A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. – Oscar Wilde
John didn't know why, but he found himself thinking about his mark for reasons wholly unrelated to the information he was meant to uncover. He was still far from even an idea about the device the McKay was supposedly inventing, and so John told himself that any little piece of information could be important.
Even if that information was how Rodney's eyes might sparkle on those rare occasions that sunlight broke through the smog.
And it had become Rodney, not McKay, ever since the man had saved him from discovery. John knew it was a bad idea to get personal with his mark, but he found that he couldn't help it. He was drawn to Rodney like a fly caught in a web.
A web made of the most beautiful dreams he'd ever seen. Dreams that left him longing hours after he'd woken up.
Whatever web he'd been trapped in or spell he'd been put under, it had led him here, in front of Rodney's penthouse holding a container in front of him like an offering.
"Is that," Rodney gaped. "Blue jello?"
John nodded and easily relinquished the container as Rodney made a grab for it. "I wanted to thank you," he said almost awkwardly. "For the other day."
Rodney seemed to accept that and quickly waved him inside. "This is my favorite," he said happily.
John knew that, it had been in the file he'd downloaded to his brain, but he shrugged easily. "Lucky guess."
Rodney looked momentarily suspicious, but he herded John to the table anyway. "This is too much for me," he explained when John gave him a confused look. He set down a bowl and spoon in front of John and quickly opened the container.
"Huh," John said. "You're smarter than I thought."
"Of course I'm smart," Rodney paused, then continued to scoop jello into John's bowl. "I'm a genius."
"So I've heard," John said. He shouldn't have said what he was thinking, but it was too late to back out now. "It's just smart of you not to accept food from strangers. Or, I mean, to force them to eat first."
Rodney turned sharp blue eyes on him. "So?"
John smirked and spooned out some of the gelatin before swallowing it. "Fresh out of the cooling tub."
"It's just common sense," Rodney said, likely in response to John's earlier comment. "Should I be worried about you poisoning me?"
"No," John said honestly. "I wouldn't."
Rodney continued to study him for a moment, and then seemed to decide that he was telling the truth. He took a large spoonful of jello, practically moaning around it. "This is the stuff."
"Glad you like it," John smiled.
Rodney jabbed his spoon in John's direction, but didn't say anything. Soon enough, the entire container of jello had been consumed between them and John sat back in his chair, patting his stomach.
"Wow," he groaned. "I think that actually made me hungrier."
"It's the jello curse," Rodney shrugged. He hesitated for a moment. "You want some dinner?"
John froze. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but then he had come inside with Rodney, had already broken so many rules of interacting with marks, and Rodney's eyes were so blue as they looked at him. "Sure."
Rodney nodded and headed over to the cooling unit where he pulled out two full plates of food. "Steak and potatoes okay?"
"More than okay," John said, already salivating.
Rodney placed the plates inside the refresher. He tapped his fingers on the counter until the machine beeped in finish and then took the plates out, setting one down in front of John. Soon after came a fork and knife.
"Hardly have time to cook," John said, copying Rodney's tone from the night the man saved him.
Rodney rolled his eyes, cutting at his steak viciously.
John wondered what the man's game plan was. If John were to guess, and it was a good guess, Rodney wanted to figure out how John was getting into his dreams.
Well, he'd keep guessing. No matter how much of a genius Rodney was, the program that modified John and gave him his skills was too classified for most of the Force to know of, let along outside civilians. And besides, John's skill was a rarity even within that program.
In fact, he might be the only one left alive who could enter dreams.
"So what do you do for a living?" Rodney asked suddenly.
John took a large bite of steak, chewed, and swallowed before he said. "I'm a mathematician."
Rodney gave what must have been his best incredulous look, but John just smiled. "Right," he coughed. "And your opinion on the solution of the last millennium problem."
John blinked. "Last I checked, the P versus NP problem has yet to be solved." He paused. "But that might not the last. After all, there's still controversy over the solution to the Riemann hypothesis that Mark Villard proved last year."
"Villard is an idiot," Rodney said. "He missed the key point of the problem."
"Agreed," John snorted. "He only fully proved the existence of the real one-half for a few of the non-trivial zeros. It's not better than Turán's result."
Rodney stared for a moment, obviously surprised. "Turán's at least showed the nonexistence of zeros with real part greater than one plus N to the negative half plus E for the large N in the Dirichlet series."
"Yes, but Montgomery showed that for all sufficiently large N these series have zeros with a greater real part than what is needed to prove the Rienmann hypothesis." He sighed. "Now you're just testing me."
"Mathematician, huh?" Rodney hummed, not denying that he was. "What field?"
"Mostly representation theory," John admitted, because that was his hobby in his spare time.
"Algebra," Rodney scoffed.
