Over the Edge (Prologue)

By Carol M.

Summary: Alternative to The New Stuff. As Darien descends closer into permanent madness, how far will a friend go to save him from himself and from

the ruthless clutches of the Official?

Spoilers: Possessed, Enemy of my Enemy and issues and events brought up in The New Stuff

Rating: PG-13 to R maybe

Disclaimer: don't own em, only love them (even though I tend to hurt them a lot)

Note: This one poses the question of what would have happened if the Official had taken away the QSM cure before Claire had a chance to give it to Darien. The fic starts at the last scene of Enemy of My Enemy and goes off on it's own road from there. It's going to be very angsty, very torturous (aren't they always), and probably pretty long. If you want a theme song for this fic, try listening to Enya's "Exile." It's a very moody piece of music that just seemed to fit with the tone I wanted for the story. Anyway, kick back, relax and enjoy the ride. It's gonna get rough so bring the ropes!

Claire's POV

The sound was what startled me. A sound I've heard hundreds of times before, but somehow at that moment, it took on a whole new meaning. A simple swish of the Keep door was all it was. Quiet and non-threatening. I jumped about a mile in my chair.

But what was worse was the sound that came after the swish. It was the sounds of desperate breathing. And the words. God, the words made my blood run as cold as the quicksilver that you excrete from your gland. "Just tell me you got the goods before he escaped…please," you whispered so hopefully.

My heart skipped a beat, and I wanted to spill everything. How the Official had made it clear that without the control of the quicksilver madness, he wasn't interested in keeping you as a gland receptacle. How he had destroyed Arnaud's hard drive, taking with it everything I needed to cure you. How he had destroyed every file on my computer and every piece of equipment that could be of any use. How I was left with nothing but a vague trace of your Holy Grail. But I couldn't tell you. You probably wouldn't have believed me if I had. Besides, I figured the truth would hurt more. So I lied. I lied.

"I'm sorry," I choked out as I turned around in my chair, unable to hide the tears that wanted to spill out of my eyes and out of my heart.

You gazed at me with those brown eyes of yours, the expression piercing deep into my core and forming an image that I would never be able to forget. You swallowed loudly, as if you were trying to keep down whatever was left of your battered heart and mind. I watched as you uneasily made your way to the chair by the computer, looking as if you would pass out if you continued to stay on your feet. You breathed in panicked desperate gasps, the sound sending chills up my spine. "It's okay, you know…it's not your fault," you said, trying so bravely not cry.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, trying to do something to ease your pain.

"I uh…I guess I need a shot," you admitted so painfully that it took a super human effort for you talk and not burst out into tears at the same time.

"Don't get up," I said, as if that one minor luxury means a bloody thing.

I got up and quickly located a vial of counteragent along with a syringe. A few hours ago and I could have cured you with that syringe, but now, now it's all gone. I sat next to you and prepped the syringe, trying to ignore the small controlled breaths flowing from your mouth. You were trying so hard not to cry in front of me. You were so brave Darien.

When the needle was finally ready, I plunged it into your vein as I have done hundreds of times before. You didn't make a sound and seemed to be in a trance. I guess I would have been as well if I were in your place. When the injection was finished, I set the needle aside and glanced at your tattoo, noticing two segments had stayed red. You didn't look because I don't think you wanted to know.

And then there was that sound again. That swish of the Keep door. "Hey Fawkes," said Bobby as he burst through the door, ignorant of the conspiracies that had taken place over the last couple of hours.

"Hey man," you breathed, inhaling remnants of the tears that never quite fell.

"Wanna go for a round interrogating the brat pack?" asked Bobby, intent on doing something to distract you from Arnaud's escape.

You shrugged. "I guess I could always use a little cheering up," you said as you stared down at the cotton ball soaking up the bloody dot from the injection. And then you looked at me with this look. This look of trust and fear and hope all wrapped into one. It made my heart clench and my mouth go dry. You tapped my leg in reassurance and then stood up, discarding the cotton ball as you walked out the door.

I couldn't hold the tears back this time. The door swished closed and I was gone. Those looks, those eyes, that hope. You trust me to do to the right thing. You trust me with your life.

Maybe at the beginning of this journey I could have done it. Betrayed you. Kept you locked up like an insane prisoner until the Official decided to take his precious gland back. But not now. We've come much too far. I can't hurt you. I won't hurt you.

I firmly grasp the syringe that has gone into your arm a billion times, hating it, despising its very existence. I crushed the bloody thing. I crushed everything it stood for. And I made a decision. I will help you, Darien. I'll figure something out. The Official won't get away with this.

TBC