And here's part 5... Thank you for your patience - better late than never, no? I'll attempt to be more punctual in posting - do hope someone finds the story worth the wait!
For the Good...
part 5
Parked in the far corner of the San Bernardino County Hospital's back lot, Claire sat in the rental car, waiting. Hobbes had been inside for less than an hour, but it might as well have been an eternity. Every minute pricked like a pin, needling her with the incessant pressure of time. There was nothing she could do, not until Bobby returned. She didn't dare turn on the radio or the light to read by. She couldn't draw attention to the car, or particularly herself inside. In untouched silence she sat and watched the back wall of the hospital building, the deserted loading docks lit by the single floodlight, the narrow fire-escape like a black spider's web strung down the side wall. Hobbes should be coming out of one of the two doors to the left, either the hospital kitchens or the fire exit. But not yet. Not this soon.
She trusted him. There were few others with whom she would have agreed to this plan, or gone to for assistance at all. Bobby was one of the only, perhaps the only person she would trust this much. He was quick, and very competent, and absolutely loyal. Not to the Agency anymore. But to what mattered...to who mattered. She didn't doubt him. Nervous as she was now, she wouldn't be here at all if she didn't believe in him.
Hobbes had wanted to charge to Darien's rescue immediately, when the time had come that they had finally realized there was no other way. The day after the Official retired, he had concocted a daring but reasonable plan of attack to retrieve his former partner. And she had rejected it flat-out. She had handled the situation terribly, she admitted now, but at the time she had been at the end of her rope, and they were both in a very tight spot, having already crossed the line multiple times in the course of their protests.
But she had come close, too close, to driving away Bobby entirely. It had been difficult to get back on his side. She had to bare her heart to win his trust--and he had earned her trust then, greater than ever before, because he never spoke of that time again, never embarrassed her by bringing it up, even obliquely.
Nevertheless, she still remembered every moment, every whispered plea, every tear. As well as she remembered their conversation afterwards, in the calm which fell when both of them had expended their last emotional reserves. It was then that they had hammered out the plan. She had stated the situation plainly. "We have two choices. First, we can do as they are instructing--forget everything we've seen, continue with our jobs--"
"Like hell!" Hobbes exploded.
She nodded. "My sentiments precisely. Which leaves the second option. Even if we succeed in engineering Darien's escape, we'd still have to handle his quicksilver madness. It would be difficult to hide him in such a condition, and dangerous for all concerned. We need a new counteragent, but I must have access to the labs to have any chance of developing it. We couldn't keep him out of their hands while I do that. The only solution is to continue as we've been doing until we have a new counteragent, then free him. After that, with Darien, we can decide on our next course of action."
"That's it," Hobbes agreed. "That's what we'll do."
"It will take time," she warned. "I don't know how long--to be honest, I don't know if I even can create an effective counteragent."
"You will," Hobbes told her, in a tone not to be contradicted. "You do that, and then we get him out."
"It may be years--"
"I get it," Bobby had said, and that was that. They had both done what they needed to do, she continuing her research, Hobbes tenaciously sticking with the Agency in spite of everything, though she know how rough it had gotten for him in the last year.
And now they were here. She sat in the car Bobby had rented yesterday, using a name she was fairly certain didn't exist outside his imagination and an anonymous, untraceable Agency credit card. She watched the hospital and counted the seconds. They would come soon. Soon, this trial would be over, and everything else would begin.
Until then, she waited.
***
Darien stared at the man in the doorway, his scarlet eyes glazed, swaying as he sat up on the cot. Muted confusion crossed his face, then, gradually, realization, recognition. Anger, surprise, panicked disbelief flashed in quick succession over his shadowed features, all undercut by drugged lassitude and more jarring despair.
"Fawkes?" Hobbes whispered. It was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking. "It's me, Darien. It's Hobbes. We're getting you out of here."
Fawkes moved as if to stand. Instead he wilted, slowly slipping down until he lay across the bed, one arm draped over the edge so his long fingers crumpled against the floor.
