Green Kool-Aid
By Carol M.
Summary: Darien's POV during Germ Theory
Spoilers: the entire episode of Germ Theory, or at least the parts that Darien is in
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the episode. The dialogue and story are the property of Tom J. Astle and the rest of the writers at I-man. The thoughts are mine, or, well, actually they're Darien's
Author's Note: I think Germ Theory was one of the most interesting episodes of I-man I have seen in a long time. There were lots of issues and relationships brought up during the episode that I thought might be fun to explore deeper. So I tried to get into the head of Darien Fawkes. I guess this story is similar to Lucy Hale's wonderful Flowers. This is my first attempt at this kind of style and I'm kind of nervous about it. I just hope I did Darien's mind justice! Enjoy!
Composers of traditional Japanese music believe that true expression is found not only in the notes, but in the silences between them. So here I sit, listening to the notes and silences that have become my life, in the form of Hobbes and Ebes arguing and Claire looking on with amusement.
You know, I must say this is one of the perks of having this damn gland in my head. They have no freakin clue that I'm sitting here in the Keep and listening to all of this.
I always wondered why Hobbes and Eberts fight the way they do. Hobbes has a real problem with Eberts. Now personally, and I will never admit this to anyone, but I think Eberts is kind of cool. He's really smart and does things with computers that absolutely amaze me. If I had an Eberts working with me when I was a thief, we could have done magic together.
I notice a black book sitting on the Keep's desk. I wonder if she has anything written about me in it. Being the curious guy that I am, I pick it up and start flipping through it. Wow, this is really technical. Oh, oh, Hobbes and Ebes are leaving, that's my cue. I shed the quicksilver and Claire freaks.
"Oh," she yells. "Avoiding paperwork is not a good reason for quicksilvering," she continues, snatching the black book out of my hands.
"Avoiding Moi, no I was merely waiting quietly for my shot," I say. She seems irked. I can fix that. I walk over to the counteragent chair and sit down, flashing her one of my patent Darien smiles as I chew on a tasteless piece of trident that I popped in my mouth on my way over here. Women are defenseless against my charming, gum chewing smile.
Claire ignores me. Okay so maybe it doesn't always work. I look to my left and notice a tray filled with flasks of green stuff. The green stuff is actually kind of pretty.
"Hey can I have the last of the Kool-Aid here?" I say as I pick up the flask and examine it.
"That is an experimental reagent which may work as a time release form of counteragent, which could act as a safety buffer for times when you can't get one of these injections, which although it wont free you from you counteragent dependency could save your life one of these days, so in other words, please stop playing with my lab equipment," says Claire without taking a breath.
Okay I have absolutely no idea what any of that meant, but I play along.
"Wow that was a really long run on sentence, but okay, if you say so," I say, setting the flask back on the table. Somehow my powerful bicep ends up breaking it and I cut my finger. "Aw, crap," I say. Damn that stings!
"Oh Darien, that's two weeks of work," Claire says, obviously mad. Man, have I gotten on her bad side today or what?
"Ow," I yelp as she pokes me full of counteragent. A year and a half of this and it still freakin hurts every single time.
I show Claire my bleeding finger, asking her to bandage it. She doesn't seem too impressed.
"Okay, I'll get my own Band-Aid," I say.
Claire walks to the tray and steps on some glass. She gives me a sharp look.
"And a broom," I say.
This day has quickly turned to crap. I bandage my finger, on my own I might add, and sweep up the glass. Then I sneak out of the Agency to avoid the file room and spend the rest of the day shopping at my favorite flea market. I grab a taco for dinner at Poncho's Taco Shop and head home for bed.
I pull on my pajama pants and a wife beater. I feel a slight chill in the air, so I go into my drawer and put on the tops to some pajamas that I think I stole from someone. Okay, so I don't match but hey, who's going to see me. I rest my head against my pillow and fall asleep instantly, exhausted from my day of shopping.
Morning comes way too soon. I slowly get out of bed and blearily make my way to my bathroom. I reach for my toothpaste with my hand and yelp in surprise when my cut finger starts to throb. I pull the bandage off, wincing. Claire really should have bandaged this for me. I peel off layer after layer of bandage and still don't see my finger. Maybe I'm just tired. I pull the last of the bandage away and realize that my finger is invisible. Okay, what now? This is kind of freaky. I'm starting to panic. I shake my hand hard, trying to get the quicksilver to come off, but it won't budge. "Aw, crap," I say as I stare at my deformed hand in the mirror. Why does stuff like this always happen to me?
I rush through my morning routine, only taking care with styling my hair, pull on some clothes and head out the door. I look down at my hand and stare at my invisible finger. I turn around and head back to my apartment where I grab my oven mitt. I really don't need everyone staring at my invisible finger.
I hightail it to the Agency in my crappy car and make my way to the Keep. I greet Claire with my oven mitt clad hand and dramatically pull it off. I notice to my horror that my middle finger has now gone invisible. "Oh man," I mutter.
Claire is not put off by this at all. "Very impressive. Now do that strange American children's thing, you know pop, got your nose," she says playfully. Well at least she's not in a bad mood like yesterday.
