Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Rating: R
Summary: The world is falling down around Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and Morton Rainey. What's the next step towards a grander plan?
Disclaimer: For the record, House doesn't belong to us either
Author's Notes: Enjoy the backlash from Chapter 10.
Stuck Inside a Hospital with the Antibacterial Blues Again
House stared hard at Sands, trying to figure out what could have gone so wrong so soon. He'd sent Jorri off to find out information about some of the other people in residence at the cabin and he hoped for answers soon.
"What the kind of name is 'Tokey,' anyway?" he muttered. Sands didn't answer; he barely nodded. And if somebody didn't come soon, House thought he just might have to resort to drastic measures.
Jorri returned to House shortly, Merrie, Tokey, Shooter, and cop in tow. She shrugged at House's curious glance at the caravan she'd brought. "She insisted on bringing him," she gestured to Mort, "and the cop wouldn't leave his side."
"Ah'm fine now," Shooter drawled glaring at the cop. "That temp'r'mental lil lady's gone now."
"I don't think so..." the cop said tightening his grip on Shooter's arm.
Shooter hissed, "Watch where yer squeezin!" Then he took notice of Sands sitting on a gurney and snickered. "They finally got you down, eh?"
Sands cocked his head. It sounded like Shooter and that was bad, but he couldn't care. "Me too what?"
"Isn't he witty? I got him to agree to tell me the secret to life, the universe, and everything," House mocked.
Shooter ignored House's comment. He looked at Sands, his face contorted into a look of confusion. "Wha's wrong, Sandsy boy? Cat got yer tongue?" Shooter chuckled.
"He's never been one for wit, although he does give it a good go," Tokey said, addressing House.
"That's not the way I've heard him tell it. When he wasn't in shock, of course. Shock does tend to make you a bit tight-lipped," House nodded seriously.
"Shock," Sands repeated dully.
"Mild shock, but shock just the same. Now, you," House gestured at Tokey, "what happened? Short version."
"How come he's in shock?" Shooter asked curiously.
Tokey talked over him. "He went bonkers. Tried to drown himself in the lake which spurred Harry's arrival, then Sands came back. I'm not for sure what caused this…um…most recent personality to come forth." She shrugged as she watched with mild amusement as Sands looked dumbfounded.
"Ha! Personalities. I was right." House looked smug. Sands vaguely knew that wasn't right. If he was insane, the Company wouldn't have kept him. The other "personality" wasn't real if he didn't give it a name. He hadn't. And the recent outburst...that was a fluke. He liked guns and knives and weapons. If he got a little slap happy...it could only be expected that people get hurt. He wished he could muster up more righteous indignation.
"Not right. I'm fine," he muttered.
Jorri raised an eyebrow. "Yeah...you're not right," she said in response to Sands' incoherent statement.
Shooter laughed slowly. "I couldda tole you that!" he chortled. Tokey turned and punched Shooter in his good shoulder.
"Shut up! You're gonna piss him off and make him go ape shit again!" she hissed.
"I don't go apeshit," Sands grumbled. "The people I injure usually deserve it."
"Ooh, Angel of Death. Good one. But you also know that saying that could land you in jail and it'd be easier to admit mental deficiency. No offense, Officer, but even you would admit it's the way to go." House spared a look of distaste for the cop gripping Shooter.
"Mental deficiency?" Sands and Merrie echoed.
"Bull shit," Sands snapped.
"I kind of have to agree with him, House," Merrie frowned.
"And multiple personalities are normal?" House countered.
"Wha's wrong with multiple personalities?" Shooter asked defensively.
"Oh shut up, Shooter!" Tokey growled. "You say he's got MPD?" she interrogated House, a spark of excitement in her eyes.
"I do not have MPD and can some one please fix my leg before I freak out?"
"You didn't even let him get to surgery first?" Merrie rounded on House.
"Well, if there's going to be a psycho murderer running around this hospital, it's kind of my job to make sure he's not in a position to murder people, isn't it?" House asked casually.
"Goddamn it, I am not a murderer," Sands yelled. The ensuing silence was an uncomfortable one.
Shooter snickered, "Well we've yet to find out. An' you certainly have tried to kill Morty here." He gestured to his shoulder and leg.
Jorri looked at Shooter perplexed. "He refers to himself in third person," she stated aloud somewhat towards House. She was an intern studying psychology, so anything that seemed remotely psychotic she jumped on it.
Sands hopped on it as well. "He's the one with MPD. Talk to him. Now will you stop screwing the pooch and look at my leg?"
"We'll get you in the ER shortly," Merrie nodded with a glare for House, who shrugged.
"Excuse mah?" Shooter fixed a glare first at Jorri for voicing her thoughts, then at Sands. "Ah most certainly don' have none of this MPD ya'll be speakin' of." He crossed his arms defiantly.
Tokey snorted. "Sure you don't, Shooter." She muttered it under her breath which warranted a death glare from Shooter.
The cop looked between Sands and Shooter. Sands was the accused gunmen, while Nicole was the one caught with the weapon. Shooter was definitely not very safe judging by his little show earlier in the ER. He turned to Merrie. "I can assist you in escorting him if he-" He nodded to House. "-can keep an eye on Mr. Rainey here." He looked at the two doctors waiting for an answer.
House eyed Shooter. He looked rather typical and boring. A little messy, a little nerdy, and completely prosaic. Even the southern accent couldn't save him.
"Not my line of work. Jorri can watch him," House answered shortly. Merrie rolled her eyes. Some people might have mistaken him for immature and she enjoyed it, but now was not the time.
