Coma
by ReySolo
Disclaimer: The usual -- not mine, no money, don't sue.
Comments: This takes place in the first season, probably somewhere between "Ghost of a Chance" and "It's a Small World" but that doesn't really matter, minor references to a few episodes.
~~~
A guy named Dennis Wholey once said, "Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian." Now, I know I've done some bad in my life; hey, I was going to jail for it before they decided sticking a gland in my head would be a better idea. But I thought I'd been mostly good since then. Well, at least when the Quicksilver Madness wasn't working overtime. At any rate, I thought that injustices for me always came from the gland, or the Agency, or whatever part of this life I never asked for decided to attack next. I was prepared for the bull; I guess I just wasn't expecting some human bystander to come up behind me while I was looking the other way.
~~~
"Thanks for the ride, Hobbes," Darien said as the van pulled up to his apartment.
Hobbes shrugged. "No problem, Buddy. I'm just really having trouble believing your car broke down but this Agency hunk of junk's still running."
"Yeah, just can't let the Official know that. He'll never get a new van, and we'll be stuck with this for eternity." Fawkes rolled his eyes and opened the door.
"See you Monday," Hobbes said as Darien walked around the car to cross the road. His partner half turned and gave him a cocky smile, still heading toward the building opposite them.
It was as he was turning back that the Dodge Ram hurtled around the corner at full speed.
"FAWKES!" Bobby screamed as he saw, almost in slow motion, the truck slam into his partner, throwing his body to the sidewalk on the other side, then continuing on as if the driver noticed nothing.
His heart pounding, Hobbes threw the door open and raced to his partner, barely registering the other traffic that narrowly avoided him. Reaching Darien's side, Bobby held back from touching him until he could be sure he wouldn't be harmed more.
The first thing he noticed was Darien's chest moving slowly up and down. He sighed with relief that his partner was still alive. The relief was dampened, however, by the sight of the rest of Fawkes' body. There was a layer of blood coating one side of his head. There were also scrapes covering most of his body, some containing bits of asphalt. His left arm was bent at an abnormal angle, and his right shoulder seemed out of alignment.
Hobbes was frozen in place for a moment, aghast his partner's injuries and unsure what to do next. A woman tapped him on the shoulder, breaking him out of his shock. "I called an ambulance when I saw what happened," she told him in a calm voice. "They should be here any minute."
He nodded to her gratefully, then turned back to his partner. He gently placed a hand on the unbloodied side of Darien's head. "Hang on, Buddy," he whispered.
~~~
Ten steps, turn, ten steps, turn... Hobbes paced back and forth in the waiting room at the hospital. His thoughts concentrated inward, he didn't notice the other two had entered until the Keeper stepped in front of his path.
"Bobby..." she said hesitantly.
He looked up at her, a lost expression in his eyes. He shook his head. "They haven't told me anything. Last I saw him he was being loaded into the ambulance. They wouldn't even let me ride with him."
She gazed at him solemnly, looking as if she wanted to assure him it would be alright, but didn't want to make false promises. He stared back down at the floor, stepped away from her, and started pacing again.
The Official spoke up. "You'll need to make an official statement..."
When Bobby didn't show any sign that he had heard, Claire looked at the Official disapprovingly.
"... But that can wait until we find out Agent Fawkes' condition," Charlie added.
Hobbes just continued to pace back and forth. The Official and the Keeper sat down to wait for news on their injured friend.
~~~
The next time Hobbes looked up from pacing was when a petite blonde woman in green garb entered the room. Any other time Bobby may have tried to hit on her, but now flirting was the farthest thing from his mind. The woman's expression was unreadable as she asked, "Friends of Darien Fawkes?"
Hobbes nodded and stepped toward her, and Charlie and Claire stood.
She spoke hesitantly. "I'm Doctor Evans..."
"How is he, Doc?" Hobbes interrupted.
"Well, the good news is, he's alive."
Hobbes didn't feel particularly assured by that statement. "But...?"
"Agent Fawkes sustained many injuries, including a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, and cracked ribs." She paused, and Hobbes could tell there was something more. She took a deep breath and continued. "Due to the blow to the head, Agent Fawkes is comatose. I don't know how long that will last, he could wake up any moment, or not wake up at all. And if and when he does wake up, there is a chance of brain damage." Her face now showed a detached sympathy.
