With loads of thanks to Tomy for beta reading at the drop of a hat, and for understanding.
 

I Am John's Mind
by elfin
 

So confused.  So very tired….

How does it help them? Making me believe I’ve been rescued?

It felt so real….

Usually when they played these games, they overloaded my nervous system first.  It’s not pleasant.  Like fire in my blood, flaming down my spine, reaching out like tendrils of scorching heat to every part of me, every inch of me.

And then, just as it becomes unbearable.  Just as I’m close to being overwhelmed by the blackness at the edge of my mind… it stops.

Everything stops.  And I feel… oddly euphoric.

Why does that sound like a good thing when it’s so far from it…?

When they make me think I’m aboard Babylon 5, I feel no pain.

It’s not a good thing.  When the images start to fade, the pain returns and the shock of it tears me apart a little more.

This thinking to myself helps.  I need to keep my mind in order, need to keep my thoughts away from… freedom.  Away from defeat.  I need to stay sane.  It’s all I have left.

So I think about… the aroma of fresh coffee.

I used to love fresh coffee, so much better than the café that’s available.

Michael could always get… Michael….

Why does his name – the mere thought of his name – hurt so much?  Why is the stab of that memory worse than anything they’ve dreamt up yet.  Including… when they did that.

Coffee… it’s a memory of sorts that’s stuck in my mind from the scenes they’ve played in my head.

It’s a smell I used to love, a taste….  Now, they’ve taken that from me too.

I want to be sick when I think about it.

My interrogators… that sounds a little strange doesn’t it?  My interrogators….  They’re not mine.  It’s nothing personal, they’re just doing a job.

I wish they didn’t seem to enjoy it so much.

What was I thinking about?

I lose track sometimes and that scares me.

I have to hold on to my mind!  Now what….  Coffee.

Sometimes my interrogators bring a coffee in to the cell with them.  I assume when they do that that it’s morning.  I always used to enjoy a coffee in the morning, couldn’t get through the day without that… coffee.

They really don’t need to poison me any longer.  They can make me nauseous with just a scent and it doesn’t take much more to push me to retching.

Not that there’s anything left inside me anymore.  The last time, there was nothing to come up except blood and acid from my stomach.  That frightens me too….

I don’t think they know about the coffee thing….

Do I sound… obsessed with this?  Oh Gods… probably.  Anything… anything is better than thinking about the nightmare I’m being held in.

This is their nightmare, they put me here!  So why do they get angry with me when I start to retch without the aid of their poisons or toxins?  They did this….

That’s what happened this morning – I say morning, it could be midnight for all I know.  But if I can hold on to something, real or not….

A new interrogator came in with a large, sweet coffee.

They’d already shackled me to the chair, ready for the start of the never-ending cycle of torture.

The scent of the coffee wafted to me and my stomach started to heave.  The interrogator became agitated, stood suddenly and shouted at me.  What the hell does he think that’s going to accomplish?

I want to die.  I’m so tired….

I don’t want to hear the accusations and insults, the humiliations that have wormed their way into their lines of questioning.

I hate the tone of voice that they’ve started to use.

It’s harsh and I’m confused.

It’s loud, and my ears ache.

I wish they would just leave me alone… just for an hour.

But they won’t.

There are sounds outside, voices, shouting.  And then… shots being fired.

The cell door suddenly bursts open.

Usually I close my eyes, turn away, shield myself from that rectangle of bright light that assaults me when the door opens.

But I squint into the light this time, wanting to see what was going on despite myself.

A familiar form appeared in that light, looked into the cell and then came inside.

The shock of recognising the man who crouched by the chair almost makes me laugh.  How do they expect me to believe this?!

Why would I ever believe that the man who put me here would come to my rescue?

I’d even seen him sitting in the dark corner during one or two of my interrogations.  At least… I think I had.  It’s an odd memory, like trying to look directly at those black bits that float in front of your eyes when you haven’t had enough to drink.

I have a lot of black things floating in front of my eyes.

He looks up at me, so sincere and I’m amused.  I want to share my amusement, but I don’t.  What would the punishment be for that?!  But it had been so long….

He’s undone the shackles around my wrists and ankles.  Now he’s standing, looking closely at me.

And he puts his hand on my chin, looking into my mouth?

Suddenly, I think I know what he’s doing!  No!!! They won’t do that again!  I can’t go through that again!!!

Once, I screamed when my interrogator electrocuted me.  And he had stood, and without warning had pressed the painstick to the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat.

I stopped screaming then.

Gods, that had hurt, more than I could have believed possible.  It won’t happen again, I won’t let it!!!

If I close my mouth, bite down, clamp my mouth shut then you’ll have to break my teeth before I’ll let you do that, Michael, I swear… I swear…!

