Author: Sally Wiget (wishfulthinker)

Spoilers: Pilot (all lines in parentheses and italics are actual lines from show, only (mostly) different scenes from the one described here)

"Kev. Maybe it could be perfect. I can't." ~ Darien, pilot

* * *

(Darien. Trust me. I will take care of you.)

(I'm so sorry Darien.)

(Kev? Kev?! I'm gonna take care of you. Okay? I'm gonna take care of you!)

* * *

Bright, searing light. He instinctively looked away, shielding his face and wincing at the bright white light.

No, I'm not dead dammit.

He tried to look up through his fingers, see who'd interrupted his solitary confinement, slumped against the wall with nothing more constructive to do than stare at the door opposite, not even a pen to help him out of this one. Not that he really minded being interrupted. His thoughts weren't exactly the best of companions at the moment.

Damn. I hate not having anything to do, anyone to talk to.

He saw who stood there. Glasses and an impeccable suit. Dammit.

Kevin.

(Well, I prayed for a miracle. And for my sins, I got one.)

"You want to tell me about it?"

That look. He looked so tall, so dominating, with that disappointed pout on his face. Tall? Ha. He just needed to stand to tower over Kevin. Just needed to stand. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so small.

He swallowed and took a deep breath; it caught in his throat. He hadn't been expecting this, hadn't expected to see his brother show up. He hated the nervous pattering of his heart, hated the old feelings of comparative uselessness, of inferiority, crawling over him again like those damnable spiders. He babbled something sarcastically, pretending, telling himself he was in control of his emotions, of his life; he wasn't unnerved and disarmed by his brother's appearance.

Until he saw that look of course. The eyes closing, the breath sucked in, the rolling eyes, the sigh, all the old signs, the indications of his disappointment in his little brother. His resentment took over again; he was a teenager again, absurdly young, stuck in the background, an-an-an embarrassment to his oh-so-much-more-important-and-going-somewhere brother. "No, no, don't do that, don't give me the glare," he said, glaring himself up at his older brother.

You're not my father. You have no right to be disappointed in me. I make my own choices. Just like you. I can handle my life without you! You have to right to be disappointed in me!

But he had the sneaking suspicion he was fooling himself.

(I'm not my brother.)

"Why the hell didn't you call me?"

How could I? What could I say? Do you really think I'd want to face you? All I'd do is feel the way I do right now.

Dammit.

He looked up, forced himself to meet Kevin's eyes, a naked honesty in his dark eyes. "Okay Kev. If I didn't do the crime…think I can do the time?"

And his brother answered just as honestly, "Not where they're sending you."

Thanks for the encouragement, bro.

He held out a piece of paper. A simple, innocent piece of paper with some sort of official stamp on it. He slid down the wall next to him, still making himself taller, talking all the while, that scientific enthusiasm taking over again.

"Volunteer? As in like a guinea pig?" He skimmed through the paper, not wanting to show his hope, his pulse quickening at the thought of release. The feelings slowly changed as he listened to Kevin. "I'm your brother, okay? Not a lab rat."

His brother was forcing him to listen, speaking fast, urgently. He could feel the tension radiating off his brother, squatting awkwardly next to him, their legs barely touching. Kevin seemed to hate the little room almost as much as he did.

"Pride thing. Pride thing," he muttered with a snort, slapping the paper at his brother's chest and jumping up, pushing himself away from Kevin, the anger and frustration poring out again, just like every time he saw his brother again, all the anger and frustration that had built up through the long years.

He'd always felt trapped.

He saw the worried frown on his brother's face as he glanced down at the paper in his hand. Not disappointed. Worried. Sad. "If you're gonna trust someone," Kevin said and looked up to meet his eyes again, "trust me."

"Why's that? 'Cos you're my brother?" He wasn't willing to let go his cynicism, his bitterness yet. He wasn't ready to hope he had a way out.

Kevin looked up at him. "Because you don't have much choice."

He held up the paper expectantly.

Darien looked away.

(Anything done out of love…)

What choice do I have?

What choice?