Bobby swallowed hard. "So what do you think his chances are?"
Her voice was steady as she replied, "I'm sorry, but I can't speculate on that; we'll just have to wait and see."
"Can I see him?" Hobbes asked.
The doctor looked behind Hobbes at the Official and the Keeper. "Yes, but only for a few minutes, and when you talk to him, try to keep your words calm and positive. Also, he should have just one visitor at a time for now."
Claire nodded, and the Official sat back down. "If you'll follow me," Evans gestured toward the door, and Bobby followed her toward his partner.
~~~
When Hobbes entered his partner's room, the first thing he noticed was that Fawkes appeared much better than he had just after the accident. The blood had been cleaned up and his left arm was in a cast. There was a bandage covering the side of his head. His face was far too pale, however, and the IV hooked up to his arm didn't exactly make him look ready to run a marathon.
Evans left and Bobby went over to his partner's side and touched his right hand. "Hey, partner, didn't your mother ever tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?" He sighed. "I wish I could remember the plates of that Ram; I want to have a little discussion with the guy who did this to you." Hearing the edge in his own voice, he remembered what Doctor Evans had told him about being positive. "But let's talk about something else." He thought for a moment; what kind of conversation do you have with a comatose partner? "Come on, Fawkes, you gotta wake up. How am I supposed to hold an intelligent conversation without you correcting me all the time? I can't--"
He was interrupted by Doctor Evans' return, followed by two nurses. "I'm sorry, Agent Hobbes, but we're going to have to run some tests right now; you're going to have to step outside for a few minutes."
Hobbes nodded, keeping his eyes on the still form of his partner. "I'll be back soon, my friend." He stood and moved out of the way, heading back to pace in the waiting room once more.
~~~
"Are you certain you cannot recall the license plate of the vehicle?" Eberts asked. He was finishing typing up Hobbes' statement back at the Agency.
Hobbes glared at the small man. "That's what I said, Eberts. You think I haven't spent hours trying to remember that?"
Eberts didn't look up from typing. "I understand, Agent Hobbes, I merely wanted..."
"No, you do not understand!" Hobbes burst out. Eberts finally looked up from the computer screen into Bobby's enraged face. "When I watched that truck hit Fawkes, all I could think was, 'I hope he's not dead.' Now he could still die, or be stuck living like a vegetable forever, and I can't even get the guy that did this to him. So do not tell me that you understand, do you hear me?" Hobbes tried to calm his breathing but kept a steady glare on the other man.
Eberts looked almost terrified as he nodded. He then took a deep breath and said calmly, "I guess that's all we need from you, then, besides to sign this." He turned back to the computer and printed the statement.
Hobbes just glanced it over, signed it, and left the room without a word.
~~~
Over the next few days, Hobbes rarely left the hospital. Visiting hours were 8 am to 6 pm; he stayed from 6am to 11 pm, going home at night just to shower and sleep for a few hours. The Official tried to get him to come in to work, but he just used his sick days he hadn't been using. Claire visited Darien for at least a few minutes every day, and even the Official and Eberts dropped by once in a while. Hobbes didn't know if they came because they felt the slightest bit of concern for Fawkes, or if it was just for show, but he hoped their presence might help his friend a least a little bit.
Heaven knew Darien needed all the help he could get.
~~~
"Given his lack of progress as yet, and the fact that he no longer requires medical attention for his other injuries, we have decided that it may be best for the patient to have a change of location."
Hobbes was really beginning to get sick of Doctor Evans' completely detached tone of voice as she gave them the news. "You mean a different room, or out of the hospital completely?" he asked.
"Out of the hospital. Being somewhere more familiar and comfortable may actually help bring Mr. Fawkes out of the coma. Of course, he would have to be under fairly constant observation, and preferably not far from medical care, just to be on the safe side."
"I can--" Hobbes started to offer.
"No, I think I have a better idea," Claire interrupted. Not really wanting her suggestion heard by the doctor, she just looked pleadingly at the Official, hoping he understood and would agree.
He sighed, but nodded. "The Agency has a place for him."
