Author: A. X. Zanier

Series: Requiem Arc

Title: Grieve

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Pairing: Darien/OFC, Bobby/Claire

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to The Invisible Man. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine to do with as I please.

Timeline: N/A

Comments: #2 in the Requiem Arc.

Music: I Grieve by Peter Gabriel

Grieve

"Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and griefs which we endure help us in our marching onward." -- Henry Ford (1863 - 1947)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'What the bloody hell?' The numbers on the printout I held made no sense, claiming that just about everything I normally test for, was off in some way. Some higher than normal, some so low as to be seriously dangerous to Darien's continued health and well-being. Oddly enough, there was none of the Quicksilver toxin in his system, which should have been impossible if the gland was functioning within even close to normal parameters. And since he had Quicksilvered, if strangely, one would hope the problem was a minor one. I had been counting on it being something that could be resolved by tweaking his counteragent, or adjusting the inhibitor, not this... this mess.

Shaking my head, certain that the tests just had to be an error, I heard the beep that told me the x-ray film was ready. Alyx still insisted, with that little smirk at the corners of her mouth, that she'd purchased the well-abused portable x-ray machine off eBay, but I didn't believe it. The Official, the cheap bastard that he could be, had denied my request, yet again, and Alyx had magically acquired this one. Damaged, parts salvaged to be used in other machines, but intact enough to be rebuilt. She'd done so; spending every free moment for a month to get it not only up and running, but working well above the industry standard. I didn't ask how she'd managed to get a hold of the programming or how many computers she'd torn apart to rebuild it, I was just thankful that I no longer had to make arrangements at Leavitt for a simple x-ray for either of my Kepts. CT and MRI scans I still had to outsource, but it was one less complication with two patients that were inherently complicated.

When I pulled out the x-ray and held it up to the light, I stared at it in confusion, a horrid sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I strode across the room, pulled out the oversized file that contained the results of Darien's recent annual exam and removed the x-ray that lay within for comparison. Not that there could be any; the gland had altered so dramatically in just eight weeks that there was little or no resemblance between the two. I was suddenly thankful I'd chosen not to do a biopsy at this time as I might have done far more harm than good. The fact of the matter is that I probably would have missed the gland completely as it appeared to have shrunk to about one quarter its original size.

I returned to the desk, relived that I'd chosen to run all the tests here in Lab 2 where no one but myself could see the initial results. I told the computer to compare the genetic markers of the Quicksilver from the exam two months ago with the samples I'd taken today. I was hoping to find nothing of value, but when the computer finished, all of five minutes later, I was already prepared for the worst. The conclusion I had come to all on my own made little sense, but was well within the realm of possibility, if not expected. The computer only confirmed it. The gland, the organic portion of it anyway, had mutated. According to the comparison, the differential was a little over point four, but it was more than enough to alter the entire system.

I reran the tests three times, initially irritated that neither Darien nor Alyx had come to me as soon as the first symptoms had manifested, but the anger burned off quickly as I realized it probably wouldn't have made a difference. As I looked more in depth into the test results, it appeared that this mutation of the gland was natural, though it may have been caused from external influences. Off the top of my head I could think of a half dozen hazards Darien had been exposed to, including the counteragent itself, that might have triggered this.

The x-ray along with their description of symptoms told the entire tale. The gland's sudden expansion, tendrils reaching out to imbed in other parts of his brain, causing memory loss, petit mal seizures, blackouts and, now, constant headaches, all added up to a system gone crazy. I reexamined the newest x-ray and it appeared that the gland had also expanded downward, using the spinal cord as a route to infest other portions of his anatomy, which would explain why his entire endocrine system had gone haywire. If, as it appeared, the gland had attached part of itself to his other glands and organs, they would be functioning no better than the parts of his mind that had been attacked by the invader.