"Well, I'm not doing this," I say.
She gets up and walks to me. "You mean you can't unquicksilver them?"
I try to mentally rid myself of the quicksilver, to no avail. "Naw. What's the deal here?" I ask, hoping she can give me some kind of answer.
"Well it would seem as if the gland is flooding the area with quicksilver. Perhaps in response to the wound," she replies.
"Yeah, but I've gotten cut before, and this has never happened," I say with doubt.
"Yeah but we don't really know how the gland is going to behave in your body over time. I mean maybe is starting to feel more at home. I mean this does seem to suggest a link between your gland and your immune system. This is incredible," she says with excitement as she goes to get some lab equipment that she will undoubtedly use on me.
"Yeah, it's great," I say dryly. "So what are you going to do here?" I continue.
She walks back with a scalpel in her hand. "I'm just going to get a little bit of a tissue scraping," she says. I don't think so.
"No, no I don't want to be scraped, I want to be fixed, okay?" I say. Why is she treating me like some kind of science experiment?
"Oh come on, hold still," she says as she reaches for my finger with the scalpel in her hand.
"No!" I say a little stronger then I intended.
She looks at me with surprise.
"Look, it's just I want my fingers back, okay," I say, trying to make her understand. "I don't want to have to wear a glove every time I go out in public. The whole Michael Jackson thing it's very eighties," I say, trying to ease my own tension.
"Stop whinging and just let me do this," she says as she scrapes at my finger.
Ow, god do you think I could go a day without getting poked or prodded like this? "What are you trying to do, Bobbitt my whole finger there?" I say with irritation as I feel the skin being pulled off my invisible finger.
"You're hand is invisible, in case you haven't noticed. All right here we go," she says as she tries again. This time she slips and cuts her own finger. Good. Now she knows how it feels.
"Oh, I missed you all together that time," she says with a smile.
"Yeah, it's not so much fun to be scraped is it?" I say sardonically. "Now you know how Ow!..I feel," I say as she scrapes my finger yet again.
She holds up the scalpel. "Perfect," she says.
Yeah for who, her or me? I shouldn't even have come in here. Why can't she just heal me and let me be, but no she has to be the scientist that she is and conduct experiments.
I walk out the Keep, feeling a bit angry and a bit used. Sometimes Claire can really irritate me. I walk towards the file room and hear Hobbes and Eberts fighting. Hobbes yells my name for help. No way in hell, buddy. I'm in my own world of hurt right now. I'm starting to feel kind of queasy and I notice to with slight panic that my other fingers are starting to turn invisible. They're actually starting to hurt pretty badly. Hopefully, Claire will get over this little discovery kick she's on and give me some medicine to make this go away.
"Darien, Darien," I hear her call down the hall. Oh goody, time for some sweet relief.
She walks towards me and shows me her invisible finger. Then she drags me towards the Official's office. This is not good. Not good at all. She practically pushes me through the door. I make my way into the office and sit on the Official's desk. He'll get over.
She shows him her finger. "Do you see this? It's invisible," she says. Yeah Claire, we can see that. Or actually, we can't see that.
"Oh yes, why?" asks the Official, not so impressed.
"This is quicksilver, but it's not coming from Darien, well not directly anyway. I cut myself with a scalpel that was contaminated with his cells," she says.
"You make it sound so dirty," I say. Man you would think we had sex or something.
They ignore me, as usual. "I'm generating quicksilver. Well not me, it's coming from inside the cut, or a change in white blood cells. Or, oh no, no bacteria from the infection," she says as the knowledge starts to pour out of that big brain of hers.
"All right, slow down, what infection? And is it dangerous?" asks the Official.
Claire shakes her head. "Oh no, it's not dangerous, antibiotics would knock it out in a second, but we don't want to knock it out," she says. Ah, yeah we do.
"Speak for yourself, I'm in pain here," I say, holding up my hand for emphasis. Again, I'm ignored. Why do I even bother?
"Look, if I'm right and the bacteria is producing quicksilver..."
I tune out for a second, noticing a strange odor. I think it's coming from hand. I bring it closer to my nose and confirm my suspicion. That is really nasty.
"It could be huge. Discovery of penicillin huge," she says with a huge smile, as I tune back into the conversation. I don't like that smile; I don't like it at all.
The Official stands up from his chair and I sulk. I know exactly where this is headed and believe me, I don't want to go there. "What do you need?" he asks her.
"Just me, for now, and Darien of course, he's where I discovered the original strain," she says. Oh, no she doesn't
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there. You discovered?" I say.
She looks at me with anger. "Well you didn't know what you were looking at," she says.
"Yeah, well neither did you," I say in defense.
"Well if it would have been up to you we would have put a little antiseptic on it and there would be no bacteria to discover," she says, putting a baby mocking twist on the word antiseptic that I don't like. This is not going well at all.
The Official interrupts. "Excuse me kiddies, but may I remind you that since this operation is top secret, neither one of you is going to be eligible for the Nobel Prize."
