To Pip
With Love From Krys
Title: Worst Case Scenario
Author: Krysalys
Email: http;/home. The Invisible Man
Genre (general, hetero or slash): General
Pairing/Characters: None
Rating: R
Summary: Darien's doing some last-minute shopping, but Arnaud already has plans in motion for a very merry Christmas indeed… just not one that Darien will much like.
Warnings: The tiniest bit of "on scene" violence in the first part (I plan on having some nasty violent tendencies be revealed in future chapters of this fic though); lots of swearing; graphic sexuality in a dream; and angst outta the Ying-Yang in this story. Be prepared to use a lot of tissues and rope, 'cause I get kinda nasty in this one…
Notes: Relevant song(s) - "Bravado" by Rush, "Bring Me To Life" by Evanessence, "Drift and Die" by Puddle of Mud, "Disappear" by Metallica, "Saint Anger", "Minus Human" and "One" by Metallica, "Somewhere I Belong" by Linkin Park (you'd think I was a metal-head or something… wink )
Let's see: timeframe is set in a post-cure Christmas.
No spoilers that I can think of. What would I spoil anyway? Other than that warm fuzzy holiday afterglow…
Sue-age? Only at Sci-Fi, my friends.
snort Seriously, I have less than no money, so I could care less if someone wanted to sue me. Join the line… take a friggin' number. NEXT!
And to answer a question: I'm writing this bit of wickedness to stretch my mental muscles – so to speak. Gotta exercise the brain sometime, right? ;-p
Merry friggin' Christmas indeed.
Bravado - RUSH1 2
If we burn our wingsWhen the dust has cleared
Flying too close to the sunAnd victory denied
If the moment of gloryA summit too lofty
Is over before it's begunRiver a little too wide
If the dream is won – If we keep our pride –
Though everything is lostThough paradise is lost
We will pay the price,We will pay the price,
But we will not count the costBut we will not count the cost
3
And if the music stops
There's only the sound of the rain
All the hope and glory
All the sacrifice in vain
If love remains
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price,
But we will not count the cost
Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the
season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year was
preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around him, and
amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and calmly away.
Charles Dickens The Pickwick Papers
It was fast approaching on Christmas, and Darien still had absolutely no idea what presents to get everyone. Chanukah was long over, and he just knew that he needed to get Hobbes something different than the antiquated dreidle he'd picked up at that antique bazaar. His partner just hadn't seemed all that impressed with it; but then Darien was wondering if it was the holiday doldrums that was getting his partner down so much.
This is the last year I'm gonna see him moping about like a kicked dog, the lanky agent mused to himself as he munched on his breakfast - an English muffin spread with some of Claire's homemade jam. I'm the one who's supposed to be unmedicated and depressive here. No need to have Hobbes hop onto the downtrodden train too.
He finished off the muffin and licked a few small bits of strawberry off of his fingertips. Who'd ever think that Claire'd have the time to make this kinda stuff? he wondered in amusement. And of all things: strawberry jelly? He chuckled as his mind tried to wrap itself around the image of his Keeper in her kitchen, with an apron on, her hair in a ponytail, wearing that short and tight little brown skirt and heels…
Darien shook his head. Damn, those images have been breaking into his thoughts more and more often lately. He always thought of Claire as more of a sister than a sex symbol, but since she was the only friendly woman he interacted with on a daily basis, he figured that might have something to do with his increasing difficulty in concentrating on everyday stuff. Stuff, like wondering when she'd have the time or energy to act like a normal human being.
Ah, well. One more thing he could tease her about…
He smiled in anticipation. He just loved making Claire blush. She looked so cute when the blood rushed to her cheeks: the way her eyes twinkled in embarrassment and rising anger, how her expressive lips parted just the tiniest bit…
Speaking of rising… Darien growled in irritation at his immediate physical response to his wandering thoughts. He really needed to get laid soon, or he'd more than likely end up doing something stupid in front of Claire. And that just wouldn't do. Especially if Hobbes were in the room at the same time: Darien could just imagine his partner's reaction… the hurt look rapidly changing into disbelief and then anger… the gun coming out of his holster… the reports deafening everyone in the room as the bullets tore through Darien's body…
Shit, I'm fucking losing it! Darien thwapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. I need a friggin' vacation. No cases, no Hobbes, no Keepie, no anyone. Just me somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, all alone with some peace and quiet. Hmmm, not a bad idea. Not bad at all, he mused. Yeah, it was definitely way past time for the Invisible Man to make himself scarce for awhile. Once Christmas was over, he'd give his written notice and fade off into the scenery for a few weeks. And only come back once he'd gotten some of this garbage in his head worked out.