The doctor looked doubtful, until the Keeper added, "We'll keep a constant eye on him, and medical care will be very close."
Doctor Evans nodded, and smiled a polite smile. "I know this may seem like a lot of trouble, but the change in scenery could very well bring him out of the coma immediately. Even if it doesn't, the better care of people who know him will increase his chances." She nodded to them again as she turned and left the room.
Hobbes looked at the Keeper doubtfully. "Are you sure your lab will be the best place for him? I mean, she did say familiar and comfortable, and I don't know about you, but I don't think that's his favorite place to hang out."
Claire knew he would disagree with that, so she had her logical argument ready. "Yes, but it is familiar, and the constant observation and care will be much better served there than elsewhere."
He knew she was right. "Okay, but you could at least try to make it more comfortable. Bring in a bed instead of that dentist's chair you've got. I'll go to his house and bring some stuff that might make help."
The Official spoke. "Just see that you remember who allowed him to be moved to an Agency facility."
Hobbes glared at him. "You just didn't want the Agency to have to pay more for the hospital stay."
"That may be so, but I do still have the right to decide when the Agency's funds are being drained too much by this." The Official stared at him coldly.
Bobby stared back equally coolly. "Understood." He glanced at Claire. "I think I'll go see if I can help get Fawkes ready for moving." Tensions eased slightly as he left the room.
~~~
After Darien was moved to the Keeper's lab at the Agency, Hobbes showed up for "work" merely because he happened to be in the building. Since they didn't really have any current cases, and Fawkes obviously couldn't work, there wasn't much Hobbes could be forced to do anyway, so the Official let the man sit with his partner. Every day. Eighteen hours a day. The Official guessed that only the Keeper's insistence that he go home every night kept Hobbes from remaining twenty-four hours a day. Right now the Agency was almost at a standstill; Charlie hoped that Fawkes showed some change soon, or some steps might have to be taken to restore Agency efficiency.
~~~
Hobbes entered the lab quietly one morning, seeing the Keeper sitting at her computer typing something. He cleared his throat and she hit two keys, then turned around. Her printer started whirring.
"How's he doing?" he asked, gesturing his head toward his partner lying in the bed on the other side of the lab.
Claire shook her head. "Still no change." She noticed the book he was holding. "The Plays of Oscar Wilde?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I wanted to bring one of his own books to read, and no way was I gonna read him Shakespeare. This looked interesting enough."
She smiled. "Reading a book with which he's familiar may help. Uh, I have to go talk with the Official, you'll be okay here?" She picked up the printed papers and stood.
Bobby nodded, walking over to his partner's side. "I'll be here." He opened the book and began reading as she left the room.
~~~
Bobby closed the book and studied his partner's pale face. He looked so much younger like this. Granted, Hobbes often called Fawkes "kid," but that was mostly because Hobbes was the senior agent and had more experience in the job. But now Darien just looked so young and vulnerable. He was a far cry from the playful, intelligent, capable, compassionate man Hobbes had been getting to know over the past few months. Now, as he studied Fawkes' face, he wondered if he would ever see that man again.
~~~
The Official looked sternly at the Keeper. "I thought that the Quicksilver Madness wasn't a factor when he was unconscious. After all, they did keep him out for weeks when they were first developing counteragent."
Nodding, she explained, "Yes, but that was controlled unconsciousness. I don't know what effect the quicksilver building up will have while he's in a coma. It may actually decrease his chances of recovery."
"The counteragent is not cheap. I don't like the idea of continuing its use every week when the agency is not actually utilizing it."
Claire pursed her lips. "I understand, but discontinuing its use may be detrimental as well. Besides, we don't know how long the coma will last; what if Darien wakes up in Stage 5 Quicksilver Madness? Send Hobbes out to beg Arnaud for some Stage 5 counteragent?" She sighed. "I suppose it would be relatively safe to cut the doses back to once every two weeks, but I wouldn't advise any less than that."
The Official nodded. "All right, I suppose that's acceptable, at least for now. But with that added drain, I don't know how much longer the agency can continue to support these efforts."
"You mean he'd have to be moved again? To Bobby's apartment?" she asked.
He stared hard at her. "No, we can't afford to have Hobbes' time used so inefficiently for much longer. Besides which, Agent Fawkes is in possession of a valuable piece of agency property."