"Thank you. Hmmm," I say smugly. That should knock her for a loop.
She looks pissed. Good.
"You're at the good doctors disposal," says the Official.
"Hmm," she says. Now it's her turn to be smug.
Nope, no way. I'm going to try and talk my way out of this one. "Hey wait a minute chief, do you think that's really wise? I mean I'm just thinking, aren't my talents better used assisting some of our other agents out in the field," I say as I make the nutso sign, indicating I want to be with Hobbes and not stuck at the Agency getting poked and prodded.
"No, Hobbes is on paperwork patrol and Alex is out in the field on a three day assignment. That leaves plenty of time for you to be a quinea pig," he says. I think I'm going to cry.
"Great," I say sarcastically. I turn to Claire. "More scraping?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
"Oh yes, lot's," she says with excitement.
I mock laugh. "Great," I say.
I follow her out of the office and back to the Keep where she precedes to scrape me all day long. I'm really starting to feel nauseous and my hand is throbbing constantly. But she doesn't care. She's actually really starting to hurt my feelings. All this time I thought she was my friend, but I guess all she sees when she looks at me is her own human sized lab rat.
Finally, after practically scraping off my whole finger, she let's me go home. I drive back to my apartment and barely avoid falling off my bed as I dive into it, exhausted. Sleep comes quickly. Well at least I can escape this hell that has become my life for a few hours.
I wake up the next morning feeling like absolute crap. I notice with slight terror, that not only has my whole hand gone invisible, but my arm has gone along for the ride as well. It hurts really, really bad now. Plus, I'm freezing and cold sweat is pouring off my body. I think I have a fever too. This sucks.
I contemplate eating breakfast, but the thought of it makes my stomach roll so I decide to skip it. I get dressed, barely putting any effort into my hair, and I drive to the Agency. I run into Hobbesy in the hallway and he tells me about his interaction with a very QSM Claire. Hmmm, nice, wish I could've seen that. Maybe now she will finally understand what it's like for me, but I don't hold my breath.
After walking a reluctant Hobbes to the file room, I saunter to the Keep and sit in a chair, waiting for the inevitable tests that will make my day a living hell. I start to play with the jars of green Kool-Aid again. You would think I had learned my lesson, but the mischievous little boy in me can't resist.
The Keep door opens, revealing the Keep and the Official. Aw, crap, caught! "I didn't touch it, I did not touch that," I say innocently as I set down the flask.
Claire looks excited to see me. "Darien, good. I want you to see this too so you know you haven't been poked and prodded in vain," she says. Oh no she doesn't. I think my arm takes precedent over her precious little cells under the microscope.
"Yeah, well, I've got something to show you too," I say, showing her and the Official my invisible arm.
She's talking about alcohol killing the bacteria present in the infection, which sounds good to me.
"It killed the bacteria that were already present. Once they were dead, the stopped producing quicksilver and they become invisible," she says.
I walk towards the two of them, slightly curious. "Which means what?" I ask.
"Which means, I was right. The bacteria in the infection has mutated into what is essentially a new species," she says with excitement. Wow, a new species, how thrilling. Can I have my arm back now?
The Official looks interested. "How is that possible?" he asks. I can here the dollar signs chiming in Charlie's head already.
"Okay, first, Darien cut his hand, which was no doubt less than sterile," she says. The Official nods in agreement.
"Well, hey, I wash my hands...every now and then," I say softly. So now, I'm not only a lab rat, but I'm also a dirty lab rat. Thanks for the ego boost guys. By the way, just for the record, I DO wash my hands.
Claire looks at me in horror and takes the beakers away from me. "Why would anyone misuse a chemistry set like that?" she asks. Okay, note to self, never mess with Claire's lab equipment ever again. After all, she is in charge of handling all the needles that find their way into my body.
Maybe now that she knows what's going on, she'll take pity on me and heal me. "Okay, great, so you've got it figured out. Can, can I have some drugs now, please, because I, I would really like my arm back and it's, it's really starting to hurt because it... it's really starting to throb," I say pathetically. Please don't say no. Please don't say no.
"Oh, don't you be silly. We need to study that bacteria to make sure the mutation is stable," she says. You want a mutation, I'll show you a freakin mutation, Keep.
Hahahah. Way to knock her down, buddy. "I heard. Bad words and everything," I say to her.
"I have to sleep here?" I ask with disbelief.
"Yeah," she says with glee. Okay, why is she excited about me sleeping here? Sorry Claire, but I feel like crap right now and all I want to do is go to sleep in my own comfy bed, not in the torture chair.
"No," I say firmly. "No, no, no, no, no, no way," I say, as I walk to the door, thinking about bolting and getting the hell out of here.
"Come on, we need to watch over each other and be near a nice supply of counteragent," she says.
"What about the infection itself?" asks the Official.
"Oh, that's totally manageable," Claire says confidently. Manageable my ass!
"Hello? Where's my arm, huh?" I say, popping out my see through arm. I am livid. "Not to mention I'm starting to break out in cold sweats here," I add, feeling a bead of sweat drip down my back. God, I'm in hell. I sulk. I'm really good at that, at least that's what Casey used to tell me.
