(Just a quick note. Obviously this one occurs before Possessed and Enemy of My Enemy….it also comes before Mere Mortals, so the adrenaline blocker Claire used there is still on the drawing board, considered too dangerous to try. So Claire has to go for something that doesn't affect the gland itself to stop Darien from quicksilvering. Keep those reviews coming, gang, my muses need encouragement!)
Pain. Overwhelming pain in his head. Smaller aches and pains from the struggle. A new, sharp pain in his upper arm. He couldn't move yet, but he was becoming aware. A needle, cutting through skin....the dull ache of an injection into muscle.
Voices.
"That's got it. I'll be back in *five* minutes. You remember what to do if --"
"I got it. He'll be fine. Go!"
Someone's in a hurry, he thought. He could hear footsteps moving rapidly away, could feel the vibrations in the floor, and had an urge to chase.
A hand on his shoulder. "Hang in there, partner."
They'd done this to him. What gave them the right? Arms held tight, legs felt like they were tied together now.
Head still free.
His vision wasn't quite back yet. He snapped blindly, teeth connecting with cloth. He hung on like a bulldog, pulled halfway up despite the restraints before his hold gave way. He laughed at the way his partner swore.
"Dammit, Fawkes!" He could hear Hobbes moving around. "This is a nice shirt! Not one of your flea market castoffs."
"I'll trade you." He shrugged his shoulders within the straightjacket. "This one's a lot more durable."
"No thank you. It's not very comfortable."
Darien pried open his eyes. The room seemed too bright, sounds too loud. Everything was sharp and painfully clear. The vision of madness. He caught Hobbes staring at his eyes and knew they must be completely red by now.
"C'mon, Hobbsie, you've seen it before." He widened his eyes and stared right back at his partner.
"Yeah, and I still wish I could put sunglasses on you in here....."
The manic grin nearly split his face. "Wait, wait, I've got something better. You don't like red?"
He didn't know how he controlled where quicksilver went. It was instinctive now, which was the level he was operating at. Something different inside, and his tears turned to silver and his vision went all shiney. Such a relief, compared to all those sharp colors.
Only this time it didn't happen.
His grin faded. Something wasn't working the way it always had. That always pissed him off.
"Well, what do you know? It worked."
He glared at Hobbes, growled, "What worked?"
"Little thing the Keeper came up with, blocks production of adrenaline, cortisol, all those little signals of stress. Basically shuts off your adrenal glands for a little while."
Straining against the jacket, kicking his feet trying to loosen his bonds, he also tried to release the quicksilver across his whole body. Nothing happened, on any front.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, partner."
"Not enough I got one screwed-up gland, you gotta mess with the rest of 'em too?"
"Hey, it's the only way she could think of to keep you from burning through a lot of quicksilver and sending yourself silver before your time."
"Oh, sure, can't let me have any fun. So why haven't you locked me in? Gonna read to me? Sing me lulabyes?"
"I've got to keep an eye on you while Claire's busy making you some nice fresh counteragent. This isn't exactly the safest thing to be messing with, you know. Keeper said something about inducing a case of Addy....Addis...some kinda disease. We gotta make sure you don't get sick from your adrenal glands not doing what they're supposed to."
He noticed the syringe now. Not his usual glass counteragent syringe, a smaller plastic one. Hobbes was going to stick him with it, sooner or later, he was sure.
Unless he could figure a way loose....then he could stick Hobbsie with it instead.
He shifted around until he could lean against the wall. Hobbes had apparently learned his lesson, because he made no effort to help. He grinned at that thought. A little faster, and maybe he could have drawn blood.
"And she left *you* in charge of my well-being? Gr-r-ea-at....." Couldn't hurt him, make him bleed, make him scream, make him pay for this, but he could still do damage other ways. "Still, I guess we're both where we belong now. Oh, no, wait. No one ran out of *your* medication, did they? You've still got your precious pills. You can walk out that door....."
"I am not going to leave you, partner."
"That's right, Lithium Bob doesn't bail on his partners. No, he just lets them be locked up, locks himself up with 'em. I was right the first time, you *do* belong in here."
"Now, I know that's just the quicksilver talking. I'm gonna stay cool, gonna look after you, wait for Claire to finish what she's got to do downstairs...."
"You'll look after me, all right. You think I don't have your number? If something happens to me, then your way is clear."
