Invisible Man Great Grid Challenge Fic
Purple (200 words)
New Year ( 421 words)
Spade (619 words)
Darien and Bobby found Alex leaning against the wall outside the Official’s office. Her hand was pressed to her chest as she grimaced in pain. “Alex?”
Darien touched her elbow and the woman straightened, hand still pressed to her chest as she snarled, “What do you want?”
“You alright?” he asked obtusely. “I can get Claire, or--” He fingered the top button of her blouse and she slapped him away. His hand stung, but he jumped back in time to dodge her knee.
She fell back against the wall and wheezed.
Eberts poked his head out of the Fat Man’s door, saw them, and slammed it closed again, hitting the lock.
Bobby glanced back and forth and then jabbed a finger at the door as Darien said, “It must be love. Que Sera.”
“Could be gas,” Bobby suggested.
Alex shook her other fist at them, her crumpled pay stub poking out.
“Ah. Heartburn.” Darien winced sympathetically. He remembered his first time.
“They make a pill for that,” Bobby added.
“The little purple pill.”
“With a vodka chaser, my friend.”
Darien slung his arm around Bobby’s shoulders and they headed out for a night on the town with their pittance.
Bobby stood outside the agency with his hands on his hips, surveying the street. His domain. He took a deep breath and Darien was surprised he didn’t beat his chest. “It’s a new day, my friend.”
Darien squinted against the sunlight as he checked his watch. “In what time zone?”
“New week--”
“It’s Friday.”
“New month--”
“Hobbes.”
“New year.” Bobby punctuated his last exclamation with a finger in Darien’s chest. “It’s all new for you, Fawkes. You don’t have to take orders from the Fat Man anymore, you’re free.”
Darien slouched a little so they were eye to eye. ”Hey, Hobbes. I’m not going anywhere else. I thought we already covered this.”
Bobby averted his eyes again, his shoulders twitching in an abbreviated shrug. “I’m just saying--”
Darien pulled his FBI-issue sunglasses out of his pocket and smiled at Bobby’s pointed glare as he put them on. Quicksilver flakes fell away as the bloodshot bug-out eyes he’d glued onto the frames bounced up and down on their springs.
Squeaking in surprise, Bobby jumped back, hand on his gun.
Darien laughed and slapped him on the back. When he walked down the sidewalk to the van, the eyeballs jiggled back and forth and he walked backwards making faces at Bobby. By the time Bobby gave a disgusted snort and started to really draw his gun, Darien dove into the van.
“I need to return these to Agent Jones,” he yelled outside. He kept his eyes on the rearview mirrors, having learned to be ever vigilant of a Hobbes ambush. Through his distorted vision he saw the creepy eyes jouncing back at him and he tore the glasses off.
Maybe he should’ve checked on Bobby’s lithium dosage before he started toying with him. Hell, they probably both had a little PTSD from the random bouts of quicksliver madness and he was one sick puppy for thinking it was even funny to taunt Bobby. Instinctively he checked the snake, but it was all green to go.
Bobby’s head suddenly appeared in the driver’s window, a dangerous grin spreading over his face.
Darien’s matched it, relief bleeding through. Bobby was right; it was a whole new ballgame. He nudged his sleeve back down and waved impatiently at the driver’s seat. “You mind giving me a lift?” he asked, quicksilvering the eyeballs and springs again so the sunglasses looked pristine and new.
Bobby climbed in, the door slamming with finality as he turned the key and gunned the engine. “Not at all, partner.”
“Read ‘em and weep, my friend.” Bobby laid his cards on the table and flourished his hand over the now nine card straight as he dropped the ten and jack next to his earlier meld of four through nine. He extended his elbows, holding up his remaining two cards for Darien to see before discarding one on the rummy pile. “Uno. U-no.” He grinned, resting his arm over the back of his chair as he tapped the one remaining card against the table top. “Take ‘em off, Fawkes.”
Darien tossed his cards on the table and shook his head. “You can’t do that. You picked up that club too.”
“What club?” Bobby challenged. “I picked up the ten of spades.”
“And the three of clubs. You have to play the last card you pick up, Hobbes.”
“That’s not in the rules,” Bobby argued, looking almost gleeful. He pulled out a barely creased so obviously new pocket-sized rule book and tossed it on the table. “Refresh your memory, my friend; nowhere does it say that Bobby Hobbes has to play by your house rules anymore.” He tapped the book. “I checked.”
“My grandmother taught me how to play,” Darien reminded him, tipping back precariously on his folding chair. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, shivering a little as the air conditioner vented a cold blast down his spine. “And you haven’t had any problems with my house rules before.”
Bobby stood, adjusting the waistband of his boxers before he pointed a righteous finger at Darien. “I am no loser.” He took their empty beer bottles to the counter and grabbed two more from the refrigerator, popping the caps.
“Right, right, my mistake.” Darien held a hand to his chest in mock apology. “You’re not losing because you cheated.”
Bobby slammed the beer the beer on the table and foam rose over the glass lips and down the side, soaking Darien’s cards. Darien twitched and almost lost his balance. He quickly righted himself, bouncing out of his seat before Bobby knocked him over. Bobby glowered up at him. “You think I didn’t notice that little magic trick you pulled with the ace of hearts? Bet you thought you could get away with a little invisible hocus pocus when I wasn’t looking,” he scoffed. Darien didn’t deny it and Bobby thumped him on the chest. “Now who’s the cheater?”
“I wasn’t cheating to win. You have the ace of hearts!” Darien shoved his hand away. “This is stupid. Who plays strip rummy anyway?”
“Not granny I hope.” Bobby shuddered violently and tapped his finger on the countertop. “We need at least a third for strip poker. Could call Claire--”
“Or Alex--”
“Four is actually preferred. Do you think they would--” Bobby’s eyes glazed a little, “you know.”
Darien was afraid to ask what sort of skeevy fantasy Bobby had in mind. It was usually run-of-the-mill stuff with Claire, he sort of considered her like a virgin bride, but with Alex, he usually talked about whips and chains, and that was just to get her in the apartment. “Remember you didn’t exactly enjoy your last prostate exam from the Keep,” Darien reminded him, once again. “You called her a ham-fisted--”
Bobby winced. “If the Fat Man would actually pay for health insurance--”
“We could just skip the poker,” Darien suggested, plucking his fingers under the shoulder of Bobby’s wifebeater. He quicksilvered them both and shifted Bobby around so he could lean on the wall. Bobby’s head lolled back and Darien kneaded his neck, bending closer to breath in his ear. “Get right to the main event.”
“I’ve always said you have the better bedside manner, Fawkes.”