"All I know, is that he has to be fixed up," she gestured at Sands. "If you'll let me do my job, I think we'll all be just a little happier."
"But I am happy. I'm the happiest man in the world," House pointed out.
"Goddamn it, hurry up!" Sands hissed. His endorphin rush was ebbing and his leg was starting to hurt. A lot.
Jorri began to protest but was cut off by a look from House. "Fine," she said, taking hold of Shooter's arm. This might be a good learning experience. "So, Mr. Rainey, you're not from around these parts are you?" she asked, referring to his accent.
"First off, mah name's John, John Shooter. I'm a dairy farmer from Miss'ippi."
"Hm. That's very interesting," Jorri jotted down some notes on a pad she was carrying.
Tokey watched Sands who was getting annoyed. "You might want to steer clear of him when he gets pissed if you can't prevent him from getting angry. He tends to get a wee bit feisty," she warned Merrie.
Sands' knuckles were turning white from the grip he had on the arms of the gurney. A shattered fibula was no laughing matter. Merrie took this as a sign to get moving and quickly wheeled him out, the cop dogging her steps.
House got to his feet as well. "I suggest you get him to the waiting room since he's obviously not sick or disabled and doesn't need immediate help. I'm getting a sandwich."
"Wha-? Wait! He thinks he's a dairy farmer from Mississippi! That doesn't require immediate medical attention?" Jorri called after House pointlessly. She sighed, and turned to Shooter. "You hungry?" she asked.
Shooter perked up a little. "Is there any corn?"
Jorri's brow puckered. "Corn? I don't know. Perhaps." She turned to pull Shooter behind her after the quickly fleeing House. "Dr. House! Wait! We're coming with you. Mr. Rain-er Shooter wants some corn!"
Tokey frowned as everyone left her standing in the middle of the room. She looked towards the departing Sands and then to Jorri dragging Shooter along behind House. She shrugged her shoulders. It would probably be more amusing to watch the interaction between House and the others than a waiting room. She turned and hurried after Jorri.
Corn? House thought. What kind of a hospital has corn? Or what sane hospital. They'd better have a Reuben sandwich or this day will just be shot to hell.
He didn't slow his gait. If they really wanted to catch up with him, they could.
Jorri dragged Shooter the whole way until they caught up with the limping doctor. Once they were even, it was fairly easy to keep up with him. He walked at a steady clip, despite his limp, thus they too had to keep a good pace. When they reached the cafeteria, they got in line behind House. Jorri raised an eyebrow at House's choice of sandwich. "Rueben? I would've thought you more a ham and cheese person," she commented.
Shooter was scanning the various dishes for any sign of corn.
"Ham and cheese is the byproduct of a mother too lazy to pack her children a proper lunch. And if she's really cruel, she'll put pickles on it," House muttered, sliding his tray along.
Jorri made a face as she grabbed a turkey on wheat. She offered one to Shooter who shook his head vigorously. She shrugged. Far be it from her to stop him if he only wanted corn.
Indeed Shooter's eyes were set on corn. As they moved along the line, his eyes lit up upon spotting a big pan of mini corn on the cobs. He gave the cook a big grin. "I want 6 of those cobs," he demanded impatiently.
Jorri looked at him bemusedly. "You gonna eat all those, Mr. Shooter?"
Shooter's jaw clenched as she looked at him. He pulled the tray of corn to his chest. "Yessum," he said firmly.
"Maybe he's pregnant. That would explain the craving for corn and the need to get six ears," House tossed back, leaning against the counter to pay for his sandwich.
Shooter's eye twitched. "Jes who do you think you are? You ain't nuthin but a wannabe sherink," he drawled, glaring at House. "You jes don't have the rightful taste."
"I'm not a 'wannabe' shrink. I'm a doctor who saw a golden opportunity to use his limited psychology skills to get away from a bunch of greed heads at my last job. Moot now, I hear he left, but I think it'd do my coworkers good to get along on their own. And for your information, corn's nasty." House made a face before turning and limping into the cafeteria. He sat down at an empty table, eager for some alone time to ponder this strange new case.
Shooter's eyes narrowed. "Corn is not nasty!" he yelled. He set his tray down at House's table and was about to lunge across it when Tokey caught up to them and grabbed him by the collar.
"Easy there, pilgrim. Don't let him get your blood pressure up. That's all he's trying to do, really." She gave House a bored look.
"I'm a bad boy," House smirked. Why these people wouldn't leave him alone was entirely beyond him, but they were beginning to give him a headache: the bad kind. The kind that warred with his leg just as his last Vicodin was wearing off.
Jorri chuckled, "Naw, you're just permanently cranky."
Shooter's eye was twitching like mad as he sat down to his corn.
"Don't even think about it," Tokey remarked, sitting down beside him. "Just eat your corn and shut your mouth." She turned to House. "Is there any sort of medication for MPD?" She asked, reaching over to his plate to steal a piece of corned beef.
"I wouldn't know." House pulled the sandwich away from wandering fingers and tore a bite out of it. "I'm not a psychiatrist. It's funny. I keep telling people that, but they don't seem to hear me. Maybe I'm just imagining it all."
"Hm..." Tokey pondered this. "Well then, perhaps you could prescribe something for Sands so he's not as erm...violent? Or something for Shooter to calm his nerves. He gets uber anxious at times. I do believe regular physicians can prescribe these sorts of medication, no?"
"I don't know if you've been watching my pill habits, but not all ailments, injuries, psychiatric problems, splinters, cuts or hangnails can be solved by medication."
