Author: Brandywine421
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: BROTHER'S KEEPER etc.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to sci-fi.
Darien
Fawkes runs a hand through his hair as he walks into the Keep. The Official had taken one look at him and
sent him to the Keeper.
He has
dark bags under his eyes and he was running late again so he has several days'
stubble on his chin and lip. He has
lost several pounds in the last few weeks but he doesn't think that anyone has
noticed.
His
partner, Bobby Hobbes, and his doctor, Claire, the Keeper, are talking quietly
by the fish tank. They freeze when they
notice Darien.
"Hey,
partner," Hobbes nods.
"If I'm
interrupting, I could come back," Darien says quietly. He is exhausted. He spends all day smiling, joking, and pretending that he is fine
while he spends all night drinking and avoiding his demons.
"The
Official said I should come see you," He nods to Claire.
"I'll be
in my office," Hobbes excuses himself.
Darien
hops into the chair. "So, what were you
and Hobbesy so intense in conversation about?"
"You,
actually," Claire replies.
"Me?" Darien asks, in false surprise. "What about me?"
Claire
puts down her clipboard, loudly.
"Jesus, Darien. Do you think we
can't see what's happening to you?"
"Keep,
what's happening to me?" Darien asks,
slightly amused.
"You're
losing weight. Bobby says you aren't
eating. You're clearly not sleeping
considering those black bruises under your eyes. Darien, I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me what's wrong." Claire looks at him with pure concern.
"I'm
fine, Claire. I'm perfectly o.k." Darien replies flatly. His amusement is gone. Something inside snapped when he realized
that Claire is worried. He can feel his
tenuous control start to crack.
She
touches his hand. "Darien. You're not okay. Are you depressed? Is
this about Kevin?"
Darien
jerks away. "Like I'd ever tell you
anything about Kevin." His anger surges
before he can stop it. "You of all
people, you went out with Kevin for a year but you didn't feel the need to tell
me about it and now you want me to talk to you."
Claire
looks as if she's been struck.
"Darien…"
He waves
her voice away. "Never mind…what do you
need from me today?"
"No,
Darien, we need to talk about this…I never thought…" Claire stammers.
"What do
you need from me, Claire." He forces
himself to stay calm. He found out from
Bobby about Claire and his dead brother's relationship and is intensely hurt
that Claire didn't tell him. He has to
keep his emotions in check, though.
"Darien,"
Claire starts to try again.
"Look, I
don't need a lecture. I'll eat
more. I'll get more rest, whatever you
tell me to do, I'll do. Are we
done?" Darien sighs. He can't keep it together much longer.
"No,
Darien, we're not done…" Claire says.
"Well,
I'm done. I'm going home. Tell everybody I'm taking a sick day because
I'm sick." Darien stands up and goes to
the door. "I'm sick of this crap." His voice cracks slightly but he leaves
abruptly to cover it.
Its only
noon, but he stops by the liquor store and gets a bottle of Jack Daniels. He goes home. He hurriedly changes his clothes and dresses in a pair of jeans
and a black turtleneck. He needs some
air.
When he
pulls away from the curb, he sees Hobbes' tan van parking behind him. Darien waves and peels off. He loses Hobbes' tail a few streets later. He drives up into the hills and takes his
liquor out onto a cliff's edge. He
isn't going to jump, he just likes the feeling of nothing on one side of
him. He is so trapped in his life that
he likes having a clear sky as one of his walls. He drinks.
He
finishes the bottle a little after dusk.
He has been sitting on the ledge for hours, watching the sky and
thinking. He has come to no new
conclusions. His brother saved him from
life in prison by giving him a life in hell.
He has a gland in his head that lets him become invisible for short
periods. Without a regular shot, he
goes insane. Darien has to serve the
agency and be a lab rat in order to get his shots. His brother was murdered and he is all alone.
Recently,
he was injected with Kevin's memory RNA in order to let Kevin's memories take
over Darien's body while he was sleeping.
The process worked, but Kevin refused to reveal how to remove the gland
before erasing his memories. Darien is
confused. He never thought Kevin's
research would come before a brother's love, but here he is. Trapped.
He tosses
the bottle over the edge. He hears it
shatter and he starts to sob.
It is
dark when he stops crying. He sighs and
slowly gets to his feet. He stumbles
through the woods to his car.
"'Bout
time," Bobby Hobbes says, leaning on the hood of Darien's car.
"What's
up, Bobby. How long have you been
standing out here?" Darien sighs. All he wants is some space, a little
privacy.
"A
while. How long have you been here,
partner?" Hobbes asks, trying to mask
his concern.
"A
while," Darien replies.
"Darien,"
Bobby starts.
"Don't,
Hobbes," Darien says, holding up his hand.
"You never call me Darien so I know whatever you say is just going to
piss me off." He runs both his hands
through his hair. "All of a sudden everybody
wants to 'talk to me', like that's going to solve everything."
"It can't
hurt, Fawkes," Bobby says.
Darien
nods. "That's certainly true, but its
not what I need right now. I need some
freaking time alone. He staggers
slightly on his way to the driver's side.
"Fawkes…Are
you drunk?" Hobbes asks, realization
washing across his face.
Darien
shakes his head. "Nope. I was drunk an hour ago. Now, I'm numb. I'm going home."
"You're
not driving," Bobby says, sounding like he could laugh.
Darien
looks at the keys in his hand and then at Bobby.
"Give me
your keys, Fawkes."
Darien
looks at his keys again.
"Fawkes."
Darien
tosses the keys to Bobby. Bobby climbs
into the driver's seat and Darien settles in behind the glove box.
"You're
drinking," Hobbes says, dryly, once they are on the highway.
