Disclaimers:
Integration © Me
Kim Possible © Disney
Freakazoid! © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks
Additional Credits: A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my editor.
NOTES::
Freakazoid's quote "It was like having to watch Waterworld for a month!" was too good to pass up! (Ref: Season 2 Episode 7 "Statuesque") Kevin Costner's movie, Waterworld, while interesting in its premise, was an epic failure in the box office and coming from a Costner fan, you can believe me when I tell you it sucked, royally. The plot dragged, the scripts were terrible, and the main character was a total asshat—an asshat with gills.
Cosgrove's "I want a can of hash and some coffee" is a quote I've been dying to use and I finally got the opportunity! (Ref: Season 2 Episode 3 "Mission: Freak").
::Roddy's Brittish/Scottish Slang use::
"Scunnurt" – fed up
"Ballsed-up" - Ruined, in a mess.
***Random Interesting Tidbit: Many of you may get the reference at the end of the chapter of Professor Heiney keeping close to work with a "Doctor" friend of his. Yep, ladies and gents, that be the famed Dr. Drakken =P Finally I get to come full circle and refer to how Professor came to know Dr. D in "Drakken's Memoirs".
Also, the references to such places as La Jolla and Santa Barbara are places I've actually been while living in Southern California. It makes the story seem that much more real to me when writing it out.
Another interesting fact is Duncan's nose break and the fact that it bleeds a lot. I speak from experience. I had a heavy oak chair fall on my face and I busted my nose pretty good. I never thought I could bleed so much but I did—couldn't breathe out of either nostril for over two weeks and even then it took close to a month till I got back to normal. SO, yeah… awkward…
HAPPY READING!
Integration
Chapter 6
"Integration"
The sound of a door knock punctuated the stillness of sleep and Freakazoid awoke gasping for air like a drowning man. He stared blearily through the grey of predawn. "Whoizzit?" He slurred.
"Dexter?" came his mother's muffled voice. "I came up to check on you and found you'd locked the door. Are you alright?"
Freakazoid blinked in confusion and lifted his head from the pillow, "Whut?"
"Don't you remember? You had a fever and you'd fainted while you were out with Cosgrove. He brought you home and helped me put you to bed." The door knob jiggled as Mrs. Douglas struggled in vain to gain entry.
"M'alright Ma," he groaned as he slowly sat up, clutching his aching head.
"Dexter?"
"I'll be out in a minute," he said.
"Are you still running a fever?"
"No…"
"Oh good," his mother sighed, sounding relieved. "I'll just—head downstairs then. Holler if you need me."
"Kay…"
"And sweetie?"
Freak scrubbed his hands over his face, trying not sound irritated. "Yeah?"
"Happy birthday, hon."
Freakazoid froze, barely registering his mother's retreating footfalls as his mind automatically sought the exact date and time via the net. He flinched as if stricken when he realized the connection was dead and that repeated pings for access did nothing. "Access denied? That's—never happened before…" Frowning, his gaze flew to his digital wrist watch; the date read Wednesday, September 1, 2004. 'Well, shoot… I forgot,' he thought and given the circumstances, it didn't surprise him at all.
Freakazoid combed his fingers through his hair then slowly lowered his hands, palms up, to stare at them. The unusual teal-blue of his skin glowed vibrantly in the first rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds.
His brow creased, "Waitaminute, where are my gloves?" He curiously palpated his naked torso, noting that he wore nothing but Dexter's black boxer briefs. Odd—he'd never transformed from Dexter without his super suit before. In the past he didn't have much of a need for clothes nor had reason to believe that would change. Maybe this was some new development with—? His eyes widened, struck by the realization that his mind was quiet—too quiet.
"Dexter?" He asked softly.
No reply.
"Dex?" He repeated, his voice raising an octave. He waited a moment then struck his knuckles against the side of his head, "Hellooo, Dexter! This is your resident Freak wanting to know if you're feeling okay!" He giggled manically, "Come on, this ain't the time for jokes…"
The continued lack of a response did nothing to soothe Freak's mounting sense of dread. Was he unable to transform because Dexter was too sick or was there more to last night's fever-induced nightmare than he assumed?
Freakazoid's mind drew him back to that moment, recalling the feel of Dexter's weight in his arms and how weak he'd been. Somehow or other, Dexter entered cyberspace—but how was that even possible? How could they have both existed in one plane? Was Dexter's presence just a meta-physical projection?
