Episode Two

by liz_Z and iwomans_sister

Special thanks to AXZ for inspiring the tag scene, and to liz_Z's mother for helping with the editing process.

Teaser

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Ben Aaronovitch, one of the men who breathed life into the great Doctor Who, once said, "Every great decision creates ripples--like a huge boulder dropped in a lake. The ripples merge, rebound off the banks in unforeseeable ways. The heavier the decision, the larger the waves, the more uncertain the consequences."

Now, if my life isn't a prime example of this, then I don't know what is. A couple of years back I chose the wrong house to break into, and as a result I ended up getting a Quicksilver gland implanted in my brain. If those ripples haven't bounced off in unexpected ways, then I'm the Easter Bunny.

One of the people that seem to take the most pleasure from disrupting my life is Arnaud De Föhn. He pops up from time to time, throws some stones in the lake that is my life, and laughs as he watches the ripples that occur. But, every once in a while, I've been able to return the favor.

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Deep in the bowels of the Agency, in an under-lit, overly air-conditioned room, Darien sat in front of an antiquated computer and frantically typed away at the keyboard. As part of his training program for the agent-training practical exams, Hobbes had pitted him against Eberts in a battle of the hackers. Darien was supposed to be hacking into Eberts' computer, which he would then attempt to shut down. Instead, he was having a panic attack.

"There is no way I'm gonna be able to do this, Hobbes," Darien said, shaking his head as his fingers flew over the keys.

Bobby Hobbes, who stood at Darien's shoulder to supervise his progress and cheer him on, placed a hand on Darien's shoulder and reassured him, "You can do it, Fawkes. Just pay attention and use what you've learned."

Darien continued to shake his head, a grim expression on his face. "You have gotta be freakin' kidding me. I'm no computer genius -- hell, I'm barely computer literate. There's no way I'll be able to beat Eberts. Just trying to get past the damn firewalls he's put up is a freakin' nightmare!"

"It's supposed to be. If just anyone could break in, Arnaud wouldn'ta been the first guy to hack into the Agency computer network. You're doin' great, partner. A little more practice and you could be a first-class computer geek."

Darien most definitely did not want to become a first-class computer geek, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the computer monitor. He was about to reach a critical stage of the hacking phase, and he needed all his attention focused in case Eberts pulled any tricks on him. Darien might have the advantage when it came to fist fighting, as he had proven numerous times in the sparring matches Hobbes had set up between the two trainees over the past several weeks, but when it came to hacking, Eberts was the king and Darien was loathe to step into his territory.

And then Darien didn't have time to think about his opinions anymore. He had just finished hacking his way through the firewalls; now the real challenge had begun. He was supposed to take down Eberts.

Sweat appeared on Darien's brow as he began his campaign to bypass Eberts and hack into the mainframe. Getting past the firewalls had seemed difficult at the time, but going toe-to-toe with Eberts made it look like child's play. And as time went by it became painfully obvious that this was a battle that Darien would be unable to win. Eberts came up with the perfect counter-command for every new tactic Darien attempted and eventually began using offensive tactics of his own, which made it even more difficult for Darien as he struggled to attack and defend at the same time.

Which was why Darien was shocked when all resistance from Eberts abruptly stopped. He faltered for a moment, unsure of what to do, and then continued with the hacking. He obtained control of Eberts' computer in a matter of seconds. Barely able to believe this turn of events, Darien began to type in the string of commands that would shut Eberts' machine down.

"I'm doing it Hobbes! I'm getting in! I can't believe it!"

Eberts streaked past the hall door. Hobbes reached out and grabbed him, as Darien continued to type away with triumph in his eyes.

"Believe it," Hobbes replied dryly.

Eberts realized that Darien was on the verge of succeeding in the hack job to shut his computer down, and reached out frantically as Darien pattered out the final keystrokes.

"Wait! Stop! Don't shut it..." his face fell as Darien, still absorbed in his task, hit the enter key, "...down."

Hobbes turned to Eberts, reprimanding, "What're you doing? You're supposed to be duking it out with Fawkes right now."

Eberts, still slightly out of breath, said, "I discovered something and I felt it was imperative I inform the Official."

Darien looked severely disappointed. "Wait a minute. I'm trying to hack you, and you're doing something else at the same time?"

"It was a more efficient use of my time," Eberts replied stiffly. "Besides, getting a lead on Arnaud De Fohn's location supercedes these training exercises."

Darien continued blithely, "Because I really resent the fact that you.... That you're able to.... Wait. Hold the phone... did you just say what I think you just said?"

Eberts nodded. "I can assure you, I did."

Hobbes crossed his arms and glared at Eberts suspiciously. "Oh yeah? Where?"

Eberts placed his hands behind his back, like a young child reciting something to his teacher. "The last time Arnaud fled the Agency, I managed to trace the license plate of the taxi he used to escape."

Hobbes put up his index finger in mild protest, "Wait. I didn't ask how you found him. I asked you where."

Eberts continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "From there, he went to the San Diego Airport and from there took a plane to Brazil."

"Oh yeah, Ebes," Darien interjected sarcastically, "Brazil. That's real helpful."

Unfazed, Eberts continued, "I was unable to learn more at that point in time, but I set up a passive electronic surveillance net to inform me of the next time he resurfaced. And, according to the alert I received on my computer," he glanced at his watch, "four minutes and fifty-two seconds ago, he has recently made an appearance in Tijuana."

Darien frowned. "Whoa. Just over the border? That's close!"

Eberts nodded. "It seems to be a prime gunrunning location and an excellent place for smuggling illegal contraband of all sorts into the United States."

"Ya think?" Hobbes interjected sarcastically.

Eberts ignored the interruption, "Arnaud could be there for any number of reasons, many of which are illegal."

"I'm heading south, guys. Now," Darien said over his shoulder as he headed toward the door.

Hobbes reached out a hand and grabbed Darien by the collar. "Whoa, hold it there, partner. You're a government agent now -- you can't just go traipsing off on your own personal vendettas whenever you feel like. Particularly since you ain't even graduated yet."

"Not to mention that Fish and Game does not have jurisdiction in Mexico," Eberts added. "And I need to inform the Official. Now."

Darien whirled around and gave them both a disbelieving look. "This is Arnaud we're talking about. You think I give a crap about jurisdiction?"

Hobbes smirked. "Nah, but Daddy's little pencil pusher has a point. You might give a crap about the Official locking your ass up in the padded room for all eternity. Besides, I have a better idea."

Darien raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And what, pray tell, is this brilliant scheme of yours, Mister P.T. Barnum?"

Hobbes released Darien's collar and cocked his head to the left, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think the three of us've been cooped up in here long enough. You can't learn all you need to be a good agent by veggin' out in front of a computer screen and readin' textbooks. I think you and Eberts could maybe use a little field experience, some hands-on training by yours truly. Maybe in, oh, say... Mexico?"

Darien grinned fiendishly. "Oh, I like it."

Eberts looked at the two older agents, an anxious expression on his face. "But what about the Official? I'm confident he would not approve such an action… particularly considering his reaction to your last 'real-life' training exercise, which was less than enthusiastic."

"OK, Ebes, this is Arnaud, remember? The guy that killed my brother... that impersonated you... that you let get away...."

"Yes, Darien, I am cognizant of the person in question, but the fact remains that...."

Darien held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Ah, you know what, Eberts? Shut up." As they walked out the door, Eberts started to walk toward the Official's door, but both Darien grabbed his right arm, and Hobbes took up his left. They turned him around firmly and escorted him down the hall between them, as they began animatedly discussing travel possibilities.

Eberts shook his head in dismay. "Oh dear...."

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::Cue Theme Music::

There once was a tale about a man who could turn invisible. I thought it was only a story, until it happened to me. OK, so here's how it works: There's this stuff called 'Quicksilver' that can bend light. My brother and some scientists made it into a synthetic gland, and that's where I came in. See, I was facing life in prison and they were looking for a human experiment. So we made a deal; they put the gland in my brain, and I walk free. The operation was a success... but that's when everything started to go wrong.

::Music Fade Out::

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Act I

Hobbes walked into the Official's office, two large cups of coffee in hand. He placed one on the Official's desk and then took a seat, sipping from the other cup and looking over the rim at the Official silently.

The Official frowned as he looked at the steaming cup of coffee on his desk, then back up at Hobbes. "Alright, what are you up to?"

Hobbes stopped sipping his coffee and said in a business-like tone, "Sir, I was thinking: Fawkes and Eberts are making progress, but an old field expert like yourself knows there's no substitute for on-the-job experience, right? That's why I'd like to take them on a training recon to Mexico. Show 'em what it's like to blend in with the crowd, get the lay of the land in a foreign environment -- the kind of stuff you can't learn in books."

The Official gave Hobbes a suspicious look. "If you haven't noticed, this agency doesn't have the funds or the time to endorse expenses of that nature."

Hobbes sat back in his chair, thinking. "I could provide the funds, sir."

The Official snorted in disbelief. "You'd pay for the training exercise? You? You can barely pay your electric bill." He leaned forward, a harsh scowl crossing his face. "What are you up to?"

"Like I said, I think it would be good training and there might be a little fun time we could squeeze in, if you know what I mean," Hobbes replied with a wink.

The Official rolled his eyes. "Same old Hobbes."

"Is that a yes, sir?"

The Official thought for a moment and then nodded. "But just remember, don't spend the whole time slacking off. I expect to see some significant improvement when they return."

Hobbes grinned and snapped off a salute as he turned to the door, "I guarantee you'll be satisfied with the results, sir!"

The Official shot a parting remark at his back, "And next time you want to take the class on a field trip, just take them to the zoo."

"The kind of animals we're looking for you don't find in a zoo, chief," Hobbes commented, an enigmatic smile crossing his lips as he stepped out into the hall.

The Official started to stand, opened his mouth to speak, but Hobbes was gone. He turned his attention to the coffee cup on his desk. He picked it up gingerly, sniffed at it, and then took a small taste. He grimaced and put the cup back down. "Needs more sugar."

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The sun was setting as Hobbes pulled Golda up to the Customs office that marked the border between California and Mexico. Darien stared out the window through his pair of FBI-edition sunglasses, the lone souvenir from his brief employment by the Bureau, and heaved a deep sigh. He hated car trips, especially when he had to make them in Hobbes' van. The fact that Hobbes and Eberts had bickered constantly the entire trip hadn't helped much, either.

Hobbes leaned out of the driver's side window as a Customs agent walked around the vehicle. The man frowned deeply, looking first at Hobbes, then at Darien and Eberts. He crossed his arms. "I need you to open the back of the vehicle, please."

"Not necessary, my friend," Hobbes pulled out his badge and flashed it at the Customs agent in the lightning-quick, practiced motion he used whenever he was hoping someone wouldn't notice the Fish and Game insignia. "We're federal agents."

