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The Invisible Man (90s)

"Slide"
by Lucy Hale

*Staring at the same four walls, Have you tried to help yourself? The rings around your eyes don't hide, That you need to get some rest.

It's all right to make mistakes you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something*

***

I don't know what the hell to say. I thought about it the entire ride over here, the walk up the stairs, the few steps up to the door. I thought about it while I knocked, and I'm still thinking about it now that he's opened the door.

I figure it'll come to me, you know? One look at him, and things will snap into place. I'm relying on my natural charm and wit and care to guide me and him closer together, you know?

Only...well, he looks pissed. Annoyed, at me. And there's no epiphany coming.

"Whaddaya want, Fawkes?"

Alright, mouth. I'm gonna open you, and something brilliant and incisive is gonna come out.

"Erm."

Oh, that'll win me some psychology awards.

"I told you I want to be alone." Bobby's pissed.

I take a second, trying to come up with some pearl of wisdom to impart to my partner, and I study him. Try as I might, I can't find any hidden signs of loneliness, any cries for help in those brown eyes.

He just looks annoyed.

"Bobby..." A word. That's a start. "Erm."

Back to that.

"Darien. Kid. Go home, get some sleep. I'm really not in the mood for this tonight. I just want to be--"

"Bobby." Screw this. I'm thinking too much, that's my problem. Just let the words come out. "Nobody wants to be alone."

Oh, wow. Way to win awards for condescension, Fawkes.

Bobby shrugs, not giving me an inch. "Yeah, but I'm nuts. Sometimes I go beyond the mainstream, want what other people don't. I'm kooky like that. Now buzz off."

The door's shutting in my face.

I reach out and stop it without thinking. "Bobby, come on. Just talk to me for a minute."

"No." Bobby stops the door from closing, but doesn't open it wider. He's looking at me through a space six inches wide. "I know what's going through your mind, Fawkes. You read those damned psychology journals and you think you know me better than I do. Lotta people think that. You'd be surprised."

He opens the door wider now, but it sure isn't in welcome.

"I told the doctors, all my other partners, my ex-wife, and now I'm gonna tell you: I do not need to be rescued from my life. You got me? I'm not miserable being by myself. I won't change overnight if you let me cry on your shoulder. As a matter of fact, I got no tears to shed for you or anyone else. I'm fine, you hear me? I don't need your judgements on how lonely I must be, and I sure don't need you being all charitable and blowing an evening to save my soul. Get lost, Fawkes. I want to be alone."

Every word of that last sentence is given its own stress, and when the door shuts this time, I let it.

I stand there for a minute, then turn and start back down the hall.

He's right. I'm an asshole. I guess maybe I see someone else who doesn't have close friends or lovers or anything else, and I assume that person feels the same way I do.

Maybe I just wanted the company tonight so badly I assumed things about Bobby.

It wouldn't be surprising. I'm used to having friends. A lot of friends. Suddenly here I am, new situation, whole new life, and where did all the friends go?

Got me. Liz...she was here. Now she's gone. A lot of my old pals are in jail. Some are dead. Some have become respectable. And most are still up to the old tricks, which means that I, as a government agent type, can't associate with them.

Hell. I just wanted to go out and get a burger. Shouldn't be too much to ask, should it?

I start down the stairs, but there's a strange noise behind me. A thump, muffled.

Something jerks at the instinct wire in my brain, and I turn and head for Bobby's door automatically. "Hey, Hobbes?"

There's a pause.

"Bobby? You okay in there? I heard something..."

He's ignoring me.

Screw that. We're partners. I deserve a little more courtesy than that, asshole or not. "Hobbes, open the door and show me you're okay, or I'll pull out the old B-and-E kit."

I hear a familiar sounding curse from inside, and the door flings itself open, revealing a still-angry Bobby Hobbes. "What?"

I open my mouth, but his shout has drained my brain dry again.

He glares out at me, and one hand absently rubs the other fist as he waits impatiently for me to say something.

I see the gesture, and it strikes a familiar chord in me. "You trying to take on the walls?"

Bobby's eyes narrow, and he looks down at his hand. His knuckles are red, and I'm betting there's a dent, if not a solid hole, through some small piece of wall inside that apartment.

I don't give him time to retort. "You want to tell me again how happy you are about your plans this evening?"

"Why won't you go away?" he asks instead of answering.

I shrug. That big stupid grin stretches over my face before I can stop it. "I'm stubborn. Ask anybody."

"What do you want?"

I open my mouth to answer, but he keeps going.

"Fawkes, I'm serious. Tell me what you want to hear me say that'll make you leave."

Jesus. This is fun. Nothing like subjecting yourself to someone's company who's doing everything possible to show you you're not wanted.

"Tell me why you punched your own wall."

Bobby looks down at his hand again, shaking it out slightly. I know from experience that the wall thing hurts.

To my surprise, he answers me. "I don't know. It was there, and it's safer than hitting you."

"You wanted to hit me."

Bobby flashes an almost-smile. "Still do."

