THE METAHUMAN TRANSFIGURATION
Description: The gang gets superpowers. It's not as cool as some of them always thought. Alternate Season 9 premiere.
Notes: Thank you to everyone for waiting so patiently! Particular thanks to reader joann4172, who reviewed each and every chapter; reading your messages was a bright spot on my vacation. I'd like to start by noting that although this chapter doesn't quite cross fully into M territory—there's only a little explicit physical violence, no death, no sexual content and only the occasional profanity (diermo, by the by, is my transliteration for the Russian word for "s**t")—it definitely verges on it, by being a great deal darker and more intense than anything in the show or the story so far. There are some fairly unpleasant moments in here, some of our heroes make some morally questionable decisions, and the chapter ends on something of a down note, so if you're not into that sort of thing I might recommend skimming this one. For those interested in my head-casting, I imagine Michael Chiklis as Joe, Kevin J. O'Connor as Sammy, and Jason Alexander as Rozokov. (That's the great thing about fanfic; I can cast whoever I want without worrying about affordability or availability.)
Disclaimer: The author does not own THE BIG BANG THEORY or any of the characters.
- 10 -
SWEET ETERNITY CHAPEL AND MOTOR INN, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 2015, 8:11 P.M.
When Howard, Raj, and Sheldon had come back to the groomsmen's room and found it empty, they had all assumed after some discussion that Leonard had probably gone to the men's washroom to ride out nerve-induced gut cramps—"I swear on my mother's Bible I will never understand that man's bowels," Sheldon had exclaimed in disgust. They'd given him as much time as possible, but at a minute to eight, Howard had finally banged on the washroom door and called through it.
There had been no answer. The door had been unlocked. The room itself had been empty, and while there was a window, it was both locked and far too small for even the undersized Leonard to have squirmed through. At that point the serious search had begun, both within the building and outside it. But the Sweet Eternity was not a large establishment, and ten minutes later it was finally beginning to sink into Penny's brain: Leonard was gone.
Her bridal skirt poofing fluffily around her waist and her veil crumpled in her hands, Penny huddled into herself on the divan in the bride's room as the others argued back and forth around her, too numb even to cry. Not again, was all she could think. Not again.
"You're absolutely sure nobody saw him leave?" Howard demanded of the owner-minister, a grey-haired fellow in a bolo tie. "You checked with all your staff?"
The minister huffed in exasperation and called to his assistant, a short balding fellow who was passing outside the door. "Donny, have I checked with all the onsite staff? You, Holly Mae, Rebecca, José?"
"Yessir, Reverend Tomlinson, you have," said Donny promptly, stopping in the doorway.
"And did anybody say they'd seen Dr. Hofstadter leave? Was anybody even near the back exit, since that's the only way he could've left without anybody seein'?"
"Nossir, nobody at all," Donny confirmed.
"Whoa, whoa, stop," Howard snapped. "How the hell do you know that just because they said they weren't near the back exit, they weren't?"
Tomlinson stiffened angrily. "You callin' my people liars, sir?"
As the argument continued, Mary sat down beside Penny, putting an arm around her. "Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry," she murmured. "Whatever happened, this ain't how you want a wedding day to go, is it? How are you doing?"
Penny shook her head slowly. "I . . . I don't know," she whispered. "God, Mary, I was just so certain we were finally past this kind of crap. I mean, you saw him all day, same as I did! The way he planned all this out, the way everybody was so happy while we were getting everything together—it wasn't like our last try at all. I wasn't even getting annoyed by Sheldon." She sniffed and scrubbed at her face. "But . . . I don't know what else to think. You heard the way the guys said he was acting. What else could it be? Why else would he have bailed on us?" She choked back a sob. "On me?"
"Oh, honey . . . ." Mary squeezed Penny's shoulders. "If there's one thing I know about Leonard, it's that he loves you, and he's never gonna stop lovin' you. Look, the best of men get cold feet. And, well, I've met Leonard's mother . . . ." Her voice hardened. "God forgive me for speaking ill of someone behind her back, but that woman'd leave the Blessed Jesus thinkin' He wasn't good enough for the human race, she'd had the raising of Him. Maybe he just had to face down one last burst of self-doubt. I mean, it's not like someone would have just walked in and kidnapped him, would they?"
Penny shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Mary, I . . . ." She trailed off. Raj had suddenly stiffened, his head up, and was turning slowly. Blinking, Penny watched as he rotated to stare at Tomlinson's assistant, Donny, who was listening quietly to Howard and Tomlinson arguing. Then, without any warning at all, Raj suddenly strode forward, grabbed Donny by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall hard enough that the impact silenced all noise in the room.
"You," Raj snarled through gritted teeth, in a tone Penny had literally never heard him use before in her life. "Why are you lying to us?"