The man's frown deepened, "Yeah well, so am I." He flipped Hobbes' badge open again and scrutinized it closely. "Right. Open up the back, Mr. Fish and Game."

Hobbes glanced over at Darien, silently begging him to intervene. Darien just smirked and placed his feet up on the dashboard, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth. He was in no mood to get involved, and besides, the customs agent wouldn't listen to him anyway. The worst thing that could happen would be if the man confiscated the bag of sour cream and onion potato chips Darien had stashed in his duffle bag.

Hobbes rolled his eyes in exasperation as it became clear that Darien was not going to protest the Customs agent's demands. He turned to Eberts, a disgusted expression on his face, and pulled his keys out of the ignition. "Unlock the back," he muttered irritably, holding the keys out for Eberts to take.

Eberts held up a hand and started to protest, but before he had the chance the Customs agent poked his head into the window of the van and shook his head. "Nope, I want you to do it," he said, waggling a finger at Hobbes.

Hobbes' eyes narrowed, but he climbed out of the van and walked around to the back door, reluctantly swinging it open. The Customs agent stared in surprise at the interior of the van, which not only had the three men's luggage

in it but a vast array of government-issued spy gadgets. A smile crept across his face, "Oh yeah. I haven't had this much fun in a long time..."

Hobbes gritted his teeth against the curse rising in his throat and stepped aside with exaggerated politeness, waving the Customs inspector towards the van's back doors. Then he walked over to the passenger window and glared at Darien. Darien winced at the expression on Hobbes' face. Apparently, Darien's assessment of the situation had been very, very wrong.

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Several hours later, on the far side of the border, Darien climbed out of the van, slung his duffle over his shoulder and looked disgustedly at the singularly crappy motel from which Hobbes was currently procuring a room. It was painted a faded shade of yellow that was eerily reminiscent of the dead grass clumped here and there on the small strip of lawn in front of the motel office. The sign that displayed the hotel's name, both in Spanish and in badly spelled English, was aged and cracked. Most of the red roof tiles were chipped and others were missing. All in all... it was just what he had expected.

Hobbes stepped out of the motel office, jangling a tarnished set of keys. "I got us a room."

Darien frowned. "Who, whoa, whoa, a room? We need two rooms, not just one."

Hobbes gave Darien an irritated look. "I'm payin' for this out of my own pocket here. You want another room, you're gonna have to cough up the dough yourself."

Darien emitted a frustrated huff. "Cheapskate."

"Hey, I'm not real happy about this either. You know how loud you snore?"

Eberts clambered out of the van, struggling to maneuver a suitcase almost as big as he was. Hobbes looked over at the younger agent, shaking his head. "I told you to pack light."

Eberts gave Hobbes a puzzled look. "I did pack light."

Darien raised an eyebrow. "If that's packing light, I'd hate to see you pack for a longer trip..."

Hobbes walked over to the van, grabbed his small suitcase, and then began walking toward the motel. "C'mon, let's get this stuff up to the room." He led Darien and Eberts up a rickety set of stairs and then strolled along the walkway to room 235. After three attempts, he finally managed to unlock the door. He walked into the room, muttering something about cheap keys.

Darien followed Hobbes into the room, which to him felt remarkably like stepping into a cave. It was dark and dank, and didn't smell particularly pleasant either. Darien couldn't help but wonder if the maids had ever heard of air freshener, or even soap and water. He was willing to bet he would find cigarette burns on the bedclothes. And there were only two beds, which meant that someone was going to have to take the sleeping bag that Hobbes kept stashed somewhere in Golda's confines and sleep on the floor. What fun.

Eberts looked around, wrinkling his nose in distaste. He walked over to one of the beds, pulled off the top cover, and then heaved his gargantuan suitcase up onto the sheets. Darien walked over to Eberts and pulled himself to his full height. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Unpacking my things," Eberts said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh no you don't. The bed's mine." Darien gave Eberts a pointed look.

Eberts looked over at the other bed and started to pick up his suitcase again, but Hobbes promptly shook his head and crossed his arms. "You want this bed, you gotta get through me."

Eberts looked up at Darien, stoic but determined. "This is my bed."

Darien shook his head stubbornly. "Nope, you're the junior agent. You take the floor."

"Actually, I have worked for the government longer than you..."

"Well, you have the least field experience."

Eberts set his jaw stubbornly. "I am not sleeping on the floor."

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

Hobbes stepped between the two men and pushed them apart as if they were squabbling children. "Just take the floor, Eberts," he snapped crossly.

Darien smiled and lifted Eberts' suitcase, placing it on the ground and dropping his duffle bag on the bed. Then he turned to Hobbes, asking eagerly, "So, where are we heading tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow we put Hobbes.net to work," Hobbes said. "First we gotta check in with my sources, figure out where all the action is. The gunrunners and terrorists have been rakin' in plenty of money without Arnaud, but I have the feeling Fearless Leader is tryin' to stick his fingers in the pie."

Darien cocked his head to the left. "So if Arnaud is Fearless Leader, does that make Huisclos and Doctor Rendell Boris and Natasha?" Hobbes considered this for a moment and then nodded. "And more to the point, does that make us Rocky and Bullwinkle?" Darien asked with a grin.

Hobbes gave Darien an amused look. "You are definitely Bullwinkle, my friend. That hair just screams antlers."

"Oh, I guess that means you wanna be Rocky. You've sure got the height thing down."

Eberts cleared his throat. "Well, if the two of you are Rocky and Bullwinkle, then who am I?"

Darien and Hobbes glanced at each other and grinned. Then they turned to Eberts and simultaneously announced, "Mister Peabody."

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Eberts looked around the dark street. Lights from the nearby buildings cast pools of light into the puddles on the street from the recent rain. The air had a thick, oppressively hot texture courtesy of the latent moisture in the air, thick enough that if you opened your mouth you could taste it. It reminded him of the time the Agency's air conditioner had given out in the middle of a heat wave. He glanced over at Hobbes. "I don't know about this. It doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Hate to say it, but I hafta agree with Eberts here," Darien added. "Hobbes, do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course I know where we're going. Bobby Hobbes is always prepared, my friend." He straightened his tuxedo jacket and smiled. "I could get used to this."

Eberts, also clad in a tuxedo, straightened his bowtie and admired himself in the van's side-view mirror. "Yes Robert, I agree, this is very nice."

Darien looked at his reflection in the side-view mirror and grimaced, fiddling with his collar. "Do I really have to wear one of these things again?"

"Fawkesy, it's just a tux, it's not like you have to walk in here in a dress and a pink wig."

"I might as well," Darien replied.

Hobbes ran a hand across his face in vexation, "C'mon Fawkes, I didn't think I was gonna have to include fashion and deportment in your training. Eberts ain't complaining." Eberts smiled, pleased with Hobbes' comment. Darien just shook his head and muttered to himself.

Hobbes swaggered up to a dark, ghostly gray stucco building with broken roof tiles and cracked windows. He stopped in front of the door, which looked ready to fall off of its hinges, and knocked sharply. A few seconds later the door opened slightly and a hawk-nosed man peered suspiciously through the crack.

"Yeah, what is it? Who are you?" the man asked gruffly.

"Robert Hobbes and company."

"I don't know no one by that name," the man replied.

"Yeah, but your boss does. I'm sure good ol' Juan Salgado would be happy to see me. So be a good boy and go tell him Bobby Hobbes is here."

The man gave Hobbes an outraged stare, then closed the door. A few minutes passed and then the door opened again, all the way this time. The man motioned for them to enter, a resigned expression on his face. "Come on in, he's expecting you."

Eberts and Darien gave Hobbes a look of disbelief and then followed Hobbes inside. The hawk-nosed man led the three through a hall and past a series of doors; when he reached the one on the end he opened it. "Wait here, Salgado will be right with you."

They walked in and the door closed behind them. "So Hobbes," Darien started, "how do you know this Salgado guy?"

"I got him out of a jam a while back."

The door opened and a tall, handsome Hispanic man walked in. "Robert Hobbes. It's been a while."

"That it has." Hobbes said. The two men embraced and then Hobbes spoke up. "Juanito, I need a favor."

"Anything for you, my friend."

"I'm looking for a man named Arnaud De Föhn. He's a arms dealer. You heard of him?"

"De Föhn? No, mi amigo. I have not."

"C'mon, Juan. You owe me. This guy may also be going by Arnaud de Thiel. You tellin' me you don't know what's happening in your own backyard?"

Juan sighed, then walked over the desk and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling something on the paper, he handed it back to Hobbes. "You might want to try this address. The owner of the club was looking for a new line of weapons last I heard. He and his crew might have bought some from your friend. But don't go looking for the owner himself, you could get killed that way. Just listen around and find out what the people there know."

"Thanks." Hobbes replied.

"Just remember, Roberto, we never had this conversation."

"What conversation?" Hobbes inquired blithely, cocking an eyebrow at his old friend.

"That's the Hobbes I know." Juan replied. The two exchanged another embrace and then Hobbes herded his pupils out of the small, comfortably cluttered room.

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Hobbes looked at the address Juan had given him one more time. "Well kiddies, this is the place," he said, walking up to a small nightclub that moonlighted as a casino, and had the name Guardia del Diablo plastered in painfully bright fluorescent lights right above the front door. "We'll split up and start looking and listening for any information on Arnaud. We meet back here in an hour. And don't get anything on the tuxes, they're rented."

Darien and Eberts nodded. Hobbes and Eberts made sure to synchronize their watches. Darien just walked off, entering the casino with a relaxed pace that was somewhat forced. He glanced around, then ducked into a dark corner of the room and Quicksilvered. He walked over to the exchange table and surreptitiously reached out to grab a small handful of dólar chips of varying worth, allowing the Quicksilver to flow over them as well. Then he ambled back over to his dark corner, reappeared, and strutted over to Hobbes.

Hobbes tapped his watch and snapped, "Come back to synchronize?"

Darien shook his head and dropped the handful of bet chips in Hobbes' hand, making sure to keep a few for his own personal use. "Nope, came to give you a little extra weight to throw around." He wagged a finger in Hobbes' face. "And I expect to see a good amount of it come out of this casino with us." Then he turned and walked off, once again without even bothering to match the time on his watch with Hobbes.

Seeing a nice seat at the bar, he sat down and ordered a Corona. He paid careful attention to the conversations going on around him, but there was no mention of Arnaud.

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Hobbes walked up to the blackjack table; setting a 100 dólar bet chip in the center of the table, he waited for the dealer to deal. Turning over his face-down card he saw that he had a nine of diamonds; up top he had a King of Hearts. "I'll stay," he said.

The dealer's face revealed only total boredom as he droned, "The dealer is under sixteen, he must take a hit."

All Hobbes could see was a ten of Spades on top. He had no idea what the hidden card was, but it couldn't be more then a five. The added card was a four of Diamonds. "Dealer must stay."

