The night passed slowly for Darien. Even after Michele finally fell into a reasonably normal slumber he found himself wakeful and alternated between pacing the house and sitting by her side to chase away the nightmares that inevitably came. Darien didn't fall asleep until after 3 AM, curled protectively about Michele.
He awoke around noon feeling like he'd drunk a fifth of scotch the night before and then remembered it had actually been closer to five ounces of tequila. Grumbling under his breath he slipped out from under 'Chele and shuffled to the bathroom to try and remove the taste of old gym socks from his mouth and reminding him why he hated to drink tequila. Thankfully his hangover was mild, probably due to the fact that although he'd drunk far too much alcohol her news had kept him stone cold sober in shock.
Once he felt vaguely human he made his way to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. He poked through the fridge, but in the end decided to hold off on food, as his stomach was a hard knot of anger and pain. Carrying the mug of coffee he headed to 'Chele's office, which had originally been the second, smaller bedroom. He knew the computers up here were connected to the much more powerful ones in the basement laboratory. Her brother Patrick had given her access to some top of the line tech that the average person might not see for years, if ever.
Sitting down at her desk he noted the legal pad with her neat precise handwriting upon it. He read it and then came back to the first name, which caught his interest. Picking up the phone he dialed the number next to the name.
"Detective Cortez, please." Darien requested when it was answered at the other end.
"Cortez."
"Yeah, uh, I'm trying to get some info about a friend of mine, Michele MacTierney." Darien stumbled through the words, finding it awkward to be going to the police for help.
"And you are?" The question held only a hint of suspicion.
"Darien Fawkes. I want to know if you caught the SOB who hurt 'Chele." Darien reined in his temper and kept his tone polite.
"Mr. Fawkes, I've been expecting your call. Miss MacTierney asked me to give you what information I could. I'm afraid we were unable to locate Mr. Stevenson. In fact, there are a few...oddities to this case."
"Oddities? What's that supposed to mean?" Darien asked, confused and wondering if he was getting the runaround. Darien heard the shuffling of papers before Cortez answered.
"According to the info Miss MacTierney gave me she's known Mr. Stevenson since 1982."
"That sounds about right. 'Chele met him spring semester of her freshman year." Darien elaborated.
"I've turned up records for a Jessup Stevenson going back to June of 1981, but before that there is nothing." Cortez told Darien, irritation leaking into the detective's voice.
"What does that mean?" Darien asked, not liking what he was hearing. "The guy can't just have appeared out of thin air."
"I agree Mr. Fawkes. We've run his fingerprints through every available database; police, prison, military, government - you name it. The man did not exist prior to 1981." Cortez made it plain he was unhappy with the situation. "How is she?"
"Crappy. It would have been nice to give her some good news when she woke up," Darien replied, running a hand through his hair in irritation.
"She slept? Good. Dr. Frane, the on staff psychologist, was concerned." Cortez sounded like he really gave a damn and that this was not just another case to get lost among the thousands he probably dealt with every year. "Did she contact Zach Somers?"
Darien looked down at the list before him and found the name along with several lines of notes, a couple had been crossed out meaning they were dealt with. "Yeah. Says she's got a temporary restraining order and a 10 AM court date on Monday."
"Great. Zach will treat her right." There was a pause that clearly gave Darien the impression that Cortez was gathering his thoughts. "Mr. Fawkes, I'd love to be able to tell you that we're going to catch this bastard, but I have to be honest with you. This guy is a ghost. I'm gonna pull what strings I can, get into the new federal DNA database and maybe a few others, but it's not looking good."
Darien sighed, he'd been afraid that would be what he was going to hear. While part of him still felt a near desperate urge to pound Jess into a bloody pulp, the rest knew he had to give up that dream if only for 'Chele and her peace of mind. "Damn. Guess if he stays away from her it'll be better than nothing."
"Truer than you know, Mr. Fawkes. Tell her I'll see her Monday at court." Cortez requested.
"Sure. Thanks for your help."
"Anytime. Good day Mr. Fawkes." Cortez hung up on his end, but Darien sat there until the loud obnoxious beeping that signaled a phone off the hook convinced him to return the handset to its cradle. Finding a pen, he wrote down Detective Cortez's message and then picked up his coffee to take a sip. He made a face at the tepid brew and left the office to head back to the kitchen and get a fresh cup.
He poked his head into 'Chele's room as he walked by to find her still asleep, not that he begrudged her one second of the blessed unconsciousness. After what she'd dealt with she deserved every moment of peace she could find. He could only imagine what she was going through, and knew he could do nothing more than offer what little help he could and hope that she would accept it so that she might be able to deal with it.
He emptied the cold coffee into the sink, rinsed the cup and then poured some fresh from the pot. He smiled slightly as he added the Sweet-n-Low knowing full well she kept a supply around for him as she rarely used it. He leaned back against the counter as he sipped at the drink, his mind jumping from topic to topic, but settling on none for more than an instant, his frustration building with every trip about the tight circle of thoughts his mind had become entrapped in.
"Damn it!" he shouted as he flung the half-filled cup away from him to smash into the wall next to the doorway, spraying hot coffee and shards of ceramic mug everywhere.
