Shattered
The pain was intense, both horrible and incredible. He had never experienced such a terrible magnitude of agony before, not even in the firmest grip of quicksilver madness. It felt as if thousands of fiery knives were piercing his flesh and setting his nerves aflame. The air had grown solid and thick, clogging his nose and mouth and restricting his ability to breathe. He coughed to clear his airway and nearly passed out as a searing blast of white-hot pain lanced through him. He drew in a breath to scream and tasted the coppery bitterness of his blood in the back of his throat.
Darien decided to lie as still as humanly possible, focusing all of his attention on the simple task of breathing; it was almost impossible since each time he inhaled his shattered ribs screamed at him. As he lay there, Darien decided that he was on top of a mound of loose dirt and small rocks, they bit and dug into his back and shoulders, only adding to his misery. He gingerly moved his right leg around and he could feel the small pebbles rolling with his movement. His leg did not go far before it encountered resistance. He gently pushed on whatever it was, but when it showed absolutely no signs of moving, he stopped. He repeated the procedure with his left leg, simply because it took his mind off the raw, throbbing nerve his entire body had become. It also did not get very far before encountering the same type of resistance. Darien sighed painfully to himself and realized that there was some type of heavy object lying just a few feet above him, dangerously low and throwing his breath back at him. It appeared that he was surrounded, trapped, but by what?
In the pitch black, Darien grimaced at a nauseating attack of vertigo, the events of what had happened slowly began to come back to him in blurred fragments. The Official had sent him and Hobbes to the scene of a terrorist takeover; the militant group had taken several hostages and was threatening to kill everyone with a bomb unless their demands had been met.
An arch of pain tore through him suddenly and Darien gritted his teeth until it had passed. The plan had been for him to go invisible and neutralize the situation from within. Things had not gone according to the plan and the bomb had been detonated. Everything after that was blurred beyond all recognition. Darien closed his eyes as his head began to beat a rhythm in time with his heart. He hoped that someone found him soon, the mass above him was beginning to shift and groan dangerously.
“An explosion?!”
Claire’s blue eyes flashed in disbelief then anger and finally concern.
Standing calmly near the desk the woman was sitting at, the Official looked coolly at the Keeper, the ever-present Eberts directly behind him.
“The terrorist group detonated the bomb at the downtown museum a few moments ago.”
“The downtown museum?!”
The Official frowned and cocked his head to the side as he gazed down at her,
“Why are you finding it necessary to repeat the information I am telling you?”
Instead of answering, Claire shook her head and got to her feet, folding her arms defensively in front of her, glaring at her superior. Behind the large man, Eberts was fiddling with a small stack of papers, doing his best to try and ignore both of them.
“Darien was in that building,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“I am quite aware of Agent Fawkes’ whereabouts,” the Official replied neutrally. His face void of any emotion.
Anger flashed like lightening in Claire’s blue eyes again, “Then what are you going to do?”
The Official studied the Keeper for a moment, “I have initiated an emergency response,” he said in a tone that one would normally use on a child. “I have sent over several agents to assist in the recovery of Darien Fawkes and I want you down there as well so you can bring him back here.”
Claire sputtered and gaped at the man, “What? What do you mean ‘bring him back here’? If Darien was trapped by that explosion, then he may have injuries that I am ill equipped to deal with!”
The Official’s gaze was icy, his face hard, “I cannot risk the knowledge of the gland being uncovered in a local hospital.”
Stunned fury began to burn on the woman’s face as she understood the meaning behind his words. “To Hell with the gland! We’re talking about a man’s life here!”
The Official was unfazed, “We’re also talking about 17-million-dollars worth of research and development not to mention several years of planning and funding in order to give this Agency an edge.” His eyes had gone cold and hard, “It took countless manpower and even more effort to get this project off the ground and I will not risk jeopardizing the future of the entire I-Man project.”
Behind him, Eberts looked as if he wanted the floor of the lab to open up and simply swallow him whole.
Claire refused to back down, “And I will not put an innocent man’s life at risk. Darien has already sacrificed so much –“
“Agent Fawkes knew the risks,” the Official interrupted.
“Since when?” Claire countered with an angry toss of her head, “Darien’s been tricked, manipulated and conned from the very start! He has no idea –“
“Enough!” The other man bellowed, his voice carrying like thunder across the lab. He took a step forward and came to stand directly in front of Claire, piercing her with a steely gaze. “You will go to the downtown museum, you will take custody of Darien Fawkes and you will bring him back here for any necessary treatment.”
Without another word, he turned and began stalking out of the lab; Eberts gave her an apologetic glance before hurrying to keep up with his superior.
“What happens if Darien dies as a result?” Claire called out angrily after him,
“What then?”
The Official paused as the lab doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. “The gland can survive for two days until it is harvested,” he replied, then he turned and was gone. The heavy door slid shut with a metallic groan, shutting in a horrified Claire.
Darien groaned and squeezed his swollen eyes shut, breathing was beginning to grow more difficult as the seconds ticked by. He felt as if the weight of the entire world was resting squarely in the middle of his chest and it was crushing his tortured lungs. Left alone in the pitch black, his eyes had slowly grown accustomed to the near-total darkness and he was able to make out small specs of light creeping in here and there. He was able to vaguely make out the silhouettes of large objects above and beside him; it felt like he was in a tomb and the sensation was very unnerving. Darien had considered quicksilvering his eyes for a better view of his surroundings, but he had no idea how long he would be trapped here and he didn’t want to risk even the remotest possibility of quicksilver madness in his current condition.
