Title: The Red-Eyed Rumba
Author: Gorgolo Chick
E-mail: [email protected]
Genre: Drama / Angst
Episode Spoilers: None
Rating: PG13 for violence and language
Disclaimer: This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No intent exists to infringe on the rights of the owners of The Invisible Man. The author makes no profit.
Archive: Please ask me.
Summary: On a case in Las Vegas, Hobbes gets pinned down in a firefight and Darien comes to his aid. To escape, Darien quicksilvers both of them and pushes his blood levels dangerously high.
(I use a very funny line in here that I fear I may have borrowed from another fanfic writer. I know I didn't invent it myself, but I love it. My humblest apologies; let me know who you are and I'll give due credit gladly.)
The Red-Eyed Rumba
by Gorgolo Chick
[Isaac Asimov, famed for never getting writer's block, titled one of his works 'How Easy to See the Future'; which is a joke if I ever heard one. In it he wrote, "Although problems and catastrophes may be inevitable, solutions are not." Well, that's just about my life in a nutshell. Even the solutions that do occur usually turn out to be catastrophes.]
"Damn it, Fawkes, I told you to stay put!" Hobbes shoved Darien to the floor behind the counter that divided the office and fired at a figure in the doorway. The response was a choked-off scream as the man vanished back into the outer room.
"Hey, I heard all the shooting, and you weren't coming out, so I figured maybe you could use a hand," Darien snapped back in exasperation.
"It's when the shooting stops and I don't come out that ya' start worryin', kid." Several rounds slammed through the wood near his head, and he returned fire before ducking back down beside Darien.
"Yeah, well I hate to tell you this, but the shooting has stopped for those two cops out there, and they're not coming out except in a body bag."
Hobbes spat out a curse.
"I knew bringing uniforms in on this without lettin' 'em know what was up would only be trouble. Damn I hate that we weren't allowed to check in with local police. Las Vegas cops are trained to handle just about anything. They probably could have given us some good leads on these terrorists."
"Uh, I think they were already coming in when we showed up, remember?"
"So I shoulda' talked 'em into letting us handle it."
"I'm impressed you got them to let you come in at all, after the way they laughed when they saw our badges said we're with the department of..." Darien yelped and covered his head with his arms as another slug tore through the flimsy counter inches from him. Hobbes pushed him flat and then scrambled around the end of the counter and made a dash for the doorway. He flattened against the wall beside it until the shooting in response to his movement died down.
When a lull came, he whipped around into the opening; firing four fast but carefully placed shots before diving out of the way again. This time the responding gunfire was distinctly sparser.
"Don't be too impressed, my friend. Not only have I lost those two guys, but there's still half a dozen hired guns out there that now have us both pinned down, and I'm on my last clip."
"I don't suppose those cops called for backup before you guys came waltzing in here like Dirty Harry?"
"Nope. The cavalry is not on its way. And when I run out of rounds, the Indians will storm the wagon train looking for scalps."
"So what are you worried about?" Darien couldn't resist quipping even under these circumstances. "You've got nothing to lose."
"Then I'll make sure your tombstone says 'He died making bald jokes at his partner's expense.'"
"Nuh uh. I already ordered one that says 'Too late, he's dead' for the next person that comes along looking to screw up my life. Come on, Hobbes, they can't shoot what they can't see. I got in here, didn't I?"
"And you probably used up your last couple a' cat-burglar nine lives doing it. In case you didn't notice, there's a lot of wild bullets flying around. Even if you 'shoom' both of us, walking out of here ain't gonna be a stroll through the tulips."
"I'm open to suggestions." Darien cried out again as another shot from outside spattered splinters into his cheek.
"Fawkes!" In an instant Hobbes had vaulted the counter and was at his side.
"He missed, he missed." Darien instinctively tried to brush the debris from his face. His hand came away sticky with blood.