Both men turned over their cards and Hobbes was shocked to see the dealer's hand of nineteen. They were both tied. "The dealer has more cards to equal same amount. House wins."

Hobbes played a few more games, unsuccessfully. He sighed. "You have a mirror under the table or something?"

"No sir, that would be against the rules."

"Speaking of against the rules," Hobbes said, placing a 500 dólar chip down on the table, "you see Arnaud De Föhn around here lately?"

"A lot of people play at the tables, sir. I can't say I remember all of their names."

The dealer's voice hadn't changed, but Hobbes saw him blink twice, so he placed another 500 dólar chip onto the table with smooth deliberation. "He's a little more noticeable then most of the people that come in here. He's a pretty boy with a funky accent."

"Oh, him. Swiss guy, right?" The dealer said, raking the two chips off the table and slipping them smoothly into a pocket.

"That's right." Hobbes replied.

"Haven't seen him for a while. But Michelle Cortez at the bar might know something. If she's here tonight. I saw him laughing and talking to her a few nights ago. She even gave him his drinks on the house."

"Thanks." Hobbes nodded and headed toward the bar, where Darien was nursing a drink and pulling at his tie.

"Got anything?" Darien asked with a hopeful look.

"Maybe," Hobbes replied, ready to speak further, but Darien interrupted.

"Because I'm ready to leave just any time."

"Down, puppy. I'll buy you a biscuit if you'll be a good boy." He looked at the bartender and said, "Is Michelle here tonight?"

"Over there," the bartender replied. He nodded toward a slender beauty who was maneuvering a tray loaded with drinks across the crowded floor with the practiced grace of a Chinese circus performer.

"Thanks." Hobbes said. He decided that he would wait for her to get back. He watched her circle the tray down and around as she leaned over to serve her table. After all, he thought with a smirk, it would be a pleasant wait.

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Eberts looked around the room and saw Darien and Hobbes talking at the bar. So far he had managed to upset a rather apprehensive looking man with a leather jacket and a few tattoos; he had also knocked over a lamp while trying to get away from said man. He definitely preferred a room furnished with file cabinets and little else. He debated with himself over the necessity of checking in with Hobbes versus the effort of circumventing the numerous obstacles -- mostly people -- between them.

An overblown blonde slipped her hand on his arm and in a surprisingly husky voice said, "Hey handsome." Eberts frowned and decided that crossing the floor would be simpler than deciphering the blonde's true gender.

He started toward the bar and his colleagues, but the blonde stayed with him as if they were dancing a tango. He turned and pulled his arm free, only to body-slam into a waitress. She was carrying a full tray of drinks, and she circled it down, maintaining control even under direct collision -- until Eberts instinctively reached out to help her with the tray, overcompensating for its weight, as it was lighter than it appeared. The tray shifted, then lurched, spilling the alcohol all over her white shirt.

Horrified, he muttered apologies and pulled out his handkerchief, then tried to wipe the alcohol off her shirt. "I'm so sorry," he sputtered. "Let me help... Michelle," he added as he read her nametag.

She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away firmly. "I think you've helped enough. If this is your way of asking for a drink..."

"No, no! I'm not usually this... You see, there was this blonde... person..." He looked around and the blonde was across the room now, laughing and blowing him a kiss.

"No. Please. Don't explain. Just get back to your blonde, and let me get back to work," she glared at him, willing him to move on.

"No. Really," Eberts made another awkward move for the tray, which Michelle managed to dodge. She placed her hand back on his chest to keep him at a safe distance.

"You need to leave. Now," she told him firmly.

Suddenly Hobbes was there, sliding between them, taking the handkerchief from Eberts and handing it to Michelle.

Eberts backed off a pace, to stand sheepishly next to Darien.

Hobbes was in smooth operator mode, "I apologize for my friend. How can we make it up to you? It's Michelle, right? Michelle Cortez?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, "Well, for starters you could pay for these drinks."

Hobbes slid a fifty onto the tray.

"Not even," she said wryly.

He put down another fifty.

"Now, how did you find out my name?"

"I asked," he returned huskily.

"Whom?"

Darien made a face. "Whom? Isn't that, a little, you know... formal?"

"It's correct grammar... whom did you ask?" Michelle didn't seem concerned about Darien's interruption so much as Hobbes himself.

"I never reveal my sources, " Hobbes said with a wink.

"Fine," she returned the wink with a smile. "Neither do I." She snapped her fingers at a bouncer who was hovering, not unobtrusively.

"Outside. All three of you," he said, grabbing Hobbes and Darien each by one lapel.

"Hey, hey, hands off the suit," Hobbes objected. "We can leave politely."

"I've heard it all before," the bouncer said. Another bouncer followed behind, Eberts in tow.

"I think this is politely enough, Hobbesy," said Darien. "Don't you think, Eberts?"

And they were thrust unceremoniously out a back door into a dark alley. Eberts looked around, and mumbled back, "I think that's as polite as bouncing gets, Darien."

Hobbes brushed his lapels indignantly.

"Now what do we do?" Darien asked.

Hobbes declared, "Head back to the hotel and reevaluate our strategy." He pulled off his tuxedo jacket, draping it over his arm as he loosened the bow tie and walked toward the parking lot decisively.

"Oh yeah. If this is strategy, we definitely need to reevaluate," Darien mumbled as he stripped off his own tie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act II

Darien and Eberts sat in the cab of the van, staring listlessly at the front doors of the casino they had been kicked out of the night before. Hobbes had assigned them to stake out the place while he made a few quick phone calls. But Hobbes hadn't made a few quick calls. They had been at their post for over an hour, and absolutely nothing had happened at the building in question, nor had Hobbes reappeared.

"This is getting old," Darien muttered to Eberts, running a hand across his face and looking longingly at the doughnut shop located on the far corner of the street. He had no doubt that if he so much as started to walk toward the building, Hobbes would materialize out of nowhere and lecture him on how he was on the job at the moment and should under no circumstances abandon his post, doughnuts or no doughnuts.

"I concur," Eberts said, an expression of pure boredom on his face.

Darien glanced over at Eberts. A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Hey Ebes, how would you like a doughnut?"

Eberts gave Darien a shocked look. "Are you implying that you want to leave your post?"

Darien shook his head. "No, I'm implying that you might want to leave your post. C'mon, I'll cover for ya."

"But that would be against protocol..."

"Which is exactly why Hobbes wouldn't expect you to do it."

Eberts shook his head. "I don't think I should..."

"C'mon Eberts," Darien whined, "it's just five minutes. And I could really go for a cream-filled right about now..."

Eberts raised an eyebrow. "Quite frankly, I've heard of your history with doughnuts, and I'm a bit skeptical."

Darien frowned. Eberts had a point. There had been one rather disturbing incident that had involved hot doughnuts back in his early days at the Agency. But that long-ago incident had been an isolated one, and this was now; hunger was arguing persuasively in favor of a snack. But, before Darien's retort had time to leave the tip of his tongue, Hobbes walked into view, pocketing his cell phone and looking extremely pleased with himself.

"I got a tip for us," Hobbes said, a cocky grin on his face. "One of Arnie's middlemen is in there," he gestured at the casino, "finalizing a weapons deal right now. And we," he said, gesturing to indicate Darien and Eberts as well as himself, "are gonna tail him to see if he leads us to Da Phone."

"De Föhn," Darien corrected automatically.

Hobbes gave Darien an irritated glare. "The guy's name is Gustave Fabienne. He doesn't have a car, so wherever he goes to report in, it'll be nearby."

"Does this mean we're actually going to do something besides these dumb stakeouts?" Hobbes nodded. Darien immediately sat up straighter in his seat, his boredom giving way to anticipation and excitement. "Alright, let's get it on! But... first could we get a doughnut?"

Hobbes gave Darien a look that was a cross between exasperation and borderline terror. "No, you may not get a doughnut!"

Darien stuck his lower lip out in a childlike pout. "I want a cream-filled."

"NO DOUGHNUTS!" Hobbes yelped.

Darien threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! I'll just starve to death."

Hobbes snorted derisively and then shifted into agent mode, a stern expression appearing on his face. "Okay, we're gonna do a two-man tail with me here in case we need the van. You guys know your roles?"

Darien rolled his eyes. "I can guess. I'm gonna take point, with Eberts here as my backup."

Eberts began to speak, reciting his assignment with all the vivacity of a man who was about to attend a funeral. "If Agent Fawkes' presence is discovered, he is to move out of the range of easy detection and I am to take point." He didn't look particularly thrilled at the prospect.

"I just have one question," Darien injected. "Why are we avoiding the obvious? Why don't I just disappear and tail him that way?"

"Because this is a training exercise. For both of you. Standard tail. It's one of the basic skills you gotta have." Hobbes pulled out a pair of walkie-talkies, handing them to Darien and Eberts. "Okay, here ya go. Have fun. I'll let you know when our guy starts to make his move."

Darien frowned, looking down at the walkie-talkie. "Geez Hobbes, how do you expect us to pull off a decent tail with these things? They'll stand out like..."

"A Cossack at a bar mitzvah. I know." Hobbes rolled his eyes.

"Why couldn't we just use the Jack-in-the-Box headsets?" Darien whined.

"Only got two of those, my friend. Doesn't bode well for three-way conversations. This is all the Fat Man would spring for when it came to three-way radio contact. Not my fault he wouldn't go for something smaller."

Eberts bristled defensively. "The Agency's budget was extremely tight that month! These were the most inexpensive communications devices we could find that would actually prove useful..."

Darien placed a hand on Eberts' shoulder. "Whoa, slow down there, no need to get snippy." He held up his walkie-talkie and allowed the Quicksilver to flow over it, watching as it disappeared from sight. "There, problem solved."

Hobbes rolled his eyes and climbed into the van, placing his walkie-talkie in his lap. "Cute, Fawkes. Just get out there, will ya?"

Darien smirked and climbed out of the van, walked over to the building opposite the nightclub/casino and leaned casually on the faded brick wall. Eberts took up a position two houses down, trying to keep the walkie-talkie in his hands as unnoticeable as possible. Darien glanced down at his right hand, which was currently holding his own transparent two-way radio. His eyes automatically traced a path upward, taking in the view of his snake tattoo as well. It was so strange to see all of the segments green, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week... And it sent a skitter of relief up his spine every time he glanced at the tattoo and saw that yes, there were still no segments red.

Just then Darien's radio crackled to life, Hobbes' voice coming out through the invisible speaker. "OK Fawkes, you're on. Gustave just walked out of the alley beside the building. Short guy, fancy suit, Armani sunglasses."

Darien glanced surreptitiously at the alley next to Guardia del Diablo. Sure enough, a man fitting the description Hobbes had just relayed over the radio had just stepped out onto the sidewalk. He straightened his tie and began to walk along the sidewalk. He had a briefcase in one hand that Darien had good reason to suspect was full of money. Darien snorted and muttered into the radio, "Doesn't he know that dressing like that in a place like this just screams 'mug me'?"

