Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Stargate: Atlantis or its wonderful characters. I am responsible for the original characters, however. Any original character and setting is from the imagination of the author and not based on a person or location, living or fictional.

Author's Note: This story had several stages. It started out several years ago as an original novel that never got off the ground. Then, when NaNoWriMo came about this year, I decided to start working on that original novel. Through some brainstorming with Ani-maniac494, that idea morphed into this idea. A special thanks to Ani-maniac494 and pisces317 for help with brainstorming, as well as to theicemenace for help with brainstorming and beta-ing this work for me. The story is complete, and it is a winner in the NaNoWriMo 2011 challenge. A chapter will post each day from now until Christmas. It contains spoilers for any and all episodes of Atlantis and for my story "Captive." Also, there is no such town as Esperanza, New Mexico. That is a setting I created based somewhat on the New Mexico town where I live (though my town is much bigger). Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

RUN!

The word echoed through his head as he wrenched his arm away from the hands holding it. The creature behind him growled and let out an unearthly scream as the contents of the syringe he'd injected into its stomach began its work. He took off as quickly as his feet could carry him, dodging around the nearest corner and nearly tripping over debris from a collapsed warehouse.

RUN! Run-run-run! It became a mantra with every pounding footstep. Every turn, every jump, every moment when he nearly tripped on his own feet or shoelaces became a panic-filled eternity as he gasped for air and tried to be as quiet as possible. It was difficult to do so when he just wanted to get away. Away from the demands. Away from the thought of what he'd been told to do. Away from him.

He rushed around another corner and stopped for just a moment. His lungs felt as if they'd burst, and he needed a few moments to catch his breath. He bent forward, placing his hands on his knees as he sucked oxygen through his open mouth. Sweat trickled down his face, and he straightened while drawing a deep breath through his nose. By doing so, he released nitric oxide into his blood stream, resulting in more oxygen being carried to his muscles.

After those deep breaths, he ran again. He'd managed to lose himself in the complex, and he only hoped his captors were as turned around as he was. After all, they were the ones who wanted him to do the unthinkable. He couldn't. He just could not violate his Oath. Not now. Not ever. It would take more than threats of death and that bloody sedative cocktail he'd been given to get him to do anything other than wait for rescue.

His people wouldn't leave him behind. He knew that, was certain of it. He was too important to them. As Chief of Medicine, he could not be gone for long. Not without his friends coming to rescue him from this horrible place.

He rounded a corner, and his foot connected with a massive chunk of concrete. His arms pinwheeled as he went forward, and he barely caught himself as his hands scraped painfully. Tiny rocks and splinters drove themselves into his palms, his elbow connecting with the edge of the block as his knee took the brunt of his fall. Gasping at the pain, he rolled onto his back. Blinking away the tears, he pushed himself back to his feet again and limped around the corner.

His knee screamed at him to quit moving, be still! With every step, he felt it grow weaker and weaker. If he didn't stop, the injury would progress from a bruise—and possible tear—to something infinitely more severe. If he did stop, he'd be captured. Faced with the two options, he chose to keep running.

He fell again, this time because his knee gave way. He was unprepared, and the pain temporarily blinded him. His face connected with the ground, a sharp stone gouging into his eyebrow as the skin on his cheek tore. It wasn't deep enough to scar, but it stung fiercely. Gathering the remainder of his strength, he managed to get on all fours. But his knee would not support weight. When he climbed to his feet, he took one step before his knee collapsed yet again. He ground his teeth together, stifling the scream into a groan. This could not be happening! He needed to get to the Gate, to get out of here, to get back to Atlantis with its bright infirmary and safety. Once there, he'd be given the pain medication his body ached to have.

Footsteps around a corner drew him out of the momentary fantasy. Injured knee or no, he was going to escape! He turned and took two limping steps before a group of figures rounded the corner ahead of him. Their grotesque, bone-like masks covered the entirety of their faces, the long white hair falling in unkempt locks past their shoulders. The skin on their arms was a sickly blue, and he knew he'd face their wrath if they caught him. Long, rifle-looking weapons were clutched at their waist, and they aimed at him.