"That's it, we're making a run for it before those guys nail us." He reached out to grasp Hobbes' shoulder. With a practiced breath he focused, thinking the quicksilver gland into action. In an instant icy rivulets were streaming from his pores, and flowing from his hand in a sheet across Hobbes, to merge into a silvery coating over both men. There was an almost inaudible sound like a sharply indrawn breath as the one-atom-thick layer of quicksilver sealed. Suddenly his view of the world about him was utterly changed. Colors were gone, and whatever 'non-visible' spectrum of light it was he saw by when he was invisible blurred and streaked his peripheral vision, giving him an odd form of tunnel vision. And he could no longer see either his own hand or the man on whose shoulder it rested.
"Ugh!" There was a shiver in Hobbes' voice. "I told you, warn me before ya' do that," he exclaimed. "Come on, let's get out of here before they come lookin'. Me first, and when I say, you run like hell."
"Just remember, once we break contact, with you on the move the quicksilver will flake off in less than a minute."
"Yeah, I remember the timing from when the Chinese were after us. If I'm not clear by then, being invisible won't help anyway." He pulled free of Darien's hold and was gone. "Get to the right side of the doorway. I'm taking the left. When I say go, you go."
Darien scrambled to obey.
Three gunshots exploded from seemingly empty air, and were followed by the sound of a body hitting the wall opposite him.
"Crap," Hobbes' voice muttered.
"Yeah, not so easy being see-through, is it?" Darien laughed over the sound of answering gunfire.
"Don't get hysterical on me now, I-Man." There was barely a pause before... "Now! Go!"
Darien ran, threading his way past the unseeing gunmen who were watching the doorway intently.
Once he was safely outside, he stopped the flow of quicksilver. There was a very soft chiming sound as the coating on his body and clothes hardened, broke up and fell away in tiny flakes imperceptible to anyone who didn't know exactly what to look for; flakes that would biodegrade in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. His vision returned to normal without the quicksilver bending visible light around him.
For him, the flaking off process was deliberate. Without Darien to provide a fresh flow, Hobbes had only a matter of seconds left before the quicksilver concealing him dissolved naturally.
Almost together Darien heard the sounds of lightly running footsteps and the chime of falling quicksilver flakes. Before his eyes Hobbes appeared as if bursting out of a shell of nothingness.
"Brr. That is so weird," Hobbes commented, dusting the last of the flakes almost meticulously from his shoulders.
"You get used to it," Darien told him.
"No, *you* get used to it, my friend. Bobby Hobbes has no interest in doing that often enough to get used to it."
"Hey, Superman."
"Yeah, Jimmy Olson?"
"What do we do now?"
"Well, we're going to have to report..."
A sudden fiery lance of pain seemed to pierce Darien's skull. He clutched at the back of his head, barely aware of his own voice crying out or the fact that he had collapsed to the ground.
When the spasm passed he realized that Hobbes was supporting his head and shoulders.
"Damn it, Fawkes," Hobbes said, tugging at his right arm to expose his wrist. Darien followed his gaze to the snake tattooed there. The mostly *red* snake.
"One segment left green. How long did you have to play 'now you see me, now you don't' in there, anyway? You should have told me you were so far gone."
"Would you have let me take you invisible if I had?"
"No."
"And you'd have gotten out of there how?"
"Fawkes, you know my life isn't as important as you and..."
"The precious gland. Yeah, I know Agency policy. Trouble is, my friend, you've taught me too well about not bailing on your partner."
"Yeah, well I also have an aversion to your trying to kill your partner."
"My eyes bloodshot already?"
"Red streaks all around."
"I don't suppose you have a hypo of counteragent on you?"
Hobbes shook his head. "The Official decreed no one but the Keeper is to have access to the counteragent for the duration. I guess he remembers your exploits the last time we were around this much gambling dough. And that I didn't exactly stick to the book on that one, myself."
Darien curled into a ball as the quicksilver headache slammed him even more viciously than before. As soon as he recovered, Hobbes dragged him to his feet and guided him to the car.
"It's coming on quick this time." Hobbes' voice was calm and calming even as he made that observation. "Just hang in there, and I'll get you to the Keeper's temporary lab."
Darien sat hunched over in the passenger's seat, trying to recuperate and concentrate on blocking out the growing sense of dangerous elation and mental freedom that was trying to sweep his mind clear of inhibitions and self-control. He could feel that after not even really noticing stages one and two he was passing rapidly through stage three and toward stage four, when he would lose all control and the quicksilver madness would take over.