"Maybe he's got a big enough reputation that he doesn't have to worry about that sorta thing," Hobbes retorted.

Darien frowned. Hobbes did indeed have a point. "Okay, moving out." Darien waited until Gustave was a good ten yards ahead of him and then began to walk down the street at a leisurely pace, every once in a while glancing over at his target. He also kept an eye on Eberts, who was following about twenty yards behind him. Hobbes had not yet moved from his original position, but Darien knew there was good reason for this; Gustave would be sure to notice a large, rusty tan van following him down the street. Darien certainly would have.

Gustave reached the end of the street and turned to the right, walking at a clipped pace. Darien crossed the street and continued to follow him, beginning to feel more than a little conspicuous. There were other people walking down the street besides him and Eberts, but not many. This wasn't exactly the best place to be tailing someone.

And that was proved when Gustave turned his head, looked directly at Darien, and then began to walk faster. Darien winced. "Aw crap, I think he made me."

"Alright, get outta sight and let Eberts take point," Hobbes said matter-of-factly.

Eberts' voice echoed out of the speaker, his tone a mixture of worry and resignation. "Oh dear..."

Darien slipped into the nearest alley, watching as Eberts slowly passed him by. Then he let the Quicksilver flow over his body and stepped back out of the alley, secure in the knowledge that he was no longer visible to the naked eye.

Eberts, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He was very visible and very nervous. Still, for all his anxiety he still managed to remain remarkably inconspicuous. If Darien hadn't known that Eberts was tailing Gustave, he never would have guessed.

Darien strutted up to Eberts and said in a low tone, "Hey, you're pretty good at this."

Eberts jumped slightly as Darien spoke. "Thank you," he said quietly, a half-smile flitting briefly over his face, "I've been practicing."

"I can tell," Darien said in an appreciative tone. His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "You haven't been practicing on me, have you?"

Eberts smirked and was about to reply, but suddenly paled. "Oh frell... he just made me."

Darien looked up at Gustave, who was walking at a relaxed pace. "I don't think so, you sure you aren't just nervous?" Gustave stopped and whirled around, pulling out a large gun and aiming it directly at Eberts. Darien felt the blood drain from his face. "Okay, you're right, he made ya."

Eberts dove for the sidewalk as Darien simultaneously shoved him to the ground. Gustave pulled the trigger and the bullet traced through the air Eberts' head had been occupying an instant before. It came less than an inch away from grazing Darien's cheek. Eberts yelped as his head slammed against the sidewalk. Darien threw himself to the ground beside Eberts; the Quicksilver fell off his lithe form on impact. He squeezed the talk button and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Hobbes, we need backup here!"

Moments later Golda careened around the street corner. Hobbes slammed on the brakes and the van skidded to a stop next to Darien and Eberts. Hobbes leaned out of the driver's side window, aiming his gun at Gustave. Fabienne immediately fired off two shots in Hobbes' direction. Hobbes swung back inside of the van, swearing loudly and motioning frantically for Darien and Eberts to get in. The two men threw open the large sliding side door and scrambled inside, all too happy to oblige.

Gustave fired another shot Hobbes' way and then leapt out into the street, causing a passing car to squeal to a stop. He yanked open the driver's side door, dragged the driver out by his shirt collar and climbed into the car. He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, the car tires leaving a brief trail of rubber and smoke behind him as he sped out of sight.

Hobbes slammed his forehead down on Golda's steering wheel, hissing, "Damnit!"

Darien leaned back against the seat and let out a relieved sigh. "Actually, I thought it turned out pretty good."

Hobbes gave Darien a disbelieving look. Darien snapped, "Hey, we coulda gotten our heads blown off. I'd say it turned out pretty good."

Eberts gingerly touched a hand to the area of his head that had slammed against the sidewalk. When he removed it, small smears of blood were on his fingertips. He shook his head, muttering in a hushed tone, "I should have stayed in the motel..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This writer chick named Emily Kimbrough was once known to say, 'And remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.' Hobbes, Eberts and I... we agree with that sentiment wholeheartedly. After our little stumble when we tried to catch Gustave, we found it comforting to go hand in hand... straight to the nearest bar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darien, Hobbes, and Eberts, who was sporting a butterfly bandage to keep the gash on his forehead from reopening, all sat on stools at the bar while the bartender mixed drinks behind the counter. Hobbes, being the designated driver, was sipping a tall glass of ginger ale. Darien was nursing a beer, an amused expression on his face. The reason for his amusement was Eberts, who had had a bit more to drink than was good for him.

"I shouldn't be drinking," Eberts said, taking a long swig of his beer. "I never drink. I have no toleransh-" he frowned and tried again, "no tolerance for alcohol."

Hobbes shook his head bemusedly and turned to Darien, his expression all business. "Okay, the way I see it, you did good and you did bad. It was your first try at tailing someone without the Quicksilver, and you did pretty well for a while there. But that was a little too conspicuous, crossing the street like that. Next time, you should let your partner cross the street and take point for a while, so that you can cut through an alley and take point again the next block over."

Darien frowned. "Why aren't you criticizing Eberts too?"

"He's too drunk. Probably won't remember any of this in the morning."

Eberts leaned toward Darien and Hobbes and tapped his head in a knowing manner. "I have a very good mem'ry."

Darien patted Eberts consolingly on the back. "We know that, Ebes. Hobbes was just saying, you're pretty toasted."

"Toasted, shmoasted. I'm drunk." Eberts turned to the bartender, held up a hand, and said in a slurred tone, "Uno más."

Darien pushed Eberts' hand back down. "No, no más." He glanced over at the bartender. "Please ignore him, he's had a rough day." The bartender muttered something derogatory in Spanish and turned to some of his other customers.

Darien turned back to Hobbes and sighed. "Ya know, if you'd just let me follow that creep invisibly, we woulda had him."

Hobbes glared at Darien in frustration. "But that would have undermined the whole exercise!"

"Hobbes, this isn't an exercise. It's me wanting to catch Arnaud and maybe put him through a little bit of the hell I've had to live through these past couple of years."

Hobbes crossed his arms stubbornly. "C'mon, you wanna catch Arnaud on your own merits, don't you?"

"Yeah, but right now the gland is one of those merits."

Eberts laughed drunkenly. "You don't usually treat it like one."

Darien whirled around, the muscles in his jaw tense as he demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Eberts held up a hand in a placating manner. "Nothing. I just think that if I was the one with the gland I could get a lot more out of it than the inviso... invisib..." Eberts frowned as he tried to wrap his tongue around the word, "invisibility factor."

Darien leaned forward, focusing his gaze solely on Eberts in a distinctly unnerving fashion. "What sort of stuff? Are you saying I have other 'superpowers' they haven't told me about? X-Ray vision, or… uh…"

Eberts squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "No, no, no. But if I were you, I could probably find a way to make money offa the fact that they stuck the gland in my brain. Maybe draw up a bill of some kind for using the Quicksilver. I'd want some sort of reward for bein' the re-cep-ta-cle," Eberts went over the longer word syllable by syllable to make sure he said it properly, "for a piece of gov-ern-ment e-quip-ment."

Darien raised an eyebrow. "So I can't fly or anything?"

Eberts' swayed his head back and forth.

"But this bill thing, would it work? I mean, really work?" Darien asked intently.

"Well, you'd have to list the usage properly, and you'd have to keep careful track of how much Quicksilver you used so you could charge the right amount. But posseshun is nine tenths of the law, and you are currently in posseshun of the gland." Eberts tapped the back of his head to prove his point, completely oblivious to his slurring of the word 'possession'.

Hobbes, who had thus far listened to the conversation in silence, stood and took the beer bottle from Eberts' hand. "Okay Charlie Brown, I think you've had enough drinks for tonight. C'mon, let's get you back to the hotel before you pass out," he said in a tone that could almost be considered paternal.

"'M fine," Eberts said, standing to his feet and shrugging off the helping hand that Hobbes offered him. He took two steps in the direction of the door and promptly fell flat on his face.

"Yeah, sure, you're in top condition," Hobbes said, bending down to help Eberts off of the ground.

"The floor hit me," Eberts said in a perplexed tone. "It attacked me. How did it do that?"

Darien placed his beer on the counter and assisted Hobbes in helping Eberts back to his feet. "Yeah, those barroom floors are vicious," he said, rather amused. Darien and Hobbes began to maneuver Eberts in the direction of the door. Darien glanced slyly at Eberts and then said in a deceptively casual tone, "So, umm, any more thoughts on how to pull off that Quicksilver bill thingy?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A short while later Hobbes pulled the van up in front of the motel, parking as close to the stairway leading up to the second level of rooms as was humanly possible. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, unbuckled his seatbelt, and glanced over at Darien, who was currently struggling to keep an unconscious Eberts in something close to an upright position.

"A little help here?" Darien requested irritably, opening his van door and attempting to find a way to unbuckle his seatbelt while still keeping Eberts from falling forward and hitting his head on the dashboard.

Hobbes laughed, shaking his head at the spectacle before him, and placed a hand on Eberts' shoulder, holding the unconscious man gently but firmly against the back of his seat. Darien unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt out of the van, saying in an exasperated tone, "Laugh it up, fuzz ball, but I'm not the one carrying him in."

Hobbes narrowed his eyes, saying in a casual tone, "Watch who you're calling fuzz ball, Chia-head." He released Eberts' seatbelt in one smooth motion and proceeded to pull the younger man out of the van and over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, hauling him up the stairs to the motel room. "Open the door," Hobbes grunted, nodding at Darien, who had made the trip up the stairs in half the time and was leaning cockily against the doorjamb.

"Keys," Darien said in a patronizing tone, gesturing to the rusted keyhole on the doorknob.

Hobbes crouched to lower Eberts' feet to the ground, then leaned him against the nearest wall, fishing the keys out of his suit pocket and tossing them over to Darien. Darien unlocked the door and opened it, standing out of the way and gesturing with mock civility for Hobbes to enter first. Hobbes picked Eberts back up and toted him inside the room, dropping him unceremoniously on the first available bed, which just happened to be Darien's.

"Hey!" Darien protested, "that's my bed!"

Hobbes turned to Darien and crossed his arms. "Correction. That was your bed. Now it belongs to Eberts."

"C'mon man, this isn't fair!"

"Hey, you're the one that got him drunk. It's your fault he passed out on the way here, and now you're gonna have to deal with the consequences. I'm sure you and the floor will get along just fine."

"Hobbes...." Darien growled in a dangerous tone. Hobbes, completely unfazed by Darien's attempts to undermine his authority, merely set his jaw and gave Darien a stern look. "Aw, come on Hobbesy, Ebes won't even feel the floor, not in the shape he's in...." Hobbes didn't budge. Darien finally sighed and threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine. I'll take the floor."

