Darien struggled within the straightjacket. Some small part of his mind still knew that his frantic efforts would get him nowhere, that he should work slowly and methodically, but in this condition he just couldn't sustain the effort.
The more he struggled, the more frustrated he became. Frustrated, and angry.
His partner stood dithering nearby, telling him to calm down, shifting his weight as the impulse to go to him fought the knowledge that right now he was too dangerous to approach. Hobbes sounded more worried than Darien would have expected. After all, he'd been in this room, in this straightjacket, before, and not been able to hurt himself.
Tiresome little troll, always thinking *he* knew best, *he* would protect Darien, save Darien, who cares whether he *wants* to be saved, who ever cares what *he* wants?
He tried to quicksilver, to send that silver blanket flowing across him. Just like he fought the restraints, he fought his inability to quicksilver. Sent the danger signals to his body that told it to bring out this defense mechanism. Kept trying, kept fighting, until a wave of dizziness sent him crashing to the floor.
His stomach twisting in knots, he retched, barely able to move. The sudden weakness frustrated him almost as much as it frightened him. His heart was beating a mile a minute. What was happening? For a moment the madness dissolved into blank confusion, and he couldn't remember where he was or why he was here.
Hobbes watched his partner's collapse in horror. It was one thing for Claire to describe the symptoms he had to watch out for, another to see them happening right in front of him.
"C'mon, partner," he coaxed, grabbing the syringe Claire had left for him. "Hang in there, everything's going to be fine."
He saw the anger and frustration giving way, and tried to encourage the calmer mood. "That's right, Fawkes. Don't get excited. I told you your body can't handle stress right now, this is no time to be getting yourself all worked up."
Darien, lying there trembling, looked too weak now to fight, to attack him, but Hobbes still approached cautiously.
"I'm gonna get you fixed up, Fawkes. This is just a little bit of that adrenal juice you're missing, just enough to keep you from croaking on us. We got too much invested in you to let you put yourself into shock."
The chatter was to soothe himself as much as to distract his partner from the injection. It took a minute to take effect, one of the longest minutes in Hobbes' life. He cradled his partner, keeping him on his side in case the retching brought anything up, trying to calm him back down without staying too long and getting caught by the violence of returning madness.
Darien shifted from gagging, to sobbing miserably. "It's not worth it, Hobbes...."
"Hang in there, partner. Keeper's working on getting you some nice fresh counteragent, and then we can get you back to as close to normal as your sorry ass gets."
"She's going to kill me, Hobbes. Or I'm going to get loose and kill both of you first. I can't do this, I can't...."
"What, are you giving up? Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna *let* you give up. I'm gonna get you through this, Keeper and I are gonna have you back to your old self, or --"
He started to say, "or die trying," but caught himself in time. That would not be a good image to bring up just now.
Much as he wanted to continue comforting Fawkes, he knew that the anger and frustration would return, sooner or later. Besides, he had to call the Keeper and let her know what had happened. Reluctantly, he eased his partner back onto the floor. He lay, curled in a ball, shoulders hitching as he sobbed, like a little child. No inhibitions.
Hobbes moved across the room and dialed the number for the Keep.
The more he struggled, the more frustrated he became. Frustrated, and angry.
His partner stood dithering nearby, telling him to calm down, shifting his weight as the impulse to go to him fought the knowledge that right now he was too dangerous to approach. Hobbes sounded more worried than Darien would have expected. After all, he'd been in this room, in this straightjacket, before, and not been able to hurt himself.
Tiresome little troll, always thinking *he* knew best, *he* would protect Darien, save Darien, who cares whether he *wants* to be saved, who ever cares what *he* wants?
He tried to quicksilver, to send that silver blanket flowing across him. Just like he fought the restraints, he fought his inability to quicksilver. Sent the danger signals to his body that told it to bring out this defense mechanism. Kept trying, kept fighting, until a wave of dizziness sent him crashing to the floor.
His stomach twisting in knots, he retched, barely able to move. The sudden weakness frustrated him almost as much as it frightened him. His heart was beating a mile a minute. What was happening? For a moment the madness dissolved into blank confusion, and he couldn't remember where he was or why he was here.
Hobbes watched his partner's collapse in horror. It was one thing for Claire to describe the symptoms he had to watch out for, another to see them happening right in front of him.
"C'mon, partner," he coaxed, grabbing the syringe Claire had left for him. "Hang in there, everything's going to be fine."
He saw the anger and frustration giving way, and tried to encourage the calmer mood. "That's right, Fawkes. Don't get excited. I told you your body can't handle stress right now, this is no time to be getting yourself all worked up."
Darien, lying there trembling, looked too weak now to fight, to attack him, but Hobbes still approached cautiously.
"I'm gonna get you fixed up, Fawkes. This is just a little bit of that adrenal juice you're missing, just enough to keep you from croaking on us. We got too much invested in you to let you put yourself into shock."
The chatter was to soothe himself as much as to distract his partner from the injection. It took a minute to take effect, one of the longest minutes in Hobbes' life. He cradled his partner, keeping him on his side in case the retching brought anything up, trying to calm him back down without staying too long and getting caught by the violence of returning madness.
Darien shifted from gagging, to sobbing miserably. "It's not worth it, Hobbes...."
"Hang in there, partner. Keeper's working on getting you some nice fresh counteragent, and then we can get you back to as close to normal as your sorry ass gets."
"She's going to kill me, Hobbes. Or I'm going to get loose and kill both of you first. I can't do this, I can't...."
"What, are you giving up? Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna *let* you give up. I'm gonna get you through this, Keeper and I are gonna have you back to your old self, or --"
He started to say, "or die trying," but caught himself in time. That would not be a good image to bring up just now.
Much as he wanted to continue comforting Fawkes, he knew that the anger and frustration would return, sooner or later. Besides, he had to call the Keeper and let her know what had happened. Reluctantly, he eased his partner back onto the floor. He lay, curled in a ball, shoulders hitching as he sobbed, like a little child. No inhibitions.
Hobbes moved across the room and dialed the number for the Keep.