The event that Roddy had told him about the other day had come to pass, a fact of which Freak was reluctant to share with Dexter until it was far too late. Apparently, denying the truth of the matter had not been an option. Could he have stopped it? Probably not, but he should have damn well tried! Now, he had to live with that guilt and all the what-ifs it entailed.
He laid his face in his hands and recalled the tumultuous moment in which he and Dexter were engulfed in a nebulous light.
The look in Dexter's eyes had been one of peaceful resignation, which made little sense being that he should have resisted. Freakazoid had not wanted this—had been perfectly happy in the relationship he shared with Dexter. However, it seemed that the omnipotent net-force that originally created Freakazoid had made its decision and both Dexter and Freak had no choice but to succumb to its whims.
Freak clung to the translucent form of Dexter, fading like a mirage, all the while realizing his grip was steadily beginning to loosen. Resisting the imminent change made it difficult to remain conscious and for the first time in his life he felt truly helpless. It terrified him to think of a future without Dexter—that life would cease to have any meaning.
"Please don't go," Freak rasped. "Stay—with me… I need you."
Trembling and growing paler by the second, Freakazoid's waning strength abandoned him entirely and the very instant he lapsed into unconsciousness, Dexter slipped, wraith-like from his arms and through him as they disappeared together.
Freakazoid slowly lifted his head from his hands, blinking away tears. What did this mean? He dried his eyes with a corner of the sheets and out of habit he reached blindly for his glasses resting on the bedside table. Midway in placing them on his face he remembered he didn't need them anymore. He returned them to the bedside table, reminding himself that they weren't even prescription grade—Dexter wore them for appearance only.
'Can I change back?' he wondered, then tried without success. Several more attempts to transform did little more than intensify his headache. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood quickly, pacing in frustration.
"Why isn't it WORKING?" he ground out. "And for the love of –WHAT the HELL is up with the internet? Have I completely lost my connection?" He stopped pacing, desperation forcing him to resort to the only other option he had—use the old verbal command to change back.
"Freak IN!"
Nothing happened.
"DAMMIT!" he swore, plopping back down at the end of the bed and hugging himself. He rubbed his upper arms, prickling with goose bumps and began to rock himself, chanting softly. "Freak in. Freak in. Freak in!" Each repetition sounded more frantic than the last as the risk of a full-on panic attack loomed ominously.
BZZZZZZZT!
With a jump, Freak snapped into alertness, his heart hammering against his rib cage.
BZZZZZZZT-THUMP!
He peered over his shoulder, discovering that his cell phone was still set on vibrate and had buzzed itself clear off the edge of the bedside table and onto the floor. A third buzz, muted by the carpet, sounded out and he clamored haphazardly over the bed to retrieve it. Without even bothering to check the external screen for the caller ID, Freak flipped it open and shouted, "HELLO?"
"Top 'o the mornin' to ya, Dexter," greeted Roddy. "Are ye alright lad?"
"OH GOD RODDY I'M SO GLAD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE!" cried Freak. "SOMETHING TERRIBLE'S HAPPENED—JUST AWFUL! IT'S LIKE, TEN TIMES WORSE THAN HAVING TO WATCH WATERWORLD FOR A MONTH!"
There was a brief pause. "Freakazoid?"
"Yes!"
"CRUD!"
Freakazoid flinched at the force of Roddy's shout.
There was another long pause, followed by a heavy sigh. "…Then it's happened?"
"Dexter won't respond!" blurted Freak, his voice strained with emotion. "I dunno what to do! I tried to transform and I can't—not without him! I even tried the old "Freak in" command and that didn't even work! I'm STUCK!"
"Calm down, lad, ye aren't gonna do yerself any favor by panicking." Roddy soothed. "Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly."
Freakazoid drew in a shaky breath and slumped to the floor, gripping the phone as if it were a lifeline.
"I figured somethin' like this might've happened," Said Roddy. "Seein' as there've been rolling world-wide internet blackouts for the past few hours."
Freak's eyes grew large, "Buh?"
"If there's any truth in the News on the telley, th'world is in total panic. At this rate, I cannae get t'ye through the net-port…"
"A-are you SERIOUS?"
