towards the trees. "I've seen this happen before," he said. "It wasn't pretty."

"Everyone seems so set on trying to make me feel better," Rodney huffed. "Too bad it isn't actually working."

"I just want you to know what you're in for."

" 'I've seen this before, it wasn't pretty'? I'd rather not know, thank you!"

Ronon rolled his eyes and sighed, pulling Rodney to a stop barely before they had started. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Rodney crossed his arms. "Were you able to stop the other thing from happening?"

"No."

"Then this is a useless conversation." Rodney turned on his heel.

"McKay," Ronon stopped him again, "you don't understand. I wanted it to happen the last time."

"What?"

Ronon sighed. "It was this guy. A soldier. He led his people into senseless battles with little preparation. All he cared about was racking up the points. He went to a world where the entity lay in wait. I had heard stories about such a creature, but thought it was nothing more than tall tales. Until Zorlexx."

"The world was called Zorlexx?"

"The man."

"Sounds like a sleep-aid."

"Are you going to listen, or not?" Ronon asked, and paused. "He was consumed by this thing. Many of the bravest lost their lives to his folly. I tried to take him out."

"And?"

Ronon shrugged and looked away.

Rodney thought this meant the end of the conversation, but had an itchy feeling that there was something Ronon wanted to say, and wouldn't. Otherwise, why speak about it? "Ronon, did you see this Zorlexx person when he was possessed by this entity?"

"I did."

"Did he survive?"

Ronon merely looked at him.

"They couldn't save him?"

"The entity . . .killed him. But not before he murdered his family and friends. And each time it happened, he came back to himself just a little more, just to see what he had done, then he would be snatched back to kill again. The entity finally drained him completely and left him to find another host."

Rodney had paled. "Ronon, when did this happen?"

"Shortly before I was captured to become a runner."

"And that was the only time you've seen this entity, right?"

This was the hard part. "No. I have seen it since."

Rodney faced him, his eyes wild. He knew what Ronon was going to say, and he knew because, "you were one. It tried to take you as a host, that's how you knew."

"I was there when Zorlexx died. I saw it, I stared into the face of death as it left the body. Years later I encountered it again. When it discovered what I was, it wanted no part of me."

"It's afraid of the Wraith?"

"No." Ronon turned. "It is afraid of me. There was no conflict in my killing. I led no people into battle. I was alone, and acting to survive. There was no fear for it to feed upon, and the only anger I held was against someone worthy of the anger."

"It can pick up on that?"

"It is very clever."

"And oddly moralistic. Or not. Guess I can't talk him out of it, make him leave me alone."

"Him?"

Rodney glanced at him. "Yeah. It's always a man."

"Interesting."

"Why, what was it for you?"

"Formless."

"Ah." They had resumed walking, like comrades. It was the most the two had talked to each other frequently since their initial meeting.

Rodney swallowed hard. "Then you know what I'm going through. You were able to figure it out."

"It was never in me. But I have an idea."

Rodney let out a shuddering breath. "It's like part of me is fighting for my sanity, but I don't feel insane. I keep getting a chill, a notion that something is going to happen, then it doesn't. But I can tell you this. When it does happen, I'm not going to be able to stop it." He sighed. "The things I've seen over the past few days. . .I can't even describe it. I don't want to. I try to pass it off as nightmares, but there is this underlying feeling of dread that I can't shake."

"And it's getting worse."

"Yes." The voice was quiet.

"I thought you were dead."

Rodney jerked to a stop. "What?"

"Last night." Ronon had stopped as well, and regarded him evenly. "You should have died."

"I wasn't injured."

"You were injured. This thing it does now, I've never seen it. I don't understand it."

"That's why you've been avoiding me? Because I didn't die?"

"Yes."

"I see." Rodney blinked into the distance. "Guess I can understand that in some sort of convoluted, warrior sense."

Ronon stopped, and toed the ground with his boot. He rolled his shoulders and surveyed the area. "I like you, McKay. You're an ass. I like that."

"Huh? Uh, thanks. I think you're an ass too."

Ronon grinned wildly. And somehow an understanding passed between them, that Ronon would watch his back, and Rodney would let him without question.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John stood before the gate, and tapped his radio. "Elizabeth? You rang?"

"How's it going, John?"

He tried his hardest not to sigh. "Been better. Been worse."

"I take it there's no progress, then?"

"Well . . .no."

He could practically hear her fold her arms around herself in frustration. "Major, we really need you both back here. Now, is there a chance of finding an answer to this, or not?"

