Episode Eleven

By Izhilzha

Teaser

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I'm not exactly the Agency's fat cat, but every now and then something Garfield said really rings true. For instance, "I hate Mondays." Just one more measurement to tick out of my life, a timecard for the number of weeks I've had this gland in my head.

It's not as bad as it was when Monday managed to coincide with counteragent day, marking off a new personal lease on my sanity. Still, it drives me nuts. Maybe a leftover from the days -- or nights -- when I made my own work hours. Reported to no one.

Or maybe it's the awareness that every time I come into that office, I'm just asking for my life to be turned upside-down, whether by friend or foe. Or someone who's both.

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Darien Fawkes darted in through the glass doors of the Harding Building. Shaking water from his sopping hair, he reached up to explore the damage. "Aw crap."

Shedding his damp leather jacket along the way, Darien headed into the nearest men's room and peered at his flooded hairdo in the mirror. "Aw, come on," he pleaded, fluffing the locks with long fingers.

Nope. The look of today was going to be drowned rat. Lab rat. "So much for that 'waterproof' gel." Darien ruffled his hair in one last attempt and then slouched out into the corridor, jacket slung over one shoulder, not particularly caring if he was on time for the briefing.

On an overcast, rainy, and depressing Monday, who could care?

"Hey, Fawkes!"

Bobby Hobbes could, obviously. Darien swung around and waited for his diminutive partner to catch up. Hobbes grinned, somehow managing not to spill the three Starbucks cups in his hands while jogging down the hallway. "Coffee, partner?"

"Nah, thanks, Hobbes." Darien sniffed anyway--not bad. "When did you start going on group coffee-runs?"

"When my partner decided to perpetually run late," Hobbes retorted. He waved one of the cups in Darien's face. "Sweet'n'Low, just the way you like it. C'mon, ya gotta be freezing this morning."

"For your information, I am the hottest thing in this building." Darien took the coffee, nearly burning his tongue on the first sip.

"Maybe after me, my friend." Hobbes sauntered along beside him, his coat somehow not even damp. As they turned to reach the stairs, Darien noticed the little sidelong glances Hobbes was giving him.

"What?"

"How you doin' today, Fawkes?"

"I'm fine." It came out sharper than he'd intended.

"You sure? Cause your hair's kinda...." Hobbes wiggled the fingers of his free hand down over his forehead, simulating the draggled locks.

"Don't say it." Something occurred to Darien, and he waved his hand in front of Hobbes' face, Quicksilvering just that one appendage. "I do not." His sleeve cuff rose and fell near his head, and the locks began to lift, the moisture frosting in white streaks as the hair stiffened. "There, see?"

Hobbes would have to go down to get to the Keep, so as long as Darien beat him to the steps, there shouldn't be a problem. Darien headed for the stairs, a couple steps up before Hobbes protested.

"Where you goin'? Keeper said she's close to, I don't know, a breakthrough or something. Might have something to do with your wetware back there." He tapped the back of his own skull. When Darien didn't respond, Hobbes climbed the couple steps to get level with his partner. "Aren't you even a little bit interested?"

Darien gave him a flat, blank look. "Lay off the mediator crap, okay, Hobbes? I'm only talking to you because you thought I knew already." He started up the stairs again. "If the Keeper has news, she can call me. If, miracle of miracles, she has proof, I might even consider listening to her."

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For once, Eberts had the blinds in the Official's office wide open. Though why the Fat Man would choose this particular drizzly, overcast day to contemplate his limited view of the nearly deserted parking lot behind the building was beyond Darien. From where he stood Quicksilvered in the corner nearest the door, he watched Eberts drop several files in front of the Official.

"These are them?"

Eberts allowed himself an enigmatic smile. Damn, the man could look like a Borden clone if he worked at it. "The two on top are for Robert and Darien. Arranged as you suggested."

The Official flipped through one of the slim folders. "Hmph. Looks good, Eberts." He shoved back one cuff to check his watch. "If Fawkes decided to sleep in, I'm going to have his--"

"Paycheck raised?" came the disembodied question from across the room.

The Official hissed as Darien shimmered into view, leaning indolently against one wall. The lanky agent crossed his ankles and saluted his boss with his coffee cup before taking another sip. "Morning to you too, Charlie."

"How long were you there?" Eberts blurted.

"Shut up!" snapped the Official. "How much did you hear?"

Still grinning, Darien peeled himself away from the wall and sank into one of the more comfortable chairs in front of the desk, stretching out long legs and slurping his coffee noisily. "Not much, unless that 'shut up Eberts' thing is really some kind of highly classified code." At the look on their faces he sat up a little straighter. "Is it? Really?"

"Where's Hobbes?" The Official folded patient hands on top of the stack of files.

As if on cue, Hobbes knocked lightly and swept into the room. "Morning, sir." A glance at Darien made the beaming smile slip a little.

The Official snapped his fingers. "Eberts--"

His sidekick stepped carefully around the desk, handing a folder to each agent. "This is information--daily and weekly schedules, list of contacts and clients, etcetera--for one Alison Deborah Jennings."

"She's your new assignment." The Official shifted in his chair, focus tightening on Darien. "You will keep her under close surveillance at all times, and report back to me."

Darien glanced up from perusing the first page. "What'd this chick do?"

"Nothing. That we know of," Eberts added quickly.

"So what's with this 24/7 watch? She's a lawyer, huh? Got some high-profile client? Mob connections? What?" Hobbes glanced from top man to lackey; neither looked comfortable.

"It's not quite that simple. More like a cross between protective custody and investigativesurveillance."

"So which is it?" Darien was hurriedly skimming the rest of this file. "I mean, what are we looking for, and for how long? And is this Ms, Ms. Jennings, really some kind of national security threat?"

The Official shrugged. "As far as I know, she's not even a threat to local security."

Darien eyed him suspiciously. "So what's the catch? What are we supposed to be reporting about?"

"Oh, simple things. Any variation in her daily routine, unscheduled meetings, that sort of thing."

"Okay, who put you up to this?" Darien couldn't decide whether to laugh or be pissed off. "Any crappy little P.I. can pull jealousy duty."

The Official's mouth tightened. "That's on a --"

"Need-to-know basis?" Darien dangled the file from his fingers. "That again? After two years, I thought you'd know better."

Hobbes raised a hand. "Sir, with all due respect, since this is not a matter of national security--"

The Official's voice was calm, but his gaze was implacable. "Let's just call it...a favor. For an old friend."

"And that old friend is...?" Darien prompted expectantly.

The Official smiled thinly. "Someone whose good opinion I value. You'll do this, and do your best. Understood?"

Coffee forgotten on the floor beside his chair, Darien slowly stood. "You know what I understand?" His voice grew cold, the past week's frustration lacing it with intensity. "We agreed that we were going to do this Agency thing my way. Spying on some innocent lawyer is not my way." He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged into it.

Before he could get another step, Darien heard the Official rise from his chair. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

Darien half-turned. "Gee, that might be a good way of putting it." He walked to the door.

Hobbes rose to follow, but the Official simply sat back down and motioned to Eberts. "Since Mr. High-and-Mighty won't take this assignment, put a couple of qualified grunts on it." He sounded resigned, but his voice was pitched to carry into the hallway.

"Sir," Eberts sounded strangled, "that will put an unacceptable crimp in the budget--where--?"

The Official sighed dramatically. "The only thing I can think of is pulling the plug on the Adam Reese project. Do it."

Darien stopped dead in the doorway.

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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 One

Black leather shoulders stiffened and Darien turned sharply. "What was that?"

The Official blinked at him. "What was what, Agent Fawkes?"

Darien folded his arms, nonchalance not covering the tension that stretched him to fill the doorway. "About the budget, what was that?"

"Why, have you changed your mind?" The Official smiled contentedly. "Excellent. Eberts, perhaps you won't have to liquidate that particular asset after all."

In a few long strides Darien crossed the room, dropping his hands onto the desk, leaning right into the Official's face. "Liquidate Adam Reese?" His tone was a low hiss, something between incongruous laughter and the panic widening his deep brown eyes.

The Official stared back, expressionless--until Eberts coughed discreetly, shattering the stare-down. Then he leaned back in his chair. "You have a better idea? It's one project that is simply eating up a portion of our budget that might be better spent elsewhere. If our agents refuse to do their job, that is."

Darien relaxed, stepping back from the desk and planting his hands in his hip pockets. "You are so full of crap."

The Official smiled again, setting Darien's already cold scalp tingling. "Of course I'd hate to get rid of that valuable a project. It isn't every day we beat Chrysalis to such a prize. However, with these unforeseen expenses...." He shrugged and held out a hand. "Eberts, the phone."

Before the yes-man could even pick it up, Darien's hand had clamped down on the receiver, holding it for several long heartbeats as he stared, not at the Official, but at the open folder and its color photo of Alison Jennings. His free hand knotted into a fist; then Darien released the receiver, plucked up the folder with two fingers, turned on his heel and strode from the room.

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Darien stalked down the corridor, fury in every line of his face and body, pulse hammering in his ears. Damn that obese desk-bound bastard! Words failed-even Shakespeare hadn't created enough appropriate epithets for this should-have-been-expected jerk of the leash. A leash he had almost forgotten about.

Liquidate Adam.

He shuddered, walking faster. Over his dead body. Over his extremely dead body. Project. Prize. God, that kid had already been to hell, complete with Dante's deep freeze, and hadn't gotten his chance to come back. He'd be damned if he'd let that spunky courage be sacrificed to the Fat Man's control-freak ego!

An older memory, harsher, a window of pale flames searing even through his Quicksilver coating. He could still hear the scientist's deadly practical words. "The only thing left will be five pounds of ash."

And Adam's face, in imagination, shriveling and charring in that roaring silver fire.

Darien didn't know he was lashing out till the shock of pain went up his arm. At least it cleared his mind for a second. Punch--pain-slam-again.

"Fawkes, what the hell ya doin'?" Rough hands jerked on his jacket, and Darien found his next throw caught by one of them, and his eyes staring down into his partner's. "Gonna hurt yourself here."

Darien shook himself loose. "I don't care."

"You better. Some backup you'll be with a coupla' broken fingers." Hobbes grabbed for his right wrist and pushed up the sleeve.

Darien snatched it back. "What the--?

Hobbes held out his hand. "C'mon partner, lemme see that tattoo."

Darien leaned back against the wall and started to laugh, shaky and bitter, but laughter. He turned the inside of his right wrist towards Hobbes. "See? Still green."

Hobbes landed a mock punch on his shoulder. "So don't scare me like that. Thought you were gonna jump the 'Fish in there."

"Don't think I didn't consider it." Darien's voice softened dangerously. "Not much I'd like better right now than getting my hands around that fat bastard's throat." For a moment, a hot longing for the freedom to do just that, for the sudden burst in the back of his head, telling him it wouldn't matter, choked him.

"He's a tight-fisted SOB," Bobby agreed. "C'mon, we got a stakeout to start."

"And so starts another day under the yoke of bondage," Darien muttered, reluctantly following his partner.

"Just focus on the case at hand, huh?" Hobbes slowed to let Darien catch up. "It could be worse."

"It is." Darien fiddled with his folder, glancing back at the indentation he had made in the wall. "The Fat Man finally found something better than the damn counteragent to control me with."

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Darien slumped in the thinly-upholstered courtroom seat as the droning questions from the mousy lawyer for the defense continued. Darien could hear other members of the small audience fidgeting, yawning, one of them talking on a cell phone.

All right, Hobbes wasn't fidgeting. He was staring at first one, then another of the participants and audience, as if one of them held the missing piece to the puzzle he was here to solve. Might as well have been wearing binoculars, he was so subtle about it.

"What the hell you're looking at?" Darien sat up straighter, glancing in the direction of Hobbes' single-minded focus.

A brief pause, then Hobbes jerked his head towards the opposite side of the room. "Someone looks familiar. Can't place him, though. Dark hair, all slicked out in that gray tweed suit."

Darien looked closer. An older man was sitting quietly, tall even in a chair, still good-looking at what must be past fifty-five. Distinguished, aristocratic--and focused on the trial more tightly than Bobby. Only his eyes moved, following the lawyer as he paced before the bench.

Darien turned his own attention to the front of the courtroom, where the mousy guy was trying to get the witness to back down on how a piece of evidence was obtained. "God, I hope this is the last witness. This lawyer is fogging up my brain," he muttered.