The Official ignores my plea. "Congratulations, doctor. If you can make more of these bacteria, we could someday produce a supply of quicksilver without having to… you know." That's something new, the fat man is trying to be tactful.
"Drill a whole in my head?" I offer up.
"I told you we shelved that idea- for now," he says. Great, I feel so much better now.
I try the helpless hurting Darien plea once again. "Look, I have a fever. I'm nauseous. I am not a lab rat pushing buttons for a food pellet. I'm in pain here," I say with desperation.
"Point taken," says the Official. "Give that lab rat an aspirin," he says as he walks out the door.
Oh no. "Chief," I yell as I run after him. He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't care. Big surprise. Well the man is nothing if consistent.
Claire starts her tests on me. She starts testing herself too. I'm feeling worse and worse as the hours pass by. She doesn't look too great herself.
. "Okay, well, this is officially the worst sleepover I've ever been on," I say while lying in the torture chair. Claire doesn't seem to hear me.
"Okay," she says.
"Get whatever you need there," I say. God, she looks really bad. I'm actually starting to feel kind of bad for here. She whispers something to herself and I get out of the chair.
"Uh-huh," she says, sounding very out of it.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, well, I've felt better, why?" she says.
"Well, you're shivering, there," I say.
"I know, I have a 103 temperature," she says, distracted.
I move next to her and feel her forehead. She's burning up. She really should take a break.
"I'll live. What about you? What are you again?" she asks.
"102," I say, but I feel like I'm at about 122.
"Okay. "We'll just keep working," she says. I have to give her props for that. I know how she's feeling right now and believe me, it's not very conducive to working.
"I just don't get it. I mean, we've had no growth at any temperature or pH," she says with frustration.
"Well, you got the, you know, bugs to survive in the rats over there, right?" I say, trying to perk her up a bit.
"I need to be able to culture the bacteria outside of a living host," she says.
Time for some humor. "Well the last thing the world needs is an invisible rat, awwwww," I scream as the QSM takes me down. Oh god, oh god this hurts. I jerk to the ground, nearly smashing my head on the table. It's here; it's here out of nowhere. Oh my god. It wants out. The demon wants out. Oh god. I can do anything now. I could kill her, I could rape her, I could run out of here. "Help," I hear myself say. That's me talking, trying desperately to get rid of the psychopath that is slowly making himself at home in my brain. I hate that I had to say it. I hate needing her help. I hate having to depend on her like this. She's saying something, but I can't hear it, I'm in too much pain. I feel the needle in my neck. Awwww, oh god, that hurts even worse. Why does she do it in the neck? Oh god, ow, oh god, okay, okay, it's getting better, okay, okay. It's gone.
"Darien… look, you know the bacteria are constantly dumping quicksilver into your system. So, you need to monitor that tattoo more carefully, okay?" she says.
"Oh, I would, but unfortunately, my tattoo's invisible, along with my arm," I say sarcastically. Damn, what the hell does she want from me?
"Right," she says, remembering the situation.
I sit on the table, worn out from the attack, and I sigh heavily, wanting nothing more then to be in my own bed, free of pain and free of sickness. "God I hate this," I say. An image suddenly pops into my head, an image of me and Claire QSM beating the crap out of each other and destroying everything in our path. "I got a question," I say.
"Yeah," she says, looking up at me.
"What happens if we both end up with red-eye at the same time?" I ask. She doesn't have an answer for me. The look on her face tells me she's terrified. Yeah, well, so am I.
I retreat back to the counteragent chair and lay back, trying to calm my rolling stomach. She continues to stare into the microscope. After a few minutes she throws a slide down in frustration and marches out of the Keep without a word to me. This can't be good.
I get out of the chair to follow her, when my stomach protests violently. Aw, crap, I'm gonna be sick. I haul ass down to the men's room and barely make it to the toilet on time. For twenty minutes I'm barfing. I've never thrown up this much in life. Oh look, there's a kidney. Okay, okay, I think I'm done. Oh god, maybe not. I throw up again. I try to catch my breath. I think I'm really done this time.
I flush the toilet and stagger out of the stall. Oh, my stomach hurts. Hell, my whole body aches. I walk to the mirror, to look at my poor, sickly self. I feel a familiar throb coming from the entire left side of my body. Oh no, no more please. I open my shirt in a panic and realize that half of my body is disappearing. Aw crap. I can hardly breath. Please make this stop someone. I can't take this anymore. This is just cruel. That's it. This lab rat has had enough. Claire and the Official can kiss my ass.
I stride confidently to the Keep, ready to declare my freedom. I am not taking no for an answer.
"All right, that's it, I'm done. Done. Can't do this anymore," I say firmly. That's it D, tell her who's boss. "How about I disappear, sneak out to the pharmacy, you just tell me what to get and…"I say as I look around and notice no one is here.
"Hello?" I say. Did Claire decide to ditch me and go home? My heart starts to race when I see her legs peering out from the glass separator. She's so still. Oh my god.