"Then what exactly do you take yours for?" She asked noting the little pill he'd popped into his mouth earlier when Sands was present. She rested her chin in her palm, watching him curiously.
"Because it's fun," he said simply.
"Really, now?" Tokey said, watching as Shooter gripped a plastic knife a little too tightly and glared at House. She reached over and extracted the knife from his fingers. "Really though, you've gotta do something about him before he hurts you or himself in the process. Whether you like it or not, you're the doc," she said pointedly.
"So I take it that's the not so friendly personality," House eyed Shooter critically. "He'll be right up my alley."
"You enjoy getting into altercations with psychotic patients then?" she mused.
"It's a blast. You should try it sometime."
"Been there done that. Well, of course they weren't patients then, but that's beside the point. Harrison was really quite annoying. Sands' weaker half by far." Tokey shrugged, noticing that Shooter had taken up a fork. She sighed, grabbing it from him forcefully. "Just eat the goddamned corn!" Tokey cried exasperatedly.
Shooter fixed her with a glare. "Ahm gittin' there!"
"Harrison, who's Harrison?"
Tokey rolled her eyes exasperated. "One of Sands' little friends."
"He's a liddle wuss is what he is." Shooter said, eyes narrowing in recollection of the duel they'd had. "Thought he was gonna outsmart me. Hah!"
"And what happened that made you all come here?"
Another eye roll from Tokey. "Well gee, I dunno...maybe because we had wounds? Oh yeah, and our dear friend Tom is possibly dying? Yeah, Sands shot him couple times. Once in the stomach. You were a physician were you not? You know that a bullet wound to the abdomen results in a loss of blood. Lots and lots of blood."
Shooter shuddered at this, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked around, blinking. "Where are we?" he asked, cowering towards the only familiarity: Tokey.
"Get off of me!" she growled, shoving back into his own chair.
"Now, children, play nice. If you'd shut up and listen, maybe you'd hear me right. What led to the shooting?" Lord how House hated people.
"How the hell should we know?" Tokey shot at him. "You're the one with the title 'Psychiatrist,' not us."
Mort spoke up timidly. "He doesn't much like me."
"Did you notice anything about him? Was he different, did he sound different, did he suddenly get unexplainably weird like your friend here?" House gestured at Mort. "I can't guess what your friend's got until you start talking."
"Hey watch your tone, buddy!" Tokey snarled. "He just came back from the lake like that. He was kind of...weird."
I will not hurt them. I will not hurt them. I will not hurt them...House thought.
"You said he came back after the first one. What was he like between the time he came back and the time the ambulance came? What is he supposed to be like? I need answers."
"He's a real cocky, arrogant, bastard. He's full of that charming wit he was attempting back there. I thought you'd met him before." Her eyes narrowed at him. "Before the ambulance came he went berserk. He turned on Tom. He just freaked! He shot Tom in the stomach and then in the arm and then he chucked a knife at me and Shooter here-"
"Mort!" he growled.
"Whatever." Tokey shrugged. "Mort tried to tackle him, but he threw him off. Then he went after DB, and DB shot him, purely in self defense." She finished, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Those are some interesting symptoms..." House mused. He stood up, his sandwich gone. "You can stay in here, but I don't recommend it. You might find out what's really in the three bean salad."
"Where are you going?" Jorri asked, standing to follow. As fascinating as these...people were, she'd much rather follow the snarky doc around.
"Yes where are you going?" Tokey frowned. He was supposed to be helping the psychos, not running from three bean salad. Tokey frowned thoughtfully. "Might not be a bad experience. I'm not too crazy about beans to begin with."
"Are you kidding? They're good for your heart. And I work best alone. So, I bid you all good day," House smiled tightly and limped off to his lair to try and figure out what was wrong with Sam. Samson? Sidney? Whatever his name was.
Tokey turned to Mort and shrugged. "Eh. I guess we'll deal without the doc's help. You want to go see how Tom is doing?" she asked for lack of anything better to do. Mort shrugged noncommittally. Tokey stood, pulling Mort-who was still in cuffs-with her. "Nice to meet ya." She waved at Jorri, leaving her sitting by herself with her notes.
XXX
Sands groaned, his vision woozy. His hand and legs seemed disjointed and full of painkillers while he, on the whole, felt like crap. The smell of antiseptic, not the white blur was what tipped him off about the hospital
Goddamn, not again...
He shifted, trying to escape or get comfortable, he wasn't sure which.
"Easy there, you're gonna hurt yourself more," Merrie said. He began to move more frantically. "Stop it!" she chided, swatting at his hand like a small childs. "You're in a room. They got your leg taken care of. It wasn't bad at all, just a flesh wound." She smiled warmly at him.
"And my hand and thigh too, huh?" he murmured. He was vaguely amazed that he'd been able to form a coherent sentence.
"Yes, yes, those too. Those were stitched up without a problem." She took his hand, showing him the bandage over it. "See? All wrapped up!"
"So by rights I should be able to leave."
"Well..." Merrie bit her lip. "They need to watch for infection. It's quite common in bullet wounds for infections to start within the first 24 hours." She looked at him apologetically.
"Oh my Christ," Sands sighed. "You're lucky I'm too drugged to give a damn."
Merrie grinned goofily, mumbling something about a Duke. "You need to have the drugs. They help with the pain, and make everything bright and cheery." She smiled dreamily.
Sands frowned, generally looking like the most uncheery person on the planet right then.
