Mike walked over to where Darien sat listening to his book and gently touched him on the shoulder. Fawkes cut off the cassette and removed the headphones.
"Darien? What would you like for dinner?"
"I'm not hungry," he replied facing his lap. "You're never hungry but you have to eat anyway. You don't want to end up back at the lab again."
"I don't know. Just fix something." Darien played with the corner of his shirt not wanting to pay attention to Mike. He wanted to go back into the book where he could dwell in their lives and not think about the disaster that was his own. Where had everything gone so wrong? When his parents died? When he turned to burglary? When he said yes to his brother? When he said yes to his Keeper? Sighing, Darien rubbed his face feeling over his familiar features. He spoke quietly in a low monotone. "How about peanut butter and jelly?"
"Coming right up. I hope you don't mind if I make me some nice hot soup to go along with the sandwiches." Mike's voice was filled with warmth. It smiled at him hiding the relief Mike felt at getting him to agree to eat. Impulsively, Darien reached out for Mike's arm but barely missed hitting him in the head catching his shoulder instead. Mike patted him on the hand before moving off into the kitchen to heat the soup.
Darien sat their silently listening to the slightly hollow thuds of the cabinets opening and closing as Mike pulled out a pot and a can of soup. The whir of the can opener and the plunk of the soup falling out of the can into the pot were followed by running water. Mike began to hum to himself accompanied by the metallic scratch of the spoon as it traced its way around the bottom of the pan stirring the soup. Soon the soup was bubbling and Mike turned down the temperature two clicks. There was the crinkle of the bread being opened and the scraping of metal against plastic then Mike opened the refrigerator. Darien set the cassette player beside him and carefully got to his feet.
With his arms spread to ward off any furniture and help him keep his balance, Darien slowly made his way across the room. His steps were slow, careful, and over exaggerated. He stumbled but caught himself against the bar. He cursed his blindness for making his motor impairment worse. He paused there listening to the chinks of metal against glass. He had a few minutes before time to eat. Mike was just putting the jelly on the bread. Feeling his way along the polished surface of the bar top, he adjusted his positioning and headed in the direction of the table. His hand brushed against the worn wicker back of the chair in front of him and his other hand grasped the square splintered post. Moving around the table he changed his grip to the smooth, cold, metal arch that formed the chair at the head of the table. Shuffling carefully so as not to entangle his feet, he reached his chair. Sliding into the seat he ran his hands across the silky curves and designs that had been carved into back and base of the chair.
He was glad the Agency had been too cheap to buy matching chairs. He liked how each one felt different. This one was his favorite though. Sometimes at night when he was supposed to be sleeping, he would creep into the dining room and just sit listening to the sleeping house and feeling the delicate notches that formed the roses and leaves woven across the chair. An angry hiss and the faint scent of scorched soup disrupted his thoughts and his head turned in Mike's direction. A slow grin crossed his face.
"You can't pour it without getting it on the bottom of the pot can you?" grinned Darien.
"You keep complaining and I'll make you cook for me."
"You don't value your life very much, do you?" Mike just laughed in response. He bought the food to the table and set it down with two clunks. His chair scraped across the floor and creaked as his weight settled into it.
"The sandwich is here." Mike took Darien's hand and moved it until he was touching the bread. "Your soup is at 10 o'clock. Careful,it's hot."
"I don't want any soup." Darien made his best attempt at a glare in Mike's direction.
"Darien, why are you being difficult?" Mike was thoroughly exasperated.
"I am not a child. I do not want to eat any soup and it's my decision." Darien heard a sigh and a slurp that told him Mike had dropped the argument and started eating. Darien picked up his sandwich and took a small bite. He held it in his mouth tasting the sweetness of the jelly and feeling the peanut butter stick to the roof of his mouth. "Strawberry."
"Yep."
"Did you….did you see anything interesting on the way to the grocery store?" asked Darien taking another bite of his sandwich.
"Not much other than this really hot babe looking over the lettuce with me." Darien snorted and had to suppress a smile. Mike's tales of conquest were legendary surpassed only by Hobbes' largely fictitious prowess. Mike went on to describe the woman in some detail but Darien ceased to listen after the first sentence or so. He began to tear his sandwich into pieces occasionally eating them as he let his mind wander aimlessly.
"Earth to Darien."
"Hmmm?" murmured Darien absently.
"Geez, where did you go? I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes."
"What do you want?"
"Are you going to eat or are you just going to sit there playing with your food?"
"Sit here playing with my food," muttered Darien ill temperedly. Darien was beginning to get angry at being treated like a child.
"Darien." Mike was annoyed at his charge's antics. That was all it took to send Darien into flat out anger.
"You want me to drink my soup?" he growled. "Fine I'll drink my soup." Angrily he reached for the cup but instead of grabbing it as he intended he inadvertently knocked the mug over. Still hot soup splashed over his hands and he jerked back with a yell. His feet became tangled in the legs of his chair and they both went tumbling to the ground with a loud bang and a groan. Darien lay there panting. The only other sound was the dripping of the spilt soup as it flowed off the table onto the floor.
"Mike?" asked Darien hesitantly sounding as vulnerable and helpless as he felt. When Mike did not answer he continued in a small voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Mike asked finally.
"What?" Darien's head jerked towards the direction of Mike's voice.
"Look, Darien, I'm tired of fighting with you. We can argue until the cows come home and we can put you on a feeding tube but when push comes to shove you are the only person who can make you eat. You keep pushing your friends away and you won't leave the house. Now you aren't eating again. Why are you doing this? Are you trying to make this life go away? Passive suicide? I just want to understand, Darien. I just want to know why."
"I don't know." His empty, dead eyes filled with water. A few stray tears escaped to trickle down his cheeks. "I just…I hate being pitied. I hate being treated like a child. I hate being helpless. I hate needing a Keeper." Darien could not contain his tears any longer. He heard Mike's chair scrape the floor then he felt Mike's arms encircle him. Forgetting to be embarrassed, Darien returned the other's embrace and sobbed into his shoulder.
"Sh. It's OK to cry. Let it all out," murmured Mike. Darien had spent the past few months keeping all of his emotions bottled up and once he opened the floodgates he was unable to stop the tears. Mike had to resort to a mild sedative to get the once invisible man to calm down. While the sedative was taking effect, Mike went into the bathroom and started some bath water. He gently began removing the clothing from his unresisting charge.
He picked Darien up as easily as if he'd been a baby then carried him to the bathroom and deposited him into the warm soapy water. He began to bathe him; Darien submitting to his ministrations docilely. When Darien was clean and rinsed, Mike dried him off and carried him into his bedroom. Not bothering to dress him, Mike laid him down in his bed and began to rub his back until Darien surrendered to sleep. With a final glance at the now peacefully sleeping man, Mike sighed and returned to the living room to clean up the mess in there.