He was having a nightmare, but his eyes were open. He could hear his coworkers; smell the coffee, and yet he could sense the desperation, and see the pain in his lover’s eyes.

He was there--in his office--but he wasn’t. This was happening, but it wasn’t. He wasn’t dreaming, this wasn’t a dream, it was a living nightmare.

His chest hurt but he knew it wasn’t the poison causing his broken breaths. Although he might wish it to be true, or try to convince himself, it wasn’t the lack of air that had caused his pain… or what was causing it now. It wasn’t physical. Not for him; not yet anyways.

He almost wished it were--he could deal with that any day. And he wanted the darkness to overwhelm him; and finally, it did. But not for long. The darkness never lasted long enough… never lasted…

Absently, he thought he felt his chest implode psychically as everything rushed back again, in and out, and over his head. Just like before. Then, the darkness came.

As he regained consciousness, he realized what he would do. He knew how he’d stop this; it. He knew who he needed. Who he longed for--the right kind of doctor. And he would do anything it took to get his help--to change the future.