Her mouth dropped open. "You would salvage the gland. When he's in a coma, you would have me remove the gland. He doesn't even have a living will, for Heaven's sake! Come to think of it, that's probably why he doesn't have one!"
The Official's voice became slightly less impersonal. "Look, I don't want to have to do that. Fawkes has become a good agent. But if salvaging the gland is necessary to keep this agency functioning, I am ready to take steps to do that. Are we clear?"
"Perfectly," she replied, glaring at him.
After a slight pause, he said, "Dismissed," and Claire stood quickly and left the room.
~~~
A few days later, as Bobby read "The Importance of Being Ernest" aloud, his mind began to wander. His thoughts started along a relatively safe path, thinking about the play he was reading and the relationship between Jack and Algernon. He realized that their bickering was similar to how he and Fawkes had treated each other when they'd first started working together. But now, their relationship had progressed from a shaky partnership to a good friendship. Their bickering was done in fun, not with intent to harm. Now Hobbes found himself missing their arguments. He tried to talk normally with Darien as well as reading, but the one-sided conversations never amounted to much, and he just felt worse, more worried that his friend would never wake up. So he stuck to just reading. Of course, now that his mind was wandering to his fears, he almost wished he had chosen to read Shakespeare; then he would have to concentrate more on how to pronounce the old English words and could keep his mind off of other things. Like how long this would go on. The Official, penny-pinching old bureaucrat that he was, wouldn't let Hobbes just stay here with his partner indefinitely. The question was, how would he deal with it? How would Fawkes be cared for?
He was so lost in thought that when the Keeper entered the room, he realized he hadn't turned the page in several minutes. He looked up at her, sensing a hesitancy about her. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.
Claire looked at him with that sad sympathetic smile that always made him nervous. "The Official want to talk with us."
"About...?" Hobbes asked probingly.
"He didn't say, exactly." She was looking at Darien, not Bobby, as she spoke.
"But you have some idea." It was both a statement and a question.
She avoided answering, merely stating, "He wants us in his office in ten minutes. I'm going now, but if you wanted to come to a good stopping place in the book..."
Hobbes looked at the forgotten book lying open in his hand. He shrugged, keeping eye contact with her as if trying to gain information by searching her thoughts. "I guess I'll be there in ten minutes, then."
Claire nodded, and left the room silently.
~~~
Hobbes entered the Official's office warily. The expressions on the faces of those already present did nothing to calm him. Eberts had that look of fear, as if he knew dangerous topics would be discussed and wanted out of the line of fire, but had to stand by his boss. The Keeper looked concerned, like she was afraid Hobbes would not react well to the coming conversation. The Official looked somewhat regretful, but determined as always.
"Was there something you needed, Sir, that had to take me away from my current... duties?" Hobbes asked.
"Bobby, sit down," Charlie told his agent.
"I'd rather stand, Sir."
The Official stared at him hard. "Suit yourself." After a pause, he continued. "It has been determined that there has been a substantial and not conducive drain on the Agency's resources for the past month."
Seeing where this was going, Bobby clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but remained silent.
"This drain has become too drastic to continue, and a particular resource is needed for more efficient use of Agency money. Therefore, the only course of action which I have deemed proper is salvaging the gland."
Hobbes had been expecting this. Hoping he was wrong, but expecting it nonetheless. Attempting to maintain control over his anger, he stated calmly, "With all due respect, Sir, you can't do that."
The Official raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I can't, can't I?"
"Agent Fawkes is a valuable part of this Agency. You can't just discard him like some obsolete piece of junk." Bobby was having more difficulty keeping his anger under control.
"Agent Fawkes ceased to be valuable when he ceased to be conscious. The Agency cannot afford--"
"Screw the Agency!" Hobbes burst out. "We are talking about a man's life. A man who helped get you out of trouble at least once, mind you."
"A man who is now not functioning and shows no sign of waking up any time in the near future. He may never awaken."
Hobbes closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly letting it out. "You don't know that." His voice was calm again, but this time held a layer of ice beneath the calm.
Claire intervened, trying to convince him peacefully. "Bobby, it's been a month. The coma could last another month, another several months, another several years..."
