Disclaimer: Once again: I do not own anything that belongs to anyone…my imagination is my inspiration.
A/N: Here's the next part…and hopefully the writer's block won't set in just yet! Enjoy! And thanks so much for all of you who reviewed – it really encouraged me! Thanks to Reviewers: sherryw, Sheppardster, Stealth Dragon, reen212000, allaboutthegate.
LAST TIME: In the driver seat, however," John paused, his face paling and his heart beginning to hammer away as a cold sweat developed. "In the driver seat…sat…Colonel Sumner."
The shocked looks on his friends' faces would have made him smile, but John had entered shock himself. The nightmare was back, enforce, and so was the image of shooting Colonel Sumner. John could feel the sweat coating his body, the goose-bumps appearing despite the sudden flash of heat that ran through his body.
"John? John!"
Rodney's concerned voice punctured through the wave of panic that had almost begun to overtake John's self-control, and slowly John pulled himself together, managing a small grin. It faded as his friend's were watching him with concern. Even Ronon seemed wary.
"Never met Sumner," was his only reply, but the look of understanding that passed between Ronon and John said more than anything either of them could voice. Which was just fine, seeing as how John couldn't speak, what with the shock.
"Look, buddy, it's just a dream, okay. That's all it is, all it ever was. Now, think happy thoughts, of that time when you kicked wraith butt and captured Steve? Or how about that time when we tried to change a wraith into a person?" Rodney tried vainly to rescue his friend from despair and fear, but he could see he was failing.
"Colonel, do you wish to stay in the infirmary? I am sure that Doctor Carson would not mind." Leave it to Teyla to find a solution. What better to keep a nightmare at bay, than in the infirmary where there's bound to be someone at all times? John pried himself from the feeling of fear, enough to wonder if he was going insane. Since when did he need to sleep with a teddy bear or a nightlight to ward off the nightmares? Not since when he was four, that was for sure.
"No, no, I'll be fine." Under his breath, John muttered a nearly silent, "I hope." But whether anyone heard him, he wasn't about to ask.
"Very well, it is late, and we do have a mission briefing tomorrow afternoon at 1300 hours." Teyla gave John an encouraging smile, before shooting specific glances at both Rodney and Ronon. John interpreted the look as insisting the two of them leave him in peace for the night.
"Fine," Rodney's clipped voice was unhappy, which made Ronon's silence more acute as he remained silent. They left the colonel in the hallways, each heading back to their own quarters.
"Okay, sleep, you wore yourself out, and now to just…sleep." John yawned, exhaustion becoming apparent since his bad night. He only hoped the nightmare would leave him alone.
Once more, John found himself in the blue mustang. "No!" He cried, banging his hand against the wheel which resulted only in the horn being blown. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, almost with a will of its own, and the car sped up.
"Let me out!" John pleaded with the car, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal with more force. The more he wanted to get out, the faster the car went, and the faster the car went, the quicker the police were going to come.
It was already too late, as the familiar red and blue lights flashed on in the review mirror. Dread pitted itself in John's stomach as he tried vainly to push the brake down, but instead fueled the engine. Once more he found himself surrounded by half a dozen cop cars, and he watched in shock and utter horror as one pulled up beside him. In the passenger seat sat a wraith, its malicious intent clear in its watchful eyes. Involuntarily, John's eyes roamed over to the driver, where he saw his former CO driving. The man was as he had been before the wraith had touched him. But when this Sumner looked over, John could see that the glint in his former CO's eyes had changed to one of hunger – wraith hunger.
"Oh crap," John lunged upward, wincing as his wrists protested the violent movement. He was once again covered in sweat, and he shivered. The dream was becoming more vivid, and he glanced at the clock to find the time: 1:08. At this rate, it was going to be a miracle if he got so much as 6 hours of sleep.
He lay back down, determined to at least rest, but his eyes closed, and once more his heart rate increased.
He was back in the blue mustang, at a stop this time. He glanced in the review mirror and saw no police cars – nothing, just darkness. He became aware that it was nighttime in his dream, and slowly he pushed on the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, and John realized his mistake too late, when he realized that the gas pedal was being pushed down farther than he wanted it. He tried to put on the brake, but his arms and legs wouldn't respond, except of their own accord, and his brain was just along for the ride.
