Dangerous Games: Bishop Takes Pawn
by Tinselcat
Rated: R, as the violence has gone up a notch. Also, a fair chunk of dirty language.
Summary: a captured Bushroot faces his fate, and Steelbeak gets very, very angry.
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack, Christine and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.
Note: oy, I just spent, like, an hour cranking this chapter out. I just had a ton of ideas and seemed to be on a writing streak, so I went to it with vigor. Whew, nothin' wears you out like marathon typing, let me tell you. This chapter reflects a bit on events that took place in "Steel(beak) Magnolias" but I wouldn't worry about reading it if you haven't already. Not a big deal.
***************** Bushroot's eyes slowly fluttered open. He winced and immediately closed them against the harsh, hot light shining onto him.
"He's waking up, boss." Said a faceless, gravely voice.
"good. I'll be right over."
A large hand seized Bushroot's face, forcing it upwards so the light streamed through his eyelids. "rise and shine, buttercup." The voice growled.
Slowly, cautiously, Bushroot opened his eyes. He stared into the small, narrowly-spaced eyes of a bulky, muscular rat. He tried to wrench his face out of the rat's tight grip, only succeeding in prompting the veritable monolith of a rodent to dig his claws in deeper. The rat smiled as Bushroot twisted his hands and feet, a look of chagrin coming over his face when he realized he was tied to a chair.
"that will be enough, Trevor." Said the second voice, which was calm, collected and utterly cold.
The rat released his painful grip and stepped aside. Eclipsing the harsh light which shone in Bushroot's eyes was the round face of a portly duck. His feathers were obviously thinning, and his small eyes were watery behind round spectacles. "good morning, Dr. Bushroot. I trust you. . . heh. . . slept well." he took a handkerchief out of his lab-coat pocket and mopped his brow nervously, his eyes traveling over the prone scientist, as if probing for weaknesses.
"what do you want?" asked Bushroot hoarsly, the corners of his eyes taking in his surroundings: a large room which looked like an old science lab, filled with rows of tables and broken glass, along with some old, dusty equipment. The only recent additions to the space seemed to be themselves as well as several sharp instruments and unlabeled bottles on a nearby table.
The duck clutched a clipboard, his eyes darting toward the table where Bushroot's stare gravitated. "ah, of course, you, eh, want to know why you're here, hm?" he gave a chuckle, "I'm aware of your reputation, er, Dr. Bushroot. Used to be quite good in your, heh, field of research, despite your collegues. I'm surprised you don't recognize me, your old, heh, 'partner in crime' so to speak."
Bushroot's eyes widened as he recognized the project director who had been fired from the company because of questionable experiments he was conducting, "Dr. White. . ."
"in the, er, flesh." The duck shifted his weight and mopped his brow again. "well, I do regret having to impose on you like this, but I believe you, hm, have some information that I'd like."
Bushroot glanced nervously at Trevor, who was pacing back and forth behind the doctor, and at the table with its ominous contents.
"I do hope your cooperation will render certain, hm, persuasions unnecessary."
"w-what do you want to know?" Bushroot's eyes remained glued to the table. Trevor grinned.
"you have been witnessed associating with a, er, Dr. Kamo Quack. Now, this lady is, I fear, conducting some, hm, research that it is prudent for me and my, er, collegue to know about."
Bushroot looked back at Dr. White and shook his head, "I-I've consulted her on a project of my own, but really, I have no idea what she's working on independently. I-I really wouldn't be the one to ask about all this."
Dr. White shook his head and Trevor snickered. "what do you want first, boss?"
Bushroot's captor waved aside his assistant, "I really wish you would not make this so, hm, hard on yourself. But do not think that I will, ahem, hesitiate to use extreme methods to persuade this information from you."
"look, I really don't know." Bushroot began to sweat beneath the hot light, the first swells of panic gripping his stomach.
