Under the Skin – Chapter 3
Durand glanced around the lab, despair and distress running through his shaking body. Everything was…gone. Destroyed.
He stumbled barefoot through the room, his feet encountering puddles of water and half-hidden debris.
The entire section had been powered down and nothing he'd done had allowed him to change it, forced instead to open each door manually and detour around areas that were inaccessible.
What had happened here? These…people couldn't have been telling the truth. They couldn't have been. Atlantis would never fall. They would never retreat.
Moving with purpose, he headed to the storage area, praying that the portable generator was still there. If he hooked it up to the power systems in the lab and pulled the consoles off the network, he'd be able to work undisturbed. The lab was shielded and the independent power source wouldn't show up—even if they managed to get the sensors working again.
He could finish of the circuit board here, but he'd still need to find the device. That might be more difficult than anything else. Evading the city's current inhabitants hadn't proved to be a problem. It was as if the city didn't even know some of them were here.
Very strange.
Prying open the door to the storage area, he shivered. Maybe he'd be able to get the environmental systems up and running, too. Poking through the mess that used to be one of the most organized rooms in the science department, Durand spotted the small generator along the wall, half-covered with other devices and spare parts—some broken, others just damaged.
He hissed as his feet encountered sharp edges as he paid more attention to where he was going and what else might tumble down on his head, than where he was putting his feet.
Once he managed to manhandle the generator out of storage, it was actually quite easy to set up. A few cables and he was in business.
Humming to himself, he got to work, his hands moving quickly, efficiently.
A soft noise, the sound of a boot scraping the floor, sounded loud in the silence of the lab. "Rodney."
Durand glanced up, startled, his shaking hand dropping the tool he'd been working with. A man was standing in the doorway he'd left open—damn, he'd forgotten about that—his eyes on him. Moving slowly, Durand began backing away, putting more of the workbench between them.
"So, not Rodney at the moment, then." The man sighed. "Look, ah…Durand right? Durand, there are men posted at every exit in this section. Even if you get past me, they are armed with weapons to stun you. I don't want to hurt you, but you are going to have to come back to the infirmary with me. If you want to help, you can tell Zelenka what to do." He leaned against the edge of the door, effectively blocking it with his body.
"I was not intending to leave," he replied after a few moments, narrowing his eyes at the intruder.
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice. You're hijacking the body of my chief scientist right now, and we frown upon that sort of thing here. You can either walk with me back to the infirmary and we can get this all straightened out, or I can shoot you and we do it the hard way."
He held the man's gaze, while his mind began to reach out to the city, triggering alarms in several locations. There was more than one way to play this game, and it was one that he did well.
"You may wish to contact the control room. I believe you may be needed elsewhere."
"They can manage without me for a while. Right now this is more important." The man's eyes narrowed, his drawl deceptively lazy. "Wanna know what we've managed to piece together from the database and what you've told us? That device you were working on, you activated it in a panic as the Wraith were preparing to attack. Only it didn't work the way it was supposed to."
Durand moved several more steps, the small, powerful generator within reach. "All I know is that you and your kind are infesting my city," he said, as several more systems went offline. Durand's voice hardened. "And I don't particularly like what you've done with it."
A gun seemed to appear out of no where, pointed directly at him. "I'd stop moving towards that thingy if I were you. I really don't want to have to shoot you, but I will if necessary." His eyes softened slightly, although the gun didn't waver. "Durand, your 'kind', as you put it, are gone. Dead or Ascended ten-thousand years ago. We are the second evolution of your race, like it or not. You aren't even really here. You are the memory of a probably good and brilliant man left on a device he was working on as he died trying to protect his people."
Durand paused, placing his hands placed casually on the workbench's surface, the metal cool under his touch. "Even if you are telling me the truth, I find myself caring less and less. And if you shoot me, you might be surprised to find out exactly what systems retaliate."
He could hear someone hurrying down the hall, coming up behind the dark-haired man.
"You would let your legacy be that you stole another man's body, and when you didn't like hearing that, you blew up your own city—the very one you died trying to save? Believe it or not, we love this city as much as you do, and would do anything we can to protect it. If that means I have to kill my best friend to stop the person controlling him, and get killed for it in return by the city itself, I will. But it doesn't have to come to that."
"If this city did fall, then I am honor bound to give my life to it as well. I have no choice."
"So give your life to it by helping the people trying to resurrect her. She sat empty and alone for a lot of years Durand, would you leave her alone again?" He straightened slightly from the door, but didn't make any moves to come further inside. "Not to mention, the Wraith are still a threat, still using this galaxy as a feeding ground. We're making more headway fighting them than anyone since the Ancients left. The war never ended, it just has a new set of soldiers to fight. Are you so desperate to be right that you'll betray your own side to win?"
"My side would never have given up and left!" It was hard to keep his attention on the systems. His control kept slipping. "Don't you understand?" He said, the words pushed out from between his gritted teeth. "I have no choice."
"There's always a choice. You may not like the options, but there's a choice. Look at it this way, your side didn't give up. They made a strategic retreat since they knew they would lose if they stayed. It took a bit longer than expected, but they passed on the genes and the technology to allow us to continue the war later. That isn't giving up, that's making a hard choice to ensure someone is still alive to keep fighting."