He’s standing now, backing off.  Thank Gods….

Now… now he’s putting an arm under my own, easing me up out of the chair.

What is this?  What’s….  I don’t know, don’t understand….  This has never happened, I’ve never been allowed to move before, not until they’re finished.  They can’t be finished with me.  Not so soon.

But I can’t fight… I don’t have enough strength..

I try to keep the shock, the surprise and fright from my face (like I know what I look like).  What choice do I have other than to go along with this game?

I don’t even know if I can move, if I can still walk.  When I’ve had my times of freedom from that chair I’ve crawled.  Not exactly holding my pride and dignity together but I hurt too much for anything more.
 

But…I wish I hadn’t.  The next few minutes… are terrifying.  Some of the most terrifying I’ve had here.  There seems to be a hurry.  And rightly or wrongly I find myself helping, walking on my own as best I can.

Maybe I just don’t want to lean on Garibaldi any more than I have to.  Maybe I don’t want to feel his body any more… remembering the images I’ve pushed far, far away.

All around us, there’s shouting, and gunfire. Gods… are they going to kill me?  Is this their version of a firing squad?!

This imaginary Garibaldi is killing guard after guard, one-handedly dropping caps from the PPG and clicking in new ones from his pocket.

He’s unreal.  And I’m… getting more and more frightened, more afraid.  I want to die, but not like this, never like this.  Catching some stray bullet….  No!
 

We’ve cleared the cells!  We’re in some… underground tunnels.  And we’ve slowed.  We don’t seem to be being chased now and there has been no gunfire for a short time.

I wish I knew what was happening, why they were doing this?

I’m so tired, exhausted almost.  I don’t know how much further I can go on.
 

Suddenly, a series of loud explosions.  The ground has begun to shake.  Even Michael’s doppelganger next to me seems surprised by what’s happening around us.

Should I be scared by that?  Because I am… oh Gods… I’ve never been so scared.  I can’t go on much further.

There’s too much pain.  My stomach, my chest, every part of me hurts.

Debris is starting to fall from the ceiling of the tunnels, but Garibaldi’s keeping us moving.

My body is… screaming.  How else do I put it?  I don’t think that there’s a part of me that doesn’t hurt.  I want to stop.  I want to sit down on the cold ground and die.

But I know I won’t be allowed to.

I can’t help but wonder how long they’re going to keep this charade up.
 

We’ve reached the end of the tunnel and Garibaldi has stopped.  He’s eased me down onto a flat rock and reached between the rock and the stone wall.  He’s got some sort of black bag.

For a moment, I have to close my eyes.  I have to will my body to give me just a moment’s peace.

It refuses me even that.

He’s putting something over my face!  I try to get away, to get it away from me, but he’s holding it over my face and I can’t breathe!  I can’t breathe!  I’m so weak!  Gods, I hadn’t realized… I’m pathetic!  Trying to fight him, trying to get it off!  Trying to breathe!!!

…to breathe….  I can breathe.  Instead of trying to fight him, I open my eyes and feel what he’s put on my face.

It’s a breathing mask.  I can breathe… better than I have done since… since they got their hands on me.

I stop fighting and glance up at Garibaldi.  I try to smile weakly.  I hope the message gets across.  It seems to.  He smiles back at me.

When he eases me back to my feet, and we start off again, I realise why I need that mask.  Why he needs his.

We leave the tunnels and step out onto the surface.  I can feel the wind, feel the heat, and I know that if we have to go too far I wouldn’t make it.

But we only have to go a couple of yards.  In front of us, there’s a shuttle, door open.

Gods… could this honestly be real?

I want to ask Michael, want to know because I’m holding now onto a thread of hope that’s winding itself around my mind… and I don’t know if I could bare for that to be taken from me now.

I try to ask.  But I don’t seem to be making much sense.

Michael’s talking to me.  His tone of voice seems to be gentle and reassuring.  He’s helping me into the shuttle.  Where am I going, Michael?  When will this be over?

I haven’t got much choice but to go with it.  I still don’t understand what this is meant to accomplish.  I can’t understand what’s happening.  Why am I still in so much pain?  Why aren’t they asking the usual questions?  What could they possibly accomplish with this?

Or… could it be real?

I again wipe that thought harshly from my tired mind.

Michael’s leaving now, is it over?  There are two… Centari insisting that I lie down on a bunk against the hull of the shuttle.  Okay.  Whatever.  After everything they’ve done, asking me to lie on a bunk is so very easy.

I just do as they ask.  And I’m surprised at the comfort of the bunk.

Maybe… I was dying on them, and they’ve found a way to heal me without me actually knowing that it’s what they’re doing.

Restraints!  More restraints!  They’re strapping me down!  I knew it!  Knew that hope was too fragile.  Why did I let myself believe it?

