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Snowed In -Part Two

by: Talamae

Disclaimer: The Invisible Man (2000 series) and its characters are copyrighted to the Sci-Fi channel and USA Cable Entertainment. All rights reserved.

Author's Note: My first attempt at TIM fanfic.

*****

Claire reached out and grabbed Darien's wrist to get a better look. According to the tattoo the dose of counteragent hadn't made a dent in his quicksilver saturation. She looked up into his eyes.

"What does this mean?' he asked.

Before Claire could answer a loud squawking coming from the cab startled her into dropping Darien's wrist.

"The CB," he said with a hint of relief in his voice. He climbed back into the cab and pulled out the CB mike after fiddling with the volume knob. "Ah, hello? Anyone hear me?"

A burst of loud static made him wince, yet through the noise came a barely audible voice.

"Heyya, Pop-Gun here, off the side of the I-9 at the Gas 'n' Gulp in Chaney, waiting for the snow to deep six. Gotta haul my ass and about a ton of cargo to the Springs. How dee do?"

"Hey, hey we're stuck out here. There's been an accident and we're hurt. I need an ambulance quick." Darien said, holding down the mike with his thumb.

"What's your twenty, Stucky?" said the voice.

"Stucky?" Darien intoned. "We're somewhere off the I-9, south of Š I don't know ŠCanada."

"That ain't much help son."

"Yeah well, I'm not from around here. I need help. My keep-" he paused and started over. "My friend needs medical attention."

"Not likely to come soon. Blizzard and white out conditions are keeping travel to the bare. That includes ambulances, rescue vehicles and what not. If I wereŠ" the static overcame the man's voice.

"Hello? Hey!" he turned up the volume. "Hey, guy! Pop-Gun, hey. Can you hear me?"

The trucker's voice came crackling back. "-can tell someone you're out there," came the end of his sentence.

"Get an ambulance here, as soon as they can get through. And I need you to do another thing. My friend and I are employees of the Department of Fish and Game in San Diego. I need you to call them. Ask for the Official. Tell him Darien needs his medicine. Hello?" The static became unbearable and Darien shut the archaic machine off in disgust.

"Who knows if that did us any good," he called to Claire, turning on the AM radio and flipping the dial around. A few static-strained chords of the Pearl Jam song, "Immortality" filled the cabin. Darien turned it off and climbed into the back. "How you feeling?"

"Somewhere between fine and dead," she answered, shivering a bit.

He pawed at the frost on the window and looked out. "It's getting dark out now. And it isn't letting up." He rubbed his arms, trying to get some heat back into them. "Are you glad you came to Colorado now?"

"I'm just sorry I let you drive," she said and when he frowned she laughed at him. "I have a sense of humor too you know. How cold do you think it is?"

"Damn near freezing," Darien said, rubbing his hands in front of the candle flames. He pulled the towel out from under him he was leaning on and tossed it at her. "Cover up.

I don't think you've got enough on to keep warm."

"Thank you," she wrapped the towel around her shoulders with her good arm. "Did you take this from the hotel?" she asked.

He reached into his suitcase and pulled out four more. "A matching set."

"Darien," she chided.

"So when you go on excursions like this, who watches your dog?" He was trying to make small talk and get their minds off of the rather dire situation they were in. And she appreciated it. Her leg and shoulder throbbed, but would feel worse without the company to keep her distracted. But this small talk served another purpose. They hadn't yet discussed the little problem of the apparent counteragent shortage and she hoped he wasn't evading the topic deliberately.

"I have a little neighbor girl, quite responsible for 11 years old. She stops by, takes him for walks and feeds him."

"You're good with kids," Darien said. "I mean, you seem like you would be."

"Why do you say that?"

"The dog and all. Ever put any thought into having some of your own?" he asked as he flicked the candle flame with his finger.

"Of course. It's something I've considered. My line of work wouldn't make me the most available mother."

"I think there's room in the lab for a playpen."

"No, I don't think so. Work comes first. And you're part of that. So I don't think you'd want me slinging a child around while you need your shots," she grinned. "I don't dismiss the possibility of a big house with a picket fence in my future someday."

"Two cars in the garage, hubby waiting at the doorstep as you come home, two point three kids playing in the yard," said Darien, verbally picturing her family. "The husband walks up and gives you a peck. 'So how was being a mad scientist today honey?'"

"Stop it," she said.

"Yeah, I will," he stood up, as much as he could in the cramped space and went to the back. The rear doors of the van opened, letting in a blast of wind and snowflakes. Darien stuck his head outside, then shut the door. "It's not any better out there."

"Darien."

"What?"

"I want to give you another dose of the counteragent."

"Will it do any good?"

She picked up the bottle. "It seems to be completely thawed out."

"What about building up a tolerance to it. Two doses back to back seems like a bad idea."

She filled the syringe. "Let me be the doctor. We know the first dose didn't work. So a second dose can't do too much damage." He pulled up his sleeve and looked away as she stuck the needle into his vein.