Perhaps the worst thing of all was that I could offer him no hope, could not reverse what the gland had done to him, that even if I were able to remove the gland, it would change nothing. Even if I had picked up the first hints of this problem during his exam I'm not certain I could have done anything, the gland had changed so quickly that had I been able to create some sort of temporary solution to slow or forestall the growth, it would have simply prolonged the inevitable. It could take years before I identified the cause, never mind discovered a way to reverse it without killing him.

And I thought my track record of failing my patients had ended with Gloria.

***

Alyx slid down the side of my Cherokee, to sit on the hard concrete floor of the parking garage, outright refusing to move one step further even though Darien had been the one to suggest we walk down the street to the Thai restaurant and pick up some dinner. He had wanted some time to talk to Bobby alone, and I could only hope that Darien could offer some comfort to his friend and partner, some inducement to go on after... the end. I... well I had been over here the majority of every day, though the Official had ordered that I remain uninvolved, they had quit and were therefore no longer under of the Agency's umbrella of protection.

I watched Darien deteriorate moment by moment, watched them face the worst possible situation that anyone could in their lifetime with a courage and strength that was remarkable. The Official was a stubborn git, refusing to see that he was just as responsible for this situation as anyone was. I... I had taken an oath to harm no one and felt more than enough guilt that I had failed in so simple a task. They weren't just my patients, but my friends and I could not, in good conscience, allow them to go through this alone.

Alyx looked pale and was shaking quite badly as I knelt beside her to take her pulse. When she didn't wave me off, I knew she was not feeling nearly as well as she had portrayed upstairs. Her eyes were glassy and bright, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't really aware of me being beside her.

"Alyx?"

She swung into focus, but slowly. "Uh-huh."

"You're not eavesdropping are you?" I asked; trying to draw her out with what was surely a poor attempt at humor.

She gave me a ghost of a grin. "No... Well, technically yes, but it's not like I have any choice in the matter."

"Are you sure you don't want to get something to eat? You need to keep up your strength," I reminded her, trying not to sound like I was nagging. I was so very worried for her. She was so close to Darien, so dependent on him in some ways that I feared she might not last much beyond him.

"Can't," she responded. "Being this far away is a strain, I don't dare go any further."

"Ah." I realized then that she must have linked with Darien. A risk that, while I knew it would keep him alive a few more days in little pain, was also a horrid danger for her. "Are you sure this is for the best?" I questioned, not wanting to lose her as well.

"I have to," she whispered, her voice hoarse, and I made the decision to not question her about it again. This was her way of dealing with this dreadful situation.

I... I was already in mourning in many ways. I took full and complete blame for this. It was my responsibility to keep him alive and whole and I had failed terribly in that. I had promised him that I would find a solution. That I would figure out how to remove the gland and allow him to go his own way from the Agency, from us. But instead, I made a dreadful mistake, missing something so vital that it was going to result in his death.

I'd gone back over the original tests from his annual a dozen times and could still find nothing wrong, even retested the biopsy sample of the gland right down to the mitochondrial DNA level and found nothing. He was, based on the information I had gathered, exactly as I had told him - perfectly healthy. Yet, within weeks, the gland had changed so drastically that it was nearly unrecognizable, and I still had no clue as to why. Was it something to which he'd been exposed? Perhaps that intelligence retro-virus he'd injected himself with to save Bobby? That nasty designer flu Arnaud had given him? Maybe an unexpected side-effect of the counteragent, or the inhibitor Alyx had helped to create? Not that I would ever mention the latter to the woman in question, as it would destroy her to even think this might have been her fault, that she might have been the one to kill the man she loved.

I sighed heavily and sat down beside her, back against the cool metal of my vehicle, vainly trying to not go over everything again. I'd run tests, simulations, added variables of any and every sort, including those that I would have never considered before, but had not yet duplicated the mutation. I had screwed up somewhere along the way and even the information in Kevin's lab books, all the research I had done over the last few years helped not one whit.

I was the doctor, I was their Keeper, and I had failed so utterly and totally that I could only wonder why they allowed me anywhere near them.