"Ex-cuse me!" said Tomlinson. "What the heck are you doin' to my—?!"
He vanished in mid-word. Sheldon lowered his hand and stepped closer to where Raj had pinned Donny against the wall, nodding at Donny's bulging eyes. "I see you've grasped some basic idea of the capacities you're dealing with, sir," he stated. "Raj, are you certain he's lying?"
"When Mrs. Cooper talked about someone kidnapping Leonard," Raj growled. "I felt it go up from his mind like a flare—shock, and fear, and recognition. In words it would be something like Oh shit, they know." He shook Donny hard again. "What do you know, you Vishnu-damned piece of crap? Did someone kidnap Leonard? Where did they take him?"
"Wait a minute." Penny threw her veil onto the couch, strode forward, then stumbled over the puffy skirt; with a snarl she unsnapped the buttons and shoved it down her legs until she could step out of it. Heedless of wearing only underwear, stockings and heels below her embroidered white top, she reached past Raj, knotted her hand in Donny's shirt and lifted him completely off the floor, slamming him against the wall harder than Raj ever had. Donny's head banged the wall, and his eyes glazed. "Do you know who I am, buddy?" she said, marvelling at how calm her own voice sounded. "I'm one of the people who saved a crashing FBI copter in Pasadena yesterday by catching it with my bare hands. I'm the Angel. And if you don't start talking, I'm gonna be an avenging angel. Now." Suddenly she drew back her hand and slammed him into the wall again and again, screaming a word with each impact: "Where! Is! My! Fiancé?!"
"Penny! Stop!" Mary pulled at her arm, with utter futility; she might have been pulling at a stone statue. Before she could smack Mary aside, though, Donny vanished from under Penny's grip and reappeared about two yards over, where he immediately crumpled to the floor. Furious, Penny rounded on Sheldon, but stopped when she saw him step backwards in fear, hands raised. With difficulty, she made herself lower her arms, though she did not unclench her fists.
"I know how hard to hit someone, Sheldon," she gritted. "He'll be fine."
"I'm sorry, Penny, but given your history of violence I think you can understand my reluctance to take the chance," said Sheldon quickly. "And while I have absolutely no concern for this man's welfare, the fact remains that at present he's the only person who can tell us who might have Leonard—which he cannot do if he is unconscious or dead. Agreed?"
Mary touched Penny's arm again, this time only making contact without pressure. "You know he's right, sweetheart," she murmured. Penny glanced at Amy and Bernadette, who both nodded, and finally she let herself slump, hands relaxing. With a sigh of relief, Mary jerked her head at Donny and gave the girls a quick look. Lucy hurried to the bridal room's door and locked it, while Amy and Bernadette knelt down and checked Donny with deft hands.
A thread of worry wove through Penny's bubbling anger. "Oh, shit, I didn't actually put this guy into a coma, did I?"
Bernadette scowled down at the dazed Donny, but shook her head. "With this goose egg he's probably got a minor concussion, but I don't think we're going to lose him yet." She began slapping the man's cheeks lightly and chafing his wrists. "Give me a few minutes to get him a little more alert . . . ."
"Actually, I, uh, have an idea on that," said Lucy. "'Scuse me—" She ducked through the closed door, and in less than a minute was back, a brimming glass of water in her hand. Without ceremony she dumped it on Donny's face; he spluttered and blinked awake. Then he caught sight of Penny and frantically scrabbled backwards, stopped only by the wall. Penny knelt down to look him in the eye.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let's try this one more time. Now you know what we can do to you. Are you going to tell us what happened to my fiancé?"
Donny swallowed, then grimaced, touching his head. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I'm so sorry, it's not—I wasn't—"
Without changing expression, Penny reached over, grabbed the wooden leg of a nearby armchair with one hand, and snapped it off in a single quick twist. The chair fell over as Penny positioned the sharp, splintery end of the chair leg over Donny's knee. "Last chance, Donny," she hissed, "before you get to find out if your disability insurance covers pissed-off superheroes."
"I can't!" Donny wailed. "Look, I'm sorry, I never wanted it to be like this but I can't tell you! I owe people money, and part of how I pay 'em back is to tip them off to customers they might wanna know about—well, I recognized the name from the news when you booked it earlier, and they said he was worth enough to clear my debt all by himself. All I had to do was let two guys in through the back, then let them out again with your boyfriend. But I tell you who these people are or where they are, they go after my family. You get me?" Chest heaving, Donny pushed himself up until he was sitting upright. "Lady, maybe you can put your fist through my skull. That ain't gonna do a damn thing to keep my family safe. No matter what you threaten, you can't scare me more than they do." He trailed off, breaths still gasping, staring straight into Penny's eyes without blinking.
