The Price You Pay

Author: tinhutlady
Email: tinhutlady@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The characters herein are from the television show Invisible Man and belong to SciFi and the writers that came up with them. I created this story with no intent to make a profit or infringe on any copyright.
Archive rights: Please ask first.
Rating: PG-13 (language, suggested violence)
Summary: Hobbes is having a hard time sleeping.
Series: none
Feedback: I would love it, but I’ll leave that up to you.
Category: Reflection
Comments: Lyrics shown in parentheses are from "Little by Little." The song can be found on Robert Plant’s ‘In The Mood’ album.

(Little by little my heart grieves
Little by little I call your name)

Sheets soaked with sweat, Bobby clutched his pillow to him as he bolted upright in the bed. Had he cried out? He listened for a moment but only silence answered him. It was early in the morning, he knew, but he refused to give in to temptation and look at the clock one more time.

Shaking almost uncontrollably, he managed to make it to the bathroom where he promptly threw up. Tottering on quavering knees, he moved to the cabinet, straightened, and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He ran a hand through his thinning hair but it was not his vanity that had his attention, it was his guilt; consumed by it, he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and reached for a small bottle of pills that offered solace. Though it was warm enough in the small apartment for him to go shirtless in bed, he could not stop shaking long enough to open the childproof cap. Cursing now, he dropped the container on the counter, sank to the cold, linoleum floor, and sobbed.

"Damn it, Fawkes. Why the hell did you have to be right there?"

How long he had lain there, tears streaming down his face, his forehead pressed against the base of the cabinet, Bobby couldn’t recall. He just knew that his chest was clenched tightly around his heart and he fleetingly hoped he was having a heart attack; something, anything, that would take away the real world, the real pain, even if it meant leaving this life behind. Especially if it meant that, he thought coldly. Sighing heavily, he realized it wasn’t heart failure and his only choice was to make it through this night as he had the last two. Alcohol had been a good refuge for a while but obviously wasn’t going to pull him through this. He might as well give the shit up. He leaned over and flushed the toilet then hauled himself up the cabinet until he could stand. Resting heavily on the counter with one hand, he turned the tap and splashed his face with the other. Even the shock of the cold water didn’t seem to sink in. The only thing that mattered was that he had shattered his life and his partner’s with one fateful decision. Why had he pulled the trigger at that moment?

Bobby made himself lie back down on the bed. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon, he knew, but he had to keep going, keep doing the routine. It was a part of his life, of his mental quirk, that he keep a handle on things by maintaining rituals. Never, though, had he faced something this bad before. Sure, he had shot his share of perps, had tackled the tough decisions, and had paid the price for mistakes, that was a given. He was a professional, no matter what the fat man thought. But God…to have had this kind of an accident. Bobby put his hands up and covered his eyes. Oh he would give anything to take back those two bullets.

"I’m so sorry, Fawkes…" he whispered.

Hours later, he gave up pretense and dragged himself out of the twisted mess of sheets, placing both feet on the floor. Bobby Hobbes was not a quitter; he was not one to wallow in misery for the rest of his life. What was done was done and he couldn’t take back that mistake any more than he could keep hiding in his bedroom. His partner was down but that didn’t mean he was out and Bobby owed it to the big guy to visit him in the Keep every day. Even with Claire looking at him like that. Even with those damned machines telling him that Fawkes was alive when he had seen with his own eyes those bullets draw blood. Lots of blood. Too much blood...

The weight of it became overwhelming for a moment. Oh shit, he thought as he forced himself to breathe, it’s okay. You didn’t know he was there. How the hell are you supposed to keep track of your partner when he’s invisible? Why the hell did Fawkes run between him and the bad guy?

Finally he managed to shower and put on some clothes. Whether they matched or not was anyone’s guess because he sure as hell didn’t care and wasn’t about to check himself in the mirror.

Bobby made it to the office and down to the Keep. Trying for brave cheerfulness, he failed miserably and hit a monotone grunt of greeting instead. Claire just looked at him, her eyes seemed to bore straight into him and see the shriveled soul hiding beneath the weight of guilt. What did she think of him? He’d probably never know. She rustled off in her little white lab coat to check on some damned test tubes and stuff and he followed her for a moment with his eyes before concentrating on the pale figure lying on the bed. The steady blips of the machines seemed to hypnotize the already exhausted Hobbes and he found his thoughts begin to drift randomly.