For a third time the agonizing pain shot out from where the biosynthetic gland implanted in his brain nestled. Blinding, tearing agony washed away all other conscious awareness. But then it subsided. Relief took its place. Relief and a savage joy.
"Just hang in there a little longer, Fawkes. You'll have the counteragent soon." Hobbes' hand on his arm brought him back to full awareness. He thought about where he was, and how far that delightful city of sin was from his usual entrapping surroundings.
"So what if I don't want to take my shot like a good little boy?" He sat up and stretched before turning his head to smile into his partner's eyes.
And knew, without any more alarm, that his own were solidly crimson: the whites and even the irises colored by the hot blood fever of total madness. He was free, invincible, and in a city conveniently designed to allow him a maximum of fun.
The question was, would he be having company on his partying binge? He really wanted his best friend with him and after all; anything Darien Fawkes wanted should be his!
"I guess this means it's time to tussle?" Ah, good, Hobbes was taking the changed situation calmly.
"Not unless you're still itching for a good fight," Darien laughed. "It seems to me there are so many more amusing things we could do. You know; work the strip, take in a show, take in a few showgirls."
"And maybe clean out a few casino counting rooms?"
"I knew there was a good reason I wanted to keep you around, Robert."
"So sarcasm just goes right over your head when you're doin' the red-eyed rumba."
Darien smiled slowly, letting his head tilt back so he could study Hobbes. Besides, he knew how unnerving his crimson stare could be to those too timid to deal with him. He had to be sure Hobbes was worth forgoing the pleasure of killing, after all.
"No, you see," he spoke slowly, putting a little extra menace into his voice. "I don't mind the sarcasm, because it amuses me." He let himself laugh and enjoy the humor, then bestowed a wide, sardonic grin on its source. "Yeah, I think you and me are going to have a lot of fun in this town."
Hobbes had been watching him, listening to him without making any further comment.
Watching, listening, and *driving*.
"Robert, stop the car." Darien requested quietly. "Please."
"Whatever you say, Fawkes. See a parking space anywhere?"
"You do not want to play games with me."
"Yeah? I thought that was exactly what you just said you wanted."
Darien slammed a fist into Hobbes' jaw, knocking his head hard against the driver's window. He grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car to the side, sideswiping another car and bringing them to a halt.
"We play the games *I* say."
Hobbes shook his head several times before his eyes would focus. Then he met Darien's gaze. He made no motion to wipe away the blood oozing from a torn lip. Darien grinned, amused again by the tough little bastard.
"Now I'm going to get out of the car and walk away," he told him. "I'm offering you the chance to walk away with me, to..." he let his head drop back against the seat, momentarily distracted by mental pictures. "Just think of the glorious fun we can have, you and me, Robert. No rules, no restrictions, and anything we want ours for the taking."
Unless Hobbes refused to join him.
His head snapped down and he looked at his partner speculatively. He leaned in very close, bringing his lips up next to Hobbes' ear.
"Decide now."
"Sorry, Fawkes, this ain't gonna happen. The only place you and I are going is back to the lab to get you your shot."
"Or I can just strangle you and walk away alone."
Somehow the sneaky SOB had managed to get his gun out without Darien noticing.
"Fawkes, you know I'll shoot you if I have to. But I really don't want to have to do that."
"Robert, Robert, Robert. All I asked was that you and me go to have some fun together."
"No reason we can't, my friend, but this isn't the way. Come on back with me and I promise later we'll hit the strip and chase as many show girls as you want."
"What I want is for you to fucking shut up about the damn counteragent before I get so pissed off I strangle you just to shut you up."
"Sorry, partner, but you're forgetting I've got the gun."
"You're forgetting something, too. You used up all of your ammunition back there when you were playing spy games and getting those two cops killed." Oh, that brought a delicious flash of hurt to Hobbes' eyes.
"Did I?" He recovered much too quickly for Darien's liking. "You got out of there first. You don't know if I finished that last clip or not."
