All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. – Elias Canetti
John paused at the fork in the tunnel. He knew turning right was the fastest way back to the Thieves' Guild and to his bed.
But he wasn't yet tired. And though Teyla and Ronon might be expecting him for an evening spar, it was more likely they were in their room doing private… things. John preferred not to think about it, if only because they were his friends and would know by the flush of his face that he had.
John took the left fork instead, which looped in on itself before straightening out to a long, wide walkway. All cities and towns were like this, glass domes connected by tunnels. Some cities, like Cheyenne, had underground buildings as well, though more often than not those underground complexes were home to the seedier section: such as the Thieves' Guild.
The hall arched and John stepped through. All of the sudden, he found himself standing at the entrance to a park, the large glass biosphere above him. John sometimes wondered at the choice of glass. More often than not, all that could be seen of the outside world was the dark smog that covered the planet. Sure, the smog tended to hover like a low hanging cloud, leaving a small amount of ground visible, but of the ground that could be seen it was only a deserted wasteland of dust and mud.
Though the smog wasn't impenetrable. Just enough light shined through to give people a sense of the time of day and, in the few lucky hours when the sun was at the horizon, the world seemed darkly beautiful.
There was a single tree in the center of the park, a rarity, low hanging so that children could climb it. Several areas of carefully groomed patches of grass were separated by benches. It probably cost a large portion of the city taxes to keep just that much plant-life alive and John could see the fake sunlight lamps hanging just above the tree's tallest leaves, though they were off now.
It was past dark and the park was empty, but John knew it was a popular place in the city. All of the parks were, the constructors had deigned to allocate very few into the layout of the biospheres.
Usually, John would have been impressed by the tree. To survive just on the minimal amount of sunlight that pierced through the smog and those few light lamps, it would have been genetically modified, as would the grass, but trees were harder to manipulate.
Tonight, the tree reminded John of the dream he'd recently entered, of the forest he'd been walking through, following McKay like some sort of fairytale wolf. It had been the second dream of McKay's he'd entered and the part of John that had wondered if the first had been a fluke had been squashed by the imagination of the man's unconscious mind. How amazing would it be to see a grove of trees, not just one, but trees of different sizes and shapes and species.
It was a fanciful wish, and so John turned away, walking quickly through the park to the passageway on other side.
He didn't look back.
...
The world was muted greys and flashes of black. John stood on top of a tower; looking down, he couldn't see the ground.
He stepped off.
There was a rush of what could have been air, but then a stinging in his ear like he'd been bitten and he reached to feel where the bullet had punctured his skin. John blinked and looked around.
A familiar face stood to his left. Evan turned to him, eyes wide. He was mouthing something, but John couldn't hear what he was trying to say.
Evan shook his head and waved him away. John shrugged and kept walking.
Then he started running.
Footsteps echoed behind him, but he couldn't hear them. He couldn't hear anything, he just knew by the shadows that loomed up on the grey walls. Soldiers were following him.
John ran faster.
All of the sudden, there was someone else running beside him. He tried to see who it was, but he couldn't turn his head.
The hallway ended abruptly. Hands grabbed at him, pulling, tearing, ripping.
The world dissolved and then reformed. Holland sat in a chair, staring at him. His eyes were terrified. He was saying something, screaming.
John couldn't hear anything.
Holland convulsed and John stepped back, horrified, only to find that he was falling backwards. Someone else was falling with him, one eye sad and the other mad.
Ford laughed, a grenade held to his chest.
John opened his eyes.
He ran a shaking hand through his hair and found that sweat had plastered it to his head. His body was shaking as if he really had been running, and John took several breaths to calm himself down.
This was why he preferred the solace of another's dreams. Contrasted against his own, the typical civilian's nightmare was a relief compared to his memories. And McKay's dream… John would pay to live in sunlight and roll in grass every night.
John groaned, flopping back on his thin mattress. His mind was spinning like a dancer unable to stop and he just wanted… just wished…
It didn't matter anymore, though, did it?
...
The transporter stopped. John sank down to the floor, his head banging back against the metal wall. He was tired, so very tired of nightmares waking him up.
Closing his eyes, John barely had to reach for the tug of McKay's dreams. It was only his third time entering McKay's dream, and yet it was oh so easy to slip inside–
The sound of water crashing was music to John's ears. He looked around, smiling, as his eyes roamed over the beach.
Perfect white sand rolled in dunes. In the collision of water and land, waves crashed like falling stars. John looked down at himself. Seeing his usual cargo pants and black tee, he concentrated for a moment and felt his clothes shift into a set of swim trucks.