Now that Darien was free from Quicksilver madness, he didn't have to worry about how long he was away from the Agency or when he was due for his next shot. One massive demon down, only a few dozen more little ones to exorcise from his troubled mind.
Awright, this was getting him nowhere. Presents weren't going to buy themselves, and Darien only had two more days of shopping left. Time to move his lazy ass and get this over with. And don't forget about Christmas dinner, he reminded himself as he snagged his black leather jacket from the barstool at the counter. It's my turn to host this year, and I promised I'd make 'em a roast goose that'd knock their friggin' socks off. Hell, no one can beat Aunt Celia's family recipe. That thought reminded him to get a little something for his sweet Aunt as well… and to make sure the apartment was properly cleaned up. The last thing he wanted was to have her tsk-tsking his bachelor's messiness.
Darien strode through his front door, turned and locked it securely.
Bobby Hobbes was in the midst of a doozy of a dream: he was in Claire's lab, naked of all things, with only a sprig of mistletoe tied onto his… well, you know… with a soft and silky red ribbon. A very feminine Santa was perched on the exam chair, beckoning for him to come closer.
'Come, Bobby,' Monroe's voice cajoled. 'Come sit on Santa's five-star lap and tell her what you want for the holidays.' Her eyes twinkled in merriment as she gestured at his almost painfully engorged member. 'Come for Santa…' she purred, and two scantily clad elven maids came from out of nowhere to caress his muscled arms. One petite hand dropped to caress his butt cheek before suddenly swatting him, jolting him into motion towards the beckoning Santa Alex. He really looked at the woman before him as he advanced in a bemused stupor, and realized that she wasn't wearing anything else other than a massive white feather boa artfully wrapped around her tanned, naked body.
'This is too weird,' he found himself murmuring. 'I gotta be dreamin' here.'
'Why?' Santa Alex pouted. 'Don't you like me Bobby?'
'Of course I do, Monroe,' he replied absently. 'But you and I both know you'd rather tear off my head and crap down my neck before you'd ever let me see you like… this.' He indicated her lack of attire with a quick nod of his head.
'But as you said, Bobby,' she replied huskily, 'This is only a dream. And you can do whatever you want in it.' Her eyes narrowed seductively, and she uncrossed her legs in invitation. 'Anything…'
He blinked as he realized that her words rung true. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment before tentatively reopening them. Suddenly Alex was dressed up like Mrs. Klaus, still looking beautiful even though she was no longer the temptress.
'Thank you Bobby,' she smiled her thanks. 'That was so embarrassing… I'd just have to kill you, even if this is only a dream.' She slid off of the exam chair and smoothed the crinkles in her red dress. 'I think it's time for me to go get the oven started. Can't have Santa go without the cookies and milk, can we? I usually do chocolate chip, but this year,' she suddenly grinned, 'I think he'll appreciate oatmeal. Hmmm, with just a sprinkling of my special ingredient,' she finished with an evil twinkle in her eye. 'I'll leave you to your dream, dear boy.' Her fingers lightly trailed up his arm to his shoulder as she passed by him. 'Just remember, Bobby. Sometimes your dreams don't turn out exactly as you plan.' She patted him once, and gently sashayed out through the lab door.
He wondered what she meant by that. At least, until he turned around.
"Bobby?"
'Not now,' he replied distractedly. 'I'm 'bout ta get the mother of all Chanukah gifts.' He grinned goofily.
"Hobbes, dude, I am so gonna regret this, but wake the hell up!"
"Mmmmrmph," the depilated agent grumbled as he cracked open an eyelid. "Fawkes? This'd better be a fuckin' emergency."
"Unfortunately, it is. We got a case," Darien replied tightly from across the bed. He'd made sure he was out of his partners' reach when he woke him up. Judging from the giant erection tenting up the sheets, Darien had correctly guessed that Hobbes would kill anyone standing too close when he was brought out of this particular erotic dream.
"Better be Arnaud," Hobbes loosened his grip on the small pistol he kept under his pillow as he rolled over on his side. He scrubbed at his face for a few moments and yawned before he swiveled around and sat up.
"Yup."
The strained quality in Darien's voice brought up warning bells in Hobbes' mind, and he twisted around to glance at his friend in concern. "Fawkes, whazzup?"