Through the ear-ringing silence, the soft moans of the wounded began to waft in and swim around him. Darien wanted to call out to them, to let them hear the sound of another human voice, but it was taking all of his slowly ebbing strength to concentrate on his breathing and on the steadily increasing pain saturating his broken body.
A small, thin voice suddenly cut through the darkness and quiet, “Is anybody out there?”
Darien was surprised to hear the voice sounding so close. At first he thought that he had imagined it, that he was going into shock and his mind was beginning to play tricks on him. He slowly moved his head from side to side, but couldn’t see much through the darkness or the objects that trapped him.
“Hello?” the voice called again and Darien realized that he was not imagining it, it sounded like that of a small child. A very frightened small child, coming from the blackness somewhere above him.
He cleared his throat, “Hey there,” his own voice was weak and the very act of speaking sent ripples of pain along his neck and shoulders. He wasn’t sure the child had heard him when the small voice called out, “Where are you?”
Through the haze of pain, Darien had to think about that one. He had absolutely no idea where he was, aside from the fact that he was buried alive. “I don’t know,” he wheezed, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head. “Do you know where you are?”
He immediately realized the question was pointless, why would the child have asked if she knew the answer. There was a brief moment of silence, “It’s too dark,” the voice said to him honestly, “I can’t see.”
“It’s dark here too,” Darien replied.
“I’m scared,” the young girl admitted in a small voice. He heard her shifting around slightly, her movement caused a light shower of dust to fall and coat Darien’s hair.
Me too, Darien thought to himself, out loud he said, “Don’t worry, someone is going to come and get us out of here very soon,” I hope, he added silently. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Jessica”
For a brief moment Darien wanted to laugh with the absurdity of it all; flashes and images of a young girl came rushing back to him. He remembered the gold key and how he had put it away for safe keeping in his apartment. He remembered having to say goodbye and how his heart had broken at the tears in her eyes. He remembered wanting to grab onto the moment with all his might and not let her go, and he remembered how badly it had hurt to stand and watch her walk away.
“What’s your name?”
Ralph, he said to himself. “Darien, my name is Darien.”
As silence once again fell into the black, Darien closed his eyes and listened to the whimpers and cries of the injured. The pain in his head and along his body was almost a tangible thing now, and the crushing weight on his chest made it nearly impossible to catch his breath. As if things weren’t bad enough already, Darien noticed that the air he was breathing was beginning to go stale; there was obviously no circulation taking place.
Come on, Hobbes, he mused to himself, save my ass.
Bobby Hobbes decided that he was standing on the precipice of Hell itself. There was now a very large crater where the marble steps leading up to the museum had once been. Equally large chunks of debris littered the surrounding area for hundreds of yards in every direction and smoke was drifting lazily up into the sky, emanating from within the open wound in the earth. The museum itself looked as if a giant hand had come by and taken a huge chunk out of it. The entire front hall of the building was now simply a mass of twisted metal and rubble on the ground and half the roof had been blown off and could be found lying halfway down the street. Three stories of concrete, marble and metal had been hideously and viciously compressed into one giant mass, trapping many innocent people within.
Hobbes closed his eyes, but the terrible image was burned painfully into his memory along with the cold and horrible realization that Darien Fawkes was in there somewhere. Hobbes had never felt so helpless and powerless in his entire life.
“Calvin to Hobbes, Calvin to Hobbes”
His partner’s voice had crackled over the wireless headset and he had grimaced. His partner, the comedian.
“Next time I pick the names, got it?” He’d replied, a slight growl to his voice.
Darien had chuckled lightly over the connection and Hobbes could just imagine him shaking his head at his partner’s lack of humor.
“Oh come on,” he’d replied, “you mean to tell me you don’t like being named after a stuffed tiger?”
Hobbes opened his eyes and gazed past the destruction before him, he’d been sitting in the van, listening as Darien quietly relayed all the necessary information to him. The set up of the terrorists and where the hostages were located. Hobbes had taken the information and passed it along to the puzzled yet appreciative authorities already on the scene.
Then the headset had gone suspiciously quiet. The last thing Hobbes had heard before all Hell had broken loose had been a horrified “Oh Jesus! Hobbes!” from his partner.
There had been a muted growl, like the roll of a distant thunder. The blast had followed, ripping the building apart and sending glass, metal and concrete outward in a terrific shower of debris. The shock wave had knocked Hobbes back in his seat as the van’s windows had imploded, debris raining down and adding to the damage on the vehicle.
Hobbes had ripped the headset from his head and bolted from the van, horror wrenching his gut into a painful knot as he viewed the wreckage through the settling dust. His first instinct had been to try and claw his way through the mangled ruin to try and free his partner, but he’d been held back by various members of the police force. He’d fought and threatened, but he’d finally had to resign himself to standing by as the professionals did their job.
Hobbes sighed heavily and glanced around him, buildings immediately surrounding the museum had sustained some damage as well; windows had been blown out, holes had been punched into the front and sides of walls, even cars parked along the street had fallen victim to debris raining from the sky. To Hobbes, it looked like some horrible war movie brought to vivid and terrible life. On the street, innocent bystanders were either sitting and staring blankly off into the distance or wandering around aimlessly with numbed expressions on their stunned faces. All of them had some kind of minor injury as a result of the blast and its effects, and it was plainly obvious that all of them were in shock.