"Claire, Claire, Claire," I say as I run over to her. Oh my god. I hope she's not dead. Please god. She may piss me off sometimes, but she's still my friend. I don't want to lose her.
I lift her eyelid and see the eyes of a monster looking back. "Ah damn it," I say as I pick her up, which is no easy task when you're feeling as weak and crappy as I am.
Okay, calm down, Darien. Where's the counteragent? I spot a syringe of it sitting on a tray. Okay, I can do this. I pick up the shot and point it towards her neck. "Sorry if I'm not good at this but…" I say as I stare at the veins in her neck. This is my chance. I can repay her for all the pain she has caused me with these shots. See how she likes it. I'm about to inject her neck when I pause. I can't do this. I can't hurt her, like this. I know she has no qualms about injecting me in the neck, but I just don't have the heart to do it to her. I inject the needle in her arm.
Instantly, she's awake, struggling against me, yelling. "No, no, no whoa," I say, trying to calm her down.
"What the hell are you doing?" she spits back. Trying to save your life, Keep.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, calm down," I say as I push her head back against the chair, trying to help her to calm down. "You whacked your head and passed out. I found you on the floor, you're okay," I say soothingly.
"Oh," she moans. I caress her head with my hand, trying to ease her pain. I know how much this hurts.
"Okay, it's okay, just give the stuff a couple of minutes to work, all right? Just relax. Breathe, breathe," I say. I think she's actually taking my advice. She looks a lot better.
"That's it, relax. Just relax. There you go, there you go. There you go, that's it," I say. I've found that support tends to get me through QSM attacks a lot quicker. I guess it's the least I can do for her.
She looks at me with confusion. "What do you mean, found me?" she asks.
"Well, I would've been there to catch you, but, uh, I had a lung to throw up, so…" I say, licking my lips. Sorry Keep. Believe me, I would have much rather been in here with you and play the knight in shining armor, but unfortunately my stomach had other ideas.
"Okay, I'm going to get back to work," she says. Oh no you don't. I put my hand over her stomach and force her back down
" No, no, you're not, not yet. You rest, all right? Doctor's orders," I say. She needs to take a break. "You okay? I just want you to take it easy." I turn my head and look down, giving myself a chance to recover from the last few minutes. This has taken a lot out of me.
"Rats," I hear her say. Ah come on, Keep, you can chill for 10 minutes.
" Look, I know, I know it's hard for you to just relax…" I say.
She interrupts before I can finish. " No, look, I mean in the cage, look," she says as she taps me on the shoulder and points to the rat cage. "There, the rats are visible again," she says.
Oh hell yeah, I'm, going to sleep better tonight. "Welcome back, Mouseketeers, look at that," I say.
"No, no, no, it, it means they're cured," she says as she gets up and walks to the cage. I get out of the chair that I'm in and follow her. "I mean, the quicksilver bacteria is dead, which means that we won't even need antibiotics, the infection's going to clear up all by itself," she says with joy.
Oh thank you god, finally this hell is going to end. "No more barfing? The Official will be so disappointed," I say, the joy evident in my tone.
Claire nods. "Yes, you see the rats would recover more quickly, because of their faster metabolisms. But we could assume the same thing will happen to us, probably in a day or so. Hi guys!" she says as she opens the cage. "Oh."
Those rats aren't looking to good, but hey what do I know? "What? No, oh, no, no all white rats have red eyes like that," I say.
"Darien," she says hesitantly. I don't like that tone.
"They're not visible because they're cured. They're visible because they're dead," she says glumly.
My heart stops beating for a second. "The infection killed them?" I ask. She doesn't answer me, but her look says it all. Aw crap. I'm going to die. Oh god, my stomach doesn't much like that idea.
"Okay um, I'm think going to be sick again," I say as I run out of the Keep. I make it to the men's room and throw up for another ten minutes. God, let it all end. When I come out of the bathroom, Claire is waiting for me, looking like she might have just paid a visit to the porcelain god herself. She motions towards the Official's office and I nod. We're in this together now. We are done being lab rats. Ha. It's good to finally have someone on my side.
We burst through the door to the Official's office. "That's it, experiment's over. We dem…whoa," I stop short. Holy crap, the Official doesn't have a head.
"Oh my," says Claire with equal amazement.
"Okay, go ahead, say it," says the headless Official. This is too freaky.
"Uh, say what? You mean, welcome to the club?" I say. I'm in too much shock right now to come up with a witty retort. Just a give me a few seconds.
Eberts, looking a little freaked, says from his position beside the Official, "Apparently, the doctor infected him when she punched him in the mouth.
" Yes, this is, uh, uh, disconcerting," says Claire.
" It's damned inconvenient, is what it is," says the Official.
Ebes leans in and checks out the area that used to be the Official's head.
"I cannot be sick, I need to make decisions. I need..."
"To keep a clear head?" I say. Good one, Darien. Claire glares at me. Oh come on, Keep, you know that was funny. "I'm sorry, but that, that was right there. If I don't say these things, they just fester, it's better…" I say.