Penny didn't answer for a long time. Finally she stirred, withdrawing the chair leg. "No," she admitted. "You're right. I probably can't scare you that much."
Then she looked over her shoulder. "Raj."
It took Raj a second to understand. His eyes widened. "Penny—I don't know if I can—"
"Raj. This is for Leonard."
Howard, who by the pallor of his face had also understood, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Sheldon, Mrs. Cooper—girls—maybe we should wait outside." He held out his hands to Amy and Bernadette; after a moment, they both took hold, and he pulled them to their feet. Lucy followed as Howard led them outside, though the distressed look she threw back to Raj seemed almost more fear for him than of him. Sheldon left the room as well, carefully staring at nothing in a way Penny knew had to be deliberate.
Mary hesitated in the doorway. "Rajesh, you know this is wrong," she said. "You both do, don't you?"
Penny's fist clenched. The wooden chair leg in her hand burst into splinters and fell apart; she wiped her hand down on her blouse, leaving a trail of dust and shreds across the shining white embroidery. "Mrs. Cooper," she said flatly, "right now, I absolutely do not give a fuck." The glare she threw Mary wilted any response. The older woman blanched.
"I know," she whispered. "I just pray to God you will later." With that, she closed the door carefully behind her.
Raj knelt beside Penny and nodded to Donny. "Hold him down," he muttered, sounding almost afraid, or ashamed. Penny sat on Donny's knees and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the wall, though without the brutal slam she'd used earlier. Bewildered, Donny stared at her, and then at Raj as the astrophysicist leaned forward. Their eyes locked. Raj's face set in a steady, iron-hard glare.
For a moment Penny thought nothing was happening. Then she saw the colour draining from Donny's face, and felt his body beginning to shiver under her hands. Donny's eyes bulged, widening further and further until she half thought they might fall from his skull and roll away. His breathing hitched, speeding up as the waves of terror Raj sent into him grew ever stronger. And then he began to scream. Raj closed his eyes, grimacing as if something was ripping his guts out. Donny's screams did not stop. He began to buck and thrash, flailing upward against Penny's grip with such strength even her power couldn't hold him entirely—she weighed no more than she had, and without leverage she couldn't keep him still. She rode him like a bucking bronco and grimly closed her ears to the screaming.
At last, after what felt like half an hour but in reality was only about thirty seconds, Raj gasped and relaxed. Donny collapsed on the instant, heaving great whooping breaths. His face was shiny with sweat, and his soaked clothes stank acridly of fear. His pants, Penny noticed with disgust, were damp; she shifted backwards to move away from the stain. "Well?" she said.
Donny didn't respond. Maybe he was still too stunned to be coherent. But Penny didn't really care. When ten seconds had passed without an answer, she glared at Raj. Raj swallowed and closed his eyes. This time, the screams came more quickly.
8:21 P.M.
The sounds from behind the bridal suite's door had drawn the rest of the Sweet Eternity's staff—the front desk clerk Rebecca, the bridal party assistant Holly Mae and the building's caretaker José—but after Sheldon had teleported José away with a sharply waved hand, just as he had Reverend Tomlinson, Rebecca and Holly Mae had both screamed themselves and fled. Howard couldn't really blame them; Lucy had hurried down the main hall herself to the front lobby within seconds, holding her ears and squinching her eyes shut. Bernie had followed soon after. She'd muttered an explanation to Howard, something about keeping Lucy company, but Howard knew his wife well enough to tell when she was truly disturbed. The last time he'd seen that deep flicker of fright and unease, she'd been behind a quarantine wall in hospital after dropping a vial of raccoon virus, trying to reassure him she was fine. She had been, as it turned out, but he had never forgotten the look of that fear. He had hoped never to see it again.
Amy had stayed, but she looked pale and sick again, almost as bad as she'd looked during those first few minutes after Penny had brought her and Bernadette to apartment 4A yesterday. Sitting with Sheldon on a bench along the main corridor wall, she was holding Sheldon's hand, an act which Sheldon had done nothing to resist or stop. Sheldon himself was clearly attempting the stoicism of his idol Spock, sitting bolt upright and staring straight ahead, but the tics and blinks which flickered over his face at any particularly loud scream betrayed the toll it was taking on him. Beside him, Mary sat bent over her knotted fists, her elbows on her knees and her mouth moving silently in prayer. Her cheeks were wet.
When the screams stopped for the third time, Howard abruptly felt something inside him snap—or perhaps it was snapping back, regaining itself. He thrust himself away from the wall. "Okay, enough," he said to no one in particular, and went to the door, lifting his hand to pound on it. Before his fist descended, the door swung open of its own accord. Raj was leaning on the interior frame, face sheened with sweat, hair disheveled, bowtie loose and collar undone. For a second he and Howard locked eyes. Then Raj lurched out into the hall, spun away, staggered a few steps down the corridor, fell to his knees and violently threw up.