"Well, for most of us they work," she muttered. "But I bet if you have more-"
"NO! Dear God, no more," Sands snapped. His head was swimming. He was going to fly out the window if he wasn't careful. Any more drugs and he would.
Merrie leapt back. "Ok! No more!" she shouted. She looked around cautiously to make sure that there weren't any unidentified flying objects coming towards her, then heaved a huge sigh of relief. "It's all clear," she breathed. "Are you feeling any better now?"
"Nope. I still feel like shit, thanks for asking."
"Oh," Merrie said dejected. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Food. Good food. Mexican. Step on it."
"Oh! Ok!" Merrie did a little jump, then calmed down with a frown. "Where do I get some?"
"I don't live here, I wouldn't know," Sands rolled his eyes.
"Oh...right. Well then! I'll go erm…get some!" she said and left the room nearly running into Sara.
"This isn't the orgy, that's next door," Sands piped up.
"Oh, I'm not interested. Thank you though!" Merrie called out. She turned to Sara. "What are you doing over here? Is everything ok with that other guy?"
"He's still passed out," Sara sighed. "I wish he didn't think I hated him."
Merrie looked taken aback. "You? Hate someone? Meh! Never! Why would he think that?"
"Because I left him after that bastard Shooter ran away. I figured he'd be better off if I wasn't dogging him and getting in the way," she sighed. "But I heard this guy Sheldon was his partner and might have some answers."
Merrie frowned, "Answers to what questions? Oh hey! Do you know where to get good Mexican food? That's what he's craving." She nodded her head in the direction of Sands, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Little Mexico?" Sara shrugged. "That's the only place I'm familiar with."
Merrie nodded and gave Sara a thumbs up. "Right! Thanks! I'll be back shortly." She nodded again, and ducked out of the room only to pop her head back in. "What exactly did you want?" she asked Sands.
"Surprise me. Something so outlandish that you've never heard of it before," Sands drawled. His head was back, watching the shadows on the ceiling.
"Alright! Will do! You-" She waggled her finger at Sara. "Don't stress him too much, ok?"
"Try not to," Sara rolled her eyes and took a seat in one of the chairs in the corner. "Word is you know Tom McCarthy."
"Tommy Boy's an asshole, but I know him," Sands said curtly, not looking at Sara.
"So you're not his friend?" She asked.
"I'm nobody's friend. But I'm being melodramatic. I know him about as well as I'd know a family member, somewhat distant, mother's cousin's daughter's step-father's aunt twice removed."
Sara's face contorted in confusion. "Huh?" she asked. "How long have you known him?"
"Beats me. A year? Little less than a year? He's my big poppi," Sands muttered.
Sara frowned, not the least bit amused. "Is that some sort of joke? Your poppi?"
"He follows me around and makes sure I don't skin my knees. It's a big world out there and I just love to fall down and go boom."
"I see. And do you offer him anything?" she asked skeptically.
"I haven't killed him yet, have I?" Sands sneered.
Almost did.
"No I didn't."
Sorry. I did. You were a pussy and hid in the fucking corner.
"You bastard..." Sands whispered.
Sara frowned. "Excuse me?" She said. "Hey, wait a minute! Did you just call me a bastard?" She asked, standing with her hands on her hips.
He started, shaken out of his conversation. "Bastard? I'm sorry, but you're not nearly mean enough. No, I just...had a bad epiphany is all."
Sara went towards him cautiously. "Are you feeling well?" She asked as she placed the back of her hand against his cheek. He pulled away. He hated to be touched.
"Listen, if you want to babble about Tommy Boy, do it now, or get out."
Sara's eyes narrowed. "Everyone says you did it," she said glaring at him. "Why?"
"Did what?" he sighed.
"Shot him, you idiot!" She smacked his shoulder. "Twice!"
"Touch me again and I'll fucking strangle you," he hissed. His eyes narrowed, but it wasn't in anger. He looked thoughtful and bemused. "Shit."
She wasn't so much frightened by his outburst as she was disturbed by his confusion. "What? What is it?" she frowned. "You did shoot him, right? Both that girl and Shooter said you did. If you didn't, I swear I'm going after that-that Shooter!" She spat, glaring as she waited for Sands to answer. She was going to ream Shooter if he had lied by saying Sands had done it. But what incentive had that girl had for saying it as well? Sara bit her lip as she thought about exactly who said what.
"I didn't shoot him," Sands shook his head. "But I'm beginning to realize why people would think I did."
Sara quirked an eyebrow. "A penny for your thoughts?"
Sands wondered what the pros would be of baring his bleeding heart for the girl. Something about a clear conscious. Not quite enough.
"Sorry, Sugarbutt, confessional's closed."
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you ok?" She frowned, studying and attempting to read him.
"Now what ever gave you that idea?"
"Perhaps the look on your face as your mind was clicking. It looked like it was almost painful for you to think," she pointed out.
"Is this really a psychiatric hospital that just does illegal surgery on the side and I just missed something?"
Sara glowered. "Hey, I'm just trying to be friendly, but obviously you don't want to socialize." She turned to leave. Screw him if he wasn't going to give her the time of day. She didn't need to worry about him. Tom was the one in critical condition.
"I said I'd talk about Tom. We're not here to discuss my eccentricities."
She turned around. "Well then tell me how he got hurt. Why he was hurt?" She stood in the doorway with her arms still crossed, almost as if threatening to leave if he wouldn't talk about what she wanted to talk about.
"He probably mouthed off and got himself shot. Unless he was being noble and got in the way of a bullet meant for someone else. I'm not entirely sure myself."
"Mmhm. So he gets mouthy?" she asked with a smirk. "And he's noble?"
