Chapter 3: Angst

He felt rather like a museum piece or some prized possession on display as Albedo slowly circled around him. Was he pinpointing similarities to his Fusion counterpart? He had no notion of what to make of this situation, where to go from this point, and it took all his effort to keep his phobias at bay, given the damp, dark, and dirty setting. It was imperative that he maintain control of himself, especially since his every instinct was calling for blind panic.

And especially since Albedo did not seem interested in controlling himself.

As his kidnapper looked him over – an intimidating and frightening tactic if he let it get to him - Dexter took a moment to check his person, assessing his physical condition and any resources left to him. Having something to focus on besides crazed red eyes went far towards calming him, and he was careful to keep his breathing in check, especially when Albedo stepped behind him, out of his line of vision.

He had a headache, the sort caused by getting cracked on the back of the skull by something hard and heavy. Certainly he'd blown himself across the lab often enough to recognize blunt trauma at its best. Getting struck in the face and being held by his hair hadn't helped his cause, either. He was probably mildly concussed, too, a state with which he was well acquainted.

His right leg ached, especially below the knee, but that was nothing unusual. It had ached since Vilgax had destroyed the Speed Demon, and he expected that one way or another, the injury was going to bother him the rest of life. That he might be cut off from the treatment to stop his growth was of concern, though not an immediate problem. The doctors had been slowly easing him off the hormones to see if his system would stabilize on its own and if the leg bones Vilgax had shattered would grow normally. While no expert, Dexter estimated he had a few days before the lack made itself known. He could only hope he wouldn't pitch his usual hormone-driven hissy fit when his body and brain fell out of synch. When those treatments weren't timed perfectly, the least thing could frustrate him to the point of exploding.

For a moment he thought longingly of Ben, praying he was unharmed and free and knowing that he would be desperately anxious to get him back. He tried to recall if Ben could have noticed anything of what happened, if there was any hope of being followed and saved. The fact that he was still here, in the clutches of this sad and addled Galvan outcast, told him otherwise, and despair for Ben filled him as he tried to imagine what, if anything his boyfriend could do short of surrendering to hopelessness.

()()()()()()()()()()

"Strawberry?" Ben confirmed, despairing of Dexter's lack of daring and variety when it came to the culinary delights of a smoothy.

"Strawberry," insisted Dexter.

"Mint? Lemon? Banana? Chocolate chips in there?"

"Strawberry, Benjamin."

"Live a little, Dex!"

"I intend to live a lot tonight provided we ever make it back to DexLabs. If you don't get a move on, Mandy will figure out I'm gone and have me arrested the moment we get back."

"Pfft - screw Mandy!"

Dexter glared, a stern and fierce look that Ben loved as he softly hissed, "If you screw anything, Mr. Tennyson, it had better be me."

Ben grinned. "Promise. You coming in?"

An eyebrow was arched in his general direction. "Not in there," he said with inarguable finality.

The handful of kids at Mr. Smoothy was, to Dexter, as good as a crowd and the lack of sterilization inside the facility was quite enough to make him hyperventilate. There was no way Dexter was going to step one foot closer to the fast food joint and Ben knew it. He steered Dexter to one of the picnic tables set up on the lawn. It was close to a row of pine trees lining the edge of a playing field and visible from inside the restaurant.

"Wait right here. I'll be back in five minutes. Maybe six. Don't move."

"I'll be waiting. Right here. For you, Ben," he answered, dropping his voice a little with each word, all the while staring into bright green eyes.

Ben opened his mouth, raising a finger as he tried to formulate a reply.

"Hurry back," finished Dexter.

He swallowed, nodded, and waved his hand in a useless gesture. "Right back," he stammered. "Just . . . yeah."

Picking the cleanest spot he could find, he perched on the edge of the table and watched his boyfriend head off to get them smoothies. Ben glanced back, casting a quick wave Dexter's way and smiling in happy anticipation. There was a spring in his step as he loped up the steps to the entrance and held the door for a few girls as they exited. Dexter sighed and leaned on his hand, mesmerized by long legs and tight jeans. When Ben glanced his way again before hurrying inside, Dexter felt a confusion of emotions from shy to flustered to excited to a nameless, burning flutter in his stomach at the thought of giving in to the desire that had driven them both. Why now, tonight, he couldn't say. It was something more complex than being tired of waiting or denying himself something he desperately wanted.

He wanted to give Ben everything Kevin Levin would have taken. He wanted to give him innocence and choice and pleasure, and he wanted Ben to see how much it meant to be the one to do these things for him. Perhaps it was just a question of wanting to cement the commitment they had made to one another the morning after that first, marvelous and daring kiss. Certainly he wanted to give Ben a sampling of what he'd find waiting for him back home, because it was inevitable that Commander Tennyson would be back in action very soon - and Dexter hoped to make that action in every sense of the word. Ben was healing rapidly, both physically and emotionally. Dexter was glad to see the change in his spirits even though he knew they would be saying goodbye all too soon. Gloom was sure to follow hot on the heels of Ben's departure, and he rather hoped that sexual frustration would trump depression. Yearning for Ben was far more appealing than wallowing in misery, thank you. Not that either would be fun, but he'd much rather be fueling fantasies he knew his boyfriend would be very happy to fulfill versus hiding in his bedroom refusing to eat.