"No," Durand said, shaking his head as another rumble sounded, this one much closer, the alarm shrill. "It is you who does not understand. The choice is not mine to make. That choice was taken from me a long time ago. Live or die, my life is not mine. Has never been." The last whispered words, while true, still hurt, burned the most.
The man's eyes flickered at the alarm, but his gaze never left Durand's face. "I can feel what you're doing you know. I may not know how you're doing it, but I have the gene, stronger actually than the one you're using at the moment, since mine's natural and Rodney's isn't. Why are you forcing the city to rise up against us? Believe it or not, she likes us. I can feel it sometimes, almost like she's alive. And now, I can feel how torn she is. You're giving her the commands to attack the children she adopted as her own. You do have a choice, Durand. You can come with me, help me fix this. You can choose to accept that whatever happened to you in the past is just that: the past. Or you can choose to destroy everything you worked to save, and the children you helped create."
He shook his head, trying to stop his limbs from shaking. "No choice," he said, the words muttered. "No choice at all."
"Saying you have no choice is just a way to avoid responsibility for doing something you know is wrong."
Durand closed his eyes, damning the man before him, hating him for forcing the issue. He took a breath, wishing for calm, but only finding panic and the artificial determination he'd been tagged with. "I was one of ten scientists," he began slowly. "There was a…project."
"Arcturus."
He heard the distain in the man's voice. "No. Another one, several years before. Much more…controversial. Scientific and medical." Durand opened his eyes, seeing hatred in the face before him "Why do you think I stayed when I heard the Wraith? I. Had. No. Choice. My actions had been chosen for me, by someone else, years before. I had a project to complete then as I do now. Leave me to it."
"I don't know what they did to you, but considering some of the other shit we've discovered the Ancients experimented with, I don't think anything would surprise me. But the people who did it to you, they're gone. It's just us now. Will you kill an innocent man, who's only fault was being too curious for his own damn good, stuck his hand in your project by accident, and suddenly found himself pushed aside in his own body?"
Durand shook his head, shrugging. "If that is even true, then he is doomed to my fate." He paused. "He is your friend, is he not?"
The man closed his eyes briefly, pain flittering across his features before it disappeared again. "Yes, he is my friend. He is also the most brilliant man I have ever known. You let him take control before. If whatever they did to you is driving you to this, let him take over again. We can find a way to set you free."
Durand shook his head. "I cannot. That was a lapse on my part and my…programming," he frowned, disliking the word, "will not permit it. I must finish." He gestured to the small circuit board he had been working on. "Let me."
"Programming? They weren't content to mess with genetics. No, of course not. They had to do brainwashing as well? No offense, but the more I learn about your race, the more fucked up I decide you were." The words were said more to himself than to Durand. The other man took a breath, pausing for a moment. "In most cases of brainwashing I've ever seen, usually they had to maintain some sort of control. A person or authority the person had to surrender to. I'm the head of the military command here. I can get the leader of our entire expedition on the line. If we both command you to stop, to let Rodney take over long enough to get you somewhere safe, will your programming allow that?"
Durand shook his head. "It was autonomous once activated. They did not want any…second thoughts." He sighed. "Look for project Domitus. You will need to use ferox as a password. That is all I can tell you," he said, wincing as spike of pain shot through his head. "I can do no more. But I ask you, beg you, to let me finish my work. I cannot be responsible for the…damages to the city if I am unable to continue."
The man relayed the information through the device over his ear, then focused back on Durand. "What was this device of yours, this project, supposed to do? For argument's sake, and so you don't blow up my city, let's say that after I'm done chatting with you I'll let you go back to work. So until then, let's keep talking."
Durand raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. "Why should I trust you?"
A grin played around the man's mouth. "Because I haven't shot you yet, and I really want to help? Not to mention my winning personality and stunning good looks."
He considered the words for a moment. "No. Those do not inspire trust. And seriously," he said, gesturing toward the circuit board with an unsteady hand, "will you actually let me pick up any tools?"
"Geeze, lighten up already. It was a joke. Live a little. Anyway, we agreed I'd let you work when I was done, and I still feel conversational." The man flashed him another grin. "I don't think we were ever properly introduced, so let's start there. I'm John."
"John," Durand said, applying a liberal portion of condensation to the name, "has it ever occurred to you that perhaps, I was not in the mood to, as you so eloquently said, chat?"
"Yeah, I get that a lot from Rodney too. Geek apparently breeds true. So, I like surfing and pina coladas on the beach. How about you? What do you do for fun?"
"I work." He gritted his teeth as he tried to control the shaking in his hand. "There is no other goal or prize that could compare to the pleasure a completed project can provide. And I must insist on you allowing me to work," he said, taking a few stumbling steps back to where he'd been working, his unsteadiness only increasing.
John's eyes had sharpened, and he moved inside the door for the first time. "You don't look so hot there, buddy." He suddenly stopped a look of horror on his face. "When was the last time you ate?"
Durand shook his head, the room spinning around him, his mind disconnecting sporadically from everything. "What does that matter?" he managed to ask, a pain in his mid-section nearly forcing him to his knees.
