Unreasonable Addiction
Chapter 5: Trust
By Yumegari and LRH
The phone rang.
Clair's eyes opened and she jerked, startled that there was still a world apart from the two of them. The phone rang again while she stood there, still wrapped in his arms, her lips barely an inch from his. "I should get that," she murmured, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
His eyes tracked to where the phone lay on the table, ringing insistently. "Yes, I think you should," he replied, releasing her. He leaned against the table, still breathing hard.
Clair stepped away from him reluctantly and picked up the phone, answering it. "Hello," she said, still trying to get her voice under control.
"Doctor Holmes," Hanover said, sitting on the hood of the squad car in her driveway and watching the house. "Is everything all right?" He glanced about at the SWAT team members who crouched in the bushes and waited. Behind him, Lynley perused the file on Doctor Octopus.
"I'm still okay," she said shakily, combing her hair back. She didn't let the small foolish smile on her face into her voice.
"You sound a little shaken, Doctor."
"I'm fine," she repeated.
"We'll take your word for it, Doctor." He looked back, as though reminding himself of something. "You'll be happy to know that Mister Page has been taken to the hospital and that his wounds don't appear to be serious."
She had forgotten all about Brandon. "I'm glad to hear it," she said carefully. "Did he wake up?"
"Why, yes, he did, Doctor Holmes. The sword wound is self-explanatory. However, I'm intrigued as to the cause of his head wound. To hear Mister Page tell it, you struck him."
Clair froze. "What?" she asked, trying to sound confused. "Me? Why would I hit him? He's my boyfriend." She almost stumbled over the word. "He was trying to protect me."
"Not to hear Mister Page tell of it, Doctor. He said, and I quote, 'she's with him, now, that freak, she clocked me when I tried to get her out of the room.'"
She shot an alarmed glance at Octavius, hoping he could hear Hanover's half of the conversation. "I don't know what he's talking about. I didn't hit Brandon. Why would I? He was trying to save me."
"You tell me, Doctor Holmes," Hanover replied. Octavius, for his part, still stood in the same place, but appeared to be listening intently.
Clair began to shake. The whole plan was dissolving. She kept her voice as steady as it had been. "Brandon was hit pretty hard, Mr. Hanover. He must be confused. Delirium is a common enough reaction to a concussion."
"You're the brain surgeon, Doctor Holmes, not me," Hanover replied, sounding less than thoroughly convinced. There was a pause. "Put him on the phone, would you?"
Her face pale and set, she handed the phone to Octavius, then wrapped her arms around herself. "He's suspicious," she mouthed to him.
He nodded, then put the phone to his ear. "Yes?"
"Feeling a little saner, now, are we, Octavius?" Hanover's voice asked.
Octavius scowled. "I was until you asked that."
"Fair enough. How long you planning on keeping this up, Octavius? How long're you and Doctor Holmes gonna play this little game?"
"I assure you, Mister Hanover, this is no game," Octavius growled.
"How long?"
"As long as it takes," Octavius snapped. A beat. "At least three more hours."
"What do you need her for, Octavius? I'm gonna keep asking until I get an answer I like."
"Be prepared to ask it for the rest of your life, then," came the cold reply. Octavius glared into the distance. "You won't know."
"You know, most people demand money or safe transport or someone's head on a platter or-" a beat "-in your case, Spider-man's identity. But then again, you've never been conventional in your methods, have you, Octavius?"
"Your flattery is wasted, Hanover."
"You got Holmes' family?"
"No."
"You need her for some kinda treatment, don't you?"
"Very good, Mister Hanover, it only took you this long to figure it out."
"I usually deal with more conventional hostage cases. You know, ten million in unmarked bills and a chopper to Bermuda kinda thing."
"Then this must be an educational experience for you."
"Yeah, real lesson and a half. You got another shot coming up in about thirty-six minutes, am I right?"
