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Too Close For Comfort-Part Three

by: R2

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

**********

It was nearly ten in the morning when the front door to Jacob

Mitchell's house swung open. After leaving the Keeper, Hobbes had put in a few phone calls, alerted the Official and parked the company van a discrete distance away. The agent watched as the director of the D.E.A. toted two rather large suitcases toward his car; he was glancing furtively around him watching for any prying eyes.

"Okay fellas," Hobbes muttered into the small mic located under the flap of his jacket, "look sharp."

As Mitchell popped the trunk of his car and threw the suitcases inside, Hobbes dashed out of the van and hustled across the street. He caught up with the smaller man as he was opening his car door. Hobbes grabbed him by an elbow and spun him around, "Now I always thought that the director of the D.E.A. was supposed to be there when a sting went down."

The small man was caught completely off guard, staring openly at Hobbes like a deer caught in headlights. The agent jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "Somehow I don't think your equipment is in those suitcases."

Mitchell shook off his momentary paralysis as he realized that the man before him knew the truth. Self-preservation kicked in and the director ripped his elbow out of Hobbes' grip and swung at him with his other hand. The agent saw the move coming and quickly ducked out of the way, sliding under the punch and landing one of his own in Mitchell's gut as he came up behind the smaller man. The director's breath left him in a gasp and he stumbled against his car.

"Why'd you do it, Mitchell?" Hobbes demanded, "Why'd you make a deal with the devil?"

Mitchell bellowed in fury as he turned and lunged at Hobbes, catching the agent in his midsection. The director's reaction caught Hobbes slightly by surprise, so the smaller man had a distinct advantage over him. Hobbes found himself propelled harshly to the gravel driveway, his head impacting the unforgiving ground with a loud thud. For a moment, stars danced before his eyes and gray encircled his vision. There was a heavy weight on his chest and Hobbes realized that his adversary had landed on top of him. Mitchell shouted incoherently again as he reared back and punched the agent viciously across his face. Hobbes felt the warm flow of blood ooze into his mouth as his lower lip split, as Mitchell punched him again he realized that if he stayed in this position too long, he would most likely be severely beaten.

With a grunt, he gathered his feet beneath him as well as he could and shoved with all his might. The director uttered a shout of surprise as he was suddenly sent airborne and Hobbes rolled quickly out from under the weight, coming easily to his knees, spitting blood out of his mouth. He ran forward and jumped on top of Mitchell, who had landed face down in the driveway. He ground a knee into the back of the man's neck and quickly grabbed an arm, bending it back until the director's fingers almost touched the base of his neck. Mitchell bellowed in pain and tried to free himself, but Hobbes only pulled on his arm harder. "Keep struggling and I'll break it," he growled.

With a grunt, Mitchell went limp, defeated. Hobbes remained tense, however, not daring to move in case the act was a ploy. "Why'd you turn traitor, Mitchell? What kind of deal could they offer you that would make you turn your back on your men?"

Beneath him, the smaller man sighed heavily, "You already know the answer," he replied, "At first it was only small shipments, enough to keep them happy, but then they started demanding more. They threatened my family, my friends, said that I was in too deep." He shifted his weight and Hobbes yanked his hand up farther. "I knew that it was true, but what could I do? If I told my superiors, I would be disgraced, kicked out of the agency." He sighed again, it was the sound of a great weight being released.

"Okay guys, you got that?" Hobbes asked into the small mic.

From around a corner, there was the sound of squealing tires and two vans pulled up in front of the house, D.E.A. agents spilling from inside, guns drawn. "It's about freakin' time," Hobbes muttered, "I almost got killed out here."

They surrounded the two men and Hobbes gratefully turned Mitchell over to them.

An older man dressed in a black suit came over to the agent, "Good work," he said with a nod, "you may have just saved several agents' lives. We'll take it from here."

