BlackHeart Biohazards

Slip the Hangman’s Noose and Run (977 words) by thesavagesabretooth

Summary: What if there was one thing the Phantom was more afraid of than dying?

What if instead of following orders, he had thrown everything away for Simon Blackquill?

What if they ran?

–

The man that the prosecutorial department called ‘The Phantom’ wasn’t anyone. He was a man without a past– without a face– without an identity. Without a future. He was No-One.

But Simon Blackquill made him feel like someone. He made him feel like someone, even if that someone was ‘Bobby Fulbright’, a man he had killed and stolen the face of and who he occasionally heard the nagging tones of in the depths of his mind.

He was No-One, and he felt nothing. But when he was Bobby Fulbright, when he put on the mask, something was wrong. He felt things. 

He fell in love with SImon Blackquill. The very man who could destroy him. 

The Phantom was afraid. He was afraid of failing his mission. He was afraid of the wrath of his handlers, who were already growing impatient. The Hat-2 launch was his last chance to prove himself valuable, or he’d be disposed of like trash. Like nothing. Like no one.

Just like the state was going to do to Simon Blackquill in a few days time.

No-One stared into the mirror, and Bobby Fulbright stared back.

He was afraid of the love that he felt for Simon Blackquill.

The only thing that scared him more was losing it. Losing him.

His fingers shook and he pressed his gloved hands over the mirror to blot out the reflection, rather than turn away.

A plan shot through his mind. A stupid plan. If he could somehow create a crime at the Hat-2 launch, pin it on Athena, and connect her back to the original murder, it would exonerate Simon, and he’d be spared.

No. It was too convoluted. It would never work. Too many moving parts. Too little time. Too many things that could go wrong.

If he wanted to keep Simon in his life– the only thing he had ever wanted to keep– he would have to throw everything else away.

It wouldn’t buy them much time. They’d be hunted. By Simon’s people, and by his own handlers. They’d probably only have days before someone caught up with them.

Maybe hours.

He felt sick. He felt like he was going to throw up. The room spun crazily around him like he was standing at the center of a top.

If he did nothing, Simon was going to die in days by the hangman’s noose. Alone. Like garbage. And the Phantom was going to go back to his handlers to be sent on mission after mission until he failed and he too died alone. Like garbage.

If he was going to die, he’d rather die with Simon.

The Phantom didn’t want things. There was no person to want them. Wasn’t that right?

Bobby Fulbright was in love with Simon Blackquill. Bobby Fulbright was already dead.

He wanted to die with Simon, if he had to die.

The room stopped spinning, as his whole existence centered on that single point.

If he was going to act, it would have to be now. There was no time to waste.

–

Simon awoke groggy, his head aching, and his memory in fragments. He’d been sleeping. It was long after lights out when he’d been awoke by the sound of someone entering his cell. By familiar footsteps. By a familiar shadow.

“Fool Bright?”

“Hold still, Prosecutor Blackquill.”

The figure had grabbed him, pressed something tightly to his mouth and nose, and everything went dark.

Now he sat up and gasped for air, his eyes wide as he looked around. He was in the passenger seat of a car. His manacles were still on, and there was a blanket covering his lower half. Outside the grey light of dawn barely kissed the rolling, grassy fields at the edge of the dessert.

His gaze snapped to his left to look at the driver.

Bobby Fulbright, his face an unusually stoney study of tension, stared forward at the road, both hands on the wheel.

“What is the meaning of this, Fool Bright?” he snapped, finding his voice raspy and his throat raw. From whatever chemical was in that rag Fulbright pressed against his face, certainly. “Where the devil are you taking me?”

“Away,” Bobby said. There was a distant quality to his voice. “I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t trust in justice this time.”

The words sunk in like a stone settling into the pit of Simon’s stomach as understanding came over him. 

This was Fool Bright’s rescue attempt.

“You impulsive fool!” Simon snapped. “I’ve been damned this whole time and you’d throw yourself in the pit with me? I knew you were stupid, but this takes the cake, detective! You’ll lose more than your job for helping a death row inmate slip the hangman’s noose!”

“I wasn’t going to be a detective much longer anyway, sir,” Bobby said, still staring ahead out the window. Simon didn’t understand the emotion in his amber eyes. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. I’m afraid I haven’t been honest with you.”

Finally, Bobby glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Simon wanted to be angry. He was angry. He was confused. But… he was touched, too. That Bobby would risk everything for a man who was condemned to hell. Condemned to die.

Simon had made his peace but he still didn’t want to die. If the Fool Bright wanted to come down with him, so be it. So bloody be it.

They’d run. If Bobby wanted to run, they’d run.

He was only sorry that he wouldn’t be able to watch over Athena any longer. But he wouldn’t have been able to do that in the grave.

Simon reached over and put a hand on Bobby’s thigh.

“You have a lot to tell me, eh, Fool Bright? Well, you’d bloody well better get talking. I imagine we have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Yes, sir.”