"that is. . . hm, regretful. . ." the doctor wiped his sweating brow and turned away, walking to the table where the instruments were laid out. After inspecting them, he picked up a scalpel.
"w-wait! Wait!" Bushroot cried suddenly, memory hitting him like a sledgehammer, "I remember something she was working on! it was a time machine!"
"do you take me for a, hm, fool?"
"no, no, she really was. But she destroyed it, it doesn't exist anymore."
"I'm afraid you'll have to do, ahem, better than that."
Bushroot squirmed in his seat, trying in vain to put the maximum distance between himself and the approaching doctor, "no, honestly, that's all I know!"
"that's old news, I'm afraid. Trevor,"
the rat stepped forward, "yeah boss."
"observe closely, the first cut is not in too vulnerable an area. you don't want to, er, give it to them all at once, so to speak. A shoulder should do nicely." With those words, he slowly, studiously traced a cut from Bushroot's neck to his bicep.
Bushroot made a strangled sound in his throat.
"don't progress too, ahem, swiftly, as the victim may pass out." With those words, and several deft wrist movements, two slash marks appeared on Bushroot's stomach.
"I told you everything I know!" the botanist's words came out in a sob as pain burned through his body, "please don't. . ."
Bushroot's blood ran cold at the emotionless voice his captor used to talk to his protégé, "well, it seems that this one is hardly, hm, a 'softie', so to speak. We will move on to the more vulnerable areas, and if he continues to resist, we will move on to experiment with my specially treated, hm, chemical pesticides."
With a sorrowful moan, Bushroot sagged in his bonds, knowing that the worst was yet to come and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
********************
Dr. Quack sighed as she opened the usually locked door to her apartment, her head still spinning slightly from the mass of paperwork she had had to fill out at the hospital before they'd released her. She couldn't help feeling frustrated, although she had expected this. she flicked the light- switch on, finding her apartment torn apart, furniture overturned, papers spread about like large snowflakes, even her kitchen cabients hadn't escaped the furtive search. She glanced at the blank space on her desk where her laptop should have been sitting. They'd even taken that. No matter. There wasn't anything they could get from its hard-drive anyway that could be of any use to them. she unconsciously fingered the cd case sitting in her jacket pocket, protecting its precious contents.
She closed the door, locking it behind her. Turning furniture upright as she went, she headed toward the phone. She picked up the receiver, hardly needing to think as her fingers dialed a familiar number, despite the fact that she hadn't used it in a long time.
"Hello?"
"if you're going to search my apartment, at least do it professionally. There was no need to trash the place." Her voice was hard and steady, but with a boiling anger just underneath the surface.
"ah, I apologise for that, but you know thugs these days, they all leave a mess, no matter how much you pay them."
"but nevertheless, the search was in vain. . ."
"indeed. I feel foolish to have underestimated you after all these years, Kammie-"
"don't call me that."
The voice on the other line gave an almost fond chuckle, "I see I havn't given you the professional respect you deserve. You can still save yourself all this grief. You know what I want. You realize what we could accomplish together?"
"you honestly think I'd ever trust you after everything you've done?"
"no, not really, but there's no harm in asking."
"you tried to kill me. . ."
"you really think I had anything to do with that explosion? How *could* you?"
"BULLSHIT!!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion.
"you've proved stronger than I thought." The voice which, until now, had been dignified and pleasant, suddenly darkened, "perhaps killing you is not the answer. But rest assured, I will find out what you've been up to, you can play all the little games you wish. I have an ace up my sleeve, my dear." He spat the last word at her.
"you wish, you bastard. . ." she gritted her teeth together.
"have you accounted for the whereabouts of your confidantes?"
"what?"
"I'd either cooperate, or leave town. You'd do well to consider your priorities. You're treading on very thin ice. . . Kammie. . ." before she could retort, there was a click, and the only sound was a dial tone.
