04. Do What Can't Be Done
When he woke, his first thought was that he didn't need this sort of facility to heal. The next thought was home—among the dark and entrenched recesses of a place he couldn't remember enough to describe.
Only one word dared to quake from his lips, and it was only because he saw a needle coming towards his skin.
"Sheppard!" he hisses, but it did little good.
"Todd, it's okay," he heard, and no, it's not okay.
He screamed, feeling stripped and open, far more exposed than he would normally allow. His breathing bottomed out and he glared to the viewing room even as his vision grew blurry with unfamiliar medication.
"Sheppard!" he howled once more, but due to the alien sedatives, it came out as a whimper that made his eyes water. He was helpless, and could only see Sheppard in the elevated room as he attempted to continue whining his protest.
Sheppard smirked, and he felt ice raining down upon him. "Todd, it's okay, you're gonna be fine."
The sedatives must be working, because all he could feel was himself, his hunger, his being slipping away.
Finally, in the harsh medical lighting, he realized that he can only ever be Todd. His "self" before that no longer mattered.
When he finally woke again, there are two things he wondered about—the first was why there was no scar on his hand.
The other was why he hated Col Sheppard so much.
No one can tell him the truth. No one can tell him why he felt like he didn't belong. No one can tell him why his hand ached, like there was something he should do, but couldn't remember how. He felt like slamming a hand to someone's chest, but he couldn't remember why, only that he should, that he needed to—
The setting is unfamiliar and he knew he didn't choose—something.
But then Sheppard came in, calling him Todd, and he felt uneasy. He felt…
He felt like Sheppard saw him as an experiment that couldn't be done.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX