BSG fic - Lost and Found 6 / 15
Chapter 6
He opened his eyes to a white room, and wearily closed them again.
It looked like the hospital room, and he had learnt to fear the hospital room. That was where the false-people were, and they always hurt him.
But when he opened his eyes again, he realised it wasn’t the same hospital room. The blanket and the curtains were grey, not blue. And his arms weren’t strapped down like they usually were.
Not that it would do him any good. They had broken his leg not long ago, and it hurt too much to move. He wondered how much they would let it heal before they broke it again. Or maybe it would be his arm this time. It didn’t hurt so much, so it must be a long time since they had last broken that…
A man’s face suddenly appeared over him. He hadn’t seen him approach, of course. He wondered if he was one of the dream-people or the false-people. Either way he wasn’t real. The false-people weren’t real, even though they pretended to be. They looked like people, but they weren’t people, not really. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was true.
This man had grey hair and a lined face, and was wearing a doctor’s white coat. His expression was irritable but his eyes were kind. He hadn’t seen him before. One of the dream-people, he thought. The false-people always looked the same, and they were…colder, somehow.
He felt better. The dream-people were often angry and they scared him, but they weren’t as cruel as the false-people.
The man leaned closer. He must have seen that his eyes were open.
“Hello, Commander,” he said. “Finally decided to wake up, have you?”
He didn’t answer. He never answered any question anyone asked him, dream-people or false-people. He knew he mustn’t do it, although he didn’t know why. If he answered they would win, though he didn’t know what they would win or who they were.
The man tried again. “Commander, can you hear me?”
He ignored him, stared straight through him. The man wasn’t real after all, however solid he might look.
“Commander?”
Definitely a dream-person. The false-people never called him anything but ‘the subject’ or ‘the prisoner’. Why commander though? Surely it should be painfully obvious he wasn’t commander of anything…
He dismissed it. This would all dissolve soon anyway. The dreams never lasted for long. Only the false-people could keep him trapped with them for as long as they wanted.
The man was looking worried now. He had never seen a dream-person look worried before. He said something else, but he couldn’t hear him, everything was dissolving, just as he had known it would….
….and he was sitting in a wooden chair at a kitchen table, covered with a bright blue tablecloth. He recognised this dream. He had been here many times before. It was always summer here. The sun beat down through the window beside him, and he savoured the heat. He was so tired of feeling cold.
The smell of frying bacon curled through the kitchen and he turned to see where it was coming from. A woman was taking a frying pan off the hob and sliding the bacon onto a plate. As she turned to face him he recognised her too - the slightly greying dark hair swinging above her shoulders, the vivid blue eyes, the warm smile. She always comforted him, somehow, but she also made him feel sad.
“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, and walked towards him. He smiled in anticipation. Bacon would be nice, even if it wasn’t real...but as she put the plate down in front of him he saw her other hand.
Shiny and metal with six-inch spikes for fingers.
He pushed back the chair but it was too late, she jerked her hand up viciously into his belly. Agony ripped through him and he couldn’t stop himself screaming. He looked dazedly at the blood spilling over his shirt, staining the blue tablecloth. Then she ripped her hand out and other things came with it, glistening sickeningly in the sunlight.
She raised her hand to strike again, still smiling that warm loving smile, and then everything dissolved…
…and he was back in the hospital bed with the grey blanket, shaking all over. He blinked, surprised, but when he opened his eyes again it was still there. He had never come back to the same dream so quickly.
He took a deep breath, trying to control the shivers that racked his body. He glanced involuntarily down at his stomach, but there was no blood, no wound.
Of course not. It wasn’t real.
Someone touched his hand, and he stiffened.
A hand closed firmly about his left one, the one that wasn’t broken. “It’s all right,” a woman’s voice said shakily. “Lee, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”
He looked up. A young blonde woman was sitting by his bed. For a moment his whole body tensed. One of the false-people was a blonde woman. But this woman wasn’t her. She looked tired and pale, and she was wearing a worn grey tracksuit. She also looked vaguely familiar. Like one of the dream-people, but not, because that dream-woman was always shouting at him and glaring with hatred, and this one was looking at him as if she was about to cry.
“Lee? Can you hear me?”
Of course he didn’t reply. He stared through her, but he still saw a tear trickle down her cheek. She dashed it away impatiently.
“Gods, what have they done to you? Lee, it’s me. Talk to me! Lee!”
He tried to ignore her, but she kept on at him. Telling him to look at her, talk to her, speak to her, even swearing at him; and all the while she said that name. Lee, Lee, Lee.
It was harder to stay silent than it had ever been before. Something about her pulled at him. Drew him to her. He wanted to look at her closer, wanted to answer her, wanted to stay-
But he couldn’t. He could already feel everything starting to dissolve, and for the first time ever he fought it. He didn’t want to go; he wanted to stay here with her.
But he couldn’t. Something broke within him at the thought, and before he knew it he was speaking. He couldn’t answer a question, but he could ask one.
He could barely get his mouth to work after so long, and his voice was no more than a whisper.
“Who’s Lee?”
Another tear trickled down her face. “You are,” she choked out. “You’re Lee. That’s your name.”
Then he lost the struggle and everything dissolved again, but he held it to him, clutched it tight, willed himself to remember.