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!" she screamed and slammed the phone back into the cradle. She slowly sank to her knees, putting her hands over her bandaged face, struggling to quell the tears which threatened to spill forth. Her face ached. Her apartment was freezing, due to the wide-open windows. She shivered, putting her arms around herself.
*'confidantes'. . . what the hell was that asshole talking about? I have no confidantes. No one knows about it but me. . . I told no one. . . no one. . .* she thought to herself. *he's pulling bunnies from a hat. . . that's all it is, tricks to catch me off-guard. Well, it won't work.* she stood up, a terrible smile lighting her face, "you're going to get what's coming to you. . . *friend*. . . oh ho, yes indeed. . ." she growled. Encouraged by her new resolve, she set about cleaning her apartment, comforting thoughts of revenge dancing before her mind's eye.
*************
Steelbeak stole a fourth look at himself in the rearview mirror. *still lookin' hot, my good boid.* he thought to himself. Casually, he pressed down on the accelerator, steering with one hand on the wheel, the other thrown over the back of the seat. The car he was passing honked angrily at him. he flashed the driver a pleasant smile before swerving in front of them, cutting them off. No, nothing could spoil his mood tonight, especially not washed-up old snail-drivers. His Porsche wove through them like an army trainee through an obsticle course. Steelbeak glanced at the passenger seat. One dozen red roses in white paper sat there, adding a splash of color to the black leather, while at the same time matching his car's professional paint job. *classy, if I do say so myself* he wasn't sure how the plant-duck would react to the sight of cut flowers, but Steelbeak had no doubts that if anyone could take a dozen cut roses and turn them into a dozen heathy rosebushes, Reginald Bushroot could. Steelbeak hoped Bushroot was up for dinner. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and longing had settled into Steelbeak's stomach. He could almost feel Bushroot's own need. *well, dey say absence makes da 'eart grow strongah.*
Steelbeak pulled up in front of Bushroot's greenhouse, and immediately knew something was wrong. The building was dark, and Spike was sitting in front of it, head bowed. As Steelbeak approached, the mutated plant began barking angrily, but quiteted down once it recognized Steelbeak. The two had previously reached a grudging agreement: Spike didn't bite Steelbeak, Steelbeak wouldn't bite back.
Steelbeak broke into a run when he saw the broken glass. He entered the building through the busted doorway, glass shards crackling underfoot. The place was in shambles, and Bushroot was nowhere to be found. Swearing, he cast about for the large bush in which Bushroot always kept a camera trained on the length of the greenhouse, his fail-safe in case the place was raided by anyone trying to steal his research. Steelbeak found the bush, its pot overturned, a broken cord trailing from the back, hardly noticeable in the evening light. He rummaged through the leaves until he found the camera. Tucking it under his arm, he ran past the mourning Spike and jumped into his car, depositing the device in the passenger's seat, careful not to crush the roses. Growling with anger, he sped out of the driveway, and headed for the 'on' ramp which would bring him onto the highway, and toward F.O.W.L. headquarters. He picked up his cell phone and hastily dialed F.O.W.L.'s audio-video labs.
"hello?"
"'ey, is dis Christine?"
"Steelbeak?"
"yeah. Look, I gots a project for ya, babe. I need youse ta analyze a videotape fer me. think youse can 'andle dat?"
"what do you take me for? A nursing-home patient?" the voice on the other line sniffed.
"I knew I c'n count on youse, baby. I'll be dere in ten." He honked on his horn and cut off someone trying to enter his lane "LEARN 'OW TA DRIVE, JACK- ASS! Yo, Christine?"
"still here."
"make dat five." He pressed the 'end' button and hung up the phone. Whoever had taken Bushroot had better be making their peace, because he was angry and ready to rumble.
*******************
Bushroot trembled. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him and he slumped in his chair. Parts of his skin still steamed from the last dose of acidic chemicals which had been applied to it.
Dr. White wiped his brow, "well this is, hm, unusual."
"whadda we do now?"