The sound of teeth grinding could be heard as Octavius scowled. "Yes."
"I think I"m gonna call back then. And every hour until this is done."
"Do whatever you think you have to, Hanover, it won't get you Doctor Holmes any quicker."
"We'll see," was Hanover's cryptic reply before he hung up.
Octavius tossed the phone back onto the table with a sound of disgust. "Impertinent yapping dog," he growled.
Clair chewed nervously at her lip. "He knows. Or he suspects, anyway, that this is a sham."
Octavius sighed leaning against the table. "It was a poorly conceived one. Not my best work, I'll admit."
"We've got to convince him," she said desperately. "We still have hours to wait, and if they doubt, they'll come in and take you away."
Slowly, he brought his weak hand up to rub the bridge of his nose while he leaned heavily on the other hand. "What do you suggest?" he said irritably. "I'm out of ideas."
She paced abruptly, three paces, turn, three back in the narrow space between the table and the couch. "He doesn't believe us, because he thinks I'm on your side, which would mean that I'm in no real danger, because you won't hurt an ally. And if I'm your ally, then you don't have a hostage, and they can attack with impunity." She stopped, stared at the sword on the table. "We have to prove I'm not your ally."
He found the chair again and sat on it. "There's only one way to prove that you and I are not allies. Would you be willing to follow such a course of action?"
"Yes," she said resolutely. It really needed no consideration. Not at this stage.
He looked to the side again, a sure sign he was thinking. "Hnnn..." His eyes tracked back to her before his head moved, looking at her again. "Your choice," he said simply.
"How steady are your hands now?" she asked, fingering her ear.
He looked down at his left hand. "Steady enough," he said.
Surreality again. She felt detached. "Take the outside edge of my ear. It'll bleed a lot, scare the hell out of them, but I don't need it. I have a local somewhere around here, I won't even feel it."
There was a pause. Octavius nodded. "We'll wait until after he calls again. I'm certain, with that insolent tongue of his, he'll do something to anger me." He looked at the phone on the table, then back at her.
She pressed her hands flat to the table to keep them from shaking, and took a deep breath. Looking sideways at him, she smiled in a manner she hoped was reassuring, then she went and dug through the shelves for a local anaesthetic. Finding one, she set it on the table next to his t-PA and the box of syringes, compulsively straightening the small collection into a neat line.
He watched her as she did this, and it suddenly struck him how small she was. A tiny bird of a woman. Fragile. The sudden notion that he would need to protect her from everything hit him, but he pushed it aside. Nonsense. I don't protect people. Besides, she can take care of herself. Yet the idea persisted. His eyes never left her as these thoughts coursed through his mind.
She sat down in her chair and pulled her knees up to her chest, staring into space. Seemingly of its own volition, her gaze kept coming back to the bright sword on the table, but she wasn't seeing it. "Do you miss the actuators?" she asked suddenly, looking at the gleaming micro-surgery arms.
"Miss them?" he echoed. There was a pause and his voice grew quiet. "I suppose I do. I don't miss them, per se, but I miss having them. Using them. They'd become necessary for so many things." He looked away, seemingly unwilling to say any more, but what could be gathered from his tone was a vulnerability that he was not comfortable with.
"After the first time, it took two days for me to get used to not having them again." She closed her eyes. "I'd reach out for something, and realize that the reason my arm didn't move was because I'd reached with one of them, and they simply weren't there. They're addictive, aren't they?"
"That's one way of putting it," he replied. He leaned back in the chair, his right arm draped over his lap, and regarded her.
She opened her eyes, poked the vials into a straighter line and rubbed her ear again. She wasn't scared; this would be no worse than some of the more extreme piercings she had seen. And she trusted the man who would be holding the blade...
She looked over at Otto, meeting his eyes. Yes, she trusted him.
He continued to watch her, still and silent, yet radiating an unidentifiable energy. There was no turning back, now. Not with that kiss. No escape. No second thoughts.
