***
So this way too observant chick named Lillian said, "It is not good to see people who have been pretending strength all their lives lose it even for a minute."
It's even harder to watch when you know the strength is real, and know that you can't do a damn thing to help regain it.
Sometimes you have to stand back and watch as they find it again for themselves... or yourself.
There was a pattern to the painstakingly crafted wood floor that Darien tread slowly down. Paler diamonds in groups of four, alternating with zigzags in planks so dark they were nearly black. The pattern may have been unintentional, but he noticed and by habit memorized it. There were exactly 54 of the diamonds between the elevator and the doorway he was ever so slowly heading towards; the door he didn't really want to think about, or rather, what lay beyond it. It was too intense, too immediate, and right now too damn painful. He really wished they could've met back at the Agency, allowing him to rant in the Official's office and then sulk down in the Keep. But, no, the Official was bound and determined to get full value from this borrowed safe house and decided this would be where they would meet after everyone who could be accounted for had been.
Darien knew the whole floor staring and diamond-counting thing was nothing but a poor attempt to distract himself from the very real reason he was here. To try and ignore the guilt that was making his stomach churn, his head ache and his steps come with a painful slowness more appropriate for a man three times his age, which he once had the joy of being, so he knew how accurate the comparison was. As the feet of the man standing outside the door came into view, Darien lifted his head and couldn't help but note how out of place the dark suit was in the art-deco sophistication that the interior of the building was trying capture. He managed to just get his hand on the doorknob when it was yanked out of his hold to reveal his pissed off partner.
"Where the hell have you been, Fawkes?" The voice was soft but laden with inch thick irritation. "You shoulda been here an hour ago."
Darien tipped his head down and shuffled his feet in a game attempt at sheepishness. "Yeah, I know but... I had to get outta those clothes." That was an understatement; by the time Claire had appeared to give them the news the blood he'd been covered in had cooled and begun to congeal, to even dry in some places. Bobby had taken care of keeping the Official and Eberts in the loop and then passed on what was to happen next in this grand plan, which had not included sitting around on the cheap plastic chairs in Fort Leavitt's ER waiting room for any longer than absolutely necessary. Once everything had been arranged and Darien had been told to take off, he made a detour by his place to shower and change, not able to spend one more second in those clothes. He'd made a second stop on the way back to the safe house, which had resulted in the small black bag he held in one hand.
"Ah," Hobbes said effusively as Darien scooted past him and into the small apartment.
"Any word?" Darien asked, hoping something had gone right in this mess.
Hobbes caught up with Darien after making sure the hallway was clear. "Couple of mooks have been spotted watching home base, but that's it so far. The pair that followed us to Leavitt vanished when word trickled out that... you know." Hobbes made his way over to the window and peeked out between the curtains, checking for watchers at a guess, though what he could see from six stories up was beyond Darien. "Eberts has his ear to the ground. He'll let us know if something happens."
"Good, good," Darien muttered as he ran a surprisingly shaky hand through his hair while he looked about the room at the three agents hovering about the place; each pretending to have something of the utmost importance to do. "Hobbes," he whined softly.
Hobbes sighed. "Go on," He waved in the direction of the partially shut bedroom door. "You won't be satisfied 'til you see for yourself."
Darien gave his partner a ghost of a grin and headed for the bedroom. He poked his head around the door and swung it a bit wider to enter when he saw that it was reasonably safe. Claire was quickly pumping the bulb of the blood pressure cuff wrapped about 'Chele's right arm. She was curled up on her side with pillows stuffed behind her back for support in a set of dark green scrubs from the hospital; her own clothes had been as beyond salvaging as his. There was a light blanket draped across her legs even though the room was more than comfortable temperature-wise. She looked tiny and pale against the deep green cover she was lying upon.
Claire released the remainder of the air from the cuff and then stripped it off, the Velcro's distinctive ripping sound loud in the quiet room. She made a few final adjustments to the IV drip before turning to give Darien a tired smile.
Darien bobbed his head, hoping she wasn't about to chew him out for intruding. "Hey, Keep, how's she doing?"
"She is doing just fine," a gravelly voice stated. 'Chele turned her head and opened her eyes to look over at him. "Though she is in a bit of pain."
Claire snorted. "'A bit?' Your blood pressure is far too high for my liking, as is your heart rate, but thanks to your ... unique body chemistry I am unable to give you anything for the pain." She stood there, one hand on her hip, plainly irritated with the situation. That was an improvement, she'd been downright livid at Leavitt. "I suppose I should be thankful you came out of the general without complications and that I got there with your medical records before they had done something irrevocable. Thanks heavens they used plasma first or you..."