"Or he could wake up tomorrow," he countered, turning to glare at her. "If he's still in one piece."
"He's had that chance for the past month," the Official stated.
"Well, apparently, that hasn't been enough time."
Charlie paused for a moment, then spoke. "One week."
Hobbes looked at him. "One week?" His voice had lost some of its edge, and gained the slightest hint of hope. There was a hint of suspicion in his eyes, though.
"One week from today, twelve noon. He has that time to recover, or the gland will have to be salvaged."
Hobbes swallowed hard, and nodded. "Thank you, Sir," he forced out. Then he turned and left the room.
As Claire watched him leave, she noticed that he hadn't fully agreed to the Official's terms. She would just have to pray that Darien would awaken by next Monday. She didn't know what would happen to Bobby if he didn't.
~~~
Bobby took a deep breath before entering the lab. He didn't know how much his attitude would affect his comatose partner, but he didn't want to make his chances any worse. Entering the lab, he spoke with forced cheerfulness. "Hey, Buddy, any time you feel like waking up, you just go right ahead. We're waiting for you." He paused. "Well, some of us are waiting for you longer than others. You've got one week, my friend. One week until the Official goes gland harvesting. So you'd better wake up soon." His voice softened to where he could barely hear himself. "I need you, Darien Fawkes. Don't give up on me."
~~~
Hobbes opened the door to the Official's office, but no one was there. He wandered down the hall to the lab but that too was empty. Starting to get worried, he turned around...
To find Fawkes standing in the doorway. He looked perfectly fine, other than a confused expression on his face. "Hey, Hobbesy, what's going on?" he asked.
Bobby opened his mouth to reply, only to close it again and glance confusedly at the empty bed. "You were... injured by a hit-and-run driver."
Darien nodded, a pensive look on his face. "Yeah, I remember... I didn't wake up." He looked up suddenly. "Am I dead?"
"No!" Bobby answered forcefully. "You're in a coma..." He trailed off. Something was nagging at him, something he had to remember.
"Then why am I here?" Darien asked, gesturing at the lab around them. "And why is there nobody else around?"
"How should I know?" Hobbes replied.
Darien slightly changed the subject. "How long have I been out?"
Hobbes thought a moment before responding. "About a month..." He breathed in quickly as he suddenly remembered what had been nagging at him. "You gotta wake up, my friend, and soon. The Fat Man's gonna go gland harvesting if you're not awake within the week."
Fawkes let out a short laugh. "You know, that doesn't really surprise me. But trust me, that's not the way I plan on getting out of this Agency. You got any ideas on how I'm supposed to go about 'waking up'?"
"Uh..." How could a simple concept like waking up have no good answer? "Have you tried clicking your heels together three times and saying 'There's no place like home'?" Bobby suggested.
"Sorry, Glinda," Darien replied, "But this isn't exactly Oz. For one thing, the thing closest to resembling a munchkin around here is you."
"Hey, at least my hair doesn't resemble Toto's," Hobbes retorted.
"At least I've got more hair than the Tin Man." The two exchanged a smile, enjoying the friendly bickering; until they remembered the seriousness of their situation. Fawkes swallowed. "So I've got a week to figure out how to get out of a coma?"
Bobby nodded. "And I could barely get him to give you that much time, so I don't think I can get him to extend it."
Darien fixed him with a firm stare. "I'll wake up. Can't leave Bobby Hobbes without his Toto, can I?"
"You do and I'll use those ruby slippers to kick you back to Kansas."
"I'd like to see you in ruby slippers," Darien said contemplatively.
"Just wake up, smart alec," Hobbes replied...
Then he opened his eyes and awoke in the chair in the lab. Sitting up to look at his still comatose partner, he whispered, "Wake up, Buddy."
~~~
It was Sunday. Tomorrow was the day. Time's up. Gland digging. No more Darien Fawkes.
The hope Hobbes had felt since the Official gave them a week had faded throughout the week, and today the last glimmers of it vanished completely. His partner would not wake up in the next 24 hours. He would never wake up again.
Unless Bobby Hobbes took matters into his own hands.
~~~
Hobbes sat beside Darien's comatose form, the same place he'd been for most of the past five weeks. Only this time, he was staring at the clock, tensing in preparation for the coming confrontation. The hands slowly moved toward twelve o'clock.