"Claire," Alyx said softly, startling me out of another round of self-recrimination. "It was not your fault."

"Then whose is it?" I grumbled, wanting to wallow in my unhappiness for a while longer rather than face the reality of my dying friend upstairs.

"Kevin's," she stated, and I shifted slightly to look at her with shock written in every line of my body. "Oh, come on, Claire, you know as well as I do this version of the gland was a prototype and not designed for long term implantation. Give it a test run, drive it 'round the block, kick the tires and then take it out for post-implantation study. I've read his frickin' notes."

It wasn't as if I could argue with her when every word was the truth. At most, the gland would have remained in Darien for a year, by which time Kevin would have certainly discovered a safe removal technique, thus releasing Darien from his obligation and making him a free man. It was heartbreaking to realize, but, much as Arnaud had once accused, I was no Kevin Fawkes, and I was still months away, at best, from a workable solution. Not that it mattered now. No, right now the Official was far more interested in designing and implanting the next generation of glands into receptacles. I, however, had no enthusiasm for that project and might never.

"Alyx, I know it changes nothing, but I am so sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. Don't be sorry you met him or became his friend, he's not."

"Alyx..."

She got to her feet, cutting off my words. "Stages of grief, my ass," she muttered. "Who has time for that?" She held out a hand and I took it, her grip firm and strong as she helped me to stand. "Time to head back up, Keepy."

I just followed along, not concerned over the lack of food we'd be returning with, but wondering why she mentioned the stages of grief.

***

I thought Bobby's funeral, fake as I later found out it was, had been difficult, what with my blossoming attraction to him suddenly being cut off at the knees, but Darien's... his was the most difficult thing I ever had to deal with in my life. Even more so than when I learned that his brother Kevin had died. I'd never even told Darien that I had known his brother, had dated him for a year back when we were in the graduate program at Cal-Tech. Never explained that my knowing Kevin had been part of the reason I'd taken the job at the Agency, feeling oddly compelled to, not only continue his work, but to help his brother who I only knew, at the time, as nothing more than a reprobate.

Oh, how wrong I had been.

I stayed near Bobby, who wore a façade of stoic calm, but was quite obviously a raw gaping wound. He'd lost his best friend in the entire world and nothing I said or did could heal the damage that had been inflicted upon his soul. I felt as if my insides were twisted into knots, still trying to come to terms with my failure, and certain that I never would. About the only thing I felt I could do was to oversee the QS-9400 Project - yes, the Official had already named it - and make sure that nothing went wrong this time.

Alyx... I don't know how she did it, I could see she was bleeding on the inside, but she never once came to us for assistance. She'd made all the funeral arrangements, acquired the gravesite next to his brother, tracked down his old parish priest from Cold Springs to perform the decidedly non-religious ceremony, contacted Darien's only remaining relative, Celia Donovan, who saw where the nephews she had raised were buried - Kevin for the first time. Alyx had even written and read a touching eulogy that Darien would have more than approved of, and I suspected that he'd had a hand in it, probably finding it ironic to be writing something for his own funeral.

There had been no wake or viewing, as the funeral happened less than two days after his passing, literally hours after I had removed what little remained of the gland. There had been no reason to wait, and no way I would allow the Official to do anything other than retrieve his property. He hadn't even bothered himself with showing up, though Eberts had made an appearance, giving his sincere condolences, which Alyx had accepted with amazing grace, considering she would have had every reason to hate the man.

There were pitifully few of us in attendance, but who else was there to call? Darien's former friends, if they could be considered that, were all thieves, rouges and their ilk. Was Alyx to invite parolees just to fill out the crowd? She had attempted to contact Dr. O'Claire, since Alyx had no animosity for the woman who had been Darien's lover prior to their meeting, but had received no response. At least those here were truly sincere about missing the man who would be lowered into the ground once we had walked away and attempted to get on with our lives.