"Shit! Rodney's hypoglycemic. Durand, let me get closer to you. You are going to pass out in a few minutes, and I'd rather not watch you smack you head on the table. Not to mention you could damage that circuit you're so intent on fixing."
Durand shook his head, glaring at the man who'd approached him with smiles and assurances and overtures of trust. "You did this! I don't know how…or why…but you did this." He tried to concentrate, but things kept slipping, sliding away.
"No, Durand. Rodney, the body you're in, has to eat on a regular basis, or he goes into shock. He's also allergic to citrus, so we can be thankful you didn't feel the need to drink lemonade while you were working."
"You did this," he repeated, trying to move away from the bench, away from the man who loved surfing and whose smile never reached his eyes, away from the outstretched arms threatening to catch him. No. He couldn't let them take him. He couldn't.
"Rodney! Damnit, Durand, he's in there, ask him what happens when he doesn't eat if you don't believe me!"
He was cold, shaking, but he couldn't let them win. Couldn't. "Nonononono. You're just trying to trick me. Get me to let go. To stop me." John was getting closer, nearly on top of him even as Durand took another halting, stumbling step, his limbs refusing to cooperate.
John reached out and tapped the earpiece he wore. "I'm going to need a medical team down to the East Peir lab, stat! Rodney's body is going into hypoglycemic shock." He took another step towards Durand. "Think about this for a minute. If I had done this, do you think I would be so damn worried?" He dug a bar of some sort out of his pocket, peeled off the shiny wrapper, and held it out. "This is a PowerBar, Rodney always eats them when his sugar gets low to help fight the shock. Please!"
He hesitated, but reached out, his hand shaking. John reached forward, grabbing his hand and shoving the bar in place.
Durand looked at it before glancing up at the worried man before him, the edges of his vision beginning to darken. "Something…"
"Take a bite, get something in you!" John growled. "Forget the Wraith, civilian doctors are going to kill me! Eat before you pass out!"
He shook his head, trying shake the blackness away, but it only expanded. He felt his connection with the city fading, a few smaller explosions triggering at the abruptly shattered link. Arms grabbed him, hot against his cold skin.
"Damndamndamndamn. Don't do this!"
"John?"
"I'm here. The medical team is on the way. Just hang on a little longer."
"Cold."
"I know. This lab isn't exactly Bermuda." He tore his jacket off and wrapped it around his shoulders. "I just need you to hang on a little longer." He broke off a small piece of the PowerBar and put it up to Durand's mouth. "Here, any sugar will help."
"Too late, I think," he said, the last connection to Atlantis finally closing down as his knees gave way and he slumped in the man's arms, his eyes closing. "Too…."
"No, come on, hang on a little longer." John lowered them both to the floor, his arms wrapped around Durand's body, shaking him a bit. "Lorne, where the hell is that med team?"
Durand opened his eyes, finding John hovering just above. "I'm sorry for your friend." His lids drifted shut and he could feel his muscles shaking and hear yelling, but nothing mattered. He'd lost. They'd won. This was fitting punishment for his failure.
xxx
It was the beeps that he first noted. The familiar, regular sounds that indicated medical equipment at work, monitoring everything they could think to hook him up to. The next thing he noticed was that he felt like he had been hit by a bus. Maybe more than one bus. And they each took a few tries.
It took Carson a few minutes of thinking to remember why he felt so horrid. Memory came back, though, and he was relieved to realize the overwhelming panic was gone, leaving behind only lingering traces of distress. And let's face it, the thought flitted across his mind, there weren't many times any more when he wasn't in some sort of distress over something, so that was okay. He could handle it.
The beeps were steadily drowned out by the rising sound of voices. He picked out John and Radek and Elizabeth. That was Teyla making a comment. The rumble could only be Ronon. Given what had happened, he assumed they had found Rodney, otherwise none of them would be here. Good. They could be a little quieter though. I mean really, there were sick people who needed to rest.
He was thirsty. He debated ignoring it in favor of sleep, but the scratchiness in his throat refused to go away. With a sigh, he forced his eyes open, a bit startled to immediately lock gazes with Ronon, who was sitting across staring at him. Carson froze, even as the man rumbled, his voice pitched to carry into the other room, "He's awake."
His beeps were completely drowned out then, as a whole troop of people came marching in, Doctor Biro's voice carry above them all, complaining about patient rest and needing to let people sleep. Elizabeth shot her a look, forcing the other woman to silence, even as everyone else surrounded his bed.
"Ah?" It was the best he could manage. He spotted a glass of water with a straw on a table nearby, and almost got distracted from all the people in his immediate area in his longing for it.
Elizabeth offered a tired, weary smile as she picked up the cup, angling the straw toward him. "You gave us quite the scare. How are you feeling?"
He took a long sip, enjoying the cool sensation. "Rodney?"
She glanced away, meeting Sheppard's gaze for a moment before turning back. "Let's concentrate on you right now, shall we?"
He shook his head. "How is Rodney? Is he okay?"
Sheppard finally replied. "He's been better."
Carson felt his eyes go wide as he tried to force his tired body to cooperate, to push himself into more of a sitting position. "What happened?"