When he heard the door to the lab open, he froze, not turning to see who was entering.
"It's time."
Bobby heard the Official's voice, then stood and turned. Charlie looked almost saddened, but determined nonetheless. Not as determined as I am, Bobby thought. The Keeper looked much more sympathetic and regretful, but he could tell she was ready to do as the Official had ordered. Hobbes placed himself between the two intruders and his partner. "No."
"I'm sorry, Bobby," Claire attempted to placate him, "I have no choice."
The Official looked sterner. "I gave him an extra week, Agent Hobbes. That time has run out."
Hobbes stood unmoving, his eyes darting from the Official to Claire and back. Claire took a step forward...
...And suddenly Bobby's gun was in his hand, pointed straight at the Keeper. "I won't let you kill him," he stated calmly.
Claire stepped back, swallowing hard. "Bobby..." She still looked more concerned than worried for her own safety.
Hobbes wished she would drop the phony concern. If she really cared about Darien she wouldn't be willing to do this. He shook his head. "You will not hurt my partner. I don't want to use this, but I will if I have to."
The Official was starting to get angry. "Hobbes, put that gun down NOW."
"And if I don't?" Bobby stared at him with a cold glare.
The glare was returned with equal animosity. "You'll never work in this Agency again."
Hobbes shrugged. "If you kill Fawkes, that won't matter any more." Nothing would matter. Without his partner, there was no way he'd keep working for this agency. Or the government. He didn't know what he'd do. But he sure as hell would not be the same person he was now. His life might go on after Darien was... gone, but it would never feel right again.
Bobby shook himself, trying to banish the thoughts of what would happen if, and to concentrate on making if not happen. He gripped the gun tightly and gestured toward the door. "Get out. You're not doing any gland harvesting here today."
The Keeper was not giving in. "Bobby, put it down." She looked ready to step forward. Hobbes tightened his grip, preparing to fire.
Then there was a faint raspy noise behind him. Hobbes froze, straining to hear something more.
"Hobbesy... what's... goin' on...?" a whispery voice asked.
Bobby whirled around, dropping the gun without even noticing it tumbling to the floor. "Fawkes," he breathed. He gripped his partner's hand, staring into confused eyes, eyes that hadn't been opened for over a month, eyes Hobbes hadn't believed he would look upon ever again.
"What... happened...?" Darien's voice sounded as confused as he appeared.
Before Hobbes could reply, Darien's eyes drifted shut again. Bobby reached his free hand out to touch his partner's face. "Fawkes??" He couldn't come so close only to lose him again.
Suddenly the Keeper was on the other side of the bed, taking his pulse and observing his breathing rate. She looked up at Hobbes with a real smile, not her watery one she'd been using so much recently. "He's asleep," she announced.
Hobbes looked up startled, as if he had forgotten she was even in the room. "He's not... The coma... ?"
Claire shook her head. "He's finally out of the coma. He should wake up fully within a few hours."
Hobbes appeared satisfied by this answer and looked back down at his sleeping friend.
The Keeper glanced at the clock and shivered. It read 12:05.
~~~
"Agent Hobbes."
Bobby stood in front of the Official's desk impatiently. He knew there had to be some sort of punishment for his actions (as right as they seemed to him), but he really wanted to get back to his partner before he awoke. "Sir?"
"Your behavior in the lab was unacceptable." The Official's face was stern and unyielding, his voice calm but reprimanding.
After a pause, Hobbes replied, "Yes, Sir." Usually he would say more to defend himself, but he was more concerned with returning to Darien. He did realize that his job might possibly be at stake, however, and tried to appear humble.
"However, it may well have saved the life of a valuable agent."
That was good. The Official was obviously satisfied with the outcome of the situation. But what would that mean for Bobby? "Yes, Sir." That seemed like the only safe reply.
"You will never hold a gun on one of your superiors again, is that understood?"
Hobbes knew he was starting to sound like a broken record. "Yes, Sir."
The Official's facial expression and tone remained the same as they had been since Hobbes had arrived. "Get back to your partner before he wakes up."
Bobby couldn't hide his smile. "Yes, Sir." He walked to the door. Before leaving, he continued, "Thank you, Sir."