Hobbes dabbed at his lower lip as he glanced at the man before him, "Just doin' my job"

***

Claire grimaced at the scream that emerged from the interior room. Darien had awakened nearly two hours ago; not even the blackness of sleep could protect him from the agony of oncoming quicksilver madness.

"Claire?" he shouted, his voice filled with pain "Claire, get in here! I need a shot!"

She did her best to ignore the statement as she continued to run what must have been the thousandth test on the new formula. She had honestly lost count of how many times she had made the computer hypothesize and correlate the formula with Darien's blood. The answer always came back the same: 98-percent probability of success.

From inside the room Darien screamed again and uttered a curse, and Claire closed her eyes, grateful that she had retrieved the leather restraints and tied him down while he had still been unconscious. The computer beeped at her and the Keeper opened her eyes to glance at the monitor; 98-percent probability of success, it blared.

She sighed heavily and picked up the small vial that contained the new formula, she held it up to her eyes and studied the azure liquid. Would it work? The computer said it would, give or take two percent, but would Darien's system accept it? That was her main cause for concern, even though the previous dose of counteragent was almost gone from Darien's system, he was weak. Still recovering from the attack. Would his weakened system be able to handle the introduction of a new chemical?

There was the sound of a stifled sob from behind her and Claire let the vial drop into her hand where she enclosed it in a fist. She desperately hoped so. With a small frown, she loaded the new formula into a hypodermic, taking extra care to ensure that she loaded the exact amount, grabbed a cotton ball soaked in alcohol and turned toward the inner room.

As she entered, she made eye contact with Darien and the sight of his deep scarlet eyes unnerved her and she shivered involuntarily.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "look who finally decided to show up."

The Keeper made her way silently over to the nearby counter top and rested the needle down, she could feel his eyes like daggers on her back and she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I'm doing this for your own good," she responded gently, "you have to trust me."

Pure fury etched across Darien's face as he glared at her, "Trust you?" he whispered, a hard smile forming on his lips as he strained against the leather restraints, "Trust you?" he then shouted again, "You're the one doing this to me! Withholding the shot, allowing me to go mad, and you want me to trust you?!" He lunged at her and she yelped in surprise, backing into the counter. The restraints held him to the bed, but his muscles were knotted like rope and Claire was afraid he would be able to burst through them in his current state. He grimaced in obvious pain and sagged back onto the bed, panting hard. "You're supposed to help me," he said at last, his voice quiet. He turned his head to look at her, his face the picture of pain and grief.

Claire took an involuntary step forward, it truly did break her heart to see him this way. "I am helping you," she assured him, looking into those terrible eyes.

Darien grimaced again and his body stiffened as another burst of pain exploded through his skull. He turned away from her with a whimper and she took a step back, turning to place both hands on the counter top.

It was time to give him the new formula, she could wait no longer. To do so would only put Darien at greater risk and increase the potential of permanent madness. Then why was she so reluctant, why wasn't she over there right now administering the life saving shot?

As if in reply, a single name floated to the top of her consciousness … Gloria

Claire brought a hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob as the memory came bubbling to the surface.

We had tested the vaccine extensively, I was positive it was safe.

So what'd you find out?

I had selected the wrong sequence with which to attach the new gene. The vaccine mutated a gene on chromosome eight, which causes Werner's Syndrome

So in other words, it was your fault

Yes, it was my fault

Claire closed her eyes and felt the hot tears run down her cheeks. She had run extensive tests back then, just as she had done now, and she had still be wrong. It had taken her ten years to fix her mistake. Could she be as wrong today? If she was, Darien didn't even have ten minutes to spare. She opened her eyes and turned her head to gaze over her shoulder, she saw him staring silently at her; his scarlet eyes pleading with her. Begging her to help him.

With hands that were trembling slightly, the Keeper picked the needle up from the counter along with the cotton ball. On the bed, Darien watched quietly as she walked slowly over to him. Her mind was a jumble of emotions, her heart was hammering madly in her chest and her knees were threatening to give out.

