"A Taste of Vindication"
by CritterKeeper
Dressed in sweats and a loose T-shirt, his feet bare, Darien stood in the center of his apartment, at rest, concentrating on his breathing. Slowly, when in seemed natural to begin moving, he started the daoyin exercises he'd been taught in the Agency compound when he first had to learn how to control the gland.
When he started, it had all seemed so goofy, talk of channeling the body's energy, the Qi, and of Buddha breathing vs. Taoist breathing. Just a bunch of guys who'd seen Star Wars too many times. But he had to admit, they'd given him pretty good control. And more than that, Darien found that he enjoyed the exercises. He could feel himself becoming both more relaxed and more alert, at rest but ready to move with great energy at a moment's notice. He'd never experienced anything like it in his old life.
Aware that the Official and the Keeper would never believe him if he told them he needed a shot of counteragent because he'd been practicing his control, rather than some nefarious or frivolous purpose, he focused only on his physical body, feeling each muscle tensing and relaxing, each tendon sliding and stretching. He was starting to work up a sweat, and he deliberately increased the trickle at the back of his neck, then a minute later brought it to a stop. It was child's play compared to controlling quicksilver, but good practice nonetheless, like the simple, basic movements he was going through now.
He finished the exercise and returned to resting position, tensing his abdomen as he breathed in and relaxing it as he breathed out. He listened to the sounds of the apartment, the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of a clock, the traffic noises outside.
Against the quiet background, the knock on his door was loud and harsh. He completed the breath he'd just begun, quietly pleased that it hadn't startled him out of the mood. He allowed his focus to return to the real world, and headed for the door, puzzling over who might be there.
He didn't recognize the young woman. She was a few years younger than he was, Reubenesque in shape, casually well-dressed and biting her lip nervously. His thief's instincts pegged her as money, probably family money which would have bought her enough education to earn some more of her own to keep it company. She struck him as smart and confident enough to do it, too. Nervous now, though, and that made him curious.
When he opened the door, she was just raising her hand to knock again. Her glance took in his casual attire on the way to his face, where they lit with surprised recognition. Her hand hovered a moment, almost as if she wanted to reach out and touch him to confirm he was there, before dropping back to her side, wiping against her skirt nervously.
"Darien Fawkes. So it *is* you...." Again, recognition and surprise.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Darien asked pointedly. Studying her face, he could almost believe he'd seen her somewhere before, a face in a crowd, a vaguely uncomfortable association but one he just couldn't pin down.
She blushed prettily. "Um, no, there's no reason you should remember me. I'm Alice Hartnell. You, uh, knew my grandfather. Not exactly knew, but you..." she trailed off, flustered. She caught herself and straightened, looking him in the eye. "His name was Hiram Cohen."
The name hit him so unexpectedly he just stood open-mouthed for a moment. When he remembered to breathe, it was with none of the calm ease of his earlier exercises. "I think you'd better come in," Darien said, opening the door wider and gesturing her in faintly.
She entered hesitantly, taking in her surroundings the way people always do when entering someone else's home for the first time, trying to learn something about their host whether they realize it or not. When Darien did it, he was usually summing up how much he could get for the electronics and artwork. He led her over to the couch and sat down facing her, bursting with curiosity.
"I take it you remember him?"
"Yeah, I remember him. I remember him on the witness stand, testifying that I....that I did things I know damn well I didn't do." He still felt a hint of shame and embarrassment at the unexpected accusation. "I remember him cheering, with the rest of the courtroom, when the judge sentenced me to life without parole. It's not the sort of thing you forget."
She flushed, looking down away from him at the upholstery. "I was there," she said softly. "At the time, I was glad to hear it too...."
He cut off the surge of anger, mentally taking a deep breath. His temper had gotten him into trouble in the past, but the control he was learning helped him get past that, too, and he was able to see the more important part of her statement. "At the time?" he prodded gently.
She sighed and met his eyes again. "My grandfather died a couple of months ago. He'd been sick, but they didn't expect it just then, and someone ordered an autopsy. They said he'd died of a massive heart attack. They also said...there was evidence it wasn't his first."
The old goat walked in just before the charge Darien had set on the safe had gone off. He could still see him, clutching his chest and collapsing to the floor. Frantically trying to remember what he'd learned about CPR. Overwhelming relief when he finally started breathing again. Darien had tried to get the paramedics to take him, to check out his heart, but by the time they got there, he was very much awake and telling anyone who'd listen that Darien had tried to 'have his way with him.' No one was listening to the thief, caught red-handed, still in the climbing gear he'd used to get in, the remaining charges in his pocket.
