Unreasonable Addiction

Chapter 9: Returning

By Yumegari and LRH, ed. Skylanth

It was beginning to get light again when Clair turned off the gravel road into a narrow, brush-filled campground, even though it was still dark under the thick trees. "We're here," she said unnecessarily, glancing at the compass that they had 'borrowed', along with two backpacks and a coat for her from a hiking store at the last exit. "The border's just that way, about a quarter mile." She pointed off into the woods.

He nodded and left the passenger seat, pulling the overstuffed rucksack out with him and pushing his arms through its straps. It looked a little odd on his big black duster coat. He crossed round to her side and waited, looking off into the woods where she'd pointed.

She got out and dragged her own pack out, hoisting it with some difficulty onto her shoulders. There were just too many resources that she couldn't leave behind, and the insulated box of chemicals took up so much room. Frank on his leash tangled around her legs, completing the ridiculous picture. She shut the car and locked it, pocketing the keys out of habit as much as any other reason. She shuddered slightly as the early-morning cold seeped through her new coat, but smiled up at him. "And we're off," she quipped, leading the way.

After a beat, he shook his head and followed her, easily catching up, feet crunching through the snow. He looked back occasionally, partly to see if they were being followed, and partly to look back at Clair, whom he'd already outpaced. A slight wind stirred his hair and he had to admit that, right now, getting out of that car he'd been stuck in for six days felt terribly good. He didn't like the outdoors much, as a rule, preferring the quiet and climate-control of a library or laboratory or even his own home, whatever it happened to be at the time, but right now, all there was was the crisp air, the snow, the quiet, and the space.

She tried to keep up, but with his longer legs, Clair found herself lagging behind again and again. It had been nearly painful to leave the heat of the car, and the slight wind did awful things to her nose. After the third near-trip, she scooped up Frank and set him on top of her backpack, where he seemed much happier. At least he was warm against the back of her neck, which helped.

Octavius looked back a few times, seeing her lag again and again, and tried to slow down. The last thing any of them needed was to get too far apart. He proceeded like this for about another fifteen minutes or so, looking back, slowing, continuing, looking back, slowing, until they reached the fence. He stopped and examined it.

She leaned against a tree to take the weight of the pack off her shoulders. The fence stretched endlessly in both directions, eight feet tall and topped in three strands of barbed wire. But luck was with them. Not far from where they stood, a small, branchy tree had fallen onto it. It was practically a ladder. Trying to catch her breath, she indicated it with a nod. "Up and over."

He looked at the tree. And realized he'd never climbed a tree before. Plenty of walls, yes. And then, always with the aid of his actuators. Miscellaneous city-bound objects. But never a tree. Otto Octavius did not climb trees. Until now. Adjusting the bag more firmly between his shoulder blades, which prompted a keen longing for the weight and shift of the tentacles instead, he reached out, gripped the trunk, and started to climb up it. He paused halfway up and looked back at Clair. She waved him on, trying too hard to stifle a cough to speak. Her eyes watered, and her chest felt heavy and thick, but there wasn't anything she could do about this now.

After another glance back, he scaled the rest of the tree, then, once he'd made it to the top of the fence and over it, he looked down. A good eight-and-a half foot drop. He'd dropped three times that distance, easily. But, again, always with the actuators to control his descent. He frowned. No tree in the middle of an empty forest was going to defeat Doctor Octopus! He grasped a branch, dropped onto it, and then let himself fall the rest of the way, landing couched in a puff of disturbed snow. He stood and looked back at her.

She scrambled up the tree, remembering a similar feat featuring regularly in her childhood, over the back fence of her grandparent's property into the horse pasture behind. On the other side she looked at the drop, and looked at Otto. "I'll drop my bag, and then I'll jump. Can you..." She broke off, coughing, and almost lost her grip, but recovered. "Can you catch me?"

He nodded, stepping closer until he was right under her. He caught the bag as she dropped it, setting it down, watching the cat land gracefully nearby, as cats often do. He looked back up at her, waiting for her to jump. She gripped the branch, lowering herself as much as she could, and then let go. He caught her as she fell, arms wrapping tightly around her, and slipped in the snow, losing his balance and falling backward in another cloud, feet in the air. He curled around her. She lay in the snow a moment, laughing. "Let me up, Otto. I've got snow down my neck."

He released her, watching her rub the stuff from under her collar, then put a hand to the side of her face. "Are you all right?" he asked, his smile fading and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "You're breathing loudly."

She snuffled, rubbing her nose. "I'm just out of breath. Too many hours in the lab, not enough time hiking in the woods. And I seem to be catching a cold."