"I know what I'd be, Claire, but since it didn't happen you can stop worrying about it. The nausea is mostly gone anyway," 'Chele grouched right back, realizing even better than Claire how close it had been, next to Darien, that is. He probably knew almost as much as 'Chele about the potential pitfalls concerning her weird metabolism. The pinched look that appeared on the Keeper's face made Darien want to laugh, so he bit the inside of his cheek and held it back; he didn't want to be kicked out of the room so soon after arriving.
"Claire, didn't you read the report citing that natural redheads have a higher pain threshold? I'll survive," 'Chele managed a bit of humor this time, which was enough to make Claire roll her eyes and relax the tiniest bit.
"You should be in the hospital for at least another 24 hours as a precaution," Claire grumbled, and not for the first time. Half the staff at Leavitt knew her opinion on the matter, but she'd been overridden by orders from the Official. "That ... man has no concept..."
"Claire..." 'Chele's voice held a quiet strength that brought the Keeper's rant up short. "It was necessary."
Claire sighed dramatically. "I know, but... I could have at least attempted to make you comfortable there. Unnecessary pain could only complicate your recovery."
"I might have something that'll help." Darien showed them the bag he held.
"D, you are a god," 'Chele affirmed, obviously recognizing the bag; the relief evident in her tone despite all her previous protestations of being 'fine.'
"You just now figuring this out?" He grinned when she chuckled, but was instantly contrite when she winced and pressed a hand to her side as if to hold herself together. He moved to perch on the edge of the bed near her. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Michele told him, pain imbedded in the words. "Just no more making me laugh, right now, 'kay?"
"Yeah, good idea," Darien agreed.
"What's this?" Claire asked, as Darien handed her the bag.
"Painkiller I can use," 'Chele explained. "It's designed to work specifically with my metabolism."
Claire zipped open the bag and removed the vial and syringe that lay within. "You created a metabolic painkiller?" she asked sounding surprised.
"Uh, huh." Michele's eyes drifted shut as Darien set his hand over her right one, not wanting to get tangled with the IV line stuck into the crook of her left elbow. He was hoping to give her something to focus on besides the pain. "Blew my back out a few years ago after doing a Judo move wrong and decided enough was enough."
"Does it work with your natural pain endorphins?" Claire seemed to be utterly fascinated with 'Chele's discovery. "Is it difficult to produce?"
"Yes to the former and no to the latter. Well, once I had the program written, no. Need a DNA sample and some other data, but after that..." Michele squeezed Darien's hand hard enough to grind the knuckles together, which made him hiss softly.
"Keep, how about interrogating her after you give her some?" Darien requested plaintively, as not only was 'Chele on the verge of crushing his hand, but he could feel how much pain she was in.
"Oh, yes, of course." Claire popped the plastic cap off the syringe and shoved it into the vial. "How much?"
"One cc," Darien and Michele said in unison, which caused Claire to eye them warily.
"He's had to dose me on occasion," 'Chele explained, her voice gone faint.
Claire withdrew the suggested amount and then aspirated the syringe. "What painkiller did you use as the base?" she asked as she injected the contents into the IV line that was feeding Michele a combination of saline and antibiotics.
"Morphine, though you'd never know by looking at it now." 'Chele paused, shuddering slightly. "Its been heavily modified to handle the gene tags." She trailed off as almost convulsively her legs drew up, forcing her into a nearly fetal position and to groan aloud.
"Easy, kitten, it'll pass," Darien soothed, his free hand brushing stray curls from her face.
"Darien?" Claire failed to hide the sudden concern for her newest patient.
"Normal, Keep. As Michele has often said, 'it may work, but that don't mean the initial effects are enjoyable'." Darien continued his gentle caresses until 'Chele's body finally relaxed. "You okay?"
"Uh, huh," 'Chele responded, her eyes coming open.
"You'll have to tell me how you went about creating this, Michele. Your diversification of studies obviously paid off," Claire complimented as she put away the vial and syringe.
'Chele grinned. "All this," she motioned to herself, "and brains too." She adjusted the blanket upwards as if still feeling cold. "Damn, who knew getting shot hurt so much?"
"I did," Darien commented as he raised his hand.
"Darien, you were wearing kevlar," Claire reminded him.