She watched him, and then uncurled from her chair and went to him, sitting on the arm of his chair and leaning back against his shoulder, wanting the contact.
He curled his arm around her, the right one still draped in his lap, and slipped his fingers into her hair, toying with it as he stared ahead in thought. It was strange that his touch could be so light, and so tingling with energy at the same time. He turned his head to look at her and she could see his eyes, black and unreadable. She turned towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking her head into the angle of his neck. It felt right; she fit there. She held that for a moment, and then she brought her head up and kissed him on the corner of the mouth.
That one-sided smile flickered across his lips and he turned his head, tilting it back until his lips met hers, a little less insistent this time, but still just as hot, just as possessive. His arm curled tighter around her and his other hand made it to her hip where it rested, warming the skin under her clothing. She smiled against his lips and covered his hand with her own, reveling in the heat. She was always cold, but he was generating enough warmth for them both.
She felt tiny in his arms. Almost as though she would break. But it didn't matter. None of that did, not after what she'd started. He pulled her against him, deepening their kiss, his fingers curling in the fabric of her shirt between her shoulder blades. A part of his mind wondered if she knew what she was getting into. Another part didn't care if she did or not. And a third part suddenly unwound itself - released its tension and left him almost euphoric. Almost as though this was something he needed.
She opened her mouth to his, making a small noise of contentment deep in her throat, and then she ran a line of tiny kisses down his jaw, down his neck to the collar of his coat before arching up and laying a kiss on his temple, right where she'd injected the ZJ years ago. Her fingers combed his hair back from his face as her lips rejoined his, and she slitted her eyes open like a cat's to watch him.
He'd sighed as her lips traveled down his neck, his head tilting back, his hand making its way to her hair, fingers curling in it. His breathing grew slow and heavy again and his eyes slipped shut, a sound like a growling purr escaping him as her fingers combed through his hair. His pulse pounded in his fingers as he drew them along her neck and forward to her collarbone, a hot, pulsing pressure against the hollow of her throat before his hand slipped down over her chest and stomach and curled round her waist, pulling her close against him, his other hand very slowly making its way up her side. She took a deep, shuddering breath and twitched sideways. "Ticklish," she mumbled against his mouth, smiling. Her fingers withdrew from his hair and slid down the lines of his face and neck, memorizing them.
"I'll have to remember that," he murmured into her lips, one half of an evil smile flashing, for just a second. His head fell back, his neck sleek and soft under her fingers, and his left hand slid back up her chest, over her shirt, to slip around the back of her neck and into her hair again, his right hand staying against her side, in the slight curve of her waist.
Her hands were on the buttons of his coat when the clock chimed. She dropped her head against his chest for a moment before pulling reluctantly away and sitting back up on the arm of the chair. "It's that time again," she said wearily, reaching across and retrieving the vials and two syringes.
He sighed a gusty sigh in an effort to calm his breathing, his head still dropped back against the back of the chair. "Hnnnnnnnnnhhhhh," he said, a frustrated sound. His eyes flicked to the phone and he rolled his head in its direction, glaring at it as though telling it to just get it done and over with.
She drew both his dose of the t-PA and a very small dose of the local for her. Too much could numb her face, which would give the ploy away. She mumbled something extremely uncomplimentary about Hanover and his skills of observation.
That caused Octavius to snicker, though his eyes didn't move from the phone as she pushed up the sleeve and injected the next dose, using the smaller vein that ran parallet to the one she had been using. The feeling hadn't returned to his arm at all, otherwise it probably would have ached from all the injection points, which had started to bruise slightly. After rolling his sleeve back down, she handed him the other syringe. "Help me? It's harder to do it myself," she explained, sitting on the arm of the chair again, her back to him. She pulled her hair out of the way and folded her ear forward. "Anywhere in the upper lobe," she said. "Put it just under the skin, press the plunger smoothly, and pull it out."