"we, er, come to the conclusion that he is telling the truth or, hm, or we let him rest and try again. At this point, however, I doubt that there's anything he can tell us. You may call command to inform them that this one, ahem, knows nothing."
"what do we do with 'im?"
"perhaps, hm, keep him around. For practice purposes. You must, er, hone your skill." He rubbed his hands and glanced about. He stepped toward Bushroot and grasped the hybrid's chin, raising his head. "finished screaming, eh?"
Bushroot gave a small whimper, his eyes unfocused, eyelids fluttering as he teetered on the verge of unconsciousness.
"perhaps you should, hm, get used to it." Dr. White allowed himself a nervous chuckle as he released the botanist's head, which fell back down to his chest.
"hey boss, didja hear that?"
"hear what, exactly?"
"I think someone is here-"
suddenly, the far wall exploded inward, scattering debris across the floor. Several grenade-like objects skittered across the floor, and the room filled with smoke. Through the haze, the two kidnappers could just make out the shadowy silhouettes of troops in yellow suits and helmets. A distinct, commanding voice cut through the smoke.
"get dose two guys. Don' kill 'em, dough, leave dat ta me. and find da duck, 'es in 'ere somewheres. I don' care what youse do to da guards."
In the confusion, Dr. White, surprisingly swift for his size, darted away from the sounds of tromping combat-boots, finding the back door. He silently slipped through.
When the smoke finally thinned, it revealed two eggmen dragging away the unconscious Trevor, and tying up several guards who would awake with terrible headaches.
Steelbeak, in a black coverall, his utility belt heavy with weapons, made a beeline toward the still figure in the chair. He knelt in front of it and took Bushroot's head gently in his hands, "Bushroot? Hey, Reggie, can you 'ear me?" he shuddered, a chill lancing down his spine, as he saw the slash marks which oozed blood, as well as the areas of brown, shrivled skin which marked the burns. Bushroot's skin was rough and dry, the areas around his eyes and joints browning from lack of water and time spent under the nutrient-less light.
A lump lodged in Steelbeak's throat as he took it all in, and he struggled to keep his emotions inside, since throwing a temper tantrum would do nothing for his prone friend. As gently as possible, he cut Bushroot's bonds and gingerly picked up the scientist. He was frighteningly light. Steelbeak held him as if he may shatter at any moment.
The eggman in charge of the squad marched up to him, "the rat is incapacitated, as are the guards. The duck escaped in the confusion. Your orders, sir?"
"leave dose suckahs where da police'll find 'em and den 'ead back to base. I want ta find out who da 'ell dat duck was, and what 'e was up to. Put Christine on it, tell 'er I sent ya. I want dis guy found, and I want ta know exactly when dat 'appens. Youse got it?"
"got it." the eggman threw a smart salute and marched off, gesturing to his troops and barking orders.
Steelbeak walked silently away, still cradling Bushroot against him, toward his hummer, which he reserved for occasions that may damage a good paint job.
"whoever you are, youse're gonna get what's comin' to ya." He addressed the open air, staring upwards at the faint stars, partially obscured by the city lights, as if they were challenging him, "I 'ope you don't 'ave any long-toim plans fer da future, 'cause yer gonna get yours. . . oh yeah, youse cointenly will. . ."
************************
okay, I know I was mean to Bushroot in this chapter *cringes* please don't hurt me! ya, anyways, I'm taking this oppertunity to harass Roaming Tigress about "Unfinished Business". WRITE MORE!! I'M DYIN'!!!
and REVIEW! Reviewreviewreview! I realize that the Lauderdale and Roaming Tigress are the only two people actually reading this fic, but that means that you two are under more of an obligation to review, as no one else is! And if you aren't one of the ladies mentioned above, REVIEW!! I GET CRAZY WHEN I DON'T GET REVIEWS!! ANYONE CAN TELL YOU THAT! I'M GOING TO STOP SHOUTING NOW!