Elizabeth helped raise the head of the bed higher, so he was almost sitting upright. She fixed the pillows as the Colonel stalled.
He looked around, trying to catch someone's eye, frustrated when no one would look at him. Turning back to John and Elizabeth, he did his best to look intimidating. "Tell me."
John winced. "Hypoglycemic reaction, ring a bell?"
Groaning, Carson leaned back against the bed, closing his eyes for a moment. "In my office, locked cabinet, there's a mixture of sugar, water and a few other things. I keep a batch ready in case he needs it."
"Yeah, we found it," Sheppard said, "along with a few other things. Biro has him hooked up to more stuff than you. We're just…concerned."
"Aye... How long was he out before you got him here? Rodney has a pattern. If you can get that mix in him within the first thirty minutes, he's usually okay by the next morning."
John glanced at Elizabeth, his eyes sliding to the rest of the people in the room. "We weren't exactly close to the infirmary," he began.
Muttering a few choice curses in Gaelic, Carson tried to make his mind work. He still felt foggy, tired. He needed to get up, help. He couldn't just lie here. "Need to see him."
Elizabeth's hand appeared on his shoulder. "Rodney's not going anywhere."
"Aye, but I can't help if you don't let me up." He was a bit appalled that he didn't have the strength to sit up with her holding him there. She wasn't even really trying that hard.
"You need to get better first." She sighed, her lips clasping together in a thin line. "He's been unconscious for several hours. Doctor Biro has managed to stabilize him, but it's not looking good."
He shook his head, trying to get up again. "All the more reason to let me help! I'm just tired, lass. He's sick." He looked closely at her. "And you don't look good either. You need to go get some sleep. When was the last time you got any rest?"
She chuckled humorlessly, stepping to the side. "Does anyone really rest anymore?"
"You all need to get some bloody sleep." He muttered it under his breath. As he sat up, he hit him that he was shaking from the effort, and he was barely upright. Slumping his shoulders in defeat, he caught Biro's eye. "Lass, on the top shelf of my bookshelf there's a spiral notebook. Every drug I've ever used on Rodney is in there, along with how he reacts. Last time he had a bad reaction, I hit on a combination that worked fairly well. Try that and see how it does."
"Yes, sir," she replied, moving quickly, the corner of her mouth twitching.
He looked around at the rest of the people by his bed as Doctor Biro disappeared around the corner. "The rest of you, go get a few hours rest. It will do you good."
"Actually," Sheppard said, pulling up a chair, "we've been waiting for you to wake up. We need some advice."
"Advice?" Carson swallowed. It was one thing to treat something he knew about, and Rodney had stayed too late in the labs more than once, so he knew how to deal with the hypoglycemia. But last time he had tried to treat something else, Rodney had ended up with the ghost of a dead Ancient in his head.
John kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed, leaning back in the chair, Elizabeth rolling her eyes at the Colonel. "How much do you know about conditional responses in humans?"
He blinked, not sure where this was going. "Conditional responses? Like Pavlov and his dogs?"
John shrugged lightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze focused at the end of the bed. "Maybe chemical programming or brainwashing might be a better way to describe it."
"And why would you be wanting to know about that?"
"Rodney….Durand, whoever the hell it was, mentioned a project that Zelenka has been able to dig out of the Ancient mainframe thanks to the coded project name and password Durand provided. Radek actually said that if we tried to access it without the password the entire file would have been erased. It's something very secret and on the boundaries of immoral and inhumane." John shook his head, glancing up at Weir. "I have to tell you, the more I find out about these guys the more I dislike them."
"And this...project...has to do with brainwashing? Colonel, what the hell is going on?"
Sheppard sighed, rubbing a hand fiercely across his face. "You're not going to like it."
"When do I ever like it?" Carson sighed. This was worse than pulling teeth. "You said you needed advice, well, you're going to have to spit out the problem if you want my help."
"Are you sure you're up for it?" He asked instead, looking at him. "You're not going to pass out or freak on me are you?"
He managed a humorless chuckle. "No, the worst of it seems to have faded. I think I can manage."
"Oh." John seemed to deflate for a minute before he swung his feet off the bed and rose, beginning to pace a little. "As best as we can figure out. Durand was one of the scientists on Doranda who also worked on the Arcturus project."
"Okay, but that project was a weapon, not genetic or behavioral research."
"No, you're right," Sheppard said, pausing at the end of the bed, glancing toward the silent Ronon and Teyla who were hovering. "But it seems like there was a specific reason Durand was part of the project, apart from his expertise in the sciences." He paused again, disgust flashing quickly over his face. "It seems that years before that, he was part of another project code-named Domitus. Basically, the Ancients were…scared that they might lost the war so they created a very elite group of scientists—of which Durand was a part—and programmed them to finish their projects at all costs."
"What?!" Carson was shocked. How could anyone do that? That was just...wrong. "But, why? And how do you know this?"
"Durand's confirmed that much for us," John said, his shoulders slumping. "And the file filled in some of the rest. It involved chemicals, altering brain waves, and some other stuff that Doctor Z was having problems figuring out. We were hoping you may be able to make heads or tails of it."