Mary hurried to Raj's side, knelt down beside him and held his shoulders as he retched. Howard turned away and went into the bridal party room. Donny the assistant lay unconscious on the floor, surrounded by a noisome puddle already soaking into the carpet; Howard, a veteran of dozens of MIT engineers' parties in his college days, recognized the mix of vomit, sweat, urine and the accompanying stenches, and cringed. At the cupboard, Penny was sliding into the blue jeans she'd put on that morning, though for some reason she hadn't bothered changing out of the top half of her wedding dress. On another day Howard might have found the sight erotic—he was married, but not dead, as he sometimes joked to the guys—but today there was nothing left in him for that. "Well?" he said.
"He didn't know for certain," Penny said at last, buttoning her jeans. "But he said that he recognized one of the guys who came in. He said the guy works security at the Grand Camelot Hotel, on the Strip."
Howard swallowed. "Oh, boy. That's . . . kinda not good. I've heard of that place. It's got links to some pretty bad people."
"What do you mean?" Penny frowned. "I thought it was the casinos that were all mobbed up."
Howard shook his head. "No, the old-school mobs got out of the casino business back in the '90s after the government regulations tightened up. The organizations you have to look out for now are the Russian and Chinese gangs who got into the outcall business; they'll also run some unregulated games on the down low, for people who've been locked out of the legal casinos, but mostly it's, uh, escorts and evening companions, with a sideline in drugs." He cleared his throat. "And if you could please not ask me how I know this kind of stuff, 'specially in front of Bernie, I'd take that as a kindness."
"Howard, I think we all know how you know this kind of stuff." Penny grimaced. Then, as she thought about what he'd said, her expression went through some truly frightening changes. "Wait a minute. Howard—are you telling me Leonard got kidnapped by people who are into sex trafficking?!"
"No! Well, I mean yes, but not for that. I'm betting. I mean, would you? Leonard? Well, I mean I guess you would, but who else'd pay for—?" Howard caught himself at Penny's glower and gestured feebly at the door. "I'm gonna go call the cops."
"Howard, wait! No!" Penny grabbed his arm. "We don't know for certain where he is, and the only proof we've got of it we, we—" She swallowed, looking at Donny as if she'd just grasped for the first time what she and Raj had done, but tightened her jaw and forced herself on. "—we tortured out of somebody. You think the cops are gonna bother to listen to us? The moment we give them any of our names they're gonna try to arrest us!" She let go of his arm, turned him to face her and gripped him by the shoulders. "It's up to us, Howard. Nobody else."
Howard stared at her, trying frantically to think of some way to prove her wrong and unable to. In desperation he seized on another tactic. "Okay, then, what do you want us to do, exactly? Go over to the Grand Camelot and bust down every door in the place until we find him? Maybe they won't call the cops themselves, but these people aren't cute little fluffy bunnies—and not all of us are invulnerable to bullets. Neither is Leonard, for that matter."
Penny bit her lip, frowning in furious thought. "No, no, you're right, we have to have some idea where to look, first. And we have to have a plan, and some backup tools, and . . . ." She trailed off, gesturing at empty air as if ticking off points on an imaginary list. "Okay. Okay, I think I've got it." Without even a last glance at Donny she strode out of the room into the main corridor; Howard hurried in her wake. "Sheldon!" Penny barked, startling the physicist into a yelp. "We're going to get Leonard. Can you open a hole back to the lab at Mrs. Latham's place? It isn't too far away?"
Sheldon stood, straightening his bowtie. "The entire point of a contiguity is that it reduces space to zero, Penny," he said stiffly. "Once I know the coordinates I can open one anywhere. Distance is not a factor."
"Good. You're gonna take us back there and we're going to dig up some tools—anything that can help us. Radios, for a start, I'll bet her domestic security staff have some we can steal if nothing else. Howard, you're gonna bring your antigrav boots, got it?"
"They're counter-gravity—okay, okay, yes, I get it." Howard held up his hands as if to physically ward off Penny's glare.
"And Mary—" Mrs. Cooper looked up; she and Raj had shifted to another bench. Penny knelt down in front of her. "I'm sorry, but we're going to leave you there. This could get really dangerous, and I don't want to put you at risk. I'm pretty sure Sheldon agrees with me. Am I right?"
