Wedding Song Chap. 2--- I Can Be Your Hero
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At five a.m. the next morning, Darien was already at the Agency waiting for something to happen. Out of necessity, Bobby had risen and joined him, unable to stay asleep if his partner wasn't close to him.
As they sat and waited, Bobby scribbled and erased, scribbled and erased on a legal pad, scowling as if the paper itself was foiling his attempts to get the words right.
Darien sketched quickly with charcoal on a drawing tablet, bobbing his head to the music in his walkman's headphones. When Bobby tried to get a look at what he was doing, the younger man shooed him away and sent him back to his own work.
"C'mon, Fawkes. Lemme see. I can't do no more of this stuff. It's a waste of time..."
Pulling off his headphones and stopping the tape, Darien frowned at Bobby in disappointment.
"Waste of time? Your vows are *not* a waste of time, Bobby. You're tryin' too hard to write what you think I wanna hear. Just write what you feel. You'll know when it's comin' from your heart."
"You write yours yet?"
"Mostly. I just have a couple tweaks... an adjustment or two to the way I said some stuff."
"Can I hear?"
"At the wedding. Besides, I didn't bring my notes with me."
"Figures." Bobby grumbled, looking back down at the paper in his lap with disgust. Darien finally took pity on him and tore off the page he was working on, handing Hobbes the pad and a black felt tip pen from the small art kit that went everywhere with him.
"Here. Take a break from the writing. Draw something."
"Me? You're jokin'. I couldn't draw if my life depended on it."
"You ever tried to draw?"
"No, but..."
"Then give it a shot an' give me some peace for a while, willya? I brought my favorite mix tape this mornin'. I'd like to get back to listening to it."
"Yeah, but... what am I supposed to draw?"
"Whatever. Pick out somethin' from the room or think somethin' up. Just draw." Darien instructed him, replacing the phones and pushing the play button.
For a few minutes, Bobby simply sat and stared at the paper, as if he expected something magic and wondrous to flow through his hand and begin to move the pen, creating an image on the paper. When it didn't happen, he realized he'd have to do it himself and felt a tiny drop of acrid fear collect in the pit of his stomach.
{I can't do this.... it won't look like anything. An inkblot maybe.... I can't do it like he can. Forty minutes left 'till blast off. Okay, so I'll give it a chance, but I'm never showin' this to anybody....}
Slowly, uncertainly, Bobby drew one curved line, then another, clearly visualizing the image he wanted to see on the paper, but afraid his untrained fingers could not make the pen perform. When Darien came and stood over his shoulder, merely observing, not offering advice or help, Bobby looked up once to acknowledge him then returned his eyes to his work.
It was almost six by the time Hobbes felt the rough sketch was finished and he looked up at Darien once more, a deep need for approval shining out from his eyes.
"Well?"
Darien crouched to put his head on an even keel with Bobby's.
"Who cares what I think?"
"I do. You're the artist in the family, right?"
"Is it what you wanted it to be?"
"I don't know.... it's as close as I could get to the picture in my mind."
"Then it's perfect. Sign your name to it."
"You.... you can tell... I mean, you know.... what I was goin' for?"
"Of course I do. It's me when I was still pregnant with Bobbi."
Doubt lit for the briefest of moments on Darien's face and he asked a question. Bobby's reply made his insecurity take flight again, lifting the momentary weight from his heart. "Can I ask...."
"Why I picked that to draw? Not sure. I've been thinkin' a lot about those months lately.... about what you went through. How I never believed in all that "pregnant wo... people have this glow" crapola. Not until I saw you, anyway. I remember watchin' you sleep.... it was about two weeks before the birth. It was late... past midnight so the room was pitch black an' I swear.... I looked at your face.... it wasn't like actual light or anything. Just this.... peaceful, calm feelin' that I could almost reach out an' touch.... but I felt like if I did.... it'd go away. I laid there an' I thought, 'How can a man be so beautiful?' That was the only word that fit.... you were just.... beautiful."
Darien raised a hand to Bobby's cheek and opened his mouth to speak, but their moment was cut short by Claire's appearance in the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt, boys, but we need to go. Now."
"Comin', Claire." Hobbes said, giving Darien's hand a squeeze before they both stood and hurried out of the room, minds forced away from each other and back to the tragedy it was their mission to prevent.