"Only for the handgun. I still have the scar from the rifle shot," Darien countered, knowing it was true as far as it went, and he couldn't help but grin when Michele snickered.
"Arguing over old gunshot wounds; so not the Dare I remember. Nor the Claire for that matter." She shifted, trying to get her left arm, IV line and all, more comfortable and failing miserably based on the look of discontent on her face.
"You should rest," Claire admonished as she picked up the blood-pressure cuff and wrapped it about 'Chele's biceps.
"I'm fine," 'Chele assured her. "The sedative effect has been mostly eliminated." At Claire's sharp glance Michele added, "I generally need to be functional even on these stronger meds." She sighed softly as Claire finished and removed the cuff.
"Much better," Claire informed them.
"I'll probably need another half cc in a bit. I still hurt, just nowhere near as bad." 'Chele dragged Darien's hand over and kissed the knuckles. "Thank you, bub."
"Thank you?" Darien shook his head in consternation, knowing full well that her lying on the bed injured was all his fault. He could only be thankful it hadn't been any worse than it was. The bullet had lodged comparatively harmlessly in the muscle above her right hip. She'd bled like the dickens and passed out from the combined pain and blood loss, but the injury itself, was fairly minor. Or so Claire had assured him several times. "I ignored Hobbes' orders and nearly got you killed."
He'd forced himself to face that little bit of reality when still pacing the ER and waiting for news, Hobbes had begun chewing him out as soon as Michele had been whisked away for emergency surgery. The lecture hadn't gone on for very long as Darien had simply stood there, his head hanging and agreeing with every comment made about his thick skull and inability to listen to even the simplest of orders. Darien was quite certain 'Chele had been hit when he pulled her from the car as he could distinctly remember the sound of gunshots at the time, but he hadn't realized the potential danger. He had only known he had to get to her.
"Darien, I was shot while still in the car. You saved my life."
Darien just sat there and stared at her in disbelief. "Wha... What?"
She gave his hand a squeeze. "I was shot during the first few minutes after Jess and his friends showed up. Near as I can figure the bullet went through the windshield and the seat in front of me before it nailed me, since I had ducked down like I'd been told. The five minutes it took for you to come pull me out were the longest in my life."
"Five minutes? Seemed lots longer than that." Okay, so it was not the most brilliant repartee he'd ever managed, but for some reason he wasn't processing things too well at the moment.
'Chele closed her eyes for a second. "So it was technically six point three minutes," she corrected as she opened them, plainly having done a quick review of the incident and compared it to that annoyingly accurate time-clock in her mind, "but five sounded better to me." She gave him a lopsided grin. "Darien, you okay?"
She was asking him if he was 'okay?' He wasn't sure how to answer her, since he'd been convinced her injuries were his fault and here she was telling him that he'd saved her life. That his brash move, which Hobbes had chewed his ass off for, had actually been the right thing to do. That he'd acted correctly in a situation that had gotten completely out of control and done the right thing at just the right time for a change. "'Chele..."
"Fawkes," Hobbes said, and Darien turned about to see his partner poking his head in the doorway. Hobbes swung the door wide and smiled, apparently in response to seeing a conscious woman lying on the bed. "How you doing, Michele?"
Darien was even more shocked at the brilliant smile she tossed right back. "Just fine, Bobby," she responded, leaving Darien to wonder what had transpired while he'd been out of sight. He certainly couldn't see 'Chele falling for Hobbes' carefully crafted charm, especially not right after surgery. But something must have happened when they had been together during transport back to the safe house to thaw the ice.
"Fawkes," Hobbes repeated. "Need to debrief you."
'Chele spoke up, "Can you do that in here? I imagine you'll have questions for me and I'd rather get it over with all at once."
Hobbes pondered for a moment and then deferred to Claire. "Keep, that okay with you?"
The doctor frowned, but could see as easily as Darien that 'Chele would get stubborn if Claire refused. "All right, but you are to take it easy, understood?"
"Yes, ma'am. Ask D, for a doc I'm a pretty good patient." 'Chele grinned and Darien couldn't suppress a wry chuckle, as her statement was true enough.
"Oh yeah, we..." he began only to be cut off.
Claire shook her head. "No. I do not want to hear about you two 'playing doctor'."
Hobbes snorted in amusement. "Let's do this."