As the door shut behind Hobbes, the Official let the smile he'd been hiding show on his face. "You're welcome, Bobby," he replied to an empty room.
~~~
"I'm curious," Claire asked Darien. "Not a great deal is known about what people experience while in a coma, and it varies from person to person. Do you remember anything about it? Anything after the accident?"
Fawkes thought for a moment. "I'm not really sure... I've got this weird image in my head of Hobbes pointing a gun at you..." He looked over at Bobby as if to ask if there was any truth to that image.
Bobby merely looked at the Keeper, with a half smirk on his face.
Claire elaborated slightly, "That was when you first woke up, yesterday. You only opened your eyes for a few moments, but then you entered a normal sleep, and woke up fully a few hours later."
Fawkes just glanced back and forth between her and Hobbes, knowing there was something more to the story.
Bobby cleared his throat. "So do you remember anything else? I mean I did spend a good amount of my own free time reading to you, my friend. Now you're telling me you didn't hear a word of what I said? Not that that would be much different from when you're awake..."
Darien shrugged. "I don't know; what were you reading?" He paused. "Wait--'The Wizard of Oz'?"
Hobbes' eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly.
Claire shook her head. "I thought you just read him some Oscar Wilde plays?" she asked Bobby.
He nodded, not looking at her. "At least my hair doesn't resemble Toto's," he said nonsensically.
The Keeper looked confused at the non sequitor, but Darien replied slowly, "At least I've got more hair than the Tin Man."
Claire looked even more bewildered. Hobbes raised his eyebrows. "That was in my dream a week ago."
Fawkes looked at Bobby, his eyes wide, understanding what he implied but not how it was possible.
The Keeper was still trying to understand. "Wait, if you had a dream about that, then how does Darien..." As she realized what it meant, an amazed smile spread across her face. "You mean that your minds somehow met while you were sleeping and he was in a coma? That's incredible! I mean, I've read about this sort of thing being possible, but there's more speculation than evidence, and they believe there's a greater possibility in identical twins or very close relatives, who could develop some sort of psychic bond. Anyway, I've heard of no documented cases of an actual telepathic link; the fact that you actually remember it is fantastic..." She trailed off as she realized the other two were looking less excited and more uncomfortable as she went on. "Come on, guys, don't you find this exciting?" They both just looked at her. "Oh, all right, I'll stop making such a big fuss about it. I suppose as males you have a hard time talking about relationships in the first place. Especially with a woman around... So, uh, I guess I'll leave you boys alone now..." She gave one last tentative smile and left the lab.
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence after the Keeper left, then Darien spoke. "So you dreamed me, and I was there, only I was in a coma, yet somehow we both remember it?"
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Kinda creepy, isn't it?" he asked lightly.
Fawkes looked more serious. "You really think there's a bond or something, like Claire said?"
Hobbes stared at the floor, still not really comfortable with the conversation. "I don't know." He paused, then looked Darien in the eyes. "But if that's why you woke up, I'm grateful for it, whatever the explanation."
"You think we'd be able to visit each other's dreams under normal circumstances now?" Fawkes asked contemplatively.
Hobbes' expression turned to horror, grateful for the opportunity for levity. "God, I hope not. You are not going to come barging in on my dreams, and, no offense, my friend, but I don't even want to think about what your dreams would be like. I'd probably be stuck with nightmares for months after seeing just one of your dreams."
"Hey, my dreams aren't that bad!" Fawkes protested.
"What about that whole Simon Cole thing?" Hobbes argued.
"That wasn't my fault; his memories were stuck in the gland!"
"What about the donuts?"
Darien sighed. "You've made your point."
"And I'm willing to bet you've had some nasty dreams about Allianora..."
~~~
Carl Jung, an early twentieth century psychologist, once said, "The images of the unconscious place a great responsibility upon a man. Failure to understand them, or a shirking of ethical responsibility, deprives him of his wholeness and imposes a painful fragmentariness on his life." What I do understand is that I somehow shared my unconsciousness with Hobbes. What I don't know is how, or why. Maybe we should try to figure that out, someday. Right now, though, I think we'll just be content with our conscious lives, and deal with the unconscious as it happens.
~~~
fin