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"So this place used to be a middle school?"
Darien tossed the question out to Bobby as they huddled with Claire on the East side of the wall that separated the now decrepit playground from the street.
"Yeah, up 'till a couple years ago I guess. It was too small, so they built a new one. This was slated to be turned into offices, but the deal fell through, the building got abandoned.... same old same old, ya know?"
Claire, her brow furrowed with concern and fear, swiveled her head in both directions as if searching for something.
"Claire, relax. I know it feels like we're flyin' solo, here, but the other teams are there. They've been in place since last night."
"I understand. I'd just feel better if I could see them."
Gazing down at his watch, Darien tapped Bobby on the shoulder twice. The other man tensed and quickly gave Claire the same high-sign. The other two watched Darien count down on his fingers from five, then all three joined the rest of the strike group in hopping over the short wall and racing for the crumbling structure. As he flowed easily over the top of the brick barrier, Darien allowed the Quicksilver to flow over him and soon there was one less visible member of the team.
When they reached the building, everyone else stopped and reoriented themselves before proceeding with the actual assault. Darien chose that moment to slip in on his own and check things out before a booby-trap hurt or killed somebody.
"Fawkes! Damn it, Darien, you better not be in the building, hotshot...."
"Chill out, Hobbes. You worry too much. I've already disabled three trip wires and gotten rid of a lot of junk an' trash you guys coulda broken your necks on. I found that by accident of course...."
"Fawkes, when we get finished with this I'm gonna ring your scrawny neck, I swear...."
"I skinned my knee and bruised up one hand. So what? No big deal. You still love me an' you know it. Now get in here, wouldya? It's startin' to look like this was a scam."
As they cautiously entered the building, Bobby continued talking to Darien, hoping that keeping in constant touch would make the younger man more cognizant of what he was risking.
"A scam? You didn't find any kids?"
"Not on the first floor. I'm just hittin' the top of the stairs to the next level.... Oh, crap...."
"Fawkes? Darien! Respond right now, damn it!"
"Th... this is real bad, Hobbes. Keep everyone but Claire down there, okay? Just send her up here.... do it fast. This could go really, really wrong any second." Darien whispered, his voice trembling faintly.
"Explain. What are you seein'?"
"I can't! Move, Bobby! Please shut up an' just move!"
"Okay, Fawkes. Hang on. We're on our way."
"No, Bobby! I said.... damn him, just once can't he listen to me?!"
Moments later, Hobbes was crouching on a step beside his now visible partner and Claire hovered a step or two below where them, unable to view the horror the other two were confronting. Only a few feet away from where the trio waited and agonized, nine children of varying ages stood in a loose circle, all patiently waiting for the child in the middle to make use of the handgun that currently rested at his side, tightly gripped in his left hand. Claire got a brief description of the scene and was suddenly grateful it was hidden for her sight.
"Bobby, get the hell out of here!"
"No freakin' way I'm leavin' you alone. Not the way you sounded a minute ago."
Darien growled his frustration, then conceded that Hobbes wasn't going away.
"What are we supposed to do? We can't just let this happen!" Darien murmured harshly, close to Bobby's ear.
"I know... I... this isn't what we were told to expect. I'm not sure.... "
"Well we better do something, damn it! I won't stay here and watch those kids be killed!"
Peering over the top edge of the final step, Hobbes studied the scene before him, but could see no immediate way to resolve the situation without losing at least one child. Dimly, something one of his history teachers had drilled into him eons ago came drifting back to him.
... sometimes, sacrifice is a necessary, even vital, part of life.... sacrifice for others, for the greater good, for an ideal..... your history books are filled with those who understood this principle...
"Fawkes. Get downstairs an' give Bryson a message for me. Tell him I want this floor flooded with tear gas exactly in four minutes. Not one second more or less, you got it? On the tick of four minutes."
"Bobby, no..."
"Any other way at least one of those kids is gonna die! They still might.... Get the hell downstairs! I need you to do this for me, baby, alright? Go."
Though his stomach had sunk through the floor beneath him, Darien complied with Bobby's order.
"I don't have to ask what my job is." Claire commented darkly.
"Good. I got no time to waste explainin' it to you." Bobby retorted as he rose, ascended the last step and slowly began to approach the children.
