Title: Coming to Terms

Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y

fitchett@netaccess.co.nz

Rating: PG

Teaser: Answer to the Kevin Fawkes Memorial Challenge - a year on, Darien tries to come to terms with his feelings towards his brother. Company helps.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, we would have had an all-naked all-gay all-musical episode by now, and there would have been *muuuuuch* more Darien Torture.



Coming to Terms
by (c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 2001
*************

I crouch silently over the grave, not so lost in my grief that I don't hear the footsteps coming up behind me. "Hey, Hobbes," I say quietly.

It isn't something that needs an answer, and Bobby doesn't give one, letting me speak in my own time. He's a good partner. A good friend. I need good friends today.

"I miss him, you know? I mean... I've been saying that for a year, but it just, it really hits home on a day like today." The only day I felt it as bad as this was back in June, on our birthday. That... was not fun. Bobby trying to throw me some big party; it took Claire to remind him that it was Kevin's birthday too. Not the sort of thing to put me in a party mood, you know what I'm saying?

I sigh softly, let the wind ruffle my hair almost as if it's Big Brother looking down on me. God, he never would let me forget that ten minute headstart into the world. "You know what bugs me? The things I've found out in the last year, about him, about what he was doing... I mean, he always got so high-and-mighty about me stealing - from rich old geezers who were probably insured up the woo-wah and certainly had money to spare. And then there's the things he was doing, all those people whose lives were ruined... but he was doing it for the betterment of humanity, so that makes it all right? That makes him better than me?"

I hang my head, knowing what Bobby is about to say to that. "I know, I know, no easy answers. I just... could really use some today. He's my brother, you know, and he's dead, and I'm not... I'm not supposed to still be angry at him."

Crouched down like this, my head low, I can see a little of the grass behind me. It's obscenely green. I close my eyes, for a moment just letting myself feel the comforting touch of Bobby's hand on my shoulder.

Bobby's hand... Something's not right with this picture. I open my eyes again. There's nothing in my vield of vision but grass, but if Bobby's standing close enough to touch me...

Two hollows of crushed grass, perfectly shoe-shaped. That murdering invisible bastard-- Today, of all days. Why can't he just leave me the hell alone?!

Easy. Breathe. He thinks I think he's Hobbes. I can work with this.

"Hey, man..." I make the words as casual as I can, silently quicksilvering my eyes. "Thanks for being here. I mean, I know I said I want to be alone--" As fast as a cat, as fast as Bobby, I lash out, knocking him to the ground. Scramble on top of him and wrap my hands around his throat. Holy Christ, that's cold. "--But it's just so poetic if I finally kill you on the anniversary of Kevin's death, don't you think?"

Arnaud chokes for a few precious seconds, then sticks a gun in my gut. Crap, crap, crap... I'd keep strangling him anyway if I had a chance in hell of finishing the job before he shot me. As it is, I let go. "What the hell are you doing here, you son of a bitch?"

"I suppose you think you've cornered the market on regret," he snaps, sounding almost as pissed off as I am. That's quite a feat.

"Oh, so now you're going to pretend like you give a damn? And I'd really be careful how you answer this one, Arnie, because my knee is something like two inches from your crotch."

He actually stops and thinks about how to answer. Finally he says, "If you like you can believe it's because he would have been useful to me, but I never wanted him dead."

Yeah, and I really believe that. Whatever. I need that gun. At the very least I need Arnaud not to have that gun. "Truce?"

"That might sound more convincing if you got off me before you said it."

I back off a little, keeping my eyes on him. He keeps a hold of the gun...for now. Before I can open my mouth he says, "You know, Fawkes - Darien...Whether your brother was a good man or not, you can always tell yourself that he wasn't nearly as bad as me."

That's... actually true. Compared to Arnaud, Kevin is a saint. Oh, God, is it wrong that that actually makes me feel better? I look away, back towards Kevin's tombstone with its simple epitaph. I was actually beginning to forget the feel of him dying in my arms, until it happened to me again. First Kevin, then Allianora. I'm not going to have another good night's sleep for the rest of my life. I don't care what pretty words that Swiss Miss mother feeds me, I don't care if he has fifty guns and a machete stashed in an invisible munitions truck nearby, I am going to *kill* that bastard if it's the last thing I do.

"Look," I begin, "don't--" But he's not where he was sitting. I stand up, looking around. He's *gone*? That goddamned psychopath came here, tormented me, and just... took off?

God, I *hate* him.

I kick at the grass irritably. Like Bobby gets to tell me every time Arnaud gets away, I'll get another shot. Doesn't make me feel better in the meantime.

I head across the cemetary to where I left my car. At least Arnaud was right about one thing. Kevin was a good guy. It's been a year since he died, and I keep finding new reasons to be angry at him, but I guess that's because it's easier to be angry than to let myself miss him. And I do miss him. I owe him that much.



The End