"No further questions, Your Honor." The lawyer for the defense retired to his table

The judge turned his patient face to the prosecution. "Ms. Jennings?"

"No questions at this time, Your Honor," came her reply.

Darien started a little. That voice, cool, smooth, and decidedly feminine, sounded…smug.

"Somebody just dug his own grave," Hobbes murmured happily, crossing his arms and settling back to watch like a fan at a football game.

"And a little girl's pushing him into it," Darien blurted as Alison Jennings rose to stand before the bench. Every line of her face and figure, from the tailored cream silk suit and neat cap of russet hair to her tiny features and large gray eyes, was clean and delicate, and very young.

"Not all that little." Hobbes leaned forward to get a proper eyeful.

"Too little for you," Darien informed him sharply.

"The prosecution would like to introduce new evidence." Alison's voice rang across the suddenly still chamber. "It has only come to my attention this morning, Your Honor."

"Then I'd like to see this new evidence."

Alison had to stretch on tiptoe to place the sheaf of papers before the judge, and then stood waiting, hands clasped behind her back. Darien noticed with amusement that the drowsy reporter one row down had perked right up and was scribbling notes--when he could keep his eyes off Ms. Jennings.

The judge glanced down at Alison after skimming the papers. "Interesting. I'm going to need a better look at these before we proceed. This court is adjourned. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at nine a.m., sharp." His gavel slammed down.

Everyone rose as the judge gathered his papers and made a quick exit, releasing the audience to jostle their way free of the seats and each other.

Darien straightened his whole long length towards the ceiling, cracking the kinks out of his back, then reached for his black jacket. Beside him, Hobbes was scanning the audience once more, fingers tapping a nervous tattoo on the seat back in front of him.

"Hobbes?" When he got no response, Darien waved a hand in front of his partner's face. "Hey, Zaccheus, if you're looking for someone, clue me in, huh?"

Hobbes shoved Darien aside and started towards the doorway. "I need to talk to someone." Darien turned to follow, but Hobbes reached back a hand to stop him. "Follow Alison and don't lose her. Be with you in a sec." He turned and melted through the doorway into the crowded corridor.

Darien rolled his eyes, but swung around to hunt for Alison. The petite lawyer was still at her table, filing papers into her briefcase and talking with two other suited people. Casually, Darien wandered out with the others into the hallway, choosing a position just across from the doorway where he could see the little group, and pretended to read the file in his hands.

In a few minutes, Hobbes had not returned, but the three lawyers emerged into the hall, chatting under the murmur of the crowd still passing through. After another minute or so, Alison waved to her friends and peeled off to the right. Darien sauntered after her, only to see her disappear into the ladies' restroom. Briefly, he contemplated duplicating her feat with Quicksilver and following her right in.

"How many times did you sneak into the girls' locker room?"

Darien blinked and rubbed his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when that voice kept popping up out of the back of his mind. God, I haven't been to visit him in-- over two months, Darien thought. Fine, okay, he'd stay out here and watch for her exit.

"How many times did you sneak into the girls' locker room?" How could a kid that young be that knowing?

"N...."

"Don't lie."

"Never." He hadn't, not really.

Now the kid was laughing, he so completely didn't buy that. "Oh, bull. Come on."

"Okay, once. I did it once.... I was in a pretty bad mood at the time."

Hobbes was shaking his arm. "Fawkes, where is she?"

Darien pulled away, annoyed. "In the ladies' room. I've been watching and haven't seen her come out yet."

"Damn your modesty, Fawkes." Hobbes scanned the crowd, picking out an older woman who had just pushed out of the restroom door. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Yes?" She frowned at him.

"Robert Hobbes." He gave her a charming smile. "I'm lookin' for a friend. 'Bout 5'2", short reddish hair, cream silk suit? Thought she might've needed a trip to the ladies' haven."

The woman laughed. "Attorney Jennings? She's not in there, sorry."

Hobbes sighed. "Ah well. I'll keep looking. Thank you, Ms...?"

"Janine," she said, shaking his hand and moving down the hallway with a bemused smile on her face.

Hobbes grabbed Darien's arm and steered him towards an exit, quivering with contained anger, barely managing to keep a semi-pleasant expression on his face. Outside, it was sprinkling again. Hobbes shoved Darien towards Golda, climbed in and slammed his door, barely waiting till Darien had his own door closed before he squealed the tires pulling out into the street. "Oh, that was beautiful, Fawkes."

"What was?" Darien stalled, reaching around to fasten his seatbelt.

"I leave you alone for five minutes, and you lose our quarry."

"I was watching." Darien bit the words off. "She went into the restroom and didn't come out."

"Like hell. You were off in la-la land, didn't even see me walkin' down the middle of the hall." Hobbes glared at Darien, his brown eyes smoldering and hands twitching on the wheel. "What was important enough to erase a day's work, huh?" Instead of answering, Darien stared past the wipers out into the misty rain. "Adam? Huh?"

Darien kept his gaze out the window, not caring to show how much that stab hurt. "Well, it wasn't modesty, Hobbes, okay? I've gone see-through to spy on a woman more than once, but the only time I actually snuck into a woman's restroom to do it was the first time I went red-eye. Could you, possibly, get off my back a little?"

There was a small silence. "Adam, Adam, Adam," Hobbes muttered, a little more softly. "You ain't been focused all day, partner. Wanna know what I found while you were busy losing our subject?"

"Shoot." Darien ran a hand through his newly-damp hair and grimaced.

"That guy I recognized? I expected some agencies to have people here, DEA, maybe ATF. Fawkes, this guy's not either. He's high-ranking CIA. No idea what he's doin' at this routine little trial. Don't know 'bout you, but that makes me a little nervous."

Darien didn't say anything.

"And now I've gotta pick up Jennings' trail again."

"You mean we do." Darien rubbed a hand down his face.

After a moment, Hobbes shook his head. "Nah. I'll work this better without ya, partner." Darien stared at him as if he'd been slapped. "You go home, have a beer, watch a little football--I'll see you at my place at ten p.m."

"You're kicking me out?" Darien's voice was small.

"Just givin' ya a few hours off," Hobbes corrected reasonably. "Get your head on straight, I'll see ya for the stakeout at ten." He pulled over to the curb near a public bus terminal.

"Crap," Darien muttered, swinging his door open, to stand in the rain, hair slowly drooping over his eyes.

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It was still too early for the tiny Italian diner to be crowded. Darien huddled in the corner of its cramped entryway, receiver of the pay phone pressed to his ear, counting the rings. "Come on, answer."

Just before the 5th ring, when Darien was sure he would have to leave a message, a sharp, low voice picked up. "Monroe."

"Hey, Alex. Catch you at a bad time?"

"Fawkes?" Monroe's voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone, so this better be good."

"Relax, at least it's short. Do you know if there's been any change in Adam's status or location?"

"Adam? Adam Reese?" Darien could almost see the perplexed look on her face. "I haven't heard anything, but I can check."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that." Darien scuffled in his pocket for more change.

"What's this about, Fawkes? Are you telling me someone's after Adam again? What?"

"Just call me when you know." Darien hung up forcefully, drawing stares from an older couple who had just entered the restaurant. He dropped in a few more coins, but this time it rang only once, then picked up with Claire's personal answering machine.

Of course. Darien dialed another number. If she'd been at the Keep all last night, what were the odds she'd be at home tonight either, especially so early?

The phone rang twice. "This is the Keeper."

Now, if he could just stay cool. "Hey, Claire."

"Darien?" If anything, she sounded confused.

"Yeah. Hey, I was wondering--do you like Italian?" Oh, nice opening, Fawkes.

"Sometimes. Why?" Great, now she was suspicious.

"It's just that I found this great little Italian diner and thought maybe you'd like to, you know, take a break, eat some good food?"

There was a pause. "Darien, I'm kind of involved in something here...."

Darien straightened, bracing himself against the telephone stand as if Claire were right in front of him. "Look. I want to ask you about something, okay? That's it." Another silence. "Whatever it is can wait half an hour, right?"

"Fine." Claire was matter-of-fact. "After I finish this step, I'll meet you there. Say, forty-five minutes?"

Darien gave her the address, gingerly replaced the receiver, and wiped cold sweat from his palms down the legs of his jeans. There might have been a few flakes of Quicksilver mixed in there, too.

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The gentle Italian music was starting to get on Darien's nerves. He had forgone the beer

recommended by Hobbes in favor of a mug of warm tea, and was starting to regret the caffeine boost. Like he needed to be any more jittery right now. His empty stomach rebelled against the next acidic sip, and Darien pushed the cup away, absently scanning the windows again, now barely noticing the backdrop of soft rain.

He missed her in the near-dark. As Darien's gaze drifted towards the door again, there she was, unfastening her navy raincoat and gingerly draping it over the back of the chair opposite his. "Darien." The Keeper slid into the seat, tucking damp blond locks behind her ear.

He nodded to her. "Claire." She wouldn't even make eye contact. Maybe he shouldn't have asked her to come. No. He needed to know what she could tell him, what she might not tell him, and whether she could be persuaded to stick her neck out. Just a little.

She was studiously going over her menu now. "So, how's the latest research going?" Darien picked up his own menu--as if he hadn't completely memorized the garlic-scented thing over the past hour.

Claire didn't even glance at him. "Well enough." She sounded a little annoyed. "Assuming this doesn't take too long."

The waiter came and took their orders, bringing Claire's fettuccini Alfredo and Darien's plate of spaghetti in record time.

Claire took a tentative bite, then laid down her fork. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

Darien winced at the edge to her voice. "It's nothing to do with you, Keep," he assured her, avoiding her gaze. "I mean, not personally...."

"If this is about Kevin...." The edgy tone wavered.

Darien shook his head sharply, finally meeting her eyes. "No! No, not--not that. I just have some questions, okay? About Adam." He leaned back in his chair and forked up a long twirl of spaghetti.

"Adam?" Claire looked lost for a moment. "Oh, Adam Reese. What did you want to know?" One corner of her mouth curved up, maybe out of relief.

"Not much." Darien swallowed his mouthful. "I'm just curious. Have you had a chance to work on a cure for that virus or whatever it was the Russians put in him?" Claire frowned at him, and he sighed. "I know, you said it could take days or years, but come on, it's been a year and a half. Anything?"

Claire settled down to her pasta once more, a satisfied smile softening her face. "I do have something, actually," she said, interrupting herself with a mouthful of fettuccini.

Darien waited impatiently for her to swallow, sudden excitement jerking him upright. He'd expected a progress report, not a potential miracle. "Come on, Claire, like what?"

"Well...." Claire toyed with her noodles, drawing out the moment. "I didn't have much chance to work on it before we got Arnaud's cure, with your growing immunity to the counteragent--" Darien waved that subject aside and the Keeper moved on. "What work I did convinced me that any of the current anti-viral agents or vaccines simply would not work in this case."

Darien slumped again in disappointment. "So?"

"So, I started looking into other possibilities. Even if we could develop a vaccine, it would only work for people who were not yet affected--not for Adam," Claire explained. "Not only is he a carrier, but he's had the virus in his body since shortly after birth. Anything that would tag the virus as a foreign body for elimination by the immune system would risk targeting non-viral tissues along the way."

"Is that all you 'have'?" Darien's voice was flat.

"No." Claire laid down her fork. "I told you I was looking into other options. But I didn't consider using gene therapy until I was taking apart the cure Arnaud provided for you, Darien." Her food sat completely forgotten now, as all of Claire's energy focused in her words, a residue spilling over into the intense excitement of her expression. "You see, the viral vector he employed to convey the new gene to the gland and rid it of the DNA that caused the toxin to be produced is a very advanced idea in this field. I hadn't worked in that branch except for theoretical studies. But I'm sure I can use a similar gene therapy to remove the effective links in the virus Adam carries."

Darien raised a hand. "Whoa, I lost some of that."

Claire thought for a moment. "I'll inject Adam with the altered gene, the same way I gave you Arnaud's cure. It will seek out the colonies of the virus in his bloodstream and tissues, but specifically target that DNA only, keeping Adam safe while it renders the virus harmless, incapable of reproducing or infecting anyone else."

"So you're saying that you think you know how to cure him?" Darien held his breath, waiting for salvation or damnation in his Keeper's next words.

"No. I don't just think I know." Claire looked positively triumphant. "I'm saying that I've been working on this for six months--minus the time I've spent on Mei-Lin's tests, and your recent ones, of course--and I think I've got it. The cure's ready."

