In Charles Dickens' story, Our Mutual Friend, the Secretary said: "No one is useless in this world, who lightens the burden of it for any one else." I thank God everyday for the friends that help ease my burden; for without them, I would surely be lost…
Early morning sunlight spilled through tiny slits in the closed blinds, marking the floor with long broken lines of thin gold. The room was silent, but for the soft breathing of the three people fast asleep. One, a woman, was curled up on top of the covers on the left edge of the queen-sized bed. Frown lines of worry creased her forehead and made her look older than her thirty-something years. On the floor on the other side of the bed lay a handsome balding man loosely ensconced in a sleeping bag, a light snore escaping through his nostrils every few minutes.
Another man slumbered on the right side of the bed, his right forearm and hand wrapped in gauze stained red in spots from excessive bleeding. His head tossed back and forth on the pillow, drug-enhanced nightmares tearing his already battered soul to shreds.
"NOOO!" Darien screamed as he jack-knifed into a sitting position. The momentum carried him to the edge of the bed, of which he bonelessly slid off of onto the floor amidst a tangle of covers.
Claire yelped in surprise as she was torn from her light slumber. She skittered across the bed on top of the covers and landed on top of Darien, who was lying in a tumbled, quivering heap on top of a very disconcerted Hobbes.
"What the hell?" Hobbes grunted as Claire completed the human sandwich with a thump. He scooted his way out from under the others, and helped Claire sit back on the bed. He then turned his attention to his friend, who hadn't moved at all since he'd awoken. "Fawkesy," he enjoined as he began to untangle the man from the mass of covers and robe. When there was no answer, he stopped and gently took his friend's shivering face in between his hands to look in his eyes.
What he saw caused his heart to leap into his throat.
It was like looking into the bowels of Hell.
"Darien," Hobbes tried to make his partner focus on anything other than the memories obviously playing out in his mind, but it didn't seem to work. Feeling the alarm bells screaming in the back of his head, Hobbes called to the doctor, unable to tear his eyes from the tortured gaze in front of him. "Claire," his voiced hitched a little.
She scrambled off of the bed and came around to Hobbes' side. Her breath caught in her throat in a little sob when she beheld Darien's horrifyingly blank expression. Automatically, her hand crept to his uninjured wrist to check his pulse, and her heart leapt into her mouth when she felt how slow it was. For a man who had just woken up screaming in terror, his heart rate should've been at least twice what it was. She snapped her fingers in front of Darien's half-open eyes, but he didn't even blink.
"No. Darien, no," she whispered.
Hobbes tore his eyes away from his friend's to look at Claire in rising panic. "What?"
She closed her eyes as she fought to hold back the sobs. "He's… he's… catatonic."
"Oh, God, no," Hobbes breathed. He shook Darien's head a little bit, but there was still no reaction other than the almost convulsive shivering. The older man's eyes squeezed shut as he also fought the onslaught of grief rising within him. His right thumb lightly caressed Darien's cheek before he pulled his friend in a rough embrace.
Darien didn't move… didn't react at all.
Hobbes implored Claire with his eyes before he mustered the will to speak. "What do we do now?"
She shook her head, causing the tears to be tossed away from her face in an arc. "Bobby… I… I just don't know," she replied, sounding like a lost little girl.
"We… can't just let him go like this," Hobbes implored. The thought sparked an idea in his mind, and he whispered into his friend's ear. "Hey, buddy, if you don't snap outta this, then you'll be letting Arnaud win. You want that Frenchie rat-bastard to get away with this?" he tried his best to sound taunting.
All Darien did was heave a great hitching sigh. He still hadn't blinked his unfocused eyes even once.
"We gotta do something," Hobbes pleaded.
Claire stared at Darien for long moments as she tried to pull her thoughts into some sort of order. "We can't stay here," she finally uttered. The sadness in her voice was enough to push Hobbes right to the edge of tears again, and Bobby Hobbes was not the kind of man that cried at the drop of a hat. "There's no guarantee that Arnaud won't come after Darien while he's like this."
Hobbes closed his eyes and nodded. "I'll call for some backup, let the boss know what's going on." Reluctantly, he leaned Darien back against the bed and made sure that the gangly man wouldn't fall over before rising and grabbing his phone from the bedside table. He dialed a string of numbers and waited until the receiver was answered at the other end. "It's Hobbes. We're bringing Fawkes in. No, everything's not all right…"
Long, slender fingers tapped the armrest of the elegant Victorian desk chair.
"Soon, you little prick. Soon…"
The door to the Keep slid open, and The Official briskly strode in. He surveyed the occupants of the room with an exhausted gaze before joining those conscious by the exam chair. Hobbes was standing on the far side with his hand resting on Darien's shoulder, and Claire was facing the shorter agent as she once again checked Darien's vitals.