He turned to head the other way, wrenching his knee painfully and blinking away tears of panic. He hated crying, always had, and always would. But now it seemed warranted.

His way out was blocked. He couldn't escape the three drones that closed in on him from his desired direction. To get away from them, he'd have to backtrack and hope for another escape. His choices limited, he limped back the way he'd come. He found a small alley and ducked down it, hoping for a place to hide or pull himself up onto the roof of the building. Of course, he'd be just as trapped there as he was now. The alley was a dead end, reminding him of Glasgow's seedier neighborhoods. Before he could reverse his direction, he fell again.

Despair settled. He couldn't get away. Not this time. Rolling onto his back in order to get up, to keep evading, to somehow stay alive until rescue arrived, he stared into the strange, snake-like eyes of his captor. Michael smiled, his animalistic teeth making it seem all the more fierce. "You disappoint me, Doctor."

A small, pistol-looking weapon rose, and his world disappeared in a flash of blue.

oOo

Carson Beckett jerked awake and let out a deep breath. His heart pounded, and he felt as if he'd just run a marathon. The dark room was unfamiliar, and the faint tick of a clock on the dresser interrupted the silence. Bright moonlight spilled through a window covered with lace curtains. It dappled on the foot of his bed, telling him that he'd once again awakened prematurely. Accustomed to the sudden change in awareness, he sat up and looked around.

Memory was slow in returning. But, as he ran a hand over his sweat-soaked face, he finally managed to recall what had happened. His dream had taken place just over three years ago. He wasn't being chased by Wraith drones, Michael had died, and he was a free man. Well, as free as he could be with the memories lurking in his mind, waiting for the moment he was most vulnerable to make their presence known. Moments like now.

Coming to Esperanza, New Mexico had been a total fluke. He'd been contacted by an elderly doctor who simply wanted to retire. Carson untangled his legs from the sheets on his bed and stood to walk to the washroom. He'd come for an interview, and he sincerely hoped he'd get the job.

The light in the washroom pierced his eyes, and he blinked to adjust his vision. Once the brightness faded, he took a look at himself in the mirror. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his face looked just as haggard now as it had when he'd been rescued. To this day, he still recalled the utter shock that crossed the faces of his rescuers. He'd been so hesitant to believe it was more than a hallucination that it had taken that first prick of a needle in his arm for him to wake up to reality. He'd been rescued after nearly two years in Michael's custody. That relief, while sweet, was short-lived as he realized that something was horribly wrong.

Not wanting to think about the days that followed his rescue, Carson slapped the light switch and returned to his room. He'd rented this suite at a local bed and breakfast, preferring to actually stay in the town he hoped to work in rather than driving for three hours one way just for a decent hotel. His hosts had been wonderful, and he'd eaten better last night than he had in a long time. Of course, he needed to work off that massive piece of pie his hostess had set in front of him, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

Pulling on sweats and sneakers, he shook his head. His knee had healed remarkably well considering the nearly two years that followed the injury. He still had times when it ached, primarily in extreme cold, but he had taken up running several months ago as a defense against the dreams. Against the memories. Glancing at his watch, he shook his head. It was three in the morning, and he knew he wouldn't sleep again until that night.

The tiny town of Esperanza still slept as he crept from the bed and breakfast and into its streets. He took a few moments on the large, wrap-around porch to stretch his muscles. The cool morning air invigorated him, and he grinned. Back home, in Scotland, it would still be somewhat chilly. Here, it was a beautiful seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. His mind automatically transposed it into Celsius. Twenty-three-point-eight degrees. Perfect summer weather.

He took off down the stairs and jogged slowly down the winding drive. The bed and breakfast sat on a quiet street just off the main square. While it had uniquely Southwestern touches, Esperanza was one of those towns that looked unchanged from the 1950s. If snow had fallen, it would look exactly like a Currier and Ives print. The town square consisted of a large patch of grass with massive cottonwood trees that shaded the area. The two main roads of the town intersected around the square, resulting in a strange four-way stop that would take him some time to figure out. Storefront shops lined the corners, and the road changed to cobblestones for several blocks. He glanced around, noting the diner, tea and coffee house, grocery, bank, and doctor's office.