Hobbes inclined his head slightly in approval. "Alright, lights out. We've got a big day tomorrow."

Darien forcefully yanked his duffle bag up from where it had been resting at the foot of the bed and grabbed a pair of pajama pants, a t-shirt, and his toothbrush. Then he walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and hurriedly changed his clothes. He turned to the sink to wet his toothbrush and frowned. "Hey Hobbes, do Mexican motels usually come complete with these strange brown roach-shaped bars of soap sitting on top of the sink?" As he finished speaking, the 'roach-shaped bar of soap' moved, looking up at him with big, round insect eyes.

Darien leapt back, letting out a surprised yell. The soap-bar sized cockroach skittered down the drain. Hobbes opened the bathroom door and poked his head inside the room, giving Darien an irritated look. "What?"

Darien took a shaky breath. "I'd skip brushing my teeth tonight if I were you. We've just been paid a visit by Roach-zilla."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gustave Fabienne stepped into a dark room, straightening his tie out of habit. When reporting to the boss, it was always a good idea to look your best. The room's sole occupant sat in front of a computer desk on the far corner of the room, his form shrouded in shadow. The man turned as Gustave approached him, looking at Gustave with ice-blue eyes. He inclined his head slightly to the left, clasped his hands in front of him in a business-like manner, and said crisply, "Well, Fabienne, what is it?" The softness of his Swiss-French accent belied the deadly acid in the seemingly innocent question.

Gustave squirmed slightly, distinctly uncomfortable with what he was about to report. The boss would not be pleased. "Sir, I thought that you might like to know.... A couple of men were tailing me earlier. They might be the men you warned me about."

Arnaud stood up, shock registering on his face. He pulled back the shades and looked out the window, his eyes flitting back and forth in a paranoid fashion as he surveyed the area outside the window. Once he was satisfied that he was in no immediate danger of being arrested he turned to glare at Gustave, his eyes cold with anger. "And you came back here? You idiot!"

"I lost them, I'm sure of it. I drove all over town to throw them off the trail," Gustave replied, trying to think of a way to diffuse Arnaud's temper. When the boss got mad, people had a tendency to disappear.

"It's really hard to find good help these days. I should just kill you now!" Arnaud almost spat.

Gustave flinched. He knew that this was far more than just an idle threat.

"Tell me what happened," Arnaud demanded resignedly.

Gustave, distinctly nervous now, began to explain hurriedly, hoping to forestall an explosion on the part of his employer. "I was on my way back here when I realized someone was following me, a white guy with big hair. He didn't strike me as a tourist. Once he realized I'd spotted him, he disappeared...."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Arnaud demanded sharply.

Gustave shrugged. "He disappeared. You know... ducked down an alley or something."

Arnaud's eyes narrowed. "Continue."

"I was suspicious, so I kept an eye out, and a few minutes later I realized I was still being followed by someone else, a shorter man. He seemed to be rather... how do you say... a geek?" Gustave smirked. "I shot at him."

"Is he dead?"

"No, I missed. He got pushed out of the way by the taller man... I'm still not quite sure how I missed seeing him, I didn't even notice him until he was lying on the ground."

"Is he dead?" Arnaud asked, a little more eagerly.

Gustave shook his head. "No." He cleared his throat, unnerved by Arnaud's icy gaze. "There was a third man with a van, he pulled around the corner and tried to shoot at me. I decided that three against one weren't very good odds, so I commandeered a car and escaped."

"Anything else?" Arnaud hissed.

"No, nothing." Gustave shook his head and anxiously awaited his employer's reply.

Arnaud massaged his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. "Fabienne, your incompetence never ceases to amaze me. I told you to watch out for those men, and yet you played right into their hands. For all you know, Fawkes could have followed you all the way here."

Gustave said defensively, "The only way he could do that was if he were invisible." Arnaud's glare deepened. "Come on, you're not telling me he can... I mean, think about it! A man who can turn invisible." Gustave laughed. "It's impossible!"

Arnaud gave Gustave a harsh glare and reached casually under his coat, pulling out a gun. "Never rule out the impossible, Fabienne. Never rule out the impossible..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act III

"Alright Rip Van Winkle, rise and shine!" Hobbes hollered, his mouth approximately a foot away from Darien's ear.

Darien grunted and lurched up into a sitting position, his eyes flying open. "Huh? What?"

Hobbes leaned in toward Darien, his face showing all the tenderness of a drill sergeant. "Get off your lazy butt! It's time to get crackin'! We have a Swiss-miss mother to catch, remember?"

Darien stumbled over to his duffle, fumbling around until he found his watch. He looked at the time and then turned to his partner disbelievingly. "Hobbes, it's five thirty in the morning!"

Hobbes crossed his arms, the military expression still preeminent on his features. "Yeah, which means we've wasted half an hour already. Get in that shower, NOW!" He pointed a finger over at the motel bathroom.

Darien glanced at the bathroom, then back at Hobbes, quite understandably appalled. "Hobbes, I wouldn't want to wash my hands in that bathroom."

"You think that's bad? That's nothing, my friend. Why, when I was in Beirut, I-"

"Okay, okay!" Darien yelled, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Just shut up, will ya? You're giving me a headache!"

Eberts, still lying in bed, let out a loud moan. Hobbes rolled his eyes. "Speaking of headaches..." He turned and walked over to Eberts, who was currently in the process of mashing his pillows down over his ears. "How's the hangover?" he asked loudly, throwing off the bedcovers and attempting to lift the pillow off of Eberts' head. Eberts held on tightly and stubbornly enough that Hobbes ended up elevating Eberts' head and upper torso along with it.

"Just let me die in peace," Eberts groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing slightly at the sound of his own voice.

"Forget it, pal," Hobbes said, finally managing to wrest the pillow out of Eberts' grasp, "you are gonna join the rest of the world."

Darien whined, "Hobbes, the rest of the world is asleep."

"Yeah well, crime never sleeps, my friend, and if we're gonna catch Arnaud we need to start thinkin' like 'im."

"Thinking like Arnaud..." Darien grimaced as he began to consider this singularly unappealing prospect. However, after a few moments he abruptly snapped his fingers together, a cocky grin appearing on his face. "I know how we can catch him!"

Hobbes narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah, genius? How?"

Darien crossed his arms, saying in a satisfied tone, "C'mon, what's the best way to catch a criminal? By outthinking him, by conning the con."

Hobbes nodded thoughtfully. "So you think if we pose as terrorists lookin' to buy some big-time weaponry Arnaud will actually bother to show up?"

Darien shrugged. "All we gotta do is make him an offer he can't refuse. And make sure he doesn't find out we're the ones making the offer, obviously."

Hobbes frowned. "Kinda hard to make those sorts of offers when you ain't got no cash."

Darien placed a hand on Hobbes' shoulder. "Hobbesy, Hobbesy, Hobbesy, it's all about bluffing. If we can just manage to bluff our way into the Swiss-miss's antechamber we'll be all set." Eberts mumbled something unintelligible and sat up in bed, massaging his temples. Darien frowned. "Of course, we'll have to do something about hangover boy there," he added, gesturing toward Eberts with his thumb.

"Leave that to me," Hobbes smirked. He turned back to Eberts and said in a singsong tone, "Oh Eberts, I think it's time we dealt with that little hangover of yours."

Eberts opened his eyes and glared up at Hobbes, saying in a decidedly nasty tone, "Come any closer and I'll make sure that three on your paycheck gets changed into a zero."

Hobbes hastily stepped back, glancing nervously over at Darien. "On second thought, I think I'll let you take charge of the sobering up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hobbes walked out of a small gas station. As he climbed back into the van he handed Eberts a brown paper bag. "Here, you might need these."

"What is it?" Eberts asked suspiciously.

"Just open it."

Eberts reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of B Vitamins and a pair of cheap sunglasses. "Thanks, I think. B vitamins? My head feels like it's in a vice and you bought me B vitamins?"

"A hangover's basically dehydration of the brain, Eberts. You should know that. B vitamins are the fastest way to get you back in shape. Trust me." He started the ignition and started to drive. After about ten minutes he stopped the van and got out. He poked his head back into the van and smiled. "OK kiddies, behave while daddy's away."

Darien picked up the first thing he could find, which happened to be a comb, and threw it at Hobbes. "Just go already, I don't want to stay in this crappy rust bucket any longer than I have to."

"Geez, Fawkes, you don't have to throw things," Hobbes chastised as he picked up the comb and set it on the dashboard.

"Why do you have a comb anyway? It's not like you have any hair," Darien said, but found himself talking to empty air; Hobbes was already gone. "What do you think?" he asked Eberts. When he received no answer he turned around and saw Eberts sitting on the floor of the van with a jacket over his ears. He couldn't help but laugh. "Hey Ebes?"

Noticing that Darien was talking to him, Eberts slightly uncovered his ears. "What?"

"Why would Hobbes need a comb?"

Eberts stared back at Darien in confusion. However, before he could even try to register what Darien was asking him the drivers' side door opened up and Hobbes jumped in. "Looks like all my hard work paid off, I found out where Cortez lives."

Darien ran a hand across his face. "Aw, c'mon Hobbesy, we're not gonna visit her...."

"Could the two of you please speak more quietly?" Eberts asked in a hoarse whisper. "And who is this Cortez person?"

Darien shook his head and commented, "She's the woman who you bumped into at Guardia del Diablo the other night."

"The one that got us kicked out," Hobbes added, his eyes narrowing with displeasure.

"Michelle?" Eberts queried.

"…ma Belle," Darien murmured.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Eberts pressed one hand over his sunglasses as if they pained him. "Because I got the impression she didn't like us."

"What gave you that idea? Having us thrown in an alley by a couple of oversized bozos was probably her idea of flirtation, Eeeeeeeberts," Hobbes replied sarcastically. "Look, she's our best lead right now." He held up a hand. "Correction. She's our only lead right now. And we need to get to her apartment before she leaves for work."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Hobbes pulled into the parking lot of the small apartment complex. "Okay, here's how we're gonna play it. Eberts, you stay in the van." He shoved a bottle of water into Eberts' hands. "Rehydrate your brain. Fawkes, you're with me."

Darien groaned and got out of the van. "So what's the plan, here?"

Hobbes shrugged. "We ask her a few questions."

Darien rolled his eyes. "Great plan."

"And if she doesn't answer 'em, you do a little invisible recon in her apartment."

"Hobbes...." Darien protested, but trailed off as Michelle opened the door.

Hobbes gave Michelle a charming smile. "Hi. You might not remember us--" He was cut off as Michelle abruptly slammed the door shut. "Okay, maybe you do," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hobbes knocked again and waited a moment, but the door didn't swing open again. Undaunted, he began to pound on the door, his fist impacting hard enough on the wood that the surrounding wall shook. After about a minute of this the door abruptly swung open to reveal an irate Michelle Cortez. "What do you want?" she snapped, her nostrils flaring with anger.

