E-mail: liz_Z@secret-agent.com
Category: Action/Adventure, Angst, with a bit of Humor thrown in
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own the I-man characters, I don't make any money off of 'em, and I intend to do whatever I want to 'em. But I'll pay the medical bills for any damage I cause, so it's okay.
Author's notes: This is just a little something I'm writing to fire up my muses before I start to delve into the countless plot bunnies that have been vying for my attention as of late. I'll give you fair warning: there's some severe Darien torture ahead. Not to mention some Hobbes torture as well... Go character torture! *evil grin*
Hobbes hurt. He hurt all over. Why, he thought as he attempted to pull himself up off of the ground, had he listened to the Official when he said this job would be easy? Hobbes had had a feeling the job was a set-up from the start. After all, how many stripper clubs had numerous thugs lurking around, armed with brass knuckles and large knives?
In the briefing, the Official had claimed that the thugs were bodyguards
for the owner of the club. Of course, Hobbes had mentally revised that
particular section of the briefing when said 'bodyguards' had begun viciously
attacking him, and Darien as well. Hobbes had managed to get several good
punches in, but judging from the aching pain in the back of his head and the
impressive lump that was beginning to form there, one of the large goons with
the brass knuckles had managed to strike the last blow.
Hobbes finally managed to pull himself up into a sitting position without
causing himself too much pain and began muttering to no one in particular.
"Easy, he said. A milk run, he said. You'll be done in five minutes, he said. I
should know by now never to listen when the Official says something like
that."
"Hobbes, you're talking to yourself again," Darien said quietly, his
voice coming from somewhere in the room. Hobbes looked around. Darien was
nowhere to be seen, but it was obvious by the quavering tone in his voice that
he was very likely in more pain than Hobbes was.
"No, I'm talking to God," Hobbes muttered as he stood up. Looking around,
he finally managed to spot a clump of brown hair sticking out above a pile of
crates in one corner of the room. He walked over to the crates, but stopped in
shock as he saw the state his partner was in.
Darien was lying on the ground, his shirt soaked with blood. He was
pressing a hand against his stomach. Hobbes walked over and moved the hand; he
was immediately greeted by the sight of blood seeping slowly but steadily from a
large wound. "Aw crap," Hobbes muttered, at a loss for anything else to say.
"It's that bad, huh?" Darien asked weakly.
"Worse," Hobbes said, shaking his head and bending down so he was sitting
beside Darien. He pulled off his suit jacket and began ripping it apart so he
could make a suitable bandage. Once he was finished he went about the task of
doing his best to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound. By the time Hobbes
was done Darien looked like he was dangerously close to passing out, but his
injury was properly taken care of.
"What happened?" Hobbes asked, wondering how Darien had managed to get
this badly injured.
"Aw man, I don't know," Darien groaned. "One of 'em knifed me, I guess. I
was a little busy getting pounded into that tacky shag carpet to notice exactly
when it happened."
"Wiseass," Hobbes muttered in an irritated tone of voice, but the
irritation was merely a facade to hide his worry behind. Darien was not in good
shape, to say the least. He needed to get to a hospital, and soon. Hobbes
fumbled through his pockets briefly, searching for his cell-phone, but found
nothing. "Figures," he growled in what was now very real irritation.
He stood up and began to look around the room he was in. Judging from the
large amount of crates and boxes located in the immediate vicinity, he was
willing to bet this place was some kind of storage area. There was only one way
out that he could see; a small door across the room. He walked over and jiggled
the door-handle to see if it would open, but as he had expected it was locked.
That done, he immediately began to search the room for some other avenue of
escape. But ten minutes later he was still no closer to figuring out an escape
route than when he'd started.
Hobbes finally gave up, walking back over to Darien, sitting dejectedly
on the ground, and silently berating himself for walking into this situation
unprepared. The owner of the stripper club had been expecting them, and he
should have anticipated that.
Hobbes was drawn back to reality when Darien placed a hand on his
shoulder. "Hobbes, it's not your fault." Hobbes gave Darien a confused look,
unsure of exactly what he meant. "This," Darien said, gesturing at the wound in
his stomach. "It's not your fault."
"Oh, so now you're not only the Invisible Man, you're a mind-reader,"
Hobbes said bitterly.
