"NOOO!"
The grisly memory of the tiny cherubic girl in a green velvet dress violently seizing in his arms was suddenly replaced with the sensation of falling onto something lumpy.
'Um, hey?'
Darien blinked… or at least tried to anyway. But for some reason, his eyelids wouldn't move. Hmmm, the rest of his body wouldn't either.
But he could hear voices. They sounded like they were coming through a barrier, as if Darien were under water for some reason.
'Hobbes? Claire? Where am I?'
Weird. He could hear his own voice, but his lips weren't moving.
"Fawkesy," Hobbes enjoined as he began to untangle the man from the mass of covers and robe.
'Yeah, Hobbesy?' he answered with a trace of asperity. Hey, his eyes were open. Really odd that he hadn't noticed that before.
When there was no answer, Hobbes stopped and gently took his face in between his hands to look in his eyes.
'Hiya, partner! Maybe you could tell me what the fuck's going on here?'
"Darien," Hobbes enjoined. When there was no answer, 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 as her face swam into Darien's field of vision. Automatically, her hand crept to his uninjured wrist to check his pulse. She snapped her fingers in front of Darien's half-open eyes, but he didn't even blink.
'Claire, what's going on? Why can't I move?' He could feel his body, but every time he tried to move his limbs, they refused to obey him.
"No. Darien, no," she whispered.
'What? What!'
Hobbes tore his eyes away from Darien'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."
'No, I'm not. I'm right here, god dammit!'
"Oh, God, no," Hobbes breathed. He shook Darien's head a little bit, but there was still no reaction.
'Hobbes, listen to me, man! I'm awake! Right here!'
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 couldn't move… couldn't react at all.
It took a few agonizing moments before Hobbes could muster the will to speak. "What do we do now?"
"Bobby… I… I just don't know," she replied, sounding like a little lost girl.
'You could give me something to make me move again!' But nothing came out; it all stayed inside his head.
"We… can't just let him go like this," Hobbes implored. The thought obviously sparked an idea in his mind, and he whispered into Darien'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.
'Hell no! I wanna rip his fuckin' head off an' use it for my bowling ball!' Darien screamed at the top of his lungs.
But all Darien's body did was heave a great hitching sigh. He still hadn't blinked his barely focused eyes even once.
"We gotta do something," Hobbes pleaded.
A lightbulb switched on in the back of his mind. 'Hobbes, go find Arnaud; bring him back here. I might've breathed in some'a that gas after all. Hobbes? Hooooobbes!'
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 with great sadness in her voice. "There's no guarantee that Arnaud won't come after Darien while he's like this."
'Maybe that's what he wanted!' Darien bellowed. 'Now he can slice'n'dice me for this stupid fucking gland!'
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. "It's Hobbes. We're bringing Fawkes in. No, everything's not all right…"
The door to the Keep slid open, and The Official's heavy tread announced his entrance. He paused for a moment before joining those obviously conscious by the exam chair. Hobbes was standing with his hand resting on Darien's right shoulder, and Claire was once again checking Darien's vitals.
"Report," The Official spoke in a low voice.
'Boss?' Damn, even his mental voice was getting weak. 'You gotta tell Claire to run some tests on me. I dunno how much longer I can hold out.'
"No change," the doctor replied softly.
'No change my ass. I'm dying here!'
"Sir, I'd like your permission to put together a tactical assault team," Hobbes murmured in a steely tone of voice.
'Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Hobbesy!' Darien verbally applauded.
After a pregnant pause, The Official replied, "You have it. But first you need to find out where he is."
'Somewhere gloating, probably.' Memories swirled back to the forefront of his mind, and Darien suddenly felt the overpowering urge to vomit again. But since he was paralyzed, nothing thankfully happened. His stomach and esophagus still ached and burned from the second bout he had at Hobbes' apartment. The first time was when the Haz-Mat and police crews arrived on the scene at the mall; it took two of them to pull Darien back from the kill-zone and check him over for injuries. He'd started vomiting beside the ambulance once the adrenaline rush began to fade and the reality of the situation struck, and that's how The Official and Eberts had found him. The EMTs had insisted that Darien needed to be taken to the hospital for testing for possible exposure to the poison gas, but were overridden by The Official, stating that The Agency's medical staff was more than capable of handling that aspect. Darien had slipped away while the EMT and her partner were arguing heatedly with the Boss and his assistant, intent on finding Hobbes and going on a manhunt for the Swiss mercenary. This time no one was going to stand in Darien's way; he was going to tear Arnaud limb from limb, and he had been pretty sure Hobbes would gladly assist.