"Sure as a snail hates salt, m'boy. Otherwise I'd be there checkin' on ye personally. Cosgrove told me ye'd gotten the flu th'night b'fore—Dinnae think anythin' of it till the net went down…"
"Y-yes, but—D-Did I cause the blackouts?" It suddenly dawned on Freakazoid to check on something and he attempted to make electricity spark from his fingertips. As expected, nothing occurred. "Roddy," he said fearfully. "My powers… I can't seem to—my powers, they're GONE!" Panic set in anew and Freakazoid drew his knees to his chest, back pressing against the bed.
"That must've been one hellavuh night!" exclaimed the Scotsman. "Ye've got some amazin' powers, lad. I'm sure this is only temporary. Sounds to me like, whatever happened, it gave ye the equivalent of a hard reboot! Tis a pity that it had such an effect on the rest of the world's virtual communications … Ah'm just glad that I haven't had other problems such as cellular interference or then we'd REALLY be in some SERIOUS crud!"
"What do I do?" Freak said frantically. "I can't let my parents see me like this, ESPECIALLY Duncan! He'll throw a huge hissy fit and I'm already sure he's figured out who I am and is plotting my demise! Without my powers, I'm a sitting duck!"
The sound of rummaging and jingling of keys projected through the transmitter, followed by a door slam and the static sound of wind interference. "Jus, use yer noggin' to figure out the situation and sit tight!"
"Roddy? What happened to Dexter? I NEED TO KNOW!"
"Get yer things t'gether. I'm on m'way."
"But Roddy!"
"NO BUTS! I'm headin' over there t'help and I'll be hog tied, tarred 'n feathered and thrown into the Loch before I allow ye t'deal with this alone! Now I've got'te let ye go for a spell. I need t'call Cosgrove. He asked me t' contact 'im if'n you or I needed help and that's what I intend t'do! Now hurry up and GET ready and try t'get out without bein' noticed! I'll be there inna jiffy!"
"Okay…" Freak replied meekly.
"Chin up lad!"
Freak nodded slowly, though he knew Roddy couldn't see him and heard the distinctive click of the line disconnecting. He closed the phone and sat quietly, his gaze scanning the room of his past life and settling on the stack of neatly folded clothes resting atop the desk. He scrambled toward it and hurriedly began to dress himself. They were the same shirt and pants Dexter wore the day before but they'd have to do. He simply felt glad to be covered, unused to seeing so much of his own blue skin and wishing he could revert to Dexter. He stooped to tug on his socks, and then reached for the black converse sneakers peeking half out from under the bed.
He told himself—convinced himself that Dexter's absence was temporary and that if he believed this for long enough, then it had to be true. He felt better to think that he still had a fighting chance, that Roddy would have an answer. He always did.
Swallowing the anxious lump in his throat, he dug into his suit case and pulled free the worn red hoodie he and Dexter loved. He needed to cover up more. A T-shirt still left his arms exposed and that wouldn't do if he expected not to be noticed.
Once Freakazoid was satisfied with his attire, he grabbed the few necessities he'd brought, particularly his laptop and shoved them into his messenger bag. As he threw the strap over his shoulder and started for the door, he stopped. In his rush, he'd nearly forgotten the most important thing of all—Dexter's glasses. His lower lip trembled. He mustn't forget those. As if handling a priceless artifact, he gingerly picked them up and folded them, returning them to the hard case they belonged to and put that in his bag as well.
"Don't you worry," he said to himself. "I'll get this fixed."
Freakazoid unlocked the bedroom door and peered out through a crack to check for anyone mingling in the hallway. When he saw that his passage was clear he crept out and quietly closed the door behind him. Though he normally enjoyed taking risks, he erred to the side of caution when approaching the stairs and began his descent.
The piquant aroma of fresh brewed coffee assailed his senses and he slowed his pace long enough to indulge an appreciative sniff, noticing an additional sugary undertone of something baking in the oven. His stomach growled, reminding Freak that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before. 'God, what I'd give for a cup of joe and a plate full of muffins…' Freak slumped heavily against the wall, weakened by a gnawing hunger. He rubbed his aching temples and paused when he overheard his father speaking from the kitchen.
"Hey, Duncan," said Mr. Douglas. "Would you go see if Dexter's alright? I heard him thumping around up there a few minutes ago. He sounded so out of it I'm worried he might've stumbled and hurt himself."