Mary swallowed, but stood upright, brushing her dress down with dignity. Raj stayed slumped on the bench, looking as if he still wanted to throw up. "Penny," she said, drawing Penny to her feet as well, "I'm truly touched you want to look out for me. But if you want to keep me out of this you're gonna have to either lay me out like a steer in a slaughterhouse, or zap me with one of your nifty little tricks—and Sheldon Lee Cooper," she pointed at him without missing a beat, "you even think about whooshing me back to that house, or back home to Everholt, I am never cooking a single meal for you again, you hear me?"
"Mary." Amy rose, still holding Sheldon's hand; Penny, Sheldon and Mary all gave her a startled look. "When I threw myself out of that helicopter yesterday because I wanted to help, you slapped me in the face, because I was senselessly risking myself for no good reason." At the word slapped, Sheldon's jaw dropped and his eyes flashed, but Amy went on. "And I wound up forcing Penny to take extra risks herself to save me. Well, at the risk of being disrespectful—now it seems like you're the one who wants to throw herself out of the helicopter. Should I slap you?" Amy raised her hand without any speed or threat, simply holding it in mid-air as if to show it off.
Mary flushed, then closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. When she opened them again her colour had faded, though her jaw was tight. "Your point is taken. Dr. Fowler."
On the bench, Raj suddenly grimaced and held both hands to his head, as if keeping his skull from flying apart. Howard took the opportunity of escape gladly. "Okay, buddy, come with me, we should go get Bernie and Lucy." He pulled Raj to his feet and hurried him down the hall, away from the psychic turmoil swamping him. As they left, Howard saw Mary had turned to hug Sheldon; it was only mildly strange that Sheldon seemed to be returning the embrace without any of his usual reluctance. Howard shook his head. Oh, boy, and to think I thought this day was gonna be less weird than yesterday.
In the glass-walled lobby, the lights were out, the door was locked and the CLOSED sign had been put up; Howard suspected Bernadette's ever-reliable presence of mind. Traffic whirred by on the road outside as if nothing unusual at all was happening. Bernie and Lucy were both sitting wordlessly on the floor behind the reception desk, staying out of sight. At his entrance Bernadette looked up, then leapt to her feet and into his arms; he could feel her shaking, through her breath didn't have the hitching sound of someone about to cry. "Please tell me it's over," she whispered. "Tell me we got something out of this."
"We got something," said Howard. "Not sure how good it is, but it's a place to start." He looked over Bernadette's shoulder at the wide-eyed Lucy. "And somebody who can turn invisible and insubstantial would be really helpful. If you want to—I mean, I know Leonard isn't your friend the way Raj is . . . ."
"No, but—he's Raj's friend. So I sorta think I have to." Lucy got to her feet, brushing down her bridesmaid's dress, then went to Raj. She stared blankly at the drawn and exhausted look on Raj's face, then gulped and put her arms around him. After a moment, Raj's arms came up, and he held onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him from falling down. Which was probably, Howard speculated bleakly, not so far off from the truth.
Not letting go of Raj, Lucy turned her head so her eyes met Howard's. "And you know what, Howard? I kinda want to. I mean, I don't know about you, but . . . I'm getting really, really sick of all this running and hiding. Doncha think?"
She sounded almost bemused, as if the whole thing was an odder-than-usual cartoon of The Far Side. But there was something in her dark eyes, and the tension in her arms as she held Raj, that suddenly struck home like a switch turning on. For the first time, the fear and confusion and horror which Howard had been fighting since Raj had surprised that confession out of Donny subsided. He almost didn't recognize what was rising in their place, and it took a look into Bernadette's eyes—where he had, after all, seen this look far more often—to see it reflected there, and realize what it was.
Anger. Honest-to-God, real, righteous anger.
"You know what, Lucy," he said. "You're absolutely right. It is time we stopped running."
Bernadette's arms tightened around his waist in wordless concord.
A flicker of light caught Howard's attention; he looked up and around, then found the source, realizing in the same instant what the noise that had been growing gradually clearer and louder was. Outside the glass walls of the lobby, down the road towards the Strip, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers were growing brighter and brighter, and the accompanying sirens howled up through the night. Howard nodded, more in confirmation than dismay; he'd been expecting this ever since the chapel staff had fled. "Okay, folks, time to head back." He let go of Bernadette and waved them back into the corridor. "Come on, come on, time to go!"
Penny, Sheldon, Amy and Mary were waiting for them. "Cops?" said Penny, and Howard nodded. She turned to Sheldon. "Okay, Dr. Spacetime. Do your thing."
"'Dr. Spacetime'?" repeated Sheldon. "Like 'Inspector Spacetime' from Community? Oh, no, no, that won't do at all—"
"Sheldon!"
"Jeepers! All right, all right. Sheez." Grumbling, Sheldon turned away and began to draw his portal on the wall. "I hope this isn't your monthly feminine complaint, Penny," he added over his shoulder, "or you and Leonard aren't going to have much of a honeymoon."
