This is a stand-alone story. It's dark, twisted, and in no way related to anything I've ever written.
Every warning that can be considered, consider it. Everything but rape and deviant acts of sexuality, anyway. :-)
And for those of you who have to know if it's slash or gen before you read...it's whatever you want it to be, brothers. You read as much into it as you want to.
And please don't flame me later 'cause it's not a happy story. There's nothing happy about this story. Nothing at all. If that's a problem for ya, don't subject yourself to it. Feedback, though, is gratefully accepted no matter what you think.
Okay, enough prologue. Enjoy.
***
"Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."
R.D. Lang
***
The door's locked.
No problem. I was expecting that. Of the few times I've come by here lately, it's always been locked. And I always lock it when I leave.
It's only polite.
Cold air drafts out from the apartment. The chill doesn't surprise me.
I knew it would be cold in here.
But I don't know how I knew.
I come in, wrapping my arms around me a little. I'm wearing a jacket, but it's colder in here than it is outside.
Out of curiosity, I look at the thermostat. It's set at fifty. Lowest setting.
I look at it, but make no move to change it. It's like that for a reason, right?
My mind drifts, and I turn to look around the apartment.
"Bobby?" I try experimentally.
No one answers.
No one ever answers.
My sharp eyes scout every inch of the living room. There's no sign of life in this apartment.
I wonder suddenly, when does his lease come up?
Does it matter?
Yeah, I know it does. I'm not sure why, but it does. Other people can't come in here. I have to keep the rest of the world outside. This place is his. His and mine, that's it.
A flash catches in the corner of my eye, and I glance over. The answering machine. The little orange light is flashing on and off insistently.
I wander over. It could be an invasion of privacy listening to his messages, but since I left most of them, it doesn't really matter. Right?
I lean down and press the button. As the little voices come out I wander around more.
"Bobby?"
I recognize my own voice out of the machine. I sound scared, and I instantly know what call this is.
"Are you there? It's Fawkes…" There's a pause, but of course no one picks up, so my voice goes on. "Listen, Bobby. I know I told you I could make it through the night without a shot, but it's getting bad. I think I should go to the Lab. You want to...you think you could help..." Another pause. My thoughts get so scattered when I feel that madness coming. "Bobby? I'm gonna come by your place. I might need your help. If you're there, please pick up. I need help. Please."
I'm impressed, listening in. Two pleases in a row. I must have been scared off my ass.
"Look, if you're there, I'll see you in a few. If you're not there when I show up…I guess I'll try and make it to the lab. Bobby? It's…it's close. I'll see you soon."
There's a beep. My eyes wander to the kitchen, and my legs follow absently.
He loved this kitchen. Symbol of pride for him that he could cook for himself after his divorce. He cooked for me a few times.
Maybe he will again.
The machine beeps. My voice comes out again, sounding pretty normal. Pretty amused. "Hey, Bobby? You're gonna have to get a tardy slip before you come to class. Imagine, I get here on time and you don't. If you're sleeping you'd better get the hell up. Lazy."
Another beep.
Me again. "Bobby? Where are you, buddy? Even I never sleep in this late. Work's waiting, and the fat man's getting annoyed. You'd better be on your way."
I look over the rows of spices, the fancy knife set. He has a couple of those square over mitt things hanging over the oven. Go figure.
Beep.
"Agent Hobbes? This is Eberts. I'm calling to check on your whereabouts. I have to inform you that if you don't show up at all today, you will be docked on your next paycheck. The Official has a very important assignment for you and your partner, and we need you here. Thank you."
I pick up one of the knives and hold it up. I can see my reflection, warped and distorted, in the thing. He keeps them polished and clean. Another little surprise.
I'll bet they're sharp.
I test it to find out. I place the blade of the knife against the palm of my hand, and put the slightest pressure on, dragging it across my skin.
Sure enough. I suppose I should feel some pain, but the blood distracts me. Just a thin red line, welling up onto my skin. Not enough to be worried about.
I drop the knife on the counter and stare at my hand. Experimentally I make a fist.