Alyx had been understandably distant since Darien's death, trying in her own way to come to terms with the loss and deal with the incipient depression that had crashed upon not only her, but all of us who had cared for him. I wanted to talk to her, to attempt in some way to console her, but she, politely, rebuffed all my efforts, perhaps because she once again saw me as one of them as I still worked for the Agency.

After the funeral was over, she spoke to Bobby for a few minutes; the pair huddled together between the brothers' headstones, heads bowed in mutual pain as they whispered to each other. She placed something in his hand, gave him a swift hug, and then walked away with her hands clasped tightly behind her back and Bobby watching her with a broken look upon his face. Our foursome appeared to have been shattered beyond repair and I had to wonder if Alyx had ever really cared about any of us.

Turned out she had given Bobby her key to Darien's apartment, leaving me with the distinct impression that she had slammed the door on this chapter in her life.

I didn't see or hear from her for several days and then only through Bobby, who came to me full of righteous anger after the Official had the gall to try and blackmail Alyx into returning to the Agency. Without success, I must add, and I couldn't much disagree with her decision. She had never really wanted to be here and Darien, in many ways, was the only reason she had stayed. Yes, there was a deal in place that involved her children, but she had never been overly fond of it, and, by this point, was more than capable of dealing with potential intrusions against her family on her own. One thing no one could deny was that she had been trained very well even without the addition of her abilities. With them... well, I wasn't worried about anyone succeeding in an effort to coerce her into anything. She'd flatten them with a thought - literally.

The Official gave me only five days after the funeral to gather my wits about me before ordering that I begin work on the next generation of Quicksilver glands, which I prepared to do with great reluctance. Needless to say, I was rather shocked when I found the Keep computer stripped bare. No files, the hard drive reformatted and squeaky clean. I couldn't even run a diagnostic on the machine, as there wasn't so much as an operating system on it. Confused I went upstairs in an attempt to access the files via the main computer, from which Eberts typically made copies and updated all the systems in use. I found the same results - the Keep files were a complete blank.

I didn't yet panic, thinking that, perhaps, the Official had moved the information to a more secure location - possibly the Perseus Lab - where the data and the work could be better protected and monitored, and failed to mention it to me. The trouble was, I discovered Lab 2 stripped as well, all the recent tests that resulted in the discovery of the gland's mutation, the exam files, the hard copies, all of it gone.

With trepidation, I reported the situation to the Official. Eberts was quick to confirm that the computers were blank. The data not just erased, but removed so completely that there was no hope of recovering anything of value. The back-up disks were missing as well - including copies stored at a secure facility - and the files, the simple paper files, the lab books, Kevin's notes and audio tapes, the papers discovered at Peter Donovan's cabin were all gone.

The Official, while justifiably angry, shrugged it off, like water off a duck's back and told me to get back to work. I laughed, admittedly with a touch of hysteria to it, and explained that there was no way I could hope to reconstruct the gland without years of work and testing, that I would, essentially, have to begin from scratch, rebuilding what I could from memory and doing the rest through trial and error. It could conceivably take me as many years to come up with a workable solution as it had Kevin the first time around, and this was not my pet project, so I was in no way as intimately familiar with the gland's design as Kevin. That was his dream, not mine.

Alyx might have assisted, what with her memory being as good as it was or... I realized with shock that I had completely blanked on the fact she had a research lab of her own and that it must have all the Quicksilver data. If I had access to it, I could reconstruct the gland, with the same current flaws, in no time at all. It seemed that the Official knew nothing of the lab or the work she'd been doing there. I hadn't known about it, either, until this issue with Darien had arisen and I found myself holding my tongue, deciding with no remorse not to a say a word. To, instead, allow the I-Man Project to fade away into the annals of history. Not forgotten per se, but awaiting a better time for its discoveries to be applied.