Hobbes was beside him without being aware of moving. He took Fawkes by the shoulders, gave him a hard shake. Darien's head lolled back and forth, his eyes remaining closed. Either the drugs or the shock had felled him; he was completely unconscious. And unlikely to wake soon. Hobbes had been hoping to reach him before the weekly dose of sedatives had fully kicked in; this would have been easier if Fawkes could have walked out under his own power.
But what was done was done, and besides Fawkes might have been harder to handle awake. Hobbes thought fast about the alternatives. Carrying Darien would be the simplest, but he wasn't a lightweight, and if a guard or a doctor spotted them in the halls it would definitely look suspicious. There wasn't much time to spare, however. The project doctors would come for Fawkes within an hour for their weekly tests or whatever they did. Moreover, eventually Dr. Lapier's absence would be noted, or else he would wake up and either break or shout his way out of the janitor's closet.
Hobbes touched Darien's shoulder. "I'll be right back, Fawkes," he promised, even though the man was too far gone to hear. Still, it took all his will power to get up and walk out of the cell, leave him even for a moment. He had the terrible feeling that Darien would vanish again if he once let him out of his sight.
At the very end of the hall, only a few meters further down, Hobbes found what he sought, an empty gurney parked against the wall. He wheeled it back to the cell and loaded Fawkes onto it. Hefting him wasn't as difficult as it should have been; he weighed far less than was normal for a man of his height. Darien had always been lanky, but now he was gaunt, either starved or consumed by the hyper energy of the madness. Hobbes entertained a few brief but satisfying ideas of what he could do to those responsible for this, should he ever get hold of them. Preferably with his bare hands.
With Fawkes's long body arranged on the stretcher, Hobbes pushed the gurney into the hall. He shut and locked the cell door behind them, hoping that no one would bother to check inside to see that the room was empty. A forlorn hope, since they almost definitely monitored what locks were opened and would investigate once Lapier raised an alert. But he took whatever optimism he could get.
Just walking was difficult; Hobbes felt his legs cramp with the tension of holding himself to a measured, quick but not a suspiciously hurried pace. He wanted to run. He wanted out of here as fast as possible, probably almost as much as Fawkes did.
Everything went smoothly, they moving undisturbed through empty halls, until they reached the back elevator. The gurney fit in fine, and the lift sank smoothly down, but it stopped before reaching the first floor. Hobbes stared at the red diodes blinking the number '2', silently wishing them to change, continue the descent.
Instead the doors slid aside and an orderly in white entered. He nodded to Hobbes, amiably enough, but then gave a hard look at the gurney and its occupant. Dark eyes returned to Hobbes for another, more searching regard. "What are you doing with him?" the man asked.
Keep it cool. "Dr. Lapier's request," Hobbes replied evenly.
The orderly was eyeing him, trying to place him. Hobbes went out on a limb, figuring it better to be on the offensive. "I've never seen you around; who are you?"
It worked; the man shrugged, loosening a little. "I usually work day shift. Filling in for a friend tonight. Name's Mitchell."
"Vecchio," Hobbes introduced himself, extending his hand and willing Mitchell not to examine his ID too closely. The orderly was black, broad-shouldered, and had at least half a foot on him. Unlike Lapier, he wouldn't go down with one punch. If he noticed something was amiss...
He didn't. They shook, and as the elevator descended Mitchell inquired sociably, "So where are you taking Fawkes?"
"You know this guy?" Hobbes couldn't help but ask, his gaze involuntarily shooting to Darien's unconscious form.
"I've talked with him--I know, it's against policy, but it can't hurt to show a little compassion. When he's lucid he's a bright man. I've brought him a couple books; he likes to read. He doesn't get any visitors--only Lapier and the others, and they don't seem to be doing much for him."
"What's he in for?" Hobbes tried to imitate only passing curiosity, though he doubted he was successfully concealing his interest.
However, the orderly didn't seem to mind; instead he responded to the care in his associate's voice by warming himself. "Don't know. He's been here a few months now, but I don't think it's for a crime. Might be because he presents a danger to himself and others." They had reached the first floor, but Mitchell didn't seem inclined to leave yet. "I don't know exactly what's wrong with him--I'm working toward my psych masters now, but I've never studied a schizophrenia quite like his. Some kind of paranoia...he thinks there's something inside of him, devouring his mind from the inside out."