"I told you not to play games with me!" Darien lunged, slapped aside the hand holding the gun and pinned Hobbes against the driver's door. His hands wrapped almost of their own volition around the familiar throat. He searched his face for fear; he wanted fear. "You're going to die now, little man."
He felt Hobbes' arm jerk, then a flare of pain wiped everything out.
---
"Did you have to hit him quite so hard, Bobby?"
"I wasn't exactly in a position to judge it precisely, Claire. I sure as hell didn't want to shoot him."
The voices were all he was aware of. They were familiar voices, he was sure. But now they were silent.
"Control kind of goes out the window when Fawkes pops like that."
Yes, that was definitely a familiar man's voice.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget how difficult it is for you, too." The woman's voice softened. "Wait a minute, let me see..." there was another moment of silence. "Did he hurt you very much?"
"What, a busted lip and a couple of bruises? Nah, all in a day's work, Keepie." The man's voice took on a certain abashed gentle note despite the easy bravado of his words.
Darien tried to open his eyes and look around. This awoke an impressive thumping in his head, and he groaned.
"Darien?" Of course, only his British born keeper pronounced his name that way, making the 'a' sound short instead of long. He tried to make his eyes focus.
"Hey kid, how you feeling?" The Bronx accent of Bobby Hobbes, he realized.
He finally managed to focus. Claire was standing over him, concern plain on her face.
"Claire. What happened?"
"You flipped out. Went quicksilver cuckoo." Hobbes moved up to Claire's side.
The sight of his partner's bruised cheek and swollen lip brought the memories back in one distressing burst.
"Aw crap."
"For a guy so into quotes, you got a pretty limited vocabulary, there."
And that irony was Hobbes' way of dismissing the entire incident, as eloquently as the words he had used on another, similar occasion; 'It'll take more than you've got to kill Bobby Hobbes.'
Even though it was obvious what he'd see, Darien raised his right arm. There was a fresh needle mark on his inner elbow, and the snake tattoo on his wrist was solid green. While he was out, Claire had injected him with the counteragent, returning his sanity.
'For now,' was his depressing thought.
Author: Gorgolo Chick
E-mail: [email protected]
Genre: Drama / Angst
Episode Spoilers: None
Rating: PG13 for violence and language
Disclaimer: This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No intent exists to infringe on the rights of the owners of The Invisible Man. The author makes no profit.
Archive: Please ask me.
Summary: On a case in Las Vegas, Hobbes gets pinned down in a firefight and Darien comes to his aid. To escape, Darien quicksilvers both of them and pushes his blood levels dangerously high.
(I use a very funny line in here that I fear I may have borrowed from another fanfic writer. I know I didn't invent it myself, but I love it. My humblest apologies; let me know who you are and I'll give due credit gladly.)
The Red-Eyed Rumba
by Gorgolo Chick
[Isaac Asimov, famed for never getting writer's block, titled one of his works 'How Easy to See the Future'; which is a joke if I ever heard one. In it he wrote, "Although problems and catastrophes may be inevitable, solutions are not." Well, that's just about my life in a nutshell. Even the solutions that do occur usually turn out to be catastrophes.]
"Damn it, Fawkes, I told you to stay put!" Hobbes shoved Darien to the floor behind the counter that divided the office and fired at a figure in the doorway. The response was a choked-off scream as the man vanished back into the outer room.
"Hey, I heard all the shooting, and you weren't coming out, so I figured maybe you could use a hand," Darien snapped back in exasperation.
"It's when the shooting stops and I don't come out that ya' start worryin', kid." Several rounds slammed through the wood near his head, and he returned fire before ducking back down beside Darien.
"Yeah, well I hate to tell you this, but the shooting has stopped for those two cops out there, and they're not coming out except in a body bag."
Hobbes spat out a curse.
"I knew bringing uniforms in on this without lettin' 'em know what was up would only be trouble. Damn I hate that we weren't allowed to check in with local police. Las Vegas cops are trained to handle just about anything. They probably could have given us some good leads on these terrorists."
"Uh, I think they were already coming in when we showed up, remember?"
"So I shoulda' talked 'em into letting us handle it."
