Memories That Might Be My Own
Written for the prompt: Dark Angel, Alec, memories that didn't belong to him
Rating : PG-13
Word Count : 470
Fandom : Dark Angel
Character : Alec
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Memories That Might Be My Own
He's spent long enough in Manticore reindoctrination programs and with Psy-Ops being analysed, assessed and generally toyed with to know that memory is not a completely reliable asset. Rachel . . . she'd be a prime example of how easy it is with the kind of power that Manticore scientists wield to just take and destroy a memory so that the owner has no idea it's gone, no idea of the truth.
He sat at her bedside that night and wondered whether any of the memories, that had trickled back as the walls Manticore had slammed into his brain for him cracked, were actually his or was this another Manticore game, one that he hasn't worked out yet, probably won't work out until it's too late.
How much of anything he knows is his by right? He looks across at Max, where she's debating something with Mole and he envies her. She got out soon enough, she got out intact. He's got nothing left of his own, there's no part that isn't tainted. Even with things that have come since, there's always that lingering niggle of doubt that it's some leftover remnant of something that Manticore did to him.
He stood in Max's kitchen, held her while she told him about Ben, about the things Ben did and how she killed him and he iknows/i, he knows absolutely that he was locked up in Manticore, he was being bombarded with whatever torture they were doing him to put him right after the Rachel debacle, but part of him wonders if that was him too, if he isn't Ben's clone, but Ben himself; if Rachel is the reindoctrination to hide what he did as Ben.
The barcode says different . . . he clings to that fact like it's the essence of who he really is. He refuses to ever consider the possibility that Manticore changed that too. There was a clone of Max, he reminds himself . . . clone after clone after clone of them all until they decided X-5s were too independent, too unreliable and decided that they just wanted long-lasting grunts.
He shivers, cold inside in a way that won't ever be filled by the sunlight coming through the window or the jacket he's wearing. He's cold inside where the memories he has should be his, but he won't ever be able to be sure that they are.