Beep.
"Robert Hobbes, you should be ashamed of yourself." It's the proper English voice of my Keeper, sounding not very proper at all. "First you don't help Darien get to me in time to prevent his quicksilver rage, and then you don't show up for work and make everyone worry about you. Whatever's going on through your head, just take your pills, silence those voices, and get to work."
That's cute, her getting mad on my behalf. Defending her Kept from the one person I actually trust.
Beep.
"Hobbes. If you don't call us I'm coming over there. It's after lunch and you're starting to scare me. This better not be some kind of joke, partner. If it's about last night, no big deal. Don't listen to Claire. It wasn't your fault you weren't home when I called, right? Right. So get in touch with us soon."
Beep.
"Hobbes. This is the Official. I'm not happy. Get your ass in here."
I smile at that. As if the Official thought his voice would bring obedience where I had failed. Silly man. You're his boss, maybe. But I'm his partner. And he would betray you ten times over for me.
It hurts suddenly. My hand hurts, my head hurts. My gut clenches, and I feel this familiar panic start to come over me.
It's hard to breathe. Jesus, this scares me. I need Bobby to make it stop. I know he could, if he was here.
Beep.
"Bobby? I'm in the van. I'm on my way. You'd better be sick or dead when I get there, pal. Otherwise you've just pissed a lot of people off."
I smile at that, and the pain recedes. I smile as I look over the kitchen and turn my back on the small area. I drift over to the couch and sit down for a moment, feeling how far back I sink.
It's not so cold in here anymore. I'm used to it now. I knew I would get used to it.
Beep.
"Bobby? It's Claire. It's been three days. I know it's probably silly calling you like this, but if there's any chance you can get these messages, please respond to us. Darien is worried sick, and…well, we all are. You know I wasn't serious the other day. I'm not angry with you. No one is. We just need to know you're okay. Please. If nothing else, call Darien."
Beep
."The Keeper said she called you. I laughed at her. What good would it do? If you were home listening to your messages, we'd know where you were, then problem solved, right? But now…I dunno. It's almost like talking to you. Bobby, we're doing everything we can. We're going through all our old cases, we're looking into everyone in your past who isn't dead or in jail. We'll find out who has you. I promise."
I was so damned determined. Ridiculous. It isn't going to last, though. I know that. I was only determined for a day or two, before the flashes started coming over me.
I stand up from the couch and wander over to the bathroom door. I walk in and flip the light on.
I can still hear the machine.
Beep.
"Bobby? It's Viv. I haven't heard from you in a while. Just wondering how you're doing. We're having a little get together for friends on Friday. If you'd like to come. Brock told me to invite you; it's okay with him, really. I'd love it if you came. Some of our old friends miss you."
Beep.
"It's me again. Calling this damned machine. You're a great guy and all, Bobby, but that message you have is damned irritating. That James Bond shtick is getting old."
I hear myself sigh into the phone.
"Anyway. So far no luck. But I guess you know that. I don't think this is going to do much good. I'm going to come by the apartment again. There might be a clue. Maybe I'll see you there, huh?" I laugh, but it sounds tired.
I look into the bathroom mirror. The guy staring back at me blinks when I blink, which clues me in that it's me. Strange, looking at myself and listening to myself.
My eyes are red. It's not from the gland, but they're red all the same. Bloodshot and red-rimmed. Big bags under them. I look about ten years older than normal. I think some of my hair is going gray at the temple.
Funny, huh? I'm getting old. Thirty four and I'm getting old.
I miss Bobby.
I shut my eyes for a second, to fight off the attack I know I'm going to have. It hurts. My head hurts. My brain. And not because of that bastard gland. It's a different reason. Like my brain is thinking poisoned thoughts, and it's killing me off slowly.
Beep.
"Bobby?" I sound shaky again, like I did that first message. "I had this dream. Jesus, I wish you would pick up the phone. I don't understand it, but I know I was nuts, you know, and I was fighting with someone. I was scratching with my nails, really hard. Like so hard I could feel strips of skin under my nails from whoever I was…I can't go back to sleep. I'm scared I'll have that dream again."