"All done," she pulled the needle out.

"Thank you," he said, and let out a curt laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Me saying 'thank you.' It just seems odd." He said, leaning back.

"Why?"

"It's odd that I would thank you. Kind of like a junky thanking his drug dealer."

"Don't be crude. It's not like that," she said putting the syringe away.

"Isn't it? See, that's the thing I don't get. You make the counteragent that helps me survive what the gland is doing to my body. But you also make the counteragent to keep me in line, keep me coming back for more and keep me working for the Agency. I don't know what to think. Should I be grateful to you for saving my life, or do I want your head on a platter for keeping this monkey on my back? I'm angry at myself for being grateful."

It seemed his true feelings about their odd relationship were bubbling to the surface. "I guess that's something you have to decide for yourself. But you need to realize that I am trying my damnedest to figure out how to take the gland out," she said.

He didn't answer. Instead, he took a drink of water and then handed her the bottle, which she declined. He put it back near the candle, which was burning down to the end of the wick. Darien put the meager flame out with his thumb and forefinger and started up the other one.

"I believe you," he finally admitted. The two them sat in silence, listening to the wind howl.

7:06 p.m.

"Nature calls," Darien said. He made his way to the rear and climbed out. When he was out of sight Claire pulled her black bag towards her and pawed through it. She brushed the ibuprofen bottle and the few spare syringes aside. Besides that she had a bottle of shampoo, a toothbrush, mouthwash and a travel hairdryer. There was nothing of any use. She looked around the floor of the van. Besides the cords and cables from the surveillance equipment, there was nothing long or heavy she could swing in self-defense. She put her hands in the pockets of her parka and pulled out a pen. A pen, that was it? She gripped it like a knife and wondered if she could swing it hard enough to actually do some damage, then dropped it in her lap in disgust. She had to consider defending herself, but this seemed ridiculous. At the moment Claire and Darien were both partners in this ordeal, just trying to survive Mother Nature and get out alive.

But she had to consider that scenario when he just might lose the ability to discern right from wrong. It had certainly happened before. She glanced at the cables along the floor. Could she tie him up with those, maybe while he slept?

She laughed out loud at the absurd thought. I only have one good arm and no way to move around. As if to punctuate the point, her leg sent out a jolt of pain that made her yelp. She grabbed the ibuprofen and dry swallowed a couple more pills.

I have to rule out defending myself as an option. If I try to hurt him it might only make him more belligerent. Tying him up was a good idea, but would he ever volunteer for that? He might, if she was still able to reason with him.

She shuddered and felt an incredible sense of injustice. "This isn't fair. This isn't fair to him or me. Why did this happen?" she said out loud. Her voice reverberated off the metal body of the van and sounded hollow.

Claire's only option now was to somehow contain Darien, or be rescued. Neither looked like it was going to happen.

Where was he anyway? She craned her neck to try and see out the window, but it was too frosted over to see anything outside clearly.

"Darien?" She called out loudly. "Darien, can you hear me?"

Nothing but the wind responded.

Would he just leave? He was the one with the watch, so she wasn't sure how long it had been. But it seemed like he had been gone for ten of fifteen minutes.

But where would he go? she wondered. If he was in a poor state of mind, perhaps he might think he could go for help.

The rear door opened and Darien climbed back inside, covered in snow from his chest down. He coughed violently as he closed the door.

"What happened?" She asked, watching as he brushed snow off of himself.

"I tried to see if I could find the highway," he said, beginning to shiver. "But the drifts outside are about six feet. I couldn't get anywhere." He folded his arms around himself and let out a long puff of frosty breath. "Damn, I'm cold."

"You're going to be soaked," she said and handed him the towel. As he wiped off more snow he had a miserable look on his face. "You shouldn't have tried that."

"I didn't want to just sit here and wait for ŠI don't know what," he said, pulling the towel around his shoulders and then cupped his shivering hands around the candle.

"You have to get out of those wet clothes," she said, pointing to his suitcase.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, taking off his jacket. He grinned sheepishly. "I can do this a little slower if you want," he joked as he pulled off his sweater.

"Hurry up, before you turn blue," she said, offering a coy smile and turning away for modesty's sake.

"I wonder if the Agency has any regulations against this?" he said as he unbuttoned his pants.

"I'm sure I can find one somewhere," she was staring hard toward the front of the van. He coughed a few times as he undressed and quickly changed into dry clothes.

"I had a little bit of an episode while I was out there," he said. "It was just the pain, mostly. I wasn't even sure I was going to tell you."

"So why did you tell me?

"You're the doctor. It seems to be a foregone conclusion that I'm going to go crazy. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," she admitted in a quiet voice, guiltily glancing towards the pen.

"Well, I have one solution," He pulled on his parka again and announced, "I'm done."

"What's that?" She asked, turning back to look at him and smirked. "Your fly."