Darien shook his head. "Nah, I've just worked with you long enough to
know when you're letting yourself get eaten up by guilt, that's all."
Hobbes laughed, trying to shrug off Darien's comment. "Guilt, my friend?
Nah, I'm just sorry I didn't get to knock more of those goons out before I went
down." Particularly the one who had stuck a knife in Darien's chest, Hobbes
thought silently.
Darien frowned. "Oh no you don't partner, I know what you're thinking."
He started to sit up, but then fell back to the ground, gasping in pain and
holding his midsection.
"Don't move!" Hobbes said sternly, placing a hand on Darien's shoulder in
an attempt to pin the taller man to the ground.
"'Kay," Darien muttered quietly, traces of pain clearly evident in his
tone. Thanks to his inopportune movement, his wound was bleeding heavily again;
the makeshift bandage Hobbes had made for it was already becoming soaked with
blood. Hobbes muttered several choice curses under his breath and began applying
pressure to the wound with his fingertips. "Hobbes!" Darien yelped, trying to
swat the offending hand away, "What're you doing? That HURTS!"
"I'm trying to stop the bleeding, now just hold still and shut up until
I'm done!" Hobbes said, continuing to press against Darien's stomach with his
fingertips. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the bleeding stopped again.
Hobbes sat back, heaving a sigh of relief and wiping his bloody hands on his
shirtfront. "Now, don't move," he said, giving Darien a look that brooked no
argument.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Darien said, leaning his head back on
the ground so he was facing the ceiling.
Hobbes thought about mentioning the fact that he had actually told Darien
not to move several times, but decided not to. Instead he leaned back and stared
up at the ceiling as well, mentioning in an off-hand tone, "You know what we use
right about now?"
Darien smirked a little. "Besides a hospital, some real bandages, or a
busty nurse? I give up, what?"
"Some granulated sugar," Hobbes said, glancing over at Darien to see his
reaction.
"Sugar?" Darien said, letting out a surprised laugh that quickly turned
into a moan as he realized that laughing wasn't very pleasant at the moment.
"Sugar," Hobbes said in acknowledgement. "A friend of mine told me if you
pour it into a penetrating wound it'll help stop the bleeding, promote clotting,
and discourage bacteria."
"You've gotta be kidding me," Darien said in a disbelieving tone.
Hobbes shook his head. "Nope, I'm absolutely serious."
"Hobbesy, you are one weird son of a gun," Darien said, the corners of
his mouth twitching in amusement.
"Hey, don't knock it if it works," Hobbes said in a mock-defensive
tone.
"Does it work?" Darien asked in blatant curiosity.
"Well," Hobbes said, a slightly sheepish look on his face, "I'm not sure.
I never actually tried it myself..."
"A ha, I knew you weren't telling me something! Sorry partner, but you
know how I feel about human experimentation," Darien said, eyeing Hobbes with a
slightly leery expression on his face.
Hobbes was about to come up with a suitable retort, but the lone door to
the room suddenly slammed open, revealing the owner of the strip club as he
entered through it followed by several of his cronies. "Well gentlemen," he
said, eyeing Darien and Hobbes with contempt, "I see you've been busy."
Darien gave the man an exasperated look. "Oh yeah, I've been having loads
of fun bleeding all over the floor. What're you doing, do you have any idea who
we are?"
The man nodded. "Actually, I do. You're from the Bureau of..." he paused
for a moment to repress a snicker before he continued, "...Weights and
Measures."
Hobbes stood to his feet, giving the man an icy look. "We're federal
agents! It doesn't matter what Bureau we're with. Your men still assaulted
federal agents, and believe me, you're gonna pay."
The man laughed. "How will anyone know my men assaulted federal agents if
the bodies never turn up?"
Hobbes felt anger coursing through his body. He had long expected to die
in the line of duty, but he'd never intended the same to happen to Darien.
Fawkes was his partner, damnit! He was supposed to be able to protect his
partner. And with that, he made up his mind. There was no way Darien was going
to die today. And if Hobbes had to die to assure that his partner survived, then
so be it.
Without warning Hobbes charged at the owner of the stripper club and
barreled into him with all the grace of a professional football player, tackling
him to the ground. "Run Fawkes," he yelled, forgetting for the moment that
Darien wasn't in any condition to walk, let alone run. The only thought on his
mind was to take down as many of the enemy as he could before he went down
himself.