All around Hobbes, rescue workers and television reporters swarmed and pushed; one group trying valiantly to save lives while the other group tried valiantly to document everything and anything that would guarantee them a huge viewing audience later that evening. The reporters reminded the small agent of vultures circling a fresh kill, he wondered idly if anyone would notice if he pulled out his gun and capped a few of them.
Hobbes was jostled from his reverie when an object of his musings, a toothy, leggy brunette in a red power suit, shoved a microphone into his face. Behind her, a cameraman hovered just over her right shoulder like some kind of surreal, one-eyed monster.
“Sir, can you tell us what happened here?” She gazed at him with brown eyes that tried to convey sympathy, but failed miserably.
Hobbes glared at her, “Why? Something wrong with your own eyes?”
The brunette frowned at him, but persisted, “Perhaps you could tell us in your own words what you saw?”
The agent folded his hands across his chest and narrowed his eyes as he continued to glare at the over-anxious woman. “My own words? You want me to use my own words?” he sneered at her, “Fine.” He raised a hand and gestured for her to come closer and she took a hesitant step forward. “Boom!” Hobbes shouted suddenly, throwing his arms into the air and causing the reporter to jump back in surprise, almost knocking into her cameraman.
“Boom, boom, boom!” he finished angrily, once again folding his arms in front of him. “There, how’s that for my own words?”
The brunette dropped her mic, “I’m only trying to gather eyewitness accounts to make this story more human,” she said, a touch of reproach in her voice.
Hobbes dropped his hands to his sides, unconsciously balling them into fists of rage. “You want to make this story more human,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, “then you and the rest of your vulture pals can pick up a shovel and start digging!” He took a step forward, “We’ve got people trapped in that mess behind you; mothers, fathers, children, friends …” he trailed off as he thought of his partner lying buried beneath hundreds of tons of dirt and debris. Hurt, dying … dead.
He turned away from the stunned reporter with a growl, his emotions threatening to overflow and consume him. “Get the Hell away from me,” he whispered harshly, “just get the Hell away from me.”
“Darien?”
Jessica’s timid voice brought Darien back from the precipice of blackness; he was feeling extremely light-headed and very lethargic. His left arm had gone completely numb and there was a constant buzzing in his ears. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to maintain consciousness when it was an epic struggle to just try and inhale.
“I’m here, Jessica,” his ragged voice was barely above a whisper. Around him, the groans had become still and the ensuing silence was ghostly, eerie.
“Do you hear something?” she asked, hope evident in her voice.
Darien truly didn’t trust any of his senses at the moment, but he strained his ears anyway and was surprised when he was able to make out the steady growl of heavy machinery in the distance. “Yes, I do,” he replied at length, allowing himself a small smile as he closed his eyes.
“Are they coming to get us?” Jessica asked quietly.
Darien’s smile grew into a grin, “Yes they are,” he told her, And not a moment too soon, he thought to himself. His head felt as if it had become disconnected from his body and everything from the neck down was a wall of intense, throbbing pain. Darien was fairly certain that, in the dark, two planets were parked on top of him.
Above him, the giant mass of rocks and dirt began to rumble and shift, groaning ominously. He heard Jessica emit a startled yelp at the sudden movement, and he wondered if she was sitting atop the wreckage above him. Loose bits of debris tumbled loose from their precarious position and fell lightly on his face. Darien closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, but the dirt got into his nose and mouth anyway. An involuntary cough shook his body and a blast of mind-numbing pain ripped through his upper chest and caused him to gasp in surprise, pulling even more dirt down his throat. He couldn’t stop the anguished cry that echoed in the stillness.
“Darien?”
He couldn’t speak, not even if he wanted too. Darien couldn’t catch his breath enough to form even one vowel and the burning fire in his chest made even thinking an impossibility. He was dying, he decided. He wanted to die at this point, just so the pain would stop.
“Darien?” Jessica’s voice had risen an octave and he could hear that she was bordering on becoming hysterical. Her only other source of human contact in this grisly tomb was in danger of being cut off.
Darien closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, “I’m here,” he forced his throat to say, his voice raw, “I’m here.”
“Are you hurt? I heard you scream.”
“I’m okay,” he lied, “Thought I saw a spider.”
Above him, the mass shifted again, moaning and groaning like a large beast about to awaken. Despite the nausea that rolled around him, Darien turned his head away from the falling debris again, he would rather risk vertigo than coughing again.
When the rumbling and shifting subsided, Darien could sense that his confine had suddenly become a lot smaller. When he turned his head back, his nose brushed up against an unseen smooth surface.
This would be one helluva time to discover I’m claustrophobic, Darien mused sarcastically.
Around him, he began to hear people calling out for help or banging on whatever they could find to make noise. As he listened through the roar in his head, Darien could hear the distinctive sound of muffled voices along with machinery. Just a little bit longer, he told himself as he closed his eyes, Just hold on a little bit longer.
Bobby Hobbes stood under a small canopy that had been temporarily erected for the rescue teams to come and catch their breath for a few minutes. He was shaking with fury and his hands were clenched in painful fists of rage.
“You wanna run that by me again?” he asked, anger causing his voice to quiver uncontrollably.
In front of him, Claire sighed heavily and shook her head, her blond hair blowing lightly in the breeze. “I’m sorry, Hobbes, but I have my orders.”
“Orders?” The smaller man took a step forward, “Orders?!” He repeated, fairly shouting, “My partner’s back there trapped beneath a freakin’ building and you’re talking to me about orders?”
