He breathed machine-hot breath against Avon's shoulder, eyes clenched tight as he gripped at very real feeling leather. How was he supposed to wake up. How was he supposed to realize this was a dream.

Then, almost tentatively, he realized something. There was pain here. Avon's mind was working as he felt Picard's once do. There was something mechanical in it, and it was a deeper understanding than any dream knowledge can provide.

"Avon... How can I feel what you are thinking?" If only he could separate himself from this illusion, he could try to look deeper.

But the longer he waited, the colder the temperature got. If he didn't take care, he would start dreaming those cryptic snowflakes again. The ones that were utterly familiar.