Hobbes dealt the owner of the strip club a sharp blow to the ribs and
then leapt back to his feet, punching the nearest crony so hard on the jaw that
he fell unconscious to the ground. He immediately started to attack goon number
two.
Unfortunately, right after Hobbes dealt a crushing blow to goon number
three, a very powerful set of arms grabbed him from behind, and try as he might
Hobbes was unable to escape their iron grip. Meanwhile the owner of the strip
club pulled himself to his feet, gingerly placing a hand on his ribs and giving
Hobbes a death-glare. "That wasn't a wise move," he said, pulling a gun out of
his pocket and aiming it at Hobbes. Hobbes recognized it instantly; the gun was,
after all, his own.
"I should shoot you now," the man said, holding the gun just inches from
Hobbes' face. "But I won't. Not yet." He smiled. "You seemed very concerned for
the welfare of your partner. What was his name, Fawkes? Well, since I was going
to kill both of you anyway I might as well kill him first."
"Leave Fawkes alone," Hobbes said in a desperate tone, frantically trying
to crane his neck so he could look at his partner. But the hulk that was holding
him prisoner kept him firmly in place, so it was impossible to see behind
him.
The man gave Hobbes a mock-apologetic look. "Sorry, but that's my
decision, and I've never been one to change my mind." He looked up at the face
of the man who was currently holding Hobbes in a vice-like grip. "Bruno, let him
see." Bruno promptly turned around and dragged Hobbes with him, allowing Hobbes
to turn anguished eyes to the spot where Darien had been lying just minutes
before.
The spot that was currently empty.
The owner of the strip club frowned and muttered a curse under his
breath. Hobbes, on the other hand, could feel a broad and somewhat cheeky grin
spreading across his features. "Hey pal," he said, giving the man a pointed
look, "looks like my buddy escaped."
The man glared at Hobbes and then turned to some of his cronies. "Weren't
any of you keeping an eye on him?" he asked angrily, gesturing at the spot
Darien had been occupying not long ago. His men exchanged sheepish glances and
shook their heads negatively. "Find him!" the owner of the club demanded in a
tone that brooked no argument. His men scurried off to search, leaving Hobbes
and the man holding him alone with the owner of the club.
"This is all your fault," the man said, leveling his gaze on Hobbes. "He
escaped, and now he's going to call the police, and I'm probably going to get
arrested, or at least have to keep a lower profile for a while." He walked up to
Hobbes, so that they were standing face to face. "I don't like the thought of
that. Not one bit." He took a few steps to the side, so he could hiss into
Hobbes' ear. "It looks like I won't be able to kill your partner after all." He
raised the gun to Hobbes' temple. "But at least I can kill you."
"You got that wrong," a disembodied voice said in an angry tone. The
owner of the club jerked around in an attempt to locate the source of the voice.
Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground
in an unconscious heap, as if some unseen force had attacked him. Hobbes took
that opportunity to bring his fist down hard in the general direction of Bruno's
groin. Bruno crumpled to the ground, curled up in pain.
Hobbes leaned down and grabbed his gun. Then he aimed it at Bruno and
looked around, yelling "Hey Fawkes, you can cut the see-through act now."
Darien immediately reappeared, one hand holding a pair of brass knuckles
that he had undoubtedly grabbed off of one of the fallen guards and the other
hand pressed firmly against his midsection. "You okay, Hobbesy?" he asked,
giving Hobbes a worried look.
Hobbes nodded tersely. "You?"
Darien swayed on his feet, his eyes looking slightly unfocused. "Umm...
actually, I think I'm gonna pass out now..." He was true to his word; his eyes
immediately rolled up in the back of his head and he started to fall to the
floor. Hobbes lunged for Darien, managing to catch him just before his head
impacted on the floorboards. Bruno tried to take advantage of Hobbes'
distraction by getting to his feet and starting to run for him, but Hobbes
merely raised his gun arm and shot Bruno in the kneecap. Bruno fell to the
ground again, hollering in pain.
Hobbes walked over to Bruno, a merciless look on his face. "Don't try
that again." Bruno merely whimpered in response; it was quite obvious he
wouldn't have been able to anyway, with the bloody mess his knee had become.