"And you didn't tell me?" Darien stood, towering over her, but Claire merely grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down into the chair.

"Don't be silly. It's still being tested," she said calmly. "I'm in the middle of the final series, but I think I've accounted for all the variables this time." Claire picked up her fork, clinking against her plate, and began tucking in again.

Darien sat back, sudden hope choking his breath. "Keep," he said unsteadily, "you have no idea how good it is to hear that. Does Alex know?"

Claire shook her head, her mouth full. "Besides, it wouldn't be possible to administer the cure yet. I can't inject fluids into a frozen body."

Darien had lifted a forkful of spaghetti, but set it down with a grimace at that. "I thought you could unfreeze him. You know, like we did with that guy I retrieved before Kate?"

"It's different this time," Claire told him gently. "Adam has been cryogenically frozen for almost eighteen months. As far as I could tell, the vascular antifreeze Chrysalis uses in their scientist collection only provides limited protection."

"Forty-eight hours. I remember." Darien dropped his face into his hands, and his voice to a whisper. "I didn't tell Adam that."

Claire snapped at him, "Stop it. You gave Adam the best opportunity there was. Chrysalis must have some way to safely retrieve specimens--I just haven't been able to figure it out yet. Cryonics is definitely outside my field, and I've been a little focused on the cure."

Mussed hair first, Darien lifted his head, eyes focused somewhere past Claire. Slowly he picked up his fork, dug out a lump of spaghetti, and slurped it into his mouth.

Claire watched him, resisting the urge to wipe tomato sauce from his chin as if he were a child. "What now?"

"Huh? Nothing." Darien snagged his napkin and swiped it over his chin. "Would it help you if I could get that info, the Chrysalis stuff?"

Claire's stare turned to a frown. "Just how are you planning to do this?"

Darien grinned at her, diving into his spaghetti again. "That's my lookout. You keep testing that cure."

She watched his suddenly revived appetite suspiciously. "Just so we're clear, I'd rather not be involved in anything behind the Official's back. Let's not take this too far or too fast, all right?"

"Whatever you're comfy with, Doctor." The last of the spaghetti trailed into Darien's wide smile. "I appreciate the information, Claire. I'll get you that other info soon." He waved the waiter over for their bill.

Claire gazed down at her half-full plate. "You have somewhere to be? I think I'll stay and finish this excellent pasta."

Darien counted out enough cash to cover them both and tucked it under his water glass. "Enjoy the atmosphere." As he passed Claire, jacket pulled close, she snagged his sleeve.

"Darien? Why are you in such a hurry? Adam's not going anywhere."

Darien refused to look down at her, considering the question a moment. "Have you ever made a promise to someone, that things would be better, and then realized that they might never be? That you might have lied?" Without waiting for an answer, he tugged his arm away from her and shoved through the doorway, setting the discreet bell jangling.

"Of course I have," Claire whispered, to the empty air. She looked down at her pasta, then quietly laid down her fork, rose, and pulled on her raincoat.

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

A golden van cruised quietly along a corporate street, through one of the newer industrial parks, its sidewalks lined with small office buildings, streetlights, and sometimes a security light over an entrance. This late at night, the only movement was the occasional car driving through, or guard patrolling the grounds.

"Can't believe I'm lettin' you do this," Hobbes muttered for about the 42nd time since picking Darien up from his apartment. "I don't wanna have to explain this to the Fat Man if I end up pullin' your ass outta the fire."

"In your nightmares only, I promise. I'll meet you across from Jennings' place." Darien slid out of the van and walked rapidly back up the block they had just driven down, while Golda pulled away behind him. The cold air stung his nostrils, but that cold, along with the fact that it was well after 10 p.m., meant that he could be in full sight while wearing his all-black 'uniform,' and still pretend for a few moments that everything was back in the days before the gland.

For a very few moments, anyway.

There was a dark car parked inconspicuously in the shadows of a public lot across the street from one of the more upscale office buildings. Its driver-side window rolled down as he approached, and Eberts' anxious face showed pale in the light from his iBook screen. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, fiddling with the cable and wireless phone connected to the computer.

"If you've been doing your job, Ebes, my man--then absolutely." Darien stood scanning the building across the street. "Where are the offices?"

"Uh, fifth floor. All of the computers are probably hooked into one central network, but try to find the hub if you can, just in case."

Darien ducked his head to look in the window. "Eberts, chill out. You'll do fine."

"What about the security? This is Chrysalis we're talking about." The desk-jockey's voice dropped to a worried whisper.

"No sweat." Darien tugged at his hat once. "One guard outside. One or maybe two on the floor inside. Cameras I can fool as long as they aren't set for thermal readings."

"It's unlikely that they will be," Eberts responded hopefully. "We have not had a direct run-in with Chrysalis in nearly six months, and they have no reason to suspect a raid by you, specifically." He scrolled down a window on his laptop. "One more thing. They've apparently begun installing motion sensors in some of the office windows. The right-hand corner office is still minus this particular setup."

"Little well lit for my taste," Darien commented, "but it'll do. Where's the program?"

Eberts handed out a miniature CD, which Darien secured in his belt pouch.

"You're sure this is necessary?" Eberts asked again, glancing up and down the street.

Darien repositioned his mike and earphone. "Well, lemme see. You can either risk helping me get information that will benefit the entire Agency, or you can risk our boss finding out exactly whose idea it was for me to demand rent for the gland's residence in my skull."

"You wouldn't." He sounded petrified; it was almost a plea.

"Oh no?" Darien measured the distance from the ground to the fifth floor with his eyes. "How 'bout this, then? Claire needs this info to defrost Adam, whenever she manages to find a cure. You tellin' me you don't want that?"

Eberts was silent.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch." Darien slunk away from the car and melted into the shadows towards the street.

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

It had crossed Darien's mind to try the ascent Quicksilvered, but the thought of a layer of potentially slippery half-crystalline liquid between him and his precarious handholds overruled that idea. Besides, it wouldn't be near as fun as this silent, adrenaline-pumping climb, pausing whenever he had a solid enough grip, pressing himself to the wall to wait till the guard passed by underneath, seizing the perfect moment to brace himself and jimmy open the window. And, after he'd slid inside, peering back to see how far he had come. A puny five stories; nothing like he'd once pulled practically in his sleep, but impressive enough to make him want to cheer.

He settled for checking in with Eberts, then prowled cautiously out onto the floor.

There was only one guard, and he was ridiculously easy to avoid, though for the sake of the

ubiquitous cameras Darien went ahead and sheathed himself in Quicksilver before stepping through the door. As the dim hallway shifted into monochromatic gray, Darien marveled again that he did not have to worry about how long he could keep it that way.

Most of the offices were locked. Darien made a cautious circuit of the floor before choosing a room near the center, with no window opening on the hall. He waited until the guard had passed and turned the corner, then picked the lock, disembodied hands floating in front of the doorknob. The door swung open and he closed it softly behind him. "Hey, Ebes. I'm gonna set you up here. There's a whole bank of computers and junk."

"Ready." The voice in his ear was tinny but determined.

"Here goes nothing." Darien found a switch, booted up one of the computers, then slid the CD into its drive. "What now?"

"Wait," was the terse reply.

Darien paced back and forth across the room, debating whether to try looping the video in the two cameras in the room and dropping the Quicksilver. The thin coating, the shimmering vision, the not seeing himself, were getting annoying; but he decided against it, since he was trying to leave as few traces as possible that there had even been a break-in. And no sense in tampering with something that obvious, especially when the disk drive was positioned where they had not recorded his insertion of the disk.

He was moving towards one of the cameras anyway, itching fingers and boredom getting the better of his good judgment, when Eberts spoke up. "Fawkes, I'm through their security, but I--I'm not finding anything like what you asked me to look for."

The thrill of the caper drew into a sick knot under Darien's sternum. "It's not here?"

"It's not on this hard drive," Eberts corrected him. "I can check other drives on this network, if we have time."

"It won't attract attention?"

"Not unless someone is working late."

Darien listened, but couldn't hear the guard approaching yet. "Go ahead."

Silence again. Darien paced for another minute, then decided that he needed to be where he could keep a closer eye on the guard. When he slid the door open, footsteps were close. Damn, the thing must be soundproof! Darien eased the door closed and slid across the hallway where he could wait in another doorway till the guard had passed.

"Oh crap," Darien breathed.

The guard, skin, hair, and uniform bleached out in Quicksilver vision, was trying each doorknob as he paced off the hallway.

"What is it?" Eberts hissed in his ear.

"Hurry."

Darien moved silently down the corridor, looking for a distraction. There was one door between the guard and Eberts' hacking magic at work. In desperation he darted around the corner to the guard's station, where there had been--and yes, still was--an open 20oz bottle of Coke sitting near the edge of the desk. Just near enough that the guard might believe it was a freak of nature or his own carelessness. Maybe. With one invisible finger, Darien tipped the bottle onto the tiled floor, where it made a satisfyingly wet crash.

Cursing, the guard came pounding around the corner. Darien left him trying to clean up the mess and made his way, cat-quiet, back around the circle of offices to the unlocked door, smiling a little over loud mutterings still coming from down the hall. "Ebes, tell me you found it."

"I'm not sure." He sounded nearly frantic.

"Then get sure. I want outta here."

"This, this has to be it, there's nothing else that's even remotely a match."

Darien crouched near the computer, invisible fingers poised to remove the disk. "Then download it already. I had to distract the guard, and unless he's severely under-informed, he's going to figure this out in a minute."

"Downloading," Eberts breathlessly informed him. "You may remove the disk in fifteen seconds."

Darien waited, counting his own breaths, straining his ears for any sign that the guard was investigating the hallways once more. Nothing, but if the door really was soundproof....

"Go."

Darien stabbed the button, snatched and stowed the disk, then hit the power button to OFF.

At that moment the door opened.

The guard stared at the knob, glanced around the room, and then charged in, throwing on the

overhead lights and hunting diligently for any sign of an intruder.

Still Quicksilvered and grateful for it, Darien slid around the guard, who shivered but did not glance in his direction. Once out the door, he darted down the hallway to his opened window and freedom.

The outside guard stood directly below his descent route, asking sharp questions over his walkie-talkie. All right, this thief was going to have to learn whether a climb this steep was even possible while Quicksilvered. Something felt wrong about having kept the flow going this long, a nervous crawling on his scalp that had nothing to do with the climb. But there was no headache. There were no limits to invisibility, now, he reminded himself.

Only to what he could do with it.

Breathing an inaudible prayer, Darien slid over the windowsill and gripped the ledge with invisible fingers, dangling his feet to find stability. Okay, never mind potential slipping. This climbing without being able to see where he was moving hands or feet was going to be a bitch.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, finger by finger, Darien lowered himself down the corner of the building. It wasn't slippery at all, which would have been peachy except for the fact that several times he nearly fell, missing a handhold by the millimeters that being able to see his hands would have provided.

By the time he reached ground level, sweating in and through his coating of Quicksilver, there were a few more personnel gathered near the main door, just starting to spread out. Walk soft, he told himself, but as soon as he knew the nearest alley had hidden him from potential sight, Darien broke into a run.

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

Hobbes glanced at his watch again, with the ritual grumble about his partner's habitual tardiness, then trained his tiny, high-powered binoculars back on the window of Alison Jennings' apartment. He was reaching for his coffee when the cell phone in his jacket pocket rang.

"Hobbes?"

Not who he'd been expecting. "Hey Chief, what's up?"

"Just checking on the stakeout. Anything to report?"

"Nada so far, sir. Boring as hell. This Ms. Jennings is a real creature of habit." He focused on the window again. "She's been workin' at her desk, just got up to turn off the lights. Goin' to bed, I think."

"Stay sharp, Hobbes," the Official admonished him. "Where's Fawkes?"

"He's checking out the scene a little closer up," Hobbes lied smoothly. "You know Fawkes?always gotta have somethin' to do."

"All right. You boys check in, first thing in the morning."

"Oh, absolutely, sir." Shaking his head in amusement, Hobbes went to replace the phone in his pocket, but paused as someone left the doorway of Alison's darkened apartment, glancing both ways, then began to walk briskly down the sidewalk. A long trench coat and a hat pulled low concealed even the figure's gender in the dark.

Hobbes punched a speed dial on his phone. "Fawkes? Get over here. Someone suspicious just left the vicinity of Alison Jennings' apartment. Nah, just call me when you're headed over and I'll let you know where we are. I'm leavin' Golda here, gonna follow on foot." Tucking the phone back into its pocket, Hobbes secured the van, then stepped out into the frigid but clearing night, a little over half a block behind the secretive figure.