"Hnnnh," was his only reply. He stood and looked down at her as the cat picked his way toward her. "We can't slow down," he said, putting out his hand to help her stand.

She picked up Frank's leash from the snow and stood up, relying far too much on Otto's help. Putting the bag back on, she pulled the compass out of her pocket, checked it, and pointed in the direction that they'd been going. "There's a road that way. It'll lead us to Wyette." She closed her eyes, visualizing the map. "Maybe a mile to the road."

He ran a hand briefly over her hair and nodded before continuing across the snow, which was much deeper here, leading slowly uphill. He slogged along through snow halfway up his shins, trying to create a path for her as she walked behind him. It was starting to get tiresome. He pulled at his collar and considered unbuttoning the coat altogether, as leather was remarkably good for trapping heat. He unbuttoned the collar at least, and continued wading.

She followed as best she could, picking her way in his footsteps where the path was broken. Frank demanded to be put back up on her shoulders. Her pack seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and it got harder for her to breath as the incline grew steeper. After, at most, three-quarters of a mile, she had to stop, leaning, gasping against a tree. "A break...need a break."

He walked back to where she leaned against the tree, also breathing heavily. Looking down at her, he waited for her to catch her breath. One hand lifted, hesitated, and then reached out to rub her back. He looked about their surroundings as he did so, already squinting in the light despite the sunglasses. It looked like it was shaping up to be a painfully sunny day.

She leaned forward, taking deep breaths. The cold air stung her throat, and she coughed. It had a nasty, wet sound. She was shivering and sweating at once, her skin clammy and cold. She shook her head, cleared her throat and straightened. "We've got to keep going."

He rubbed her back for another moment, then started walking again, wading more slowly through the snow, and looking back more often.

Once they reached the road, it got easier to walk, but she began to stumble, her eyes half shut. Every breath was painful now, bubbling down through her chest like ice water. And she wasn't getting enough air. She slowed and slowed to a stop, just trying to breathe.

He walked back to her, slipping an arm around her to hold her up, his head next to hers. "What is it?" he asked softly, bending over her. "What's wrong?"

"...can't breathe," she said hoarsely. "Hurts..." She fought to keep her eyes open. "Feels like... I'm drowning..."

He picked her up, sweeping her legs from under her, and carried her to a slightly darkened copse of trees, looking about to see if they could be seen, then knelt in the snow, still holding her. He pushed her shoulders upright. "What should I do? Tell me!"

"Geh," she coughed. "I think... s'pneumonia... Fluid in th'lungs." She shuddered and coughed rackingly, curling in on herself. "'m too cold..."

He pulled the rucksack from her back, and then wriggled his own off, unbuttoning his coat and putting it on her. "There's nothing else I can do for that. Tell me what I can do..."

She struggled to think. First year med school. Climactic illnesses. Pneumonia. Get the patient into a warm, dry place as soon as possible. Keep head and torso elevated. "Get me... out of the cold," she coughed. "'s making it worse."

Octavius thought on that, then looked back at the road. It was empty, and the nearest town was a mile away. He growled, his brow furrowed, and tried to think. There would be no way to get her to the town by himself quickly enough. At least, not now. Bitterly, he upbraided himself once again for leaving his actuators at homeif he'd had them with him, he could have gotten her to the town easily. He pushed a hand through his hair and looked at the road again. A dark shape moved in the distance.

A car.

He wrestled one of the backpacks onto her, and turned, crouching in front of her, his back facing her. "Grab hold, I've got an idea," he said.

She reached around his shoulders and clung on, wrapping her legs around his hips and pressing the side of her face into the back of his neck. He was so warm... Frank, bright cat that he was, hopped up on her back pack and clung there.

Leaning forward to keep her balanced felt terribly familiar. He waded up to the road again, and stopped, then reached back, almost completely around himself, and extricated the gun from the inner pocket of his longcoat. He stepped further into the road as the car drew closer and cocked the gun, slowly bringing it to eye-level of the driver. He stood perfectly still, Clair clinging to his back and the wind ruffling his hair.

Clair lifted her head to watch blurrily through his hair. The gun and Otto's obvious intent made her skin tighten uncomfortably, but she couldn't summon the words to stop him. Instead, she closed her eyes again and buried her face in his shoulder.

The car skidded to a stop in front of Otto, maybe ten feet separating them. Inside, the driver just stared at him, mouth hanging open. He was alone in the big sedan, seemingly stunned by their appearance in the middle of this otherwise-deserted road.