"Well, good morning to you too." 'Chele commented in a rough voice from that very doorway.
"Shit, 'Chele, I'm sorry... again." Darien was more than contrite, since arriving he'd apologized to her more often than he had in the last five years of their friendship. And he'd needed to say every single one as he had most certainly screwed up his handling of this situation.
Stepping carefully to avoid the worst of the mess that lay across the tiles she walked over to him. "Don't be. I've felt like throwing a few things myself."
Moving slowly so as not to startle her he cupped her face in his hands, mindful of the bruise, and lowered his forehead to rest lightly against hers. "How are you, Truth?"
"Not so good, Dare. Scared he's gonna show up at the door." she told him, her voice cracking on the words, not nearly as unruffled as her reaction to the shattered mug would have seemed to indicate.
"He won't. He knows he can't handle you face to face. You're too damn tough." As he hoped, she laughed, if a bit shakily. "Come on." With some gentle urging he walked her out of the kitchen and to the living room. He got her seated on the deeply cushioned sofa in the bright and cheery room.
She groaned as she settled herself down, her knees drawing up as she tipped to lean her entire body along the back of the sofa.
"'Chele?" Darien asked in concern as he crouched down next to her.
"I'm okay, just a little stiff and sore." She tugged on the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead and smiled. "You still angry?"
"Yeah, but I'll deal with it. For once I'm gonna hope the cops do their job right." He took her hand and kissed the back of it, causing her to sigh softly. "I spoke to Detective Cortez, the news isn't good."
'Chele closed her eyes for a long moment, a look of deep pain crossing her features, the information plainly upsetting to her. "Later." she pleaded softly as her eyes opened to meet his.
"All right." He wanted to banish that look of pain in her eyes. Wanted the happiness that he knew belonged there back. "Look, I can stay for the week if you want."
She shook her head. "No. Thank you, but no. Come back next weekend if you like, but I won't have you missing class over this. You have all your TA work you're probably blowing off as it is."
Darien ducked his head. "Actually I brought what work I could with me. Two classes worth of tests to correct."
"Do you enjoy it? The teaching?" she asked softly.
"I love it," he answered without hesitation. She really smiled then. "Now, how about some real food. No more liquid meals for you." he admonished gently, not wanting her to beat herself up over going on a binge.
"Jeeze, Darien, I only hit the tequila yesterday afternoon." At his look of disbelief she added. "What? You think I went to class drunk?" She shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest as if in defense.
"Class? Are you nuts?" Darien settled back to sit cross-legged on the floor and to give her the space she appeared to need at the moment.
She shrugged. "You are not the first to ask me that." She ran a hand through her hair, pausing momentarily with her hair drawn away from her face to show how pale she still was. "I just thought if I got back into my normal routine that it'd be easier. And it was...at first. Then the rumors made their way back to me."
"Ah, Shelly," he began only to have her burst out in laughter and totally confusing him. "What?"
"You called me Shelly. You know I hate that name."
Darien snickered, only now realizing that he'd even done it. "Must've picked it up from Celia. She's the one person you let get away with it."
"True." she agreed. "You're a lot like her you know. Your compassion for others, your patience."
He snorted this time. "Patience, ri-ight. You need food, you're getting faint from hunger."
"Three weeks to plan a heist, the guard and delivery routines, the security systems, everything memorized, plotted and accounted for and you don't call that patience?" 'Chele said in all seriousness, which made Darien realize she did indeed have a point.
"Okay, for some things I do." He wagged a finger at her. "You tell anyone and I'll have to punish you." The instant the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. "Michele, that's not what I meant. You know I would never hurt you."
She set a hand over his mouth, silencing his poor attempt at an apology. "Hush. I know what you meant." Her hand shifted to cup his cheek, her thumb still lying upon his lips. "Now, I seem to recall you saying something about food."
Darien nodded and she removed her thumb to let him reply. "Hungry?"
"Yeah, I think I might be able to eat." she agreed. "Nothing fancy though. There should be some fresh fruit in one of the drawers in the fridge."
Darien knew there was, he'd found it the night before. "You stay. I'll clean up the mess I made and bring you something. 'Kay?" He sighed when she uncurled and wrapped her arms about his neck.
"How can I ever repay you for this?" she whispered.
"You don't. Friends help each other." He curved his arms loosely about her, giving her a few moments of contact. Contact that she had no reason to fear. "'Salright, baby, it'll get better."
She broke away a couple of minutes later sniffling and wiping away the newest round of tears. These were far more normal and lacking the hysteria of last night, though Darien knew they were not likely to be the last. "I know it will. I just don't think I could get through this without you." she admitted softly.
Darien got to his feet, his chest tight at how much she trusted him, needed him, believed in his ability to help her get through this. But his inherent lack of faith in himself forced a typical response past his lips. "Nah, you'd manage just fine. I ain't the only person who'd be willing to help you get through this." He quickly headed to the kitchen in hope of forestalling any comeback on her part. Once he'd stepped out of the living room proper she spoke up, her voice more than loud enough to be clearly heard.
"True, but you're the one I wanted."