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

Act Two

The classy little jazz bar wasn't more than four blocks from Jennings' place, the only late-night eatery on a block full of daytime stores. Darien, still in his thief's black but minus the knit cap and gloves, slid into a booth across from his partner, who had a fresh coffee sitting in front of him and was surreptitiously watching someone across the nearly-empty room. "'Bout time you got here," he said, not turning his head to look at Darien. "They're over there."

"They?" Darien raised an eyebrow as he checked out the room.

Hobbes nodded sedately. "Alison and friend. The guy with her is wearin' a blue polo shirt, blond hair."

All the way back in the corner was a couple. He really didn't need the guy's description, Darien thought-he couldn't see Alison's face, but the short red hair shimmered in the soft bar lighting. It and the trendy trench coat seemed a little out of place in a bar with this thick a veneer of sophistication.

"Guy looks upset," Darien observed. "What are they talking about?"

"That's your area of expertise, my friend." Hobbes grinned and took a sip of his coffee.

"It's obvious." Darien refused to acknowledge the implicit order. "They're having a fight. Hey, do they have a waiter here or do I have to go up to the bar proper to get a drink?"

"Go on." Hobbes kicked him under the table. "You can order something after you do your little trick over there and…."

"I don't want to spy on someone's love life, okay, Hobbes? She can date whoever she damn well chooses."

"Sure," Hobbes agreed. "And the Fat Man wants to know who her choice is, and why they're meeting here in the dead of night instead of-"

"This is such a bogus assignment," Darien hissed.

"Threat's not bogus, though," Hobbes was quick to remind him.

Darien's voice was low as he extracted himself from the seat and sauntered towards the men's room. "I'm working on that."

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

The atmosphere was quiet, a rather mournful song playing over the speakers at just enough volume to make eavesdropping from one booth to another nearly impossible. Still annoyed at having to do this, Darien threaded his way through the tables and took a stance behind Alison's right shoulder. The candle on the table sent glassy sparkles through his field of vision, forcing his eyes to close for a few seconds as he steadied himself. He'd had about enough of the Quicksilver for one evening--it was getting old.

Almost as old as having to eavesdrop on private conversations.

"Please, you can't do this. Not to me." Alison was gripping her still-full wineglass as if it anchored her to the table.

The man opposite her took a large drink-his mug of ale was half-empty. "I'm trying to do what's best for both of us, you must know that." He gazed at her intently, concern pouring through his throaty voice. Mostly concern for himself, Darien surmised. The man seemed well-to-do, good-looking in a brooding, geeky way. But he had to be nearing 40 at least. Alison was a year younger than Darien, from her dossier, and looked even younger. "You know what will happen if anyone finds out we're…seeing each other."

Alison nodded mutely, and Darien stepped forward and crouched where he could see both faces. She shuddered, maybe feeling the draft of his icy movement. This was not the same woman who had coolly, smugly, started ripping a case to pieces and laughed about it with her co-workers afterwards. Those big eyes were wide-open, pleading, the mouth turned down in something too subtle to be a pout. "I don't care," she stammered, hiding defiance by finally lifting her glass. "I mean, I think this-we-are more important. And I know you've been careful."

"I don't know if what we have could be that important." The man turned his mug, watching the light refract in it, and frowned. "I think we should just stop seeing each other. Are you hearing me?"

"Malcolm!" Alison practically spat the name, but it was frustration, not anger. She leaned forward, and Darien picked up a watery glitter in her eyes, which his Quicksilver vision had hidden until now. She was going to cry? "It is that important, to me. And I was sure at least one thing about-us-was important to you, too." Alison blinked rapidly, but a tiny flash of moisture trailed silver down one cheek. "You have to keep this going."

Malcolm, as his name apparently was, reached out and patted Alison's tense fingers. "I just wouldn't want to have to bring up what happened back at your old school," he said, trying to sound tender. "Would you? I am trying to, well, protect you."

Darien had been feeling more and more like a voyeur peeping into an absolutely cliché romance, but something about the way Malcolm said that pushed all his con man buttons. That was a threat.

Alison's face closed in and she withdrew her fingers, flicking the tear off her cheek. "Of course I wouldn't want that," she said in a small, controlled voice. "Can we try once more? Just once?"

The man considered her. "All right. Once more. It may be a few days before I'm free again. Shall I call you?"

The petite woman relaxed minutely, hand twitching on her glass before she lifted it to her mouth to sip. "That would be fine," she said, breaking into a smile that completely negated the tear she had just wiped away."

"Just make sure you give it everything you've got." Malcolm returned the smile.

Alison's smile faltered, and she took another hasty swallow of her wine.

Darien eased himself back from the table.

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

A minute later, Darien wandered out of the restroom area and rejoined Hobbes at his table. "That was weird," he informed his partner. "Maybe this assignment isn't completely bogus after all."

Hobbes shoved a tall glass over to him. Darien inspected it suspiciously. "It's a milkshake," Hobbes told him. "Thought you could use a treat after that." He stuck another jumbo onion ring in his mouth. "Not bogus, huh?"

"Gimme one of those." Darien reached for an onion ring and dunked it in his milkshake. "I said maybe. And at least I got a first name for Mr. Over There." He glanced over in time to see Alison rise, kiss the man, and head for the exit.

"Back to the stakeout." Hobbes gathered the rest of the onions in a napkin and trailed towards the door.

"Hobbes, wait up!" Darien gulped down a good quarter of the icy milkshake and darted after his partner. They were barely to the door when Darien staggered a little, both hands pressed to his temples as he bit back a gasp. "Stupid brain freeze."

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

The Keep was a timeless place, only the digital clock on the monitor tracking the minutes and the change from one day to another. On the streets above, it was morning, the tail end of rush hour, but down here quiet reigned. Only the intermittent clacking of a computer keyboard kept the silence from taking over completely.

That sound didn't even pause when the door slid open. Or when Darien, who had convinced Hobbes to let him at least take the time to change into jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, shambled in and flung himself bonelessly across the brown exam chair. "Hey, Claire, how do the files look?"

The Keeper glanced at him. "Tired?"

"More than you could possibly know." Darien wriggled, trying to get comfortable in the chair. "Why're you grinning like the Cheshire Cat?"

Claire only smiled wider and went back to her keyboard. "It's only 8:35 a.m."

"Yeah, only-when you were on a stakeout till, oh, 8 a.m., it's late."

Hobbes, who had trailed in behind Darien, leaned over the back of Claire's seat. "What's the skinny, Keep?"

Claire hummed a little, keystroke after keystroke bringing up a series of overlapping windows on her screen. "Eberts helped you secure this data, didn't he, Darien?"

"Uh-huh."

She shook her head. "I knew he was good, but this is amazing. He snagged bits and pieces of these files from at least three different hard drives. And I don't think he missed a single piece. Remind me to congratulate him."

"Already did."

Hobbes looked sharply at his limp partner, who had an arm across his eyes to block the light. "Fawkes, don't you wanna see what'cha got?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. Coming." Darien stretched slowly, then slithered out of the chair and bent over Claire's opposite shoulder. "So, what's all this stuff?"

Claire moved a couple of the windows to the front. "These are how Chrysalis defrosts its frozen scientists. Or at least, it's the theoretical basis for the process, and some partial notes on one of the thawings that they actually carried out."

"That's good, right?" Hobbes scanned the formulae and verbose descriptions on the screen.

"That's very good," she chided. "That means I'll be able to reproduce their process-at least I should be able to. God!" Claire giggled delightedly. "I cannot believe that no one working in cryonics has managed to think of this angle yet!" Then she brought up two more windows, comparing them with her eyes.

"And that is…?" Darien rocked forward. More formulae.

"Remember the pink substance I showed you, Darien? What I extracted from Hitorama's bloodstream?"

Darien nodded. "The antifreeze stuff. You injected Adam with it, too, before…."

"Right. These are the base formulae for it." Claire rubbed impatient fingers across her forehead. "I cannot believe I missed this entire portion of the compound the first time around. Just thought it was part of the carrier liquid. I ran all the wrong tests."

"What, it's not antifreeze?" Hobbes looked worried.

"Oh yes, it is," Claire insisted. "But after about 48 hours that part of the compound starts to degrade, and I wasn't aware that it could be of any use after that time." She gestured at the screen. "There's an entire secondary inhibitory compound in here. As far as I can tell, it penetrates the tissues, even neural tissues, in such a way that the freezing process will not disrupt the cells."

"Meaning you can unfreeze someone after the antifreeze has run out." Darien glanced from Claire to the screen and back.

"Yes." Claire tapped another key, then pursed her lips. "In fact, I think most of the reason for the vascular antifreeze is to give this other compound a chance to work through the specimen's system before they become completely frozen."

Darien and Hobbes traded glances. The taller man tapped Claire's shoulder. "This means you can fix Adam, right?"

The smile came brilliantly back to the scientist's face. "Yes. I'm still testing the cure, but-"

"You here all night again, Claire?" Hobbes' tone was disapproving.

She waved off his concern. "I'm sure I got more sleep than you two did, if Darien's lethargic condition is anything to judge from."

"Hey, I will have you know that lethargy is my normal state of being," Darien informed her.

"Don't I know it." Hobbes' comment drew a glare from his partner.

"So you don't have the cure yet," Darien said flatly.

"I will soon," Claire promised.

"Then we are gonna fix Adam. Give the kid back his life." Hobbes grimaced. "Minus eighteen months and all his friends'n'family."

Darien shivered. Adam hadn't had family, not really…learning that had to have been the biggest shock.

"Well, yes," Claire said, "but it's not quite that simple."

Darien threw his hands in the air and backed away. "I'm starting to hate that phrase, Claire. You need a new way to say, 'I have bad news,' all right?"

Claire ignored this. "As soon as we get Adam out of stasis, and stable enough that we can administer the cure, his testosterone levels will start to peak again."

"And…?"

"And the cure needs time to work. If we just give it to him as is, he'll 'go off' before it can eradicate the virus. We have to buy some time."

"Won't that be easy?" Hobbes started pacing. "I mean, with all those hormone things they give to people who get sex changes and stuff?"

"Yes…but there are so many variables here." Claire met Darien's worried gaze and smiled. "I'll get it, don't worry." She turned back to her computer. "Now shoo, I have work to do."

"Good luck, Claire," Hobbes offered as the Keeper focused tightly on her screen. "You too, Bobby." Her voice was distant, and the boys ambled out of the Keep, vying with each other in exaggerated tiptoeing and motions for silence.

Outside the closed door, Hobbes smirked at his partner. "Not so bad, was it?"

The ring of his cell phone cut off Darien's snarky response. "Yeah, this is Fawkes."

"Hey." The voice was firm. Monroe, Darien mouthed at Hobbes. "I ran that check you wanted."

"Yeah?"

"Adam's still in southeast California, same lab, same room. Nothing's changed. They haven't even taken on any new personnel since he was placed there."

Darien drooped, some of the tension relaxing out of his tired frame, a fear he hadn't really known was there. "Great. That's great, Alex, thanks."

"I ran your little errand. Now what is this all about?"

Darien rocked on his heels. "Not now, okay? I'm supposed to be reporting to the boss and I'm already late."

"Fawkes, if there's something going down, you better let me know," Monroe threatened. "If Chrysalis--"

Darien cut her off. "If you need to know, believe me, I'll let you know." He thumbed the connection closed.

Two seconds later it rang again. Darien turned the phone right off.

"She's got you on speed dial, my friend." Hobbes laughed, then nodded in approval. "Need to know, huh? You got that right." His hand met Darien's in a solid low five.

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

"Fawkes, get off the line, alright? I'm trying to tail this guy." Hobbes' tone wasn't serious enough.

Darien, fringed cowboy jacket hanging open as he sprawled on a bench across from the courthouse, snorted. "I'm helping your cover, doofus. C'mon, it's boring here." He lightly fluffed the bush of hair that had decided to cooperate today, standing proudly tall in the cool November sunlight. "Remind me again how you got the exciting part of this assignment."

"Hey, watch who you're calling a doo ... aw crap." There was a squeal of brakes through the phone and Darien jerked it away from his ear.

"What?"

"I think he just made me."

Darien grinned. "If you'd drive something less conspicuous than Golda, maybe that wouldn't happen."

