Authors Note: This was originally supposed to be several chapter's long. However, I lost inspiration after Mr. Real Life struck me hard in the last few months. Instead of deleting it, I decided to give it a quicker ending.
Disclaimer: ResistanceIsNotFutile does not own Stargate: Atlantis. If she did, then Micheal would get a lot more screen time.
The Mind's Eye
"I'm not crazy!" The man thundered as he hit the door in anger and disparity. He could feel hard metal smash against his fragile skin and his fingernails scratch against the smooth, cool glass of the circular window. Like always, the door wouldn't budge. Not even a centimeter. Still enraged, he continued to claw at the door, though he knew that it was futile. As long as he still fought for his freedom, he was still sane.
From behind him there was an exasperated sigh, full of pity. "You're becoming agitated, again." The Doctor commented.
The man turned on his heal, and glared at the Doctor. "I'm not agitated!" He growled. "I'm…I'm…" All the anger and tension in him seemed to seep out of him instantly as confusion overtook him. "I'm…I'm." He tried again, now trying to remember who he was, where he was, why he was here. With all energy gone, he slumped against the wall and slid to the ground, hugging his knees against his chest. He attempted to hold back a sob as he shuttered. A dark cloud of despair and disorientation overcame him.
"Who am I?" The man whispered in fear. His eyes looked widely around as his fingernails dug into his knees. His mind barely registered the pain from his legs. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.
A hand gently rested on his shoulder. The man looked up looked up and found himself looking into the eyes of the Doctor, who was kneeling beside him, concern in his eyes. Despite the confusion clouding his mind, he felt suddenly comforted by the presence of the Doctor. Though there was something he didn't trust about the Doctor, something that seemed dangerous, he nerveless felt like the Doctor was a constant. A constant in his mind and reality; which ever this and the place that he had been told was a hallucination, a dream, was.
"It's alright." The Doctor said reassuringly. You're beginning to make progress, this is good. Soon you will be healed.
Despite the Doctor's words, the man now began to sob. "Who am I?" He quivered. This time tears began to leek. The hot tears that ran down his face disgusted him, made him feel weak. Something deep within took him that he was stronger than this; that he had to fight. But something else had already cracked deep within him. It had cracked from this endless confusion, this endless anger and despair. "I'm not crazy…"
As he continued to sob, his mind barely registered the large needle plunging into his neck as it penetrated the week resistance from his skin. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as the needle slowly, ever so slowly, released its contents into his blood. Almost instantly he felt the drug work its way through his body. His eyes began to droop and his body fell limp onto the ground. His mind welcomed the darkness as it took a hold of him and wrapped him in its gentle embrace. As his mind fell into unconsciousness, he dimly felt hands latch onto a raise him off of the floor.
"Hey Ronon, do you want to go on a run?"
"We think that we may have found another one of Micheal's labs."
"I'm not sure why he abandoned this one; it seems to have been a success."
"Carson, Rodney, when we get back I want you to figure a way to get into that room."
"Sheppard, look out!"
"Now tell me about this 'Atlantis' of yours." The Doctor asked as he sat in front of the man.
The man shifted uncomfortably in his hard metal chair. The Doctor eyes seemed to be staring straight into his soul. It felt like the Doctor already knew everything…Perhaps he did. "I'm the commander of the military at Atlantis. My name is Lieutenant Colonel…" The man attempted to finish the sentence. "Lieutenant Colonel…" He frowned; he couldn't remember who he was.
"It's okay." The Doctor soothed. "Continue on with telling me about your fantasy."
"It's not a fantasy!" The man jumped up from his chair. "It's real! I was there! These last five years have not been a figment of my imagination!"
"Then why can't you even tell me your own name?" The Doctor leered. "You've even admitted that things feel clearer here, that they make more sense." The Doctor stood up. "Now sit."
The man continued to glare at the Doctor, feelings of hate and malice stirring up in him. Instead of sitting, the man moved away from the chair. Every step he took made him feel a small bit of glee as he stepped further from the chair, further from the Doctor, further from limitations.
The Doctor sighed. "Must I tell once more about how you got to be here? How you got to be in a mental hospital?"
The man made no move to answer.
The Doctor sighed again. "You were serving in Afghanistan when your plane was shot down and you and Sergeant Alex Reilly were captured by terrorists."
"We were held for six months." The man spoke softly as the words appeared in his mind.
Nodding, the Doctor continued. "You were tortured repeatedly and forced to watch the terrorists brutally kill Reilly. This proved to be too much for you, and you broke. After you were finally rescued you were diagnosed with several conditions, including Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."
"After a month in various care facilities I was released." The man's face was now devoid of emotion.
"But then, about two months later, you were walking down a dark street when you attacked and killed a pedestrian; thinking you were back in Afghanistan. It was very brutal. There were multiple stab wounds, and you were drenched in the victims' blood. It took forever to clean it all off of you." For a moment, a cruel smile flashed on the Doctor's face, but a second later it instantly vanished, replaced with a caring look. "You've been placed in this hospital to help cure you."
"Cure me…" The man repeated slowly. "What happens when I am cured?"
"You will be allowed to return to society. No charges will be pressed since you obviously could not comprehend what you were even doing. The Air-Force is to blame for releasing you in the first place, when you were still unstable."
The man nodded. "I think that I remember more now…"
A smile spread across the Doctor's face. "Good. Good." He clapped his hands.
Pausing for a moment, the man spoke again. "I…I want to be cured."
The Doctor continued to smile. "Don't worry; progress is now on its way." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Now we can truly begin." The Doctor stayed where he was for a few seconds and then began to leave. Just as he reached the door, a voice came onto the intercom.
"Doctor Kenmore, please report to Room 264."
Doctor Kenmore quickly slid his hand into his pocket and took out a small device. "I'll be right there." He spoke into the device and then left the room.
Alone, the man just stood there, facing the door. His mind felt foggy and unclear. Wrapped in confusion and darkness, he almost felt suffocated, trapped. Something wasn't right. Something was screaming danger…And then there was the Doctor's name. Why did such a name send so many emotions through him? Sighing he turned around…
John Sheppard jolted awake in disorientation and looked widely around. Instead of the bleak grey walls of the mental hospital, he was surrounded by the warm walls of his room in Atlantis.
Had it all been a nightmare? Perhaps that latest mission to one of Micheal's abandoned houses of horrors had screwed up his mind. That mutant had caught him unprepared...
His heart racing in terror and anxiety, he spoke the first three words that came to his mind.
"What the hell?"