Hobbes had pushed the gurney out of the elevator and was covertly surveying the hall. The doors to the right should lead to the kitchens, and the service exit. Almost home-free--but Mitchell was still here.
What the orderly was saying suddenly registered with Hobbes. "Paranoia?" God, he knew that feeling too well, on the edge of insanity, too close to back away but far enough distant to clearly see what you were about to fall into. Only the fears weren't only paranoia in this case, and Darien was already falling...
Mitchell mistook his suppressed horror for humor, and frowned. "It might sound funny, but if you heard him talking about it--it's enough to give you nightmares, just what he says. I've seen him when he goes manic; I can't imagine what it's like to live with that hanging over you."
Insightful or no, they didn't have time for this. "Yeah...well, I better getting moving, or the doctor'll have my hide," Hobbes said, adjusting his grip on the gurney. Just a little further, Fawkes, and we'll have you safely out of here...
"Hey, isn't Dr. Lapier's lab in the other direction--"
Suddenly, without warning, red lights snapped on up and down the hall. A muted alarm began wailing.
Hobbes glanced at Darien, then back to Mitchell, and with a sigh reached under his coat for the gun in his shoulder holster.
The orderly watched him with an evaluating frown. Abruptly he turned, and before Hobbes could stop him he had slid his card through the door's lock and was entering a code, fingers flying over the keypad. Hobbes gritted his teeth and took firm hold of Darien's gurney, vowing not to go down without a fight, or at least without a run for it.
The lock clicked, and the door opened.
"The kitchens are right through there," Mitchell said quickly. "The hexagonal key will get you through the side door to the back lot. I'd hurry."
Hobbes only gaped at Mitchell, until the orderly made a sharp gesture toward the exit. Then Hobbes hastily shoved the gurney through the door. "Thanks," he gasped over his shoulder.
Mitchell smiled grimly. "'Do no harm'," he quoted, more to himself than to Hobbes. Then he shut the door on them, re-locking it, and continued down the hall without looking back.
***
Claire almost stopped breathing when she heard the siren, low but unmistakable. A bright floodlight flashed to life, defining the deserted parking lot in stark white illumination. In the far corner of the lot, her car was barely still concealed.
She deliberated for a moment, then drew her revolver and took careful aim through the open window.
The crack of the gunshot overwhelmed the tinkle of glass as the light shattered. Again cloaked in darkness, safe from a camera's prying lens, she blinked back afterimages and stared at the shadowed hospital wall, wondering if she dared still hope.
An instant later, before she came to any conclusions, the side door banged open, and dark figures barreled out of it into the lot.
She ground the gears shifting as she zoomed over. Hobbes had picked up Darien off the gurney in a fireman's carry. He wrenched open the back door, undelicately wrestled Fawkes's limp body inside, and dove in after, slamming the door behind him. Claire stamped the accelerator, and they roared into motion.
"Not the driveway," Hobbes panted. "They'll be watching the main gates. The shoulder's low to the left. Go over."
Claire nodded and put on the gas. They hurdled the curb and bumped onto the grassy divider, flattened a low hedge and then rolled onto the street.
Hobbes had secured Fawkes. After strapping on his own belt, he leaned forward to touch Claire's shoulder. "Not too fast," he advised. "Last thing we need now is a speeding ticket."
She swallowed a giggle that came more from tension than humor, and risked a glance in the rearview mirror at her passengers. "How is he?"
Hobbes glanced down. Fawkes was stretched across the seat, his head on Hobbes's knee. "Okay, I think. He's way out but his breathing sounds good."
They drove a couple miles, Hobbes watching intently out the back window. "We weren't followed," he determined at last. "We can go to the rendezvous."
Claire took the next turn, easily navigating the city streets to the business district. In a few minutes they reached a vacant street corner. A plain dark vehicle was parked before them. "That's it?" Hobbes asked.
"That's it." Claire took the key out of her pocket. "He left it here this afternoon and took the bus home. No one will think twice about it parking in his driveway, since it belongs there." Hobbes had suggested the switch, but Claire had arranged the details.