The lanky man turned away to open the shades a little and glance out the bedroom window. He hesitated a moment as he gathered his wits enough to utter the horrible news.
"Fuckin' bastard's gassed Santa's Village at the mall," he grated out. Suddenly his fist smashed through the window as his fury exploded. He drew back his arm and struck the remaining glass two more times before Hobbes could sprint across the room and restrain him.
He pulled Darien away from the window and shoved him into the chair by the bed. Blood was flowing rapidly from multiple gashes on the man's arm, some of which had shards of glass still embedded in them. Darien didn't seem to notice though; his eyes were unfocused as he finally allowed himself to be consumed with grief and rage. Both of his hands balled up into white fists as he unconsciously moved to punch something… anything nearby.
"Fawkes! Darien, for Chrissakes, snap outta it!" Hobbes shouted as he grabbed the other man's arms to keep his friend from hurting himself further.
Darien wrenched his uninjured arm away and swung at Hobbes unseeingly.
He ducked the furious shot easily and pinned both arms down onto the chair. Darien yelped in pain as Hobbes unintentionally dug a finger into one of the slashes on his wrist. "Darien, calm down, man," Hobbes spoke soothingly. "Take a deep breath. C'mon, ya gotta breathe sometime. That's it," he crooned as the grief-stricken man sucked in a shaky breath. "Do that again, nice and slow. Good man. Now, one more time… Gooooood." He eased his grip and leaned back on his heels to take a few deep breaths of his own. "Now, think you can tell me what happened?"
The look in his partners' eyes was terrifying: so many emotions boiling way too close to the surface showed that Darien was being torn up inside. Almost literally. Hobbes desperately wanted to grab his phone and call Claire so she could get over there and give Darien an obviously much-needed sedative, but it was on the dresser on the other side of the bed.
"No," Darien whispered without blinking. His eyes remained unfocused on a point in the air just over Hobbes' shoulder.
"Okay, you just sit here for a minute. I'm callin' The Keeper," Hobbes advised as he stood and quickly strode around the bed to retrieve his phone. He snagged it from its cradle and returned to his post in front of his despairing friend. He began to dial the direct line to Claire's lab, but was interrupted by his partner's quiet voice.
"No."
"What?" His thumb hovered over the final number.
Darien finally blinked, and his chestnut eyes focused on his anxious partner. "It's all my fault."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"I was there."
Hobbes' eyebrows drew together in realization. "You were at the mall this morning?"
The stricken look in his partners' eyes was all the answer he needed. Hobbes found himself physically biting back the words of recrimination that sprang to his lips: Arnaud had sent Darien another one of those insipid gift baskets two weeks ago with a note promising that he'd catch the invisible agent alone and unguarded… and then make him wish he were dead. It was obvious that Hobbes' censure would only compound Darien's anguish over what had happened.
"Tell me," was all he could say. Most of the wounds on Darien's arm seemed to be clotting as the blood flow slowed down, so he should be okay for a few more minutes while he got this off of his chest, Hobbes figured.
"I know I'm not supposed to be goin' out alone right now, since he'd threatened to get me when I was away from you," the wiry man began. "But, I had a couple'a things I just had to get… for… everyone…" he trailed off for a moment as tears suddenly welled up in his eyes. "I had everyone's present but Eberts. Couldn't figure what the hell to get 'im, and was passing by the center area of the mall. They actually had this deer; maybe it was a reindeer, that actually had a red nose, so I guess it was supposed to be Rudolph. There must'a been thirty, thirty-five kids in line, waiting to ask for a rocking horse, or a Game-Boy or, or somethin'. He… he…" Darien's voice choked. "He was dressed up like fuckin' Santa, for Chrissakes! He had this little girl sittin' on his lap… an'… an'…"
"Oh, shit," Hobbes murmured in shock. He could just see what that Swiss-Miss motherfucker had done, even before Darien could get it out. His finger semi-consciously pressed down on the last number, and Claire's phone began to ring in the lab.
The tears streamed freely down Darien's face. His eyes were unfocused again as he relived the experience from only a couple of hours earlier. "He patted her head, an' pulled out this mask, an' pulled this, this thing from outta his sack an'… an'… jus' tossed it in the middle of the crowd'a kids," his voice started out as a whisper, but rose until it was just nigh of a bellow. "And he smiled at me! He fuckin' grinned like he'd just hit the fuckin' lottery… an' the little girl started screamin'… they all started screamin', and… he… just… fuckin'… laughed…" he clawed reflexively at the chair as he curled up around his grief and anguish, before falling onto the floor.