He hated ultimatums with a passion, and this one sounded heartless. "We're doing the best we can, Elizabeth! We can't exactly rush these things, you know. Especially since we don't really know what we're dealing with."

"Has Rodney experienced any more visions?"

"You could say that." He briefly explained the events of the previous night.

It was several moments before Elizabeth spoke, and when she did, it was with a bit more understanding that before. "Is there anything we can do to help from this end?"

"Just keep Carson on standby. Things could get a bit hairy around here."

"Understood." A pause. "Is Rodney near you by chance?"

"No, I made it a point to leave him at home."

"How's he taking all this?"

John shrugged, forgetting that Weir couldn't see. "As well as can be expected for someone slowly going mad and trying not to. Nightmares at night, nightmares in the day. I should probably get back to him, you know, make sure he hasn't done something – unRodney-like."

"I want updates."

"Heard that."

"And be careful." It was expected.

"As always. Sheppard out." He closed the connection, and the Stargate.

And stood there.

Well, what the hell was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could take a gun to this thing. It wasn't like he even knew where it was, or what it was, or if it could be killed. Well, it could be, but the way it could be killed wasn't an option. And in the meantime he had to wait until Rodney decided to go all freakish on him just so he would know what was going on. But even the episodes were becoming closed to him, so that things would happen without his knowing.

There were times when his job really sucked.

It was the subtle yet rapid change in his friend that was the most disturbing. Hour by hour he could feel the man he knew slipping away. A sudden glance would show that something was going on inside that brilliant mind, something foreign. It was to the point where Rodney couldn't express what he was seeing, he would just shake with a frightened, wide-eyed stare. He didn't even run. All of his energy was spent in the visions, and each time he came out a little less himself.

A soft footfall sounded behind John, pulling him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Teyla approaching. She smiled gently. He hadn't realized until that moment just how much he had come to rely on her stability. "How is Dr. Weir?" she asked.

"Like the rest of us. Tense."

"It is understandable. Especially since all she can do it wait."

"Like we can do any better?" He realized he had snapped, but Teyla didn't seem to mind.

"Rodney has taken to his bed with a headache. I thought I would take the opportunity to see how you are feeling."

John's gut twisted. "When?"

"About an hour ago, I believe. I thought it best to leave him alone, in fact he insisted on it. He seemed quite irritable, so I was all too happy to leave him to his rest."

"And you did? You just left him?"

"He insisted, and in no uncertain terms! Ronon was sitting outside his door as I left, I am sure he's keeping a close eye on Rodney."

Well, that was a little better. "Okay. We should get back then."

"These . . .visions . . .does a headache usually precede them?"

"Been known to happen."

Her face turned down into a frown. "Then I was wrong in leaving him."

"Nah, not if Ronon's there. I mean – it's Ronon, for god's sake." He chuckled unfeelingly. "What's Rodney gonna do, pull on his dreads? Use them to tie him to the spit?"

But Teyla still looked worried. "We should hurry. He was feeling very poorly."

"I'm sure he's fine." John tried to walk away nonchalantly, but the stiffness of his steps betrayed him.

His fears were confirmed when he found a group of people hunched beside an unconscious Ronon, and a door leading to an empty room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Malachi sat at the water's edge. He pulled his pouch from within his robes and carefully loosened the string binding the top. A pinch of herb was pulled and placed into a flat seashell dish.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze lingering over the waves before closing to him. His body was rigid, then relaxed. He allowed the visions to come to him.

Running. Forever running, forever fighting the rage within. Lost. Tortured. Such anger, such blackness. Abandoned. Wanting nothing more than to hurt, to kill, to do as was done unto him. Malachi reached further, braving the coldness in his chest and the fear that stabbed him from all sides. He was there. And he listened.

Why have you come to me, the voice said. I told you never to come to me.

You need help.

I never asked for your pity.

I didn't offer any.

Then leave me.

I can't. You know that.

Then kill me.

I can't do that either.

You condemn me to live in eternal hell.

No.

It is the way of things.

You have to let him go.

I will not.

Malachi could feel the ache in his bones. His concentration altered, and his eyes flashed open just as the large wave struck the shore, sucking him into the frothy depths.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Rodney? Answer me!" John plowed though the foliage, shoving aside the large leaves and bent bramble. He knew there was little chance in finding his friend out here, but it wasn't like he was going to just sit around and wait for him to show up. Ronon was still down. For all he knew, Rodney was in a panic, caught in a living nightmare, sitting on a stone with blood on his hands. Or he could be just fine, but panicked because he took out Chewie. The runner would not be in a good mood when he woke. Hell, under the circumstances John felt he would probably run too.