I smile into the mirror. The bony-looking skull smiles in the glass. Bony skull with a big mop of tangled brown hair. Sick image.
Another flash. That dream. I've had that dream a lot of nights now. Scratching. I'm scratching the hell out of someone. Scratching chunks out of them. There's blood and the color of flesh, but that's all I can see clearly. I can't even hear anything. Just muffled air like a vacuum in my brain, and flashes of color blurred in front of me.
Beep.
"You know, maybe this person in my dream is the person that took you. If it is, I could do this to them. It's sick, but when I find them I'll scratch their eyes out if I can. I miss you."
Beep.
"Bobby? This is Doctor Adams. You missed your appointment yesterday. Do you really think that's healthy? I'd like to talk to you as soon as I can. Call my office and leave a number where I can reach you with Sheila. Thanks."
Beep.
"I'm going nuts, Bobby. It's like what the gland does to me, only it's not."
I turn at the sound of that voice. That's me, but it sounds like a more familiar me than the others have. This is me now.
"Remember that night? The first night you didn't answer your phone? I went nuts then. It was the gland. And the Keeper found me in the van tearing at the equipment. She gave me a shot. And the rage went away. The red eyes went away. But I don't think the insanity left. I keep seeing things. I keep hearing things. I can hear your voice saying things. And I know you're there. I know where you are. But I have to keep looking for you. I don't want to be like this anymore."
I leave the light on when I leave the bathroom. Usually I don't. Usually I leave everything just the way I found it. But tonight is different. I won't leave tonight.
"Fawkes. I got your call. Come on in."
I shut my eyes against that voice. His voice, in my head. It hurts me. It starts those flashes and voices and the pain in my head. It makes me more insane.
Beep.
"Bobby. I have to keep them out. The Official wanted to send some other agents to your place to look for clues. I told him no. I fought with him for hours. I can't let them in. No one else can be there. You and me. It's our place. Just ours. They wouldn't understand anything anyway. I miss you. I want to come see you."
Beep.
"You're my best friend. I can't…Jesus, you hear me? I can't stop these stupid tears. I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm so sorry this happened. I want you back. Please."
I drift away from the bathroom door. There's no hurry tonight. No one will come here until tomorrow. And they'll invade this place that's mine and Bobby's. And they won't understand.
But by then it won't matter.
I wander to the closed door of the bedroom. This is it. If I go in, I can't come out.
But there's no other choice. If I turned and left this apartment, what's there for me? I can't leave here. It's his place and mine. We can be together here.
Beep.
"I'm going to be with you, Bobby. I know where you are. I'm on my way. We'll be together, partner. You and me."
The Keeper will be worried when I don't come to work. She'll send agents to my apartment, but they won't find anything.
Eventually, maybe in a day or two, the Official will send other agents here. And they'll know.
I open the door to the bedroom.
The air is even colder. I can hear the soft whirring of three different fans, recycling cold air through the room.
Despite the cold, a faint smell is growing.
I go to the dresser. I don't know how I know where everything is, but I don't even hesitate. I slide open the drawer and look down at the rows of pill bottles.
They shouldn't have done this to Bobby. He wasn't crazy. Never crazy. Not any crazier than I am.
I am. I'm crazy. Part of me knows it. What went on is too hard for me to deal with. I can't accept it.
There are no more beeps from the living room. No more voices. We're alone now.
I turn to the bed for a moment. "Why did you let me in?"
His eyes stare out at the ceiling, wide and sightless. Like always. His hands are stiff. His whole body is stiff.
I turn back to the drawer and pull out a few of the bottles. I open them one by one and spill the contents onto the dresser top. "If you hadn't let me in, none of this would have happened." I speak softly, but keep it casual. I won't attack him for this. Or anything else. "I know, I know. I'm your partner. You trust me." I grin and shake my head.
Once I have every bottle opened and every pill on the dresser, except the ones that are rolling around on the ground now, I leave the room for a brief moment. I got to the kitchen.