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TBC...........
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At five a.m. the next morning, Darien was already at the Agency waiting for something to happen. Out of necessity, Bobby had risen and joined him, unable to stay asleep if his partner wasn't close to him.
As they sat and waited, Bobby scribbled and erased, scribbled and erased on a legal pad, scowling as if the paper itself was foiling his attempts to get the words right.
Darien sketched quickly with charcoal on a drawing tablet, bobbing his head to the music in his walkman's headphones. When Bobby tried to get a look at what he was doing, the younger man shooed him away and sent him back to his own work.
"C'mon, Fawkes. Lemme see. I can't do no more of this stuff. It's a waste of time..."
Pulling off his headphones and stopping the tape, Darien frowned at Bobby in disappointment.
"Waste of time? Your vows are *not* a waste of time, Bobby. You're tryin' too hard to write what you think I wanna hear. Just write what you feel. You'll know when it's comin' from your heart."
"You write yours yet?"
"Mostly. I just have a couple tweaks... an adjustment or two to the way I said some stuff."
"Can I hear?"
"At the wedding. Besides, I didn't bring my notes with me."
"Figures." Bobby grumbled, looking back down at the paper in his lap with disgust. Darien finally took pity on him and tore off the page he was working on, handing Hobbes the pad and a black felt tip pen from the small art kit that went everywhere with him.
"Here. Take a break from the writing. Draw something."
"Me? You're jokin'. I couldn't draw if my life depended on it."
"You ever tried to draw?"
"No, but..."
"Then give it a shot an' give me some peace for a while, willya? I brought my favorite mix tape this mornin'. I'd like to get back to listening to it."
"Yeah, but... what am I supposed to draw?"
"Whatever. Pick out somethin' from the room or think somethin' up. Just draw." Darien instructed him, replacing the phones and pushing the play button.
For a few minutes, Bobby simply sat and stared at the paper, as if he expected something magic and wondrous to flow through his hand and begin to move the pen, creating an image on the paper. When it didn't happen, he realized he'd have to do it himself and felt a tiny drop of acrid fear collect in the pit of his stomach.
{I can't do this.... it won't look like anything. An inkblot maybe.... I can't do it like he can. Forty minutes left 'till blast off. Okay, so I'll give it a chance, but I'm never showin' this to anybody....}
Slowly, uncertainly, Bobby drew one curved line, then another, clearly visualizing the image he wanted to see on the paper, but afraid his untrained fingers could not make the pen perform. When Darien came and stood over his shoulder, merely observing, not offering advice or help, Bobby looked up once to acknowledge him then returned his eyes to his work.
It was almost six by the time Hobbes felt the rough sketch was finished and he looked up at Darien once more, a deep need for approval shining out from his eyes.
"Well?"
Darien crouched to put his head on an even keel with Bobby's.
"Who cares what I think?"
"I do. You're the artist in the family, right?"
"Is it what you wanted it to be?"
"I don't know.... it's as close as I could get to the picture in my mind."
"Then it's perfect. Sign your name to it."
"You.... you can tell... I mean, you know.... what I was goin' for?"
"Of course I do. It's me when I was still pregnant with Bobbi."
Doubt lit for the briefest of moments on Darien's face and he asked a question. Bobby's reply made his insecurity take flight again, lifting the momentary weight from his heart. "Can I ask...."
"Why I picked that to draw? Not sure. I've been thinkin' a lot about those months lately.... about what you went through. How I never believed in all that "pregnant wo... people have this glow" crapola. Not until I saw you, anyway. I remember watchin' you sleep.... it was about two weeks before the birth. It was late... past midnight so the room was pitch black an' I swear.... I looked at your face.... it wasn't like actual light or anything. Just this.... peaceful, calm feelin' that I could almost reach out an' touch.... but I felt like if I did.... it'd go away. I laid there an' I thought, 'How can a man be so beautiful?' That was the only word that fit.... you were just.... beautiful."
Darien raised a hand to Bobby's cheek and opened his mouth to speak, but their moment was cut short by Claire's appearance in the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt, boys, but we need to go. Now."
"Comin', Claire." Hobbes said, giving Darien's hand a squeeze before they both stood and hurried out of the room, minds forced away from each other and back to the tragedy it was their mission to prevent.