"Projective representation of Lie groups," John corrected.
Rodney set his knife down and leaned forward. "So your opinion on Darkr's new exponential map?"
It was hours later, when John caught himself yawning, that he realized the time. "Shit," he muttered. It was way past any form of a reasonable hour to have to walk back to the Guild complex.
"You said it," Rodney agreed mournfully. "I have a seven o'clock conference call."
"Why would you ever schedule a conference call that early?" John raised an eyebrow. "That's moronic."
"Don't I know it," Rodney put his head in his hands briefly, and then looked up. His eyes held the spark of an idea, a hypothesis. "You can crash on my couch if you want."
"I…" John hesitated, and then sighed. He really didn't want to have to walk back after all, and he might as well get some real work done. "Thanks."
Rodney set him up on the very comfortable living room couch with a pillow and blanket. John shucked off his boots easily and lay back, eyelids already heavy.
...
"It was a stupid idea!" Rodney's voice screamed.
John stumbled forward, curious. Peering around the corner, he saw Rodney's profile. He looked like he was arguing with someone, hands flying.
"Stupid?" the unknown person said. "You made millions, McKay."
"I don't care about money," Rodney hissed. "They think everything is fixed now, all their problems are solved. Well they're not! While we sit here on our asses just living off the power of the ZedPM, the world is dying."
"It's your ZPM design," the person laughed. "I just built it. We all know where it really came from."
"That's…" Rodney stepped backwards and then stopped suddenly. "But I will fix it! I'm going to fix it. You don't… you don't know what I have coming, Sam. But I promise."
John felt his throat closed. There was something sad in Rodney's tone and he didn't like it.
"I promise I'll fix it Sam," Rodney stated. "I'll fix this whole mess."
The unknown person, (Sam?), didn't answer. Rodney turned away, but in doing so his eyes landed on John and John froze.
"What are you doing here?" Rodney asked, accusing.
"I-" John licked his lips. "I heard shouting."
I was pulled in, he thought silently.
Pulled?
"Out!" Rodney stated, his eyes flashing. "I don't know who you are. I don't… get out! Get out of my head."
John closed his eyes, not wanting to see the anger on Rodney's face. "I didn't mean-"
"OUT!"
John sat up, his chest heaving. He blinked heavily, the world still dark, but soon his eyes adjusted and he realized where he was.
Rodney's couch.
He hadn't meant… Rodney had noticed him. But what's more, John hadn't realized he had slipped into Rodney's dream.
He hadn't realized he was dreaming.
"Fuck," John cursed, clutching his pounding head. "Dammit."
He couldn't stay, couldn't risk that happening again. If Rodney remembered… he'd know.
John stood, tripping over the discarded blanket. He was halfway to the door when a light came on. Guiltily, he turned to look at Rodney.
"What's your name?" Rodney asked softly. He had bags under his eyes and his skin was pale.
"John Sheppard," John said. He winced. "My name is John," he repeated. He wasn't… to say his true last name was a mistake above any he'd yet made.
What was it about Rodney that had his barriers dropping?
Rodney nodded slowly. "You're leaving?"
"I'm not good for sleeping on couches," John said weakly. "Thank you, though, for offering and for dinner."
For not turning me in, he added silently.
Rodney said nothing for so long that John had already begun to turn towards the door. Finally though, in a soft voice he said, "Goodnight John."
"Goodnight Rodney." John opened the door and stepped out towards the transporters. "Sweet dreams."
He closed the door before Rodney could reply.
...
The figurine was smooth under his fingers. John stroked it and then checked the price tag.
He winced. It was expensive, probably more than it was worth all things considered, but to find a natural stone figurine was far too rare in the city and Teyla would love it.
"You buying?" the store keeper asked, suspicious as he glanced over John's dark clothes.
John hesitated for a moment, and then thought of Teyla's face as she opened her birthday gift. "Yeah," he said.
The man quickly wrapped the gift up, adding a note when John asked. John handed over his card, knowing he'd have to skimp a little on food for a few days. He could manage. He'd survived on worse, for worse causes.
Present secured under his arm, John left the store, only to run headlong into someone else.
"Sorry," he said automatically, hand shooting out to steady the man.
Rodney turned to look at him, blue eyes incredulous. For a moment, John thought he was about to be berated, and then it seemed Rodney recognized him and he just rolled his eyes. "Sheppard."
"John, please," John said, quickly glancing around if anyone had heard. His last name wasn't the most uncommon, but if anyone from the Force were to pass by and hear it…
Well, it had John wondering again why he'd told Rodney his full, and true, name.
"John," Rodney said after a moment. His eyes flicked to the package and he raised an eyebrow in question.
"Birthday present for a friend," John explained quickly. "What are you doing on this side of town?"
