"Coppery-skinned Sharmad Zeffar's plump curves were covered,
if far from obscured, by a high-necked but barely opaque Domani dress, the pale
golden silk worn at hem and cuffs, still with a sprinkling of small
travels-stains beyond cleaning; silk was silk, after all, and little to be had
here. Patrols into the Mountains of Mist searching for remnants of the past
summer's Trolloc invasion found few of the bestial Trollocs and far
between--and no Myrddraal, thank the Light--but they did find refugees very nearly
every day, ten here, twenty there, five somewhere else. Most came out of Almoth
Plain, but a good many from Tarabon and, like Sharmad, from Arad Doman, all
fleeing lands ruined by anarchy on top of civil war. Faile did not want to
think of how many died in the mountains. Lacking roads or even paths, it would
have been no easy journey in the best of times, and these were far from the
best…"
Darien shut
off the tape player and removed the headphones from his ears. A yawn threatened
to split his face in half as he stretched shaking the kinks from his limbs.
Normally he did not stop in the middle of a prologue but Robert Jordan seemed
to like overly long prologues and The Lord of Chaos was no different. Still
caught within the fictitious world, he absently fingered the slight scar over
the snake tattoo that had prompted Michael to buy him the Wheel of Time
set. The tale's web slowly
disintegrated from around his brain and he found himself back in reality. The
colors brought on by Jordan's imagery faded with his words and Darien's
thoughts were left in black and white. He felt the soft, worn fabric of the
couch beneath him and the tickle of a stray hair brushing against his forehead.
The small house was silent except for the light ticking of the clock above the
stove and the sounds of even breathing. Darien held his breath and listened
again. Yes, he had been right there was a second person in the room. Slowly and
carefully, he held out his hand, fingers seeking the other breather.
Strong
hands gripped his wrist and guided his fingers to their quarry. Fingertips
danced lightly over the high bare forehead. The skin was smooth and warm with
the slight slippery feel of oil. The
fingertips slid down to the eyebrows slipping in between them to trace down the
nose. If the forehead had not been enough to identify the other person, the
broad distinguished nose would have been. Darien broke out into a smile but
continued his exploration of the face. He gently touched the delicate eyelids
and up-lifted cheeks. His fingers reached the soft, warm, slightly moistened
lips. Tracing a single finger along them he felt them conform into a smile. Hot
puffs of air escaped over his fingertip and he carefully let his hand drop back
down to his lap.
"Bobby," he
said smiling at the other man.
"Hey,
partner," answered Hobbes. The smile on his face was evident in his voice. "How
are ya today?"
"Not bad.
How are things at the agency?"
"Great.
Same old, same old," answered Hobbes. Darien could hear the slight strain in
his voice.
"Still
having problems with Robertson, huh?" Darien cocked his head and looked in the
general direction of his partner.
"I don't
know why the Fatman is making me work with him. We all know that I don't work
well with partners. Present company excluded, of course." Darien could hear the
slight smirk on Hobbes face as well as the underlying frustration and
disgruntlement. The chair gave a quiet creaked followed by shuffling footsteps
as Hobbes began to pace in front of the couch.
"Is the
problem with you or with him?" Darien went straight to the point. The shuffling
stopped and he felt Hobbes' thoughtful gaze upon his face. Darien continued to
face him issuing a silent challenge.
"A little
of both," sighed Hobbes turning to the window. He pulled back the curtain
allowing a single ray of warmth to enter the room and play across Darien's
face.
"Getting
rid of Robertson isn't going to bring me back," stated Darien gently with a
hint of longing and sadness in his voice.
"I know,"
replied Hobbes sadly. "It's just not the same, you know? We had something
special. We were the way partners are supposed to be. You didn't mind my
paranoia and I forgave Mr. Hyde. We worked together. We fit together. You don't
come across something like that everyday."
Hobbes sighed with regret.
"Give him a
chance. Things will get better."
"I hope
so." Hobbes let the curtain fall and turned back to face Darien. The silence
took over broken only by the ticking clock, their breathing, and the passage of
a plane overhead.
"Don't,"
stated Darien, his voice hard and angry. "Don't look at me like that."
"How did
you…"
"I do not
want your pity." Darien was adamant. "I think it's time for you to leave now."
"Come on,
Fawkes. Don't be like this."
"Goodbye,
Hobbes." He placed the headphones back on effectively ending the visit.
"Bye,
Fawkes," Hobbes said softly. "I'll stop by tomorrow on my way home from work."
Darien gave every appearance of not having heard him.
