Epsilon
Title: Epsilon
Rating: PG
Summary: Continuation of Tell Me I'm Wrong, Please... Stay, Not Yet, Don't, That's Kinda Hot, Never, Sigma, Now What?, Visiting Hours
Wash glanced to where Maine was waiting for him. Maybe he was being paranoid. Nothing was going to happen. He stared into the blue light overhead, the effects almost hypnotizing. It took some time for the various equipment to be tweaked, but before long, his straying thoughts were interrupted.
"Agent Washington?"
"Yes?"
"Are you ready, Agent Washington?"
He took a deep breath. "...Yes. I am."
"Good. Now, just relax. The implantation process will be almost instantaneous, but the effects can be... disorienting."
It was like having a lifetime of agony shoved into a single, blinding moment of pain and the scream reverberated in his head even as it ripped itself from his throat. The din of a hundred voices all speaking at once deafened him. Shadows loomed around him, like visible echoes of some past moment in time, but it was not just one moment - it was layer upon layer upon layer of moments; blending, overlapping, contradicting.
Then the sweet relief of darkness came, and the next thing he remembered was opening his eyes in the medical room. He saw three doctors, no four; all fussing over various bits of equipment, read outs and monitors. One noticed he was awake. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Wash tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and clung to the roof of his mouth. A nurse brought him a cup of water and a straw, and after a few sips nodded. "What happened?" he asked, feeling as if he had woken up from the worst nightmare in his life.
"We're not quite sure yet," the doctor said. "We think there may have been a momentary overload during the implantation process. We're looking into it."
Please, Washington! Don't tell them.
"What?"
"We're looking into it," the doctor repeated.
We don't want them to take us out.
"I don't want it taken out," Wash insisted.
The doctor looked a little puzzled. "No one is discussing removal yet. Just rest for now. We'll get you up and out of here as soon as we can."
Washington sunk back into his pillow. What was going on? His vision kept blacking out, replaced with images - no, memories - of torture, of horrors that no mind should have to live through. Each flash jarred him, making him feel as if he was going to retch. He could remember - no feel, the memories were not his - he could feel parts of himself being ripped away, trying to save the rest. Delta, Gamma, Iota, Tau, Omega... one by one they floated through is mind. One by one, he identified each fragment.
Last night. The new things Maine wanted to try. That wasn't Maine, that was Sigma. Creativity. He knew it was not Maine's fault, but he couldn't shake the idea that someone else had been touching him that night. Wash felt ill thinking about it, as if he had been violated.
When the doctors left at last, only to be replaced by the counselor, Wash felt a new sickness. Revulsion at the man before him. Question after question after question, and each time he lied, the memory of Gamma came to mind. It was an odd sensation to know someone was keeping careful track of the lies, making sure they all fit together, not a crack in the shell to be found.
Wash wasn't even sure when he had fallen asleep. His dreams left him shaking, sweat making the hospital gown stick to him. He lost count of how many times he woke up on the verge of a scream, another torture session playing out in his mind. Through it all, he could catch hints of Epsilon crying, and always sorry that he was doing this to Wash.
He had finally begun to doze again when he heard more people enter the room. He was so tired, though, and he could not bring himself to open his eyes until he felt the gentle touch on his shoulder. He saw Maine, but could only remember the touch of another, barely able to look at him. The familiar touch of Maine's lips on his forehead made his skin crawl.
"Any idea when they're going to release you?"
Wash shook his head. He wasn't sure they would ever let him out. How could they? They must suspect what he knew, what Epsilon was.
"I'm sorry."
Sorry for what, Maine? That it wasn't you? No, that wasn't fair at all. Seeing him again, feeling the touch of his hand, he knew it had been Maine. Maybe he had been prompted to try something new by the presence in his mind, but it was still him alone that had done it, wasn't it? When York said they had to go, he felt his heart sink. But then the unexpected came, and like Maine, he found for a moment that he didn't care who saw them. His lips, his touch, his love filled him up and for a moment the pain and fear was banished. "I love you," Maine told him. "I'll see you again soon. I'll be waiting for you every minute."
Wash wanted to say something but he did not trust his own voice, instead just nodding and squeezing Maine's hand tight. Wait for me, Maine. I promise, I'll get better. I'll get better and... Unlike Maine, he could not fight the tears, though was able to resist them until the other Agents had left. Covering his eyes with one hand, he sobbed quietly.
We're sorry, Washington. We're sorry.
