Title: Mutual Needs
Author: Paranoyd_Insomniac
E-mail: bobbyhobbes@hotmail.com
Category: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Takes place mid-second season.
Spoilers: None yet....
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise of 'The Invisible Man' are not owned by me. They belong to USA and Stu Segall Productions. I am making no money off of this story. I am doing this purely for my own amusement.
Author's notes: I intend for this to be the first in a series. However, if people aren't interested, I'll probably move on to other things. I have a lot of different story ideas, and a limited amount of time to work on them in, so reader's interest will probably determine whether I stick with this series or move on to another idea of mine.
Thanks: I would like to thank my beta readers, iwomans_sister and Snowtiger, for taking the time to read my crap and help me fix it up. I would also like to thank my friend, CMm MAtrIX, for dropping by to check it out. And finally, I would like to extend my thanks to all you people who are reading this. Merry Christmas, everyone!
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The bar was dark and smoky. The only sources of lighting were the neon signs advertising various types of beer and a black light that had been precariously fixed to the ceiling. Darien Fawkes was situated in a booth in the darkest corner of the room. He wasn't consciously trying to stay out of sight, but the way he leaned back in the shadows as he sipped his beer made him all but invisible, even without the aid of the quicksilver gland.
He finished his beer and pushed the empty glass aside, causing it to bump against the three others that he had already drained dry. However, before he had the chance to stagger to his feet and order another, his cell phone rang.
He fumbled through his jacket pockets until he located the phone and pulled it out, managing to hit the 'talk' button on his second try. "H'llo?"
"Fawkes?" Hobbes' voice echoed out of the speaker, sounding distinctly worried. "Are you drunk?"
"'Course not, Hobbesy, why'dja say that?" Darien asked sarcastically. "Not like I'd have a reason t'be. I mean, t'day was just loadsa fun."
"Fawkes, it wasn't your fault--"
"The hell it wasn't."
"C'mon. There was no way you could've known that guy had a gun."
"Yeah, but I coulda done somethin'. I shoulda stopped 'im before... before...." Darien couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"The kid is fine. She's in the hospital, she's gonna recover."
"She shouldn't be needin' t' recover from anythin'," Darien snapped.
Hobbes sighed and changed tactics. "Where are you?"
"None of your business."
"It is most definitely my business, partner. I ain't gonna let you get eaten up by guilt. Where are you? I'm gonna pick you up."
Hobbes' tone brooked no argument, but Darien felt like arguing anyway. "Don' wanna go home," he drawled, and ended the call without waiting for Hobbes to reply. Then he turned off his cell phone, yanking the battery out for good measure, and tucked the dismantled phone back into his jacket pocket.
Darien placed his hands on the table, pulled himself to his feet and lurched toward the bar. The bartender took one look at Darien and shook his head. "Oh no you don't, pal. You've had enough for tonight."
"I'll be th' judge of that," Darien said as he slapped a couple of bills down on the bar.
The bartender shook his head and pushed the money back toward Darien. "You're not getting anything from me."
Darien glared at the bartender for a moment and then picked up his cash. "Fine. I'll jus' take my money somewhere else."
He stormed out of the bar, muttering irritably under his breath and ignoring the fact that he was completely unable to walk in anything even remotely resembling a straight line. When he got to what he hoped was his car -- it was hard to tell for sure, since there appeared to be two of them -- he leaned against it for a moment for support, absently wondering how he was going to manage to unlock the car door.
Two minutes later, Darien was still trying to decipher which key-hole was the real one when a soft laugh rang out behind him. "Hey, hot stuff. Having trouble there?"
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Darien rolled over in bed and groaned. A throbbing pain lanced through his skull; not the sharp, intense pangs that signaled oncoming quicksilver madness, but a dull, ever-present ache that practically screamed hangover. What had he done last night, drink half the alcohol in California?
There was no way he was going in to work feeling like this. No way he would even be getting out of bed, in fact. The best thing for him at the moment was to just keep his eyes closed and hope that he would be able to drift back off to sleep....
Darien took in a sharp breath as a feminine arm snaked around his waist and all thoughts of sleeping late were completely erased from his mind.