"Lab work," Rodney waved a hand in the air and sighed. "I was just heading to lunch." He paused. "You want to join?"
John's face cracked into a grin before he could help it. "I would love to."
Rodney led him to a nearby sub shop, where they ordered at a console and were given a table. They sat at it, relatively secluded from the other lunch-goers. John leaned back in his seat.
"What is it?" Rodney asked.
"What?" John blinked. "What's what?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "The gift," he nodded to the package, which John had set down on the table.
"Oh." John scratched his neck. "A miniature statue of the ancient saint: Mother Teresa."
"Wait, the Christian nun?" Rodney said. "That's an old religion."
"Yeah, well," John shrugged. "My friend, Teyla, she really admires Saint Teresa. So when I saw that…"
Rodney nodded, though he still seemed a bit perplexed. "I've heard naturalists revere her, Teresa. Well, she's not the only one of course. Regardless-"
"Teyla's not a naturalist," John stated. "She's been modified." Slightly enhanced beauty, really just the darkening of her skin into a more bronze, and her hair color into a gold. And extra strength and speed, but Rodney didn't need to know that. Those modifications were paid for by the Thieves' Guild, after all.
"Huh." There was a ping and then their food orders appeared on the table. John grabbed for his sandwich and bit into it. The meat was tender and juicy, though the lettuce was a bit dry. A bad lab growth, maybe.
"Are you a naturalist, then?" John asked, curious once he'd consumed nearly half of his food.
Rodney scoffed through a mouth full of sandwich. He swallowed before saying, "Those hippies? No, I've been modified, too."
"You have?" John blinked. "That is… I mean, you don't look…"
Rodney waved a hand. "Not cosmetically." His tone showed just how much he thought of that. "I used to have horrible allergies. I was allergic to citrus, you know, lemons. Lemons, it was awful! And I was hypoglycemic."
John winced. "That must have sucked."
Rodney shrugged. "My parents were naturalists, actually, but I left home at fourteen and once I'd gotten my first job those modifications were the first things I paid for." His eyes showed a phantom of memory at that and John wondered briefly what it felt like to have an allergic reaction. They were just so… rare.
"Obviously you have no trouble now," John stated, nodding to Rodney's lemonade. Rodney smirked.
"And you, obviously," he flapped his hands. "What did you look like before?"
He didn't seem judgmental, just curious, still John flushed slightly. "Like this," he admitted. "The only thing they changed was to remove my chest hair. I was pretty furry by the time I hit my twenties. The Force wasn't a fan." He cut himself off abruptly.
It had been a very long time since he'd accidentally slipped up and revealed that he was once part of the Nacon Armed Forces, the sole army of the North American Confederation… but Rodney had already moved on with a nod as if he'd already guessed that.
"Though I find it hard to believe that anyone can be born looking like you do," Rodney said. His face flushed suddenly as if he'd realized what he'd just said. "I mean, not that I… you are very attractive, but that doesn't mean, I mean, it's just-"
"Rodney," John said with a laugh. "Thanks. You're not too bad yourself."
Rodney scoffed. "You don't have to lie." But he looked pleased, so John counted it as a win.
After that, the conversation slid back into the last time they'd talked. Math and science and the lasted proofs in both. The implications of the new wind-based energy beam. John found himself enjoying the way it fired up both of them, those heated debates.
Soon enough though, they had to say their goodbyes. Rodney had a meeting to get to and John had to go confer with Ronon about Teyla's party. Still, it was with good cheer that they shook hands and John found himself smiling all the way back to the Thieves' Guild.
...
"Good," Ronon grunted. He was wrapping his own present for Teyla, a new set of knives. "She'll like it."
"I thought so," John said. He sat down on Ronon's bed, trying to ignore the smell of sex in the room. It would only have him wanting something he couldn't have.
Ronon finished wrapping the last knife and then set the bundle aside. He fixed his gaze on John, just watching, and John began to frown.
"You've been strange lately," Ronon said finally.
John met his gaze squarely. "How so?"
"Just… strange," Ronon shook his head. He'd never been one for words and John respected that. His actions often spoke for themselves. "This mark."
John traced the way Ronon was fiddling with one of his own weapons, a short sword. Though the large man preferred his phaser gun to any other weapon, he was also quite proficient with the blade. And John knew just what he was asking with the way his hands flipped the sword over.
"No," John said. "It's… nothing I can't handle."
Ronon raised an eyebrow, but he resheathed his blade. "If you're sure."
"I am," John said strongly.
Ronon nodded and stood. "Wanna spar?"
John accepted quickly, standing up to follow his friend out of the room. It was only once Ronon's back was turned that he allowed himself to run a hand through his hair and softly sigh.