Carson ran past all of this, knowing he couldn't get lost in this town. No one came to Esperanza by accident. It was so far off the beaten path that one couldn't stumble upon it. In fact, he'd struggled to find the town, and he'd been coming here on purpose. Of course, he was also struggling to remember to drive on the right side of the road rather than the left.

As he ran, he thought about recent events. Atlantis had returned to Earth unexpectedly with him at the helm. While he was confident in his Ancient gene, he was still surprised that he'd managed to land a ship the size of Manhattan on the surface of the Pacific Ocean with little more than a few minor injuries in the process. Of course, their fight with the Wraith hive that had attacked Earth had resulted in more severe injuries, and he hadn't allowed himself a moment to relax before running to the infirmary and assisting Dr. Keller in patching up their people.

The months since January had passed in a haze of shock as the Atlantis Expedition adjusted to living on Earth. Carson had endured the necessary medical checks at the SGC, but his record appeared to be in good order. After all, he'd been on Earth for six months following his ordeal to recover and undergo psychological evaluations. He knew his nightmares were common and that they would take time to resolve. Hence why he'd chosen this new path in his life. With August nearing its end, he needed a change in pace.

The sun edged over distant hills as he returned to the bed and breakfast. He'd not run for the entire time he'd been out, choosing to stop at the edge of town and allow the absolute silence to overtake him. There was so little time on Atlantis for him to truly reflect, and the peace of this town seeped into his mind. Drawing a deep breath of the crisp summer air, he rushed upstairs to shower and shave. The slight scar just above his right eyebrow reminded him of his nightmare, but it now seemed distant, not a living entity in the room with him.

With a calm smile plastered on his face, he headed back downstairs to the dining area. He was the only guest at the bed and breakfast right now, and he greeted his host, a jovial man who looked vaguely like Santa Claus. In fact, his wife said the town children had nicknamed him that, and the entire town simply called him "Santa." She appeared in the door of the kitchen with plates filled with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and hash browns. Carson could have handled oatmeal and fruit, but he didn't want to be rude to his hosts.

"So," Santa began after they'd begun eating, "you're meeting with Doc Howell?"

"Aye," Carson said with a smile. "I hear he's retirin', an' I'd like the job."

Santa eyed him. "Well, I for one hope you get it. The last young pup we had in here was fresh from medical school and thought we should have everything the big city has. He ran as fast as he could. You're different."

Carson accepted that with a quiet chuckle. Of course he was different, but he wouldn't tell these people exactly how different he truly was. "Well, I'm not lookin' for a big city. I quite like the town, an' I'm accustomed to this size of village."

Santa nodded encouragingly. "We need people like you around." He shook his head. "These young people these days think it's better in the city. They have no idea of the world out there."

The man's wife put a hand on his arm. "Dear, I'm sure Dr. Beckett doesn't want to listen to one of your rants."

Santa gave his wife a mock glare, his eyes sparkling. "And how would you know?" He turned back to Carson. "What do you think?"

Carson glanced at Mrs. Claus, as he'd come to think of her, and shrugged. "I agree with you. It's a big world out there, and kids don't know the half of it."

"See?" Santa grinned triumphantly at his wife. "I knew he'd agree. Dr. Beckett, I think you'll fit in well here."

"Och, Carson, please." He shrugged. "My last posting was in a town about this size, maybe smaller." And on an alien planet in a totally different galaxy, he added wryly.

The breakfast conversation ebbed and flowed, primarily with Santa doing everything in his power to get a rise out of his wife. Carson watched the two of them fondly, thinking of the times his father would do the same thing to his mother. Once their plates were cleaned, Mrs. Claus rose and cleared the table, freeing Carson to do whatever he wished before his meeting with Dr. Brian Howell. He wandered into the library of the bed and breakfast, skimming the titles and deciding that he would rather read the medical journal he'd brought with him rather than any of the books here. He still had a lot of reading to catch up on in spite of the fact that he'd been on the cutting edge for years.