There was a pause and his right hand crept up until it rested on her head, fingers in her hair, holding it back somewhat when they curled slowly. He took the syringe in his left hand, then cautiously poked the needle against the skin of the ear's curve at an angle, nudging it in with a slight push. The plunger was depressed and the needle pulled out, then he handed it forward to her, his other hand slipping from her head to drop into his lap again.
"Thank you." She rubbed the injection site, tracing the shape of her ear, then picked up both needles and threw them into the red sharps container. When the phone rang, she slipped her hand into his right, squeezing it slightly.
He picked it up and pressed the button. "Yes, now what?"
"And hello to you, too, Sunshine," Hanover's voice replied. "Is Doctor Holmes still there?"
"Yes," Octavius replied.
"You two having fun?" Was Hanover's next question.
It wasn't much acting at all as Octavius got angry. "Are you as dense as you appear, Hanover?" he demanded. "I assure you that Doctor Holmes is far from safe here and becomes less so the more you irritate me!"
"And what do you stand to gain from that, Octavius?"
He growled into the phone. His eyes flicked up to her and he mouthed, "Scream," as his hand gripped hers. "If a demonstration of my intent is what you wish, then that is what you will receive!"
She shrieked in mock terror, her eyes dancing. Despite what was about to happen, she felt giddy. Perhaps it was the pain-killer.
"Octavius, don't be hasty!" Hanover shouted.
"It's far too late for that, Hanover!" He barked into the phone, "You will see what your foolishness gains you!" With that, he hung up the phone and stood, pushing her toward the door, picking up his sword. "Front door," he said, his right hand gripping her shoulder.
She opened the lab door and led him down the hall, noting in passing the mess that the police had left of her house. She opened the front door, blinking in the headlights that were aimed at the porch. The sun had gone down at some point in the past hour, and the air outside was cold. Otto's hand was a comforting warmth on her shoulder.
Hanover, who was still sitting on the hood of the squad car, scrambled from his perch, but didn't approach. He held his gun up, though. "Don't do it, Octavius," he warned. "The place is surrounded."
Octavius' sword came up against the side of her head. "My demands have changed, Hanover!" he shouted. "Remove those men from the premises!"
"You know I can't do that, Octavius!" Hanover shouted back, squinting, trying to draw a bead on the other. Holmes was so small that she made a very bad shield.
"This is your last chance! SEND THEM AWAY!" His left hand trembled visibly.
"Rethink your terms! These men aren't moving! Rules of engagement, Octavius, you're slipping!"
"FOOL! Do you think I demand these things lightly! This show of force gains you nothing!"
"It gains me the ability to storm the place if she dies, Octavius!"
"You leave me no choice, you yammering idiot!" Octavius growled. "I promised you that if your men did not leave, she would start losing parts! I always keep my word, Hanover! THAT should be in your file as well!" With that, the sword, which had been trembling against the side of her head, flicked and, with a small spurt of blood, sliced off almost the entire outer portion of her ear.
The local hadn't worked as well as she would have hoped, and there was no acting in her scream of pain. She clasped one hand to the side of her head, blood running through her fingers as she swayed, falling against Otto as she lost her balance.
At the same time, Hanover cursed and fired, the bullet exploding part of the door frame. Octavius pulled her backward to shut the door as Hanover fired again. Octavius jerked violently, slamming the door shut before slumping to the floor against it, his breathing loud.
Clair rolled up onto her hands and knees, gasping and holding her ear. When she could control herself, she looked up at Otto. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly. Where had the second shot gone?
He lay slumped against the door frame, chest heaving, right hand weakly clutching his left shoulder. His head had fallen forward, and his hair hung over his face, obscuring it from view. His left hand twitched spasmodically.