He loved this kitchen. He could cook for himself. And for me. Him and me.
I open a cupboard and grab the biggest cup I can find.
Then I head for the bathroom.
On the way I pass the answering machine. The little light isn't blinking anymore.
I look down at it for a moment. My voice is on there. And when they come, they'll hear it. They'll know.
I don't want them to know.
I hit the button and hear the mechanical whirring that means the messages are being erased.
With a pleased smile, I head for the bathroom. The light is on, and I can see my reflection clearly.
Skull. Skull and brown hair and sunken in eyes. I'm already dead.
I reach down and turn on the faucet, and let some warm water fill up that cup. My eyes drift up to my face again, and I smile. I'm pleased. Me and Bobby will be here alone together for a while.
I always knew where he was. But I was still sane at first, and I let myself forget. I actually spent time looking for him.
I always knew. I knew what happened. And I need to let myself remember that. I know. And he knows. So when our voices are quiet, know one else ever will know exactly what happened.
And that's good. It's for me and him. Us only.
I feel water spill over the top of the glass onto my hand, and I turn the faucet off.
I drift out of the bathroom. I leave the light on. I like it that way.
I go into the bedroom and shut the door behind me.
I go to the bed and sit at the edge. "It was your fault. You let me in. You knew what could happen."
His eyes stare at the ceiling. His hands are curled into frozen claws. His expression is one of horror.
And his body. His neck, his throat. His chest. Scratched. Torn so badly there are strips of skin missing. His face. His cheeks.
I think it was the throat that killed him. It happened slowly, so I don't know. I think when I was scratching I pushed too hard and crushed his throat.
I smile down at him. "But it doesn't matter now. Does it?"
He doesn't answer.
Silence is consent, right?
I reach down and pat his shoulder. Just like when we were partners.
We'll be partners again.
I stand up and go to the dresser. I scoop up a handful of pills. With some effort and a lot of water, I swallow them all.
"Fawkes. I got your call. Come on in."
"Bobby. I can't…it's coming."
"Hey, partner, it's okay. Let me go grab a jacket, and I'll get you to the Keep. This has happened before, kid."
"Bobby…"
"Darien, hang on. Shit, your eyes are already…"
I scoop some more pills and swallow. The voices get quieter.
"Darien. You don't want to do this, kid. Let me get you to the Keeper. She's got a new batch ready, didn't she tell us that?"
"Bobby. I am so tired of you telling me what to do. You think you know more about my head than I do?"
"Hey. Relax. I'm your partner. I'm on your side."
Scoop. Swallow. And I can hardly hear the voices, though I know what they say.
"Fawkes! Kid, come on! I don't want to have to hurt you!"
"Hurt me? You think you could hurt me? That's a good one, Bobby. Coming from a psychotic loser like you. You've been kicked out of every agency that really matters, and you think you're better than me?"
"Darien, stop it!"
"Shut up!"
"Let me go, Fawkes. You don't wanna--"
"Never tell me what I want! I know my own god damned mind, you fucking lunatic!"
"Darien, please!"
And then a scream.
I shut my eyes and bring up more pills. Don't know how many I've swallowed, or what they are. But it's good. I'm already feeling tired.
"Oh God, please. Stop it!"
Strangled voice, unintelligible.
I scoop and swallow until there are no more pills on the table. Until my stomach feels like I just had a seven course meal. I'm full.
I laugh, delighted. Full.
I go to the bed, stumbling on the way. The voices have stopped. I'm too far from them now. I'm closer to Bobby. We'll be partners again now.
Moment of clarity. I killed him. And I couldn't live knowing that. So I lost my mind. Strange how the world works.
But quick as it came, the sanity's gone. And all I know is that he's lying there waiting for me, and I'm joining him now.
I sit at the edge of the bed again and turn a bleary smile his way. His eyes haven't moved, but I could swear he sees right through me.
And as it gets darker around me, I hear a voice mumbling at the same time that I feel my lips moving thickly.
"You shouldn't have let me in."