It was the fact that Rodney, he of no combative skill whatsoever, was able to take out the large man to such a degree that stunned John. The blood had streamed from Ronon's head wound, and yes, it looked worse than it was, but it was bad enough. There was no sign of a weapon, no stick or rock, meaning that more than likely Rodney took the weapon with him. And upon checking his friend's pack, he discovered the small pistol that Rodney carried was missing. But Ronon's wound wasn't a glancing shot, say from a stray bullet, thank goodness, more likely a hard blow from the butt end of the pistol. It was still a hell of a whack.

John stumbled over a twisted root. He cursed. A moment later he was on the ground, having found another damned twist.

But that wasn't the only twist, he discovered, as he looked up into Rodney's eyes.

The gaze was scarily intense, and aimed down at him. He had seen Rodney looking intense before, usually when hard at work on an experiment or while caught in a life-and-death situation. It generally followed the hysterical screams of pending doom.

But this . . .this was different. Rodney was a stone, and John's first startled instinct was to cry out and back away. But this was Rodney – granted, it was a Rodney that took down an Amazon with a single blow – but it was McKay. Geeky McKay. Who looked damn frightening at the moment.

"Rodney." John kept his gaze locked as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Rodney didn't move, he just followed the motion, unblinking. He looked pissed off, except there was no emotion in it. The expression was the most stoic, threatening thing John had ever seen in his life. "You okay?" Stupid question.

Rodney just stared, then finally did blink. He shifted slightly, as though coming back to himself. "I wasn't the one who tripped," he said in a low, uncertain voice. He seemed to be wrestling either with a level of compassion he wasn't familiar with, or the notion that he really didn't give a shit and was vaguely commenting out of a sense of duty. The result was a rather cold response.

"No, and I'm fine, thanks for asking." John rubbed his hands on the back on his pants, not wanting to make a sudden move. "But I'm not the issue here."

Rodney took a step back. "Oh, I see, so you're saying I'm the issue."

"I'm saying we're worried about you," John said carefully.

He seemed to consider that. "How's Ronon?"

"You remember that, do you? I don't know."

"You don't know?" Rodney's eyes flickered. "What do you mean you don't know? You left a teammate who could be dead to come traipsing through the woods? So much for being reliable! What ever happened to 'never leave a man behind'?"

Well, that sure sounded like McKay. "Circumstances being what they are, I thought I'd risk it. He isn't alone and his injury isn't life-threatening, at least not to him. But you should have a damn good explanation for your actions when you get back, because I'm not so sure he's gonna just forgive and forget."

Rodney snorted. "Are you kidding?" A wild grin crossed his face, and he spread out his arms. "He'll love me! Big, hairy warrior type gets bested by not-so-wimpy superior geek. We'll be the best of friends."

There was something about the sarcastic way Rodney spat out the last sentence that made John's stomach turn. "Maybe. Let's go and find out."

Rodney's confidence wavered. "Back to Ronon? He'll be pissed! Are you trying to kill me?"

The change in demeanor threw John for a dizzying loop. He risked a step forward. "No, actually I'm trying to save you."

Rodney took a sudden step back. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"You really want to take me back there, don't you? Well, I'm not going."

"Rodney, I was kidding. I doubt Ronon would..."

"I don't give a crap about Ronon!" The tone had changed again, and a wildness came to his eyes. Rodney started to shake, rubbing his hands together, then making fists, rubbing first one, then the other.

John could almost sense darkness in the air. "Let's get you out of here."

"No. Just go."

"Rodney . . ."

"I said leave!"

"Not without you." The statement was pointed, and booked no argument.

Rodney crumpled slightly, lost in an emotion he couldn't control. "No. I can't." He looked around rapidly. "I can't go back like this."

The stone visage John had met had been replaced with that of a scared child. John reached out to him. His chest ached, and he was angry that he had no idea what to do. "We have to see Malachi. He can stop this."

"That's bullshit." Now he was a scared child with a potty-mouth.

John conceded. "It's better than being out here alone." He touched Rodney's arm, and jerked his own hands up in a defensive gesture as Rodney freaked.

He snatched himself away, and in a flash his pistol was trained on John, aimed at his head. Both hands gripped the weapon tightly, and he aimed again, this time for the heart. "Don't make me do this," he whispered desperately.