GRAND CAMELOT HOTEL, 3050 SOUTH LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD, ROOM #1742
8:50 P.M.
Leonard came to amid a sea of pain, no single part of it excruciating in itself but the total of it enough to rip a long, sustained groan out of him. For a few seconds he thought his inability to move his arms and legs was pure and simple muscle soreness. Then he realized that the stinging ache around his wrists and his ankles came from rigid bands of some tough material that had rubbed them raw. With effort, he lifted his head and tried to blink his eyes into focus, unable to stop little intermittent cries as white bolts of pain shot through his neck with each half-inch of movement. Finally, he was upright, his eyes blurry with tears of agony, and tried to look around as best he could.
The view through the window, of the Las Vegas Strip in full neon-blazing multicoloured thunder, was spectacular, but it was the only thing that was. The rest of the chamber looked like a perfectly average hotel room: beige carpet, white bedsheets, TV on the wall, minibar, fridge, microwave and coffeemaker, workspace desk and an armchair. The chair he was sitting in, Leonard surmised, was meant for that workspace desk—it had been placed in the centre of the room, as far as possible from anything else. His wrists and ankles were bound to it by plastic zip-ties, pulled so tight that they had cut into his skin; blood trickled around the edges, and he pulled his eyes away from it with a shudder. There was nobody else in the room. He was still dressed in his wedding tuxedo, and from the particular stink of the drying fabric he knew his worst fears were confirmed: the Taser shot had made him lose control of his bladder. Fury and humiliation spun into his fear.
On the other hand, he abruptly thought, it was probably only that accident that meant he didn't feel any need to get to the washroom now. Small mercies. He found himself snickering hard, almost giggling, and fought it down. This was no time to get hysterical.
Okay. Okay, they hadn't left anybody in here with him; maybe they weren't expecting him to wake up this soon. He might have a few minutes to figure something out. Was there something in here that could cut the zip-ties? Could he get to it? Or maybe—his eyes fell on the phone—he could call for help?
Leonard took a few deep breaths, then threw his weight forward, managing to bring himself up on his feet. Teetering precariously, the chair thrusting out behind him, he twisted his feet back and forth at the ankles, caterpillaring his way across the room with agonizing slowness. At last he was by the bedside table, and knocked the telephone receiver off its base with a muttered "Yes!" Then the lack of dial tone warned him what to expect. His stomach sinking, he leaned forward to look at the back of the phone: its wall cord was missing. "Shit," he grumbled.
He shuffled back to the desk. By the time he got there, his ankles were blazing with pain, and his socks were soaked to squelching with blood, but he had kept himself from falling over or throwing up; he counted that a victory. Unfortunately, nothing in or on the desk looked like it would be the slightest use to him: there was a pad of hotel stationery, a pen, an index card showing important local numbers, and that was it. He glared at the kitchenette counter, wishing like heck they bothered to include cutlery in hotel rooms, but no: there wasn't anything in this room hard or sharp enough to—
His eyes fell on the coffeepot. The glass coffeepot.
"Oh, boy," he muttered. This was going to hurt, and it would be a miracle if he could get through this without puking. But better hurt and sick than dead.
He caterpillared over to the countertop, twisted to get his left hand to the pot's handle and grabbed it up. As hard as he could, he threw it down on the floor. It bounced on the thick carpet without breaking and rolled to a stop. Leonard groaned in quiet frustration. Well, if gravity on its own wasn't going to do the job . . . . He shuffled over to one side of the pot, let the chair's feet fall back to the ground, and with a few jerks of his weight positioned himself as accurately as he could. With his left side facing the coffee pot, he hissed in a breath with each count. One. Two. Three. He threw his weight hard to his left.
The chair tilted up, hovered wobblingly on its two left feet for a nauseating instant, and then plunged over on its side, its frame landing directly on the glass pot. The coffeepot shattered with a loud crunch, and a red-hot gash of pain drilled into Leonard's upper arm; he couldn't repress the yell that came out of him. But shards of the pot had scattered everywhere. With an exultation so acute it even drowned out his nausea, Leonard realized he could feel a large shard against his left hand. He wriggled his wrist as best he could, trying to angle his hand to where he could pick it up.
The door opened. The big bald man who'd Tased him back at the chapel, a short, skinny, ratty-looking fellow at his side, caught sight of Leonard and shook his head. "Okay, Dr. Hofstadter," he said reproachfully, "I guess you had to try, I'm not gonna blame you for that, but you see what happens? You just get yourself hurt." Without a wasted movement he strode in, grabbed Leonard's chair and set him upright. He looked with narrowed eyes at the slash in Leonard's arm, and Leonard had the disquieting impression this man had patched up injuries before. "Yeah, that looks like it's gonna smart. We might have to get you stitches."