The Official digested this news with ill humor, tossing out imprecations and insults at the person he believed responsible for this setback - Alyx. No one argued with his choice of target, as she was the most likely to have done this. Bloody hell, she had more reason than anyone, except Darien himself, to want the QS-9300 project information destroyed, but at the same time, I had to wonder why she would bother. Would she do it just to piss off the Official, or did she, perhaps, have an actual motive that only she could comprehend? I feared I would never know since she'd not been seen since she'd stormed out of the Agency... was it only two days ago?

Bobby had mentioned that her place was barren of her personal belongings, the car sold, and the apartment for rent once again. To all appearances, she had left town and had no intention of ever returning. Did I blame her? No, but I had hoped she would at least say goodbye.

***

I parked my Cherokee near the rental car that Alyx was sitting on the hood of. This was one of those random ocean overlooks along the Pacific Coast Highway about an hour north of San Diego. I had been very surprised to receive her call, considering she'd been gone for nearly a week, and had been somewhat reluctant to meet her, especially when she was being so secretive and circumspect. Granted, she might just have been wishing to avoid contact with the Official, given he fully blamed her for the loss of the I-Man Project data, but there had been no concern in her voice. In fact, she'd been cool and composed, as if she didn't really care if I met her or not.

There was little chance I wouldn't.

I walked over to her, my gaze following hers out across the water, the sun glinting off the tops of the swells to flash in my eyes. There was a lone sailboat, heading towards the horizon, its sail taut in the freshening breeze. "I thought you had left for good," I said, turning about to look at her. She sat there cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin balanced on her fists.

"You were supposed to," was her reply. She didn't even look at me. "Are you going to stay at the Agency? Create the next generation of invisible men for Charlie?"

"I... I don't know yet," I admitted, not overly shocked by her bluntness. She had never been one to prevaricate. She reached into her pocket and held out what looked like business card. "What's this?" I asked as I took it from her. There were, what appeared to be, phone and account numbers on it.

"An offer." Alyx slid off the hood of the vehicle and moved towards the waist high whitewashed fencing that edged the drop-off. "Unless, of course, you plan on going back to being Lady Cavendish. Retire to your estate and play feudal lord with all the peons?" She turned slightly; head tipped downward, probably catching me in her peripheral vision only, then returned her gaze to the water.

My ability to speak fled for several seconds; I was so stunned. "How... how do you know that?"

She rotated about with a hint of a smile curving her lips upward. "You might be able to exclude it from files, wipe it from databases for security reasons, but you can't forget. I've known for a long time, Claire, but I honored your choice to keep it private and I daresay you are fully aware of that fact."

I nodded slowly, automatically, as her statement sank in. I guess I had a few blind spots where Alyx and her abilities were concerned and I have to admit there had been occasions when I wondered if she knew, but it wasn't something I felt I could simply ask her. Since it was never mentioned, I never worried about it. Alyx could have used that information against me at any time - even if only with Darien and Bobby - and yet never had. My respect for her jumped upwards another notch.

"I have no plans to return to the family estate any time soon," I said, answering her earlier question. "I have a standing offer with the CDC, but..." I trailed off, watching her carefully. "What is your offer?" I asked, suddenly curious what challenge she believed she had to entice me.

She shrugged. "Come work for me. See how far we can push the envelope with the theories used in the QSX Project."

Challenge indeed. I had always been fascinated with her parents' theories and had often wished that I'd had more time to delve into them while working for the Agency. Then I remembered that she already had a staff to do exactly that. "But your lab..."

"Shut down," she interrupted. "Data either transferred or destroyed, depending on the project. Their main focus was on the Quicksilver gland and potential removal techniques." She spun about, heading back to her car. She leaned against the door and watched me with an oddly unemotional look in her eyes. "Anything of use will be shared. You won't get rich, but I don't think you'll need to."

My eyes must have lit up at the idea. The theories had so much potential for good and I could easily think of a dozen avenues I could pursue right off the top of my blonde head. I think that's what decided me, the fact that I knew something good could come out of the work, and I trusted Alyx when she said it wouldn't be hoarded or buried and never see the light of day.

She must have sensed my decision even as I became aware of it. "There are some conditions, and I can't explain the why of them."