"Ah no," she breathed, ignoring the blood dripping down her neck. She scrambled to his side, pushing his hand away to examine the wound. There wasn't much she could see as the longcoat covered most of the wound, but her probing fingers found an entry wound in the meat of his shoulder, just under where the collar bone met the shoulder joint. There was no exit wound. Blood made her fingers slick as she pushed at the folds of the flap that covered the shoulder of his longcoat. His breathing was fast and hard, and he seemed only semiconscious.
Desperation gave her strength as she pulled the longcoat off his shoulder and tore away the shirt beneath to find the bullet wound. "Stay with me," she told him. "Come on, stay with me."
He shuddered and his breathing grew louder, heavy gasps. His feet scraped against the floor until his left found purchase, pushing him against the door. He appeared to try to haul himself upright, as he curled inward and pushed more of his back against the door. His eyelids fluttered behind the sunglasses that had slipped down his nose, and his teeth clenched. She stood up, supporting as much of his weight as she could. "Come on," she repeated, a mantra to keep them both moving. "Come on, back to the lab. Come on." She had first aid materials there, and drugs to ward off shock. She hadn't dealt with a gunshot wound since her internship in the ER. It didn't matter, she could do this. She had to.
He staggered against her, losing the shades entirely in the process, and they made their weaving course back to the lab, his breathing growing louder and more laboured by the second, his right arm, which was draped over her, twitching weakly and his left hanging nervelessly. He nearly fell against the lab doorway, leaning against it nevertheless and taking a moment to gather his strength before his legs buckled. He hauled himself from the doorway and continued into the lab, but slumped to the floor once inside, eyes screwed shut, breath coming in heaving gasps.
"Come ON," she growled, pulling him towards the couch. Her grip was slippery with both their blood. He moaned loudly and rolled, attempting to get his feet under himself again, succeeding somewhat and staggering to the couch before he dropped onto it, choking with pain, his face slick with sweat.
She pushed him until he was lying on his back, propped up slightly against an arm so the wound was higher than his heart. Easing his left arm out of the coat and torn shirt, she pressed the heel of her hand down hard on the hole, trying to stop the bleeding. "Please don't die please don't die please don't die," she muttered while she reached with her free hand for the vial of local left over from her ear.
He spluttered and choked something that sounded like "Been through worse," a delirious half-grin on his face as he twitched violently, his eyes still screwed shut. His right hand flapped weakly until it found her arm.
She drew the local, a lot more than she'd used on herself, and injected it into the muscle of his shoulder. "Worse?" she asked distractedly, still applying pressure.
"Hnngh... egh..." he gagged. "Arms... pulled out... more... painful than this... not quite ... as ... messy..." His twitching features slackened somewhat and his mouth dropped open slightly. He still gasped loudly, and his hand gripped her arm. His hair lay in damp strands around him. "Damned ... arachnid..." he muttered.
"We're going to patch this up," she said, as much to herself as to him. "And we'll go back to New York, and you can beat the crap out of Spider-Man. I've got to get the bullet out." She stretched, reaching with her free hand to snag a pair of long tweezers from a jar by her microscope.
"Heh..." he choked. His twitching seemed to lessen and his head rolled to one side. "Owe him a thrashing... for this whole ... fiasco ... anyway..." he mumbled.
"What did he do?" she asked to keep him talking while she eased up on the wound with her left.
Octavius gasped, his face twitching spasmodically. "He never stops, you know... unceasing juvenile prattle -" he coughed, a wet sound. "Had that seizure... while ... I was... fighting him..."
"Hold still," she warned him, holding his shoulder down as she poked the tweezers into the wound, following the hole down as gingerly as she could. She could feel it when it tapped against the bullet, wedged against the bone. As carefully as she could, she shifted to get a grip on it.
He made a breathless, wincing sound of pain, clenching his teeth. He twitched spasmodically, eyes rolling, and shuddered, still gasping.
"I'm sorry," she said through gritted teeth. She twisted the tweezers, got a firm grip on the flattened bullet, and pulled it out with a smooth jerk, throwing it aside and clamping her hand on the wound again, stemming the fresh flow of blood. "Out."