*whew* okay, I'm done ranting now. don't hurt me.
by Tinselcat
Rated: R, as the violence has gone up a notch. Also, a fair chunk of dirty language.
Summary: a captured Bushroot faces his fate, and Steelbeak gets very, very angry.
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack, Christine and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.
Note: oy, I just spent, like, an hour cranking this chapter out. I just had a ton of ideas and seemed to be on a writing streak, so I went to it with vigor. Whew, nothin' wears you out like marathon typing, let me tell you. This chapter reflects a bit on events that took place in "Steel(beak) Magnolias" but I wouldn't worry about reading it if you haven't already. Not a big deal.
***************** Bushroot's eyes slowly fluttered open. He winced and immediately closed them against the harsh, hot light shining onto him.
"He's waking up, boss." Said a faceless, gravely voice.
"good. I'll be right over."
A large hand seized Bushroot's face, forcing it upwards so the light streamed through his eyelids. "rise and shine, buttercup." The voice growled.
Slowly, cautiously, Bushroot opened his eyes. He stared into the small, narrowly-spaced eyes of a bulky, muscular rat. He tried to wrench his face out of the rat's tight grip, only succeeding in prompting the veritable monolith of a rodent to dig his claws in deeper. The rat smiled as Bushroot twisted his hands and feet, a look of chagrin coming over his face when he realized he was tied to a chair.
"that will be enough, Trevor." Said the second voice, which was calm, collected and utterly cold.
The rat released his painful grip and stepped aside. Eclipsing the harsh light which shone in Bushroot's eyes was the round face of a portly duck. His feathers were obviously thinning, and his small eyes were watery behind round spectacles. "good morning, Dr. Bushroot. I trust you. . . heh. . . slept well." he took a handkerchief out of his lab-coat pocket and mopped his brow nervously, his eyes traveling over the prone scientist, as if probing for weaknesses.
"what do you want?" asked Bushroot hoarsly, the corners of his eyes taking in his surroundings: a large room which looked like an old science lab, filled with rows of tables and broken glass, along with some old, dusty equipment. The only recent additions to the space seemed to be themselves as well as several sharp instruments and unlabeled bottles on a nearby table.
The duck clutched a clipboard, his eyes darting toward the table where Bushroot's stare gravitated. "ah, of course, you, eh, want to know why you're here, hm?" he gave a chuckle, "I'm aware of your reputation, er, Dr. Bushroot. Used to be quite good in your, heh, field of research, despite your collegues. I'm surprised you don't recognize me, your old, heh, 'partner in crime' so to speak."
Bushroot's eyes widened as he recognized the project director who had been fired from the company because of questionable experiments he was conducting, "Dr. White. . ."
"in the, er, flesh." The duck shifted his weight and mopped his brow again. "well, I do regret having to impose on you like this, but I believe you, hm, have some information that I'd like."
Bushroot glanced nervously at Trevor, who was pacing back and forth behind the doctor, and at the table with its ominous contents.
"I do hope your cooperation will render certain, hm, persuasions unnecessary."
"w-what do you want to know?" Bushroot's eyes remained glued to the table. Trevor grinned.
"you have been witnessed associating with a, er, Dr. Kamo Quack. Now, this lady is, I fear, conducting some, hm, research that it is prudent for me and my, er, collegue to know about."
Bushroot looked back at Dr. White and shook his head, "I-I've consulted her on a project of my own, but really, I have no idea what she's working on independently. I-I really wouldn't be the one to ask about all this."
Dr. White shook his head and Trevor snickered. "what do you want first, boss?"
Bushroot's captor waved aside his assistant, "I really wish you would not make this so, hm, hard on yourself. But do not think that I will, ahem, hesitiate to use extreme methods to persuade this information from you."
"look, I really don't know." Bushroot began to sweat beneath the hot light, the first swells of panic gripping his stomach.