"Oh yeah, very noble," Sands rolled his eyes. "He's fricken Mother Theresa on wheels."
"On wheels?" Sara chuckled at that. "What has he done that's so noble?" she asked moving back into the room.
"He agreed to take me as a partner," Sands shrugged.
She laughed out loud. "Haha! That is noble isn't it? You've gotten him into loads of trouble I'll bet."
"Oodles," he replied seriously.
She chuckled, then grew somber. "So, what happened to you?" she pried, hoping it would reveal some answers about what had happened to Tom.
"If I knew, I'd be out the door shooting the man who did it," he pointed out.
"Oh..." She frowned with a sigh. A lot of help he was going to be. "Were you not conscious?"
"You could say that. But then, you also might say I went on autopilot."
"So it's possible...you could've shot him on autopilot then...is it not?"
"Anything's possible," he shrugged.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she self consciously took a step backwards. "You're not on autopilot now are you?" she asked hesitantly.
"If I were, you'd probably be dead."
She let out a breath of relief, then scowled again. "So you are homicidal when on autopilot," she mused.
"No, I'm on autopilot when I'm homicidal. There's a difference."
"Uh huh. Well, what makes you homicidal?" She was trying to gain an understanding of the man before her.
"You're doing it again," Sands warned.
"What?" she asked, utterly confused as to exactly what she was doing "again."
"You're trying to make it about me. It's not about me. I'm trying to be patient and not go insane, but you're making it a wee bit hard. Why is that?"
"Perhaps because you shouldn't go insane?" she offered. "What can I do to stop you from doing so?"
"Not talking about me and just saying whatever it is you've come to say. I thought I made that clear already."
"Fine, then. You want to hear what I came to say? If you lay a hand on Tom whatsoever, I will take you out." She glared at him.
"To dinner? I'd like that, I think. But only if it were between friends, and not a date. I couldn't handle the pressure."
"I'd strangle you." She elaborated to get her point across.
"Good luck with that," Sands smirked.
Her lip twitched. "You doubt me, do you? Would you like to take this outside and find out?"
"Big man, beating on a cripple. Good on you. I hope you sleep better tonight."
"Except for the fact that I'm a woman. So you don't think I'll do it?"
"I bet you'd try. You don't strike me as the kind to get off on cripple fights, though. You're too honourable," Sands smiled lazily.
"Well then, let's get you better first. Then you can see what I'm really made of."
"Is this the point where I say, 'Bring it'?"
She moved closer towards him. "Would you like me to?" She very nearly snarled it, getting quite irritated by his mind games. Sands laughed. This was the kind of anger he could deal with. It was a lot more fun to piss someone else off than to lose control himself.
"If you think your conscience can bear it, by all means, 'bring it.'"
Her eyes narrowed as she threw out her fist. "You're a bastard you know that?" she growled. Sands blinked as the fist cracked across his cheek. Well...that had hurt.
"Thanks. Always good to get some feedback."
She glared at him and swung again, but this time he caught her wrist hard, causing her to gasp in surprise as a tinge of pain shot through her wrist.
"You're tempting fate, chica. Stop it," he said quietly.
"You could've killed Tom!" she yelled. "He could still die...What caused you to go homicidal and on autopilot?" She asked quietly. "Surely you remember something."
"I remember two things: Jack and shit, and Jack left town. Now get the hell out of my room before I kill you."
Sara laughed. "Hah! With what?"
"I'm mysterious like that. Get out."
Sara glared at him. "No! You're a murderer!" she replied.
"I have yet to kill anybody. However, if you ask nicely, maybe you'll see my first."
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "I'd like to see you try!" she scoffed.
"I shot Tom. Twice. And I enjoyed every second of it."
"So you admit it now?" she asked with a glare. She ignored the previous revelation of his "autopilot" drive.
"I've always admitted it. It's the bitch Sands who doesn't," Sands smirked. He was going to get a rise out of Sara one way or the other. And if he had to do it by capitalizing on the thing he hated most, so be it. "You know what, I'd shoot him again. I'd shoot his balls off. And when he screamed in pain, I'd shoot him again, and again, and again until he was nothing more than a mound of meat. How's that for a confession?"
Her eyes shot daggers at him. "You bastard!"
She hissed and lunged towards him, her fingers wrapping around his neck. His neck muscles tightened beneath her fingers as he'd learned in the CIA. They wouldn't hold long, but hopefully long enough. He brought his cast bound hand up behind her and smashed it down on her head as hard as he could from the awkward position. It was enough to make her slump on the bed, dazedly. He took advantage of the pause and wrapped the IV tube around her neck several times to ensure it wouldn't break easily. He tightened it slowly, millimeters at a time.
"Any last words, bitch?" he whispered in her ear. Before she could utter anything, the door burst open and Merrie strolled in.
"I got a little bit of everything! Some tacos, some burritos, some nachos, some chimichangas, some tostadas, some-" She looked up from the bag and her mouth dropped open in shock. "What are you doing?" she squeaked.
Merrie's entrance had startled Sands into looking upwards, taking his hand with the IV tube with it. He glanced back at Sara who looked to be in considerable distress. He shrugged innocently at Merrie and snapped Sara's neck to stop the struggling.
"Oops."
"Y-you killed her," she stated dumbly. Merrie stared at Sands speechless. She looked from Sara's lifeless body to Sands' wicked grin. She dropped the bag of food, turned, and fled from the room without a sound.