Octavius strode up to the car and pulled open the luckily unlocked back door, bundling Clair and her cat and the bags into the backseat. He got in himself a moment later, closing the door and pressing the barrel of the gun to the driver's head. "Drive. The town of Wyette is not far," he growled.

The driver, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a turtle-neck, trembled. "You're the boss, man." Carefully, he let up on the brake and the car moved again, heading towards the town. "Don't hurt me, please. I've got a wife and two kids."

Clair stirred, opening her eyes heavily. "Don' let me fall asleep," she said weakly, struggling to sit up. How had she gotten so weak so fast? She'd seen the effects of pneumonia before, acute or otherwise, but never imagined that she'd be victim to it.

"Just drive and I might consider it," Octavius spat. He switched the gun to his other hand, still keeping it pressed to the driver's head, and leaned toward Clair, taking her hand in his other one. "Talk to me, then," he said, leaning in close and squeezing her hand. "Keep talking. Like you did with me. Say something."

"'m cold," she said. "'Monia's nasty... fluid in th' lungs. Displacing air." Without moving her head, her eyes tracked to look at him. "It almost... never snows in Seattle. I'm not used to the cold anymore."

Octavius poked the driver with his gun. "You. Turn up the heat." He turned back to Clair. "It's still cold in New York," he murmured, leaning close to her again. On an impulse, he reached out and wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her close to him, trying to share his warmth. "Tell me of the winters you had those six years," he murmured into her hair. He tried to keep his voice calm, though he was sure she could feel his heart pounding.

She could feel his heart pound, even as hers slowed. His heat was burning her, and it felt so good... "My first winter there, it snowed. Lots of snow. Gave the ambulances trouble getting up the hills. Seattle's all hills. Since then, just rain. S'always raining. So grey. Th'whole state's grey and green."

The driver looked anxiously at them through the rear-view mirror, but he did as he was told. "What's wrong with her?" he asked suddenly. "She dyin'?"

"No," Octavius growled, nudging with the gun again. "Just keep driving. She won't die. I won't let her..." He looked down at Clair again. "I won't let you die... stay with me. Keep talking."

"Not going to die," she said firmly. "I'm thirsty. Need something to drink." Her eyes wandered around the car at random. "I thought we left the car in the woods?" She sounded confused.

"We did," he explained. "We're in a different one. It's the quickest way to get to the town. Once we get to the town, I'll..." He actually lost his words for a moment. "I'll find some way to help you."

"What's wrong with her?" asked the driver again. "Man, if I'd known you had a sick girl, you wouldna' had to threaten me."

Octavius grew still, then realization dawned and his eyes widened, gun hand going slack. He doesn't recognize me. Doesn't recognize us. He lowered the gun, stuffing it back into the pocket of the longcoat. "I thought it would have been necessary," he said gruffly after a moment, then returned his attention to Clair.

"I don't know where you come from, but around here, we help folks who need it," said the driver, good-natured despite his obvious relief. "I'll take you two straight to the hospital in town."

Octavius' head whipped up to stare at him again. "No!" At the puzzled look, he actually floundered. "We can't... I mean... we ... we ... can't..." he looked down at Clair again, hand pushing her hair back from her face, feeling her fevered skin.

Clair's eyes had slipped shut, and her skin was pale, except for blazing fever spots burning high in her cheeks. "Can't do that," she contributed, without opening her eyes. She felt herself drifting, somewhere warm.

"Why not?" asked the driver, looking back at them strangely.

Octavius ignored him for the moment. "Clair," he said, lightly slapping her face. "Clair... Clair, stay with me. Open your eyes... open them!"

"Mm?" Clair opened her eyes, blinked. "I'm tired. Lemme sleep..."

"Hey, she's in a pretty bad way," protested the driver. "I don't know what problems you got, but she needs help."

"No, Clair, you can't fall asleep!" he shouted, gripping her shoulders. "You told me you didn't want to fall asleep! Open your eyes!" At another protest from the driver, he pointed ahead. "Just drive! I ... I ... Clair... Clair, say something..."

She opened her eyes again, fixing them slowly on him. "I'm here," she said, mostly lucid.

The driver turned to look at them. "We're comin' up on the town now. What do you want to do?"

Octavius glanced at him as though having no idea who the man was or what he was doing there. He returned his attention to Clair, one hand on the side of her face, thumb moving lightly against her cheekbone. "Clair..." he whispered. "We're still two days out of New York. Can you make it there?" He looked to come to a decision. "If you ... can't... we can seek help here... whatever the consequences..." His brows met and he smiled ruefully, almost sadly. "What will we do?" he asked.