Claire reached out to place a hand on the other man’s shoulder only to have it swatted away with a snarl, “Fawkes needs a hospital with doctors and nurses and complicated machinery.” Hobbes turned away with a shake of his head, “I can’t believe that the Official would actually … I can’t believe that you …” his voice trailed off as he ran a hand over his balding head.
In the distance, the voices of the rescue workers mingled with the whine of heavy equipment as they laboriously removed the debris trapping the victims beneath. The sun was beginning to sit low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie blood-red glow.
Claire went to say something when Hobbes turned suddenly, his eyes bright with anger. “Fawkes is not just a … a … “ he fished for the right word, “a receptacle,” he completed. “He’s an agent, but more than that he’s my partner and my friend,” the agent folded his hands in front of him and threw a glare at the woman standing before him. “I won’t let you do this to him, he’s done too much, suffered too much for this damn Agency. It’s about time you people start realizing that that’s a person that gland is attached too and start treating him with more respect and less like a piece of freakin’ government property that can be used and abused at whim!” Hobbes sighed and shook his head, but his anger remained. “I expect that kind of treatment,” he admitted, “I’m on my last leg, I got no more chances left so I take whatever is dished out, but aside from that this is the life I signed up for. I knew what I was getting into and what risks were involved. Fawkes he .. he’s just a punk kid that got handed the raw end of a deal and now has to live with the consequences of it. Hell, it wasn’t even his decision to make.”
Claire took a hesitant step forward, surprised at the depth of emotion she was seeing in the small agent, she had always known that Hobbes had cared for Darien on some level, she had just never realized how much. It left her speechless. “Hobbes,” she began, only to be cut off.
“I’m not letting you do this,” there was a note of finality in his deep voice, “Fawkes deserves better than this, he deserves a fighting chance to live.” He dropped his hands to his sides, drawing himself up straight and tall, “You want to take him back to the Agency then you’re gonna have to go through me.”
The two stared at each other for a few moments before Claire finally looked away, her eyes falling on the devastation that had once been a museum. As she quietly surveyed the damage, a part of her wondered if anyone had been able to survive that blast.
That part desperately hoped so.
As Darien lay in the dark, quiet stillness with nothing else to do, his mind began to wander over the last few months and the new direction his life had taken. When he had first joined the Agency, he had viewed everyone associated with it as an enemy, someone to be despised and hated; and he’d excelled at that. He hadn’t given any of them a snowball’s chance, the nicer they treated him, the more suspicious and angry he became.
Can you really blame me? He thought ruefully.
He didn’t really known when things had begun to change, but they had, and for the better. The partner he once viewed with condescending contempt had become one of the few people in the world he trusted, truly trusted. The individuals he had originally pushed away had turned out to be the one thing he had never had, not really anyway. A family, an honest-to-God family. Even the Official, with his over-bearing, demanding, callous attitude. It was strange, Darien knew, but he sensed a sort of kinship that existed between everyone at the Agency, from Eberts to Claire, and it was what he had been searching for his entire life.
Funny how it had taken a top secret government experiment to find it.
Above and around him, Darien was able to hear the loud grumble of the rescue equipment drawing ever closer as the rescue teams continued to lift mound after mound of debris from atop the trapped victims. Voices from above were calling out, like surreal angels from heaven descending into the pit of Hell. Darien listened as those who were able called out in a desperate reply.
“Darien?” Jessica called out softly, “Darien they’ve come for us.”
Darien smiled in the darkness, They sure have.
“Darien?” Concern peppered the young girl’s voice at his silence. He pulled in a hesitant breath to calm her fears, but his chest constricted painfully, sucking out what little oxygen remained in his labored lungs with a wet choke.
“Darien, can you answer me?” Her concern was audibly evident and Darien could dimly hear a slight scuffling sound, as if she were trying to get to him.
Hobbes!
His mind screamed in sheer terror as he fought to catch his breath, agony coursing through his veins like fire and freezing his lungs. Vertigo snatched him in its vicious grip and Darien suddenly felt as if he were falling, tumbling out of control through the blackness and the pain.
Hobbes!
Someone was calling out to him in the distant night, he could hear them shouting to him, desperate for him to answer. Who was it? Kevin? Hobbes? No, the voice was a female. Claire? Through the haze of pain and confusion, Darien felt a small, gentle hand on his cheek. The shock of actual human contact snapped him out of his panic and forced him to try and calm down. He stopped struggling against his own body and slowly managed to suck air into his burning lungs. His chest exploded with every breath, but the stale air had never tasted to sweet. Darien hadn’t realized that Jessica had been so close to his position, he wondered if the earlier shifting of the debris was the cause of her nearness. A blessing in disguise, he mused as he closed his eyes and relished in the feel of her tiny hand resting lightly on his burning skin.
“Darien, please don’t die,” she whispered.
A painful grunt was all he could manage and then he once again called out silently to a friend who couldn’t hear him.
Agent Hobbes stood quietly beside a heavy lifter, its bulky arm poised over the mangled debris, ready to pull it off those who were still trapped beneath the crushing weight. The sun had long since set, and portable floodlights had been set up around the devastation, throwing everything into a ghostly white glow. The maddening problem was that no one actually knew where any of the victims were and if they simply started pulling the mound of dirt and concrete apart, they would most likely end up killing someone. No one wanted to take that chance, so a crew of rescue workers were moving on top of the wreckage like so many ants on a sugar cube, using dogs to try and locate people while methodically stripping what they could away.
Hobbes wanted to scream.