"Hello?" Claire's worried voice drifted into Hobbes' ear for the third time.
"It's Darien. Get over to my place," he snapped.
"Keep him still," she instructed. "I heard everything."
"Too late fer that, put his arm through my window," Hobbes growled. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill that bastard… nice an' slow." The veins stood out on his forehead and neck as his rage searched for an outlet.
"Later. Right now Darien needs you, Bobby. I'll be there in five minutes," Claire ordered and hung up.
Her terse words gave him a focus for all of his energy, and he dropped the phone on the bed as he knelt down beside his friend. Darien was sobbing so hard he was making himself gag. Hobbes wrapped his arms around his partner and hugged him for all he was worth, at least until Darien suddenly threw up. Hobbes shifted his hold and picked up the much-taller man. He half-carried him to the bathroom and set the quivering man on his partially visible knees in front of the toilet, where Darien continued to vomit until he was dry heaving.
Once the contents were safely flushed, Hobbes picked up his friend as if he were weightless and gently set the fully clothed man in the tub. He turned on the faucets full blast and filled the tub with hot water as Darien continued to sob uncontrollably.
Hobbes turned off the water, knelt beside the tub and carefully began to unbutton his friends' shirt. It was only then that he noticed that the burnt umber cloth was completely soiled with various colored stains, including blood. Darien didn't protest or fight the gentle hands moving about him. Hobbes pulled the shirt completely off and carefully hung it up at the bathroom door before quickly returning to his friends' side. Darien's almost convulsive shivering had eased a bit, and he huddled in the steaming water with his face pressed against his knees.
Claire unlocked the apartment door with the spare key Hobbes had given her months before. As she set down her medical kit by her feet and quietly shut and secured the locks, she heard the water faucets squeak as Hobbes turned them off in the bathroom. Good, she thought with approval as she removed her clunky shoes and set them beside a pair of Hobbes' by the doorsill. He's doing exactly what I would have. With what had happened, Darien must have gone well into shock by now. She scooped up her satchel and quickly made her way to the bathroom.
At the door, she paused for a moment as she was struck with the tableau ensuing at the tub. Darien was huddled in a sitting fetal position in a tub almost overflowing with steaming pink water, with Hobbes in his boxer shorts gently massaging the overly taut muscles on his naked back. The amazing thing was that it seemed to be relaxing the distraught man, even if it was minutely. Claire had just finished speaking to The Official when Hobbes had called her: she had been packing her satchel when the lab phone had rung, certain in her mind that she would find Darien in a coma-like state of shock... wherever he was.
But here he was, despondent, bleeding, half-dressed and sopping wet in his best friends' bathtub, and all she could think about was how lucky her patient was to have such a devoted and caring friend as Bobby Hobbes. Claire's respect for the grossly underestimated older agent grew, and she felt a warm mournful smile come unbidden to her lips.
Hobbes' uncanny Spidey-sense kicked in, and he glanced up to see Claire smiling sadly at his partner. In the dark recesses of his mind, jealously flared as the lovesick part of him fervently wished she would think of him and smile like that. Little did he know that Hobbes was the reason for her current tender expression…
She noticed his sober regard, and instantly her working persona fell into place. She quietly pushed the bathroom door wider and softly padded over to Hobbes' side. She knelt down and opened her satchel as she whispered, "How is he?"
Hobbes continued to rub his partner's back. "Well, he ain't ready to go kick-dancin' with the Rockettes anytime soon," he quipped in light sarcasm. "But he's better than I'd be in his situation. At least from what he could tell me what'd happened," he finished sotto voce.
"It was a massacre, Bobby," Claire whispered into his ear. She didn't want Darien to be any further aggravated by what they were discussing, so she kept what she said very brief. "I'll fill you in on the details once we have him stabilized."
Hobbes nodded, and Claire gently set her hand on the back of Darien's head. "Darien, it's Claire. Can you hear me?"
"Contrary to what others may think, I'm not dead right now Keepie," his muffled voice flatly drifted out from between his raised knees. Even with the water occasionally lapping over the edges of the tub, the lanky agent was so frickin' tall that his knees and a good two inches of his legs still stuck up out of the water. Just enough for him to rest his forehead on them, as he was doing.
"Who thinks you're dead, partner?" Hobbes asked in concern. "You didn't breathe in any of that…" his words were cut off by the harsh glare Claire shot at him.
"I don't think so," Darien replied tonelessly. "But he was right: I don't deserve to live after what I did today. Or didn't do, as the case may be."