Freakazoid felt his blood run cold at the heavy sound of approaching footsteps and made a mad dash for the front door. However, he hadn't gone further than the base of the stairs when his brother crossed the living room and Freakazoid came to a screeching halt like a deer caught in headlights.
The absolute silence that fell between them was so intense that if a pin dropped, Freak was sure he would hear it. He stood tensely rooted in place, sweat making his scalp prickle uncomfortably beneath the warmth of the hood he'd drawn over his head.
Duncan's face was a myriad of expression. At first he seemed unsure of himself, perhaps convincing himself that the strange blue figure wearing his brother's clothes was merely a hallucination. This deduction lasted for all of a few seconds as his confusion quickly turned to anger. Apparently, his earlier speculation that the "blue guy" and Dexter were one in the same was in fact true.
"YOU!" Duncan seethed.
Freak dropped his shoulder bag. "OH FUDGE…"
Duncan lunged at his sibling and threw him hard against the wall before the slighter man had time to react.
The air whooshed forcefully from Freakazoid's lungs as his back impacted the wall, leaving a significant dent in the sheet rock beneath it. The expression "seeing stars" came clearly to his mind in that moment, considering the fact that he no longer had his powers to depend on.
"YOU TRICKED ME," bellowed Duncan. "YOU MADE EVERYONE THINK I WAS PSYCHO! I EVEN GOT DRAGGED TO THE FUCKING HEAD DOCTOR AND WAS CONVINCED THAT YOU WERE A STRESS INDUCED HALLUCIANTION AND PUT ON DRUGS FOR IT AND— IT WAS YOU FUCKIN' WITH MY HEAD THE ENTIRE TIME!"
Freakazoid had not realized his eyes were closed until he cracked them open and met Duncan's furious glare. He wheezed, too stunned to take an immediate breath, not that Duncan allowed him that luxury with a thick forearm pinning him by the neck. "Can't take—" He choked, tugging Duncan's arm to try and relieve the pressure on his windpipe, managing enough space to take a small breath. "—a joke—" he finished and swiftly brought up his legs and struck Duncan in the chest with his feet. Suddenly without support, Freakazoid fell in a heap onto the floor and quickly rolled onto his hands and knees.
Duncan stumbled back and managed to stay upright. "IT AIN'T A FUCKIN' JOKE YOU DIPSHIT!" He swung a fist squarely between his brother's shoulder blades, the momentum thrusting Freak face first against the hardwood.
Pain bloomed in Freakazoid's rib cage and skull and he momentarily blacked out, waking seconds later to the taste of copper in his mouth. With a flick of his tongue, he noticed that he'd split his lower lip. This was not turning out as well as he'd planned it. Come to think of it, he hadn't planned it at all. He just sort of—ran with it like he usually did.
'Now if I could just get the license plate number of the bus that just hit me, I'd be just peachy,' Freak thought sarcastically. 'Oh yeah— right—that wasn't a bus. It was Duncan.' He winced, '—sure as hell felt like one though.'
Freakazoid slowly raised himself off the floor for a second time, thankful that he was able to get as far as his knees without further injury. He hugged his aching sides thankful that nothing felt broken but there was little doubt in his mind that he'd feel like a giant bruise once the adrenaline wore off. He vaguely became aware that Duncan was speaking by all the yammering noise assaulting his ears and he strained to listen through a wave of vertigo. A large hand suddenly snatched the hood off his head, using it as leverage to yank him to his feet.
" YOU LIED TO ME—TO EVERYONE!" Duncan shouted, hooking an arm around his neck in a choke hold. "THEN YOU STARTED TOYIN' WITH MY HEAD THE OTHER DAY, SEEIN' IF I'D FINALLY SNAP!"
As if on cue, the confrontation was momentarily diverted by the simultaneous flash of light and snap of a shutter. This was promptly followed by the unmistakable whirr of a Polaroid Camera.
For several seconds both men froze then turned their heads to stare in alarm at their mother who stood not far from them, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
"Oh it's just like old times," Debbie gushed, waving the printed photo so that it would dry faster. "You boys are just so gosh darn adorable! Continue your silly rough housing and don't mind me!"
"Save that one for the photo album peach face," Mr. Douglas shouted from the dining room.
"Sure thing, hon!" Debbie replied.
Duncan's face, if possible, flushed a shade redder than before. "MA! WE'RE KINDA BUSY HERE!" He brought his other arm around in a bear hug to ensure his brother didn't attempt another escape.
