Hey all. This is just a little drabble I thought of the other day after watching "Michael" for like the 50th time. I love him and I think he has been seriously underutilized. He's so complex and conflicted…which makes for great story fodder!
Anyway, this takes place during the episode "Michael". Just a what-might-have-been-in-his-head fic.
May possibly be part of a larger story at a future time.
And remember, reviews are always appreciated.
He stood in the middle of his cell. He had tried to escape and now he would be punished. He was to die. He laughed shortly, bitterly. The choice they had given him was no choice. Teyla had known it even as she said it; he could see it in her eyes. Submit or die. Be their willing lab rat or be killed. That simple. He was nothing. His thoughts, his feelings, his wants or desires…nothing.
He thought of the man he had killed. He really hadn't wanted to; it had been simple instinctual self preservation that had caused him to shoot first. Was it his fault he'd been faster? It had been the first time he had killed anyone, at least that he could remember, and it had hurt him to look at the man and know that he was the reason he was dead. He had just wanted out; away from these people and their experiments and judgments. Wanted to remember who he really was. Had he been the same as he was now? Or was he a monster like they had said? What fundamental changes of personality had occurred between his change from a Wraith to a human? What changes would happen as he went back to Wraith?
He could feel it happening already. The increasing aggression, the knot of hunger that burned in his belly and refused to abate. He had not mentioned it but already he had experienced flashes of his past. A lab, much like the one Dr. Beckett spent his time in. Laughing over something, he couldn't remember what, but he could hear someone laughing with him. Recording data in a device similar and yet not to the computer pads he had seen in Atlantis. And perhaps most terrifying of all, standing in front of a pod-like device, looking into the face of some nameless man and wondering what it would be like to be him just before he placed his hand on his chest and the creature began to scream. He remembered cringing slightly and wishing he was one of the quiet ones because he hated the sound of their screams.
He wondered desperately what it meant. He had searched his recollections vainly for some hint of violence, of the kinds of things that Teyla and the others had said of the Wraith. Was he evil, like they had said? He didn't know but he knew he had to find out, had to know what, who, he truly was. He couldn't just blithely turn away, even if he had something to turn away to.
He had to know if he really did deserve the hatred they all harbored for him.