Carson shook his head, staring off into space. He absently picked at the bandages on his arms, pulling at the tape as he thought out loud. "If he was still under the influence, even in another body, it couldn't have been chemical, or at least the bulk of it couldn't have been, otherwise he wouldn't still be feeling it. The only thing that would have carried over would be brain-wave patterns, but how do you alter someone's thought processes without killing them?"
"The file is extensive," Elizabeth said, "but most of it borders the line between science and medical."
"We are hoping that between you and Zelenka you can figure out what they did and undo it. Otherwise, I'm not sure what else we can do," Sheppard said, picking at the blanket along the edge of the bed.
"Chemicals could have been used to make someone more susceptible to it, but at the base level they had to have built an action-reaction response into how the person thinks. This sounds a bit more complicated, but it sounds like they somehow re-routed all his thoughts, so everything led back to the conclusion of completing the project at all costs."
"Something like that, yes. Even to the point that they'd protect the project above their own life and they'd be willing to kill for it." John turned away, swallowing thickly.
Suddenly, the other part of what John had said sunk in. "What do you mean you don't know what else you can do? This is all fine and dandy, but Durand, the poor bastard who had this done to him, died ten-thousand years ago and I can't do much to help him now. What are you doing to get him out of Rodney?"
John's reply began with a long sigh. "Durand is convinced he didn't die."
"I bloody well don't care what Durand thinks. I felt him die. I felt..." He trailed off, digging one nail into the skin under his bandage. It wasn't as bad as before, but talking about it still wasn't pleasant. "The only one who matters here is Rodney."
"And Durand doesn't look like he's anywhere near ready to leave." John paused again, his face thoughtful. "I don't want to have you break doctor-patient confidentiality or anything, but how bad is Rodney's claustrophobia?"
Carson looked up sharply. "He can control it for a bit, but if left for too long it can get bad. You think he's aware somehow, knows what's happening to him but can't do anything about it?"
"It was something Radek said when Rodney…popped out the last time." Sheppard's hand gestured absently. "According to Zelenka, Rodney was nearly hysterical, claims of being trapped, or feeling smothered, of it being dark. He hasn't been able to surface since then."
"Bloody hell. If you don't get him back soon, there might not be much of him left to recover. Rodney's claustrophobia is bad enough by itself, but that..." Carson swallowed hard. "I... I don't know what to say... Rodney..."
"And that's only part of the…problem."
Carson's features hardened. He couldn't be stuck here, they needed him mobile and alert. He glanced around, listening for where the nurses and Doctor Biro were. None were close, which was good, since he doubted they would approve. "Colonel, go to the supply closet, the last row, second shelf. There is a clear liquid in a bottle with a green label. I need you to get it for me." It was a powerful drug, one that would pretty much make his body think everything was fine for a while. It was dangerous, but in this case, necessary.
"Shouldn't you let Doctor Biro—" Elizabeth protested, her eyes narrowing even as John moved to obey. He paused, though, waiting to hear Carson's reply.
"No. She doesn't need to know."
"Carson." It was one word, but the tone said it all.
He shook his head. "I can't do anything for Rodney here. I need to get up and get to the lab with Radek to figure this out, and I can't do that when I feel like I've been run over a few times."
"And killing yourself is a better option?" This time Sheppard was the one who replied, standing with hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing.
"I'll be careful. Only take what I think I need. If you really feel its necessary, tell Doctor Biro once this is all over and she can watch me for signs of addiction."
"How about we talk to Doctor Biro, now?" she said, standing to the side, her eyes fixed on him.
He gulped. Biro wouldn't allow it, he already knew. John and Elizabeth didn't know enough about drugs to know what various individual ones did, or know his history with this particular one. He had, briefly in med school, been addicted to this one, which was why he knew it would work. It wasn't something he was interested in returning to, since the detox had been the worst experience of his life, but... "She needs to focus on Rodney."
"She is right here." Her tone was hard. Demanding.
"She has bigger things to worry about."
Biro stepped closer, clearly unhappy. "If you would excuse us for a minute, my patient and I need to speak privately."
"No. I..." He felt vaguely betrayed when everyone left. Glancing at Biro, he tried to look competent. "You know this is the only way I'm going to be useful, and they need me right now."
"Back up a minute, Carson," she said, deflating a little. "I want to help you, but you need to tell me what's going on in your head."
"I need to do something useful. I can't sit here and wait for someone else to find a way to help Rodney. I know," he paused swallowing, knowing this was his one shot to convince her. "I know it's dangerous, but I don't have a choice."
"What did you have in mind?" Her tone was tight, but she hadn't said no.
He lowered his eyes to his lap. "The methamphetamine."
There was a long pause before she replied sounding shocked and a little surprised. "And you think this is a good idea, how?"
"I...don't think it is a good idea exactly, I just don't have any others." He looked up. "I know it will work, I've...used it before."
"I know."
He felt himself flush a bit. "Look, you can watch me after this is over, test me if you need to make sure I'm not abusing it." He remembered how fast he had gotten hooked last time. One 'hit' had been all it took.
"It's not that I don't trust you," she said, her words coming slowly. "I do. I'm concerned that you might hurt yourself more in the long run. You're not exactly in the best of health right now."