"Darien, I'm going to give you a sedative so you can rest," Claire bit back her emotional knee-jerk response to the self-loathing in his voice. "Understandably, you're in shock, and your body needs time to recover. As well as the rest of you. I'll deal with the cuts on your arm once we have you in bed," she soothed as she quickly prepped the hypodermic.
His only response was to lift the arm closest to her so that she had easy access to the veins on the inside of his elbow. She smoothly injected the drug, warning Hobbes, "You'd better drain the tub now, Bobby. This sedative only takes a minute to take effect, and it will be more difficult to get Darien into bed if he's unconscious."
Hobbes merely nodded as he snagged a thick terrycloth bathrobe from a hook on the wall behind the tub and popped the drain plug. Darien almost immediately began to violently shiver as the water quickly drained away and allowed the air to chill his wet body.
Claire wrapped one of Darien's arms around her shoulders and helped him to stand, and Hobbes immediately draped the warm robe around his friends' shoulders. Darien gamely attempted to smile his thanks, but it only came out as a sick grimace. With Hobbes and Claire supporting him on either side, he managed to stumble into Hobbes' bedroom and collapse onto the bed.
Claire helped Hobbes pull the heavy covers up to Darien's chin before she sat down on the bed to check his pulse. It was slowing down, but was still thready enough to warrant concern. He didn't fight the drugs' effects washing over his still violently shivering body, and his eyelids drooped and finally closed on his anguished gaze.
"He's really scaring me," Hobbes murmured aloud. He leaned on the wall on the other side of the bed from Claire and folded his arms so she couldn't see them shaking.
"Rightfully so," Claire replied just as quietly, even though there was no way that Darien could hear their conversation now. "Arnaud knew just how to make him feel completely responsible for what had happened. I think Darien's going to need constant supervision for some time," she warned. She began to pull out supplies from her bag: disinfectant, topical antibiotic gel, gauze, scissors, tweezers and a plastic bag for the shards of glass she still needed to pull out from some of the wounds.
"You mean, like, a suicide watch?" Hobbes' eyes looked as if they were going to tear over any second.
"I'm afraid so. Arnaud's nerve gas bombs killed around fifty people… most of them children," her voice thickened with the last word. "I'm quite surprised that Darien hasn't inhaled any of the gas, considering he was trying to get as many of the children out of the kill zone as possible." Which reminded her, she needed to draw some blood as soon as possible so she could test it for any of the neurotoxins in the gas.
A tear welled up in one eye and slid down her face to her chin as she remembered the details of The Official's brief report. The effects of the gas were agonizing body-wide pain, followed by severe vomiting, seizures and paralysis quickly followed by death. It was a horrible way to die, and Arnaud had strolled out of the kill-zone unscathed, grinning like a man without a care in the world from behind the safety of his gas mask.
"There was nothing Darien could have done to stop him," she whispered as she finished bandaging the still-bleeding gashes on the unconscious man's arm.
"Except to have stayed home," Hobbes replied scathingly. "And that rat-bastard knew it. He just knew Fawkes would wanna sneak out an' get us all presents for the holiday, and he knew exactly the best way to torture him. Gawd-damned mutha fuckin' psycho bastard cocksucker!" he gritted out between clenched teeth. Now Hobbes wanted nothing more than to destroy something… like every single bone in that Swiss-Miss mothers' stinkin' body…
Claire rose and quickly crossed the room to him, and wrapped Hobbes securely in her arms. "He just would have found another way to get to Darien," she soothed. "Bobby, there was nothing any of us could have done to stop Arnaud this time. We just didn't have the information…"
Hobbes clenched his fists at his hips. "We could'a stopped him with a couple'a dozen bullets to his stinkin' head," he growled deeply. "I could'a known better and kept a better eye on Fawkes. I, we…" Now the tears were freely flowing down his and Claire's faces, and Hobbes felt the tight rein on his emotions slipping. He suddenly wrapped his arms around Claire's narrow waist and clung to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from drowning in the sea of rage boiling within his mind.
"We'll get through this, Bobby," Claire whispered into his neck as she allowed her tears of grief to soak the collar of his t-shirt. "We'll get Darien through this. We have to."
He didn't respond as he just gazed on his partner's anguished expression, even in a deeply drug-induced sleep. He wasn't about to lose another partner, especially this one. And he swore on Rudolph's blinking red nose that once and for all… Arnaud was going to be stopped. Permanently…
TBC...