He moaned and grew still, chest still heaving. His head rolled to one side and went slack, lips parted, eyes closed.
She darted over to her medicine box and retrieved a roll of bandage and tape. "Talk to me, come on," she insisted back at his side. She pressed a folded square of gauze against the wound, and then replaced it when it reddened immediately.
"Nnnhhh..." he mumbled. "Whsss...ngh..." he swallowed laboriously. "How far... in ... did it ... go...?"
"Past the collar bone, up against the shoulder blade. It missed the ribs," she said, taping an additional pad of gauze over the wound, not taking the pressure off. "It missed all the big veins."
"Lucky ... that ... the last thing... I want is... to die at the hands... of some ... trained monkey... with a gun... humiliating..."
"You're not going to die," she snapped. "No one's going to die."
"Hahhhhhh... Hnhhhhhh..." his breathing seemed to calm somewhat. "Trust you..." he slurred. "by now..."
"I'm glad," she said, smiling. Her hand was shaking as she covered his hand, which was still on her arm.
The telephone rang again. Octavius slitted his eyes open and made a strange, sleepy grunting sound, but otherwise didn't move.
She looked at it. "If we don't answer that, they'll probably come in after you." She pulled away and picked up the phone, putting it to her good ear and answering hesitantly. "Hello."
"Doctor Holmes," Hanover's voice said. "How badly harmed are you?"
"My ear," she choked out. "He cut off my ear."
"Huh," Hanover grunted. "Bastard keeps his word, doesn't he?" There was a pause. "Is he injured?"
"No," she lied. "But he's really angry now."
"I'll bet," Hanover growled. "Put him on the phone."
She looked over at Otto, covering the mouthpiece with her hand and whispered. "Can you talk to him?"
"Hnnnh..." was his only reply. His eyelids fluttered but remained closed. His breathing had relaxed and he appeared to have fallen asleep, or perhaps floated in semiconsciousness.
She brought the receiver back to her ear. "He doesn't want to talk to you."
"Figures," Hanover replied. "He'll talk. Octavius won't shut up."
"He says he's not going to talk to you," she repeated, letting hysteria raise the pitch of her voice. "Please, don't make him angry again."
There was another pause as it appeared Hanover thought this over. "He really has got you scared, hasn't he?" he murmured. "Take care of that ear, Doctor Holmes. We'll have you out of there as soon as we can."
"Please," she said miserably. "Don't do anything to make him hurt me again."
"He won't hurt you again, Doctor Holmes," Hanover replied, hanging up.
She set the phone down and came back to Otto, sitting on the couch by his hip and checking his pulse. It was fast and uneven, a sign of shock. "I think it worked," she told him, brushing the hair out of his face.
His eyes slitted open and looked at her, watering painfully. He gritted his teeth and lifted his left hand, placing it against her face, in front of her sliced ear. It was cold. "Does... it hurt?" he mumbled.
She nodded. "But it's okay. Not as sharp as it was. Thank you for being fast."
"Heh..." he mumbled, his fingers moving against her face. "I almost wonder... if you... could reattach it..."
"I couldn't do it myself," she said, putting her hand over his. "But someone else could, potentially. If the . . . piece gets saved."
"Mnngh. Go... find it. Save ... for a while... could be soon enough...when you leave here."
She nodded and stood up, squeezing his hand before going out of the room, leaving the door open. Her ear throbbed as she went down the hall, a painful accompaniment to her pulse. The piece, almost the entire upper half of her ear, was lying on the floor just inside the door. She picked it up gingerly and got a handful of crushed ice from the refrigerator door, putting them both in a bowl and on the top shelf of the fridge. She had about eight hours, if the tissue didn't get too damaged. She looked at it sitting next to her milk and Brandon's left-over nachos, and shut the door before the surreality got to her again, turning and going back to the lab.