The pace at which things were moving was achingly slow; every second that ticked by was another second his partner had to hold on. Another minute. Another hour. How badly was Fawkes hurt? Could he afford to wait through the tedious, painstaking rescue process? Hobbes wanted to jump onto the wreckage and dig through the tangled mess with his bare hands until he reached Darien.
He folded them in front of him with a heavy sigh instead.
Claire came over to stand beside him, her blue eyes surveying the steady work going on around them. “Have they found anyone yet?”
It was a rhetorical question and Hobbes knew it, but he answered the woman anyway. “Nope, not yet.”
The Keeper sighed and rubbed her arms against the slight evening chill. “Look, Bobby,” she began, reverting to the use of his first name to show her sincerity, “I want you to know that I didn’t agree with the Official. I argued about taking Darien to a hospital. He refused.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Hobbes replied, staring straight ahead as a large chunk of concrete was removed.
“Doesn’t matter?” She repeated questioningly, “What do you mean it ‘doesn’t matter’?”
The smaller man turned his head slightly to gaze at her out of the corner of his eye, “It doesn’t matter because I’m going to make sure Fawkes gets the proper medical attention he needs. I’ll do it with or without your help, but one way or the other you will not stand in my way.”
Claire stared at him for a few heartbeats, “Bobby …” was all she could manage before her voice trailed off and she looked away.
“Fine,” he replied, turning his attention back to the work in front of him, “I’ll do it without you.”
“You realize that you’re risking everything the Official has done for you if you go through with this and disobey his order,” the Keeper said quietly, her head bowed.
Hobbes turned so that he was looking directly at her, his face unreadable, his eyes as black as the night sky. “Am I?” he replied with a slight frown. “Fawkes is the first person I can honestly consider a friend who’s not just my partner. I can see the way he cares for people, how he feels their pain as if it were his own. I don’t always get it and sometimes I think he cares too freakin’ much,” he broke off with a shrug and paused to look away. “The Official, the Agency, they gave me another second chance, gave me another job. I’ll always appreciate that,” his voice was surprisingly gentle as he continued, “but Fawkes gave me something I never had before,” he turned to look back at her, “friendship. That’s worth the risk for me, because if I don’t do this .. then the cost will be my soul.”
Hobbes let his statement hang in the air for a few seconds before turning on his heel and walking quietly away.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It took all of Darien’s concentrated effort to keep breathing; his upper chest erupted with pain with each intake of air and the crushing weight on top of him was almost unbearable. Jessica’s hand remained on his cheek and every so often she would call out to him, talk to him, bring him back from the precipice one more time. Feeling her hand on his face was the closest thing to bliss that Darien could ever remember.
The gradual shifting of the debris had finally pinned his lower legs down, and with the circulation cut off, everything below his knees had gone completely numb. The mass directly above him had shifted so low that Darien could actually feel the wisp of his own breath with every exhale. An ironic grin suddenly appeared on his features, I don’t want it known that I survived a bomb explosion only to later die of suffocation.
In the distance there was a roar of victory and Darien realized that someone had been rescued from this God-awful tomb. What was even better was that it seemed that whoever they found was alive.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“I was here with my mom today,” Jessica said suddenly, her small voice jarred Darien from his thoughts. “We come to the museum every Friday afternoon to look at the pictures and eat lunch.”
She was silent for a moment and the only sounds were Darien’s labored breathing and the voices of the rescue force.
“Then a group of angry men came running inside, shouting at us and pointing these guns at us,” her voice caught in her throat at the memory. “I don’t know what they wanted, but they sounded so angry. My mom was with me, covering me up. Then there was this really big noise and I felt like I was flying. When I woke up, I was alone and it was dark.” She paused and Darien could hear her sniffling slightly. “Then you answered me and you sounded so close. I wanted to bad to try and get to you, “ she confessed, “but I was scared to move, I was afraid that if I moved I would make the rest of the dirt fall down.” She fell silent again, her small hand cool on his face. “But then the dirt and rocks did move and you sounded scared and hurt, just like me. I wanted to help you not be afraid, the way you’re helping me.”
Darien’s breath hitched in his throat and all he could manage was a slight grunt.
Another shout went up in the distance, but this time there was no cheering. Someone hadn’t been so lucky.
“Darien?”
He closed his eyes, “Yes?” he managed.
“I’m so scared,” her voice sounded so small and so helpless that Darien wanted to claw through the rock and dirt to get to her. “I want my mom, I don’t want to die here.”
“Don’t worry,” he wheezed, “you’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.”
Her small hand rubbed his cheek and they both fell silent and listened to the sound of the on-going rescue taking place above them. There was a lot of activity taking place, Darien realized with a start. He could hear voices, painfully close, calling out, trying to reach them. Reach anyone. Hope soared within him, freedom from this dark, enclosed Hellhole was imminent.
Call to them, he willed Jessica, tell them where we are.
As if reading his thoughts, the child began to shout, “Help us! We’re down here!”
A barely discernible voice replied to her heartfelt cries, “Hang on! We’re coming!”
“Darien!” Jessica exclaimed, her voice high with elation, “Do you hear that?” Her tiny hand squeezed his cheek lightly.
Darien gurgled painfully, the taste of copper strong in his mouth. He closed his eyes with a small smile as the sound of machinery fired up directly overhead. Hobbes was coming to pull him from the fire again.
“I think they found Agent Fawkes!” A disembodied voice shouted out as several agents ran to converge on the spot where the call had come from.