"I don't get you, partner."
"Well, Claire only works here to take care of me. If I'm out of the picture, then she's off the company pier. And you'd just love that, wouldn't you, Hobbsie?" Part of him was gleeful that he'd scored against his guard, even though he knew his partner wouldn't do that. Another part knew it could happen, that anything could happen, anyone could turn. Nothing was safe.
He'd have to find his own way out, escape, get away from their needles and straightjackets and stares full of pity and contempt. He shifted his feet about, slowly, first twisting one way, then the other. He knew eventually he could get himself some slack. And then they'd have to come over to him to tie him up again, and he would have a chance at them.
Claire waited impatiently by the door, scanning the street for any sign of Mark. He drove an old corvette when he got the chance, and when it was working. She had no idea what car he'd be in if the old girl had broken down again.
Finally she spotted the vette, top down, sliding up to the front of the building. She leaned over the top of the passenger door to talk to him.
"Do you have it?"
"What, I don't even rate a hello anymore?"
She gave him her trademark stern look, and he grinned and reached into the back seat for a small styrofoam cooler.
"Thank you, Mark, I can't tell you how much this means." She reached for the cooler, but he moved it back a little.
"I'm sure you could think of a way, Claire....."
She couldn't help but grin. Same old Mark. "I really don't have the time right now....." His face fell. "But if this works, once the...once the experiment is complete, this is worth at least a dinner out...."
"Only if I get to pick the place. Salad-By-The-Pound just isn't gonna show much appreciation."
Claire pulled the cooler out of his grip. "We'll see. And thank you again."
She didn't even wait to see him drive away, resisting the urge to break into a run only by reminding herself what could happen if she broke this vial.
The next three or four days would make her residency look like cake walk. She'd have to juggle one batch of counteragent with this stuff, the rest of the synthesis and then another batch of counteragent, and monitoring Darien's condition and treating any Addisonian crisises brought on by her meddling with his endocrine system.
She frowned as she rode down to the Keep in the elevator. She'd need some sort of backup, in case an emergency came up at the wrong moment in the processing. Bobby was no good for this, she just knew he'd try to rush things, and besides she needed him with Darien while she was occupied downstairs.
Who in the Agency would have the patience and precision to be able to handle the carefully timed steps involved and the dull waiting in between?
She knew the perfect person.
Pain. Overwhelming pain in his head. Smaller aches and pains from the struggle. A new, sharp pain in his upper arm. He couldn't move yet, but he was becoming aware. A needle, cutting through skin....the dull ache of an injection into muscle.
Voices.
"That's got it. I'll be back in *five* minutes. You remember what to do if --"
"I got it. He'll be fine. Go!"
Someone's in a hurry, he thought. He could hear footsteps moving rapidly away, could feel the vibrations in the floor, and had an urge to chase.
A hand on his shoulder. "Hang in there, partner."
They'd done this to him. What gave them the right? Arms held tight, legs felt like they were tied together now.
Head still free.
His vision wasn't quite back yet. He snapped blindly, teeth connecting with cloth. He hung on like a bulldog, pulled halfway up despite the restraints before his hold gave way. He laughed at the way his partner swore.
"Dammit, Fawkes!" He could hear Hobbes moving around. "This is a nice shirt! Not one of your flea market castoffs."
"I'll trade you." He shrugged his shoulders within the straightjacket. "This one's a lot more durable."
"No thank you. It's not very comfortable."
Darien pried open his eyes. The room seemed too bright, sounds too loud. Everything was sharp and painfully clear. The vision of madness. He caught Hobbes staring at his eyes and knew they must be completely red by now.
"C'mon, Hobbsie, you've seen it before." He widened his eyes and stared right back at his partner.
"Yeah, and I still wish I could put sunglasses on you in here....."
The manic grin nearly split his face. "Wait, wait, I've got something better. You don't like red?"
He didn't know how he controlled where quicksilver went. It was instinctive now, which was the level he was operating at. Something different inside, and his tears turned to silver and his vision went all shiney. Such a relief, compared to all those sharp colors.
Only this time it didn't happen.
His grin faded. Something wasn't working the way it always had. That always pissed him off.
"Well, what do you know? It worked."
He glared at Hobbes, growled, "What worked?"