"Such as?" She had me curious again.

"You can tell no one." She met my eyes squarely. "Not even Bobby."

"But..." I stopped when she shook her head.

"Just pack and leave. Use the account on the card; the money won't be traceable to you. If you even think you need a false identity call the first number. The second is one of mine and is secure. Call when you arrive, not before."

"Alyx..." I swallowed hard. "Bobby... he's not doing so well. You should talk to him. Please," I pleaded, and for an instant, her façade of cool composure broke.

"I can't," she stated. "Not now."

I shook my head, not understanding how she could want to hurt him so badly or why she wanted me to do the same. "I don't like this."

"Claire, do you trust me?" she asked, plainly wanting the truth.

I'm afraid I had to think about that, her behavior since Darien's death had been anything but normal. We suspected her of destroying all the Quicksilver files, had suffered the loss when she walked out on us without so much as a farewell, but, ultimately, she'd done nothing to earn my personal distrust. "Yes."

"Then trust I have my reasons for going about things this way," she responded, then opened the car door and slid inside.

I hurriedly stepped forward and she rolled down the window. I had a question that had been bothering me for days now, but had been unable to ask the other party involved without causing yet another round of pain so I took advantage of her presence. "What did you say to Bobby? After the funeral?"

She sighed and started the vehicle. "I explained that keeping his promise to Darien did not mean he had to stay at the Agency." She put the car into gear. "There are always options if one is willing to just look for them."

I stepped back as the car began rolling, the wheels crunching over the gravel in this turnabout and mulled her words. Options. I looked down at the card in my hand, already thinking about the need to get tranquillizers for Pavlov, as he hated flying. I began making my plans even as I tried to ignore the distress over not being able to tell Bobby. Ours is not to reason why, I suppose.

***

It was late January before the tight band about my heart began to ease and I was able to admit to myself that what had happened to Darien had not been my fault. I still grieved, but it was no longer with the fierceness of one who felt the need to take on all the blame. I had done everything within my ability to care for him, both mind and body. I still missed him dreadfully, and often found myself wanting to tell him some bit of trivia I had picked up or a sight I had seen. I could only imagine how much harder it would have been were I still living in San Diego where the events of our meeting and relationship had played out. I remembered Darien as fondly as I did his brother, but I missed him so much more. Kevin and I had been intellectual equals and lovers, perhaps loves as well. Darien and I had been friends and that had left a far greater impression and corresponding loss.

Did I still grieve? Of course, though I knew it would ease by tiny increments until it became just another memory - a fond one, admittedly, but just another part of my life. Bobby and Michele, however, were far slower to recover and, though they kept busy, they were oddly uninvolved. Bobby had spent the first few months planning out all the security upgrades, but by the time the holidays were upon us, he'd done all he could until spring arrived and the pass into the valley was open again. During the winter, the only way in or out of the valley was by air, a plane arriving on average of once a week with mail and supplies that had not already been hoarded by the residents.

Not that we lived in squalor by any means. The town and therefore the house had some of the most state of the art equipment that could be found anywhere. A legacy of the relationship built between the original settlers and Michele's grandparents. Michael had told me only the barest hints of his family's past in the area and only then when my curiosity led me to drive him up a wall. Near as I could tell, there was some great family secret buried in these granite mountains that they were not yet ready to divulge to the likes of me.

About the time Bobby began itching to do anything besides wait for the snow to melt, Michele handed him a disk that included, among other things, an extensive intelligence database that was up to date as of the week prior. She'd even planned for Bobby's eventual need to pick up his promise to Darien and set about making sure he'd have the tools he'd need to do so even when snowed in due to yet another blizzard.

Bobby and I had been growing closer now that the 'company pier' issue was out of the way, which Michele had made sure to point out - loudly and in front of witnesses - when he'd demurred from even taking a walk alone with me. It was astonishing how deeply he could blush when the conditions were right. Of course, he'd also gone after her, a mock battle of several minutes ensuing afterwards that ultimately ended in laughter. A sound wonderful to hear from either of them as it was still so rare.