Darien released 'Chele's hand and carefully shifted about until settled next to her on the bed. He had moved the pillows away so that she now leaned against him, a tiny sigh escaping from her as she did so. He sought out the hand unencumbered by the IV line and twined their fingers together, he could sense that she needed the comfort it provided. The comfort that he provided.
"What went wrong, Hobbes? I thought the car was supposed to be bullet-proof."
"It was," Hobbes grumbled as he leaned against the doorframe. "Don't do much good when the bad guys are using armor-piercing rounds."
"Crap," Darien muttered, realizing Jess had been out to get Michele one way or another. "So what went wrong? Why didn't you get her in the copter and outta here?" Darien had the feeling he was missing something, but wasn't quite sure what.
'Chele chuckled and then groaned as it caused some measure of pain even with the medication.
"That bird wasn't going nowhere, Fawkes," Hobbes informed Darien. "It was for special effects and nothing more."
"Huh? You saying it couldn't fly?" Hobbes nodded in response to Darien's confused query. "Then Kingsly..." Darien wasn't quite sure what he was asking at this point.
"Oh, he's a chopper pilot, all right, but that one was a sacrifice piece, is all." Hobbes pushed away from the door and moved into the room, eventually settling into the chair under the heavily curtained window.
Darien shook his head. "Nope, still lost."
"Dare, I was originally supposed to get into the helicopter, Quicksilver and then sneak out." 'Chele's voice was oddly flat and Darien could tell she was being very careful to not let her emotions leak over to him.
"Then what? Blow it up?" When Hobbes nodded, Darien was sorely tempted to throw up his hands and walk away. "So you planned to fake her death all along and didn't tell me?"
"Darien, it was necessary. Jess knows about us; if your reactions were anything less than real..." She rolled a bit more onto her back so she could look up at him easier. "Deception is sometimes needed to sell the con; you know that."
"I know, but... You had me scared, sweets," Darien admitted, deciding it wasn't worth getting upset about at this point. It was over and she was alive, that's what was important.
"Sorry," she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut again, only her thumb gently rubbing along the heel of his hand gave away the fact that she was still awake.
Hobbes picked up the thread of the story next. "Those mooks showed up a bit sooner than we planned for, and the heavy firepower was unexpected. Once the car was trashed I modified the plan." One hand came up to momentarily scratch the top of his head. "She was supposed to make the sneak from the car instead."
"How would they even know she was in the car?" Claire asked unexpectedly. Darien had pretty much forgotten she was even in the room, she was being so quiet.
'Chele laughed lightly. "That was easy, and about the only thing that went right."
"We let 'em 'discover' the radio frequency we was using," Hobbes answered with a hint of a smile. "Michele, if I had known you'd been hit..."
"Bobby, I didn't even realize it until it was too late. Shit, all I knew was that I hurt, but not why. I'd logged it off to a healthy case of extreme fear and adrenaline overload." 'Chele tried to shift in an attempt to look directly at Bobby, but gave it up as a bad job after a few seconds. "Is Henderson all right?"
"Yeah. In overnight for observation, but should heal up just fine," Hobbes told her, and Darien could sense the relief that she felt at the words.
"Did we get any of them?"
"Two dead, three wounded and awaiting some serious interrogation." Hobbes sounded quite satisfied with that minor success. "The one I spoke to was not happy to learn you 'died' in the explosion."
'Chele managed a wisp of a smile. "The silver lining."
"We'll get what we can outta them and then accidentally let one'a them escape so's they can report back." Hobbes' voice turned suddenly serious. "We'll do everything we can to find out who they are."
"Thanks, Bobby." Michele's voice was surprisingly strained to Darien's ears.
"Baby, you all right?" Darien asked even as she began to shiver, her hand closing convulsively about his.
"Claire, how long 'til the inhibitor is ready?" 'Chele asked plaintively.
Claire glanced at her watch before answering. "I can have a dose here in about an hour." It was obvious even to the Keeper that something was wrong, though she was unfamiliar with 'Chele's specific problems. "Michele, can you hold out that long?"
"No choice." 'Chele groaned loudly, her head snapping back to collide with Darien's ribs. He'd have voiced his unhappiness with that except for the fact his head was suddenly filled with a white noise that was like nothing he'd ever heard before. And it hurt. The sound was so loud, so overpowering that he flinched, his hands coming up to cover his ears, her hand still held in one, to try and block the sound and stop the rush of pain that it inspired.
With a hysterical whimper Michele yanked her hand from his grip, cutting off the sound instantly; the pain, however, lingered, but was reduced to a dull ache he could easily handle after everything he'd been through in the last few years. The initial discomfort level had definitely been up there with Quicksilver madness for pure nastiness.