"I could have told you that," Darien murmured. "In fact, I think I did."
"I know." She shrugged. "The prosecutor said it was just a story, that you'd been convicted twice before, that you were just trying to get out of a third strike conviction. At the time, I didn't see any reason not to believe him."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She looked confused now. "I thought....I thought my grandfather had sent you to prison for the rest of your life, that you'd been unjustly convicted. I tried to get the prosecutors to reopen the case, but they weren't interested. I thought if I could find you, you could use it as the basis for an appeal." She glanced around the apartment and back at Darien. "I spent weeks trying to track down which prison you'd been transferred to, but no one seemed to know where you'd gone."
"You did all that for me?" Darien didn't think he'd ever had anyone do so much for him, without something in it for them in return.
"And then a man in a suit showed up at my door, and told me to let the matter drop, that it was all taken care of. I didn't believe it, but he said you were out. That you'd straightened out your life. I had to see it for myself."
"And you're okay with it? That the guy who broke into his place to rob him is back walking the streets?"
"Okay with it? Mr. Fawkes, if my grandfather did have a heart attack, and you stayed to do CPR, you saved his life! How could I want you to go to prison for that?"
Honesty warred with self-interest. In the end, it was the months of trying to admit the truth to Casey that were formost in his mind as he sat back down before her.
"Alice, I was a thief. I broke into his place to rob him. Even if he hadn't made that...that accusation, I would have been convicted on the burglary and had my third strike honestly."
"But you wouldn't have been caught if you hadn't stayed to help him! There were no prints, no other witnesses. You could have just left. I know you had a record, you must have known at the time that you were risking life in prison. It was his life or yours, and you chose his."
She had cast him in the role of good guy, and he hated to disabuse her of that notion, but honesty won out again. "Alice, it was all my fault. I had to try to fix it. His heart attack was triggered by the explosives I was using to break into his safe. It was my fault he almost died."
He couldn't read her face. She was thinking, that was all that was clear. When she spoke, it was slowly but thoughtfully.
"He was a very lonely old man. The only time anyone ever came to his apartment was when fresh tanks of oxygen were delivered. If he was that close to having a heart attack, it could have happened at any time. There wouldn't have been anyone there to help him."
Darien had never thought about it quite that way before. It might not be true. Nevertheless, he felt better. He hadn't realized he felt guilty about the old man until he felt that guilt ease.
Alice pulled out a photo. A baby, smiling, in her arms, her grandfather standing behind her proudly, one hand on her shoulder.
"This is Danielle. His first great-grandchild. If you hadn't stayed to help him, he wouldn't have lived to see her born." Darien stared at the picture, at the pride on Hiram's face. He looked at the peaceful smile on the sleeping baby's face and smiled in return.
"Thank you, Alice. I'm glad you tracked me down to tell me. It helps, it really does." He rubbed the back of his neck, where he could feel the scar hidden by his hair. It didn't do anything to get him out of the mess that was his life, but at least it was something good.
She frowned. "I wish I could do more. I mean, you're out, but people still think you did it. I tried to get the newspapers interested, but they said it was old news, and their readers weren't interested. It would end up buried on the bottom of page ninety-six."
Darien flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Kevin, so long ago, back when he was first convicted. "Have you tried contacting AOL?"
"No....I doubt they'd be any more interested in calling attention to your case than the papers were."
"I'm not interested in a lot of attention right now," Darien reassured her quickly. "And it doesn't have to be headlines. No, what I was thinking was, a little article somewhere, that just mentions the fact that evidence had turned up to corroborate my story. With all the right keywords attached to it, so that if anyone does a search on the web about me, that little article will turn up along with the old headlines that were so certain I was guilty."
Her eyes lit up. "I'll do it! I'm sure I can convince them, I actually know someone that works there who can help me figure out who I need to talk to." She leaned forward impulsively and kissed him on the cheek before gathering up her purse and heading for the door. She smiled at Darien's stunned expression and gestured towards the photograph, still lying on the couch beside him. Then she was out the door and gone.
Darien sat for several long minutes, catching up internally with all that had gone on. He had long since given up on righting the wrongs of his past, and had never even considered asking for forgiveness from those he'd hurt. And yet forgiveness had come looking for him, bringing with it at least a taste of vindication.