"Not
right now," Darien replies. He leans
his head on his hand propped against the glass.
"You're
not a drinker, Fawkes. I've known
drinkers," Bobby says.
"Oh, so
it's finally lecture time," Darien sighs.
"Fawkes. How long have you been drinking?"
The
concern in Bobby's voice starts to damage the wall in Darien's emotions. He doesn't trust anyone right now, but
Hobbes is different. Hobbes has never
disappointed him.
"Since I
was about twelve," Darien remarks.
"Come on,
Fawkes. If anyone's going to understand
a breakdown, its gonna be Bobby Hobbes," He says gently.
Darien
snorts. "Is that what's happening to
me? I'm having a breakdown?"
"Prove me
wrong. Talk to me, Fawkes. Not the agency, not the keeper, talk to me."
Darien
closes his eyes as the alcohol pulses in his body. He hasn't eaten in days and the Jack is boiling in his starved
stomach.
"I can't
sleep," Darien hears himself saying. "I
can't eat. Those are two of my favorite
things to do and I can't do them. If I
sleep, I dream and it's not about bikini-clad supermodels, either. When I eat, my stomach churns and I have to
puke. I haven't been able to keep any
food down in weeks. I stopped trying a
few days ago. So, I bought some
beer. Fills my stomach and sings me to
sleep."
Bobby
listens calmly. "You don't smell like
beer to me, partner."
Darien
sighs, his skin crawling from his uncontrollable speech. He doesn't want anyone to know, he knows
that once they know, they'll take away the one thing that brings him peace.
"Beer's
expensive. Come on, Bobby. The truth.
Has it affected my work? Haven't
we completed every mission lately? So,
I drink a little to calm my nerves. So
what?"
"It's
killing you," Hobbes states.
"The
gland is killing me," Darien replies.
"Fawkes."
"Hobbes,"
Darien replies, before Hobbes can finish his statement. "Can we drop it?" He feels one of his episodes coming on. Recently, he has been having dizzy spells where he shakes
violently and starts to sweat. He only
gets them when he gets over-anxious or upset.
"Fawkes,
man, you've…" Bobby starts.
"Drop
it," Darien repeats. Hobbes glances at
him. Darien starts to tremble and his
skin pales.
"What's
wrong?" Hobbes asks, slowing the car.
"I'm
fine. Just drunk, remember?" Darien replies, quivering. He doesn't realize that Bobby has pulled
over to the shoulder.
Darien
holds his head. His mind is swirling
and he can't breathe. He feels millions
of pins in his skin.
"Fawkes,
you're hyperventilating, kid. Breathe
in this bag. Do it." Hobbes orders, holding out the paper sack
that the Jack Daniels came in.
Darien
obeys to keep the peace. He can't
believe that he lost control in front of his partner. His eyes are closed but he can picture Bobby's confused and
worried face looking at him. Finally, he can focus again as the panic recedes
into his mind.
"Fawkes. You okay?"
Bobby asks quietly.
"Yeah. Can we go?"
Darien asks.
"You just
had a panic attack," Hobbes says, not moving.
Darien
snorts, trying to recover his indifference.
"I'm fine. I get dizzy."
"Bullshit,
Fawkes. Why won't you let me help
you?" Bobby asks, exasperated. He
starts to drive again.
"'Cause
I'm fine. I don't need your help. I need some privacy, some space," Darien
replies, absently wishing for a drink.
Bobby
shakes his head. Later, he pulls up to
Darien's apartment. "I'll bring your
car in the morning, Fawkes. I don't
want you driving around all night in this condition."
"Whatever,"
Darien replies, knowing Hobbes will be by early to check on him.
"Fawkes. Will you call me if you…if you decide you
want some help?" Bobby asks, as Darien
walks to the door.
Darien
goes upstairs without reply. He opens
his door with the spare key since Bobby has his keys. He flips on a light and opens the freezer. He turns and sees a number of empty bottles
scattered around, but no liquor. He
feels several dollars in his jeans so he retrieves the spare key and goes for a
walk to the corner.
He buys a pint of Southern Comfort with
his cash and drinks half of it in the parking lot. He finds himself more drunk than he expected as he stumbles on
the curb as he walks home. He recovers
and slowly continues.
Darien
doesn't notice the boys until the first fist contacts his face. He doesn't react until the fifth punch hits
his stomach. He falls and the kicks
start.
The thugs
search his crumpled body for cash and cards.
Darien doesn't fight, he can't get his injured body to cooperate.
"Freaking
drunk," Someone says, and he feels a slice across his chest and the sound of
his shirt ripping.
"What the
hell are you doing?" Another voice
asks.
Darien
feels the knife pierce his side and feels the hot blood pulsing from his flesh.
"He
deserves it. He probably wants to die,"
His attacker says.
"You're
nuts! Let's go!"
Darien
hears their feet scrambling away. He
relaxes slightly and spits blood onto the sidewalk. He allows himself a moment of rest before struggling to his feet.
He can
see the door to his apartment. He was
so close. Darien glances in his hand
and realizes that he still has his whiskey.
He holds the bottle against his bleeding side and slowly staggers
upstairs.
Darien
collapses on his couch, the pain getting more intense by the second. His head is spinning and his vision is
dotted with stars.
He tries
to think of what he should do. He could
save his pride and sit here until he bleeds to death. He could call Bobby and admit that he drinks too much but that
would involve the Keeper and the Agency.
He would probably even get a lecture about damaging the million-dollar
gland from the Official.
Darien
tries to clear his head. Finally, he
realizes the flaw in his logic. The
choices are simply, live or die. This
particular choice shouldn't take him much thought, but he sits, pensive.
Darien
takes a harsh swallow of whiskey and dials Bobby's number.