He bit the inside of his lip. She shouldn't really trust him, and he hated doing this. "That's why I need it. They need, Rodney needs, me enough to outweigh the concerns." He stared at his hands for a moment. "I...know it will be hard to stop again. I remember how hard it was the first time."
"Carson," she said after nearly a minute of silence. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course!" He looked up, startled she would even have to ask.
"How about we do this my way?"
"Your way?"
"I'd rather not use something that you're already known to….have an affinity for. But, there are several other things I can try. They're less addictive and less potent, but I think it might do the trick." She paused, looking him in the eye. "I know how much you want to help and honestly, this is way beyond anything I've ever seen. We need you working on this. So, do you trust me?"
He let out the breath he had been holding, aware that he was shaking a bit from the pent up emotion. He hadn't realized just how much he had wanted her to say no, to offer an alternative. "Aye. Please."
"Good. Then lie back. I'll ask your…conspirators to return and then I'll be back. I'll need to monitor you for about an hour before I'm going to let you get up. Agreed?"
He nodded, offering a weak smile. "Thanks, luv."
"Welcome," she said already moving past the privacy curtain, speaking to his waiting friends. "You can go back if you want. I've got him sorted. It'll be about an hour before he's on his feet."
The rounded the corner a few seconds later, settling around his bed.
"Radek, why don't you fill me in on what you've found while we wait?" He settled back, determined to figure out how to fix this.
xxx
Durand opened his eyes, squinting against the glare of the overhead lights as he lay flat on his back. He couldn't hear the city, everything muted and dulled—both by the shielding in the isolation room and also due to the drugs in his system.
John had tricked him.
Tugging at his arms, he found them restrained once again, the bindings even a little tighter than before, the one across his chest an added bonus.
They were not taking chances this time, he realized.
Rolling his head to the side, he focused on the far wall, willing his mind to be silent, to slow down. There would be other opportunities, he told himself. He had to be patient. He would try again and this time he wouldn't fail.
A shuffle of clothing and the squeak of something against the floor pulled his attention toward the door, past the spot where he'd left the nurse, to watch as someone was wheeled in by the female doctor. He was familiar. He'd been here before.
"Hello! I see you're awake too." The cheerfulness seemed a bit forced.
Durand turned away. Why be conversational? They'd just used it against him before.
The man's voice got a bit harder. "I'm told you don't remember your death. I thought I'd tell you about it, since I got to re-live it a few times."
Durand rolled his eyes. "Leave. I will not disclose any further information."
"I don't really want you to tell me anything. I already know you were working on a project of some sort, partially against your will. I know you feel like you have to finish it because some bloody bastard messed with your head—and incidentally if he was still alive I'd cheerfully pound him into the ground for that—and I already know you are more or less killing my friend. No, I don't really want you to tell me anything, I want you to listen."
He turned his head, eyeing the strange man. "And what if I do not wish to?"
"Well, I don't really think you have much choice at the moment." He looked rather deliberately at the restraints. Then his voice softened. "Look, I don't pretend to know a fraction of what you've gone through. But I can tell you what happened at the end, or some of it. When you took over Rodney, you somehow passed those last moments to me, and quite frankly I don't blame you since they are moderately horrid."
Durand felt the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Nothing you say will change anything."
"Probably not. From what I can tell, they used a chemical to relax your will, then did something to alter your brain waves and thought patterns. They've tied every thought you have back to that bloody project." He shook his head. "It makes me wish I had been alive then, or that we had some way of giving you your own body back. If I had access to you, instead of an impression, I could probably find a way to reverse it and give you a life again." He sighed, drifting off for a moment.
"I chose the project," Durand said quietly, nearly a minute later, his eyes focused on the wall behind the man in the chair.
"Aye, you chose to help your people—which is admirable. I know many scientists like yourself whom I respect a great deal. But they took that passion and warped it, using you as an experiment instead of trusting you to do your job."
"She asked me not to."
The man looked over at him, his eyes kind, understanding. "She?"
"Nydia."
"I heard you mention that name before. Your lover?"
Durand focused on the man beside the bed, his eyes widening. "I did?"
"Aye, when you and Rodney were first warring for dominance. Tell me about her."
He turned his head again, feeling the prick of something in his eyes. "She was my mate, my wife. At least until the project."
The other man made interested noises, trying to get him to continue.
"She didn't approve of it."
"Why?"
"She did not trust them. Claimed there was something…wrong with the project." He chuckled humorlessly. "She was correct."
"You said she was your mate until the project. What about after?"
He ground his teeth together, the memory still painful. "She died about a month after I was initially offered the position as head scientist in this special project."
"I'm so sorry, lad!" He was sitting close enough that he could reach out, placing his hand over Durnad's. "How did it happen?"
He kept his fingers from curling around this man's hand, stopped himself from taking any comfort. "An accident."
Long fingers curled around his hand, squeezing slightly. "I'm sorry."
"I accepted the position the next morning."
The man nodded. "It makes more sense now. I must admit, I couldn't understand why you let them use you that way. But I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same in your situation."