"I'm impressed you got them to let you come in at all, after the way they laughed when they saw our badges said we're with the department of..." Darien yelped and covered his head with his arms as another slug tore through the flimsy counter inches from him. Hobbes pushed him flat and then scrambled around the end of the counter and made a dash for the doorway. He flattened against the wall beside it until the shooting in response to his movement died down.
When a lull came, he whipped around into the opening; firing four fast but carefully placed shots before diving out of the way again. This time the responding gunfire was distinctly sparser.
"Don't be too impressed, my friend. Not only have I lost those two guys, but there's still half a dozen hired guns out there that now have us both pinned down, and I'm on my last clip."
"I don't suppose those cops called for backup before you guys came waltzing in here like Dirty Harry?"
"Nope. The cavalry is not on its way. And when I run out of rounds, the Indians will storm the wagon train looking for scalps."
"So what are you worried about?" Darien couldn't resist quipping even under these circumstances. "You've got nothing to lose."
"Then I'll make sure your tombstone says 'He died making bald jokes at his partner's expense.'"
"Nuh uh. I already ordered one that says 'Too late, he's dead' for the next person that comes along looking to screw up my life. Come on, Hobbes, they can't shoot what they can't see. I got in here, didn't I?"
"And you probably used up your last couple a' cat-burglar nine lives doing it. In case you didn't notice, there's a lot of wild bullets flying around. Even if you 'shoom' both of us, walking out of here ain't gonna be a stroll through the tulips."
"I'm open to suggestions." Darien cried out again as another shot from outside spattered splinters into his cheek.
"Fawkes!" In an instant Hobbes had vaulted the counter and was at his side.
"He missed, he missed." Darien instinctively tried to brush the debris from his face. His hand came away sticky with blood.
"That's it, we're making a run for it before those guys nail us." He reached out to grasp Hobbes' shoulder. With a practiced breath he focused, thinking the quicksilver gland into action. In an instant icy rivulets were streaming from his pores, and flowing from his hand in a sheet across Hobbes, to merge into a silvery coating over both men. There was an almost inaudible sound like a sharply indrawn breath as the one-atom-thick layer of quicksilver sealed. Suddenly his view of the world about him was utterly changed. Colors were gone, and whatever 'non-visible' spectrum of light it was he saw by when he was invisible blurred and streaked his peripheral vision, giving him an odd form of tunnel vision. And he could no longer see either his own hand or the man on whose shoulder it rested.
"Ugh!" There was a shiver in Hobbes' voice. "I told you, warn me before ya' do that," he exclaimed. "Come on, let's get out of here before they come lookin'. Me first, and when I say, you run like hell."
"Just remember, once we break contact, with you on the move the quicksilver will flake off in less than a minute."
"Yeah, I remember the timing from when the Chinese were after us. If I'm not clear by then, being invisible won't help anyway." He pulled free of Darien's hold and was gone. "Get to the right side of the doorway. I'm taking the left. When I say go, you go."
Darien scrambled to obey.
Three gunshots exploded from seemingly empty air, and were followed by the sound of a body hitting the wall opposite him.
"Crap," Hobbes' voice muttered.
"Yeah, not so easy being see-through, is it?" Darien laughed over the sound of answering gunfire.
"Don't get hysterical on me now, I-Man." There was barely a pause before... "Now! Go!"
Darien ran, threading his way past the unseeing gunmen who were watching the doorway intently.
Once he was safely outside, he stopped the flow of quicksilver. There was a very soft chiming sound as the coating on his body and clothes hardened, broke up and fell away in tiny flakes imperceptible to anyone who didn't know exactly what to look for; flakes that would biodegrade in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. His vision returned to normal without the quicksilver bending visible light around him.
For him, the flaking off process was deliberate. Without Darien to provide a fresh flow, Hobbes had only a matter of seconds left before the quicksilver concealing him dissolved naturally.
Almost together Darien heard the sounds of lightly running footsteps and the chime of falling quicksilver flakes. Before his eyes Hobbes appeared as if bursting out of a shell of nothingness.