"I just need to ask you a few questions," Hobbes said, placing his foot in between the door and the doorjamb so she was unable to close the door again.

"You know, stalking is illegal," Michelle hissed.

"Look," Darien said, "It's okay, I mean, we don't even want you."

Michelle glared daggers at him.

"Okay," Darien regrouped, "Let me rephrase that. . What we want is information. From you. We want to find this guy, Arnaud De Föhn...."

Michelle tensed. "Leave. Now."

"I know you know where I can find 'im," Hobbes said, crossing his arms in an intimidating fashion.

"You know nothing," Michelle retorted, and attempted to slam the door closed. Hobbes' eyes widened slightly as she nearly crushed his foot, but he didn't say anything and he didn't remove his foot. The door remained open.

"Okay, Michelle," Hobbes said, pulling out a picture of Arnaud. "We really need to find this man. Someone said you might know where he is."

She shook her head. "Look. I don't want anything to do with him. He's bad news. And he'll hurt me."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"No. Uh-uh."

Darien stepped closer, flashed his badge, and delivered a practiced sounding, "Federal Agents, Ma'am. If you'll cooperate, we can offer you protection." Hobbes glanced over at Darien and raised an eyebrow. Darien shrugged.

"This isn't America," Michelle snapped. "You have no jurisdiction in Mexico. You can't expect me to be impressed by that badge. Besides, nothing can protect me from him." Michelle tried to close the door again. But Darien reached out, grabbed her hand, and Quicksilvered them both.

Darien's disembodied voice replied, "How's this for nothing? Feel safe now?"

Quicksilver flaked off and they reappeared.

"How did you do that?" Michelle asked suspiciously.

"Never mind that," Hobbes inserted. "Where can we find Arnaud?"

She studied them for a moment, then said, "Across the alley from Guardia del Diablo."

"Thanks." Hobbes replied. He and Darien turned in tandem and walked toward the van. Michelle looked alarmed and called after them.

"Hold on! How are you gonna protect me if you leave now?"

"We're gonna get Arnaud. That's how." Hobbes shot over his shoulder.

"But... but what about that 'nothing' thing? That was pretty cool..."

"That's how we catch him," Hobbes replied.

As they got into the van, Michelle took a couple of steps forward, "But I don't want you to leave..."

"Hobbes?" Darien asked, feeling torn.

"Always leave 'em wanting more, my friend," Hobbes replied evenly, "always leave them wanting more."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hobbes pulled his van up in front of Guardia del Diablo. "Hobbes, maybe I should go in first and do a little snooping?" Darien suggested. "Just in case. I don't really think that we want to run into Arnie here."

"Good idea." Hobbes replied.

"But," Eberts started, "I thought we were here to find Mr. De Föhn."

"Here's another lesson for you, Eberts. Never do anything without a plan. If we went in there right now and he

was there, he would run. And knowing that we were on his tail, he wouldn't come back. Then all of this would have been for nothing. Always choose your battleground."

Eberts considered this momentarily, then nodded. "Right."

"Well, while you two have your agent-to-agent moment I'm gonna do some invisible recon." With that said, Darien let the Quicksilver flow over his body.

"Fawkes?" Hobbes stuck his head around the corner, knowing he wouldn't be able see his partner anyway. He threw his hands up in frustration. "Great, what about the backup plan?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darien stood by the door, watching two men who stood in the corner of the alley, cigarettes in hand, deep in conversation.

"I tried to warn him, but he just won't listen. He bets almost everything on a game and hopes he wins. One of these days he won't be so lucky. He'll lose everything," one of the men said.

"Maybe we should go back inside, Saludes," the other suggested. The first man, apparently named Saludes, looked at his watch and then nodded. He tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, then stepped on it to make sure it was out.

Darien followed the pair as they entered the building. The front room was dimly lit; no one was in sight other than the two men in front of him. He followed them through another door and was shocked to see at least 50 people laughing, talking, drinking, and gambling.

He continued to follow the two men and watched as they entered an office. "Hey, boss, everything looks good outside." The man sitting at the desk nodded and then shooed them away with a wave of his hand. Darien heaved a sigh of relief. Other than the main room he had just passed and the small office, he hadn't seen any other rooms. The coast was clear. Arnaud was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hobbes leaned against the outside of the van and shook his head. "I swear, it's inhuman, Eberts. Your hangover should be gone by now."

Eberts rolled his eyes. "Well, Robert," he replied, "I haven't had many hangovers, and my tolerance for alcohol obviously isn't very good."

"I'm just saying..." Hobbes started, then yelped as he felt a cold hand placed on his shoulder. "Damnit Fawkes, don't do that!"

Darien reappeared and gave Hobbes an innocent look. "Do what?"

"Sneak up on people like that!"

"Normally I'm asked to sneak up on people," Darien said defensively. "I was just practicing."

Eberts covered his ears; he looked rather dizzy.

Hobbes frowned. "Umm, Eberts? You okay there, buddy? You look a little green."

Eberts didn't have time to reply; he quickly turned around and vomited everything he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours and then some.

"Oh, that's just wrong," Darien said unhappily, stepping back. Hobbes nodded ruefully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After giving Eberts several minutes to recover, the three men walked into the building. Darien led the way, since he knew where he was going. When he opened the main door all eyes were on them. Darien wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a few people reach into their jackets, letting him know they had guns.

Saludes walked up to them, but addressed Darien because he was the first one in. "What is your business here?"

"We need to talk with your boss."

"I don't have a boss."

"Then what's behind door number three over there?" Darien inquired sarcastically, pointing to the wooden door he had seen Saludes and the other man walk through earlier.

Saludes eyed him quizzically, then looked toward the door. "That's a storage closet."

"Then you won't mind if we take a look." Hobbes said firmly, walking toward the door. Darien and Eberts followed him.

Hobbes opened it, and the man at the desk looked up, but seeing Hobbes annoyance transformed to wariness, and he stood. "Who are you?"

"We're here to talk business." Hobbes said gruffly. "Javier recommended you to us."

"And how do you know Javier?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Darien cleared his throat. "We've had a few... business encounters with him in the past."

"Want me to take care of them?" Saludes asked, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

"No," the man replied, dismissing Saludes with a wave of his hand. "I'll talk with them. Come in." He pointed to the two chairs sitting in front of the desk. "Have a seat. I am sorry that I can't offer more." Darien and Hobbes took a seat, while Eberts hovered by Darien's left shoulder as if searching for a surrogate Official to adhere to. "I'm Raul Rodriguez, and you are?"

Hobbes shook his head. "No names. I need to make sure that our security isn't compromised."

"I assure you, señor. Any information you give me will stay with just me."

"It's just a precaution. Nothing personal," Hobbes replied shortly.

Rodriguez' gaze repeatedly flitted over to Eberts, then back to Hobbes. Finally he nodded toward Eberts, who was wearing dark sunglasses and still had his butterfly bandage firmly in place. "What's with him?"

Hobbes leaned back in his seat and said casually, "That's my bodyguard, I like to call him Killer. Got in a fight last night with some wannabe assassin. Twisted the guy up like a pretzel."

Rodriguez frowned skeptically. "Really?"

Darien nodded. "Oh yeah. He's much tougher than he looks." He surreptitiously poked Eberts in the ribs in an attempt to make him look more dangerous. Eberts managed a half-hearted growl, as much at Darien as anything else.

Hobbes stared at Rodriguez and said quietly, "Ya might not want to talk too loud. Killer here had a few too many drinks with some of the ladies last night, and... well, let's just say that when he's got a hangover he has a tendency to tear off limbs."

Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. "I'll remember that.... Now, what exactly can I do for you?"

"We need you to set us up with this guy, Arnaud De Föhn. I hear you're acquainted with him."

Rodriquez pursed his lips. "Even if I did know this Señor De Föhn you are referring to.... Why are you looking for him?"

Hobbes folded his hands in his lap. "That's kinda none of your business, isn't it? We need to talk to him. And only him."

"Everything goes through me. You need to meet with him about something, then you need to let me know what it is."

"We're looking for a certain kind of merchandise we were told he might have." Hobbes stated.

"And what kind would that be?" Rodriguez asked.

"The fully automatic, armor piercing, complete with night-scope kind," Darien said in a nonchalant tone.

Rodriguez nodded. "Now you're speaking my language." He took a Post-it note and scrawled down an address. "Meet me here tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. I'll make sure that my boss is there. We can work out all the details then." He handed the piece of paper to Hobbes.

Hobbes took the piece of paper, read over the address, and then nodded. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." He stood to his feet and walked out of the door, followed by Darien and Eberts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't like this, Hobbes," Darien muttered as he stepped out of the van, his brow furrowed and his hands entrenched firmly in his pockets.

Hobbes turned toward Darien and placed his hands on his hips. "What's your problem now, hotshot? This was your freakin' idea in the first place!"

"Yeah, well, it's too easy, for one thing," Darien grumbled. This might have been his idea, but the more he thought about it the more his con sense tingled. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong.

Eberts climbed out of the van and habitually reached up to straighten his tie. "Don't worry," he said in a reassuring tone, "everything seems to have gone fine so far."

"That's what worries me," Darien said stubbornly.

"And I thought I was paranoid," Hobbes griped sourly. He pulled out his Colt .45, checked the safety, and tucked it into his waist holster. Then he leaned back inside the van and pulled two more guns out of the glove compartment. He handed one of the guns to Eberts and offered the other one to Darien.

Darien shook his head firmly. "No." Hobbes ignored Darien's protest and thrust the gun firmly into the waist of the taller man's pants. Darien yanked it free and shoved it back into Hobbes' hands, hissing adamantly, "No!"

Hobbes pressed the gun into Darien's palm. "If you walk in there without a gun Arnaud's men won't let us anywhere near him. In this business, everyone carries a piece. You'll look more suspicious if you don't have one than if you do."

"Not if they don't see me go in," Darien said pointedly. He allowed the Quicksilver to flow over his body and then dropped the gun back into Hobbes' hands. "You're a better aim than me anyway," he said as the Quicksilver flaked off the gun in Hobbes' palm.

"Fawkes...." Hobbes trailed off, heaving a resigned sigh. He tucked the extra gun into the waistband of his pants, muttered a few choice words under his breath and began to walk toward the assigned meeting place, followed closely by Eberts and a very invisible Darien.

The three men rounded a corner and turned onto a narrow side street. A large, dilapidated building was sprawled out on the far end. Rodriguez stood in front of it, his stance seemingly casual. However, upon closer inspection it became apparent that his hand was never far from his gun.

Hobbes walked up to Rodriguez, all business as he inquired, "Is the meeting on?"

