Fic-short story

by duntulm

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Rated G.

Spoilers for Separation Anxiety.

Summary: News. Break.


short story

by duntulm

He glanced at the clock as he hung up the phone. Most of the morning gone and he'd really just been moving the reports on his desk around. `Concentrate, Bobby,' he scolded himself. `Get
just one set of papers off your desk and headed for review.' But he didn't want to write up cases; he didn't want to check his facts and spelling and sign off on the most mundane details. He wanted to…he started to... `No, absolutely not. You will not hit speed dial. Once a day.

You only need to check once a day.' But his finger was already hitting the button and he listened as the too fast tones sounded in his ear. A click and his own voice was telling him he'd reached
his answering machine. He punched in the code, held his breath, and heard, "zero messages," before he slammed the receiver down.

`Just like every other time this morning, chump.'

"Bad news or did the phone somehow piss you off?" Fawkes was leaning on the door frame, half in and half out as if undecided if he would be welcome in the bear's den. Hobbes had been a grouchy bastard all week and Darien had no desire to be on the receiving end of his bad mood.

"No news. No damn news at all." He continued to glare at the phone, then looked at his partner. "What's up?"

"I was going to buy you lunch. You see, I think if I could get your blood sugar level up, you might get out of the pissy mood you've been in all week."

"Damn, Fawkes. You are such a sweet talker. How can I refuse an invitation like that? Let me wrap up this report and we can go. Where you taking me? Can I order whatever I want?" Hobbes was trying, really trying, but Fawkes knew his partner well enough by now that the sudden good mood rang false.

"I thought we'd go somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk. Something is bugging you big time and I wanted to…"

The plastered-on smile drained off Hobbes' face. "Did the Official send you down here to spy on me? Keeper getting worried I'm not my usual sweet self? Listen, Fawkes. I talk to my therapist every damn week and she charges me pretty good for the privilege of hearing my crap. I don't need to repeat any of it for your benefit or theirs. Now I'm busy, so get out of my office." He pulled a stack of papers towards him and began shuffling through them.

Instead of leaving, Fawkes closed the office door and sat down. "So. What is it, Bobby? We can talk here or we can talk later." He shrugged and kept watching Hobbes' face, trying to judge when he'd pushed too hard. "Or I can ply you with beer until you crumble in my
hands like putty. What's it gonna be?"

Without looking up, Hobbes asked, "Domestic or imported?"

"Huh?"

"You gonna get me drunk on cheap beer or you gonna spring for the good stuff?" He kept his head down and continued leafing through the pages.

"You are one sorry son of a bitch, you know that?" There was no anger in Fawkes' voice; only a sort of questioning sadness lay under his words. "Talk to me, buddy. What's wrong?"

Hobbes dropped the papers and buried his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face. He reached into a desk drawer and drew out a folded newspaper that he tossed towards Fawkes. "Read `em and weep."

He stood and shrugged into his jacket, then reached into a different drawer, took out his pistol and holstered it.

Fawkes read the short paragraph and flipped the paper. "No picture."

"Second wedding. No white dress either. So, you still buying lunch, hotshot?" Hobbes moved towards the door.

"Yeah. Sure. That's…that's tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. I kept thinking she would…that she would…would call or something. But…"

"Maybe it got lost in the mail."

"Sure. That's it. Lost in the mail. You ready?"

"It'll get better. You know? Give it time. Just give it some time." Fawkes took his life in his hands and slung an arm around his partner's shoulders.

"Yeah. Sure. Time. Got lots of that." He debated shrugging off the half-hug, then decided it felt pretty good.

END