"Shut up, Fawkes." Another squeal. "Oh, and quit calling Claire every hour, alright?" The line went dead.

Grinning to himself, Darien shoved the cell into his pocket and resumed his surveillance of the doors. So many people coming and going, from harried motherly types to businessmen, hapless punks, and parents with one or more children in tow.

Oh, right, and lawyers of all stripes. There she was, tiny and energetic as ever. The suit was a bronzed brown today, setting off her hair and ivory skin just right. No trace of the girl from the night before, the desperate pleader. I wonder which is the act, Darien thought as he rose to tag after her.

Alison veered off from the group, waving brightly at someone, and headed for her parking space in the closed lot.

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

Darien was waiting in his car just down the street as she pulled out. To his surprise, she didn't head for any of the nearby uptown restaurants. Instead, a succession of side streets took them back towards the residential district and her apartment. The lawyer parked a couple of blocks shy of it and proceeded to the same grill and bar Darien had spied on her in last night.

Lurking near the window, Darien saw her order something from the bartender, but barely caught a glimpse of the long white envelope she slid across the bar along with the payment for her sandwich.

In a heartbeat, Darien ducked behind a car and was standing Quicksilvered by the door when Alison came out. Carefully he sidled through behind her, into the lunch-crowded bar. He'd risk losing her for a look at what was in that envelope. She was only due back in court anyway.

There. One white corner stuck out from behind a row of bottles on the top shelf. Darien slid his invisible self behind the counter, then had to flatten himself against the wall as the bartender came scuttling along to draw a drink from the taps further down. As she passed him, the girl cursed the draft from the door.

Darien carefully reached up, Quicksilvered the envelope, and slid it out into his own pocket. It felt fat, stuffed with papers.

Once in the car, he let the Quicksilver flake off and slit the envelope. Rubbing eyes drooping again from lack of sleep, Darien scanned them. Copies, maybe of legal documents. One of the statements caught his eye: the name, James Lewis, was one of the key witnesses from Allison's trial of the day before. "Holy crap."

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

Hobbes was waiting for him outside the courthouse. "Where've you been?"

"Getting evidence--of something." Darien shoved the folded stack of papers at him. "You get anything?"

"Yep." Hobbes started through the papers, pausing every now and then.

"So who's our mystery guy?"

"Malcolm Gray. Works for a law firm, kind of as a consultant. He's been doing research for the defense on this case of Alison's."

"Really." Darien shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, he's also a foreign national. Hong Kong, if you can believe it. Our wonderful Department of Justice, huh?"

Darien sputtered over that. "A blond white guy named Malcolm Gray is from Hong Kong?"

"Maybe his parents were Irish." Hobbes shook his head over the papers. "These aren't official stuff. Handwritten notes, some stuff I bet you the defense would give its eyeteeth for. Guess we know what's really going on here, huh?"

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

The Official's hand slammed down on his desk. "I told you I want results! Is that too much to ask from my so-called 'best agents'?"

Darien cleared his throat. "Is it too much for us to ask you to provide information or any hint as to what it is we're looking for?" He rocked his chair onto its back legs, leaning forward to counterbalance. "Wonder what your bosses would think of you sending a $17 million resource off on a wild goose chase?"

The Official's eyes narrowed to black slits in his pudgy face. "Worried about me wasting money, Fawkes?" he asked softly. "Maybe I should reconsider getting rid of the Adam project, especially in light of some news we had today."

Darien shot a quick glance at Eberts, who met it with a minute headshake and a miserable shrug. "And what would that be?" He folded his arms, waiting.

"It seems that Chrysalis has some new feelers out for information. For the storage location of Adam Reese."

Darien subsided into his chair, absolutely still. No way would he give the Fat Man more ammunition by appearing shocked. So much for Eberts covering our tracks. Another glance at said lackey produced only another headshake.

"How's this for fast work, Chief?" Hobbes asked. "Didja know Carter Lincoln's in town?"

The Official blinked at the change of subject. "Lincoln?"

"CIA big shot. I heard he might be in the running for Director of Central Intelligence." Hobbes shrugged. "He's been at court both days."

"No." The big man shifted in his seat. "I didn't know he was in town. Now about this case...."

"You don't think that's a little strange?" Hobbes pressed. "I mean, DEA, FBI, ATF even, I could see that--"

"Not everything is connected, Hobbes," the Official told him patronizingly. "You have anything that is not pure speculation?"

Darien slapped the envelope of papers onto the desk. "Alison Jennings left these copies of evidence reports and private notes on witness testimonies with the barkeep at the Sunset Bar. Same place she went last night."

"...to meet Malcolm Gray, who is working for the defense," Hobbes finished. "Looks like the good lawyer has a shady side deal going."

"Selling documents?" The Official sounded incredulous.

"Well, normally I wouldn't put much past a lawyer, but with a fairly high-profile case like this--I'm thinking it's not money." Darien thought a second. "Or, it's a whole lot of it."

"A swap, maybe," Hobbes suggested.

"No." The Official shook his head emphatically. "Based on my greater access to the facts of this case--" Darien rolled his eyes at Hobbes. "--that simply does not fit. What else?"

Darien rocked his chair back and forth, remembering the conversation in the darkened bar. "He might be blackmailing her," were the words that found their way out of his surprised mouth.

"Blackmail? Based on what?"

Darien shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she did some juvie time. Gray said something about 'her old school,' and she shut up pretty quick."

"Hmph." The Official mulled that over for a minute. "All right. Follow up that lead, and I'll see if we can spare anyone for separate surveillance on Gray. I'll expect news tomorrow, so no slacking." He started sorting through the stack of papers, then paused, waved Eberts over and started a list of orders that any normal human would never have been able to remember.

Tight-lipped with frustration, Darien followed Hobbes from the office.

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

The Keep door slid open and Darien and Hobbes paced through in tandem, the taller man ducking to avoid the lintel.

Claire straightened from a microscope with a small groan. Her lab coat was creased with wrinkles. "What are you two doing here?"

"Just checkin' up on you, Claire." Hobbes oozed concern. "Anything I can get you?"

"A little peace and quiet might be nice," the Keeper grumbled, returning to her slide.

"How's it going?" Darien sauntered in to peer over her shoulder.

"None the better for your endless phone messages," Claire said, trying to ignore his presence and visibly failing. "Nothing personal, but I'd like to be left alone to finish this."

"You're not done yet?" Darien knew that sounded rude, but it felt good to push the Keeper as she'd pushed him so many times. Icy blue eyes flashed up to meet his. "Hurry it up. Chrysalis is hunting for Adam again."

"I am hurrying!" Claire was out of her seat, quivering with rage. Darien was startled to see the gleam of moisture in those frozen eyes. "Bloody hell, Darien--what do you think I am, a robot? Get your head out of your arse for once and take a look at the other people in this room!" She dropped back into her seat, the glare shifting to instruments which she began moving to cover the shaking in her hands.

Darien knew he should feel sorry, just a little, but his mouth wanted nothing to do with his conscience right then. She deserved it, and he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity for justice.

"Look," Claire tried to explain, "the cure is testing well enough, but none of the hormone inhibitors I've been looking at will suppress Adam's testosterone production enough--not while allowing the cure to work, and in the aftermath of the thawing process." She carefully moved the slide she'd been looking at to one side and selected a clean one.

Darien watched her. "So, another of the great Keeper's flops. Can't give one man enough testosterone, can't get the other's out of him. Some Keeping job."

"Fawkes!" Hobbes hissed.

Claire was staring at him blankly. Darien felt a thread of guilt wind through his chest, but the Keeper drew a deep, excited breath and snatched a blood sample collection packet off a shelf. "Darien, you're a genius! That might be it!"

She almost ran across the room, dragging Darien to the exam chair.

"Whoa, hey, what the heck is this?" Darien jerked his arm away as Claire tried to roll up his sleeve.

She simply held on tighter, eyes glowing in spite of the dark circles under them. "Don't be a baby. All I need is a small sample…." This time when he tried to stand she trapped him with an arm across his waist. "Remember that hormone the gland has been secreting? The one that has been interfering with your--"

"Interfering with some specific effects of testosterone, yeah, I remember," he said hastily, glancing at Hobbes. "So?"

"So…." Claire leaned closer, tucking up his shirtsleeve. "I've been working on the samples you gave me a few weeks ago, but there are a few other tests I think I should run." She slid an empty vial partway into the needle's housing. "If this hormone really affects testosterone and estrogen receptor sites on cells and organs the way I've been seeing-" Claire tightened a rubber tube around Darien's upper arm. "I might be able to use it in conjunction with Adam's cure. It's more specific in its effects than the total suppressants I've been looking at. They actually interfered with the action of the cure."

Darien winced as she slid the needle into his vein, and quickly turned his eyes from the red spurts filling the vial.

Hobbes glanced from one to the other. "This stuff that's been causing-problems--for Fawkes, it's gonna help Adam?"

"Maybe," Claire amended cautiously. "But it's definitely a better source for a solution than the other suppressants." Deftly she slid the needle out and pressed gauze over the wound.

Darien slapped two practiced fingers over the gauze and watched the Keeper bustling about her domain. "So, you can hurry now, right?" he said, half-teasing.

Claire muttered something under her breath, and Hobbes almost choked trying to swallow a sudden burst of laughter. She smiled sweetly at him, then turned to Darien. "You know what would really help hurry things along? Drive out to the facility where Adam's being stored. They have just about everything we'll need to set up for the defrosting process, but it's a very specific procedure and I don't want to send any of the instructions over email-too sensitive."

Darien let her exchange the gauze for a real bandage. "Oh, I get to play messenger boy. Guess I could do that."

"Oh, no." Hobbes shook his head firmly. "Bad boy here still has a case to work."

"Bobby, please," Claire sighed. "I want him out of my hair."

Darien looked hurt. "Oh, is that it?"

"I'm not the one who makes the rules around here, Claire," Hobbes said, frowning worriedly.

"It's only, what, a four hour drive each way?" Darien stretched out in the chair and slung his arms behind his head. "I'll be back by morning, Hobbes."

"I'm just sayin' the message might not matter that much if the 'Fish decides to punish the messenger."

Sudden understanding dawned on Claire's face. "Is that what all this is about, Darien? The hurry? Has the Official been making threats?"

"Oh, every now and then." Darien raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. Whether the next words he spoke came from some paranoid part of his mind that wanted to be sure of her, or a leftover bit of friendship, Darien could not tell. "Speaking of which, you sure you want to go along any further here? It could get you into trouble when the Fat Man finds out about it."

Claire considered this, then shook her head, turning to collect a couple of floppy disks and a stack of papers, which she carefully slid into an envelope marked CLASSIFIED. "I doubt it. He'll be quite pleased if we can provide and prove a method to thaw scientists from Chrysalis cryo-storage. Especially a reliable, long-term procedure."

Hobbes nodded thoughtfully. "Clean out their library next time we find it."

The door to the Keep slid open and everyone froze.

"Claire?" It was Monroe, looking seriously professional in a black dress suit.

"Come in," Claire called cheerily. "Great timing. How did the assignment go?"

Monroe walked slowly in to join the group. "It could've been better, but at least it wasn't a total waste of our time." She glanced around, spotted Hobbes, and sighed. "Where is he?"

Hobbes grinned and gestured to the empty exam chair. "Still over there."

A concave dent in the brown seat shifted. "Spoilsport." Quicksilver shivered to the floor.

Alex stalked over to him. "Thanks for not returning my calls. I had to come down here and pump Claire to get any information." The scientist smiled. "I'm heading out to help set up for Adam's defrost. You want a ride?"

Darien glanced at Claire, confused. "Thought I was your messenger boy."

"Then I guess that makes me the bodyguard." Alex smiled tightly.

Darien slid off the chair, grabbing his jacket as his feet hit the ground. "I'll take my own wheels, thanks."

Alex blocked his path, all trace of levity gone. This was Ms. Monroe. "So. Want a ride? Just think of it as an opportunity to convince me you're more considerate than I think you are right now."

No way could he get past those determined eyes, even if he wanted to. And if she was going to be at the storage facility, he might as well get the explanations over with on the way. Or at least snag the time to get some sleep in. "Fine. When?"

Darien fumed towards the door, but Alex beat him to it.

"Now."

"Wait a sec, don't we get dinner?"

"I already had mine. We can swing through McDonald's if you want, I suppose…."