"that is. . . hm, regretful. . ." the doctor wiped his sweating brow and turned away, walking to the table where the instruments were laid out. After inspecting them, he picked up a scalpel.
"w-wait! Wait!" Bushroot cried suddenly, memory hitting him like a sledgehammer, "I remember something she was working on! it was a time machine!"
"do you take me for a, hm, fool?"
"no, no, she really was. But she destroyed it, it doesn't exist anymore."
"I'm afraid you'll have to do, ahem, better than that."
Bushroot squirmed in his seat, trying in vain to put the maximum distance between himself and the approaching doctor, "no, honestly, that's all I know!"
"that's old news, I'm afraid. Trevor,"
the rat stepped forward, "yeah boss."
"observe closely, the first cut is not in too vulnerable an area. you don't want to, er, give it to them all at once, so to speak. A shoulder should do nicely." With those words, he slowly, studiously traced a cut from Bushroot's neck to his bicep.
Bushroot made a strangled sound in his throat.
"don't progress too, ahem, swiftly, as the victim may pass out." With those words, and several deft wrist movements, two slash marks appeared on Bushroot's stomach.
"I told you everything I know!" the botanist's words came out in a sob as pain burned through his body, "please don't. . ."
Bushroot's blood ran cold at the emotionless voice his captor used to talk to his protégé, "well, it seems that this one is hardly, hm, a 'softie', so to speak. We will move on to the more vulnerable areas, and if he continues to resist, we will move on to experiment with my specially treated, hm, chemical pesticides."
With a sorrowful moan, Bushroot sagged in his bonds, knowing that the worst was yet to come and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
********************
Dr. Quack sighed as she opened the usually locked door to her apartment, her head still spinning slightly from the mass of paperwork she had had to fill out at the hospital before they'd released her. She couldn't help feeling frustrated, although she had expected this. she flicked the light- switch on, finding her apartment torn apart, furniture overturned, papers spread about like large snowflakes, even her kitchen cabients hadn't escaped the furtive search. She glanced at the blank space on her desk where her laptop should have been sitting. They'd even taken that. No matter. There wasn't anything they could get from its hard-drive anyway that could be of any use to them. she unconsciously fingered the cd case sitting in her jacket pocket, protecting its precious contents.
She closed the door, locking it behind her. Turning furniture upright as she went, she headed toward the phone. She picked up the receiver, hardly needing to think as her fingers dialed a familiar number, despite the fact that she hadn't used it in a long time.
"Hello?"
"if you're going to search my apartment, at least do it professionally. There was no need to trash the place." Her voice was hard and steady, but with a boiling anger just underneath the surface.
"ah, I apologise for that, but you know thugs these days, they all leave a mess, no matter how much you pay them."
"but nevertheless, the search was in vain. . ."
"indeed. I feel foolish to have underestimated you after all these years, Kammie-"
"don't call me that."
The voice on the other line gave an almost fond chuckle, "I see I havn't given you the professional respect you deserve. You can still save yourself all this grief. You know what I want. You realize what we could accomplish together?"
"you honestly think I'd ever trust you after everything you've done?"
"no, not really, but there's no harm in asking."
"you tried to kill me. . ."
"you really think I had anything to do with that explosion? How *could* you?"
"BULLSHIT!!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion.
"you've proved stronger than I thought." The voice which, until now, had been dignified and pleasant, suddenly darkened, "perhaps killing you is not the answer. But rest assured, I will find out what you've been up to, you can play all the little games you wish. I have an ace up my sleeve, my dear." He spat the last word at her.
"you wish, you bastard. . ." she gritted her teeth together.
"have you accounted for the whereabouts of your confidantes?"
"what?"
"I'd either cooperate, or leave town. You'd do well to consider your priorities. You're treading on very thin ice. . . Kammie. . ." before she could retort, there was a click, and the only sound was a dial tone.