Mrs. Douglas observed her sons with amusement. "Gee Dexter; you sure went all out with the cosplay to spook your poor brother. You look JUST LIKE that young man who was in the papers once—what's his name—you know the one, um, Zoid, something or other… Gosh it's been so long. Whatever happened to him…?" She trailed off.
Duncan's grip continued to tighten and for a second time in less than five minutes, blackness began to creep back into Freakazoid's vision. "Oh-okay—hngh—" He gave a jerk but the vice of his brother's lethal embrace refused to give. "Fun's over now dickweed—yer—HURK!" His sentence abruptly broke off.
"Dexter? Are you bleeding?" Mrs. Douglas looked worriedly at her eldest son, "Duncan, I don't think you're—He can't breathe! Loosen up or he'll choke to death!"
Duncan ignored his mother, raising his voice over hers. "What's that Freak boy—Am I HURTING you?" He accentuated that statement with a compulsory squeeze. "That's the point!"
Though he could have bided his time to conserve oxygen, Freakazoid was not in the right frame of mind to think tactfully. He was harried enough as it was; he didn't need death by strangulation on the growing list of "things that went wrong on my birthday" as well. Duncan's murderous intent was painfully obvious at this point, which made Freak's option of "fight or flight" that much more of an imperative. Knowing that he had only a few precious moments of consciousness, he flailed and kicked then dug his heels in and ran Duncan back against the wall. Pictures fell from their mounts and clattered to the floor in a crescendo of shattering glass and broken frames. Freakazoid didn't notice as instinct had taken over at that point, forcing him to reach far into the deepest part of his reserves in an attempt to shake his assailant.
"LET DEXTER GO," Debbie cried, slapping Duncan's shoulder. "He's choking for God's sake!" She clutched her stinging hanging realizing her efforts did nothing to discourage Duncan's rage.
Alarmed by the noise and sudden panic in his wife's voice, Mr. Douglas rushed to the living room to discover that his sons' game of rough housing had turned into a full out brawl. He frowned, "WORMS AND WEAZLES, DUNCAN! YOU LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER THIS INSTANT! LET DEXTER GO!"
Surprised at his typically docile father's furious shout, Duncan's grip loosened just enough that his brother slipped from his arms whirled on him, catching him blindsided by cracking him across the face with his fist.
Duncan heard the sickening crunch of his nose breaking as the force behind his brother's punch struck like a sledge hammer. He had put everything into that punch. The white hot agony radiating through Duncan's head was proof enough and he had paid dearly for it. He clutched his face, falling hard to the floor and roaring in pain as blood gushed between his fingers.
Dexter or whoever he really was, stood over him, panting and staring uncomprehendingly at the bloodied hand he wielded in defense.
Mrs. Douglas grasped Freakazoid's shoulder and he flinched away as if it stung. Despite the strange wig and odd palor of the blue paint she assumed he wore, Mrs. Douglas could see that her son was terrified. "Dexter? Are you alright?" She looked down, noticing all the blood, "Good heavens, DUNCAN! DOUG, you're going to have to rush Duncan to the emergency room, I think his nose is broken!" She crouched to try and help but Duncan rolled away from her, still groaning in pain. She wrung her hands fearfully as her husband stepped in and helped get a grip under Duncan's arms. "Debbie, Get a towel—QUICK!"
Debbie rushed to the linen closet without delay.
"Freak in…" Freakazoid whispered hoarsely. "Freak in…. Freak in…" He clutched his head, his desperate need for the comfort of Dexter remaining unanswered. He looked at his brother, pale and delirious with pain. Blood—there was so much blood. Though he should have felt justified, the guilt of what he had done to Duncan, no matter how much of a dick he was, weighed heavily on his conscience. He should feel good in defending himself—Duncan deserved it—but two wrongs don't make a right. He wasn't a violent person— never had been. He shook his head, befuddled by the clamor of thoughts and emotions of both Dexter and himself swirling around his mind.
Mrs. Douglas returned and handed a towel to her husband then helped him assist Duncan in getting to his feet.
The towel, which Duncan held to his face was quickly turning red and with his father's arm around him, staggered dazedly toward the door. His mother held it open and handed Mr. Douglas the car keys and his cell phone. She kissed his cheek and told him to call her as soon as he reached the hospital to let her know they'd made it safely. She touched Duncan's hand and told him she loved him, knowing he hadn't the energy to reply.