She reached his side and gently swabbed an area around his elbow, bringing the hypodermic up and pushing the plunger until all the excess air in the syringe was gone. Darien's breathing quickened in anticipation and she glanced at him, meeting his eyes. He seemed to struggle momentarily, fighting his way past the madness that was taking hold of his mind. "I trust you," he whispered to her at last.

Claire felt tears spring suddenly into her eyes, blurring Darien's image. She blinked quickly before the tears had a chance to fall and brought the needle to his arm, pushing down on the plunger and releasing the contents into his system. Darien cried out slightly as she withdrew the needle and his body convulsed as the new formula worked its way along his quicksilver-saturated system. His breathing became harsh as sweat broke out on his forehead, his body at war with itself. Darien choked back another sob before he sighed and lay still, unconsciousness once again taking hold.

Claire watched him for a few moments, her expert eyes studying every facet of his form. Looking for any sign of rejection, any clue that things may be amiss, but Darien's chest rose and fell quietly, normally. She reached out gently and turned over his right arm so she could look at the tattoo.

A sob escaped her lips as she glanced at the monitor ...

... it was completely green.

***

Epilogue

The funeral had been attended by what seemed like over a hundred people, and all of them had been crying. Except for little Bobby Hobbes. He had been too stunned, too shocked, to cry. He had watched the casket of his best friend lowered into the ground and shed not a tear.

He had pushed the memory of that day so far down into his subconscious that he had never truly dealt with it. He had simply refused to think about it, forgotten that it had ever occurred. Darien's experience had re-opened the wound and forced Bobby Hobbes to take a long hard look into the past. To confront his demons and come to terms with a situation that had scarred him for so long.

It had not been an easy process, but Hobbes had emerged victorious. Brad's death had been a tragic mistake, he realized that now. There was nothing he could have done; if he had stayed, Brad would have died. He had left and Brad had died. It had been the perfect catch-22. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, but try explaining that to a ten-year-old. Back then, he hadn't been able to accept the fact that he wasn't to blame. Now that he was older, and a bit wiser, he could see the truth in that.

He had bid his childhood friend good-bye and put the memory to rest at last.

The Official and Hobbes were in Lab Two along with Claire and the still bed-ridden Darien. The Keeper had decided to play it safe and keep him in the lab for observation until she was sure the new formula had had the desired effect, and that Darien would not reacted badly to it. So far, things were going well.

"Seems like everything is back under control," the Official noted with a nod. "Good work on finding the new formula," he said to Claire. She nodded and smiled, crossing her arms in front of her.

The big man turned to Hobbes next; he was still sporting a nasty bruise where Mitchell had punched him and his bottom lip still protruded from where it had been split. Otherwise, the agent was his normal, cynical self. "Good work, Hobbes," the Official said with the barest hint of a grin, "The Justice Department is very pleased."

Hobbes shrugged, "All in a day's work for Bobby Hobbes."

Behind them, Eberts stuck his head into the room and cleared his throat, "Excuse me, sir, but your meeting …"

"Ah yes," the Official said, "thank you Eberts." He nodded at the small entourage and to Fawkes he said, "Glad you're okay, kid. You gave us a helluva scare."

He exited the room and Claire cleared her throat, "If you'll excuse me, I've got some paperwork I need to finish up."

When she had gone, Hobbes and Darien exchanged silent looks. "I'm glad you're doing better," Hobbes finally said, " 'cause the last time I saw you, you were in pretty bad shape."

Fawkes ran a hand through his tousled hair and grinned, "Yeah, for awhile there I wasn't sure I was gonna make it but …" he shrugged and then gestured at the small room, "Now I can't wait to get outta here"

Hobbes took a step forward and rested a hand on the foot of the bed, "Listen, Fawkes, the Official's right, you gave us all a big scare. Do me a favor huh?"

At Darien's frown, he continued, "Don't you ever do that to me again, you got that?" He paused to point a finger at his friend, "You pull a stunt like that again, and I'll kill you myself."

Darien smiled at the comment, "Consider it done."