I had my lab in the subbasement of the house - you would not believe how much of the building was underground, standing on the very bedrock of these mountains - where I began preliminary work on the QSX Project theories. Christopher, Michele's only son, had taken an interest in the work as well, and could often be found by my side more than willing to share his unique and refreshing point of view.

It often seemed during those first six months that of all of us only Michele had no purpose, nothing to do except, perhaps, dole out tidbits and amusements to keep the rest of us distracted. She took her duties as a mother and a matriarch very seriously and watched over her children with a fond smile, but it never touched her eyes. She was still mourning, it seemed, and had not yet found the strength to move forward.

I spoke with Bobby about it and he agreed that something needed to be done, but he was unsure as to what. Any overtures had resulted in her doing little more than saying she was just fine and ending the conversation by walking away. Though she would occasionally speak of Darien, especially to her children who were understandably curious about the man their mother had cared so deeply for, she - we - never talked about those last weeks. Never talked about his dying or how it had affected us. We were all here because of it, but.... But; the one word that had come to identify Michele more and more in recent weeks. She simply wasn't dealing, perhaps couldn't and, while she was still alive, still functional, she wasn't living. Even Bobby had managed that much; to find some sort of peace with the situation and remember everything Darien had given him with a lightness of heart instead of trapped in an endless cycle of what ifs and what could have beens.

Not that I believed Michele was living some fantasy life in her mind where Darien was still alive and they were together and happy. No, she took her current reality and her commitment to protect this family far too seriously for that to be the case.

We found her sitting on a hammock strung between two trees, wrapped in a heavy blanket, our breath billowing about us in chilly air. Today, at least, it was safe to be outside for more than few minutes at a time; there had been days when going outdoors had been quite literally dangerous to life and limb. She was watching a small group of deer munch on the bales of hay she'd placed out for them, her way of protecting even the local wildlife of this valley through a harsh winter.

"Hey, kid, you trying to freeze your cajones off out here?" Bobby questioned with just the right hint of joviality to his tone, more than enough to make me smile, though Michele didn't react at all.

"Bobby, you really have to stop watching the Godfather. Next you'll be thinking it's not such a bad idea to turn my kids into New Hampshire mobsters." Michele pulled the blanket a bit tighter about herself, as if our presence had caused the temperature to drop by several degrees.

Bobby snorted and, ignoring her lack of welcome, set himself down in the hammock facing the opposite direction. A slight tip of his head was enough for me to get the hint that he wanted me sitting as well, so I took up position on her opposite side. "Kid..."

"Bobby, I'm fine."

"That's what he kept saying, y'know. 'I'm fine'," Bobby said softly and I was surprised to feel her flinch next to me. Those words had caused more of a reaction than I had ever expected. "Well, he wasn't fine - the stubborn mook - but there wasn't anything I coulda done to fix it even if I hadn't been trusting enough to believe him."

"I know that, Bobby," she hissed, her breath fogging about us like a cloud. "I'm the fool who covered for him when he asked me to."

It was obvious to me that she had chosen to lay a fair portion, if not all, of the blame for Darien's death right at her own feet even though she knew better than any of us there had been no way to prevent it. Even if I had learned of the mutation within days of the first nebulous symptoms, the likelihood that I would have been able to reverse the effects before he succumbed, were fewer than the chances of removing the gland safely. And once that first tendril had imbedded itself in his central nervous system, even removal was no longer an option. She knew this and so I was baffled as to why she would continue to heap recriminations upon herself.

"Michele, would Darien believe you were 'fine'?" Her head snapped about to glare at me, but I held my ground.

"It's a good question, kid. I know I don't. The Keep, here, doesn't," Old nicknames die hard, but I didn't mind, "Your kids don't, and they damn well need a mom who is fine." Bobby's words stung her, I could see it in her eyes even as she proceeded to grind her teeth, her jaw muscles flexing visibly. She wanted to do something, say something, hit something, but instead she just turned away and slumped, choosing her far more well-worn path these days - ignoring us.