With her hands clasped to her chest, Mrs. Douglas watched her husband help Duncan into the station wagon then rushed to the wheel and sped down the road with a squeal of rubber. She turned, closing the door and was surprised that her oddly dressed son hadn't moved an inch. Sighing, she left him for a moment then returned, her worried face filling Freakazoid's field of vision.
She smiled, but the gesture never reached her eyes. "I'm sorry this had to happen… Your special day is ruined. Duncan can't seem to control himself and—I hoped the two of you would get along better but you two are still as different as night and day…" She dabbed his lip with a cloth, the sting of alcohol making Freak jump. "What kind of paint is this? Is it permanent?"
Freakazoid gaped incredulously. Could she really be so blind or was her obliviousness deliberate? He pulled away, torn over how he should respond. His cover was already blown. What more did he have to lose?
"Goodness, I hope Duncan's gonna be okay," She said nervously, not understanding her son's silence.
Freak coughed, his larynx strained. "It's not paint, Ma," he rasped. "This is—" He hesitated, "For the most part, this is me, the—real me."
His mother's blank expression made it difficult to gauge her response. She tilted her head, "What?"
The urge to facepalm was almost too much for Freakazoid to bear. Instead, he seized her hands and brought them to his face, laying each palm flat against his cheeks. "This. Is. ME. I AM the guy in the papers you were talking about. Heck, I've been all over the news! I'm Freakazoid. Your son Dexter and I are one in the same. I've had super powers since I was seventeen!"
His mother's mouth fell open.
"Get it?"
Debbie shook her head, "Dexter, if this is some kind of joke…"
Trying not to sound exasperated, Freak cried, "It's not a joke! Why can't anyone understand that?"
…
...
The honk of a car horn broke the uneasy stillness that had begun to span between them and Freakazoid nearly leapt at the sound, assuming Roddy had arrived.
"SO—" Mrs. Douglas began. "The blue guy Duncan always raved about was you?"
Freakazoid studied his shoes, unable to maintain eye contact. "Yes…" He stooped to retrieve his bag.
"Oh my…" His mother's hand flew to her mouth. "That's… That's not what I expected at all…" Her voice grew soft, "Why didn't you tell me this?"
Freakazoid opened the door only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He spotted Cosgrove's car parked in the driveway with Roddy in the passenger seat. "—I was afraid," he said quietly then thought what he couldn't finish aloud. 'No one took me seriously, anyway…'
Cosgrove revved the engine to gain Freakazoid's attention.
Freak stepped outside despite his mother still clinging to him. "I—I gotta go… There's something I need to do and I shouldn't be here when Dad and Duncan get back."
"I wish you wouldn't go," Mrs. Douglas protested. "We can fix this."
Freak shook his head, "You know it's not that easy when it concerns Duncan."
Debbie's lower lip trembled and despite the irresistible urge to turn and run, Freak pulled her into a hug. "I'll come back," he promised. "—But—just not today." He stepped back and Mrs. Douglas let him go, her hands falling limp to her sides.
"May I call you?"
Freak opened the passenger door and nearly stumbled as he turned to give her a final wan smile. He didn't reply but Debbie really didn't need him to. The look he wore said yes but his tiredness had drained his will to speak. He slipped into the Crown Victoria, closed the door with a slam and sprawled full length in the back seat.
Both Gosgrove and Roddy leaned around their seats, staring at him with twin expressions of surprise.
"Ya look like shit, kid," Cosgrove said matter-of-factly.
"The hell happened t'ye?" exclaimed Roddy. "I only just got off the phone with ye…"
"One word," Freak croaked. "Duncan."
Cosgrove made a grunt of disapproval and shifted the car into reverse.
Roddy looked out the side window, noticing that Mrs. Douglas remained where Freakazoid had left her, still watching them. "How's yer mum come into this equation?"
Freakazoid buried his face in the crook of an arm. "Just—" His voice cracked, "—get me outta here…"
"M'already ahead of ya, kid," said Cosgrove.
Once they'd left the neighborhood subdivision, Freakazoid couldn't recall what was said—if anyone even spoke. The world passed by him in a soundless blurr as the conflict within himself continued to rage. He hadn't realized he'd passed out till Roddy shook him awake and said they'd arrived at his house. Freak slunk out of the car and hadn't uttered a single complaint when Cosgrove swept him off his feet and carried him wedding-style, into the house.