Claire looked up from where she had been sitting, her heart freezing in her chest and her breath catching in her throat. For hours now she had been sitting alone under the makeshift canopy, a Styrofoam cup of now-cold coffee clenched forgotten in her hands. Every time a shout had gone up, her heart had leapt into her throat and she had waited to hear those words that now rang out over the growl of machinery.
Now that she had finally heard them, she realized that she was rooted to her chair, unable to move. She saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned to look, she saw Hobbes shoving his way past reporters and rescue workers to stand on the spot where the other agents had run to.
Claire closed her eyes, Just let him be alive, she prayed, Just let him be alive.
Hobbes stood atop the destroyed ruins next to several other agents, systematically ripping small bits of metal and rock away. His face was stoic, but his eyes told a different story. In them was concern for his partner and friend, the cold fear that Darien may not even be alive.
“Agent Fawkes?” a black-haired agent called out, peering down into the inky darkness. Hobbes saw a flash of white beneath the rock and metal, his stomach lurched at the sight of the T-shirt Darien had been wearing earlier that day.
He wasn’t moving.
“Hello?” A small voice called out, “Help us, please!”
Hobbes put his hands on his knees and called down into the pit, “We’re here! We’re coming!”
“Hurry!” The child’s voice sounded desperate, “Darien isn’t speaking anymore and he’s not moving either!”
Absently, Hobbes wondered how this child knew his partner’s name but then decided it really didn’t matter as he willed the rescue equipment to move faster with every ounce of his being. He looked down into the slowly widening hole where he was now able to see his partner’s upper arm, shoulder and neck; knowing Fawkes he’d probably been talking to the kid the entire time, trying to ease her fears as he forgot his own.
A small hand appeared suddenly and began waving frantically, Hobbes quickly dropped to his stomach and reached into the gap. The child gripped his hand with surprising strength and the agent could almost feel the physical fear emanating from her contact with him.
“We’ll have you out in a minute,” he said to her, “It’s almost over.”
“Please help Darien,” she sobbed, her tiny voice muffled by the debris still covering her. Hobbes tried to get a clearer look at Darien, but there was too much flotsam in his way. He was actually amazed that Fawkes could still be alive at all, it looked like the mounds of shattered metal and concrete were resting directly on top of him.
He took a deep breath and wondered when his heart had begun to pound so painfully.
“Darien?” he called out.
Beside him, a large piece of mangled metal was pulled away and rescue workers quickly began shoving and pulling away smaller bits of debris.
“Darien?” he tried again, “Can you hear me, kid?”
There was some slight movement beside him and when Hobbes glanced up he found Claire standing there, her arms wrapped tightly around her as she gazed into the hole. He wanted to jump to his feet and block her path with his body, prevent her from doing any more harm to Darien by the sheer force of his will, but the tiny hand clenching his own kept him on the ground. Next to Claire, two agents had appeared carrying a gurney, ready to snatch his partner away.
The Keeper glanced down at Hobbes and gave him a small smile as she dropped to her knees. “All my life I’ve done whatever anyone expected of me,” she said suddenly, unexpectedly. “I’ve always walked the path set before me, I’ve never once strayed outside of the lines to see what lay beyond, what I could get away with.” She paused to collect her thoughts, her blue eyes wandering over to the deep gash in the earth. “But you, I don’t think you’ve ever walked a path in your life, Agent Hobbes,” she turned her eyes back to him and the agent saw no malice there. “You, the man with everything to lose, is willing to risk the one thing he has left in this world for a friend.”
Hobbes blinked up at her, surprised. “Keep, what are you trying to say here?”
Claire smiled at him as she once again got to her feet, “I’m trying to say, Mr. Hobbes, that I’m going to break the rules.”
They watched as the last of the debris was finally cleared away to reveal the broken body of Darien Fawkes. A small young girl blinked up at them through the sudden glare of the floodlights; her hair was matted to the side of her head where she had received a nasty gash, her clothes were torn and dirty, but she appeared to have no other injuries.
Hobbes quickly reached down and grabbed the child out of the way and with a quiet glance of painful trust at Claire, he hurried to take her over to a waiting ambulance.
As the smaller agent whisked the girl away, Claire jumped into the now-open hole beside the severely injured Darien Fawkes. His Keeper could not believe that he was still alive; he had numerous deep gashes on his face and neck and the blood had matted his brown hair in clumps, small trickles still ran down the sides of his face leaving crimson streaks in the dirt. His eyes were shut and Claire realized that it was just as well, they were so swollen she doubted that he could open them anyway. His left arm was also bent at an impossible angle, a sure sign that it had been badly broken. As she quickly scanned the rest of his injuries, Claire’s breath caught in her throat; Darien’s upper chest had several shards of metal protruding from his flesh and a large, deep cut across his midsection.
She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the only place on his body she wasn’t afraid to touch, and began snapping orders to both rescue workers and agents alike, knowing that she was now racing against time.
“Darien?” she whispered, “Darien can you hear me?”
As two EMT’s began quickly preparing a backboard, Claire watched Darien struggle to open his eyes, his breathing shallow and with a sickening wet rattle. It was in that moment that she realized how right Hobbes had been and what a fool she had been, Darien deserved better than a ‘sorry kid’ for all that he had been through. She would ensure that he got to the nearest hospital, the Official be damned.
As a rescue worker put a neck brace on the agent, a strangled moan escaped his cracked lips.
“Darien, it’s Claire.”
There was another ragged moan as the worker began taping the neck brace in place.
“Claire?” he gasped, a pool of blood spilling out the side of his mouth.