"Damn," Sands sighed. He really did have to stop being so rash. He shoved Sara off and decided that he had to run. To where or how he didn't know, but he had to get away. Headquarters would be a safe bet. He could heal in peace and be ready to run again if he had to. He'd go to Headquarters, but he needed help. And last he'd heard, he owed Dangerbabe a favour.
Tokey was pacing the hall outside where Tom was. She was getting antsy. She was jonesing for a cigarette badly. Finally, she succumbed to the urge, grabbed Mort-still in cuffs-and dragged him outside the hospital with her for a smoke. She lit up and inhaled quickly, closing her eyes in satisfaction.
Mort watched longingly and was about to open his mouth to ask for one when Sands came limping out of the hospital. "Hey!" he cried. "There goes Sands!" He pointed.
Sands had commandeered a crutch and was awkwardly trying to avoid any contact with his left leg and the ground. The drugs helped him ignore the pain, while necessity helped him continue in naught but a T-shirt and a long, buttoned-up overcoat. His pants had foiled him for the second time in one week.
Tokey whirled around and stared at Sands, her mouth hanging open. She jogged up to where he was limping, Mort tagging along. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyeing his attire. "And what are you wearing?"
"The latest in Parisian fashion," he grunted, still hobbling along. "I'm busting DB out."
"Well I'm coming too!" Tokey announced determinedly, following along beside him. Mort followed along behind.
"Wait, how are we going to get to the station?" he asked quietly.
"You'd be amazed at how little people care for the right price."
Sands made it to the curb with Tokey and Mort at his side. He flung his casted arm upwards. A taxi pulled up eventually, but the driver looked like he had second thoughts.
"The county jail. You can keep the change," Sands said calmly, holding up a wad of cash.
Tokey and Mort climbed in behind him. Mort was the last one in; he glanced at Tokey questioningly, as it was difficult to close the door with the cuffs. She scowled and reached over him, slamming the door shut.
The ride was a short one but it to take seemed ages for Tokey, who was crammed between two men who kept elbowing her. When they arrived at the station, they filed out and Tokey breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"What now?" she asked, looking at Sands. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Don't do anything stupid," he answered acidly. He didn't wait for a response, he entered the station with a determined set to his jaw. Tokey glowered and followed him in. She wanted in on part of the action.
When they went in, Mort held up his cuffed wrists. "Hey! Can someone get these off me?" he shouted.
Several cops looked up curiously, then turned away, uninterested.
Mort's eye began to twitch, and he started to crack his jaw when Tokey laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't," she said sternly, then she turned to the cops. "Somebody get these damn cuffs off him before he goes psycho on you all! Cuffs will be no hindrance to him then!"
Sands whirled around with a glare that covered his wince of pain. "What the hell are you thinking? Those are the only things keeping you from danger if he goes berserk! The cuffs stay," he warned the cop. "We've got more important issues at hand."
"Sheesh! Alright!" Tokey said with a roll of her eyes. "But I doubt they will be that much of a help." She looked at Mort, and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry."
Mort glowered at Sands. "Just how do you think you're gonna bust that lady out of here?" he asked rather loudly.
Sands sighed as cops snapped to action with guns aimed at the trio.
"I'm sorry, my friend has Turret's Syndrome. Can't control what he says," he shrugged. "Nobody's busting anybody out."
"He's trying to bust that lady out that was brought in earlier!" Mort cried, gesturing with his cuffed hands.
Tokey rolled her eyes. "Geez! Would you shut up?" she hissed.
Mort glared at her. Sure she'd tried to help him but now she was sticking up for Sands. "That other CIA agent-the blind one!" He looked frantically from cop to cop.
"Tokey, take him outside please." Sands was shaking from barely held restraint.
Come on, brain the stupid little fuck!
Sands shook the voice off and breathed deeply. Tokey nodded and did as Sands said. He was trying to spring DB, after all.
Mort tried to fight her, but she kneed him in the back while gripping his bad shoulder and shoved him out the door. "Now shut up and don't say a word, or I'll go fetch Sands and let him to unleash his wrath." She gave Mort a pointed look.
Once he was sure Mort wouldn't be any more trouble Sands turned to the still edgy cops.
"Listen, I'd like to bail out someone. I'm not really sure if she's up for bail though," he murmured thoughtfully.
The cop smirked. "Lemme guess, the blind agent?" He chuckled. "Nope she's not up for bail. She was caught holding a weapon in a room where 2 people were shot." He eyed Sands' many bandages. "I'm assuming one of 'em is you?" he asked.
Sands scuffed his foot absently. "Yeah, but it was an accident. Listen, it's all a misunderstanding. I'll testify. But you've gotta let her out."
"Nope. Sorry, no can do." The cop responded with a wistful smile, not sorry in the least. He told this to people day in and day out; it was nothing new to deny someone bail.
"Yeah, but you see...she's CIA. I'm CIA. I've got clearance to get her out. Get her out of there now."
Once again, the cop shook his head seemingly regretful. "I'm sorry sir, I can't."
"Okay, I really didn't want to have to say this, but you leave me no choice. She...she's a lycanthrope." Sands shook his head. "Quite tragic, really."
The cop snorted. "That's a new one. Care explaining that to me? How'd she get it, and what are the symptoms?"
"She got bit, sir. And I don't know about you, but she's king hell to hang out with on a full moon." Sands looked as sincere as possible. And somehow, he sort of thought DB would enjoy the lies he was feeding the cop.
The cop's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"She just goes insane. Have you ever seen Hannibal?"
The cop swallowed, his eyes wide as he nodded. "Yeah. Like that?"