Some ride, John thought distantly, as he waited for the flashing red and blue lights. He wasn't disappointed, for a mere second later, they did appear. The car drove itself onto the highway, but instead of looking left or right, despite the intensity that this raised, John forced himself to look where he was going. The highway was surprisingly clear, and, for a moment, he thought he recognized it, but the scenery flashed by too quickly for him to recall if he had ever traveled along this highway.
Like all dreams, this one was silent, at least he thought it was because there were no sirens coming from the police cars. But appearances can be deceiving, especially in nightmares. The silence continued, until John realized his car was slowing down. The fleeting thought that there was no more gas in the engine, appeared in his mind, and John sighed in frustration and fear.
His car came to a halt as did the wraith cars, which surrounded him. The people driving all appeared, and John saw to his utter horror, that Sumner, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, even Halling and Jinto, were all drivers. The passengers appeared as well, each one a wraith, Steve and Bob he recognized grimly, as he did Michael.
"Whoa, it's not what you think," John tried to say, but he found his mouth glued shut. Everyone surrounding him was pointing a wraith stunner at him.
The silence shattered as a wraith dart flew overhead, leaving behind a trail of sound. John knew without looking that he was unarmed, but even if he had his P90 and 9-mil, he still would have been hard pressed – if it were not impossible – to come out unscathed.
"Colonel Sheppard, we've been waiting for this moment." The wraith voice that came in the dream was the same of the first wraith he had met aboard the hive ship; a female with malice in her eyes. She approached confidently, knowing that her prey was unarmed and full of fear.
"I killed you," John tried to say, but his mouth was still glued shut. He found himself out of the car, standing on quaking legs as the wraith approached him.
"Kneel," the wraith spoke to him, her eyes watching him intently. Try as he might, John's legs gave way beneath him, and the wraith raised her hand. Her nails sliced cleanly through his shirt, barely missing the skin. "Such strength…"
It was the last thing he heard as her hand came for his chest, and pain filled his being…
John shot up, soaked in sweat, panting and not caring about anything. The pain in his chest was real, as was the pain in his wrists, and John found himself covering his heart with both arms – as though a wraith had tried to feed off him. The lights were already on, for which John was thankful, and his heart continued to hammer away as he shivered in fear.
This was going to have to end, he thought, as he ripped off the sheets and glanced at the clock. It was 2:19 AM. John wiped his face with a hand, clearing the sweat that adhered to his pores. He needed to get a shower, he decided, so with that, he made his way to the shower, grabbing his clothes as he went.
The jet of hot water that hit him, brought John back to reality with a start, and he gave a sigh. He was still alive, if a little worse for the wear. One thing, however, did disturb him, for on the left side of his chest, over his heart, was a bruise in the shape of a handprint.
He quickly shut the water off and pulled on his clothes, breathing heavily as he wondered what more he could do. Sleep was no longer an option, for he was wide awake and the moment he did fall asleep, the nightmare was most likely going to reoccur.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs and breathing out slowly to calm his racing heart. It helped…a little. He shook his head and glanced at his wrists, Carson had wanted to see him this morning. A little of John's humor kicked in as he wondered if 2-o-clock was what Carson had had in mind when telling him that.
Footsteps sounding outside his hallway forced John to calm his racing heart. It was most definitely not a wraith, he reasoned, as he waited for the footsteps to continue past his quarters. He listened and realized that they had stopped outside his quarters, and John dimmed the lights quickly.
Automatically, he reached for the 9-mil that he kept on his person at all times, at the same time, stepping back and around the edge of a wall that led to the bathroom. He trained his gun on the door to his room, holding his breath as he waited for the footsteps to continue.
Fear began to take a better grip on John, until he figured it was better to get it over with. Taking a deep breath, the colonel thought the door open. What he found, however, did not let him breathe a sigh of relief.
There was no one at his door, and – when he picked up the courage – no one in the hallway either. John placed a hand over his chest, trying to soothe his pounding heart, jumping when he thought he heard something behind him instead.
"Who-who's there?" John called out hesitantly.
No response came, even as the colonel collected himself and tried to calm down. He had lasted this long on Atlantis without going insane, and now was not the time to lose his cool. How had he managed it during the siege? Oh yes, that's right, he had been worried about everyone else, everyone but himself. That, and it was his job to protect Atlantis from the wraith.