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

A deep thinker, Thomas Carlyle, said that "silence is golden." Normally I would have thought that an angry Alex Monroe would have a problem obtaining this kind of wealth. By ten o'clock, when we reached the little outhouse that camouflages one of the highest-tech labs this side of the nation, I'd been proven four golden hours wrong.

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

The room was brighter than Darien remembered, stark white walls holding the artificial light in like ice. His hand slid absently along the edge of the cryopod lid, patterned nearly opaque with a spray of white crystals. Beneath them, he could discern the faint outline of a face.

Monroe was too quiet. So much for expecting to talk out his little stunt in the car. She'd spent the entire time focused on driving, not even looking at him unless he asked her a question. Darien had considered breaking in, but his own tiredness and Monroe's set face kept his mouth shut, and he'd actually fallen asleep partway there. Darien grinned at the recollection. "Hey, Adam, I drooled all over Monroe's passenger door. She gave me this disgusted look-it was pretty funny."

"Ha ha." Somehow Alex had managed to sneak in behind him, and now she passed him, coming around to the other side of the cryopod, facing him. "Is this the kind of stuff you tell him?"

"Uh, sometimes." Darien was surprised to see her crack a smile.

"It's about time we got to do this," she said softly.

Darien nodded. When Alex didn't say anything else, he decided not to let the space go to waste. "I keep thinking about missing out on eighteen months of life."

"At least he slept through September 11." Alex's hand stroked along the lid, unconsciously mirroring Darien's earlier action. "Most of it, anyway."

Darien stuffed his hand into his pocket, as if touching the cryopod had frozen it. "Still. School, friends, family-everything's changed except Adam."

"I wouldn't worry about him," Alex said, catching Darien's eye. "If anyone can learn to adapt, it's this kid."

Darien stared back at her, finding a surprisingly intense caring in those hard eyes. "He deserves a decent life." Startled by how strong this feeling was, he tried to clarify it. "To be loved, to love, and I'm not sure how he's going to get it now."

Alex hunched her shoulders a little, silent.

"Anyway, you've got the not-worrying market cornered." The joke fell flat.

Alex glanced at him sharply, and Darien held her gaze. "You won't let me worry," she told him. "I thought we'd been through enough that you might trust me, Fawkes."

"I didn't want to get you involved. You were on an assignment." Both excuses sounded lame, and Darien wasn't surprised to see Alex's eyes narrow.

"I've been involved since before you knew Adam existed." Her tone stayed low, sharp and brittle like ground glass, as if she was afraid the child in the coffin-shaped pod between them would hear her. "Where do you get off assuming that, just because I don't visit him with you, I don't care? That I've forgotten about him?"

"I didn't want to get you in trouble." That at least was closer to the truth.

"Okay, at least Chrysalis gave me a choice." Alex's smile had a bitter edge, but it was a smile. "You gave me a choice, when we first met Adam, an alternative to a nightmare. Now, did you think you were going to cheat me out of my part in saving him?"

"That's not what was I was trying to do." Darien traced the frosty pattern on the lid, as if looking for the right words within the crystals. "And cheat you? Couldn't do it if I wanted."

"Damn right you couldn't." Her voice was still cool, but it had softened. Alex straightened and left the cryopod with a final pat. "Come on, they could use an extra pair of hands to move equipment."

Darien stayed beside the pod, leaning on it with both hands spread out, as if he had just closed the lid on that scared, controlled face. "What if this doesn't work?"

Alex's answer came from the door. "It'll work."

Darien waited a long moment, staring down through the frost to that faint outline beneath. "See you soon," he whispered, and then followed her.

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

It was past one a.m. when the major equipment had been moved into the largest lab this still-nameless facility had equipped for strict quarantine. Both agents slept the rest of the night away, Darien on a cot in Adam's room, Alex who-knew-where.

Claire arrived while the lab techs were putting in a million final touches. She took almost an hour double-checking everything, leaving Alex to wander off and chat with the facility's new director, and Darien to kick his heels in the hallways.

He was slumped in a chair, nearly asleep again from sheer boredom, when a blue lab coat stopped in front of him. "Hey, Claire, you ready in there?"

She nodded gravely. "They're moving the cryopod in now."

"The hormone thing?"

Claire smiled. "It works. Doesn't interfere with the cure at all."

"You're sure?"

"Would you like us to wait? Do more tests?" she asked, searching his face.

Darien tried to relax. "Would it help?"

"Not much." Claire thought, her eyes distant. "No, without fresh samples from Adam's blood or a further working knowledge of the thawing process, I really don't think I can confirm anything more than I have already." When Darien didn't respond, she added, "This is your decision, you know."

He sat up straight. "Huh? You're the doctor."

Claire smiled. "Well, I can't exactly get consent from the Official, and Adam made it pretty clear that he trusted you."

"Yeah."

"So, do you trust me?"

Darien started. What kind of question was that? She looked as if she'd love to take it back. "Maybe not to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Claire's face paled at the words, and she bit her lip. "What about this kind of truth?" She waved a hand towards the isolation room behind her.

"I guess I kind of have to trust you there." Air hung heavy between them, as if it didn't want him to speak. "Yeah, do it. Okay?"

Claire was halfway down the hall before the last word was out of Darien's mouth.

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

The stupid corridors, further under the desert surface than Darien liked to imagine, were all the same. White matte walls, industrially plain lights placed every few feet, a soft linoleum floor soaking up the echoes of every footfall. From one end of the maze-like area to the other, no change. Not even labels on doors, for the most part. The only landmarks to tell Darien where he was in this insanely boring complex were the elevator doors, set nearly invisibly into the wall, and the solid, airlock-looking entrance into the isolation chamber.

Darien must have paced through that entire floor at least a dozen times, and had given up checking his watch after the crawling numbers hit 1:30pm, before anything changed. A tech, bulky in her isolation suit, ducked out of the airlock door and beckoned wildly to another tech who tore unsuited down the hall. A tray of vials changed hands in one quick thrust, and the door slammed closed. Darien grabbed the Asian tech outside. "What's going on?"

The guy shrugged, wouldn't answer. The second Darien released the fistful of lab jacket, he trotted back the way he had come.

"Crap, crap, crap." Darien restricted his pacing to the length of hall within sight of the isolation room, hoping to catch something over the intercom. It stayed silent. Whatever emergency was happening in there would stay there, apparently. Darien paced faster, nervous fingers combing the stiffness out of his hair.

The strident cell phone ring jerked his compulsive walking to a stop. "Yeah, Fawkes!"

"Partner, when ya comin' back?" Hobbes sounded antsy.

Darien gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm waiting for news, okay?"

"I'm waitin' for you to get your ass back here, before the Fat Man decides to take my head and stake it up on the battlements as a warnin' to the rest of you."

"What's got his suspenders in a knot?" Darien asked. "You told him I'm doing research on our case, right?"

"Either he didn't buy it, or doesn't want you doing it," Hobbes said grimly. "So get yourself back here pronto, alright?"

"Hobbes, not now." Had the curtain over the window moved? No. Not yet. "They're working on Adam and I get the feeling something's…I don't know. I'm not coming back till I know he's okay." Someone called his name. Darien snapped off the call and turned.

Alex was standing by the intercom speaker. "Come again, Claire?" she requested, urgently beckoning to Darien.

"Darien, you there?" Heaviness sat behind Claire's words.

In a few short steps, Darien stood beside Alex, focused on the speaker. "Yeah, Keep, what?"

"Um…we're having trouble stabilizing Adam's vitals-heartbeat, respiration-"

"I thought you said you'd figured out the defrosting stuff!" Darien reached out to brace himself against the window. Until Claire said the words, he had not realized that the butterflies in his stomach had razor wings. They were gutting his entire body, now.

"I did. I do," Claire insisted. "It just-isn't quite working." After a tense moment, as Darien tried to take in what that might mean, she added in a rush, "We might lose him, Darien. I thought you should know."

The intercom clicked off. "Claire! What do you mean, isn't quite working?" Darien's phone went off again and he jerked back from the window, fumbling it out on the fourth ring. "Hobbes, now is not a good time! I'll come when this is over, so quit-" All the anger melted out of his face, replaced by a mask of shock. "Uh, hi, boss."

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

Act Three

Darien winced at the Official's sharp tone.  "No, sir, I'm following up a lead in the Jennings case."

Alex was staring at him.  Darien turned his back.  It was hard enough to keep his voice level, normal, with Claire's "we might lose him" echoing in the hollow that was his chest, without that unblinking gaze added.

"You'd better have something to show for this little trip," the voice of authority growled.

"Believe me, I hope I will."  Now for a graceful exit.  "I've been in touch with Hobbes.  He knows I've got a little more to do here, and then I'll be driving back-"

"See that you don't waste time."  The Official rang off.

Darien sucked in a deep breath, turned, and flung the cell down the hallway with all his strength.  Alex reached, missed, and they both watched the phone sail through the air and tumble to a stop on the padded flooring.  Neither moved to retrieve it.

Darien shifted his gaze to the shrouded window.  If he had to have a superpower, X-ray eyes would come in a lot handier than invisibility sometimes.  Imagination was too good at painting impossible images?not silver fire this time, but the dead grayish-blue of half-thawed skin and empty eyes, damp, stiff hair plastered to the small skull…. His hand pounded glass, though when he'd taken the last steps to the window, Darien didn't know.  "Claire, you just wanted someone else to experiment on, didn't you?"  His voice cracked.  "I should've known better.  Shouldn't have trusted you?Eberts?me…."

Alex's hand was on his shoulder, trying to pull him away.  "It's not your fault," she said, voice low.  "Not Claire's either."

Darien whirled on her.  "Whose is it then?  Huh?"  She dropped her hand from his arm, and the moment she did, he reached out one long arm to slap the intercom button.  "Claire?  If you can't save him?"  He swallowed hard.  "I need to be with him, Claire, okay?  Could you just, let me in, please?"

"Fawkes, you're not helping."  But Alex didn't pull his hand away.  "Claire's the best there is at this, the only one with any hope of bringing him back."  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "Don't screw this up."

Darien stared at her, and Alex didn't back down an inch, either from the words or from the pain that was mirrored in her eyes from Darien's own.

The corner of the curtain in the observation window lifted.  It took Darien's distracted mind more than a few moments to find Claire's tired face in helmet of the white isolation suit.  For a long look, she said nothing.  Then her voice filtered through the intercom.  "I'm sorry, Darien.  You can't help here.  I promise I'll call you as soon as I have any news."  She glanced at Alex, who nodded.

Then the curtain swung down and she was gone.

"Hey."  Alex paced down the hall towards Darien's discarded cell phone. "I'll keep tabs on him, alright?  You'll probably do more good out on Official business than here.  As long as you don't wreck my car doing it."

But I want to be here, Darien almost protested.  Instead he said, "Just make sure you call, okay?  And?I don't want him to be alone, if…."

Alex nodded, and the cell phone she tossed slapped into Darien's outstretched hand.

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

In that unchanging underground lab, time had only passed in counted footsteps and slowly ticking watch hands.  Darien squinted as he stepped out underneath the blue mid-afternoon sky.  The long drive wasted the rest of the pale autumn light into dusk, then dark as he turned Alex's car into the Agency lot.  He'd kept the radio low the whole way, waiting for Alex's cell to ring.  It had a full battery, and seemed to miraculously be able to maintain a signal even this far out.

But no one had called.

Hobbes, who was lurking in the upstairs hallway, darted to Darien the moment he saw him.  "C'mon, the Fat Man's not happy 'bout stayin' here to wait for our report."

"We could've just called it in," Darien pointed out, deliberately slowing his walk to an indolent stroll.

Hobbes tugged at his sleeve.  "Fat Man likes things 'personal'," he mimicked, widening his eyes in an Eberts-stare.  "One on one, and--"

"--all that crap," Darien snapped.

The older agent squinted up at his partner.  "Hey."  He stopped just outside the Official's door.  "What is it, what's up?"

Darien hunched his shoulders, trying to think of words that wouldn't sound silly.  Or make it seem too real.  As long as he didn't have to tell anyone, as long as Claire didn't call....

"What?"  Hobbes lowered his voice, glancing at the office door as if it might have ears.  "Kid not defrosted yet?"

Darien shook his head.  "No news is good news, right?"  His partner's sympathetic pat on the arm was interrupted by a shout through the open door.

"Fawkes!  Hobbes!  Get in here!"