Barefoot, John walked across the beach to the ocean. The water was cool against his skin, stinging slightly like he'd always imagined salt water would. The waves pulled at him and John went, swimming out into the ocean like he would never be able to do outside of a dream.
On the beach, a laugh came from McKay. He was stretched out on a blanket, his chest covered by a white shirt and his legs by khaki shorts. John almost waved, but then he was pulled down by a current and he had to swim to get his head back up above the water.
McKay watched him with sparkling blue eyes. John felt himself flushing and he turned away, diving down. He opened his eyes and nearly inhaled liquid as he caught sight of a fish, a real wild fish, swimming past him.
Should he be able to open his eyes, John wondered. It didn't really matter, he decided as he surfaced again.
The ocean continued as far as he could see. John let the waves push him back to the shore and for a moment he just lay there, on the border between water and land as the waves crashed upon his bare skin.
There was a soft sound of footsteps in the sand, and John looked up to see McKay standing over him.
"Come here often?" his mark asked, teasing and curious.
"If only," John replied honestly, sitting up.
A massive wave approached and crashed down, drenching the both of then. McKay sputtered, shaking himself, and John laughed.
He wondered if he should ask McKay about his project, manipulate the dream so the man would tell him, but then McKay smiled back at him and John decided that he could wait a little longer.
McKay was still smiling, a bit dopily. "You ever surfed?"
"Of course not," John said. "But I've heard about it."
McKay nodded and then behind him a surfboard appeared. John grabbed it and lifted it up. "Wish me luck!" he called.
"Good luck," McKay said, seeming content to watch John try to ride the waves.
John tried, and tried again, and though he crashed more often then not, it was with a smile and laugh and the occasional snarky comment from his companion.
The taste of salt water in his mouth was constant and John licked his lips against it. McKay watched him, his blue eyes tracing the end of John's tongue. "What's your name?" he asked.
John opened his mouth, but before he could think of a lie the sound of the waves receded and he was opening his eyes.
The salty taste was still there in his mouth and John brought a hand up to his cheeks, feeling the tracks of tears. He coughed, uncertain of the emotions fluttering in his chest.
"Dammit," John growled, wiping at his face angrily. "Dammit," he said again, softer, sadder.
...
John's route to McKay's penthouse was becoming more and more mindless. Whether it was because he'd done it so many times already, or if there was another reason, John didn't know, but his relaxed strolling was nearly the death of him on his next trip.
It was only by chance that he spotted the reflection of the soldier in the fogged glass of the tunnel.
John began to walk faster, and now that he was listening he heard the soldier's footsteps matching his. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he considered how he might lose his tail.
The Pegasus Complex loomed ahead and without thinking John walked inside. The security guard glanced at him, curious, and John cursed at the man's attentiveness.
He couldn't sneak up to the transporter now.
"Hi," John said, walking up to the man. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier stop just outside the building. "My friend is supposed to be waiting for me."
"What apartment?" the security guard asked.
Before John could answer, the soldier stepped inside the building. The security guard stood up behind the desk. "I'm sorry," he called. "We don't allow weapons inside this complex."
The soldier raised an eyebrow. He had a brutish face, but not one John immediately recognized. While that could be a good thing, John also didn't know anything about the man's personality or his fighting.
He hated going into a fight blind.
"I won't be here for long," the soldier said in a low voice, his eyes flicking to John.
John felt as though his insides were frozen, but he kept a pleasant expression on his face. "Can I help you with something?"
"Your identification," the soldier demanded.
The security guard shifted, unsure and a bit wary as he looked between the two of them. John winced. "I don't have it on me," he said, looking apologetic. "I was just dropping by to visit a friend…"
"Not being in possession of your personal ID is a violation of Stature 321 of the Code. Under subsection B, I have the right to bring you in for questioning," the soldier stated, a gleam in his eye.
Shit, John thought. He opened his mouth, mind racing for something, anything he could say, but just then someone cleared their throat and suddenly McKay was stepping out from the lobby near the transporters.
By the set of his shoulders, he'd heard the entire conversation, but he wasn't looking at the solider. He was looking at John. "Dr. Mackers!" he called. "You're late."
John rolled with it, because what else could he do, and adopted a sheepish look. "Dr. McKay," he said. "I'm sorry. I was rushed and I left my ID at home and now…" he glanced meaningfully at the soldier.
McKay turned sharp blue eyes to the soldier. "Like you've never left your ID at home before?" he scoffed. "Dr. Mackers is here for a very important discussion on the latest prototype for Stargate Industries."
"Well, it's just," the soldier pulled at his neck collar. John couldn't blame him, McKay looked fierce in a way that wasn't quite what most of the Force were trained to deal with.
