Aftermath

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Aw, you guys are the best ! Thanks so much for all the feedback !

Now, for all those out there whose minds are as sick and twisted and evil as mine, who's up for some whumping...? You are...? Really...? Oh, good - though not so good for Carson... ;o)

Chapter Four

Screaming In Silence

He was back. He'd returned. A shadowy presence, lurking at his shoulder, was calling his name. Its voice nagged ruthlessly at his silently screaming mind, demanding response and recognition.

Except he didn't want to respond. He didn't want to wake into the unthinkable horror that awaited him. All Carson Beckett wanted right now was for that alien hand to slam itself into the exposed target of his chest. More than anything else, Carson wanted this living hell to end in sweet, eternal, merciful death.

Yet even that most desperate wish was denied him, as the invader inside his mind re-took control. Against helpless, pleading whimpers, his eyes were forced to open. Forced to meet those of his tormentor.

The gloating, mocking smile which he found there offered Carson no comfort. No hint of mercy. All it promised him was further torment. Yet another assault of mind-breaking, excruciating pain.

He was touching him now, a brutal hand that had once been human stroking idly across his chest – the jack-hammering heart beneath causing Michael's smile to widen in the cruellest of satisfaction.

"I have sorely misjudged you, Dr Beckett…" he said at last, those clinical fingers still repulsively exploring him. "You resist torture well. I'm impressed. I had expected to break you long before now…"

If he'd had the strength, he'd have told his tormentor, at cursing length, just where to stick his mocking praise. Within his still reeling, agonised mind, three bitter, faintly gasped words did the trick just as well.

"G'… t'… hell…"

He'd pay in agony, of course, for such reckless defiance. But at that moment, Carson Beckett didn't care. He just didn't care.

He was going to die. He knew that. Strapped onto this damn bed, Carson knew he was going to die. And the thought of dying like this – alone, so far from home, so far from those he loved, so powerless to escape – succeeded where Michael had failed.

That knowledge broke him. It broke him, shattering him in mind and spirit, every bit as ruthlessly as his physical suffering.

In final remnants of lucid awareness, just one thought continued its desperate struggle to survive. Whatever the risk, John Sheppard never, ever, left any member of his team in hostile, enemy hands.

He would come back – wouldn't he…? John. Teyla. Rodney. Ronon. They would come back for him. They'd pick up the approaching Hive ship on their scanners. They'd realise why he'd not reported in, realise why Morrison wasn't there, and…

'God, no… oh, dear God… sweet God, no…'

Horrified in realising what he'd just done, what would surely follow, Carson clenched his eyes shut – this refuge of darkness, if anything, making the sensation of what happened next all the more horrific.

He couldn't see what his tormentor intended to do to him next. But he could still feel it. Recognise it. Silently scream at it.

The fingers on top of his chest stopped moving. Then, with clinical slowness, they drifted idly upwards. Settling, with now familiar intent, on either side of his head, they pressed inward. Starting the process. Starting the torture. Claw-like nails dug savagely into his temples as that voice returned, to haunt him in brutal victory.

"I admire your faith, doctor, but I'm afraid it's sadly misguided… they'll never reach you in time…" Another pause, prolonging the agony, before the voice inside his mind demanded him to obey.

'Open them again… you will open them, Dr Beckett… you will let me into your mind…'

Reptilian green eyes, void of all humanity, then bore down into savagely re-opened, terrified blue. In a face stripped of all human mercy, those eyes gleamed in triumph.

"These scanners, doctor… now I find their ability to detect us most intriguing… tell me more… tell me everything..."

Staring upwards, into truly inhuman eyes, Carson felt his mind explode once more in complete agony. His entire body jerked, arching and bucking helplessly against the restraints that held him down. Then his mouth fell open and he screamed, again and again, as his mind was brutally ripped apart.

In reality, a cocktail of drugs and sedatives had muted those screams into the faintest, weakest of sobs.

But they'd still been enough to startle John Sheppard by their sudden, totally unexpected sound – surprise giving way to staring shock as his eyes re-settled on their once more still and silent source.

The haggard face was peaceful again now, as Carson slid back into a sanctuary of depthless sleep. It was a false peace, though, as a stray tear seeped out from beneath still heavily closed eyes. When another followed, John Sheppard bowed his head, lost once more in his own silent despair.

Where the hell would it end…? Where, and when, would a friend's unjust suffering end…?