The Official interrupts me. He does that a lot. "Fix me, now," he says to Claire.
"Sir, you all the antibiotics," she responds.
"That's right, and we've got all the counteragent. So, I'm thinking maybe it's time to share. Hmm?" I say smugly. Okay, finally this thing can end.
The Official doesn't much like that.
"No, no, no. It'll be cool. Like, you know, you got peanut butter in my chocolate. Well, whoa, you chocolate in my peanut butter," I say.
"What is this American obsession with peanut butter?" asks Claire. What is Claire's obsession with saying American these past few days, huh? She's lived her for like 10 years. She's almost as American as I am.
The Official is not in the mood for this. He slams his desk and smashes he coffee cup. "No more candy talk. Fix me, now," he says. Yeah, not so much fun to be invisible, huh Charlie.
On that note, Claire and I leave the office. I make another pit stop at the bathroom, while she returns to the Keep. After I'm done vomiting, AGAIN, I stagger towards the Keep. I hear a crash just as I open the door. I slide my key card in and notice Bobby and Claire laying on the floor. Good one, Hobbesy.
"Smooth. Nice," I say as I walk towards them.
"At least I didn't let her head whack on the floor, unlike certain partners I might mention. Give her a hand would, you?" Bobby says. Hey, excuse the hell out of me. Next time I'll just barf all over the counteragent chair.
I reach down and pick Claire off the floor.
"Watch out for the glass, Oh!" she says.
I set her down on the floor. "I got you," I say.
"Thank you," she says.
"You just ah, come on, come on," I say. She needs to calm down.
"Hey guys," says Hobbes. I look over at him and see a piece of glass sticking out of his arm. That's gonna leave a mark.
"Ow, ooh, that's gonna leave a mark," he says. I guess great minds think alike.
"That's going to leave more than a mark. That slide contains a sample of live bacteria," says Claire, dejected. Well, at least I can die with my best friend now.
"Oh goody. Now there's four of us. We can play invisible bridge," I say, falling back on sarcasm to let my mind escape this horror movie.
Hobbes looks at me with confusion. "Four of yous? I thought there was just two of yous?" he says. Yous?
The Keep door opens and in walks Eberts and the headless horseman. Only this time he's not so headless. He look's like some kind of demonic mummy. Bobby looks perplexed. "Uh, prom night, huge zit," I explain.
"The Official was somewhat distracted, not being able to see himself in the mirror, so I suggested the bandages," explains Eberts.
"Hmm, it looks familiar," I say.
The Official is not in the mood for my comments. "Where are my antibiotics?" he asks. Excuse me, your antibiotics? What about our antibiotics?
"Well, actually there's a bit of a problem with that. I've been running some tests, in order to optimize treatment regime, and it seems as though the bacteria are resistant to antibiotics. I can't cure the infection," she says grimly.
"Can't? No. No, no that's not what you said. You said it was no problem," I say with anger. How the hell could she do this to us? I don't want to die, I really don't. I'm scared.
"Many, many bacteria become resistant. Ask any patient whose child has chronic ear infections," she says with a strange calmness.
"I think this is a little worse than an ear infection. Well, of course unless your ear's got a little touch of the Ebola," I say, nearing panic. I swear I'm going to lose it. This is not good. Calm down, Fawkes, just calm down.
"No, no. Ebola is a virus, not a bacteria," says Claire. Oh, I feel so much better now.
Well, when you're dead, it's not that important of a distinction, is it?" says Hobbes. Good point there, buddy.
"Enough. Due to the virulent nature of this bacteria, I've decided to invoke Protocol 34," says the Official in a tone muffled by bandages. What the hell is Protocal 34?
"Protocol 34?" asks Claire
"Stick a fork in us, we're done," says Bobby.
Okay, so I guess I'm out of the ole loop here. " Uh, new guy. Sorry, what is Protocol 34?" I ask.
"Executive order. Center for Disease Control. Full military quarantine," replies Claire. That sounds reasonable.
" A quarantine? A quarantine, okay. That's probably a good idea," I say.
" You know about the laboratory in Michigan that had the outbreak of the deadly Hantavirus," asks Hobbes.
I shake my head. "No."
"Of course not. That's because after Protocol 34, the only evidence that existed were little bits of charcoal, and a smoking hole in the ground," he says. Aw crap. This is definitely not my week.
I went completely invisible 15 minutes ago. Now I can fully appreciate what Arnaud goes through every day. Not that I really care about that Swiss Miss Mother, but still. I only have another 15 minutes or so before I get a mean case of red eye. I know that there's probably not enough counteragent left to keep me sane. I guess my fears about ending up like Simon Cole are coming true, but I am in too much shock right now to really sit and contemplate that. I think I would go insane a few minutes ahead of schedule.
Claire has been running around the Keep half-invisible trying to save us, but I think were all pretty much screwed at this point.
"Can't cure the infection," says Claire out of the blue. Isn't that what I just said?