Rodriguez gave a slight nod. "This way." He gestured to the entrance of the building. Hobbes opened the door and walked inside, making sure to give Darien plenty of time to get inside as well. Eberts followed.

Darien suddenly realized that Rodriguez had not walked inside yet. He was about to quietly point this fact out to Hobbes when he suddenly felt a rain of softball-sized items tumble onto his head and shoulders. He looked down, puzzled, and promptly panicked when he saw that he was now covered in large tarantulas.

Eberts' yowl of dismay and Hobbes' confused "What the hell?" were completely drowned out by Darien's escalating scream of terror. He scrambled away from the area where the most spiders were gathered and began to frantically brush off the ones that had managed to cling to his lanky form, the Quicksilver falling to the ground as he found himself unable to maintain proper control of his adrenaline levels.

A chilling laugh was what brought Darien back to his senses. He knew that laugh very well. It was forever burned into his brain. It haunted his nightmares. And it belonged to....

Arnaud stepped out of the shadows of the far corner of the room, applauding laconically. "Hello, Fawkes. Fancy not seeing you here." He smirked at his wordplay. "Thank you for that amusing performance. It made my day."

Hobbes whipped out his guns and aimed them at Arnaud. He cast a quick glare at Darien and muttered, "You and your damn spiders..." Then he turned his full attention to Arnaud. "Okay De Freak, I think you've had enough fun for today. You're under arrest."

Arnaud shook his head. "I don't think so." He snapped his fingers and a dozen men promptly stepped out of the shadows, each equipped with a large gun and thermal goggles. "Shoot them," Arnaud said coldly. "Shoot them all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act IV

Darien paled as Arnaud's men turned their guns in his direction. This was it. He was about to die, mercilessly gunned down just like Kevin. He was about to fall to the ground with his brains splattered all over the pavement. He...

He had a spider crawling up his leg.

Operating purely on instinct, Darien yelped, Quicksilvered the spider and flung it up into the air. Arnaud's minions, startled by the sudden temperature change that registered on their thermal goggles, adjusted their aim and promptly shot the invisible arachnid to pieces.

Before the flunkies had time to recover Hobbes fired off two shots, hitting one man in the chest and another man in the knee. Eberts drew his gun and fired off a shot as well. Darien, not particularly pleased at the thought of getting hit by return fire, dove for cover behind the nearest crate. A few seconds later he was joined by Hobbes and Eberts; apparently, they weren't too keen on getting shot either.

After a minute Darien peeked up over the edge of the crate. Arnaud's dirty dozen had been reduced to a slimy seven, and they had whipped off their thermal goggles in an attempt to improve their aim. But that wasn't what caught Darien's attention. What caught his attention was the fact that Arnaud was slipping out the side door of the building.

"Oh no you don't, you Swiss-miss mother," Darien growled, allowing the Quicksilver to flow over his body once again. Hobbes tried to make a grab for Darien, his hand lunging out to where the taller man had been moments before, but it was too late. Darien leapt to his feet and charged toward Arnaud, heedless of the bullets flying all around him.

A small part of Darien's brain registered the fact that Hobbes was yelling "Fawkes!" at the top of his lungs, but he didn't have time to reply. He couldn't let Arnaud escape again, not this time!

Arnaud dashed out of the side door and began to run haphazardly through the alley it opened onto, slamming the door behind him. Darien rushed after him, flung the door open, and scrambled out into the alley. Arnaud glanced behind him as he heard the door crash open and frowned when he saw nothing there. He shook his head and put on an extra burst of speed. "Merde," he hissed venomously.

Darien, closing fast, reached out, snagged Arnaud roughly by the shirt collar and pulled him to a stop so fast that the shorter man nearly fell over backwards. "You know, you should really watch your French," he admonished.

Arnaud turned to look in Darien's approximate direction. "You're one to talk." He pulled out a gun and aimed it in the general vicinity of Darien's chest. "I would suggest that you let me go, now."

Darien laughed. "You sure about that?" He released his hold on Arnaud's collar, took two steps to the left so as to be out of the way of the gun, and then batted it to the ground. The gun discharged, but the only thing the bullet hit was age-cracked pavement. Darien renewed his grip on Arnaud's shirt and allowed the Quicksilver to flake off of him, bending over so that he and Arnaud were nose to nose. "I would suggest that you come with me, now."

"I can make you a deal," Arnaud said hurriedly, "I can make you a deal you won't be able to refuse."

Darien shook his head. "Sorry, not interested."

"Even if it means getting the gland out of your head once and for all?"

Darien's eyes narrowed. He was indeed interested. Still, he couldn't let Arnaud know that. "C'mon Arnie, you really think I'll fall for that old scheme?"

"I got the gland out of my head, didn't I?"

"Chrysalis got the gland out of your head," Darien corrected.

"And I have the information on how they did it," Arnaud replied. He held up a small CD-ROM. "It's all here. Everything. The order in which each individual area should be disconnected, the best methods to use during the surgery.... Everything," Arnaud simpered. "And I'm willing to give it to you... if you'll let me go."

The muscles in Darien's jaw tightened as he debated the possibilities. His ultimate goal right now -- besides killing Arnaud -- was to get the gland out of his brain. And yet, he couldn't set aside the fact that Arnaud had tried to play him countless times before. The disk could very well be a fake. But, then again, it might actually be the real thing...

"I have no reason to believe you," Darien said quietly, looking Arnaud straight in the eye.

"You can't afford not to," Arnaud replied in a similar tone. Darien took a slow breath and absently nibbled on his lower lip. Arnaud's lips turned upward in a self-satisfied manner. "Which do you want more..." he held up the disk and waved it tauntingly, "this or me?"

Darien's eyes narrowed. "Ya know what? I think I'll take the two-for-one deal." He reached out his free hand and attempted to snatch the disk from Arnaud's grasp, but Arnaud pulled away and then with a flick of his wrist sent the disk flying like a Frisbee.

Darien swore and grabbed for the airborne disk, his grip loosening just enough on Arnaud's collar that the other man was able to break free. One hand swept down to grab his gun and then Arnaud fled down the alley, firing wildly behind him as he ran. Darien dove to the ground and flung his arms over his head; when he looked up a moment later, Arnaud was gone. He rushed down to the end of the alley just in time to see Arnaud wave arrogantly as he drove off in a fancy silver convertible.

"Damn," Darien muttered under his breath. He clenched his fists in frustration. "Crap, crap, crap...." He heaved a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He had let Arnaud slip through his fingers yet again. Finally, after several seconds of staring at the empty street, he turned and walked back toward the alley, his shoulders slumped with disappointment.

Darien walked back to the door that led into the building and reached for the handle, but paused. Something had caught his eye. He walked over and bent down in front of the object that had grabbed his attention: the round iridescent plastic of the CD-ROM. The disk lay on the edge of a shallow puddle. Darien winced, picked it up, and shook it off in the hopes that the pavement hadn't scratched it enough to render it useless. Then he stood and turned, walking back to the door of the building. He swung the door open slowly, unsure what to expect.

If the inside of the building had seemed in bad condition before, it was far worse now. The walls were riddled with bullet holes. The bodies of Arnaud's men -- those that hadn't run away -- lay on the ground, dead or wounded. Hobbes and Eberts stood in a corner of the room, leaning against one of the walls. They looked battered, bruised, and exhausted. Darien, not nearly as battered or bruised but emotionally spent, walked over and leaned against the wall beside them.

Hobbes looked over at Darien and heaved a deep sigh. "Didn't catch him, huh." He wasn't asking a question, he was making a statement.

Darien gave a slight nod. "Yeah, but I got this." He held up the disk.

Eberts took hold of the disk and looked at it eagerly. "Do you have any idea of the contents?" he asked curiously, eyeing the disk the way Hobbes looked at his van and his surveillance equipment.

"It might... it might have information on how to take out the gland," Darien said quietly.

Hobbes glanced over at Darien. "It might, huh?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment and then shrugged. "Well, we can look into that later. First, we need to find De Föhn."

Darien shook his head. "He's long gone by now, Hobbesy."

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "So you're just gonna give up? Not even gonna bother looking?"

Darien considered for a moment and then looked over at Eberts, who was staring at the disk as if it were the holy grail of CDs. "C'mon Ebes, let's go catch us a Swiss-miss mother."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've tried -- and failed -- to catch Arnaud more times than I want to count. But in my opinion, it's like what baseball great Babe Ruth said... 'Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.' And when my home run finally does come around, I'm gonna hit it out of the park.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late that night Darien, Hobbes and Eberts limped back into the motel room, tired and sore. They had used every contact Hobbes had in the area, but all this had only served to confirm the fact that Arnaud was no longer in Tijuana. They had finally decided to go back to the motel to tend their aching muscles and to investigate the contents of the disk Arnaud had left behind.

The three men sat down on one of the motel beds, which were the only things in the room even vaguely reminiscent of chairs, and gathered around Eberts' laptop. Darien watched in anticipation as Eberts booted the computer up and then began to examine the disk.

Eberts shook his head. "The disk is badly damaged..." Darien heaved a resigned sigh. "But," Eberts continued, "I believe I can recover the data." Darien looked immensely relieved at this. Eberts' hands flew over the keys for several long moments, and then a pleased smile crossed his face. "There. We should be able to access it now." He typed in the string of commands that would begin to open the disk's files.

Hobbes frowned as the computer screen suddenly went black. "That's not good," he muttered.

Eberts' eyes widened; apparently, he didn't think it was very good either. However, before he could do anything, a familiar face appeared on the screen. "Hello Fawkes," Arnaud said, his lips turned up in a smug grin.

Eberts frowned. "It appears to be some sort of video file...." Everyone leaned closer to see what would happen.

Arnaud's image flickered for a moment on the computer screen and then returned to normal. "If you are watching this, it means that I gave you this disk claiming that it held the key to the removal of your Quicksilver gland. Unfortunately for you, this is not the case. I would like to thank you for exposing yourself to my incompetent employee, Gustave Fabienne. The man was an idiot; I have taken the liberty of terminating his employment," Arnaud said ruthlessly, leading Darien to believe that Gustave's employment was not the only thing that had been terminated. "However, if he had not discovered you, I might have remained blissfully unaware of your presence here until it was too late. I have your incompetence to thank for that."

Darien glared at the computer screen and wished that Arnaud had taken the liberty of saying this in person. He wanted nothing better at the moment than to wipe the supercilious grin off of the Swiss-Frenchman's face with a punch to the jaw.

"Now, you may be wondering why I bothered to create this disk. I can assure you, it was not merely a distraction to aid my escape." Arnaud paused to savor the moment. "This is actually a Trojan Horse." Eberts' eyes widened and he began to type frantically, his attempts to quit the program fruitless. Arnaud's eyes sparkled with merriment as he continued. "It has been specially designed to wipe the hard drive of the computer you used to access it, as well as the hard drives of any computers networked to it. I only hope for your sake that you did not wait to attempt opening it until you got to your Keeper's lab... that would be quite unfortunate. For you..." The sneer on Arnaud's face indicated that he did not feel it would be unfortunate in the least.