His eyes flew open and he began to blink rapidly. Damn, that was bright. When his vision finally cleared he found himself staring up at ceiling tiles that were most definitely not his. He didn't dare turn around for fear of what -- or, more precisely, who -- he might see. If he was in bed with Alex, she would kill him. If he was in bed with Claire, Hobbes would kill him. And if he was in bed with anyone else the Official would kill him, because no one else had 'the proper clearance'.
Wait.... Other than a few buttons on his shirt that had been undone, he was completely clothed. That meant that, unless he had been senseless enough to get dressed after having sex and then flop back into bed immediately afterwards, nothing had happened between him and... whoever the woman lying beside him was. Curiosity finally began to overpower his fear, spurred on by the knowledge that he hadn't been quite as stupid as he originally thought, and he rolled over.
He had never seen the woman before in his life -- well, his sober life, at any rate. She was thin, but not overly so, with dark hair curling around her shoulders. A dark green cardigan hung loosely about her shoulders, half-covering her faded gray T-shirt. He could just see her blue jeans peeking out from beneath the covers.
He looked around, taking in the light blue walls and the mahogany wood furniture, much more expensive than anything he could have afforded. He was not in his apartment, that was for sure. He was in a strange house, with a strange woman who had her arm draped across his waist, and... according to the clock on her nightstand, he was supposed to have been at work well over an hour ago.
"Aw crap...."
The woman shifted positions, inadvertently pulling closer to him, and opened her eyes. "Mornin'," she muttered nonchalantly, giving him a bleary smile. If she was surprised to see him, she certainly didn't show it.
Darien cleared his throat. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but--"
"Where are you, and who the hell am I?" An enigmatic smile played across the woman's lips.
"Damn, you're good," Darien said, raising an eyebrow. Apparently, this was far from the first time the woman had found herself in this situation. He pulled away, hoping that she would take the hint and remove her arm from his waist. She was attractive, he wasn't going to argue that point, but he generally preferred to know a woman's name before he found himself in bed with her, clothed or otherwise.
The woman inclined her head to the right, noting the newfound space between Darien and herself, and stood up, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. "My name is Megan, Megan Callahan. You were too drunk to drive home last night. I needed company. It seemed like an even trade."
Darien cleared his throat. "Define 'needed company'."
Megan shrugged. "Let's just stay that the kind of company I was hoping for wasn't the kind of company I got." She shook her head, seeming singularly amused by the mortified expression on Darien's face. "You're way too polite for your own good, you know that? Even when you're completely snoggered. Took me so long to convince you to get intimate that you passed out before I even finished unbuttoning your shirt."
Darien looked down at his half-buttoned shirt, then back up at Megan, asking suspiciously, "So nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened," Megan confirmed. "I was pretty disappointed. But I couldn't exactly dump you back in the bar parking lot, could I?"
Darien opened his mouth to reply, but paused as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a second.... You said *I* was drunk, but you never said anything about yourself."
Megan gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. "What can I say? You were on your way out and I was on my way in. Besides, you're cute when you're inebriated," she added with a grin.
Darien's jaw dropped open, both at Megan's admission of guilt and the fact that she still had the gall to flirt with him even as she made said admission. "You tried to take advantage of me!" he yelped, leaping up out of bed. He intended to say more, but his headache flared up with a vengeance and his stomach began to churn, causing him to re-think having stood up so quickly.
Megan canted her head to the right. "You OK? You don't look too good, there."
Not yet up to making a verbal reply, Darien merely fixed her with what he hoped was a singularly terrifying glare. However, judging from the fact that Megan merely pursed her lips and thought for a moment before continuing, it was only partially successful.
"You know what you need? Coffee." Darien's stomach lurched at Megan's words and he felt the color draining from his cheeks. He stumbled frantically toward what he hoped was the bathroom, even though the thought of puking all over Megan's bed was perversely appealing to him at the moment. As he threw open the door and lunged for the toilet he heard Megan say, in the closest thing to a guilty tone he had heard from her yet, "Or not?"
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"How often do you do this, anyway?" Darien groaned. He was sprawled out on Megan's couch with his eyes closed, recovering from an hour of emptying the contents of his stomach into her toilet basin and, after that, a good deal of dry-heaving. Megan had taken the whole thing in stride, helping him when he needed it with no questions asked, which might have been a blow to his ego if he hadn't been too sick to care.