" I have tried every antibiotic, every sulfa drug. Nothing is working. Quite frankly, I, I'm open to suggestions," she continues as she walks behind the Official. Hahahah. Claire's body is lined up with the Official, making her look like she has really big hips. Baby got back and front. Sometimes, you have to appreciate the little things, or in this case, the big things in life. Of course I have to share my amusement.
" Well, for one, could you please not stand right there? It makes you look "hippy"." I say.
Claire realizes how she looks and moves away.
"Okay, let's review our options," says Bobby out of nowhere. "Quicksilver madness, dead. Unchecked infection, dead. Escape the building, dead. Stay in the building until Protocol 34 elapses, dead."
"Oh, you left out being, uh, struck by a giant meteor," I say. Hey, it could happen. The way this thing is playing out it wouldn't much surprise me.
"Sir, sir, may I have permission to go to the file room?" asks Eberts. Real nice, Ebes, just abandon us in our time of need.
"Albert!" yells Claire with disbelief. Apparently Claire ain't too happy about this either.
"We're less than 24 hours from being vaporized, and you want to finish up paperwork?" She continues.
"Leave him be. It comforts him," he says as winks at Eberts. "Go ahead." Okay, is this Bobby Hobbes that just said that? Maybe I'm already a little QSM because I could have sworn that Hobbes just did something nice for Ebes.
A sudden thought pops into my mind. "Uh, excuse me, you said the bacteria couldn't live outside of our bodies, so, uh, why are our clothes disappearing now?"
"My best guess is that the bacteria are flourishing. They're producing more and more quicksilver, which means that they're basically flooding everything that touch it," answers Claire
"This just gets getting better and better," says Hobbes. My sentiments exactly.
"Oh, you haven't heard the worst of it yet," says Claire.
"Now what?" I ask, not really wanting to know.
" There's only one shot of counteragent left," she says.
" Claire, you should get it. I mean, you're our only hope to cure this thing," I say. I can't believe how rational I'm being.
" No, I want the last dose split between you and Darien. If he goes quicksilver mad, he might do something stupid, like run outside and get himself shot in the head. No, the gland is too valuable a commodity to risk damaging," says the Official.
"Well, thanks for seeing the human side of the tragedy there, boss," I say. So I guess in the eyes of Charlie Borden, Darien Fawkes will always be a gland carrier and not a person. Hmmm, at least I know where I stand.
" Listen, I'd like to point out that I am not yet sick yet, okay? I could assist the doctor, help her find a cure. I could be…" says Hobbesy as he starts to barf. Poor guy. I feel your pain there, buddy.
"And then there were none," says Claire. How profound, Keep.
The phone rings. Claire picks it up and it turns out to be Alex. Claire is explaining the situation to her. Bet ole Lexi is loving this. Now she can finally be rid of all of us.
Another couple of minutes passes and I'm now waiting for the pain of the QSM to start. "Hey, listen, I don't know if you've noticed this, but I get a little nasty when I go quicksilver crazy, and I'm kinda guessing legs here would be the same way. So, this is what I'm thinking. Why don't we get in restraints, so when we do go nuts, we don't hurt anyone, okay? You know, Claire can have the full dose of counteragent. What do you say?" I ask. I'm trying really hard to be brave here, but the truth is, I'm scared to death.
" That makes sense," says Hobbes.
" Enjoying this, aren't you, Doctor?" says the Official. Or more accurately, the legs of the Official.
"Excuse me, sir?" asks Claire.
"Don't play innocent with me, this has been your plan all along. The big, bad boss goes nuts. Suddenly, I'm out of the picture, and you're running the agency," says Legs with anger. He's starting to sound as paranoid as Hobbes.
" Uh, boss?" I say. I think the fatman is going a little loco.
" You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know that as soon as you have me strapped down, that you'll cure yourselves and leave me here to rot?" says Legs.
"I'm thinking if his eyes weren't invisible, they'd be turning a lovely shade of crimson right about now," says Bobby. I'm with you, my friend.
" You gave me this infection on purpose. Well, it won't work. Nobody knocks out Iron Jaw," says the Official as he shoves Claire and runs out the door.
" Hey, come on, big guy… Hobbes," I say. Damn it, why do I have to play the freakin hero when I feel so crappy?
"Call Alex," yells Hobbes to the Keep as he follows me out the door.
Me and Hobbes chase the fatman through the halls of the Agency. Hobbesy has to make a little pit stop in the bathroom, so it looks like I'm on my own here.
I run out the front door of the Agency and see the Official laying on the ground with a gunshot to his leg and about 50 guns pointed at me. "Aw, crap," I say. Give me one reason why I shouldn't let the fatman sit out here and rot? He would do it to me as long as the gland wasn't in any danger.
" Shoot me! Shoot me?! I give the orders around here, and you're all fired!" Ah, hell, I can't leave ole Iron Jaw out here ranting and raving.
I take his legs and start dragging him into the building. Ah man, the fatman is indeed very, very fat. And heavy, did I mention heavy. I think I might pass out.