"Thanks. When I was out there it was hard to tell, but I think I saw lights on the southern horizon. I don't know if it's the highway or a town or something.But that's where I'm going to go see if I can get you some help."

"Is that such a good idea? I thought you said there were six foot drifts."

"Yeah, but I think I know which direction the road is. And I don't want to just wait around for help. It might never come. I'll wait for the storm to break and then head out. How much longer can it last anyway?"

"And what if QSM comes on when you're out there?"

"I handle it as best I can. I think this is our only choice at the moment."

"You'll wait for morning if the storm is over?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"Fine, you think it over. But if the storm breaks by morning, I'm heading out."

He wasn't going to be convinced otherwise. And she had to admit it certainly put her in a better position.

"All right. You can go out, but I want you to time yourself. And if you don't see anything within 45 minutes I want you to come back. You should take something with you to mark your trail so you can find your way back," she said, looking around at the floor for such a something.

"Fine," he agreed.

8:43 p.m.

Claire had been dozing during a spare moment when the medicine had silenced some of the pain from her injuries. But the nagging aches always came back and woke her with a groan. She sat up as best she could and saw Darien sitting over lit two candles. He had quicksilvered his right hand and was holding his fingers over the flame.

"How do you feel?" She asked.

"Bit of a headache," he muttered. "It's not the madness headache, if that's what you're thinking. I know the difference." He made his right index finger disappear and then swirled it around in the wax. It cooled along the edges of his invisible finger, like a mold.

The sun had completely gone down since she had first dozed and the only illumination was coming from the meager candlelight. They had two candles left and once they were gone their only source of heat and light went with them. The van battery had long since died.

"Are you sure it isn't a QSM headache?" She asked.

"No, not one hundred percent sure," he said, rubbing his neck.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," he said.

"Can I ask you," she trailed off, trying to pose the question as delicately as she could. "What does the madness feel like? Do you feel it coming on?" She asked

and saw his face shift into an uncomfortable look. "I'm asking for scientific reasons of course."

"Of course," he pursed his lips. "You ever play with R/C cars when you were younger? You know, remote controlled cars, or airplanes?"

Where was this leading? she wondered. "No, never."

"I used to, all the time. In fact, it was the one thing that Kevin and I did together. We'd get these silly little racing cars and drive them all over the neighborhood, running along behind them. We'd race each other for bragging rights, and occasionally for baseball cards." He smiled at the memory.

"Kevin, being the science nut that he was, like to pull the cars apart. He'd grab a little junior tool kit of his or something and take the cars apart, pull on the wiring and then try to put everything back together. Sometimes he put one of the cars back together and it would run for a while, but then it would die or fall apart. It was usually my cars that wouldn't work after his operations. I'd have my hand on the little steering wheel and be turning this way and that," Darien mimicked the movements with his hands. "But the car kept going. Kevin has put all the gears and wiring back, but something wasn't right and it wouldn't obey the controls. It would just keep driving.

"One Christmas my parents went all out and got me with awesome r/c airplane, a miniature Sopwith Camel that I had to put together myself. I spent months putting this thing together, gluing and painting and what not. And it flew like an eagle. It was a thing of beauty. But of course Kevin got into its innards once and messed everything up. And on one afternoon I took it out to show some friends. I got it up into the sky and then all the control just cut out. So I got to watch as the plane went out of control and crashed into a million pieces."

He looked up into Claire's eyes. "That's what it's like. At one minute I have a hand on the controls and everything is working the way I want it to. Then, the next second, things are out of control and all I can do is just stand back and watch as I crash. It scares me, more than anything. My conscience takes a vacation, and takes all my rational thoughts go with it on a buddy flight."

She let that sink in. No conscience and no rational thought. Any appeal to his rational side while he was stuck in the throes of QSM would be pointless.

"So you think instinct is the thing that determines your actions?"

"That and emotions, whichever one gets to the surface is the one that judges what I do next. And my brain gets a front row seat as the rest of me runs around like a puppet. The only question is who is controlling the strings. Just call me Pinocchio."

"Instinct and emotion," she repeated. "You know, Pinocchio didn't have any strings."

"Um hum," he rubbed the back of his neck and went back to playing with the candles. He quicksilvered his hand and held it over the flame.

"If you're trying to avoid the madness, then I don't think casually using invisibility like that is a good idea," Claire chided him.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"I'm serious Darien."

"Who do you think you are, huh?! My mother? Kevin?!" In a sudden outburst of emotion he swept his hand across the floor and one of the candles went flying, sending hot wax all over the floor. The extreme action caught Claire completely by surprise. Darien leaned down on his knees, an infuriated look on his face, and took a step towards her. The horrified expression she sent him must have registered in his brain, because his own face blanked and then wrinkled into sadness. He flung himself violently backward against the side of the van and slid into a sitting position with his face in his hands.

"Here it comes," Darien muttered mournfully and his hands dropped to his lap. Claire shuddered in dread when she caught sight of his extremely bloodshot eyes.