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As the night drifted on, and everyone was being merry and congratulating Jo and the scientist who was apparently her fiance now, Mike snuck out of the nut hutch and sat on the stoop. The sheep and the collies seemed to be enjoying the warm, clear night as much as everyone inside was enjoying Nancy’s wine. Everyone except Mike.
Needed a breath of fresh air, he supposed. Yes, that was all it was, surely. Just taking a moment to process after being on a stressful mission.
He didn’t believe that.
His head still wasn’t quite right, and it seemed like too much was happening at once.
The Doctor had slipped away early doors, and Mike wasn’t entirely sure they’d ever see him again now that Jo was gone. Because she was, really, even though she was just inside. The Doctor had been terribly down, as if he’d lost a daughter. Mike supposed he had, in a way. He rather wished he could have been there to see it happen, or to try and dissuade Jo, perhaps, from this nonsensical endeavor. It was strange, being sent on a mission and returning to such a completely different feeling to the little unit team he’d started to feel a real, genuine attachment to. Sort of felt like he’d never quite woken up from that brainwashing. Like it was all still a nightmare.
“Hey,” he heard John’s slurred greeting and then felt him sit down so their shoulders brushed. “Haven’t got a chance to tell you yet, but you look really great in that suit.”
Mike linked his arm with John’s and offered a dry laugh. His thoughts couldn’t have possibly been further from trying to look good.
“Hey, what do you say we try to take off now and find somewhere private—”
“I can’t,” Mike cut him off. “Not right now.”
“Why? Nobody will even notice we’re gone” John leaned in to whisper in Mike’s ear. They were both drunk, but he thought John was a lot more so than he was.
“I don’t feel right. I’m scared,” even his voice didn’t sound right. It sounded blank, like how Stevens’ had.
“What are you scared of, love?” John reached around his waist gently, but Mike thought he was still just trying to find an easy way to get off. Taking advantage of the circumstances. Mike knew he was being paranoid. John wasn’t like that, not really— even when he was loopy with hormones. Mike reckoned John wouldn’t even know how to take advantage of someone.
He didn’t know if he could say anything that would explain what he was feeling. He didn’t really know exactly what he was feeling. Maybe that was the scariest part. Maybe there was nothing there anymore, not really. Maybe everything he’d ever feel for the rest of his life would be like this— barely there. Vague, distant, as if looking through a layer of tulle into his own brain. Or maybe cling film. It wasn’t obscured from view, it was just wrong, separate, numb. The whole thing felt very plasticine.
“What if I never wake up?”
John was clearly thrown by the question. “What do you mean?”
“They plugged my brain into a machine in there— did something to it. Brainwashed me, I guess. It hurt so badly—” his voice faltered, but he swallowed and continued. “And ever since I woke up, I don’t feel right,” Mike explained. “I’m starting to think it won’t ever fully wear off.”
“God, Mike,” John pulled him into a hug, which only made it all seem worse, because he felt absolutely nothing. If there was one thing that could bring him to life, it would be John. Would have been, at least, because it hadn’t done a thing now.
“You’ll be alright,” John told him. “If it doesn’t wear off on its own, I’m sure the Doctor can fix it.”
Mike didn’t know, really. He wished he believed John. That would make everything easy. But he didn’t think he believed anything anymore. Or thought anything, for that matter. Was his soul even still completely there? Or had some part of it been shoved out to make room for the programming they’d put into him, damning him to forever have some empty section to him, some missing piece? He supposed if he really thought about it, there had always been some piece of him lost, but not like now. He was somewhere between utterly numb and deeply, overwhelmingly sad. It was like he was grieving without actually feeling anything at all.
“You don’t believe me,” John remarked. Being as inebriated as he was, there was a surprising degree of clarity to the statement. A fact— nothing more or less.
“I thought you’d be too drunk to notice,” Mike laughed numbly. After a moment he let his smile fade away into a grimace.
“I’m always gonna notice when you’re not alright, you know,” John told him, hugging him around the waist and kissing his shoulder— the shoulder of his suit, that was. He didn’t feel it a bit, not through the fabric or in a fluttering of his chest, as he normally would have. He didn’t even have the heart to tell John off for doing something stupid like that where people might see them.
And John was right. He would always notice, just as he always had. But that didn’t mean he’d always understand, or that he even could. It certainly didn’t mean there would be any comfort in it.
“I know,” Mike murmured, though it offered him no real peace of mind. “Thanks.”