Hobbes reclined back on the bed. "Well, looks like we outsmarted that Swiss bastard. There's nothing important on this computer, right?" Hobbes glanced over at Eberts, who was typing even faster than before, his face extremely pale. "Umm, right?"

Sweat beaded on Eberts' brow. "Actually, this computer contains a plethora of vital information to the Agency, including a dossier of the paychecks and raises listed for all of our agents next quarter..."

"Shut it off! Shut it off!" Hobbes yelped.

"I'm trying!" Eberts returned as he continued to type commands into the computer, none of which had any effect.

"Once the disk has been activated there is no way to stop it, so you needn't bother trying," Arnaud chided, almost as if he could see their futile attempts to impede the hacking program's process.

"The hell there isn't," Darien snarled. He snatched the computer from Eberts' grasp and flipped it over. Then he unceremoniously yanked out the battery. Arnaud's face flickered and then disappeared from the monitor, replaced by the serene black that indicated the computer had lost all power. The three men gave out a collective sigh of relief.

The next few minutes were filled with a tense silence as Eberts carefully ejected the disk, replaced the battery and rebooted his computer. Hobbes leaned forward and asked in a worried tone, "So, what'd you lose?"

Eberts began to carefully scan through his files, a deep frown on his face. "A report I was in the process of editing, some insurance records... and," his face fell, "the crux of my passive surveillance network."

Darien looked over at Eberts worriedly. "Can't you just rebuild it? I mean, you put it together once, you can do it again, right?"

Eberts looked up at Darien forlornly. "I can do that, but... we have no idea where Arnaud went. He could be anywhere on the globe." He shook his head sadly. "It will be very difficult for the program to produce accurate results without any information to start from."

Hobbes stared at the computer monitor and squirmed. "Um... What about the paycheck stuff? You know, the raises and all. Did that stuff get deleted?"

Eberts frowned and did a quick search. "No, it's still intact."

Hobbes heaved a relieved sigh. "Well, at least I'll still get my raise..."

Eberts glanced over at Hobbes in surprise. "You aren't listed as one of the people to be given raises, Robert. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Hobbes stared at Eberts for a long moment, his face an interesting shade of red. Finally he held up a finger. "Excuse me." He turned and stormed out of the motel room.

Darien glanced over at Eberts. "You might want to cover your ears, this isn't gonna be pretty."

Hobbes' voice began to float through the door into the motel room. It was impossible to make out exactly what he was saying, but a few words were discernable. 'Daddy's little pencil pusher' and 'bureaucratic pig' were some of the more noticeable comments; there were also several remarks about the Official's questionable parentage. Eberts listened with wide eyes. Darien merely began to dig through his duffle in the hopes that he would find a pair of earplugs.

After a few minutes Hobbes walked back into the room. His face was no longer red with anger, but his eyes had a dangerous glint in them that Darien would have found most unnerving if he had not seen it several times in the past. "Feel better?" he asked casually. Hobbes' only reply was to smash his fist into the nearest wall. "Guess not," Darien quipped.

"Get some rest," Hobbes growled. "We're goin' home first thing in the morning."

"Awww, and I was just getting used to the crappy living conditions and six-legged roommates."

Eberts clambered under the bedclothes, a stubborn expression on his face. "This is my bed." He glared at Darien, daring the taller man to challenge his claim.

Darien turned to Hobbes. "Ya know, you're the only one who hasn't slept on the floor yet...." Hobbes gave Darien a murderous glare. Darien immediately began to backpedal. He put his hands up in an attempt to pacify his incensed partner and said in a soothing tone, "Okay, I'll just pull out the sleeping bag, then...."

"Good choice there, my friend," Hobbes said, his steely gaze focused on his partner.

Darien heaved a reconciled sigh and began to gather his nightclothes together for another sojourn on the floor. He stepped into the bathroom and turned to the sink. His eyes promptly widened and he took a step back. Roach-zilla was back... and it had invited several of its six-legged friends to join it as well. Darien whirled around and charged back out of the bathroom door, yelling at the top of his lungs, "HOBBES!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Hobbes pulled the van to a stop at the US/Mexican border. Darien leaned back against his seat, an irritated expression on his face. He was going home, but before he did so he would have to brave yet another car trip with, horror of horrors, Hobbes and Eberts together in the same confined space. And he didn't even have the option of taunting Arnaud to alleviate the boredom.

His train of thought was interrupted as Hobbes slammed a hand down on the steering wheel and muttered, "Well, hell."

Darien looked up. "What?" It didn't take long for him to realize what had upset Hobbes. A Customs agent was walking toward them -- the same one they had had to deal with when they first attempted to enter Tijuana. Darien paled. "Aw crap..."

The Customs agent walked up and rapped sharply on Hobbes' window. "Well, hello Mr. Fish and Game," he said, a predatory grin on his face.

Darien glanced over at Hobbes and whispered, "Ya know what? I kinda like Mexico. You think we can stay here a little longer? Like until this guy retires?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag

Darien stormed into the office he and Hobbes shared. "What is this supposed to mean?" he asked, holding up a piece of paper. It was the report Hobbes had written of what he, Darien, and Eberts had done while in Mexico. Arnaud's name had not been mentioned anywhere in the report, naturally.

Hobbes looked up from the paperwork he was filling out and raised an eyebrow. "What're you talking about?"

Darien slammed the report down on Hobbes' desk and flung the manila folder open; he flipped through the papers until he found the one where Hobbes had marked down the evaluations he had given Darien and Eberts. "This. Right here."

Hobbes glanced at the paper and rolled his eyes. "Fawkes, you know perfectly well what that is. I evaluated you and Eberts based on your performances." He promptly turned back to his paperwork.

Darien slammed a hand down on the paper Hobbes was reading, leaning across the desk so that he and Hobbes were practically nose-to-nose. "You basically gave us both A's."

"No, I gave you both A-minuses. Although I could demote yours to a B plus if you want."

"Hobbes, we didn't do anything right! We botched the job from start to finish."

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you want an F?"

Darien frowned. "No, but..."

"Then don't argue with me!" Hobbes said in exasperation. "Look. You can't expect to do everything right while you're still in training. And as a general rule, people usually learn more from the mistakes they make than the times they do the job right."

Darien pondered this for a moment. "So you're saying you graded us based on the experience we gained, not by our win/loss record."

Hobbes nodded, reclining his chair so that it was only balancing on the back legs, and placed his feet up on his desk to compensate for the weight displacement. "That's right, partner. I think you and Eberts learned a lot in Tijuana." He placed his hands behind his head and smirked arrogantly. "But if you ever botch up a tailing job that badly again I'll pop a cap in your knee."

Darien shook his head, not pleased that Hobbes had chosen to remind him of that particular failure. "Point taken." He placed Hobbes' report on the desk and turned to walk out, a single piece of paper left in his hand.

Hobbes frowned. "Hey, whatcha got there?"

Darien glanced over at Hobbes and smirked, saying in an ambiguous tone, "Ahh, just a little surprise for the Official." He walked out of the door before Hobbes could inquire further and started down the hall toward the Official's office, grinning slyly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm a decent sort of guy. I mean, yeah, I used to be a thief, but even then I wasn't your average safe-crackin' kleptomaniac. But, whenever there's an opportunity to rub the Official's nose in it, that nice guy goes right out the window. Because in the words of Rita Mae Brown... 'I believe in a lively disrespect for most forms of authority.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Official looked up irritably as Darien walked into his office and handed him a piece of paper. He glanced at it and frowned. "What the hell is this?" he barked at Darien.

Eberts leaned over the Official's shoulder to have a look and frowned. "Sir... it's a bill."

"A bill? For what?"

Eberts took the paper from the Official's hands and read it over quickly; his face became increasingly pink as he realized just what the bill was for. He coughed nervously and said, "Uh, it appears to be rent for space usage in Agent Fawkes' cranium. A flat rate for non-Quicksilver use and a higher rate when the Quicksilver is used with a thirty minute minimum, and accruing at fifteen-minute intervals thereafter."

The Official said nothing for a long time, his face gradually turning a deep shade of purple. Darien found this extremely satisfactory, not to mention humorous, but the only outward display of his amusement was the twinkle in his eye. "Is there a problem, sir?" Darien asked in a smooth tone. "I made sure to itemize the usage exactly as required."

Eberts read the paper over again and nodded to himself. "He did, sir. See, he broke it up into..." Eberts trailed off and looked nervously over at the Official as what appeared to be steam began to issue from below the obese man's collar. He cleared his throat and placed the bill down on the desk. "Shutting up, sir."

The Official sat in silence for a moment and then scowled up at Darien. "Fawkes, you already get a paycheck, although if you prefer I can substantially reduce the amount."

"Sir, I'm paid for the work I do at the Agency, but unless something has changed recently I am not being compensated for being the receptacle for a piece of government equipment," Darien said, his expression neutral, although the amusement had not dissipated from his eyes. "Last time I checked, sir, possession being nine-tenths of the law and all, as long as the gland is in my head I'm pretty sure that I'm in possession of it."

"That can be changed," the Official growled.

Darien snorted. "Oh, so you just wanna start over again? Risk losing your sponsor for, what, the fifth time in the past year?" He shook his head. "Can't see you making a mistake like that again." The flush began to drain away from the Official's face and neck. Darien's comments had been uncomfortably close to the mark.

"I'm sure your master bean-counter over there can squeeze the funds from some stone you haven't touched yet," Darien continued in a casual tone. He turned and walked over to the office door, but paused before he walked out of the room. "That means you can't take it from Hobbes' pay or the QS research," he clarified. Then he opened the office door to walk out. He had to pull back instead as Hobbes fell through the suddenly opened doorway and landed flat on the office floor.

Darien shook his head. "You just had to listen in, didn'cha?"

Hobbes pulled himself to his feet and shrugged. "Hey, I wasn't gonna miss something like this." He cocked his head to the left. "Say, if that bill thing actually works, you think you could slip me a couple of twenties? I'm running a little low on cash, what with the motel room and the blackjack table and the tuxedo rental..."

"What about those chips I slipped ya in the casino? Did you exchange 'em for money later?"

"Nope," Hobbes said sheepishly, "I left 'em in the jacket pocket of the tux by mistake."

Darien groaned and stepped out of the Official's office, closely followed by Hobbes, who continued to berate him with monetary questions as they walked off down the hall. The office door swung shut with a loud thud that reverberated through the air after them.

The Official heaved a deep sigh. Eberts glanced over at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "A barrel, sir?"

The Official nodded gravely. "And I have the feeling we're not over it yet."

The End