I wasn't sure what to do, thinking that maybe she needed more time before she was ready to listen to us. Bobby surprised me by swiftly turning about, which sent the entire contraption to swinging in two directions at once, and pulled her into a bear hug. "I know you miss him, kid. Crap, we all do, but you're scaring us. You got everything worked out for the next decade or so and it's making some'a us wonder if you're planning on sticking around for any of the fun."

"What is this, some cheesy intervention? 'Cause I'm telling ya, I don't want no part of it," she grumbled, her voice muffled against the heavy coat Bobby wore.

"Maybe it is," Bobby responded. "Maybe we're tired of watching you wallow in your pit o' self-pity and think it's time you drag your sorry ass out a'it before it becomes a permanent condition."

I had to resist the urge to laugh at his colorful, yet accurate, description of her current state of mind. "He's right, Michele," I said, setting a mitten-covered hand on her back.

She turned her head to the side, but didn't try to break Bobby's hold on her. Not that he was restraining her, his arms gently wrapped about her, his chin resting atop her head in an eerie imitation of what Darien used to do. Perhaps he thought the position would offer her some subconscious comfort and I couldn't see any harm in trying.

"I'm afraid," she admitted finally, her voice hoarse. "Afraid I'll forget what he meant to me, what he did for me. Afraid it'll hurt too damn much to feel again."

"Shit, kid, we ain't worried about you forgetting. You're worse than an elephant." Bobby closed his eyes for a long minute, carefully planning what he was going to say next. "Fawkes is probably looking down on this little confab wondering how he screwed up so badly that you, little miss light and sunshine, ended up with a permanent thundercloud over your head." This time she did sit up, her back stiff and I was concerned he might have gone too far. "And since he can't come down here and kick your scrawny ass, I'm gonna do it for him. Do you really think this is what he meant for you to do when he had you make that promise?" He tapped her on the temple. "There are always options, remember?"

This time Bobby's words had an even greater effect, but I wasn't certain it was the one he'd been hoping for, as Michele began to cry. Silently, but tears were flowing down her cheeks, and it suddenly dawned on me that this might very well be the first time she'd allowed the painful emotions an outlet. Sitting so near to her, I was caught up in the wash of her broadcasting and could only be thankful her abilities had been greatly reduced or the entire valley might be crying with her.

"Keep," Bobby whispered his voice tight, nodding to me, "she got you, too."

I raised a hand to my face only to have it come away damp with tears I hadn't even realized I was shedding. "Bobby," I tried, my throat closing about the words. It didn't matter that I couldn't finish the sentence, we knew what was needed, and we wrapped our arms about our friend to mourn our loss together for the first time.

Later, much later, warming our chilled bodies with mugs of soup before a roaring fire, with Michael accusing us of forgetting we have usable brains for staying out in the cold for so long, we talked with an ease that hadn't been there since before we'd gone our separate ways after the funeral. For the first time in months, I could feel Michele in the back of my mind, a warm subtle presence that was strangely comforting. I hadn't even realized she'd been blocking us until that wall she'd erected in her mind had crumbled. Bobby felt it too, you could see it written on his face; a sense of relief at knowing she was back in the land of the living; for he'd missed his friend more than he'd be willing to admit. She might never do anything superhuman with her abilities ever again, but that connection, through which even I could almost feel everyone in the household, was more than enough.

She was still sad, dreadfully so, but she was no longer locked away from the world about her. We'd get through this together, working things out like the team - like the good, close friends we had become a world away in San Diego. I had every confidence that all of us would do great things in the future, but for now... Now we would do as we must, safe behind icy mountain walls where we could grieve.

~~~~~~~~

i grieve for you

and you leave me

let it out and move on

missing what's gone

they say life carries on

they say life carries on and on and on

finis