"Well, you know me, I never make you do anything you don't want to do." John's tone came across as light, yet was weighed with desperation. He continued to hold his hands up in a placating manner, trying not to feel intimidated by the dull metal. The problem was, he knew Rodney was an increasingly good shot. Any uncertainty about welding weapons was gone. Rodney switched the gun to his right hand only, aiming down the length of his arm with a confidence that wasn't normally his. The hand that held the gun was steady, the grip firm. The grim look on his face betrayed his dislike for killing, yet the glint in his eye showed he was perfectly capable.

Rodney slowly started to back away, his gun still poised, and John wanted nothing more than for Ronon to materialize, or Teyla, or to just be able to snatch the gun away. Or just to wake up to a different day with a coffee and bagel, and all this long behind him, safely solved. No such luck. "Rodney, listen to me. It's got hold of you. You have to fight this.'

Rodney cast jack a dubious glance down his arm. He readjusted his grip. "I'm . . . sick of fighting," he said through clenched teeth. "It's all I do anymore."

"I know, buddy," John said softly, his body wanting to take a step forward. "But I'm not going to let this thing win, and neither are you. This is why you've been having those dreams, remember?"

"They are not dreams!" Rodney yelled, once again re-establishing his grip on the weapon.

"Right, right, the visions. It's all a part of this, and now it is in you, and – damn it you have to trust me!" John started to make a move towards the gun and stopped as it was re-aimed directly at his head. His breath caught; time was running out. "We'll get through this, just, god, Rodney please just give me the gun. Come on." He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. . .maybe he wanted Rodney to just say, "okay" and hand the gun over. Maybe he wanted him to collapse in a sobbing, remorseful heap and then he could take the gun away. Better chance there. He heard a noise behind him, a voice calling his name.

Rodney jumped, and his face darkened. The eyes deepened. A smug smile played on his lips, and he flipped the gun around in his hand. "You want this? You'll have to catch me first." The smile broadened into something crazed, almost feral, and he ran towards the sound.

"Rodney!" John took to his heels.

They crashed through the brush, leaving slapping at them in odd shadows of black and green which flickered in the moonlight. As a result John saw the larger shadow too late, and ran bodily into Teyla, knocking her hard to the ground. He hesitated for only a moment to help her to her feet, and frantically looked around for Rodney. He was gone.

He cursed and turned to the Athosian. "You okay?"

"Yes, just winded." She was bracing herself with her hands on her knees. His eyes darted around, and she followed him as he ran for the trees, then skidded to a stop, uncertain as to his direction. "What has happened?" she yelled at his back, suddenly nervous.

John could only stare into the distance. And it was at that point that everything tumbled downhill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Malachi listened to John's story with grave attention. His gaze flickered from his warm hearth to Ronon and back again, seeing the anger and distrust on the runner's face. He said nothing, and nothing needed to be said. But Ronon's eyes never left him.

Teyla ran her fingers over the rough grains in the table as she listened to John's account. "So there is nothing we can do." Her voice was sad, yet there was an air of defiance, like she dared someone to agree with her.

"There's something we can do," Ronon said from his prop in the corner. His head was bandaged, but rather than coming across as an injury it just made the man look more imposing.

"Oh, yeah?" John sat back. "Please, fill me in," he muttered lightly.

"Malachi can call him. He can get him out."

"What are you talking about?" John turned to the older man. "What is he talking about?"

"I assure you, I have no idea."

"Liar." Ronon hadn't moved, and there was no need to.

John expression darkened as he turned to face Malachi. "You care to tell me what the hell he's talking about?"

"Not really."

Ronon snarled and shouldered himself away from the wall. "I"ve seen your types. You protect them. You guard them. You own them."

"What?" John exclaimed, as Malachi yelled, "That's not true!"

"Then you tell us what is true!" Ronon yelled back.

Malachi nearly smirked. "If I didn't know better, it seems you have come to like Doctor McKay."

"He's grown on me. Now talk."

"I'm with Ronon," John said, taking back control of the situation. "What are you holding back from us?"

"I have told you the only way to be rid of it."

"And I said it wasn't going to happen!"

"Then nothing has changed!" Malachi snapped.

John leaned in angrily. "My friend is out there slowly rapidly losing his mind. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you sit there and tell me there is nothing we can do."

Malachi opened his mouth. That was when they heard the gunshots.

John's eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet with the others close behind. The few people outside were yelling, and running off in different directions as others peered out of their homes. There was a distant scream, and they took off toward the sound.

The darkness crowded them, hampering their motion. Another shot was heard, and they headed in the direction of the shot, splitting up to cover more ground. Nothing could be seen, and the screaming had stopped.