"I can make it," she said after a moment's consideration. As warmth continued to creep in, she felt more alert, though her words were slurred a little. She frowned, thinking. "I need to be warm, and propped up, and I need something to drink." She coughed again, harshly. "We can't go to a hospital here."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lips pressed softly and lingeringly against the skin, fingers in her damp hair. "We'll continue on, then," he said, holding her close. He looked up at the man in the driver's set. "Go into town. We'll find our own way," he said quietly.

Clair struggled to sit up more, to see past Otto to the driver. "Who's that?" she asked, suddenly dizzy.

"It's not important" Octavius started.

"I'm Sam Miller," the driver said helpfully, nodding a greeting to her in the mirror. "Your man here flagged me down for a ride. He was a little more forceful about it than he needed to be, but I'm glad to help. I'm glad you're doing better, you weren't doin' too well."

Eyes on the road, Octavius remained silent, still holding her. His heart still thundered in his chest, though it was slowing. His fingers curled in her hair. He dropped his head and whispered to her, "He doesn't recognize us."

She nodded subtly, though it caused her head to start spinning again. "Thank you, Mr. Miller." She looked out the window, seeing a small town around them. "Where are we?"

"You're in Wyette," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"She's sure," Octavius replied. "Just leave us off ... " his eyes roved until he spotted an out-of-the-way motel. "There," he said, pointing. "She just needs some rest, is all."

Miller looked extremely skeptical, but he didn't ask any more questions, whether out of discretion or a memory of a gun pressed to his head. He pulled over in front of the hotel and stopped the car, turning around, one arm slung over the seat-back. "You take good care of her, alright?"

A moment passed where Octavius stared at the other, an almost blank gaze, his eyes lidded. "I will," he said after a moment. "I had promised to protect her..." he continued, almost unaware of what he was saying. Was it simply the adrenaline having cut out? He didn't know. All he knew was that everything suddenly seemed strangely, bizarrely ... unreal to him. He pushed the door open, having trouble tearing his gaze from the other, and left the car, collecting Clair and Frank and the bags. They stood on the curb as Miller drove away, Octavius with his arms wrapped around Clair, Frank twining around Clair's legs.

Clair took her weight unsteadily, shaking her head unsuccessfully to clear it. She had gone from freezing to burning up, just in the space of that car ride. "Unn," she said, holding her head tiredly. "We still need a car."

"Yes, yes we do," came the reply. He looked about the parking lot. It was still early enough in the morning that people hadn't started stirring yet, and he idly wondered what day it was. He spotted a somewhat rusted Chevrolet in a corner, all but invisible to any of the windows about the place. "Come on," he said, picking up the bags and leading her toward it. "We can take that one. It's more unobtrusive that way." As they walked, he started searching his trouser pockets.

She leaned against him, her legs trembling. She recognized the symptoms now that her mind was working again. A high fever, which would eat away at her strength until it could be brought down. "He was nice," she said, referring to the departed Miller. "I'm glad we didn't just take his car."

"Hmph," Octavius harrumphed, still searching his pockets. "I suppose you're right." He gave up and started looking through the pockets of his coat, which Clair still wore. After a moment, he came up with some odd, thin, sharp tool that clicked out of its base when he pressed a button on it. He sighed and started to work on the lock with it, jiggling it, twisting it, jiggling it some more.

Clair shifted to lean against the Chevrolet, leaving Otto's hands free. "When did you learn how to pick locks?" she asked idly, watching his hands.

"One learns all kinds of things when one takes up a life of crime," he replied absently. "I think it was on a rainy night in Manhattan after Spider-man had, once again, destroyed my arms. I had no other way to get back to my laboratory and I certainly wasn't going to take a cab, not in Manhattan at three o'clock in the morning, I'd either be shot or turned in for drug money. So I found a little-used parking lot, used a claw, and kept trying until I got it right. At five-thirty. I only just escaped." The lock popped open. "Ah!" He pulled open the door and picked up the bags, pushing them into the backseat. He did the same with the cat, who meowed in protest. He then turned to look at Clair.

With difficulty, she climbed in and slid across into the passenger seat, fastening the battered seatbelt and letting her head fall back against the seat. "Two days," she mused aloud. "We're almost there."

"Almost," he agreed. He leaned over the steering column and pulled open the ignition. Two minutes of fiddling later, the car sputtered to life and he slid into the driver's seat, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street as calmly as can be. "The road atlas is in one of the bags," he said. "D'you think you could get it and tell me where we go next?"