Sands mimicked the wide-eyed fear in spades, but with every bit of honesty he could muster. He wasn't the best liar in the Company for nothing. "Just like that."
The cop's Adam's apple bobbed as he watched Sands. "Are-are you certain?"
Sands carefully undid the bandage on his thigh and presented the wound to the cop.
"I wasn't careful last night and it wasn't quite the full moon then." He reapplied the bandage over the vicious knife-turned-animal wound. "You release her to me, I'll keep her safe, ok? I've been doing it for awhile now."
The cop turned to another that was standing beside him, chewing on a nail. He nodded, and the first cop turned back to Sands. "I guess...we don't want no problems back here." He bit his lip, then nodded again, slowly. "First I gotta check with the sheriff. You wait right here." He jabbed his finger in Sands' direction and disappeared into an office.
Sands sighed and nodded. For not having done anything too illegal, he had to admit that he'd done a bang up job. He deserved a cookie for that. He resisted the urge to scratch the patch on his thigh. The gauze was chafing something fierce, but he didn't want to be thought of as the half-naked guy who scratched himself in police stations. It cut down on his coolness factor.
The cop emerged from the sheriff's office and approached Sands. "The sheriff said that we can release her on a $2500 bail," he said.
"$2500 it is." Sands took out another roll of cash out of the pocket. "We square?"
The cop's eyes widened in surprise as he took the cash. "Uh...yeah...just a minute."
He turned to another cop and handed him the money. Then he disappeared down a long dimly lit corridor. He returned a few minutes later with a mouthy DB.
"You'd better have a good reason for not getting me out sooner," she snarled, not caring who was on the receiving end.
"I was a bit caught up if you'll forgive me. You've got a sidekick waiting outside," Sands said casually. DB was stunned. Sands? Psycho Sands had bailed her out?
Tokey had kept a strong hold on Mort who was fidgeting anxiously. She sighed, finishing her cigarette, and glanced into the station. When she saw her mentor, her eyes lit up. She burst through the door so fast, Mort nearly ran right into it.
"DB!" she cried excitedly, approaching as quickly as she could while dragging Mort behind her.
"Tokey? Well...this was unexpected. Am I free?"
"For the moment, let's go before they change their minds, ok?" Sands whispered with a smart smile for the cops.
"What you thought we'd leave you here?" Tokey asked.
The cops watched their little reunion with mild amusement. Tokey let go of Mort and took hold of DB's arm to help her out of the station. Mort took this opportunity presented.
He slunk back towards the cops as Tokey and DB headed towards the door. "Now will you take the cuffs off? He's the one that's psycho! Shot a guy twice. Shot me twice!" He gestured to his wounds, his eyes darting frantically to Sands, willing the cops to do something fast.
Sands rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry officers. He belongs in the hospital's psych ward, but it was my day to take him outside and show him around. I had to bail Nicole out too so I took him with me. He means well, he's just not all there." He made the universal sign of the insane
"No! No, you don't understand! Don't listen to him! He talks to himself and has people in his head! He-there's someone in there called Harrison that doesn't like to be called Harry and there's another that that's homicidal that went after Tom and me and DB and Tokey!" He said this all in a rush, his face turning red from lack of oxygen. He shied away from Sands as he came towards him. "NO! Just look at him! He doesn't even look sane!" Mort cried.
Sands grinned sheepishly and led Mort to the door with a tight grip on his shoulder.
"Sorry to bother you, kind sirs. You won't regret this."
"No! Let me go!" Mort struggled as Sands ushered him out the door, the cops watching with perplexed expressions.
"I think they're both nuts..." one muttered.
"Why do you insist upon taking me with you when you wreck havoc?" Mort asked.
Tokey's lips twitched. "So he can blame his insanity on you."
Sands waited until he was sure he was out of the cops' range of sight before shooting a dirty look at Tokey.
"I've come to grips with my craziness. And I would never blame my shit on someone else. Don't you fucking think otherwise."
Tokey gave a little laugh. "What personality is this, 'Mr. I've got my panties in a wad'?"
Mort held back a laugh, not wanting to see Sands' wrath directed at him again so soon.
Sands knew he was being bated. He none to gently shoved Mort at DB who grunted from the unexpected impact. Sands dug into his pocket and with drew his tobacco and rolling paper. He couldn't imagine how long it had been since his last one, nor did he care to find out. He rolled a cigarette surely and quickly, sticking it between his lips before he did something really bad. The nicotine was sweet.
"I am me. Now lemme alone," he muttered.
Tokey shrugged. "Fine...sure." She turned to help DB steady herself. "Are you sure you don't need a cigarette after the past 24 hours?"
Mort looked at her longingly, licking his lips. "I wouldn't mind having one."
Tokey ignored him waiting for DB's answer.
"I don't smoke," DB answered. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to answer that question before she freaked. Smoking just wasn't her thing. Suddenly Sands turned, a look of concentration on his face.
"Listen. I suggest you both hightail it back to head quarters and get yourself some legal help from the Company. There's nothing I like more than running from the police, but I didn't just shell out $2500 for no reason. Get a lawyer on it."
Tokey frowned, and looked to her trainer. "DB?" she asked. Mort inched away from Sands, towards DB and Tokey. If they were going to be going away from Sands, he was all game to go with them.
"We were told to bring you back with us," DB pointed out.
"Suffice it to say I'm not going back just yet. I've got to make myself scarce. And I'll need a driver so I'll be taking Mort with me."
"And we're supposed to trust you to come back?"
"You can't trust me. But I bailed you out. Doesn't that count for something?"