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!" she screamed and slammed the phone back into the cradle. She slowly sank to her knees, putting her hands over her bandaged face, struggling to quell the tears which threatened to spill forth. Her face ached. Her apartment was freezing, due to the wide-open windows. She shivered, putting her arms around herself.
*'confidantes'. . . what the hell was that asshole talking about? I have no confidantes. No one knows about it but me. . . I told no one. . . no one. . .* she thought to herself. *he's pulling bunnies from a hat. . . that's all it is, tricks to catch me off-guard. Well, it won't work.* she stood up, a terrible smile lighting her face, "you're going to get what's coming to you. . . *friend*. . . oh ho, yes indeed. . ." she growled. Encouraged by her new resolve, she set about cleaning her apartment, comforting thoughts of revenge dancing before her mind's eye.
*************
Steelbeak stole a fourth look at himself in the rearview mirror. *still lookin' hot, my good boid.* he thought to himself. Casually, he pressed down on the accelerator, steering with one hand on the wheel, the other thrown over the back of the seat. The car he was passing honked angrily at him. he flashed the driver a pleasant smile before swerving in front of them, cutting them off. No, nothing could spoil his mood tonight, especially not washed-up old snail-drivers. His Porsche wove through them like an army trainee through an obsticle course. Steelbeak glanced at the passenger seat. One dozen red roses in white paper sat there, adding a splash of color to the black leather, while at the same time matching his car's professional paint job. *classy, if I do say so myself* he wasn't sure how the plant-duck would react to the sight of cut flowers, but Steelbeak had no doubts that if anyone could take a dozen cut roses and turn them into a dozen heathy rosebushes, Reginald Bushroot could. Steelbeak hoped Bushroot was up for dinner. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and longing had settled into Steelbeak's stomach. He could almost feel Bushroot's own need. *well, dey say absence makes da 'eart grow strongah.*
Steelbeak pulled up in front of Bushroot's greenhouse, and immediately knew something was wrong. The building was dark, and Spike was sitting in front of it, head bowed. As Steelbeak approached, the mutated plant began barking angrily, but quiteted down once it recognized Steelbeak. The two had previously reached a grudging agreement: Spike didn't bite Steelbeak, Steelbeak wouldn't bite back.
Steelbeak broke into a run when he saw the broken glass. He entered the building through the busted doorway, glass shards crackling underfoot. The place was in shambles, and Bushroot was nowhere to be found. Swearing, he cast about for the large bush in which Bushroot always kept a camera trained on the length of the greenhouse, his fail-safe in case the place was raided by anyone trying to steal his research. Steelbeak found the bush, its pot overturned, a broken cord trailing from the back, hardly noticeable in the evening light. He rummaged through the leaves until he found the camera. Tucking it under his arm, he ran past the mourning Spike and jumped into his car, depositing the device in the passenger's seat, careful not to crush the roses. Growling with anger, he sped out of the driveway, and headed for the 'on' ramp which would bring him onto the highway, and toward F.O.W.L. headquarters. He picked up his cell phone and hastily dialed F.O.W.L.'s audio-video labs.
"hello?"
"'ey, is dis Christine?"
"Steelbeak?"
"yeah. Look, I gots a project for ya, babe. I need youse ta analyze a videotape fer me. think youse can 'andle dat?"
"what do you take me for? A nursing-home patient?" the voice on the other line sniffed.
"I knew I c'n count on youse, baby. I'll be dere in ten." He honked on his horn and cut off someone trying to enter his lane "LEARN 'OW TA DRIVE, JACK- ASS! Yo, Christine?"
"still here."
"make dat five." He pressed the 'end' button and hung up the phone. Whoever had taken Bushroot had better be making their peace, because he was angry and ready to rumble.
*******************
Bushroot trembled. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him and he slumped in his chair. Parts of his skin still steamed from the last dose of acidic chemicals which had been applied to it.
Dr. White wiped his brow, "well this is, hm, unusual."
"whadda we do now?"