"They had been very…persuasive, but she knew me better than I did, knew what would happen, what kind of man I'd become."
"Did she, was she...vocal...about her desire to not have you participate?"
"I guess, no more than usual. We both…we tended to speak our minds. Our fights were…memorable."
Silence for a moment. Then, "Durand, what kind of accident did she have?"
Durand shifted as much as the restraints would allow, staring at the ceiling high above. "A lab accident. She was working with some unstable elements, which was nothing unusual. It could have happened to anyone."
"But it didn't. It happened to the mate of a scientist the ones in charge wanted for something else. A mate who was very vocal about not wanting said scientist to have anything to do with their project."
"She lost her assistant the week before," he said, turning to face the man at his bedside, his eyes filled with anger. "She was upset and we'd fought that morning. It was a careless mistake."
"Lost her assistant?"
"Her job was even more dangerous than mine. Accidents were…common."
"Aye, accidents are always a possibility in jobs like yours, but tell me lad, how often did the same lab lose two people in the same week? How often was your mate careless, even if she was upset?"
"It was an accident!"
"Was it?"
Durand turned away. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you. Please leave."
The hand squeezed Durand's again, not letting go this time. "When you died, you were terrified. You had turned something on, and time was out. It hurt, hurt so badly..." the soft voice choked off on a short sob.
He tried to free his hand, twisting his arm until he gasped in pain. "No. It's not done. Nothing's wrong. I just have to finish it."
"Panic, terror, death. It didn't work, you were out of time." The hand gripping his was shaking. "Please, it's fading, but still there, I can still feel it. Please tell me how to make it stop."
"It worked. It had to work. I just need to finish it." He was back there again, hearing the sounds just outside as he frantically tried to finish. He had a safe place to leave the completed device where they'd find it to use later. But he had to finish it first.
"No. I don't know exactly what happened, but you activated it, and it didn't work as planned. Instead, your death, your personality, got stored in it until Rodney came along and had it imprinted on him."
"Nonononononononononononono. It had to work. It had to." He kept repeating it, trying to block out everything else, knowing abstractly that his voice—which didn't sound like him at all—was getting louder and louder and more hysterical with every passing second.
The man's other hand came around to grip his arm. "Sorry lad, but this is about all that worked for me." He dug in, hard, just hard enough to break the surface. "You need to stay with us."
Something inside broke and he began to struggle, unintelligible words flying from his lips, all of his muscles tensing under the pressure.
"Durand! Rodney! Snap out of it!" A cold glass of water was tossed into his face. "This always worked for me mum..."
He gasped, coughing harshly as some of the water lodged in his windpipe. It was hard, though, laying flat on his back and tied securely to the bed, but he turned his head, trying to catch his breath and cough at the same time.
"Better?"
He opened an eye, looking at the now-standing man. "You tried to kill me. How can that be considered better?"
"Kill you?" There was a low chuckle. "Nae, lad, I don't want to kill you. If you would let me, I would help, but you don't seem to want that either."
He turned his head away, coughing a little. "Just leave me alone. You cannot help me. No one can."
"No, I can't help you. But you can help yourself. You want release, want this to be over. We want Rodney back. He's claustrophobic, and as it is being jammed into a dark corner of his own mind is probably slowly driving him insane. But if you tell me how the imprint was supposed to work, we can fix your device, which means your program is at an end, and in the process, you get release, we get Rodney back, and I get to stop having nightmares of someone else's death. How's that sound?"
"Why do you keep insisting we bring this 'Rodney' into the conversation?" Durand shook his head, missing the hurt and anger that flashed across the other man's face. "The device was working perfectly. One more circuit and it would have been complete."
"We keep bringing him up for the same reason you keep thinking about your mate. He's someone we care about. How would you feel, if you could have come in after the accident, done something to save her? This is Rodney's accident, only he isn't dead yet."
Durand turned cold inside, the answer coming quickly, easily. "There was nothing I could have done."
"No, not then. There were powerful people determined to see you were 'available' to do the work they wanted for you. But there is something you can do now, to stop it from happening again."
Durand turned his head, his eyes meeting the other man's, enjoying the finch he received. "The only thing I plan to do is kill anyone who stops me from completing my project."
The man shook his head, sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry you feel that way. It would have been easier to finish your device and reverse its effects with your help, but make no mistake lad, we'll figure it out without you as well."
"Don't you know?" Durand said, making the man pause. "You can never go back. You can never reverse anything."
"No, I suppose you can't change the past." The look was sharp, knowing. "But you can always change the future."
"No," Durand said, his voice quiet and low. "No, you can't."
"It might not be easy, I'll give you that. But there are always choices." It almost sounded like an echo of John, Durand vaguely thought. "We can choose how we deal with past events, and we can choose to accept the future or do our best to make it come out right."
"Choices don't exist in some worlds, in some lives." Durand turned, his eyes fixed on the man across from him. "I already know when I'm supposed to die and I know what you say, what you claim, is wrong because Atlantis is still standing."