I drag his fat ass all the way back to one of the labs where Claire and Hobbes have set up restraints for us. I feel the familiar tingling of quicksilver madness rising in the back of my head. I quickly get into the restraints, while I'm still in my right mind. The Official, on the other hand struggles against Hobbes, threatening to shoot him.
"Ah, our request for a TV in here doesn't seem so silly now, does it?" I say, trying to make light of the situation.
"Ah, shut up,"
The fat man continues to rant and rave while I lay silent. Tears make their way out of the corner of eyes. I'm so scared. I'm going to die and I'm going to die invisible and insane. On top of that, I'm going to die with the Official. Why couldn't it have been Hobbes? Ahhhh, oh god, the demon wants out. Oww, oh god, oh god, it hurts. I start convulsing against the restraints. Oh god, so tight. My arms and legs ache.
And then I'm gone. The psycho is in control. The psycho wants to break free from these restraints and kill old Iron Jaw over there. I'm free. I just don't give a damn any more. Maybe dying crazy isn't such a bad thing after all.
Then, it all comes to an end. Claire comes in the lab with two shots of counteragent and a tub of Mayo in her arms. No, no! I don't want the counteragent. I don't want to be sane and feel this pain. Please, just let me die. No more of this. Then I realize that I can see Claire's legs. What the hell? I feel a prick in my neck and burning pain coursing into my head. I pass out for a few seconds, letting the calming effects of the counteragent take over my body. I wake up to see Claire, completely visible standing over me, smiling. She puts a spoon of Mayo in front of face. "Eat it," she says.
God, why Mayo? I hate Mayo. But the look in her eye tells me not to argue, so I eat a dollop of it. Ugh, that stuff is freaking nasty. I think it went bad or something.
Hobbes and Claire take the Official and me out of the restraints. I wonder absently when Claire had time to make counteragent. Oh well, I guess its just one of those things.
I look down and notice I can see my finger. Oh my god, oh my god, she figured out a way to cure us. I almost start to sob, I'm so happy. As much as my life sucks, I really, really didn't want to die. All is well with the world.
An hour later, life pretty much sucks again and I want it all to end. I am once again puking my guts out in the men's room. Only this time, I have to listen to the Official barf too. Oh god, this is even worse the before. I am so sick. I don't think I will ever feel good again.
Okay, I think I feel a break coming on. I flush the toilet and stagger out behind the Official into the hall to see Bobby and Alex. Oh looky, Claire is out too. She looks as bad as I feel. They're all talking, but I'm only half listening. I'm leaning against the wall, with my eyes closed. I feel so weak and so sick. My stomach is just aching.
"What's the status on Protocol 34?" I hear the Official ask.
" It's called off," replies Alex.
Oh god, I feel my stomach heaving again. "Ugh… too bad," I say as I run back into the bathroom and throw up some more. An hour later, puking calms down a bit and I leave the Agency. I go back to my apartment and just lay on the bed, trying to feel better. I puke about once an hour now, instead of every five seconds. This goes on all night. By the next morning, I've stopped puking all together. Now I just feel tired and weak.
The Official calls us in for a meeting, the fat bastard. Why can't I just lay in my bed in peace? Somehow, I get dressed and drive to the Agency, making my way to the fatman's office. I sit down in a chair, joining Claire, Bobby, Alex and Eberts. Claire takes one look at me and hands me some crackers.
"So I need you to understand that it is my job, in fact, my duty, to push for any advancement that furthers the cause," says the Official
"Even if we all die horrible deaths?" I say as I nibble on a cracker and observe guys in Hazmat suits clearing away the last of the bacteria.
" If you want to make an omelet…" says Alex.
"So, that's the last of it, huh?" I ask as the Hazmat team leaves.
"Mmm-hmm," says Claire, between spoonfuls of Jell-O. "I must admit, I'm a bit sorry to see the experiment destroyed. But, we barely know the effects of quicksilver on Darien yet, we're not ready to play with other species," she says.
"Sir, um…" says Hobbes.
"Yeah?" says the Official
"Sir, I have a question about the overtime we put in," says Hobbes. That would be my cue to leave. I get up and walk out the office, followed by Claire and Alex. Claire looks me over and tells me to go home. I am happy to comply
A quote pops into my head from celebrity scientist Sir Issac Newton "If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." Yeah, see because, in science, every discovery is built on the ones before it. Now, me, I ain't no scientist, but, uh, here's my take on progress: Slow down. Take it from me, great new ideas, they ain't always so great. I mean, when it comes to giants, I think we oughta worry more about a giant boot that could come down and squash us like a bug.
Yeah well that pretty many sums up our little experience this week. But a much darker thought pops into my head. Now the Official and Claire both know what QSM is like. I don't expect much from the Official. Yeah, he may like me and we may even get along some times, but to him, I will never quite be a real human being. But Claire, I consider her to be a friend. And friends don't hurt one another. So that just leaves me with one question. Is Claire putting me first, keeping me as comfortable as possible until she figures out how to remove the gland? Or is she just as bad as the Official, allowing me to suffer for the good of science and America, with the promise of removing the gland just a piece of cheese to throw her lab rat? I guess only time will tell.
That's All Folks!