John jumped around a tree and down a slight hill, and was promptly knocked onto his ass by a woman. Reflexes kicked in and he quickly reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her down. She fought back in terror, getting in a few good punches which hurt like hell. He climbed on top of her, his hand pressed against her mouth as he talked frantically. "Listen to me! You're okay, you're okay! Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you! OW!"

His indignation at her latest blow stopped her. Her eyes found his, and her struggles ceased as he removed his hand from her mouth. "John?"

"Sanara?" He quickly backed off and pulled her to her feet. He took in her disheveled, filthy appearance. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Sanara nervously smoothed her hair back from her face. "I was walking to the water, and this – this thing came at me."

"Thing?"

"It was dark. It bellowed."

Thing? Could it be that this entity was now tangible, and loose? "Did you see McKay?"

She shook her head rapidly. "No. Just the creature."

John looked around, his hand on Sanara's arm. "Right. Get back to the village. Lock your doors. Tell everyone to lock their doors."

She grabbed his arm. "You must come as well!"

"I can't."

"You must!" She stopped quickly, taking in the anger in his eyes. "Of course, your friend. Go. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

The fear evaporated into a tenacity that seemed more normal to her. "Go!"

He gave her arm a quick squeeze and sent her on her way as another gunshot exploded into the silence. He zeroed in on the direction, and ran.

Maybe Rodney was firing at the creature. Maybe it had left him, and he was firing at it, that was the only explanation he would accept. "McKay! You hear me out there? Where are you?" Another fire sounded, and a startled, high-pitched yell followed. He skidded to a stop then ran toward the shot, which had been closer than the others.

He saw her, and his heart stopped in his chest, not only because she lay on the ground motionless, but because he was certain that wonderful white dress had no red in it originally. John ran to the body and collapsed beside it, tearing off his shirt and pressing it to the wound on her abdomen as she choked in pain. "Fuck! Ronon! I need you! RONON!" He ran a hand through her hair, "Teyla! Look at me, you're okay, you're okay. We'll get you back to Dr. Beckett, you're gonna be fine. But you gotta stay with me, okay?" He heard Ronon call his name, heard the sound of a body crashing through brush, and saw pure fear as he crouched beside the bleeding woman.

"Sheppard. . ."

"Go get help, find Malachi, tell him to get the cart. We've got to get her to Carson. Go!" Ronon nodded, his dark face tinted with shock, and he took of into the woods on the way to the village.

John refolded his shirt and pressed it once again to the wound, torn between dismay and relief to hear Teyla groan at the pain. "Hey, there! Yeah, I know it hurts, yeah, that's right, I know. Come on, open your eyes."

Teyla did so, and the pain within startled him. "John . . ."

He forced a smile. "Finally manage to get you in a nice outfit and look what you do to it."

Teyla managed a small grin. Her face tightened suddenly as she drew in a sharp breath. "Colonel, I. . .have to. . ."

"No, no, just lay there. You don't have to do anything."

"No . . .not that." He breath caught, and she forced out the words. "Not. . .his fault. Don't. . .it's not his fault."

John leaned back slightly, studying her face as the blood chilled in his veins. "Whose?"

"Rodney . . ."

Froze in his veins. "Rodney. . .shot you? Rodney shot you?" The pressure on the wound eased as John soaked up the information with a hint of shock. He recovered quickly, and reapplied pressure. "No. He was firing at that creature, you – got in the way."

"It was– wasn't him. I mean," she gasped in pain, "it was, but it was that thing. . . you have to find him."

Shitshitshitshit. "Jesus, Teyla . . ." John lowered his head and sighed as she closed her eyes. "Hey, Teyla? Teyla!" His patting her cheek resorted to full fledged, desperate slaps as Malachi arrived with a small cart and a bundle. He shoved John aside and instantly pulled a long cloth out of his bag. He tore at her dress and looked at John.

"You must raise her a little. I have to wrap this around her." John noticed there was some kind of green goo on the material, like crushed wet leaves. He very carefully raised her, slightly, and Malachi went to work, binding the wound. "This will help to still the bleeding," he said quickly, "and I brought warmroot for the pain. Your friend Ronon has gone for help. We will take her on the cart, you must ride beside her and steady her as much as possible. The bumps and roots will cause an uneasy journey, and we cannot risk further tearing."

John cast one look behind him, then regained his focus. "Right, right, let's just go." They lifted Teyla into the back of the cart and covered her with blankets. John lay beside her, holding her in his arms while whispering reassurances he wasn't sure she could hear. In the trees nearby, powerful, dangerous eyes watched, gleaming from a disturbed face hidden in the shadows.