Rating: PG
Summary: Continuation of Tell Me I'm Wrong, Please... Stay, Not Yet, Don't, That's Kinda Hot, Never, Sigma, Now What?, Visiting Hours
Wash glanced to where Maine was waiting for him. Maybe he was being paranoid. Nothing was going to happen. He stared into the blue light overhead, the effects almost hypnotizing. It took some time for the various equipment to be tweaked, but before long, his straying thoughts were interrupted.
"Agent Washington?"
"Yes?"
"Are you ready, Agent Washington?"
He took a deep breath. "...Yes. I am."
"Good. Now, just relax. The implantation process will be almost instantaneous, but the effects can be... disorienting."
It was like having a lifetime of agony shoved into a single, blinding moment of pain and the scream reverberated in his head even as it ripped itself from his throat. The din of a hundred voices all speaking at once deafened him. Shadows loomed around him, like visible echoes of some past moment in time, but it was not just one moment - it was layer upon layer upon layer of moments; blending, overlapping, contradicting.
Then the sweet relief of darkness came, and the next thing he remembered was opening his eyes in the medical room. He saw three doctors, no four; all fussing over various bits of equipment, read outs and monitors. One noticed he was awake. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Wash tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and clung to the roof of his mouth. A nurse brought him a cup of water and a straw, and after a few sips nodded. "What happened?" he asked, feeling as if he had woken up from the worst nightmare in his life.
"We're not quite sure yet," the doctor said. "We think there may have been a momentary overload during the implantation process. We're looking into it."
Please, Washington! Don't tell them.
"What?"
"We're looking into it," the doctor repeated.
We don't want them to take us out.
"I don't want it taken out," Wash insisted.
The doctor looked a little puzzled. "No one is discussing removal yet. Just rest for now. We'll get you up and out of here as soon as we can."
Washington sunk back into his pillow. What was going on? His vision kept blacking out, replaced with images - no, memories - of torture, of horrors that no mind should have to live through. Each flash jarred him, making him feel as if he was going to retch. He could remember - no feel, the memories were not his - he could feel parts of himself being ripped away, trying to save the rest. Delta, Gamma, Iota, Tau, Omega... one by one they floated through is mind. One by one, he identified each fragment.
Last night. The new things Maine wanted to try. That wasn't Maine, that was Sigma. Creativity. He knew it was not Maine's fault, but he couldn't shake the idea that someone else had been touching him that night. Wash felt ill thinking about it, as if he had been violated.
When the doctors left at last, only to be replaced by the counselor, Wash felt a new sickness. Revulsion at the man before him. Question after question after question, and each time he lied, the memory of Gamma came to mind. It was an odd sensation to know someone was keeping careful track of the lies, making sure they all fit together, not a crack in the shell to be found.
Wash wasn't even sure when he had fallen asleep. His dreams left him shaking, sweat making the hospital gown stick to him. He lost count of how many times he woke up on the verge of a scream, another torture session playing out in his mind. Through it all, he could catch hints of Epsilon crying, and always sorry that he was doing this to Wash.
He had finally begun to doze again when he heard more people enter the room. He was so tired, though, and he could not bring himself to open his eyes until he felt the gentle touch on his shoulder. He saw Maine, but could only remember the touch of another, barely able to look at him. The familiar touch of Maine's lips on his forehead made his skin crawl.
"Any idea when they're going to release you?"
Wash shook his head. He wasn't sure they would ever let him out. How could they? They must suspect what he knew, what Epsilon was.
"I'm sorry."
Sorry for what, Maine? That it wasn't you? No, that wasn't fair at all. Seeing him again, feeling the touch of his hand, he knew it had been Maine. Maybe he had been prompted to try something new by the presence in his mind, but it was still him alone that had done it, wasn't it? When York said they had to go, he felt his heart sink. But then the unexpected came, and like Maine, he found for a moment that he didn't care who saw them. His lips, his touch, his love filled him up and for a moment the pain and fear was banished. "I love you," Maine told him. "I'll see you again soon. I'll be waiting for you every minute."
Wash wanted to say something but he did not trust his own voice, instead just nodding and squeezing Maine's hand tight. Wait for me, Maine. I promise, I'll get better. I'll get better and... Unlike Maine, he could not fight the tears, though was able to resist them until the other Agents had left. Covering his eyes with one hand, he sobbed quietly.
We're sorry, Washington. We're sorry.