"Do what?" Megan asked absently. She was in the kitchen, and claimed to be fixing up a remedy for Darien's hangover.
"This. Drag some miserable drunk guy back to your apartment for a night of crazy sex and then play doctor once the hangover hits."
"Oh. Yeah, I've been known to do it on occasion. Sometimes it's the other way around, though."
"Huh." Darien fell silent for a while as he mulled over what Megan had said and wished his headache would lessen enough that he might actually be capable of thinking in a coherent fashion. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you do this?"
There was another pause, this one initiated by Megan. "None of your damn business."
"OK, fine." Darien was curious to say the least, but he didn't think it would be wise to push the issue. Not right now, anyway. He might try again later, once he could actually string more than two thoughts together without his brain imploding.
He heard Megan walk out of the kitchen and come to a stop in front of the couch. "Drink this. It'll help."
Darien opened one eye and looked up at her, then at the glass in her hand. It was filled with a thick, murky liquid that looked like a cross between mud and tomato paste. "Ugh. That looks gross."
"Looks gross, tastes gross, feels gross going down. But it'll help." Megan smiled and bent down so that the two of them were at eye level. "C'mon. It can't be any worse than what you're going through already."
Darien frowned at the glass, weighing his options, and finally allowed Megan to hand it to him. He took a tentative sip and gagged. "That stuff is disgusting!"
"You were supposed to drink it fast," Megan admonished.
Darien snorted. "Oh, yeah, I'm just supposed to guzzle down that crap? It's like swallowing battery acid!"
"Have you ever actually swallowed battery acid?" Megan asked with a grin. "Just drink it. You'll feel better, I promise."
Darien frowned irritably at the glass, not at all relishing what he was about to do. He plugged his nose, threw back his head, and drank the whole glass in less than two seconds.
Megan's eyes widened with surprise. "Wow, no wonder you got so plastered!"
Darien grimaced, wondering how he was ever going to get the foul taste out of his mouth, and rasped, "You said I was supposed to drink it fast. I drank it fast."
Megan motioned for Darien to make room for her and then sat down on the couch beside him. "How often do you do this, anyway?"
"What? Get so drunk I can't walk and then follow strange women home?" Megan nodded, and Darien laughed. "Never. Can't afford it."
"So why'd you do it this time?"
Darien tensed as he remembered how the small girl had looked as the bullet tore into her flesh, the pain and shock of it distorting her features. He shook his head as if to clear it and tightened his jaw grimly. "None of your damn business."
However, unlike he had been, Megan seemed bound and determined to find out more. "Girlfriend?"
Darien laughed bitterly. "Hell, no. Work."
"Oh, you've got one of *those* jobs," Megan said knowingly.
"One of those jobs?" Darien repeated questioningly. "Exactly what sort of job do you think I have?"
"The kind that tears you up inside, bit by bit, a little more every day."
"Wow." Darien rubbed the back of his neck, astonished at how close Megan had come to his current predicament. "How'd you know?"
Megan hugged her knees to her chest and stared down at the floor. "I have one of those jobs."
Operating on instinct, Darien wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry."
Much to his surprise, Megan pulled away. "Don't be." She gave him a half-hearted smile and stood up. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah...." Darien wrinkled his nose. "I'm still mad at you for giving me the battery acid, though."
Megan laughed. "Oh, don't be such a baby. It helped, admit it."
Darien thought for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, it helped. But if that's the best way to cure a hangover, I think I'm gonna swear off drinking for good."
"The way you hold your alcohol, it might not be such a bad idea."
Darien resisted the urge to tell Megan that he had been able to hold his alcohol much better before the gland was put in. He pushed up his watch-band and ran a finger along the outside edge of the snake tattoo, staring at the six red segments and four green. His gaze shifted back to the watch itself and he paled. "Aw crap, Hobbes is gonna kill me...."
Megan looked confused, now. "What?"
Darien stood up, only feeling a minor wave of dizziness this time. "Look, you think you could drive me back to the bar? I need my car."