He glanced back down at the photo, at the smiling baby and the new mother whose heart was big enough to include Darien. He looked last at the new great-grandfather, and realized that his heart, too, had room inside for forgiveness.
by CritterKeeper
Dressed in sweats and a loose T-shirt, his feet bare, Darien stood in the center of his apartment, at rest, concentrating on his breathing. Slowly, when in seemed natural to begin moving, he started the daoyin exercises he'd been taught in the Agency compound when he first had to learn how to control the gland.
When he started, it had all seemed so goofy, talk of channeling the body's energy, the Qi, and of Buddha breathing vs. Taoist breathing. Just a bunch of guys who'd seen Star Wars too many times. But he had to admit, they'd given him pretty good control. And more than that, Darien found that he enjoyed the exercises. He could feel himself becoming both more relaxed and more alert, at rest but ready to move with great energy at a moment's notice. He'd never experienced anything like it in his old life.
Aware that the Official and the Keeper would never believe him if he told them he needed a shot of counteragent because he'd been practicing his control, rather than some nefarious or frivolous purpose, he focused only on his physical body, feeling each muscle tensing and relaxing, each tendon sliding and stretching. He was starting to work up a sweat, and he deliberately increased the trickle at the back of his neck, then a minute later brought it to a stop. It was child's play compared to controlling quicksilver, but good practice nonetheless, like the simple, basic movements he was going through now.
He finished the exercise and returned to resting position, tensing his abdomen as he breathed in and relaxing it as he breathed out. He listened to the sounds of the apartment, the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of a clock, the traffic noises outside.
Against the quiet background, the knock on his door was loud and harsh. He completed the breath he'd just begun, quietly pleased that it hadn't startled him out of the mood. He allowed his focus to return to the real world, and headed for the door, puzzling over who might be there.
He didn't recognize the young woman. She was a few years younger than he was, Reubenesque in shape, casually well-dressed and biting her lip nervously. His thief's instincts pegged her as money, probably family money which would have bought her enough education to earn some more of her own to keep it company. She struck him as smart and confident enough to do it, too. Nervous now, though, and that made him curious.
When he opened the door, she was just raising her hand to knock again. Her glance took in his casual attire on the way to his face, where they lit with surprised recognition. Her hand hovered a moment, almost as if she wanted to reach out and touch him to confirm he was there, before dropping back to her side, wiping against her skirt nervously.
"Darien Fawkes. So it *is* you...." Again, recognition and surprise.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Darien asked pointedly. Studying her face, he could almost believe he'd seen her somewhere before, a face in a crowd, a vaguely uncomfortable association but one he just couldn't pin down.
She blushed prettily. "Um, no, there's no reason you should remember me. I'm Alice Hartnell. You, uh, knew my grandfather. Not exactly knew, but you..." she trailed off, flustered. She caught herself and straightened, looking him in the eye. "His name was Hiram Cohen."
The name hit him so unexpectedly he just stood open-mouthed for a moment. When he remembered to breathe, it was with none of the calm ease of his earlier exercises. "I think you'd better come in," Darien said, opening the door wider and gesturing her in faintly.
She entered hesitantly, taking in her surroundings the way people always do when entering someone else's home for the first time, trying to learn something about their host whether they realize it or not. When Darien did it, he was usually summing up how much he could get for the electronics and artwork. He led her over to the couch and sat down facing her, bursting with curiosity.
"I take it you remember him?"
"Yeah, I remember him. I remember him on the witness stand, testifying that I....that I did things I know damn well I didn't do." He still felt a hint of shame and embarrassment at the unexpected accusation. "I remember him cheering, with the rest of the courtroom, when the judge sentenced me to life without parole. It's not the sort of thing you forget."
She flushed, looking down away from him at the upholstery. "I was there," she said softly. "At the time, I was glad to hear it too...."
He cut off the surge of anger, mentally taking a deep breath. His temper had gotten him into trouble in the past, but the control he was learning helped him get past that, too, and he was able to see the more important part of her statement. "At the time?" he prodded gently.
She sighed and met his eyes again. "My grandfather died a couple of months ago. He'd been sick, but they didn't expect it just then, and someone ordered an autopsy. They said he'd died of a massive heart attack. They also said...there was evidence it wasn't his first."
The old goat walked in just before the charge Darien had set on the safe had gone off. He could still see him, clutching his chest and collapsing to the floor. Frantically trying to remember what he'd learned about CPR. Overwhelming relief when he finally started breathing again. Darien had tried to get the paramedics to take him, to check out his heart, but by the time they got there, he was very much awake and telling anyone who'd listen that Darien had tried to 'have his way with him.' No one was listening to the thief, caught red-handed, still in the climbing gear he'd used to get in, the remaining charges in his pocket.