"Report," The Official spoke in a low voice.
"No change," the doctor replied softly. Her back was bowed in exhaustion and heartache.
The boss' face sagged, making him look much older and almost sick.
"Sir, I'd like your permission to put together a tactical assault team," Hobbes murmured in a steely tone of voice. His eyes were expressionless, his stance painfully rigid.
After a pregnant pause, The Official replied, "You have it. But first you need to find out where he is."
"What do ya think Eberts is doin'?" Hobbes retorted flatly.
As if on cue, the assistant keyed open the door and stepped inside the lab. He glanced around to gain his bearings, and quickly moved towards the others with an uncharacteristically turbulent expression on his face. "I have his last known location," he stated grimly as he moved around to Hobbes' side. He handed the agent a piece of paper with an address carefully printed on one side. "I have Harris, Evans, Thompson and Zimmer standing by upstairs for you, Robert. The others are on notice and will report immediately if needed."
Hobbes glanced down at the paper in his hand before nodding his gratitude at the man beside him. He squeezed Darien's shoulder once as he leaned over and murmured in his friends' ear, "I'm coming back with that cock-sucker's head on a pike, partner. You'd better wake up or you'll miss all the fun." He then straightened and thanked Eberts with his eyes before coming around the exam chair and heading for the door.
"Robert?" Eberts called out, and the shorter man turned slightly as the door slid open. "Do whatever is necessary." His expression was like flint, and his eyes burned like banked coals of fury.
Hobbes merely nodded and left. As the Keep's door clicked shut behind him, Eberts pulled over an office chair for the Boss to sit down on.
"So what do we do now?" Claire asked as she scrubbed at her face with both hands. Eberts swung around another rolling office chair for the exhausted doctor to rest on, and with a grateful look she dropped into it.
The Official nodded, and his assistant answered for him. "We wait."
"For how long?"
"Until we're sure that there's absolutely no hope of recovery," The Official rumbled.
"And who's going to make that call?" she inquired pointedly.
"I trust your judgement, Doctor," was the abnormally mild reply.
Claire glanced at Eberts in surprise, and the barest shadow of a smile graced the assistant's lips for a moment before he nodded his affirmation.
If she hadn't been so worn out, she would have been shocked that The Official was allowing her to make such a momentous decision. She could recall a number of conversations where he'd indicated quite clearly that if Darien were ever irrevocably damaged, the gland would be harvested despite the knowledge that the removal would be fatal for the former thief. This reversal of his position proved that the enigmatic man sitting bonelessly in the chair beside her truly did harbor some measure of affection for Darien Fawkes, and that some of his attitude towards the rebellious agent was just bluster to maintain the illusion of his perceived position of power.
"Right now all we can do is monitor him and hope that he can come out of this on his own," she finally managed to speak. "But if he goes on like this for too long, I will have to supply his nutrition intravenously. I can't force him to keep his will to live. He'll have to find a reason on his own."
"Is there anything we can do to help, Doctor?" Eberts laid a supportive hand on her shoulder, and Claire gratefully patted it as she glanced up at him.
"Yes. We need to keep a constant eye on him, and I suggest we do it in shifts," she replied. "It also wouldn't hurt if we talked to him; remind him of what there is for him to live for… maybe point out all the good things he's done to help him find a reason to go on."
"Yes," the assistant agreed with a tight nod. "I will take the first shift. Doctor, I strongly suggest that you get some rest." He gently squeezed her shoulder before withdrawing his hand. "You have been tending to Darien non-stop since the incident, and you are quite obviously exhausted."
The Official nodded his agreement. "I took the liberty of calling in your backup nurse. He should be here in less than thirty minutes. I had Eberts set up Lab Four with a cot and some supplies for you so that you may freshen up after you've had some rest."
"Oh, no Sir," she shook her head. "I… thank you, but… I really should stay until Jacob arrives, so I can brief him on what…"
"That's an order, Doctor." The boss' tone turned frigid, and he glared at her.
Eberts stepped back a few paces and motioned for Claire to follow him. "Don't worry, Doctor, I will make sure that he is properly informed of the situation."
Lacking the strength and the will to argue further, Claire rose and briefly stepped over to Darien's side. He sat semi-reclined in the exam chair with his eyes shut; his wrinkled forehead the only sign that his unnatural rest was indeed anything but pleasant or restful. She tenderly kissed him on the cheek, pulled a blanket up to his chest and murmured in his ear, "Darien, I'm going to take a short nap. Albert and Charles will stay with you until I get back, okay?" She straightened up as she fought back a new surge of tears, and gently stroked his chilled cheek with the backs of her fingers before turning and following Eberts out of the lab.
TBC...