"No problem," Megan said. "Today's my day off. I haven't got anything better to do."
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Half an hour later, Megan pulled her car into the parking lot of the bar Darien had visited the night before and parked beside Darien's car, which was one of the few still in the lot. Darien opened the car door and started to get out, but paused, one leg dangling out of the car.
"Um...." He wasn't sure that what he was about to do was the right thing, but he wasn't sure that it was the wrong thing to do either. "Look, if you ever need something, call me." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and quickly scrawled his name and number on it, pressing it into Megan's hand.
"You sure about this?" Megan asked, tilting her head to the side. "After all, less than twenty-four hours ago I dragged you back to my apartment and tried to seduce you...."
"And less than twenty-four minutes ago, you were helping me deal with the hangover from hell," Darien replied. "Not many women are willing to stick around for that part of the seduction thing."
"Maybe you've just been getting seduced by the wrong women," Megan said, a twinkle in her eye.
"Yeah, maybe." Darien got out of her car and walked over to his, but stopped and turned around before he got in. "Thanks again."
Megan shook her head. "Please, don't thank me." She turned her keys in the ignition and rolled down the driver's side window, giving Darien a quick wave. "Bye!" Before Darien could respond, she careened out of the parking lot.
Disappointed by the fact that Megan hadn't deigned to give him her phone number, but pleased by the fact that she hadn't refused to take his, Darien unlocked his car and climbed in, quickly starting the engine and beginning the drive toward his apartment building. He had to go to work, but he had no intention of showing up wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before. Hobbes would be on his case enough as it was.
He spent the drive home considering the enigma that was Megan Callahan. As of yet, he hadn't been able to make head or tails of her. One minute she was a brash, sexy wild-woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, and the next minute she seemed so helpless, so vulnerable.... He hoped she would call him, and soon. She was someone he definitely wouldn't mind getting to know better.
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Megan tried to ignore the lump that was forming in her throat as she out of her car. She walked into her house and closed the door, leaning against the hard wooden surface. She closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh.
"Damn that Darien Fawkes!" she hissed, slapping a hand against the door. Why did he have to be *nice*? It made everything so much more complicated. Why couldn't he have just been an egotistical jerk? She would have had no problems doing what she had been hired to do then.
"That is a very common sentiment when dealing with Fawkes, in my experience."
Megan gasped and opened her eyes, looking around the room. She saw nothing, but it was precisely that fact that confirmed the identity of the person who had spoken. "What are you doing here, De Föhn?"
"I'm here to check up on your progress, of course. How did it go?"
Megan moved so that she was looking in the general direction she heard Arnaud's voice coming from, straightening up and assuming a more business-like posture as she said, "Not exactly how I'd expected. He passed out before I could seduce him properly, but from what happened afterwards, I think that might have been a good thing. He--"
Arnaud interrupted, his voice clipped and harsh. "Spare me the details. Does he trust you yet?"
"About as much as can be expected, considering he only met me last night," Megan replied. "He gave me his phone number."
"Good. Very good. Make sure you call him at the first opportunity."
"I know how to do my job, Arnaud," Megan snapped irritably. "Let me do it my way, unless you'd prefer to do it yourself."
"Somehow I think Fawkes would have an aversion to that," Arnaud replied dryly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other meetings to attend."
Megan stepped out of the way of the door, her voice borderline hostile as she said, "Oh, don't bother being late for them on my account."
"Don't fool yourself into thinking that any of this is on your account, my dear. You are merely a means to an end."
"Just get out," Megan said, barely able to keep her voice under control.
"Very well," Arnaud replied coldly. Moments later a chill breeze swept past her and the door swung open, seemingly of its own volition.
Megan heaved a deep sigh as the door closed again, mentally berating herself for having come so close to losing her temper in front of her employer. With Arnaud, such an action could be deemed by him as grounds for dismissal, and his method of dismissing his employees generally tended to be less than pleasant.
She sat down on her couch, running a hand over the spot where Darien had sat earlier that morning. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and took a shaky breath, trying to keep from crying. "Damn that Darien Fawkes," she whispered, unable to keep a single tear from slipping down her cheek. "Damn him to hell."
The End
(To be continued?)