After checking again for a tail, they exited the rental car. "Just leave the keys in the ignition," Hobbes instructed. "It'll be gone within an hour."
Darien didn't react as he was moved to the cramped back of the new car. They laid him out on the bench seat. Claire took a moment to check his pulse and thumbed up his eyelids. "They've got him on a heavy sedative," she confirmed.
"But he'll be okay?"
"He should be." She shut the car door and reassumed her position in the driver's seat, pulling onto the street again. "I imagine they've mapped his physiology carefully enough to administer safe dosages. He should awaken within a few hours."
"What about the quicksilver? You got the new counteragent all ready, right?"
"I have it. However, I can't use it until he's conscious and I've fully assessed his condition. His system needs to be clear of whatever they might've given him before I try it, or I don't know what the side-effects might be."
"He has to be totally clean--"
"Except of the quicksilver, yes."
Hobbes twisted to look back at Darien, limp on the seat, his closed eyes sunken. "Doesn't that mean he'll be wacko?"
"If our information is correct," Claire said grimly, "he should be quite accustomed to the madness by now."
***
They drove mostly in silence, muted by the enormity of what they had done, torn between the surprise of success and the sobering realization that it was only the beginning. Hobbes spent the ride alternating between leaning his head on his hand with his elbow on the window, and looking back at their sleeping passenger. Claire watched the road steadily and only lost control a few times, glancing at the man on the seat behind her while stopped at red lights.
When at last they pulled into the apartment's driveway, Hobbes only said, "This the place?" and Claire simply nodded confirmation. Hoping no one was watching out their window, they carried Darien to the door, which Claire unlocked with another key produced from her pocket.
"The guy's not home?" Hobbes asked.
"He'll be back tonight. He's often out late on Fridays. Driving in at this hour shouldn't seem suspicious."
Once in the silent apartment, Claire located the hall lightswitch, and lead Hobbes down to a white doors. The room inside was bare of all furnishings, except a neatly made bed, two chairs, and a portable cot against the wall. "I asked him to prepare the room for us," Claire explained. "Put Darien on the bed. I have restraints but I'm hoping they won't be necessary."
Hobbes complied, then looked around the empty room. Faded paint marked squares on the walls where pictures had recently been removed, and the floor bore scuff marks of furniture cleared to make a room suitable for their purposes. "Who's place is this? I know you told me the guy can be trusted, but who's going through all this trouble? If he's gonna be back soon anyway, you can tell me now."
"You wouldn't believe me if I did. It's just someone who wanted to help." Claire's faint smile vanished as she bent over Darien and gently examined him "He shouldn't be out for much longer now. I better take a blood sample." She departed, returned a moment later with a hypodermic, a stethoscope, and a blood pressure cuff.
"You got a Keep set up here, too?" Hobbes inquired. "This your boyfriend's place or something?"
"No, of course not; he lives in New York," Claire said, distracted as she listened to Darien's heartbeat. "I brought most of my equipment here yesterday. I don't know if I'll be able to return to my flat anytime soon, especially if my involvement in this is realized."
"Lives in New York--" Hobbes began to ask.
Then he stopped. When Claire had slid the needle into Darien's arm, he had reacted with a faint groan. Hobbes's attention was instantly on him. "Fawkes? You there?"
"Darien?" Claire said calmly, touching his cheek. His lashes twitched.
Hobbes cocked his head as he heard the apartment door open and footsteps tramp inside. "Sounds like whoever-it-is is back."
"So is Darien," Claire remarked.
Hobbes looked down again in time to see Darien's eyes flutter open, foggy and dazed. In spite of everything, Bobby grinned. "Hey, partner. Glad to have you with us."
Darien's brow wrinkled slightly as he blinked, trying to focus. His lips moved but he wasn't up for speech yet. Hobbes reached down to grip his shoulder supportively.
The footsteps hurried down the hall, and the door was flung open. Hobbes glanced over, then did a double take.
"You're safe, Darien," Claire said reassuringly, as Darien stared at her in half-aware shock.
In a similar state, Hobbes stared at the man in the doorway, and demanded, "Eberts, what the hell are you doing here?"
***
to be continued...
...as soon as I get my bottom in gear...