My name is Lee...
He opened his eyes to a white room, and wearily closed them again.
It looked like the hospital room, and he had learnt to fear the hospital room. That was where the false-people were, and they always hurt him.
But when he opened his eyes again, he realised it wasn’t the same hospital room. The blanket and the curtains were grey, not blue. And his arms weren’t strapped down like they usually were.
Not that it would do him any good. They had broken his leg not long ago, and it hurt too much to move. He wondered how much they would let it heal before they broke it again. Or maybe it would be his arm this time. It didn’t hurt so much, so it must be a long time since they had last broken that…
A man’s face suddenly appeared over him. He hadn’t seen him approach, of course. He wondered if he was one of the dream-people or the false-people. Either way he wasn’t real. The false-people weren’t real, even though they pretended to be. They looked like people, but they weren’t people, not really. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was true.
This man had grey hair and a lined face, and was wearing a doctor’s white coat. His expression was irritable but his eyes were kind. He hadn’t seen him before. One of the dream-people, he thought. The false-people always looked the same, and they were…colder, somehow.
He felt better. The dream-people were often angry and they scared him, but they weren’t as cruel as the false-people.
The man leaned closer. He must have seen that his eyes were open.
“Hello, Commander,” he said. “Finally decided to wake up, have you?”
He didn’t answer. He never answered any question anyone asked him, dream-people or false-people. He knew he mustn’t do it, although he didn’t know why. If he answered they would win, though he didn’t know what they would win or who they were.
The man tried again. “Commander, can you hear me?”
He ignored him, stared straight through him. The man wasn’t real after all, however solid he might look.
“Commander?”
Definitely a dream-person. The false-people never called him anything but ‘the subject’ or ‘the prisoner’. Why commander though? Surely it should be painfully obvious he wasn’t commander of anything…
He dismissed it. This would all dissolve soon anyway. The dreams never lasted for long. Only the false-people could keep him trapped with them for as long as they wanted.
The man was looking worried now. He had never seen a dream-person look worried before. He said something else, but he couldn’t hear him, everything was dissolving, just as he had known it would….
….and he was sitting in a wooden chair at a kitchen table, covered with a bright blue tablecloth. He recognised this dream. He had been here many times before. It was always summer here. The sun beat down through the window beside him, and he savoured the heat. He was so tired of feeling cold.
The smell of frying bacon curled through the kitchen and he turned to see where it was coming from. A woman was taking a frying pan off the hob and sliding the bacon onto a plate. As she turned to face him he recognised her too - the slightly greying dark hair swinging above her shoulders, the vivid blue eyes, the warm smile. She always comforted him, somehow, but she also made him feel sad.
“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, and walked towards him. He smiled in anticipation. Bacon would be nice, even if it wasn’t real...but as she put the plate down in front of him he saw her other hand.
Shiny and metal with six-inch spikes for fingers.
He pushed back the chair but it was too late, she jerked her hand up viciously into his belly. Agony ripped through him and he couldn’t stop himself screaming. He looked dazedly at the blood spilling over his shirt, staining the blue tablecloth. Then she ripped her hand out and other things came with it, glistening sickeningly in the sunlight.
She raised her hand to strike again, still smiling that warm loving smile, and then everything dissolved…
…and he was back in the hospital bed with the grey blanket, shaking all over. He blinked, surprised, but when he opened his eyes again it was still there. He had never come back to the same dream so quickly.
He took a deep breath, trying to control the shivers that racked his body. He glanced involuntarily down at his stomach, but there was no blood, no wound.
Of course not. It wasn’t real.
Someone touched his hand, and he stiffened.
A hand closed firmly about his left one, the one that wasn’t broken. “It’s all right,” a woman’s voice said shakily. “Lee, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”
He looked up. A young blonde woman was sitting by his bed. For a moment his whole body tensed. One of the false-people was a blonde woman. But this woman wasn’t her. She looked tired and pale, and she was wearing a worn grey tracksuit. She also looked vaguely familiar. Like one of the dream-people, but not, because that dream-woman was always shouting at him and glaring with hatred, and this one was looking at him as if she was about to cry.
“Lee? Can you hear me?”
Of course he didn’t reply. He stared through her, but he still saw a tear trickle down her cheek. She dashed it away impatiently.
“Gods, what have they done to you? Lee, it’s me. Talk to me! Lee!”
He tried to ignore her, but she kept on at him. Telling him to look at her, talk to her, speak to her, even swearing at him; and all the while she said that name. Lee, Lee, Lee.
It was harder to stay silent than it had ever been before. Something about her pulled at him. Drew him to her. He wanted to look at her closer, wanted to answer her, wanted to stay-
But he couldn’t. He could already feel everything starting to dissolve, and for the first time ever he fought it. He didn’t want to go; he wanted to stay here with her.
But he couldn’t. Something broke within him at the thought, and before he knew it he was speaking. He couldn’t answer a question, but he could ask one.
He could barely get his mouth to work after so long, and his voice was no more than a whisper.
“Who’s Lee?”
Another tear trickled down her face. “You are,” she choked out. “You’re Lee. That’s your name.”
Then he lost the struggle and everything dissolved again, but he held it to him, clutched it tight, willed himself to remember.
My name is Lee...