The Keeper squeezed his shoulder gently, she had never been so happy to hear him call her name.
“I’m here, Darien, hold on. We’re taking you to a hospital, “ she nodded up at the agents and they quickly loaded Darien onto the gurney and carried him out of the hole. Claire hustled to her feet after them, determined to not to leave Darien’s side, determined to keep her promise.
Claire trod down the somewhat busy corridor toward the elevators. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The Keeper had assisted a team of hospital doctors in putting Darien’s broken body back together. It had not been an easy task, and in those 18 hours of diligence they had lost him twice. Each time Claire had brought him back with a curse and a prayer.
She stepped into the elevator, grateful and a bit surprised that it was empty and wearily pushed the button for the lobby. She’d been informed awhile ago that a man called himself “Agent Robert Hobbes” was in the waiting room, and that he was irate. Claire smiled slightly to herself as the elevator began its descent, that sounded like Bobby, all right. She allowed herself a brief sigh as she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself to fill Hobbes in on his partner’s condition. Darien was currently being transferred into the Intensive Care Unit where nurses would be able to keep an eye on him around the clock, and it also afforded Claire the opportunity to do the same thing. The Official would be angry, to say the least, that Darien had been brought here, so Claire was taking it upon herself to make sure their little secret stayed that way. In fact, the first X-rays and MRI’s the doctors had taken of Darien had mysteriously “vanished”. His blood culture and other lab work ups had also turned up missing.
As the elevator sighed to a stop and the doors parted she heard the faint, yet distinct sound, of two voices arguing. She shook her head, some poor bastard was really getting it, she thought. She turned a corner heading toward the waiting room when she realized that she recognized those arguing voices. With a growing feeling of dread she picked up her pace and arrived at the waiting room in time to see Hobbes and the Official standing face to face, shouting at each other.
“Because he’s my partner, that’s why!” Hobbes roared, taking an angry step toward the large man before him.
“I don’t care if it was the Pope himself,” the Official shouted back, “I gave a direct order that Agent Fawkes be taken back to the Agency. A direct order that you blatantly ignored,” he added, jabbing a beefy finger at Hobbes.
The smaller agent was unfazed, “A direct order?” he snorted, “Since when did you become Commander in Chief?”
The Official’s eyes grew cold as his lips tightened into a hard line, “I am your superior and as a result I expect my orders to be carried out. To the letter.”
Hobbes folded his hands in front of him, “Not when they could end up getting a man killed. Fawkes risked his butt going into that building, he –“
The other man cut him off with an angry wave of his hand, “Do you realize that you have jeopardized the entire I-Man project?” his face was hard as he leaned forward, getting closer to the smaller man. “If the existence of the gland is uncovered, if its capabilities are unearthed, it could mean the end of our future. “ He paused to poke his finger into Hobbes’ shoulder, “The end of your job.”
The agent narrowed his dark eyes at his superior, ignoring the finger, his voice was deadly calm, “When are you gonna get it into your head that Darien Fawkes is a living, breathing person and deserves to be treated as such? Taking him back to the lab would’ve killed him, you didn’t see –“
The Official interrupted the smaller man again, “Darien Fawkes is a tool,” he practically hissed, “this Agency’s ace in the hole.”
Hobbes let his arms fall to his sides, his hands clenched into fists. He pushed himself up into the bigger man’s face, fury burning in his dark eyes, “Were you born a son of a bitch or did that come with the job?” he growled.
Realizing that the argument was dangerously close to getting physical, Claire jumped in between the furious men, a hand on each of their chests. “Gentlemen!” she cried, “Please, we’re in a hospital.”
The Official gave her a withering glare, “I noticed that,” he snapped at her, “did you somehow mistranslate ‘bring Fawkes to the lab’ as ‘take him to the hospital’ ?”
Hobbes made a move to speak when Claire shot him a warning glance, the smaller man remained silent and contented himself with glaring at his superior.
“Sir,” the Keeper answered, turning her attention back to the Official, “I made a judgement call based on the injuries Darien sustained in the blast. He never would’ve survived –“
“I had my reasons for insisting Agent Fawkes not be brought to a hospital,” he snarled, “perhaps you have forgotten about a certain highly classified bio-synthetic gland?”
“Bastard,” Hobbes growled again.
Claire gently patted the agent’s chest as she continued to talk to the Official. “Sir, I assure you that the gland’s existence is still a secret. I am going to remain at the hospital until Darien is strong enough to be transferred back to the Agency.”
The Official stared at her for a few heartbeats, letting the tension in the air build. “How can you be certain of that?” he asked at last.
Removing her hands from in front the two men, Claire folded them before her and turned to face the Official. “I informed the doctors that Darien was born with a unique growth on his cerebral cortex and that since his condition was so unique, I was his personal doctor and needed to be included on all proceedings. Including the surgery.”
Behind her, Hobbes snorted. “Not bad, Keep. Pretty slick.”
Claire ignored him as she continued, “I have also taken into my possession all lab work and other tests they have run on Darien. Before any further tests can be run on him, I, as his personal doctor, must give the okay.” She paused to smile slightly, “So you see, sir, our little secret is safe.”
The Official was silent, his eyes darting from Claire to Hobbes and back to Claire. He finally nodded, but the burning anger still radiated from his bulky form. “Fine,” he said, “Darien Fawkes can stay here until he is able to be brought back to the Agency.”
Both Hobbes and Claire sighed.
“But,” he continued, pointing at the Keeper, “you must remain with him at all times and at the first sign of suspicion Agent Fawkes is to be removed, without question. Understood?”
