Fandoms ::

  :: Home

Perchance to Dream

Summary : Myron's having a hard time getting a decent nights sleep.
Rating : PG-13
Pairing : Myron Goldman / Johnny McKay
Disclaimer : None of the characters are mine. If they were, they'd be naked a lot more often.

Author's Notes : My first ToD fanfic. Beta'd by the wonderful Mel, this is dedicated to her and DC who helped me into the fandom.

Part One : The Dreaming

Oh God. What's happening? How did we get into this mess. There's VC everywhere. An ambush. My weapon. Where is it? Must have lost it. Can't see it anywhere. Gotta look around. Figure out what's going on. Assess the situation. Ruiz is down. Can't see how bad. I don't remember anything. Like waking in the middle of a dream. Gotta stay calm. I'm in charge. These men depend on me.

No-one's paying any attention to me. Things must be worse than I thought. Blood everywhere. I can smell it. Don't know if it's mine. Oh God, it's Percell's. Bullet hole. Between his baby blue eyes. Those eyes. Such innocence in them. Now he's dead. How will I tell his parents. Oh God. This is a disaster. No. Can't give in now. Men will die if I don't stay calm. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Staying calm. Radio. Should radio this in. Where's Horn?

HORN!

Where the hell is he? Meant to be right next to me. How many times do I have to tell him? Hang on. Can't move. Why not? Oh God. Am I paralysed?

ANDERSON!

Come on, Zeke. Where are you? Oh, hand-to-hand. Come on, get rid of him and get over here. You've gotta help me. It's me, L.T. Why aren't you listening? Why cant you hear me? Oh God. Am I dead?

TAYLOR, BEHIND YOU!

Oh God. He's been cut. His throat. So much blood. Where's the doc? Still can't move. Oh God. Zeke. He's dead. No. No. No.

MEDIC!

Noise. I can hear something. In the air. A huey. Oh Thank You, God. Come on, McKay. Get us out of here. I know you can. Please. Come on. Oh God, they're under fire. dontbehitdontbehitdontbehit. Oh God. They've hit him. So much smoke. Come on McKay. You can land ok. Not you too. Please Johnny. Come on.

MCKAY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Part Two : The Waking

"MCKAY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

At the scream of his name, Johnny McKay jerked awake. Instantly going into an alert mode, he wondered why he was on the ground and not in a chopper.

As he scanned the room, he noticed his hooch-mate and sometime tormentee tossing and turning on his bunk. The thin blankets had been kicked from the bed, leaving Myron in just a pair of shorts. Sweat cloaked his body and his arms fought around his head, as if fighting off an invisible enemy.

It was the third night in a row that Johnny had been woken up by a nightmare that was not his own. It was the first time, however, that he'd heard his name being yelled in terror.

He looked over at Myron, wondering exactly what the other man saw in his dreams that caused such a heart-wrenching scream. As he had done for the previous two nights, he slipped out from under his own covers and walked across the room. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, he silently watched Myron, debating whether to wake him or leave him sleep.

"It's dangerous to wake them," he muttered to himself. "Or is that sleep walkers?"

Mentally shrugging, he reached out and placed a hand on Myron's arm, wincing at the intense heat he felt.

"Goldman. Wake up."

"Hgnnnnnnnnnn," mumbled Myron, still sleeping. "No, Johnny. Don't be dead. Not you too."

Unsure whether to feel honoured or insulted that Myron was dreaming about his death, Johnny shook him slightly harder.

"Myron. Come on. It's a dream. Wake up."

With a start, Myron jerked awake. Totally disorientated, he looked around the room, trying to figure out how they'd gotten out of the fire fight.

Then he realised. There was no fire fight. He wasn't dead. It had been a dream. A nightmare. He slowly propped himself up in his bunk, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, trying to erase the images inside his mind.

"You okay?"

Myron suddenly became aware of Johnny.

"I......... it was........"

"I know. Same one?"

Myron nodded. It had felt so real. He could still smell the blood. Even with his eyes open he could see the hole between Percell's eyes, and Zeke lying there with blood all over him. And through it all, he didn't do anything. Couldn't. All he could do was sit there and watch while every member of his platoon was killed.

"It was worse this time. They all died. Even you."

"Hey, so you do dream about me, I knew it, " chuckled Johnny, trying to lighten the mood. In truth, he was worried. Everyone suffered from nightmares, but these seemed particularly bad. He'd sworn to Myron that he wouldn't tell anyone. The lieutenant was always worried about what other people would think. He had a crazy notion that being concerned for other people was a bad thing.

"You just don't get it do you?" Myron snapped back.

Although Johnny hadn't expected smiles and hugs from Myron, he certainly hadn't expected him to get up and storm out of the hooch either. He watched as Myron threw open the door and sat himself on the steps. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, letting his head drop down, still trying to remove the images from his mind.

Johnny felt his heart rip. For Myron to not care who saw him sitting there, it must be bad. He would want to be alone. Would want to wallow in his own grief and not let anyone else in. But it was times like this that people needed not to be alone. Needed friends.

Making a decision, Johnny walked over to the desk and pulled out the bottle of whisky that he knew Myron kept hidden in there. He poured a generous amount into a tin cup and walked outside.

Without a word, he sat down and handed the cup over.

"They're all ok, you know."

Myron didn't answer. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't want understanding or compassion. He just wanted the smell of burning flesh to vanish. He wanted to curl up in a tiny ball and cry. But of course, men don't cry. They're strong. They don't need other people.

He realised that Johnny was still holding the cup out towards him. He took it and held it between his hands, as though searching for the warmth. Taking a breath, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a large gulp. Although he winced in pain as it burned down his throat, he appreciated the gesture.

"Thank you." For everything. For being my friend. For looking out for me. For being alive. He would never say the words, but he felt them.

Silently, Johnny stood up and walked back into the hooch. He sat on his own bunk, knowing that he wouldn't relax until Myron came back inside.

A few minutes later, arms still wrapped around him, Myron came inside. He made his way to his bunk and sat, head down, not looking at Johnny. He shivered.

"Shit." Johnny reached across his bunk and pulled off the blanket. He carried it over to Myron who was still sitting, shivering. "You're crazy, you know that."

"And you're an interfering pain." The words held no real emotion. They were almost a reflex action. Johnny smiled - that comment proved that Myron was going to be okay.

Johnny wrapped the blanket around Myron's shoulders, who pulled it tighter around him. He offered the cup he was still holding to Johnny, who accepted and sat down next to him on the bunk. Tossing back the remainder of the whisky, Johnny wondered what he could say to make everything better. Make it all the way it used to be.

"I used to suffer from nightmares a lot as a kid," said Johnny. "My mom said once that I screamed so loudly that the neighbours came running to see who was killing me."

Myron finally managed a small grin. Johnny shuffled further onto Myron's bunk and sat closer to him. Without saying anything else, he reached an arm towards Myron and gently eased the other man's head towards his shoulder.

As soon as he touched him, Johnny felt Myron tense up. It was an automatic reaction; he'd noticed Myron do it many times no matter who touched him. But Johnny increased his force slightly and eventually felt the other man relax.

"Johnny?"

"Shhhhhh. Mom always used to hold me after one of my nightmares. It was the only way I could get back to sleep. So take advantage while I'm in a good mood. And besides, if you don't get a decent sleep, neither do I. One of the wonderful advantages to having a shared hooch. So sleep."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Goldman."

Almost before he answered, Johnny felt Myron's breathing ease into a regular pattern. He looked at Myron's face and resisted the urge to stroke his hair. Instead, he rested his cheek against the top of Myron's head and closed his eyes.