There were no chairs in sight, except for the one the Official occupied behind his squeaky-clean desk.  After a glance around, Darien left his jacket on and shoved both hands into his pockets.  "Very nice, Chief.  Very juvenile."

"The office has already been cleaned for the night," Eberts offered a slightly defensive excuse.

"You should be glad I'm not docking you for tardiness," the Official growled, narrowly watching Darien pick out a portion of wall and lounge there, one foot braced on the wall.

"Hey, I don't choose the leads."  Darien shrugged.

"Sir?  May I report first?"  Hobbes all but raised his hand, like a kid who has to make sure everyone sees that he knows the answer.

The Official nodded indulgently.  "No elaborations."

"Of course not, sir."  The balding agent stood straight, hands behind his back.  "Surveillance was uneventful today.  Jennings spent most of it in court.  I took the time to do a little digging into the background of her case myself."  His tone became secretive.  "Know what I found?  That Asian drug runner the defendants associated with doesn't deal in just drugs.  Runs information too."

"Hobbes, this is not the CTID."  The Official was exasperated.  "Chase already apprehended terrorists on your own time."

"But sir," Bobby was tense with excitement.  "This could be important to our case. See, if the terrorist connection is there but they can't prove it, what better way for the CIA to get rid of them than to arrange enough evidence to put them away on a completely separate--"

The Official swiveled all his attention to Darien.  "You," he said, cutting Hobbes off sharply.  "What did that far-fetched journey get you, huh?  You'd better have something to justify it."

"Actually, I do."  Darien pulled a crinkled wad of fax papers from his back pocket. "I was checking out Alison's law school, U C Berkeley, and these news reports caught my eye.  There was a group supplying drugs and homework-for-a-fee during the time she was there.  The cops only caught a few of the lower-rung members."  He tossed the papers to the Official.  "Smells like an excellent cover-up to me.  No clue if Alison was actually involved, but it'd be a nice sword of Damocles to hang over her head."

His boss raised an annoyed eyebrow.  "Still on the blackmail kick?"

"Looks like it."  Darien dropped one foot and tucked the other up against the wall. "I mean, Gray did mention her old school, and it was obviously a threat, so...."

The phone on the desk rang sharply.  Deep in the mess of papers, the Official gestured impatiently at Eberts, who lifted the receiver.  "The Official."  He listened for a moment, then turned wide eyes to his still-preoccupied employer.  "Sir--it's your, uh, Gettysburg friend."

Immediately, the Official snatched the receiver from his lackey's hand.  "This is him."

Darien exchanged glances with Hobbes, mouthing, "Gettysburg?"

Hobbes shrugged, then stiffened in suspicion.  Slipping a pen from his jacket pocket, he scribbled on the back of his hand and held it up for Darien to read.  G. ADDRESS = LINCOLN?

"Yes, no problem."  The portly man hung up the receiver and turned a scowl to his two top men.  "Change of plans.  The subject has been designated a potential security risk, and you are to step up the investigation."

"Like how?"  Darien remained slumped against the wall.  "And was that your 'old friend'?"

"Get a look at Ms. Jennings' personal documents.  And never mind who that was."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Break into her place?  The ACLU would probably take a real dim view of this kind of law enforcement."  Darien straightened, tugging at his jacket. "Besides, she'll be home by now."

Hobbes shook his head.  "No way, she's at this big dinner all evening.  Pretty public event, all the city's big shots out on the town.  Don't think she'll be back before ten thirty; no court tomorrow, y'know."

"Then you'd best get moving, boys."  The Official was back into his papers.

"Why did I ever become an ex-con?" Darien asked, heading for the door.  "It's not like I do anything different now."

"Yeah, and at least you paid yourself well for those jobs, huh, pal?"

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

All in black for the second time in three days, Darien pressed into the shadows below the side window of Alison Jennings' apartment.  "Somehow, I never expected a lawyer to be living in a tiny duplex," he whispered.

Hobbes' reply filtered through his earphone.  "Tiny, swanky duplex," he corrected.  "View of the city, nice paint job...."

"Yeah, and a cheap-ass security system."

"Yeah?  A cheap camera?  Remind me to look into that."

"Ha ha."  Darien sidled below the camera's range of vision and around to the back of the duplex.  "No camera here."  He slid a pick into the lock.  Three seconds for that one, another five for the deadbolt, and the door swung open.  "No sweat.  At least this time I get to play with the tech toys."

He pressed a tiny electronic box against the alarm, which continued beeping its countdown from 15 seconds.  Four numbers flashed onto its digital screen, and Darien punched them in with one steady finger, silencing the countdown with exactly one and a half seconds to spare.  "Nice."

"What, you in?"

Darien closed the door softly before pulling a mini-flashlight out of his belt and sweeping its beam around the small apartment, carefully avoiding the windows. "This is my job, Hobbes.  I'm in, yeah.  Go play lookout, all right?"

"Don't get into trouble while I'm gone."  The earpiece went dead.

There was a desk in the area that doubled as living room and study, crowded with a laptop and neatly stacked file folders.  Cautiously Darien flipped through them, careful not to disorder any page.  Most related to the current case Jennings was prosecuting, but down at the bottom, tucked half-way beneath the laptop, were four pages of notes scribbled in a different hand.  Angular and hard to read in the beam of the flashlight he held between his teeth, unlike the lawyer's small, round script.  Darien made out one name repeated several times on each page, "Noel Jennings."  One page seemed to be a list, most of the names crossed out in pen; another read like a hasty summary of a mission report.  Scanning the list of names again, Darien started.  Carter Lincoln?  The man was popping up everywhere.  A question mark had been penciled in beside the name.

Darien paused, listening.  No sound from outside, not even a car on the street right now.  He had plenty of time.  Carefully he spread the papers on the dark carpet and pulled a miniature digital camera from his pocket.

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

Hobbes tapped his fingers on Golda's steering wheel, watching the banquet room of the Regal Lion from just across the street.  It was looking like Alison might stay for the entire evening, and that suited Hobbes fine. 

Of course, the door chose that moment to open and release a petite figure, her dark red evening gown almost hidden by the dark coat she wrapped tighter against the night's chill.  And instead of heading for her car, Alison looked about, then turned and walked down the dim street in the opposite direction.

Hobbes swore under his breath, patted his pocket to confirm that he had his cell phone, then piled out of the van and drifted after Alison Jennings.

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

Nothing from the laptop.  It was booted up, but Darien couldn't even try opening the MP3 player without being asked for a password.  Okay, so in spite of the cheap security system, Alison was a bit paranoid.  She'd even unplugged her modem before she left.

The bedroom was fairly innocuous.  The single item of interest, after a thorough and meticulously cautious search, was an unframed photograph of a young woman--well, couple.  The woman was in her late twenties, maybe, but so much like Alison that it was hard to tell her age.  The absolute spitting image, except for the hair.  A relative?  That might mean that the little girl curled into the woman's lap was actually Alison.  The man looked faintly Hispanic, but unremarkable except for the tight grip the toddler had on the hand he had put around his wife.

Darien snapped a picture of that, too.

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

Someone else was following Alison.  Hobbes watched as he drew closer and closer to the female attorney.  The man's dark, nondescript coat and steady speed were consciously low-key, and Alison didn't seem to notice him, though she did glance over her shoulder once, as if she felt their eyes.

That guy was getting too close.  Less than half a block behind her now, focused tightly on his prey.  Hobbes picked up his own pace and crossed the street, closing silently with the stalker.

None too soon.  The man swept the empty street with a glance, then darted forward, grabbing for Alison's coat collar.  She ducked and pulled away, but he followed her motion, sweeping both wrists into one hand and tangling the other in her hair.

Enough of this.  Hobbes moved in on the perp.  "Police.  You harassin' this woman?"

Alison jerked around at the sound of his voice, and the man cursed and bolted away.  Hobbes snatched out his gun and started to follow, only to be jerked to a stop by Alison's panicky hands clutching his arm.  "Where are you going?"

Hobbes looked from her up the street; the man had vanished into some side alley.  "I was tryin' to catch the guy," he told her, holstering his revolver with a sigh.  "You okay?  He hurt you?"

Alison shook her head--but Hobbes peered closer at her in the low light and revised his original assessment.  She wasn't scared or shocked.  She was angry.  "Who are you?"

Suddenly aware of having blown his surveillance cover, Hobbes sputtered out the same lie as before.  "San Diego police, ma'am.  If you're being stalked, you should report it."

Alison shook her head, backing away, circling around Hobbes.  "I'm not being stalked.  You get the hell away from me."  In the street lamp's amber light, her wide gray eyes seemed to take up half her face.  A second later, she broke and ran, back the way she had come, towards her car.

Hobbes yanked out his cell, but stayed at least a block behind Alison as he tailed her back up to the Regal Lion.  It rang, but only the automatic voicemail answered. 

"Come on, Fawkes!  Pick up!"  A car door slammed, and Hobbes ran the rest of the way to Golda, dialing his partner's number again.  Still no answer.

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

Darien was tucking the last few papers back into their original positions, erasing all traces of his presence, when the cell phone on his belt started vibrating. "Fawkes." He sat back on his heels, the lines of intense focus shifting into deeper ones of apprehension at the voice on the other end.  "Claire?  Is he--?"

"Adam's all right, Darien."

The sigh of relief turned into a frown, as the last file dangled from his fingers, forgotten.  "It took a long time to do that, huh?"

"No, actually.  We got his vital signs to stabilize fully less than half an hour after you left the complex."

"And you didn't call me?"  For a second, Darien visualized the possibility of throttling his Keeper.

"Didn't want to get your hopes up," Claire stated, as if that explained everything. "The gland's hormone is doing a wonderful job of co-opting the testosterone receptors that would cause his rising levels to trigger the...."

Darien lost the rest of her sentence as Hobbes' voice blasted through his almost forgotten earpiece.  "You're gonna have company, Fawkes!  Finish it up!"

"Okay, don't shout."  Darien lifted the cell again; Claire was still talking, something about the cure.  Adam's all right--that was all he needed to hear for now.  "Keep, call back in about five minutes." 

He shoved the phone back onto his belt, finished tucking in the last file, then scanned the rooms one more time for any minute traces he might have left.  Then Darien padded to the back door.  It was the work of a few seconds to reset the alarm, lock and close the door behind him; but as he was refastening the deadbolt, the white of headlights shot past the corner of the house as a car pulled into the drive out front.  Quicksilvering, Darien finished locking up and slunk invisibly around the house, avoiding the creaking gravel of the driveway and the soft earth of the sidewalk flowerbeds.  Alison, looking harried, unlocked her apartment and ducked through the door as fast as she could. 

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

Golda pulled up a couple of minutes later, swinging close to the curb just long enough for Darien to sling himself into the passenger seat before taking off up the street--quietly enough, but at a good speed.

"Shouldn't we wait to make sure she doesn't realize someone's been inside?" Darien stretched to peer out the back window as they pulled around a corner, almost missing the vibrating of his phone.

"Claire?"

"Sorry, it's Alex.  Your little situation over?"

"Yeah.  So Adam's doing okay?"  Darien propped his long legs up on the dashboard, ignoring Hobbes' dirty look.

"Yes.  They finally got him stabilized, and Claire's started the first round of the cure."

Darien realized he was holding his breath.  "And...?"

Alex was calm, but he could swear that she was smiling.  "And it's working.  Claire says, if it keeps going at this rate, there shouldn't be any complications, and it'll only be a couple of days before Adam will be safe to release from isolation."

"Thank God."  It was barely audible, but Darien felt his partner's curious glance. "Is he awake?"

"Um, no, not yet.  Claire?"

There was a muffled exchange on the line, and then Claire's clipped tones came through.  "Darien?"

"Hey.  Adam's not awake yet?"

"No, not yet."  The Keeper was completely unruffled.

"Okay, how is that not a bad thing?"

Now she was laughing at him.  "Oh, Darien, no.  I wasn't sure how well the cure would work, so I've kept Adam sedated for now.  If progress continues like this, I'll let him come out of it--maybe in another six or eight hours.  We do need to check his mental responsiveness, after that scare he gave us earlier."

Darien rubbed gloved fingers across tired eyes.  "Eight hours?  I'll be there."

"We can take care of him."

"Yeah, but I'll be there."  Darien hung up.

"Kid's doin' okay?"

Darien let the grin finally come to the surface.  "Yeah."  He reached over for a laconic low-five.  "He's doing great."

"Told ya Claire'd do it."

"Guess so."  Darien struggled to stretch out further in his seat.  "They're going to let him wake up in about eight hours." 