"I could have told you that," Darien murmured. "In fact, I think I did."
"I know." She shrugged. "The prosecutor said it was just a story, that you'd been convicted twice before, that you were just trying to get out of a third strike conviction. At the time, I didn't see any reason not to believe him."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She looked confused now. "I thought....I thought my grandfather had sent you to prison for the rest of your life, that you'd been unjustly convicted. I tried to get the prosecutors to reopen the case, but they weren't interested. I thought if I could find you, you could use it as the basis for an appeal." She glanced around the apartment and back at Darien. "I spent weeks trying to track down which prison you'd been transferred to, but no one seemed to know where you'd gone."
"You did all that for me?" Darien didn't think he'd ever had anyone do so much for him, without something in it for them in return.
"And then a man in a suit showed up at my door, and told me to let the matter drop, that it was all taken care of. I didn't believe it, but he said you were out. That you'd straightened out your life. I had to see it for myself."
"And you're okay with it? That the guy who broke into his place to rob him is back walking the streets?"
"Okay with it? Mr. Fawkes, if my grandfather did have a heart attack, and you stayed to do CPR, you saved his life! How could I want you to go to prison for that?"
Honesty warred with self-interest. In the end, it was the months of trying to admit the truth to Casey that were formost in his mind as he sat back down before her.
"Alice, I was a thief. I broke into his place to rob him. Even if he hadn't made that...that accusation, I would have been convicted on the burglary and had my third strike honestly."
"But you wouldn't have been caught if you hadn't stayed to help him! There were no prints, no other witnesses. You could have just left. I know you had a record, you must have known at the time that you were risking life in prison. It was his life or yours, and you chose his."
She had cast him in the role of good guy, and he hated to disabuse her of that notion, but honesty won out again. "Alice, it was all my fault. I had to try to fix it. His heart attack was triggered by the explosives I was using to break into his safe. It was my fault he almost died."
He couldn't read her face. She was thinking, that was all that was clear. When she spoke, it was slowly but thoughtfully.
"He was a very lonely old man. The only time anyone ever came to his apartment was when fresh tanks of oxygen were delivered. If he was that close to having a heart attack, it could have happened at any time. There wouldn't have been anyone there to help him."
Darien had never thought about it quite that way before. It might not be true. Nevertheless, he felt better. He hadn't realized he felt guilty about the old man until he felt that guilt ease.
Alice pulled out a photo. A baby, smiling, in her arms, her grandfather standing behind her proudly, one hand on her shoulder.
"This is Danielle. His first great-grandchild. If you hadn't stayed to help him, he wouldn't have lived to see her born." Darien stared at the picture, at the pride on Hiram's face. He looked at the peaceful smile on the sleeping baby's face and smiled in return.
"Thank you, Alice. I'm glad you tracked me down to tell me. It helps, it really does." He rubbed the back of his neck, where he could feel the scar hidden by his hair. It didn't do anything to get him out of the mess that was his life, but at least it was something good.
She frowned. "I wish I could do more. I mean, you're out, but people still think you did it. I tried to get the newspapers interested, but they said it was old news, and their readers weren't interested. It would end up buried on the bottom of page ninety-six."
Darien flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Kevin, so long ago, back when he was first convicted. "Have you tried contacting AOL?"
"No....I doubt they'd be any more interested in calling attention to your case than the papers were."
"I'm not interested in a lot of attention right now," Darien reassured her quickly. "And it doesn't have to be headlines. No, what I was thinking was, a little article somewhere, that just mentions the fact that evidence had turned up to corroborate my story. With all the right keywords attached to it, so that if anyone does a search on the web about me, that little article will turn up along with the old headlines that were so certain I was guilty."
Her eyes lit up. "I'll do it! I'm sure I can convince them, I actually know someone that works there who can help me figure out who I need to talk to." She leaned forward impulsively and kissed him on the cheek before gathering up her purse and heading for the door. She smiled at Darien's stunned expression and gestured towards the photograph, still lying on the couch beside him. Then she was out the door and gone.
Darien sat for several long minutes, catching up internally with all that had gone on. He had long since given up on righting the wrongs of his past, and had never even considered asking for forgiveness from those he'd hurt. And yet forgiveness had come looking for him, bringing with it at least a taste of vindication.
He glanced back down at the photo, at the smiling baby and the new mother whose heart was big enough to include Darien. He looked last at the new great-grandfather, and realized that his heart, too, had room inside for forgiveness.