The woman nodded, “Absolutely.”
The watched as the Official stormed angrily out of the waiting room, throwing Hobbes one last icy glare before he turned a corner and was gone. As he disappeared from sight, the smaller agent sighed heavily and sank into a nearby chair, looking for all the world like a deflated balloon. Claire sat in a chair next to him, her eyes concerned.
“How is he?” Hobbes asked at last, and the Keeper could see the apprehension in his dark eyes.
With a tired sigh, she began to tell the other agent everything she knew about Darien’s condition.
Hobbes listened quietly, his mind trying to comprehend what he was being told. He had arrived at the hospital about ten minutes after she had, and had been waiting in this room ever since for someone to tell him what was going on. How his partner was doing.
At first, he had gotten the run-around, then the cold shoulder, but finally when he had threatened to start using his gun if he didn’t start getting answers, he’d been told that Darien had been taken into emergency surgery and that the prognosis was not good.
Hobbes had had to resign himself to doing what he hated the most, waiting.
“ …and is now in a medical-induced coma so that his injuries can heal without added pressure on his body,” Claire finished with a sigh. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with an exhausted shake of her head. “To tell you the truth, Agent Hobbes, I don’t know how Darien survived what he did.”
The smaller man nodded, but kept quiet, keeping his tumultuous thoughts to himself.
“Darien’s body was like a jigsaw puzzle,” she continued, leaning back in her chair and closing her red, tired eyes. “We went through about six units of blood, and that was just for the internal bleeding.”
Hobbes snapped out of his quiet reverie, “You were able to find a suitable donor?” he asked, his voice incredulous, “What about all that quicksilver crap in his system?"
Claire opened her eyes, but left her head resting against the back of the chair, “It was a risky gamble,” she admitted honestly, “I had no idea how Darien’s body would react to the transfusion, but I knew that without one he would definitely die.” She closed her eyes again, “From what I can tell without running extensive tests, it seems that the quicksilver in Darien’s system acted as a modifier of sorts, actually eliciting changes in the transfused blood.” She shook her head slightly, “Simply amazing, once we get back to the lab I’ll have to ---“
“Will he live?” Hobbes asked finally, interrupting her train of thoughts.
Claire re-opened her eyes and sat up in her chair, studying the agent in front of her for a few moments; his face was deceptively impassive, but in his dark eyes the Keeper could see the emotional strain of the last two days.
“Yes,” she said finally in response to Hobbes’ question, “he’ll live.”
The agent nodded and closed his eyes against the surge of relief that threatened to overwhelm him. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of his chair. “I have to get back to the Agency,” he said at length, rubbing his hands down his worn and tired face, “I have two days worth of paperwork to catch up on before I can even think of getting any sleep. Besides, I think the fat man may want to yell at me some more.”
Claire rose to her feet as well, “What about the terrorist situation, Hobbes?” she asked, “I’ve been a bit out of touch since coming here,” she spread her arms to take in the entire hospital.
Hobbes shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his wrinkled pants, “The FBI are questioning the two surviving perps,” he told her, “all I know now is that the group was responsible for several big time heists, cops have been looking for them for months. Managed to catch one of ‘em, though.” He paused to take his hands out of his pockets and rub his scratchy eyes. “The remaining idiots took hostages in an attempt to try and free their pal.” He shook his head and sighed, “Seems that one of the jokers got panicky when their demands weren’t being met fast enough and detonated the bomb accidentally.” Hobbes rubbed the back of his neck, an angry frown on his face, “A stupid, freakin’ accident. Can you believe that?”
Claire was stunned, words escaping her. All this time she had thought they were an activist group of some kind, or at the worst a terrorist party, demanding changes that they thought would be an improvement or the release of a political prisoner. Instead, it had been a bunch of hoodlums trying to initiate a prison break. She shook her head, all this pain and suffering had been for nothing.
After a moment of silence, Hobbes glanced over at Claire, “Hey Keep, I’d like to see Fawkes before I head back to the Agency. Think you could manage that?”
The Keeper nodded at once and turned to head out of the waiting room, leading the other agent up to the Intensive Care Unit where Darien lay in a dimly lit room. “He is able to hear you,” she told him gently and at his nod, she turned and exited the room, leaving Hobbes alone with his partner.
As the agent walked over the occupied bed, he saw that most of Darien’s head was covered in sterile, antiseptic gauze to keep the risk of infection low as the wounds beneath healed. Every possible piece of medial equipment was attached to every available surface of his partner’s body; a heart monitor, a breathing tube and several IV’s along with an assortment of other equipment whose ultimate purpose remained a mystery to Hobbes. The monitors beside the bed beeped and hummed consistently, systematically watching Darien’s low vital signs while he remained in the induced coma to heal. Hobbes sighed quietly to himself as he rested his hands on the cold metal bedrail.
There really wasn’t much he could say right now.
A light sheet was draped over Darien’s unconscious body, covering the worst of his wounds. Wounds, Hobbes was painfully aware, that should’ve killed him. He silently wondered how many more lives his cat-like partner had hidden up his sleeves.
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets again and contented himself with standing a quiet watch over his slowly healing partner. It would be good to have Fawkes back at the Agency again soon, trading good natured vibes with his lanky partner as they griped about the current waste-of-time mission and the woeful way in which their talents were being underused. Especially his own, Hobbes mused.
Until then, the agent decided he would come to this small, darkened room every day and stand a quiet watch, keeping the demons at bay.
the end
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