Lost in thought, he watched and waited for Ben to reappear, grateful for the patient indulgence Ben so often granted him when his legion of phobias came into play. He was afraid of being outside, true, but crowds and germs were worse than unfiltered air and pollen and a few minutes wouldn't do him any harm. He was fortunate indeed to have found someone that understood having phobias - he and Ben shared an intense fear of clowns, and so Ben never doubted or questioned or got annoyed when Dexter grew frightened of strange or even commonplace things. Besides, Ben was also terrified of peacocks to a degree that eclipsed Dexter's fear of most animals. That Ben Tennyson of all people should fear peacocks was quite beyond Dexter's imaginings, but he had sworn to throw himself between Ben and any rampaging pheasants they ever encountered.

He smiled at the notion of saving Ben from a bird, then steered his mind away from the fact that he was outdoors. Perhaps a shower was in order. That might be a very good lead-in. They could start by undressing one another very, very slowly . . .

"Dexter?"

He jumped and turned, startled to hear Ben's voice coming from the row of trees behind him. He looked back at the Mr. Smoothy, but could see no sign of his boyfriend inside the building. Why would Ben circle around? How had he managed it? It wasn't like him to horse around this way – it was risky enough for Dexter to be outside of DexLabs, as they both well knew. Now was not the time for jokes.

"Dexter! Over here!"

A figure in the shadows, a familiar form and gesture and voice. Only the motivation seemed awry. And why Dexter when Ben almost always called him Dex, especially when they were alone?

"Ben?" he asked, frowning. "What are you doing over there?" He moved as he spoke, going to the edge of the tree line but unwilling to venture further. He didn't do forests any more than he did swamps, taxi cabs, or public bathrooms. Ben knew that perfectly well. "Come out of there."

"I don't think so," said the voice, suddenly cold, and the speaker lunged.

With a gasp he tried to backpedal. He barely had time to register that this person only looked like Ben. An iron grip clamped down on his arm and yanked him forward into a terrific blow to the head. Like sand through his fingers, consciousness slipped away and he fell into darkness and his attacker's arms.

()()()()()()()()()()

He desperately wanted to clean the blood from his glasses. It was a relief when Albedo finally moved from behind him, back into his line of sight. Deliberately Dexter clasped his hands behind him, as much to keep himself from rubbing his aching head (sure to have lumps and bruises) as to get an idea if he had anything left in his coat pockets.

By the slight motion he could tell his cell phone was gone, which came as no surprise, but if this monster had appropriated his calculator then truly there was no god. His DexLabs and DexCorp ID's and access cards, usually clipped to his front pocket, were missing. Not that they would do Albedo any good, short of souvenirs.

The motion revealed something else – something sobering and telling. There had been an addition to his wardrobe. As the fingers of his right hand reached around his left wrist in a gesture that was the habit of a lifetime, his hand closed around a stiff cuff. He stilled, trying to conceal his surprise as his fingers felt the band. So far as he could tell it was lightweight, inflexible, a few millimeters thick, and completely featureless.

Albedo smirked, his burned features twisting into a mockery of a smile as he watched his victim.

"And what's this?" he taunted. "Go ahead and look, Dexter."

He didn't obey immediately, but took his time lifting his left arm. Deliberately he overlooked the dirt on his coat and glove, knowing that if he focused on the stains he'd grow hysterical. The cuff seemed metallic and had a dull sheen, fitting too tight to slide over his hand even if he removed his glove. There was no seam on it that he could see or anything to indicate its function. He tried to peek beneath it, but it was too snug.

"What is this?" he asked because it was expected.

"You'll find out."

He was rather afraid he would. It seemed he had found Albedo's means of exacting his revenge. How it worked and what it did was a mystery, but something told Dexter nothing good would come of such a device. It had been forcefully applied, and therefore it was here only to be used against him.

Lowering his arm, he stood in place and tried to determine the most sensible thing to do and say. His options were severely limited. Given Albedo's approach to him thus far, anything and everything he did or tried to do would be wrong.

"And now?" he asked softly.

"You can enjoy the same hospitality I did with your Fusion. Do you know what he did to me when he first captured me?" wondered Albedo, as if Dexter had some ownership and was somehow privy to the inner workings of his alien doppleganger. There was an underlying anger in Albedo's tone. Understandable, though his hatred of Dexter was illogical. "He locked me in a cell without food or water as he ran off for a final showdown with Tennyson."

He gave no reply. He knew the battle well. He had listened to it, analyzed it, almost lost Ben in it . . .

Albedo leaned in close to hiss in his ear, savoring the chance to frighten and the power he held.

"He didn't return for four days."