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"So this place used to be a middle school?"
Darien tossed the question out to Bobby as they huddled with Claire on the East side of the wall that separated the now decrepit playground from the street.
"Yeah, up 'till a couple years ago I guess. It was too small, so they built a new one. This was slated to be turned into offices, but the deal fell through, the building got abandoned.... same old same old, ya know?"
Claire, her brow furrowed with concern and fear, swiveled her head in both directions as if searching for something.
"Claire, relax. I know it feels like we're flyin' solo, here, but the other teams are there. They've been in place since last night."
"I understand. I'd just feel better if I could see them."
Gazing down at his watch, Darien tapped Bobby on the shoulder twice. The other man tensed and quickly gave Claire the same high-sign. The other two watched Darien count down on his fingers from five, then all three joined the rest of the strike group in hopping over the short wall and racing for the crumbling structure. As he flowed easily over the top of the brick barrier, Darien allowed the Quicksilver to flow over him and soon there was one less visible member of the team.
When they reached the building, everyone else stopped and reoriented themselves before proceeding with the actual assault. Darien chose that moment to slip in on his own and check things out before a booby-trap hurt or killed somebody.
"Fawkes! Damn it, Darien, you better not be in the building, hotshot...."
"Chill out, Hobbes. You worry too much. I've already disabled three trip wires and gotten rid of a lot of junk an' trash you guys coulda broken your necks on. I found that by accident of course...."
"Fawkes, when we get finished with this I'm gonna ring your scrawny neck, I swear...."
"I skinned my knee and bruised up one hand. So what? No big deal. You still love me an' you know it. Now get in here, wouldya? It's startin' to look like this was a scam."
As they cautiously entered the building, Bobby continued talking to Darien, hoping that keeping in constant touch would make the younger man more cognizant of what he was risking.
"A scam? You didn't find any kids?"
"Not on the first floor. I'm just hittin' the top of the stairs to the next level.... Oh, crap...."
"Fawkes? Darien! Respond right now, damn it!"
"Th... this is real bad, Hobbes. Keep everyone but Claire down there, okay? Just send her up here.... do it fast. This could go really, really wrong any second." Darien whispered, his voice trembling faintly.
"Explain. What are you seein'?"
"I can't! Move, Bobby! Please shut up an' just move!"
"Okay, Fawkes. Hang on. We're on our way."
"No, Bobby! I said.... damn him, just once can't he listen to me?!"
Moments later, Hobbes was crouching on a step beside his now visible partner and Claire hovered a step or two below where them, unable to view the horror the other two were confronting. Only a few feet away from where the trio waited and agonized, nine children of varying ages stood in a loose circle, all patiently waiting for the child in the middle to make use of the handgun that currently rested at his side, tightly gripped in his left hand. Claire got a brief description of the scene and was suddenly grateful it was hidden for her sight.
"Bobby, get the hell out of here!"
"No freakin' way I'm leavin' you alone. Not the way you sounded a minute ago."
Darien growled his frustration, then conceded that Hobbes wasn't going away.
"What are we supposed to do? We can't just let this happen!" Darien murmured harshly, close to Bobby's ear.
"I know... I... this isn't what we were told to expect. I'm not sure.... "
"Well we better do something, damn it! I won't stay here and watch those kids be killed!"
Peering over the top edge of the final step, Hobbes studied the scene before him, but could see no immediate way to resolve the situation without losing at least one child. Dimly, something one of his history teachers had drilled into him eons ago came drifting back to him.
... sometimes, sacrifice is a necessary, even vital, part of life.... sacrifice for others, for the greater good, for an ideal..... your history books are filled with those who understood this principle...
"Fawkes. Get downstairs an' give Bryson a message for me. Tell him I want this floor flooded with tear gas exactly in four minutes. Not one second more or less, you got it? On the tick of four minutes."
"Bobby, no..."
"Any other way at least one of those kids is gonna die! They still might.... Get the hell downstairs! I need you to do this for me, baby, alright? Go."
Though his stomach had sunk through the floor beneath him, Darien complied with Bobby's order.
"I don't have to ask what my job is." Claire commented darkly.
"Good. I got no time to waste explainin' it to you." Bobby retorted as he rose, ascended the last step and slowly began to approach the children.
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TBC...........