"Thank you," Freak whispered as Cosgrove placed him carefully into an arm chair and his messenger bag beside it on the floor.
"No need to thank me," The ex-cop replied. "After all, what're best friends for? You looked like you could use a little pampering. I've seen what your brother can do and it ain't pretty." He looked at Roddy, "Kid looks hungry."
Already aware of this, Roddy headed to the kitchen. "Would ye like anythin' as well, Cosgrove?"
"I'd like a can of hash and some coffee."
"Comin' right up!"
"All the information of the internet at my disposal and I never bothered to learn the Vulcan neck pinch," Freak muttered.
Cosgrove chuckled. "Woulda, coulda, shoulda… you got outta there in one piece." He bent to assess the vicious bruising circling Freakazoid's neck, which had begun to fade before his eyes. "He did a number on you. Hmm, that's funny… looks to be getting better."
"Speakin' of which," Roddy called. "Th'net just popped back online. I assume that means both our powers should start t'make a comeback. Soon you'll be right as rain."
Freak tried to get up but a firm hand gently pressed him back down.
"Stay put," said Cosgrove. "You should take it easy and heal. I haven't seen you this bad off in ages."
"Yeah," admitted Freak, sighing as breathing grew easier with the passage of time. "It all happened so fast… I couldn't fight back. Duncan's gotten so strong! I'd underestimated him."
"And I'm sure he's tellin' himself the same thing about you right now—pulled up just as your dad was rolling out the drive. What happened?"
"I broke his nose," Freak replied.
Cosgrove grimaced. "I had that happen to me once while I was still working in the force, doesn't feel good."
"No, I don't imagine it does—not that I speak from experience or anything but even for a guy who's used to being beat on as a profession, Duncan seemed to be in a lot of pain…" Freak covered his face with his hands, his voice quavering. "I—I never meant to hurt him that bad."
Roddy appeared and presented Freakaoid with an apple. "Here, nom on this lad. D'ye 'ave any requests for breakfast?"
Freak gratefully took the apple, "Yeah, one of everything!" He bit into it, groaning with a roll of his eyes. "Thanksch," he said through a mouth full. "M'sooooo hungry, I could eat a horse—not that I'd ever eat a horse, 'cause that'd be weird…"
"Y'know," the Scotsman began, stroking his beard. "I been thinkin' about those power surges ye've mentioned havin' before t'day. I think yur friend Professor Heiney may have the equipment t'help me run a few tests on yeh t'get some actual schematics. I 'eard he moved t'California some years ago, I dinnae know where exactly and I'm not about t'try and hack 'im t'find out."
"Santa Barbara," Freak replied, taking another large bite, "Says he's been keepin' close to work with a doctor friend of his. Dexter has a vacation house down in La Jolla that I've wanted to go to for some time… I can use some of my remaining time off from work to hang out there and get all this mess situated."
"Sounds like a plan," Cosgrove agreed.
"Aye," the Scotsman seconded.
Freakazoid finished off the last of the apple and handed Roddy back the core, his expression turning fearful. "Roddy, I need to know how to get Dexter back. I'm worried about him. He wasn't doin' well last night and I need to know if he's okay. He won't talk to me and it's getting too quiet in here." He tapped his left temple.
Roddy exchanged looks with Cosgrove, "Perhaps ah, that should be discussed after ye've had somethin' consistent t'eat."
Freakazoid's face fell, "Something's wrong, isn't there?"
"Roddy filled me in on the drive over to your folks place," said Cosgrove. "We dunno what's up yet but it ain't worth belly achin' over till we have all the facts together."
"You don't get it," was Freak's terse reply. "You don't get what it's like to feel like half of you is missing… It's like…" He felt a prickle at the corners of his eyes and rubbed them with his sleeve. "I dunno what to think."
Cosgrove laid a hand atop Freakzoid's head, rubbing gently, "We're just tryin' to do what's best for ya."
Roddy nodded, "Aye, lad. 'E's right, y'know."
With a huff of frustration, Freakazoid lay back.
"Ah'm pure scunnurt over it too," continued Roddy. "But all will be explained in due time but there's no use makin' assumptions and getting all ballsed-up since it'll only exacerbate the issue. Dexter is likely in hibernation mode and that's what I'm stickin' to till I know f'sure."
To be Continued…