"we, er, come to the conclusion that he is telling the truth or, hm, or we let him rest and try again. At this point, however, I doubt that there's anything he can tell us. You may call command to inform them that this one, ahem, knows nothing."
"what do we do with 'im?"
"perhaps, hm, keep him around. For practice purposes. You must, er, hone your skill." He rubbed his hands and glanced about. He stepped toward Bushroot and grasped the hybrid's chin, raising his head. "finished screaming, eh?"
Bushroot gave a small whimper, his eyes unfocused, eyelids fluttering as he teetered on the verge of unconsciousness.
"perhaps you should, hm, get used to it." Dr. White allowed himself a nervous chuckle as he released the botanist's head, which fell back down to his chest.
"hey boss, didja hear that?"
"hear what, exactly?"
"I think someone is here-"
suddenly, the far wall exploded inward, scattering debris across the floor. Several grenade-like objects skittered across the floor, and the room filled with smoke. Through the haze, the two kidnappers could just make out the shadowy silhouettes of troops in yellow suits and helmets. A distinct, commanding voice cut through the smoke.
"get dose two guys. Don' kill 'em, dough, leave dat ta me. and find da duck, 'es in 'ere somewheres. I don' care what youse do to da guards."
In the confusion, Dr. White, surprisingly swift for his size, darted away from the sounds of tromping combat-boots, finding the back door. He silently slipped through.
When the smoke finally thinned, it revealed two eggmen dragging away the unconscious Trevor, and tying up several guards who would awake with terrible headaches.
Steelbeak, in a black coverall, his utility belt heavy with weapons, made a beeline toward the still figure in the chair. He knelt in front of it and took Bushroot's head gently in his hands, "Bushroot? Hey, Reggie, can you 'ear me?" he shuddered, a chill lancing down his spine, as he saw the slash marks which oozed blood, as well as the areas of brown, shrivled skin which marked the burns. Bushroot's skin was rough and dry, the areas around his eyes and joints browning from lack of water and time spent under the nutrient-less light.
A lump lodged in Steelbeak's throat as he took it all in, and he struggled to keep his emotions inside, since throwing a temper tantrum would do nothing for his prone friend. As gently as possible, he cut Bushroot's bonds and gingerly picked up the scientist. He was frighteningly light. Steelbeak held him as if he may shatter at any moment.
The eggman in charge of the squad marched up to him, "the rat is incapacitated, as are the guards. The duck escaped in the confusion. Your orders, sir?"
"leave dose suckahs where da police'll find 'em and den 'ead back to base. I want ta find out who da 'ell dat duck was, and what 'e was up to. Put Christine on it, tell 'er I sent ya. I want dis guy found, and I want ta know exactly when dat 'appens. Youse got it?"
"got it." the eggman threw a smart salute and marched off, gesturing to his troops and barking orders.
Steelbeak walked silently away, still cradling Bushroot against him, toward his hummer, which he reserved for occasions that may damage a good paint job.
"whoever you are, youse're gonna get what's comin' to ya." He addressed the open air, staring upwards at the faint stars, partially obscured by the city lights, as if they were challenging him, "I 'ope you don't 'ave any long-toim plans fer da future, 'cause yer gonna get yours. . . oh yeah, youse cointenly will. . ."
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okay, I know I was mean to Bushroot in this chapter *cringes* please don't hurt me! ya, anyways, I'm taking this oppertunity to harass Roaming Tigress about "Unfinished Business". WRITE MORE!! I'M DYIN'!!!
and REVIEW! Reviewreviewreview! I realize that the Lauderdale and Roaming Tigress are the only two people actually reading this fic, but that means that you two are under more of an obligation to review, as no one else is! And if you aren't one of the ladies mentioned above, REVIEW!! I GET CRAZY WHEN I DON'T GET REVIEWS!! ANYONE CAN TELL YOU THAT! I'M GOING TO STOP SHOUTING NOW!
*whew* okay, I'm done ranting now. don't hurt me.