"I need to get out more," John told himself, shaking off the feeling that something was watching him. "I'm getting paranoid." Paranoia was perfectly legitimate in John's case, as nearly everyone in the galaxy wanted to either kill him, or…kill him. "I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me," John told himself, hearing his rough voice and thankful he still had it. The nightmare had given him the creeps.
He could still feel the wraith's hand over his chest, trying to suck out the years that he still had to look forward to. Self-consciously he placed his hand over his heart, feeling it beating away. The bruise made it a little tender, but only if he pushed firmly. He shook his head, taking a deep breath, before deciding that it was time for a quick run around Atlantis since Carson had forbidden him to be allowed in the gym until his hands healed.
John looked up and down the hallway, and thinking better of the situation, stuck his 9-mil back in its holster. It would look peculiar if the 2IC of Atlantis ran around with his 9-mil pointing at anyone who happened to venture in his path. Besides, it was in its holster and within easy reach should he need it. Just keep telling yourself that, John told himself, as he closed his door and started at a walk.
If Ronon could see him now he'd be so proud, John wondered idly, as his feet hit the floor. He was taking a new course around Atlantis, leaving the transporters alone in favor for the stairs. Physical exercise was what he needed – and in this state, John was going to get conditioned well beyond what everyone expected of him. Or at least as fit as his lean body would allow.
He completed one lap at a walk and jog pace, and exhaustion was slowly becoming known as John took a moment to stretch and listen to the silence. He quelled a shiver, telling himself that it was just early. Too bad I left my watch behind, John grimaced. He didn't even have his radio, which told John that he was really losing it, since he never went anywhere without that piece of technology.
"Alright, I'll head back," John told himself quietly, deciding he was far enough away that a run might be beneficial. He didn't go at top speed – that was only in dire circumstances, like when running from wraith – but he didn't dilly-dally along either. He headed straight for his quarters, and when he approached, was startled to find he had his 9-mil in his hand already.
Am I really that paranoid? John refused to answer the question, knowing there was no right answer. He thought the door open and quickly stepped inside, forcing himself to lower his 9-mil back into its holster. It went against every instinct, which was, at that moment, clamoring to fill the walls with lead.
He kept his back to the wall, thinking the lights on with bright intensity, hoping to blind anyone else who happened to be in the room. His eyes adjusted and found it just as he had left it. Bed unmade, clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, his radio and watch sitting by the nightstand.
He quickly fitted the radio on before his watch, and listened intently to the static that came. No one was chattering idly, nothing odd about that since it was still early in the morning. Why is it, when you get up early, everyone else seems to be taking their sweet time in getting up? John wondered grumpily. He had managed to set aside his nightmare during his run, but once more in his room, he discovered it had quickly come back – it was just in the back of his mind.
Rather than dwell on paranoia, John tidied up his room a bit before leaving. He hated not carrying his P-90 with him, but the stories that gun could tell were about as satisfying as his dream. And nothing he wanted to revisit. It was times like these that John hated being alone; left to do nothing but contemplate his own problems, which often stirred up anger and self-doubt.
It was worse than going to the shrink, Kate Heightmeyer, who insisted he speak about his problems, because at least she was someone. But alone like he was now, he could neither waylay the fear nor explain it. It left him feeling incapable and weak – something John didn't take too kindly to.
"Balcony, that's where I'll go." John altered his course to one of the many balconies that Atlantis had. It seemed the Ancients loved the ocean as much as everyone else did – or maybe it was just because Atlantis could seem so claustrophobic at times.
He sucked in a quick breath as cool ocean air hit him square in the face. The door slid easily back into place, as John leaned over the rail to gaze into the ocean. Its waves were smooth, the lapping sound it created was soothing and John found himself forcing his eyes open. Yawning, he wondered if he should go back to bed – but the horizon was getting gradually lighter. Without much more than a single, fleeting thought, John sat down on the balcony and promptly fell asleep.
A/N: Wow,…that was six pages of writing on Microsoft Word! So what do you all think? Is John paranoid – or is there really something to fear? (And if you're wondering, yes I saw Episode 1 of Season 3 of Atlantis and loved it. I didn't realize this could easily fit in with it. Lol.) If you hate it, tell me why, likewise if you liked it. I look forward to constructive criticism and hearing about the things you liked/disliked. Please leave a review…it makes my day so much sweeter!