"Now," Hobbes said, looming over Bruno in a threatening manner, "where can I
find a phone?"
***********
Several hours later, Hobbes sat nervously in his apartment bedroom. Claire had allowed Darien to be admitted to a hospital, although his care had been under her supervision. Hobbes had hovered around the waiting room for hours while Darien was in surgery for his wound, anxiously awaiting news of the outcome.
Once the surgery was finished, Claire informed Hobbes that it had been a
success and Darien was now in the recuperation process. Then she had sent Bobby
home, on the grounds that he was exhausted and needed to do a little
recuperation of his own. Unfortunately, Hobbes had been doing very little
resting and a great deal of worrying ever since he'd arrived at his
apartment.
He leaned back on his bed, thinking back over the other events of the
day, which had washed over him in a way that made them memorable, but only just.
At some point in his pacing at the operating room, Eberts had informed him that
the owner of the stripper's club, one Jerold Pavaracci, had been arrested. One
Bruno Monetti had been arrested as well, but was currently in the hospital being
treated for a bullet wound- not that that was a surprise to Hobbes in the
least.
Unfortunately, no matter what train of thought Hobbes followed, sooner or
later it led back to Darien, who was probably lying in some hospital bed drugged
to the gills. And now that Hobbes thought about it, he was a little worried
about how the surgery had gone too. He could only hope that with Claire
supervising it, none of the surgeons had managed to leave a sponge in Darien's
stomach.
Just then the phone rang, jerking Hobbes out of his trance. He reached
over and answered the phone, saying in a somewhat exasperated tone, "What?"
"Hobbes, it's me."
"Fawkes?" Hobbes said in surprise, sitting up straighter.
"Yeah, thas me," Darien said, his voice slurred from all the painkillers
that were probably being pumped into him at the moment.
"Fawkes, what are you doing?" Hobbes asked reproachfully. "You should be
resting."
"Hey, don' go lecturing me, it wasn't easy t' get the nurses t' let me
make this call and I'm not gonna jus' hang up now," Darien said in a resolute
tone of voice.
"So, what did you call about?" Hobbes asked, genuinely curious as to why
Darien had gone to all this trouble to make a phone call in the middle of the
night.
"I jus' thought I should letcha know I'm okay," Darien drawled, "cuz I
knew you'd be worried."
Hobbes felt a wry grin spreading across his face. "The mind-reader
strikes again."
Darien groaned. "Don' do that man, it hurts t' laugh."
"Sorry," Hobbes said apologetically. His worry was vanishing bit by bit
at the sound of his partner's voice, even though Darien was not particularly
lucid at the moment. It was still a comfort, and one Hobbes now realized he'd
desperately needed.
Just then a squabble of some sort broke out between Darien and a female
voice Hobbes didn't recognize. After a moment he heard Darien say, "Hey Hobbes,
th' nurse sez I need t' hang up now. You gonna stop by th' hospital
tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, partner," Hobbes said with a grin.
"K then, I'd better hang up b'fore she does it for me. Oh, and jus' so
you know," he said, in a quieter, more confidential tone, "Claire's gonna wanna
have a word or two with ya when ya show up t'morrow. I told her about how you
were starin' at that top-heavy brunette back at th' club, before th' brass
knuckle gang came after us. I think she was a little jealous."
Hobbes frowned. "Fawkes, you were the one staring at the brunette!"
"Oh yeah," Darien drawled, "You were starin' at the blonde." He paused
for a moment and then said in a teasing tone, "Come t' think of it, she looked a
little like th' Keeper, didn't she?"
Hobbes rolled his eyes and said in a warning tone, "Fawkes..."
Just then there was a loud commotion on the other end of the line,
followed by a distinctly feminine voice saying into the receiver, "I'm sorry,
but Mister Fawkes needs his rest. I'm going to have to ask you to hang up."
Then, before Hobbes had the chance to do so, the person on the other end did so
on their end of the line.
Hobbes shook his head and hung up the phone, laughing. Then he rolled
over and closed his eyes, feeling completely relaxed. Soon, things would be back
to normal. He would be able to watch Darien's back, just like always. But one
thing was for sure; he would be going to great lengths to avoid any more 'milk
runs'.
The End