"Choice always exists. Sometimes it's just a choice of what to have for breakfast, and sometimes you get to choose things that effect hundreds of people. Sometimes you just get to choose if you accept pain or fight. But there is a choice, lad. Your death was meaningless, a tribute to stupid people who made stupid choices. And Atlantis? We found her on the bottom of the sea, collapsing as her power drained to the point where she couldn't hold back the sea for much longer. We choose to raise her, bring her back to life, and continue the fight the Ancients left behind in this galaxy. We could choose to flee, to destroy Atlantis to ensure the Wraith never find our home world, but we won't. We'll stay until the war is over, not because we have to, but because we choose to."
"You listen and you speak, but you still miss my point."
"No, I understand. You believe you have no choice, and to a certain degree, yes, it was stripped from you. But those people are long dead. You can choose to fight the compulsions they drilled in to you, to help us, but instead you choose acceptance. Fine. That's your choice." He was still standing, gripping the bed. He started to carefully turn himself, so he was facing the door, getting ready to leave.
"Don't you understand? I tried to fight it, but they just made it stronger and stronger. She was right; this project was so very wrong, but I was caught, trapped. The device was only part of my assignment. Everything I've done for the past ten years has been to fulfill this one last mission." Durand shouted. "I was their last hope. Atlantis should never have risen, should not be here."
The hand reached out to grab his again, lightly this time, so he could pull away if he wanted to. "That you fought, that takes courage. Especially under those conditions. No one here condemns you lad. In fact, I think we are all a bit sad we can't have you and Rodney. You would probably like one another quite a bit, and between you, I have no doubt you could create anything. It's a shame all your superiors saw was a bug to be crushed. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault."
Durand glanced away, a laugh bubbling in his chest. "This galaxy is a curse to life, to living. And I, the great and powerful Durand, was to orchestrate its final song."
"Why don't you tell me, and not," he said, raising his hand to hold off any objections, "because I want to use it in some way, or force you to do something, or any of the million things running through your head. I only want to know because I like you, oddly enough."
Durand looked up. "We knew Arcturus would fail. It was fundamentally unstable, but they insisted we finish it—just in case. The device you have is the remote for it. But I was the back up plan. It would have been a fitting end, I think. After we created life in this galaxy, it was only just that one of us finished it once and for all."
"Finished it?"
"The destruction of Atlantis once they returned home was only the beginning. When I'm done, Pegasus will no longer exist."
The man swallowed, hard. "Why?"
"Why not? This was one mistake we intended on cleaning up."
Silence for a moment. "You know, as horrible as that is, I understand the Ancient logic. If you can't have something, no one can. It was like how they treated you, just on a larger scale. If the galaxy won't bow to their will, they destroy it."
"It's a matter of pride. Besides, there were always other galaxies, other projects, other experiments. This was just one of them."
"Ah yes, pride and arrogance. The two things that brought the mighty Ancients down." He was staring off into space now, his whole body drooping a bit, exhaustion starting to show through. Abruptly he sat down. "We could argue all day about comparative morality, but it really won't get us anywhere."
Durand chuckled. "As if that was ever a problem."
Movement near the door drew his attention as the female doctor walked in, her hands carrying several items—none of which he recognized. The nurse from before followed behind her.
The man looked up, a tired smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Doctor Biro, Anne. I…think I'm done here." He shot one last wistful look back at Durand, and then turned to see the doctor holding out a needle.
"All right Carson, I've been watching and you seem to be taking that dose okay. I'm going to give you a little more to allow you to work, on the condition that you come back here every two hours for a full exam before I'll give you any more."
"Aye, I promise," the man, Carson, chuckled as she pushed the needle into his arm.
She finished, placing a small bandage on Carson's arm before she turned to him. He eyed Biro as she approached. "I will not like this, will I?"
She gave a small laugh, "I'm afraid not. None of my patients have ever liked this. They all complain loudly, but it is necessary."
"If you let me go, I won't bother you anymore."
"No, you can't just go blow us all up, along with every scrap of life in the galaxy." Her gaze turned hard. "I was listening to the conversation." She looked over at the nurse, who had deposited the materials on a table. "Anne, could you bring Carson out to Doctor Zelenka and Colonel Sheppard? They are waiting for him."
"I forget how good the pick-ups are in here," he commented, a knowing smile on his face. "Get everything you needed?"
She ignored him, motioning for two large orderlies to come help. They released the chest restraint and angled the head of the bed upright, so he was sitting up. The tubes and other accoutrements didn't look very friendly.
"What exactly are you doing?"
She ignored him, taking measurements with the tube, a small piece of tape marking a section. "This is going to hurt a bit."
After lubricating a section, he approached again, glancing to the orderlies. "Hold him. I only want to do this once."
It took a few minutes, and a lot of cursing on his part, but she stepped back a few moments later, a smile on her face as she finished everything. "Now we won't have to worry about you living only on an IV since those restraints are not coming off."
"You don't trust me?"
"I wish I could, but no, actually, I don't trust you at all."
Durand shook his head as the back of the bed was lowered—not flat this time—and the chest restraint was tightened down again, keeping him in place. His wrist restraints were adjusted as well.
"You're probably the smartest one of the lot of them," he said, a half smile on his face.
"That's because I'm female. We allow the men to believe they run things to keep them happy."
He inclined his head. "True. But what of the geniuses?"
xxx