"This is a great basis for a partnership here, Hobbes. Thanks."

"You think a better basis for partnership is to blatantly disregard your so-called partner's wishes and interrupting his evening, calling him lonely and assuming he's miserable because you don't approve of the way he lives his life?"

"Alright. Fine, if I'm wrong, and you're really happy being a shut-in when you're not working, than you have my complete apologies, sincere and everything."

"Good. Out of all the apologies you owe me, that's a good start."

"Bobby. I said if. You want to get rid of me, you gotta look me in the eyes and tell me you're happier being inside there by yourself than you would be outside, or with someone else. Just tell me that, look me in the eye and say it, and I'll get out of here. You'll never be subjected to my blatant disregard for your wishes again."

Moment of truth. He looks me in the face, and I stare right back.

I never noticed before, but his eyes are even darker brown than mine are. He's got a lot of intensity focused in those eyes, and it's kind of unnerving having it all pointed right at me.

The moment of truth passes, and a few more moments of truth tick by before one of us moves.

He shifts and looks down, shrugging his shoulders in a silent non-answer.

"Hobbes..."

"What?" His eyes snap back up. "What's with the intervention, Fawkes? What do you want me to do here? You want me to admit I'm happy? Screw that. I'm not happy, and neither are you. Neither are ninety percent of the people slogging around this planet."

The door opens wider, and I step towards it slightly so he won't notice.

But he does. The door goes shutting another few inches, and he tenses. "Fawkes, back off."

I realize suddenly that the way he's acting, he's trying to keep me out of his apartment. "You got a body stashed in there or something?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes. Just get out of here."

Come to think of it, I've never even seen the inside of that apartment. Strange how that just occurred to me. I know Bobby's seen mine. He's gone lurking around while I slept, as a matter of fact. It seems unfair I don't have the same advantage on him.

But this is like talking to a stubborn three-year-old, and it's getting old fast. Maybe I should just leave.

"Hobbes, come on." One last shot. "Tell me what's wrong. I came all this way, it's the middle of the night. Just talk to me."

He frowns, but doesn't shake his head or anything. There's a pause, and I shift around awkwardly.

"Why'd you show up here, anyway?"

Damn it. This guy wouldn't answer a straight question if his life depended on it. "I don't know, Bobby. I'm tired of being alone every night. I figured maybe you might be too, and we could help each other out. We're partners, right? I thought we might do for each other. But I guess all I'm doing is ruining your night, so forget it. You want me gone? I'm gone."

Irritated at myself and Bobby and the rest of the world, I turn and start back down the hall.

I'm half-expecting him to call me back, to maybe change his mind in light of my angry little confession.

But I'm disappointed. I reach the stairs, and start down. I reach the door, reach my car, turn the engine on. No Bobby.

The ride home's fairly depressing. I get in these moods sometimes. See, I'm generally happy enough, but when I get depressed, it slaps me hard. I can tell by the ride back to my place that I'm getting depressed. I'm not watching anything, I don't turn the radio on and start belting out words. I feel like I'm in some sort of weird limbo state.

Why is that?

Well, Bobby was my big chance, I think. My one chance to build something good in this new life.

I could probably pay a visit to Claire. She'd be more receptive to my company than Hobbes, no doubt. Only problem is, she'd spend so much time trying to analyze my behavior in reference to the supergland in my skull that it'd drive me nuts.

Nope, Bobby was the big chance. And it wasn't too hard to believe we might get to be friends. We get along well enough now that we're not deliberately trying to hate each other.

I thought so, anyway. I guess he was really just playing along, doing his job. Maybe he is really happier by himself. Maybe this whole cocky, aloof Bobby Hobbes act is no act at all.

Dammit.

I reach my apartment, go up, shut my door, and feel like shit. Not necessarily in that order.

Guess I could just go to bed. Sleep is wonderful for passing the time on quiet nights.

I wonder how he lived with Vivian for so long. She didn't seem to be emotionally undetached or anything. If he really hates other people so much, how'd she work her way inside?

I almost want to call her and ask for tips.

No. Screw that. Why should I work to make someone like me? Bobby's an asshole. Fine. I'll accept it and move on.

Maybe I could ask the fat man for a friendlier partner.

No. Stupid thought. I wouldn't want another partner. Antisocial or not, Bobby's a hell of an agent. I trust him now a hundred percent, and it would be hard trusting another guy that much.

Just wish he trusted me.

Jeez, Darien. Stop thinking about it. Go to sleep, forget about it. Nothing's worth worrying about. Ever. Worrying never solves anything. Thinking bad thoughts only makes people miserable. Hell, look at Bobby. There's a lesson to be learned there.

Alright, fine.

I head off to bed, wondering when the hell my life got so pathetic that I go to sleep before eleven because there's nothing else to do.

I hit the doorway to my bedroom and hear a noise.

I turn.

A knock.

Someone's at my door.

And despite my negative thoughts, despite my better judgement, I think I know who it is.

*** end ***

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