She reached back and dug around in the right bag, coming up with the map and fumbling it open. Her hands shook just slightly as she spread it across her lap. "Okay, here's Wyette-" She broke off, coughing again. "Achk. I still need something to drink. And we need to head south, around Lake Michigan, and then northeast into New York." She spotted a street sign. "There, that will lead to the interstate."

He took the street, but before they reached the interstate, he turned again, pulling into the parking lot of a small gas station. "Any preferences?" he asked, digging in his pockets.

"Mm. Any sports drink, the types meant to re-hydrate you. Gatorade, powerade, that sort of thing. Nothing lemon flavored, please. And saltines, please." She lifted her head. "Do we need gas?"

He peered at the gas gauge. "No, looks like this one has a nearly full tank. We were lucky." He looked up, catching his reflection in the rearview mirror and let out a short bark of laughter. "I don't think anyone is going to recognize me," he said. "Not now, anyway."

Clair laughed and ran her thumb over the week's beard that decorated his face. "With this and without the coat, you're pretty anonymous."

"Let's hope so," he replied, catching her fingers and squeezing them. "Your hands are cold," he murmured, bringing her fingers to his lips for a moment, and she could feel the warmth of his lips and the tickling of his beard before he released her and left the car, walking into the gas station.

Clair let her head fall back once more, and her eyes drifted shut. Now that the delirium was over, sleep was probably safe. Unless her fever got much higher.

Her half-dreaming state was interrupted when the door opened, and Octavius seated himself behind the wheel again, holding a bag of what appeared to be bottles and cans of something. He fished out a bottle of something purple and handed it to her.

She looked at the bottle sleepily for a moment before remembering what it was and taking it, rolling it between her palms. She held it to her forehead, letting it cool the hectic skin. "Thank you."

He opened a large can of ... something and gulped a good deal of it down in one go, shuddering at the taste. "Ngeh," he observed, fitting the can into the car's drink holder. "We'd best get going, now," he said, reaching around the steering column again and twisting the wires until the ignition started once more. Within minutes, they were on the interstate.


Johnson knocked hesitantly at Hanover's door, the unfortunate message crumpled in his hand. He pushed it open. "Bad news from Lort, sir."

Hanover looked up from counting locations on a map and frowned. "What bad news?"

"They've slipped through, somehow. The Canadian police have combed every inch of the area, and no one's seen them." He handed him the scribbled memo. "There's a possible sighting near Toronto, but nothing definite."

Hanover scowled, yanking the memo from the other's hand and glaring at it. "Damn!" he growled. "Why are we always a step behind that psychotic son of a bitch? He can't be that smart that he's always evading us!" he got up and started to pace. "The roads all have checkpoints! We've scoured that TransCan highway with a Brillo pad! The borders are all blockaded! How could we possibly be missing them!"

"To be fair, sir, he's smart enough that he's still out there, after how many years? Longer than I've been on the force."

"You'd think he'd be too old for this kinda life, then," Hanover grunted, flopping back down in his chair. He glared at the map. "Can't even track his probable hideout, he's had so damn many of 'em. He's painfully visible but it's impossible to track him." He growled.

"I've been trying to get back in touch with Captain Morgan," Johnson continued. "But he's been out of reach, joining in the search. I can't find out if he still has Dr. Holmes with him or not."

Hanover blinked. "You mean, he might not have Holmes with him any more? Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"That's the thing," Johnson said, rubbing his stubble with a thumbnail. "I can't find out one way or the other. Lines keep getting crossed: I can't get the names of any of the witnesses from the Canadian cops, and the information isn't on any of the paperwork we've received yet. The way it looks, he's on his own now."

"If Holmes isn't with Octavius, she could be anywhere," Hanover grated. "This whole thing is falling apart at the seams. I'm gonna need people out there searching for her."

"We don't have enough manpower for two full-out searches," Johnson pointed out. "We can call out a civilian search, but that's about it. Our chances of finding her alive at this point are..." He shrugged one shoulder matter-of-factly. "The last place we have her confirmed alive is at the border crossing in Blaine. That's a lot of ground to cover."

"She could be dead in a ditch by now for all we know," Hanover growled. "And Octavius freely on his way home." He slammed his fist on the desk in front of him, causing the monitor to jump and a coffee cup to skitter an inch or so. "Son of a bitch! He's done nothing but outmaneuver us the whole time!"

"The only thing we know is that he's heading for New York," said Johnson crossly. "We can try to head him off there, get some answers. Otherwise, the only way we're going to find her is if she walks into a police station somewhere."

"Then we'll have to tighten security. Set up checkpoints on every road going into that godforsaken city if we have to, but I want Octavius FOUND!" He sat back, growling. "Goddamned supervillains. Why the hell did I take this job?"