He knew better than to fish off the company pier but if he could have a dream date with anyone, Claire would be it. As far as he knew Darien hadn’t fished off that pier either but had come closer than Bobby had to confessing how he felt about his own private doctor. He understood his partner’s hesitation. Was Claire only fascinated with the gland in Darien’s head? Would she ever actually look at the man that wanted so much to be the object of her attention instead? Bobby shook his head. Claire would probably never go for either of them. They were in the same boat as far as romance with her was concerned. Or at least they had been. Fawkes was dying now, thanks to those two bullets. Pulling himself back from his reverie with a shudder, Bobby quickly walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Oh crap. Wasn’t that what Fawkes would say now? Shit sounded better - tasted bitter on the tongue and gave a real sense of the brutality of the situation. Bobby’s hands shook as he splashed cold water on his face yet again. As he dried himself off with paper towels, he took a good look in the mirror.

"What the hell were you doing running between me and the perp, Fawkes? I thought I taught you better than that. I thought you had more sense. I never saw you when I fired the gun at him. You had to go saran wrap and play the hero didn’t you? Why the hell did you have to do that, Fawkes?" Bobby’s voice broke and he leaned dejectedly on the edge of the counter. Why the hell did he have to carry a gun? How the hell could he have hit his partner like that? A partner was like a friend and a brother: someone who shared your ups and downs; someone who watched your back and looked out for you; someone who kept you alive. More meaningful than family, stronger and deeper than marriage, a partnership was something you didn’t break — couldn’t break. How the hell could he have fired those shots?

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Bobby? Are you okay in there?"

"Sure, Keeper. Just had to do a nature call, you know." Bobby quickly reached over and flushed the toilet. "Be out in a sec."

He glanced at the mirror one more time. He had to live, that was all there was to it. Bobby Hobbes did not bail on his partner. He may have shot Fawkes but it was an accident. Oh, god, what an accident…but an accident all the same. He had to make his partner fight if only for the sake of his own soul. And his soul was hanging in the balance.

Bobby jerked the door open and Claire almost fell in on top of him. "Keep?"

"Oh, uh, sorry about that." She was blushing and had lost a lot of her usual composure. "I just didn’t want you to…er, well, end up in here, too." Realizing the implication of her words, she stammered, " I didn’t mean…"

Bobby helped her right herself and ushered her over to where Fawkes lay. "I know what you meant. I shot him. You didn’t want me to go shooting myself, too."

There he had said it and nothing happened. His worst fear, spoken aloud, seemed to lose its power and he suddenly knew he wouldn’t end up with the barrel of his gun in his mouth like he had dreamed of for the past few nights. He wouldn’t do it; he would live for Fawkes’ sake.

Surprisingly, Claire turned in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"Oh, Bobby, no one blames you. Can’t you see that? He’ll be fine." She was mumbling into his shoulder, her normally cool accent heated with emotion unleashed by exhaustion. "Darien is quite a fighter and you didn’t do as much damage as you thought. Head wounds often bleed like that. You only creased his skull, believe me. And the other bullet only broke a rib…"

Bobby relished the hug. He could not remember the last time someone had given him one and he found he clung to her; he blinked back tears, refusing to show them.

"S’okay, Keep. The big guy will pull through this. I just wish I hadn’t…"

The tone of beeps changed a little and they both focused on the tall, lanky man currently comatose on the hospital bed. They both heard the soft moan and watched the flicker of movement in the hand nearest them. The hug took on a whole new meaning as Darien showed signs of finally regaining consciousness.

Bobby had to laugh his relief was so great. He sat on the edge of his bed and actually laughed out loud for a second or two. Darien had woken up enough to actually utter "Oh crap" and Bobby and Claire had both grinned at the familiar phrase.

As he kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket, he felt the holster on his side, under his arm. Gently, he undid the clasp and pulled it away, resting the holster and the weapon it housed in his hands. Would he give up his gun? No, Darien didn’t carry one and he had to protect his partner, even if there was a danger in not being able to see him all the time. He unsheathed the weapon and shoved it under his pillow. He had been reluctant to do that the past few nights in case his impulses had become…overwhelming. Now that he had told Claire, he knew he wouldn’t do it — he wouldn’t blow his own head off to pay for what he did. After all, Darien was recovering and he needed to be there for the big guy. He had to be, he thought solemnly. His partner needed him and, no matter how heavy the guilt, he would be positive for Darien’s sake. Bobby nodded softly. That would be his atonement…living.

End