"Brr. That is so weird," Hobbes commented, dusting the last of the flakes almost meticulously from his shoulders.
"You get used to it," Darien told him.
"No, *you* get used to it, my friend. Bobby Hobbes has no interest in doing that often enough to get used to it."
"Hey, Superman."
"Yeah, Jimmy Olson?"
"What do we do now?"
"Well, we're going to have to report..."
A sudden fiery lance of pain seemed to pierce Darien's skull. He clutched at the back of his head, barely aware of his own voice crying out or the fact that he had collapsed to the ground.
When the spasm passed he realized that Hobbes was supporting his head and shoulders.
"Damn it, Fawkes," Hobbes said, tugging at his right arm to expose his wrist. Darien followed his gaze to the snake tattooed there. The mostly *red* snake.
"One segment left green. How long did you have to play 'now you see me, now you don't' in there, anyway? You should have told me you were so far gone."
"Would you have let me take you invisible if I had?"
"No."
"And you'd have gotten out of there how?"
"Fawkes, you know my life isn't as important as you and..."
"The precious gland. Yeah, I know Agency policy. Trouble is, my friend, you've taught me too well about not bailing on your partner."
"Yeah, well I also have an aversion to your trying to kill your partner."
"My eyes bloodshot already?"
"Red streaks all around."
"I don't suppose you have a hypo of counteragent on you?"
Hobbes shook his head. "The Official decreed no one but the Keeper is to have access to the counteragent for the duration. I guess he remembers your exploits the last time we were around this much gambling dough. And that I didn't exactly stick to the book on that one, myself."
Darien curled into a ball as the quicksilver headache slammed him even more viciously than before. As soon as he recovered, Hobbes dragged him to his feet and guided him to the car.
"It's coming on quick this time." Hobbes' voice was calm and calming even as he made that observation. "Just hang in there, and I'll get you to the Keeper's temporary lab."
Darien sat hunched over in the passenger's seat, trying to recuperate and concentrate on blocking out the growing sense of dangerous elation and mental freedom that was trying to sweep his mind clear of inhibitions and self-control. He could feel that after not even really noticing stages one and two he was passing rapidly through stage three and toward stage four, when he would lose all control and the quicksilver madness would take over.
For a third time the agonizing pain shot out from where the biosynthetic gland implanted in his brain nestled. Blinding, tearing agony washed away all other conscious awareness. But then it subsided. Relief took its place. Relief and a savage joy.
"Just hang in there a little longer, Fawkes. You'll have the counteragent soon." Hobbes' hand on his arm brought him back to full awareness. He thought about where he was, and how far that delightful city of sin was from his usual entrapping surroundings.
"So what if I don't want to take my shot like a good little boy?" He sat up and stretched before turning his head to smile into his partner's eyes.
And knew, without any more alarm, that his own were solidly crimson: the whites and even the irises colored by the hot blood fever of total madness. He was free, invincible, and in a city conveniently designed to allow him a maximum of fun.
The question was, would he be having company on his partying binge? He really wanted his best friend with him and after all; anything Darien Fawkes wanted should be his!
"I guess this means it's time to tussle?" Ah, good, Hobbes was taking the changed situation calmly.
"Not unless you're still itching for a good fight," Darien laughed. "It seems to me there are so many more amusing things we could do. You know; work the strip, take in a show, take in a few showgirls."
"And maybe clean out a few casino counting rooms?"
"I knew there was a good reason I wanted to keep you around, Robert."
"So sarcasm just goes right over your head when you're doin' the red-eyed rumba."
Darien smiled slowly, letting his head tilt back so he could study Hobbes. Besides, he knew how unnerving his crimson stare could be to those too timid to deal with him. He had to be sure Hobbes was worth forgoing the pleasure of killing, after all.
"No, you see," he spoke slowly, putting a little extra menace into his voice. "I don't mind the sarcasm, because it amuses me." He let himself laugh and enjoy the humor, then bestowed a wide, sardonic grin on its source. "Yeah, I think you and me are going to have a lot of fun in this town."
Hobbes had been watching him, listening to him without making any further comment.
Watching, listening, and *driving*.