And besides, the billionaire's reputation was probably wide-spread. John would be surprised if the soldier didn't know who he was facing.
"Speak up!" McKay snapped. "No one likes mumbling. It's just what?"
"The Code, Dr. McKay," the soldier said. "I should take in… he could be suspicious."
"Suspicious?" McKay chortled. "Dr. Mackers is a recluse. My cat is more suspicious."
"I… you," the soldier flicked his eyes from McKay to John to the security guard who was now looking highly amused.
"Do you want to get in the way of science?" McKay threatened finally.
That was it. The soldier shook his head quickly. "Of course not. I'll just… I'll go make sure no one on the street is… doing anything." The man left quickly, throwing a backward glance as if to make sure McKay wasn't following him.
McKay rolled his eyes. "Imbecile," he muttered. That scowl suddenly turned to John. "Well come on," he said. "Let's go."
John followed, nervous again as he and McKay walked into the transporter together. He had no doubt that he could take the scientist if he needed to, but he didn't want to hurt the man.
He also didn't want to be turned in to the Nacon Armed Force, specifically the Internal Defense Division that had replaced the city police nearly half a century ago. After all, if the Defense Division had him and began asking questions, pretty soon the Special Force Division would come in and then John would be in a load of shit.
John wondered if McKay truly recognized him. There didn't seem to be a reason to rescue him if he hadn't… but most people didn't remember their dreams as anything more than a vague memory.
The transporter stopped at the top floor and McKay stepped out. John stood in the doorway for a moment. He'd never actually been inside McKay's penthouse, and it was pretty damn impressive.
The walls were floor to ceiling windows. Currently the blinds were partly down, blocking the view of the smog outside. But John could imagine how they would capture the light on those few, rare days when the wind blew the smog just enough to allow a hint of sunlight to shine through.
The walls were carpet, soft-looking and clean. John walked behind McKay into what he guessed was the den. There was a couch and an old-fashioned television, the kind with a flat screen that filled up half a wall.
"A classic," John said, gesturing to it.
"Yeah, damn thing hardly works anymore, but," McKay shrugged. "Coffee?"
John nodded and followed McKay into the kitchen area where the newest of appliances shined. The only thing that looked used was the coffee maker and McKay quickly set about make a pot.
"Order in a lot?" John asked, eyes tracing over the remains of a takeout box.
McKay seemed to flush and he grabbed the box and threw it in the disposal, the chute that would incinerate anything that went down it and then chuck the ashes out into the smog-filled outside world. "I hardly have time to cook," he said.
John sat at the table and thanked his mark as McKay poured him a cup of coffee. And how weird was that, drinking coffee with the man he had to steal from.
It almost had John grimacing, but he caught himself before the expression could make it to his face. He wasn't out of trouble yet.
"I dreamed of you," McKay said, sitting down with his own mug of coffee. "Several times." He paused. "But I don't think I've ever seen you before."
John suppressed a wince. "Maybe we once passed each other on the street," he suggested.
But McKay was too sharp for that. His piercing blue eyes bore into John for a moment, studying. "No," he stated. "That's not it, is it?"
John cleared his throat. "Look, Dr. McKay, thank you for helping me back there, but I don't think…"
"You don't think you have a good excuse for whatever it is that you're doing here?" McKay said. His looked suddenly furious and John leaned back in his chair, his fight and flight responses warring briefly.
Then, before either of them could say anything, there was a meow and the creature that could only be McKay's cat entered the room.
Except, if that was a cat then John was an alien, because the thing looked nothing like any pet John had ever seen before. Its face was scarred and mangled with a misshaped nose. It hopped along on three legs and where most cats had smooth fur this one had skin with patches of what might have been orange tabby coloring, maybe, had it not been bleached and then rubbed through mud.
"What?" John started to ask, but then the thing jumped up onto his lap and began to purr.
McKay stared. "Tauri doesn't like anyone," he stated.
"Uh," John slowly, hesitantly, began to pet the… cat's back. "Tauri?"
McKay nodded, frowning. Then he blinked as if he was remembering something and looked over at where the time showed on the fridge. "Shit, I have a conference call."
He stood without another glance to John or Tauri, rushing towards a back room of the house with coffee still in hand.
John exchanged a look with the cat and then, gently, picked the thing up and set it down on the floor. Tauri immediately yowled at him and John put a finger to his lips. "Shh," he said, draining the last of his coffee.
With one last, lingering glance at the direction McKay had disappeared, John quickly made his way to the transporter.
He felt the cat's gaze on his back until the door closed.
"Bye Dr. Mackers!" the security guard called out as John left and he waved quickly back at the man.
John was in trouble, but he wasn't yet sure what kind.