When his meeting time rolled around, Carson left the bed and breakfast and walked across town. He could have taken the car he'd rented for the occasion, but the town was so tiny that he didn't want to lose the feel. The temperature had soared to around one-hundred-degrees, and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat by the time he arrived at the doctor's office. A bell on the door jingled as he walked inside, and a man in his late sixties, early seventies glanced up. "You Dr. Beckett?"

"Aye," Carson said. He extended his hand. "Dr. Howell?"

The man shook his hand. "Just 'Doc' or 'Doc Howell.'"

Carson grinned at that. He'd been called "Doc" for so many years that he felt like he'd fit right in with this bunch. Following the doctor from the tiny reception area back into his office, he looked around. Accustomed to Atlantis's infirmary, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a mistake. This doctor's office had one examination room which served for anything. A pharmacy sat next to the doctor's office, and Howell informed him that the two businesses were connected. Given the nature of the small town, they filled all of their prescriptions as well. Carson was more than qualified for both jobs, and he simply nodded. At least he'd have something to keep him busy.

Howell's office was bare. Blank tan walls showed none of the pictures or diplomas or awards that Carson had expected. The large mahogany desk had a bit of paperwork on it, but it was mostly clear save for a desk calendar. Howell dropped into the plush office chair. "How do you feel about house calls, Dr. Beckett?"

"Och, 'Carson,' please." He felt as if he'd repeated himself. Then, he smiled. "Well, I'm not opposed to house calls. Though I've not had good experiences with them in the past." His mind went to a time when he'd stood in a jail cell, telling Colonel Sheppard that he needed to stop making house calls. It shook him to realize that, while he remembered it as if he were there, he had not experienced it. Another Carson Beckett—the original Carson Beckett—had said those words.

Howell didn't seem to notice his momentary lapse into memory. "You won't have anything to worry about here. This town is full of good people." He folded his hands on his desk and stared directly at Carson. "I like you, Carson. I've looked over your file, and I have to say I'm surprised to get someone of your caliber willing to come to Esperanza. But I have no qualms about leaving the health of this town in your hands."

Carson blinked. "With all due respect, Dr. Howell, you and I have never worked together in the past. How can you. . . ."

"You come highly recommended." Howell shuffled some papers on his desk. "One of the young women I watched grow up became acquainted with you, and she said you're the best. I'm taking her at her word."

"And the young lady?"

"Prefers to remain anonymous." Howell shrugged. "I didn't understand it, either, but I figure she has her reasons. But, if she recommends you, I know you're a good man. And, I'm hoping, the last man I have to interview for this job."

Carson floundered for just a moment. "You're offerin' me the position without ever askin' about my qualifications?"

"Graduated top of your class from the University of St. Andrews, published numerous papers and did extensive research into genetics, spent the last seven years of your life working with a classified military operation, and distinguished yourself as brilliant." Howell shrugged. "I don't need any more than that. Men like you, Carson, usually work in places like Johns Hopkins. Not in tiny villages in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico."

"Well, for the record, I'm not like those men." Carson let out a deep breath. "An' I've had my share of high stress, fast-paced jobs. I want to get back to just bein' a doctor."

Howell stood and stuck out his hand. "Welcome to Esperanza, Dr. Beckett. I'm sure you'll fit in quite well around here."

Carson blinked again. He got the job? Slowly, he stood and shook Howell's hand. "You're certain?"

"Yes." Howell glanced at his watch. "Now, how about some lunch? I'm starving."

Carson followed the elderly doctor from the office and out the door. Howell launched into a monologue about the virtues of the two places to eat in town. There was Porter's Tea and Coffee House or the Esperanza Cafe. Both of them boasted a different variety of food, and Howell preferred the cafe. Carson accompanied him through the door, seeing the place filled with men in jeans and work boots. He'd not expected to get the job so quickly. But, now that Howell had confirmed it, he looked forward to getting down to the business of simply being a doctor.

As he sat down and looked over the menu, Carson smiled. Rodney would think he'd gone insane. But he refused to let the physicist bully him into anything. He was ready for the change in his life and for the shift in priorities.

~TBC