"'Chele?"
"Darien, is she all right?" Claire asked as she moved to the woman's side and reached out to grasp her wrist, presumably to take her pulse.
"Don't," Darien warned her off, knowing she would just get to experience the exact same thing he had, and it was a fair bet she wouldn't handle it nearly as well. "Just hurry with that inhibitor."
It was closer to two hours before Claire returned with the inhibitor stashed away in that locked metal briefcase of hers, and by then Michele was completely out of it. She shivered, twitched, moaned and whimpered, but was unresponsive to anyone. Claire had questioned him on what was happening before she had left, but on this occasion Darien had no more idea than she did. The three year separation had left him with major gaps in his knowledge of what was going on with 'Chele. Hell, he certainly hadn't known about her being able to Quicksilver and fully intended to ask her about it when she was ... herself again.
He stayed with her, more worried than he could remember being in a long time. The closest he could come was when Claire had run into problems thawing Adam. Darien was the only one who could get close to her at the moment, but not even he could touch her. 'Chele would zap anyone who got within a foot of her except him, so he sat beside her and talked to her in hopes of keeping her calm while he continued to worry.
The scent of marinara sauce wafting in from the kitchen made his stomach rumble, reminding him it had been a long time since that abortive breakfast of the morning, but his overweening concern for his long time friend soured his hunger, turning it to nausea instead.
From the main room Darien heard Hobbes say, "Hey, Keep."
"How is she, Bobby?" Claire asked, her voice shifting as she moved through the apartment.
"See for yourself," he replied as he swung the bedroom door wide for her.
"Do you have it?" Darien didn't even bother to try and hide the concern he felt.
"Yes, Darien." Claire set the briefcase down on the chair and picked up the stethoscope. "I just want to check her vitals first."
As she reached out to grasp 'Chele's wrist both men shouted, "No," just a second too late.
'Chele didn't move as a dime-sized spark leapt from the back of her hand to impact against Claire's fingers with a loud snap.
"Bloody hell," Claire squealed as she jerked her hand back, rubbing it with the other, a look of wide-eyed astonishment on her face. "What the devil was that?" She seemed to be generally surprised to find her hand undamaged even if she still rubbed it as if it had gone numb. Which it probably had, Hobbes had been zapped earlier and complained the spot had been numb for a good 20 minutes.
"Later, Keep. Please," Darien pleaded as the air in the room began to get decidedly heavy. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in reaction.
"Yes, that might be wise," Claire agreed hastily as the light on the bedside table began to flicker erratically. She swiftly opened the metallic case and retrieved the pre-filled syringe. She made sure it was free of air-bubbles and then injected the contents into the IV line.
Darien watched as the faintly golden liquid flowed through the tubing and into 'Chele. For several seconds the lights in the room flickered even more wildly, the air in the room feeling charged, as if lightning were about to strike. Then, in an instant, it vanished. What happened next Darien expected, though not to the degree which it occurred.
'Chele's entire body stiffened, arching backwards, the tendons of her neck standing out with the strain her body was currently under.
"Damn it," Claire hissed, rushing to her bag to find something to assist what appeared to be grande mal seizures.
"It's okay, Claire," Darien assured her, somehow keeping the sudden cold lump of fear in his gut from seeping into his voice.
Hobbes poked his head into the room. "Everything copacetic in here?" He got a good look at Michele and swore softly. "Keep, you need me to arrange transport back to Leavitt?"
Claire looked over to Darien first and he shook his head no, certain that 'Chele would be fine once the drug took full effect. "Not yet, Bobby," Claire finally answered, trusting in Darien's more extensive knowledge of Michele's reactions to the inhibitor.
Hobbes frowned, plainly not liking that answer. "You sure? 'Cause..." He swallowed his next words as a long moan was emitted by the tiny figure on the bed.
Michele relaxed, curling up and wrapping her arms about herself. She didn't open her eyes or even seem to begin to return to consciousness, and just lay there shivering as if the room was freezing cold.
Claire proceeded to take 'Chele's vitals as Darien picked up her right hand and rubbed it gently between his own in an attempt to get her to reconnect. "Come on, Michele, wake up and let me know you're okay."
There was no response for several minutes as Claire finished her tasks and pulled the covers up higher about the chilled woman. Finally, in a groggy voice, 'Chele mumbled, "Do I hafta?" It was barely audible, but it was enough to gain sighs of relief from all three people in the room.