"Robert, stop the car." Darien requested quietly. "Please."
"Whatever you say, Fawkes. See a parking space anywhere?"
"You do not want to play games with me."
"Yeah? I thought that was exactly what you just said you wanted."
Darien slammed a fist into Hobbes' jaw, knocking his head hard against the driver's window. He grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car to the side, sideswiping another car and bringing them to a halt.
"We play the games *I* say."
Hobbes shook his head several times before his eyes would focus. Then he met Darien's gaze. He made no motion to wipe away the blood oozing from a torn lip. Darien grinned, amused again by the tough little bastard.
"Now I'm going to get out of the car and walk away," he told him. "I'm offering you the chance to walk away with me, to..." he let his head drop back against the seat, momentarily distracted by mental pictures. "Just think of the glorious fun we can have, you and me, Robert. No rules, no restrictions, and anything we want ours for the taking."
Unless Hobbes refused to join him.
His head snapped down and he looked at his partner speculatively. He leaned in very close, bringing his lips up next to Hobbes' ear.
"Decide now."
"Sorry, Fawkes, this ain't gonna happen. The only place you and I are going is back to the lab to get you your shot."
"Or I can just strangle you and walk away alone."
Somehow the sneaky SOB had managed to get his gun out without Darien noticing.
"Fawkes, you know I'll shoot you if I have to. But I really don't want to have to do that."
"Robert, Robert, Robert. All I asked was that you and me go to have some fun together."
"No reason we can't, my friend, but this isn't the way. Come on back with me and I promise later we'll hit the strip and chase as many show girls as you want."
"What I want is for you to fucking shut up about the damn counteragent before I get so pissed off I strangle you just to shut you up."
"Sorry, partner, but you're forgetting I've got the gun."
"You're forgetting something, too. You used up all of your ammunition back there when you were playing spy games and getting those two cops killed." Oh, that brought a delicious flash of hurt to Hobbes' eyes.
"Did I?" He recovered much too quickly for Darien's liking. "You got out of there first. You don't know if I finished that last clip or not."
"I told you not to play games with me!" Darien lunged, slapped aside the hand holding the gun and pinned Hobbes against the driver's door. His hands wrapped almost of their own volition around the familiar throat. He searched his face for fear; he wanted fear. "You're going to die now, little man."
He felt Hobbes' arm jerk, then a flare of pain wiped everything out.
---
"Did you have to hit him quite so hard, Bobby?"
"I wasn't exactly in a position to judge it precisely, Claire. I sure as hell didn't want to shoot him."
The voices were all he was aware of. They were familiar voices, he was sure. But now they were silent.
"Control kind of goes out the window when Fawkes pops like that."
Yes, that was definitely a familiar man's voice.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget how difficult it is for you, too." The woman's voice softened. "Wait a minute, let me see..." there was another moment of silence. "Did he hurt you very much?"
"What, a busted lip and a couple of bruises? Nah, all in a day's work, Keepie." The man's voice took on a certain abashed gentle note despite the easy bravado of his words.
Darien tried to open his eyes and look around. This awoke an impressive thumping in his head, and he groaned.
"Darien?" Of course, only his British born keeper pronounced his name that way, making the 'a' sound short instead of long. He tried to make his eyes focus.
"Hey kid, how you feeling?" The Bronx accent of Bobby Hobbes, he realized.
He finally managed to focus. Claire was standing over him, concern plain on her face.
"Claire. What happened?"
"You flipped out. Went quicksilver cuckoo." Hobbes moved up to Claire's side.
The sight of his partner's bruised cheek and swollen lip brought the memories back in one distressing burst.
"Aw crap."
"For a guy so into quotes, you got a pretty limited vocabulary, there."
And that irony was Hobbes' way of dismissing the entire incident, as eloquently as the words he had used on another, similar occasion; 'It'll take more than you've got to kill Bobby Hobbes.'
Even though it was obvious what he'd see, Darien raised his right arm. There was a fresh needle mark on his inner elbow, and the snake tattoo on his wrist was solid green. While he was out, Claire had injected him with the counteragent, returning his sanity.
'For now,' was his depressing thought.