Leonard swallowed. "Oh, you know, that's, that's very kind but it's really not necessary—"
"Dr. Hofstadter." The big man held a reproving finger before Leonard's eyes. "You get absolutely no voice in these decisions, all right? The sooner you accept that the smoother this is going to go, for everyone." He looked back at the short, ratlike guy. "Sammy, you want to call Mr. Rozokov? He said he wanted to be notified when the doc woke up."
"Sure, sure," said the ratlike guy, digging out his phone. His was the sharp, unpleasant voice Leonard vaguely remembered from the chapel. Sammy muttered into the phone while the big man took a dismayingly large knife from somewhere inside his jacket and began cutting Leonard's tuxedo jacket off his body. The fabric parted with frightening ease. Leonard couldn't decide whether he was more freaked out by the knife or the ruination of his outfit—forget drycleaning, this was full replacement, and tuxedos were expensive. He was vaguely aware that his mind was retreating into absurdity as a defense mechanism, but couldn't quite muster the wherewithal to fight it.
The big man dropped the remains of the ruined jacket to one side and probed the red-bordered gash in the sleeve of Leonard's shirt, muttering to himself. Sammy put the phone away and nodded. "Okay, Joe, Mr. R's on his way."
The big man, Joe, shook his head. "Shouldn't get into the habit, Sammy. You know he hates it, and all it takes is one slip when you're not paying attention."
"Okay, Dad," muttered Sammy. "You want me to rake the back lawn, too? 'Cause I could use some pocket money."
Leonard cleared his throat. "Listen, sir, if—if this is about money, I really don't have enough to be worth all this, and nobody in my life does, either." Well, that wasn't quite true—he supposed Mrs. Latham had enough money for any ransom, and so did the Koothrappalis, but he doubted either would pay for him; Mrs. Latham still had Sheldon, who could give her everything she needed from a business standpoint, and the Koothrappalis had never forgiven him for Priya. "As far as I'm concerned, I haven't seen anybody, I couldn't name anybody, and I don't need to remember anything. Please, sir; I was about to get married. I just want to go home and get married." He tried to keep the plaintive note out of his voice, knowing he was getting dangerously close to whining. Nobody listened to whiners.
"I wish raindrops were beer, Doc," said Joe. The worst thing of all was that he didn't even sound unsympathetic; if anything, the reverse. "But showing your face in public when you're practically one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted was a pretty dumb move, gotta tell ya. Bet it never even occurred to you anybody would recognize you, did it? It's like I was telling Sammy: all you need is one slip."
We're never going to get anything like our old lives back, are we? Penny's voice echoed in Leonard's memory, and then Amy's: Two days ago, the world changed. We changed.
He had thought he understood the shock and loss of those statements, but only now did it really strike home: his life, the life he'd been so familiar with, the life he'd—in the end—loved, was over. Joe was right. He had been so smugly certain the lack of electronic trace on their transactions would hide them that it had simply never occurred to him someone might personally recognize his name or face. He had been too unconsciously accustomed to being overlooked, to going unnoticed, to even think of it. And no matter what happened next, he would never enjoy that quiet anonymity again; the world was never going to forget who he was or pass over him. He and Penny were never, ever, going to have the quiet happy life he'd wanted. They would not be allowed to.
That was, of course, assuming he survived this at all.
The door opened again. Sammy snapped to something resembling attention; even Joe seemed to hold himself more formally as he rose and turned. The man who came in was not what Leonard had expected—he was small, not much taller than Leonard himself, round-faced and balding, with a fringe of white hair around his head, and wore gold-rimmed square spectacles and a rather Amy-esque cardigan over a stocky frame. He came over to stand before the chair, adjusted his glasses, and considered Leonard with interest. "Good evening, Dr. Hofstadter," he said in a completely normal-sounding flat accent—even his voice sounded unprepossessing, a slightly nasal baritone. "I just wanted to take the opportunity to apologize to you in person for this, ah, this unfortunate necessity."
Leonard swallowed. "Mr. . . . Rozokov?"
"Ah! You listen. That's impressive. And—" Without warning, Rozokov's hand shot forward and he plucked the empty frames of Leonard's glasses off his face. "—you have some craftiness, as well. You don't need these at all any more, but you keep them on to conceal your true capacities, and help others underestimate you. Very clever. I like you, Doctor; you may call me Ilya."
Leonard considered admitting the truth—he had kept the frames purely as a touchstone to help stay grounded amid the craziness, and hadn't thought along those lines at all—and then decided against it. Maybe he wasn't crafty by nature, but by God, he could learn quickly when he needed to. "Thank you," he said instead. "For the compliment, and the apology. But, um, I'm a little hazy on exactly why this is necessary, again?"
