Author: pollitt pollitt
Theme: Five breaks: broken promise
Author's Note (if applicable): Spoilers for the Season 3 episode "Progeny." Thank you to maverick4oz for the down and dirty beta. Further author notes at the end of the story.
Summary: It's the same dream, only not.
"I thought I told you to leave."
John's surprised at how calm his voice is, how steady and normal his breathing. The klaxons are blaring and the lights have been flashing since the first alarms sounded an hour ago and everything went to hell, but John's feeling strangely calm, even as he watches the numbers start their descent into destruction and death. Leave it to Rodney to throw a wrench in that plan, to appear, hands curling around the back of the command console, his mouth a tight white line and his eyes--god, his eyes--wide and terrified and so damn brave.
"You.... Dammit, Rodney." John hears his voice crack on the last syllable; his heart begins a vicious tattoo against his chest. "You're supposed to be on the other side of the galaxy now, safe. What are they going to do without you? How many times have you said you're the only one who could save the day? How are they going to--"
"John." Rodney's voice has that same calm that his own did only moments before, and the noise of the alarms is drowned out by the sound of John's breath in his ears. He feels the warm, dry touch of Rodney's hand on his wrist. "What are you going to do without me?"
John turns when Rodney touches his face. He wants to argue, to fight because this was not how it was supposed to happen. Rodney's supposed to be through the wormhole with the rest of the survivors and he's supposed to be safe. He looks at Rodney, who's pale and a little green and a lot scared, and he's never seen a more beautiful sight.
Rodney meets him halfway, winding his arms around John's waist and shoulders, holding him closer as they kiss, their eyes closed against the strobing lights, the flashes of explosions, the hot, bright white of detonation.
John opens his eyes and sees the familiar sights of his room--the drapes moving with the breeze from the open window; his surfboard, skateboard, his computer open on his desk; his uniform jacket draped over a chair; and Rodney faceplanted on the bed next to him--his face buried half on a pillow and half under John's shoulder, his arm draped heavily across John's chest--sleeping soundly.
It's the same dream, only not--Atlantis under fire, a fail-safe to detonate. The dream has plagued him since before their time through the Asuran rabbit hole, but this time it had been different, a new variable thrown into the mix.
Wide-awake, John turns his face, burying his nose in the hair at the top of Rodney's head.
"You okay?" Rodney asks, still half-asleep, his voice muffled--his hand sliding from John's chest to his neck, thumb sweeping against the grain of the stubble of John's jaw.
"Bad dream. Go back to sleep."
"'M here if you need."
"I know." John shifts, lips pressed against Rodney's ear. "I do."
Notes: The title comes from Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams from Ovid's Metamorphoses. He is responsible for shaping dreams, or giving shape to the beings which inhabit dreams.