I know I’m panicking, but I can’t stop myself.  There are two straps, one across my chest and one across my hips.  They’re pressing against wounds, inside and outside.

I let the pained groan out.  I can’t keep it in, despite the usual threat of further, new pain.

None came.

The restraints aren’t too tight.  And suddenly, I can hear and feel the burst of the shuttle engines firing.

I must have started because one of the Centari has put a gentle hand against the crown of my head and is speaking reassuringly to me.  It sounds reassuring.

I think the shuttle has taken off now.

I’m being told to rest, and I think that’s a good idea.

*

Where the hell am I?

Did I fall asleep?  No… couldn’t have. They didn’t allow sleep.

I can hear voices that sound far away, and the shuttle lurches slightly before seeming to come to a shuddering halt on a flat surface.

The sounds all around me sound familiar, but I can’t remember.

More noises, more rocking, and now… the restraints are being undone.

I think… I’ll risk trying to move.  I lift my head to see what’s happening.

And then there’s another familiar face looking over me.  Stephen.  I know Stephen’s face.

I can smell… coffee.

I can barely believe the choking sorrow, the agony of the death of hope when I hadn’t believed any hope remained.

Stephen was the one they used to get answers from me when they played their mind games.  Stephen’s the one who gives me the coffee.  But… it’s never really him.  It’s them.  And the coffee is always drugged or poisoned.

This is just another game.  Longer, more real, but nevertheless a game.

And I can’t put into words, even in my own mind, how… heartbroken am I to realise that.
 

I must have blacked out for a while – it’s the only explanation for the loss of time that my confused mind is telling me has occurred.

They’re moving me again.  On to a gurney this time.  Hands are lifting me.

I’m being wheeled along familiar corridors.

I have to admit, they are good.

They’ve even recreated the ‘scent’ of Babylon 5, the ‘feeling’ of the station.  It feels so real.  Voices, concerned tones of people hurrying along at my side.

I can almost believe… but I won’t, not again.

I know I’m in MedLab when we came to a halt.
 

And suddenly it all becomes a lot more frightening.

And I stop thinking for a little while.
 

It’s stopped for a while.  Oh Gods… I wish I could understand.

My clothes were removed, what remained of them. They must have stunk.  In the whole time I’d been a prisoner I hadn’t been given a change of clothing.  I’d pissed, shit, vomited and bled in those clothes.  They were torn by the agents who’d beaten me, who’d… raped me.

I think that’s the first time I’ve managed to actually form that word in my mind!  Is that a good sign or not?

 I was touched, invaded, examined more closely than I could ever remember being.

There were more voices, commands spoken over me, like I wasn’t even there.

Sharp needles pressed into me, bringing with them excruciating points of heat that seared deep under my skin.

My struggles were useless, my pleas ignored.

My breathing became laboured as a sudden, razor-sharp pain paralysed my right hand.

Then the world began to fade into a whirl of darkness and nausea.  I fought, tried to remain conscious, scared to death of what would happen if I let himself fall.

A silent scream was swallowed by the darkness of my mind as I drowned in the flood that slowly overwhelmed me.
 

I remember coming up through the thick, sickening black.

At first, I couldn’t open my eyes, feeling like they were glued shut.

Once again, hands took me and my stomach threatened to betray me as I was rolled from the gurney to another bed.

I was held in place on my side just on the edge of the bed.

And then my right leg was pushed up and fingers touched my ass.

I screamed.  At least in my mind.  I couldn’t help it.  Whatever managed to come out into the room must have been terrible, because the probing stopped and I was eased onto my back.

I lay still.

The bed was soft under me.  Softer than the bunk on the shuttle.  The pillow was flattened slightly under my head.  Like… they were trying to make me comfortable.

Stephen was still around me, still pushing things into my hand and arms.  And worse.

A sharp pain stung me and I realised that it had come from the tip of my cock

Once again, the blackness that had taken me before swirled at the edges of my consciousness, threatening once again to suffocate me.

Before I could go under again, the pain eased, and I was covered with something soft and warm.
 

I feel safe.  It’s wrong and it’s terrifying but I do feel safe.

I slowly come closer to real consciousness.

The harsh lights in the ceiling feel like they’re burning through my lids and begin to drill impossibly into my head.

Mercifully, the bright lights are being dimmed!  Did they know?  Why are they suddenly being so nice to me?

A gentle hand touches my hair and I think I flinch, but I don’t know if I do or not.
 

I’m now alone.

I’m afraid of the black in my mind. But I’m more afraid of what awaits me if I open my eyes.

I’m not yet ready to let go of the relative safety I’ve found in the dark.

I’m letting myself float in it for some time.  Waiting for the pain to return.
 

fin
elfin