Tokey snorted. "Trust you?"
Mort shook his head. "Nuh uh. I'll stick with them." He said, hiding behind DB and Tokey.
"You want to be put on trial and endure capital punishment? Golly, you must have a death wish," Sands scowled.
Mort frowned and hesitated. "Why would I be put to death for something I didn't do?"
Or don't know you did...
Mort shook his head. "They can't sentence an innocent! Can they?" he asked DB doubtfully. "You know I'm innocent, right?"
"You're as innocent as an escaped convict," Sands spat.
"Mort, you're going to go on trial. Your innocence has yet to be decided," DB glared at Sands.
"Mort, think about it. I'm your only means of escape right now. You go with them, you're facing almost certain death. You stay on your own, someone else is going to come looking for you. Who can better protect you than me?" Sands asked forcefully.
"And who's going to protect me from you?" Mort countered, stepping out from behind the women. "You shot me twice. Who's to say you won't do it again? Only this time, you might get me in the head, or perhaps in the stomach like Tom." He stood at his full height to look Sands in the eye.
"Don't piss me off. I'm a decent person when you don't piss me off," Sands stated simply.
"Hah! You don't know how to be a decent person!" Mort said, giving him a shove. "You showed up pissed and have been ever since. That or talked to yourself and that's a whole mood all in its own."
"Morty, do you really want me to persuade you to see things my way? I can guarantee you won't like it."
"No need to tell me that! I know I won't like it!" He scowled, and turned to go back down the street towards the police station. "Get the damn cuffs off," he muttered.
Tokey quirked an eyebrow at Sands. "You ready to go, DB?" she asked. She'd seen enough in the past 24 hours to tide her over until she went on a real case.
"I'll take the cuffs off if you'll get your ass back over here," Sands gritted his teeth. DB hadn't seen him act this civil before. She rather wanted to hear the show.
Mort stopped and turned around, glaring at Sands. "What if I don't believe you?"
"They think you're insane. Are they going to help you? Once again, I'm your best choice," Sands replied, holding up something that looked suspiciously like a lock pick. Mort grunted and stalked back over to Sands and held out his hands.
"Uncuff me then!" he demanded.
"Are you going to cooperate?"
Mort glared at him. "Just what are you insinuating about 'cooperating'?"
"You come with me. That's it. If we came across a car, I'd appreciate it if you could drive. We both need to get the hell out of here. No offense," he added to DB.
"Leave us for the wolves while you escape? Charming," Nicole said dryly.
"Pretty much. How's about it, Mort?"
Mort didn't like it, not one bit. He wanted nothing to do with Sands. He'd had enough of him to last him a lifetime. But he wanted to deal with authorities even less. "Fine," he grumbled, shaking his wrists for Sands to take the cuffs off.
"And we're supposed to let you go?" DB asked.
"It's that or you owe me $2500."
"You're kidding."
"Can we please go? I want to get some threads and catch a flight out of here."
DB sighed. Damn his charm. "Go."
"Oh, and for your information. You're a lycanthrope and tonight's the full moon," Sands tossed back. He grabbed Mort's hand and tugged him around the corner out of sight.
"Hey!" Mort protested. "You said you were going to uncuff me!" He stopped, digging his heels in the ground biting his tongue at the pain that shot though his shoulder as Sands tugged at his wrists.
Goddamn it, leave him!
"Okay, okay, fine. But shit, you'd better not run off or so help me..." Sands gave a final twist of the pick and the handcuff swung open. "Come on. Airport."
"Airport?" Mort still didn't move. "Why are we going to the airport? Where are we going?"
"I told you, we have to leave. Maybe west coast. Unless you'd rather drive there."
Mort frowned. "I'm innocent. I don't want to leave."
"The criminal always believes he's innocent until the time he's in the electric chair. Now have you forgotten our deal already?"
"What deal?" Mort asked with the smallest of smirks, his feet still rooted to the spot.
Sands shrugged, his hand ghosting out of the trench coat's pocket, briefly allowing for a flash of the gun nestled there. His hands slipped back inside before people could get suspicious.
"I wouldn't know."
Mort's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't shoot me out here in front of all these people." He crossed his arms over his chest, almost daring him to.
"Do you want me to?"
Mort's cockiness dimmed a bit. "You wouldn't do it, so it doesn't matter." He started to turn to go...who knows where.
"I did it at the cabin, didn't I, Sherlock?"
Mort turned back around. "But there weren't witnesses then." He sighed, knowing that was the least of Sands' worries.
"You weren't a witness? Tokey, Tom and DB weren't? I don't know about you, but that's an awful risk to run when any one of you could have run outside and driven to safety."
"Right. So tell me why again we're 'running'?" He glowered, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Because you promised to be good if I took the cuffs off you. Haven't you ever wanted a change of scenery once in your life? Besides, innocent or not, someone will come after you, if not me."
Mort sighed. "Fine. Let's just go!" he spat, irritated. Sands was right, someone would be after him, most likely Dave Newsome, the annoying sheriff that looked like he'd just stepped out of the Andy Griffith show. At least Mort could somewhat predict Sands' actions.
"Then let's go."
Honor Roll: Depplove: Someone special in chapter 10? Who might that be? ;) Well we got another chapter out of HANSA. Hope you limed! Cornfreak: You like corn? We got corn. Lots of corn. It's a permanent accessory, don't ya know. Enesvy: I know, how'd you get out without a scratch? Can we trade places? Please? Better a lycanthrope than a skewered Tokey. Or skewered Fiend…