Darien chuckled, the worry falling away to be replaced with this unexpected joy. "Yes, just for a few. You're freaking Claire."
'Chele's eyes fluttered open slowly, as if fighting a gravity well ten times the norm to gaze about the room blindly. "Sorry, D, went too long this time. Takes a while to find my way back."
Not even Darien had any idea what she was talking about this time, but her words didn't seem to phase either Claire or Hobbes at all, since neither one asked the half expected questions.
"You need to rest," Claire stated as she put away the equipment, pulled out a new bag for the IV and exchanged it with the nearly empty one.
'Chele gave Claire a wan smile, but didn't disagree with the orders, which told Darien that she did indeed need that rest at this point. "Need that additional painkiller dose now," she told her temporary doctor.
"All right," Claire responded, and set about getting it.
"Keep?" Hobbes questioned, the concern disguised but plain to Darien.
"I think she'll be fine... if she cooperates and actually rests for a while." Claire injected the painkiller and watched 'Chele carefully for a similar reaction to the one she'd had earlier. There was no visible one this time; she was so exhausted that she did little more than moan in discomfort as it hit her system. Claire faced Hobbes squarely. "She cannot be moved for at least 24 hours." It was obvious by the look of mule-like stubbornness that there would be no arguing with her.
"I'll let the boss know," Hobbes acknowledged with a tip of his head. "Last update we got Corvan can't get here 'til day after tomorrow anyway. We'll just have to be careful 'bout attracting attention to this place is all." He was all business right now.
"I think we can manage that," Darien commented dryly.
"Dinner's in 10 minutes and you will eat." Hobbes leveled a steely glare at Darien, whose stomach rumbled loudly in agreement to Hobbes' directive.
"Gotcha. I just wanna make sure 'Chele's asleep first."
Hobbes nodded, "Good 'nuff," and vacated the doorway.
"That okay, Keep?" Darien asked, realizing he probably should have done so first. He didn't want to cause any trouble or interfere with 'Chele's recovery.
"Please?" 'Chele pleaded in a tiny voice.
"Yes, he can stay if you promise to sleep. You need time to heal," Claire reminded the unrepentant woman lying on the bed.
"Promise," Michele croaked, not bothering to hide her discomfort or exhaustion this time.
Claire nodded, made a few adjustments to the IV drip and then left the couple alone.
"Hey, kitten, you gave us a heck of a scare. What's up with your abilities?" Darien was inordinately curious to find out what had happened over the last few years: the Quicksilver, the super-shocker... everything.
"Tomorrow, okay? I'll tell you all I can then," she practically begged, paling slightly in the soft light of the room.
"Shit," Darien groused at himself. "Don't mind me, I'm just an idiot." He wanted to smack himself for being such a bonehead.
"Thought you were a god?" she quipped with a tired chuckle. "Would you just hold me for a bit?"
"Sure." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, which made her sigh softly.
"I missed you, Darien," her voice cracked on the words, telling him that there were a ton of emotions buried behind the seemingly simple statement.
"Damn girl, I missed you too." He gave her another kiss, this time on the lips, then set about to lie down behind her in the middle of the huge bed without hurting her. It took a couple of minutes, but 'Chele was eventually contentedly snuggled back against him, his right hand possessively entwined with hers and tucked up under her chin.
They lay there quietly for some time, her body noticeably relaxing bit by bit, while Darien did nothing more that enjoy the wonderful sense of peace that had fallen upon him; a feeling he'd not experienced in a long, long time. Before she fell completely under Darien asked a question that had been making a nuisance of itself in his head since she'd appeared in the Official's office the day before. "Michele?"
"Mmmmmmm," was the sleepy response.
"If you could do anything, whatever you wanted, what would it be?"
"Hmmmmmanything?" Her voice had that only semi-conscious lilt to it.
"Uh, huh. Anything."
"Be with you," she mumbled, without thinking about it for even an instant. "Finish my research," she added after a moment. She did nothing but breathe deeply for such a long time he was sure she'd fallen asleep when she spoke up again, "Oh, and be with you. Did I say that already?"
"Nah, now go to sleep," Darien told her, totally blown away by her answer. Somehow he knew that if she had been awake her response would have been very different. He had never once even dared to imagine that being with him would be part of her reply, or that it was something that she wanted.
Maybe, just maybe, Hobbes was onto something.