"Little thing the Keeper came up with, blocks production of adrenaline, cortisol, all those little signals of stress. Basically shuts off your adrenal glands for a little while."
Straining against the jacket, kicking his feet trying to loosen his bonds, he also tried to release the quicksilver across his whole body. Nothing happened, on any front.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, partner."
"Not enough I got one screwed-up gland, you gotta mess with the rest of 'em too?"
"Hey, it's the only way she could think of to keep you from burning through a lot of quicksilver and sending yourself silver before your time."
"Oh, sure, can't let me have any fun. So why haven't you locked me in? Gonna read to me? Sing me lulabyes?"
"I've got to keep an eye on you while Claire's busy making you some nice fresh counteragent. This isn't exactly the safest thing to be messing with, you know. Keeper said something about inducing a case of Addy....Addis...some kinda disease. We gotta make sure you don't get sick from your adrenal glands not doing what they're supposed to."
He noticed the syringe now. Not his usual glass counteragent syringe, a smaller plastic one. Hobbes was going to stick him with it, sooner or later, he was sure.
Unless he could figure a way loose....then he could stick Hobbsie with it instead.
He shifted around until he could lean against the wall. Hobbes had apparently learned his lesson, because he made no effort to help. He grinned at that thought. A little faster, and maybe he could have drawn blood.
"And she left *you* in charge of my well-being? Gr-r-ea-at....." Couldn't hurt him, make him bleed, make him scream, make him pay for this, but he could still do damage other ways. "Still, I guess we're both where we belong now. Oh, no, wait. No one ran out of *your* medication, did they? You've still got your precious pills. You can walk out that door....."
"I am not going to leave you, partner."
"That's right, Lithium Bob doesn't bail on his partners. No, he just lets them be locked up, locks himself up with 'em. I was right the first time, you *do* belong in here."
"Now, I know that's just the quicksilver talking. I'm gonna stay cool, gonna look after you, wait for Claire to finish what she's got to do downstairs...."
"You'll look after me, all right. You think I don't have your number? If something happens to me, then your way is clear."
"I don't get you, partner."
"Well, Claire only works here to take care of me. If I'm out of the picture, then she's off the company pier. And you'd just love that, wouldn't you, Hobbsie?" Part of him was gleeful that he'd scored against his guard, even though he knew his partner wouldn't do that. Another part knew it could happen, that anything could happen, anyone could turn. Nothing was safe.
He'd have to find his own way out, escape, get away from their needles and straightjackets and stares full of pity and contempt. He shifted his feet about, slowly, first twisting one way, then the other. He knew eventually he could get himself some slack. And then they'd have to come over to him to tie him up again, and he would have a chance at them.
Claire waited impatiently by the door, scanning the street for any sign of Mark. He drove an old corvette when he got the chance, and when it was working. She had no idea what car he'd be in if the old girl had broken down again.
Finally she spotted the vette, top down, sliding up to the front of the building. She leaned over the top of the passenger door to talk to him.
"Do you have it?"
"What, I don't even rate a hello anymore?"
She gave him her trademark stern look, and he grinned and reached into the back seat for a small styrofoam cooler.
"Thank you, Mark, I can't tell you how much this means." She reached for the cooler, but he moved it back a little.
"I'm sure you could think of a way, Claire....."
She couldn't help but grin. Same old Mark. "I really don't have the time right now....." His face fell. "But if this works, once the...once the experiment is complete, this is worth at least a dinner out...."
"Only if I get to pick the place. Salad-By-The-Pound just isn't gonna show much appreciation."
Claire pulled the cooler out of his grip. "We'll see. And thank you again."
She didn't even wait to see him drive away, resisting the urge to break into a run only by reminding herself what could happen if she broke this vial.
The next three or four days would make her residency look like cake walk. She'd have to juggle one batch of counteragent with this stuff, the rest of the synthesis and then another batch of counteragent, and monitoring Darien's condition and treating any Addisonian crisises brought on by her meddling with his endocrine system.
She frowned as she rode down to the Keep in the elevator. She'd need some sort of backup, in case an emergency came up at the wrong moment in the processing. Bobby was no good for this, she just knew he'd try to rush things, and besides she needed him with Darien while she was occupied downstairs.
Who in the Agency would have the patience and precision to be able to handle the carefully timed steps involved and the dull waiting in between?
She knew the perfect person.