"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. "I have his last known location," he stated grimly as he moved around the chair to Hobbes' 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 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."
'Good. Go get 'im, Hobbesy. With any luck, Claire'll run those tests an' have me fixed up in time for you an' I t'get in some batting practice,' Darien replied with a feral grin.
"Robert?" Eberts called out as the door slid open. "Do whatever is necessary."
'Whoa, even Ebes's pretty pissed off. Wish I could low-five 'im right now.'
As the Keep's door clicked shut behind Hobbes, Darien heard Eberts pull over an office chair for the Boss to sit down on.
"So, what do we do now?" Claire asked. Eberts swung around another rolling office chair for the exhausted doctor to rest on, and she dropped heavily into it with a resounding creak.
The assistant answered. "We wait."
"For how long?"
"Until we're sure that there's absolutely no hope of recovery," The Official rumbled.
''Kay, I don' like the sound'a that, Boss.' That sounded a little too close a reference to the feared gland-harvesting party for his liking.
"And who's going to make that call?" she inquired pointedly.
"I trust your judgement, Doctor," was the abnormally mild reply.
'Okay, that makes no sense. He could just order her to do it, an' if she said no, he'd jus' get someone else t'do it,' Darien pondered in puzzlement. 'So why's he suddenly actin' like he cared?'
"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."
'Waitaminute Claire. I ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get that motherfucker. If I'm gonna die from this, then it'd damn well better be with my hands around that sick bastards' throat.'
"Is there anything we can do to help, Doctor?" Eberts asked quietly.
'Run the friggin' tests, Eberts!'
"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."
'Like what? All the people that managed to get murdered 'cause of me?' He could still feel the burden of responsibility that he'd been carrying on his shoulders for the past few years, and the black, roiling cloud descended on his consciousness once more. It felt like a massive weight upon his chest, and he clung to his fading consciousness with desperate tenacity.
"Yes," the assistant agreed. "I will take the first shift. Doctor, I strongly suggest that you get some rest. You have been tending to Darien non-stop since the incident, and you are quite obviously exhausted."
The Official added, "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 demurred. "I… thank you, but… I really should stay until Jacob arrives, so I can brief him on what…"
"That's an order." The boss' tone turned frigid.
Eberts' shoes clicked as he stepped back a few paces. "Don't worry, Doctor, I will make sure that he is properly informed of the situation."
Claire rose and briefly stepped over to Darien's side. 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 and gently stroked his chilled cheek with the backs of her fingers before turning and following Eberts out of the lab.
''Kay. Night, Keepie.' Darien replied weakly. The looming black cloud finally smothered him, and just before he was completely swallowed by the darkness, he wondered how much longer he'd have to bear his ever-growing millstone of guilt.
A few minutes later, the assistant re-entered the Keep. The Official sat in his chair with his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands in a poignant gesture of grief.
"Sir," Eberts murmured from where he stopped inside the door, just as it whispered shut behind him.
The Official sighed deeply, and sat up straight. His face was gray with exhaustion; he wasn't sure how much more of this his ailing heart could take.
"We should have the Doctor run those tests as soon as possible," Eberts reminded. "If Darien was exposed in any way to that toxin…"
The Official nodded. "We'll have Miller run them as soon as he arrives. Let Claire have her rest."
"Yes sir. Is there anything I may do for you, sir?"
"What?"
Eberts stepped closer and rested a gentle hand on his mentor's slumped shoulder. "You haven't taken your medication today. And to be quite frank, you look terrible."
"Nice to know someone's keeping track of things here," The Official murmured. He absently checked his pockets for his pill bottles, but came up empty-handed. Without a word, Eberts brought him a glass of water and held out four differently colored and shaped pills in the palm of his hand.
"Please go and rest, Charles. I will hold down the fort," the assistant quietly urged as the older man swallowed the pills and drank the water.
The Official blinked in weary gratefulness before carefully heaving himself up off of the chair. Eberts steadied the much larger man as he staggered a little bit, and steered his boss towards the door to the Keep.
Eberts activated the opening mechanism, and The Official commented as he stepped through, "Eberts, I'm thankful you work for our side."
The assistant merely nodded and turned back into the room as the door slid shut.
The door clicked into place, and Eberts stopped, spun around, and set the electronic lock. He changed the password, so that now no one could bypass the security protocol and enter the Keep before he was ready.
Eberts grinned ruthlessly, and quickly strode over to the exam chair and the unconscious man on it.
"And now, it is finally time for me to recover my property," the assistant spoke in a light French accent as he began to prepare for the extraction surgery.
TBC...