"Oh, it's nothing personal." Rozokov bent and fitted the frames back on Leonard's face. "No, no, you've done nothing to us. We don't even want any information from you; it's not like anyone in my organization would know what to do with it, ah?" He chuckled jocularly. "Believe me, while you're with us you're as safe as a bank, Doctor. I suspect you'll actually be quite safe where you're going, too, as long as you cooperate. They like cooperation, back home."
Leonard swallowed. It hurt, as if the glass shard he'd tucked under his left fingers—the shard that Joe, thankfully, hadn't seen him palm, in the last second before he'd been hauled back upright—had somehow gotten stuck in his throat. "Back . . . home?"
Rozokov frowned at him. For the first time the jocular smile faded. "Bozhe moi," he said, the Russian words somehow transforming the sound of his voice to something altogether more sinister. "You really don't have any idea what you're worth, do you? Dr. Hofstadter—you are the man who devised the experiment that gave the world superpowers. Do you really not know how much any government on this planet will pay for exclusive access to that knowledge, right now? Or how many of them are willing to go to any lengths to reproduce that experiment controllably, and make their own—what's the word? Metas?—on demand? The payment I'm receiving from a particular faction in the Russian government will give me enough clout to rule this city, or as much of it as I wish, and to make sure my children and their children will never again want for anything. And you just walk blithely into a wedding chapel as if nobody in the world gave a hoot who you were." Rozokov shook his head. "Scientists. You concentrate so much on learning how the universe works, you'll never get how the world works."
Leonard made himself breathe slowly and carefully, trying desperately not to be sick. "You're going . . . to ship me off . . . to somewhere in Russia," he said. "In return for money."
"Yes!" said Rozokov, throwing his hands up. "At last! He gets it! So you see we have every interest in keeping you safe and intact, and you have absolutely nothing to fear from us as long as you cause no trouble. If we'd had more time to prepare a suitably secure room for you, we wouldn't even have needed your current inconveniences. Diermo, we'd be willing to provide a few complimentary luxuries in the interim—food, drink, we could even arrange for some personal entertainment if you wanted . . . ?" He trailed off suggestively; at Leonard's blank stare, he shrugged. "Well, whatever. We'll certainly make sure your injuries are treated before your pickup tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Leonard only barely prevented that from being a squawk.
"Delay profits no one." Rozokov shrugged. "Joe and Sammy here will look after any of your needs; you can count on one of them always being just outside that door—am I understood? Good," he said without waiting for an answer. "Enjoy your stay, Dr. Hofstadter. Feel free to watch TV as loud as you like, there's nobody on this floor, or the ones above or below. Oh, and now that you thoroughly understand your position, I don't think there's any need for these . . . ." He held out his hand and snapped his fingers. Joe handed him the knife without a word. With blunt efficiency, Rozokov bent and began cutting through the zip-ties; his hands, Leonard couldn't help but notice, were disquietingly broad and strong, the knuckles rough and callused and the palms and sides lined with scars.
One by one, the zip ties parted. Any thought Leonard might have had of making a break for it was immediately squelched by the astonishing level of agony that burst through his feet and hands as circulation returned. He couldn't stop the cry of pain that welled up, and he only barely managed to control his slide out of the chair, his butt thudding onto the floor and his legs stretched out before him. Blood dripped from his wrists and seeped into the carpet from his ankles; his black socks had been almost completely torn through. Rozokov tutted disapprovingly at the sight. "We are going to have to have someone look at that. Can't have you dropping dead of gangrene a week after you touch down. Which reminds me—" Before Leonard could react he had bent down again and plucked the glass shard from Leonard's hand, so deftly that neither of them was even cut. Rozokov looked at the shard and chuckled. "Not a bad improvisation, Dr. Hofstadter. But as they like to say here in America, this isn't our first rodeo." He tossed the shard in the air, caught it, and pocketed it. "We'll be back in a few minutes, Doctor. Stay put."
Leaving him sitting on the floor, the three of them filed out; Leonard heard the lock click as the door closed behind them. He shuddered, unable to stop himself, and closed his eyes. Come on, he thought, clenching his teeth. Come on. He bore down with all his concentration. If there was ever a time to develop superpowers, to telekinetically blow out a window, melt his way through the floor with a fireball or Hulk out into an unstoppable green rage machine, this was it. Come on, come on, come on!
Nothing happened.
He wasn't aware quite when the frenzy of concentration dissolved into a burst of dry, tearless sobbing; all he knew was that he had gradually keeled over until he was lying on the floor, shaking helplessly. There was nothing left in his mind except a single thought: Come on, Penny, Sheldon. Find me.
Oh please God, let Penny find me. Soon.