Hobbes snorted.  "And you wanna be there.  Leave me in the lurch again, all alone, takin' your crap from the Fat Man, screwin' up our surveillance 'cause Alison knows who I am."

"So use my car," Darien reasoned.  "I have to drive Alex's back anyway.  And don't follow Jennings too close.  It'll work."

Hobbes said nothing.

"Come on, he's going to be scared.  He barely knows Claire, or Alex.  Put yourself in Adam's place--"  Darien paused.  "No, scratch that.  You'd love it."

The shorter man chuckled.  "So, he's gonna be scared.  So?"

"So, I need to be there.  Please, Hobbes...."

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.  "Fine.  I'm such a softie."

"Right, Hobbesy the feather pillow."  Darien tried to dodge the punch, but it was no use.

"You know you owe me so many favors you'll never get to the end of 'em, right?"

"Whatever, Hobbes."

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

Darien's head jerked up as a low voice brought him back to the sterile computer setup in one of the ubiquitous white rooms in what he had started to think of as "Adam's facility."

"Fawkes, it's 3 a.m.  Go to bed."  Alex was in the doorway.

Ignoring her stare, he turned back to the digital images he'd taken in Alison's apartment--copies, since he'd left the originals with Hobbes.  "Not yet."

"Claire's waiting another couple of hours, you know that...."  Alex sighed, strode in, and peered over his shoulder at the screen.  "And this is...?"

"Something I picked up from our latest case."  Darien squinted at the cramped notation.

"Noel Jennings?"  Alex appropriated the mouse and magnified a section of one window.  "Remember that CIA guy you told me was haunting your lawyer's court case?  I thought I saw that name while I was checking into his file--what I could get of it, anyway."

"Oh really...."  Darien scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to stifle a yawn.  "Hobbes'll gloat when he hears that.  Hey, what made you go checking around on our case?"

Alex grinned at his suspicious tone.  Eyes still on the screen, she reached for a nearby chair and rolled it closer.  "I was bored.  Look, why don't I do some cross-referencing, while you snag forty winks?"

Darien yawned again, but didn't move.  "Huh-uh.  I owe Hobbes--"

"The best job possible.  I've got more resources than you.  Scram."  She shoved Darien's chair to one side, nearly spilling him from it in the process. 

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

A couple of hours later, watch hands ticked past 8 am, and Adam was still sleeping. Darien spent the time watching the resting face, blond hair sticking out in every direction instead of gel-sculpted.  Watching the slow beat of the pulse warming the boy's skin, watching him breathe, watching him live.

His patience soon degenerated into a pacing investigation of the room, always coming back to the bed, the closed eyes, the slowly emptying IV in the back of Adam's left hand.  Finally deciding that it was going to be one long nap, Darien took a much-needed bathroom break, glad to be out of the confining isolation suit for a few minutes. 

Darien was re-fastening the thing with distaste as he walked back towards Adam's room, when he heard shouting.  Breaking into a run, he yanked on the gloves, punching in the code to open the airlock door.  Inside, helmet, other door....

The voice was still hoarse, but suddenly fierce and sharp.  "Back the hell off!" Adam was sitting up in bed, purple-print hospital gown looking incongruous with his terrified face.  One hand gripped the IV in the back of the other.  "Tell me where I am, or I'll pull it out!"

"Adam, do you remember me?"  Claire appealed to him, gloved hands outstretched.  "Claire?"

"Uh..." he sounded suddenly uncertain.  "The English chick.  The doctor, right?"

Darien nearly tripped over a tray of monitoring equipment in his hurry to cross the room.  "Adam!  Good to see you awake, man."  He held out a hand. 

After a moment of staring, taking in the suit and the face inside the helmet, Adam reached out in a slow low-five. Then he started laughing.  "D'you know how stupid that thing looks?"

"You serious?"  Darien looked his costume innocently up and down.  "I thought it was kinda dashing.  You telling me the chicks won't swoon over this?"

Adam laughed again, coughing as the air irritated his dry throat.  "Not unless they're, like, really into astronauts or something."

"Dang."  Darien sat on the side of the bed.  "Claire is such a liar."

A feminine snort came from across the room.  Adam glanced at her and sobered. "So how come you're both wearing those totally uncool outfits?"

"It's called an isolation suit, Adam."  Claire approached the other side of his bed, a cup of water in one hand.  "You could use a drink."

Adam pushed it aside.  "Later."  He stared straight into Darien's eyes.  "I'm not cured?"

 "Not all the way," Darien corrected him quickly.  "Claire here figured out a way to kill the virus, but it'll take a while to get it all."

Adam relaxed, letting Claire push him back against the pillows and this time taking the water she offered.  "So it worked?  The life-raft thing?"

Darien grinned.  "Would you be here if it hadn't?"

"Guess not.  So, where am I?"  Adam's voice had eased a little after the drink, and he took another sip, his gaze following Darien closely.  "Looks like that place you broke me out of."

"It's a hospital, of sorts," Claire assured him.  "They've been taking care of you."

"Since I went into deep freeze?" Adam finished.  He chugged the last of the water and handed the empty cup to Claire.  "When's lunch in this joint?  I'm starving."

"Soon," Claire promised, taking his hint and heading for the exit.  "Darien--don't overload him with information right away."

As the door closed, Darien grabbed a chair and straddled it backwards.  "What did you wanna ask without her around?"

Adam's smile had vanished completely, and he sat still, except for quick fingers fumbling with the indicator bracelet that still bound one wrist.  He refused to meet Darien's eyes.  "It hasn't been very long, right?"  He hesitated.  "I mean--maybe a couple weeks?  It's still summer?"

Aw crap, this already.  Darien tried to phrase it as easily as he could.  "Well, a little longer than that.  Even the Keeper isn't a miracle worker."

"So how long?"  Twisting that bracelet around and around.

Nope, there were no easy words.  "Almost a year and a half."  Adam's head jerked up, eyes wide, face stricken.  "It's November twenty-eighth, two thousand two."

"Two thousand two?"

Darien shrugged.  "Today is Thanksgiving," he added, irrelevantly.

"Holy crap."  It was almost a whimper, and the boy seemed to curl in on himself.

"That about covers it."  Darien reached out to touch his shoulder, but Adam pulled away.  "Don't worry, we'll fill you in.  But let's wait on some of that till you're cured.  Normal life awaits."

Adam held up the bracelet for Darien to inspect.  "I've still got this on.  And it's still flashing red.  Is that supposed to happen?" 

"Hey, yeah."  Darien poked at the metal circle, inscribed ADAM REESE, glad for the distraction. "Claire figured out a way to keep your testosterone levels from triggering the virus, so it'll stay asleep till we've completely gotten rid of it."

Neither said anything for a few more minutes.  Darien could tell that Adam was processing all the information, had realized something, and waited for the kid to spit it out.

"When I'm cured, what's gonna happen then?  You know, where am I gonna live and stuff?"

If Adam feared or hoped for a particular answer, Darien couldn't tell.  "Well, I thought maybe you could stay with me for a while.  At least till we sort things out.  You up for that?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but his gaze was caught by something outside the observation window.  "Darien, who's that?"  Before the agent could even turn and look, a familiar voice boomed through the intercom.

"Agent Fawkes.  We need to discuss your continued employment."

The Official was standing outside, jowled face pink and distorted by the thick glass.

"Crap," Darien said.

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

Act Four

"What?"  Adam glanced from the Official to Darien.

"That's my boss," Darien explained, rising reluctantly.  "Gimme a minute here."

He strode to the window, detouring around some equipment, and leaned against the glass.  "Can we take this outside?"

"No.  The kid can hear it."  The Official stared Darien straight in the face, the picture of betrayed authority.  "This is very close to constituting treason, agent."

"No, it's compassion and an aversion to dictatorship.  Sounds pretty All-American to me."  Darien returned the insolent stare.

"You went behind the back of your superior," the Official growled.  "You misappropriated Agency funds, equipment, and personnel, and acted without any authorization in a matter of national security."

A group of intimidated-looking techs had begun to gather in the hallway.  Claire pushed through them, almost dropping the tray carrying Adam's lunch when she realized who was in her hallway.

"Doctor," the Official greeted her.  "I am taking command of this operation. Everyone, including you, will report directly to me with regular updates on the subject's condition, and I expect a full briefing on your research in this area."

"Yes, sir."  Claire's mouth was tight behind the faceplate she still wore.

"The 'subject'?"  Adam grumbled from behind Darien.  When no one else objected to the term, he raised his voice.  "Hey, fat guy, my name is Adam!"

Darien motioned for him to be quiet.

"Not right now," the Official replied calmly.  "You are a valuable scientific experiment."

Adam let fly a very adult curse.

"Hey," Darien snapped at the same moment.  "Enough of the lab rat treatment. Don't you start that crap with Adam."

"I'll start whatever 'crap' I deem necessary."  The Official jabbed a finger at the glass.  "As for you, Agent Fawkes, get yourself and the gland back into the field where they belong.  Jennings did not show up to gym at her normal hour?or at a Thanksgiving brunch with some colleagues.  She's missing."  His hot breath clouded the window.  "You may have cost this woman her career or her life by your irresponsibility.  Now get out there and do your job!"

Darien rocked back on his heels, head cocked to one side.  "What is it about this chick that's got your undies in such a bind?"

"It's a favor for a friend," the Official ground out between clenched teeth. "And--" as he saw Darien start a grin, "if you fail to resolve this case and retrieve Alison safely, then by the time you get back here, Adam will be long gone."

Darien swallowed hard, hands curling into slow, frustrated fists.  All the exultation of bypassing the threats, of bringing Adam back to life, spiraled out of him. "Understood.  I'll be right out."  He turned his back on the window.

Adam was halfway out of the hospital bed, moving stiffly and hampered by his IV, but with angry fire in his blue eyes.  "You're not just gonna let that guy take over, are you?" he demanded.

"Hey, he's just pissed because I didn't tell him we were going to defrost you this soon.  No worries."  Darien pushed at Adam's shoulder.  "Back in bed.  Claire's bringing you lunch."

"You too, right?" Adam asked pointedly.

"Nah, I've got work.  You heard the boss." Heard too much of my boss, Darien thought.  "Some chick's gotten herself in a world of trouble."

Adam climbed into the bed and sat silent, the blanket gripped in his fists.

"Hey."  Darien crouched down so he could look into the boy's face.  "I'll come back as soon as I can.  By the time you're out of this Bubble Boy room at the latest."

Adam made a face at that comment, refusing to be cheered.  "Fine, go save the chick."

"I'll see you soon then.  Adam, you take care."

The boy stared at his blankets instead of watching Darien leave.

Claire was in the airlock as he ducked to enter.  "Alex has something for you," she whispered before heading into Adam's cell.  "Top level."

"Claire?"  Darien paused.  "Take care of him."

The Keeper kept walking.

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

Adam watched Claire swing the portable table over his lap, then place the tray on it.  Suddenly the thought of that soup and cup of juice made his stomach turn. "Adam?"  Claire was waiting next to him.  "Are you feeling all right?"

He shrugged.  "Not hungry."

"Well, your body hasn't needed to eat for a while. Give it a few more minutes." Claire moved over to check the strings of letters and numbers that crowded the nearest monitor. Adam couldn't make heads or tails of that, so he went back to staring into his soup.  Or out the window into the empty hallway.  Man, what a boring place.

"You don't have a Gameboy or anything here, do you?"

"Maybe.  Not till after you eat."  Claire didn't look up, but she sounded about to laugh.

"Is Darien coming back?"  The words were out before he even thought, and Adam knew that the tightening knot in his stomach wasn't from being sick.

Claire did look up this time, coming to sit on the side of his bed.  That stupid white suit made weird crinkly noises.  He shouldn't have asked that, it was a stupid question--

"Is that it?" the doctor asked softly.  "Adam, I may still be working on curing you, but I know one thing for certain.  Nothing short of the end of the world could keep Darien away."

Adam found himself meeting those gray-blue eyes, and discovered kindness in them.  "Yeah?  So, your boss isn't the end of the world?"

Claire's smile slipped, her eyebrows drawing together, but she managed another laugh.  "No.  He likes to think he is, but no."

Adam let himself smile back at her.  Maybe this wouldn't turn out so bad after all.  The soup still looked slimy, but he picked up his spoon and went after one of the noodles.

Claire patted his arm.  "Good boy."

Adam gave her a mock glare and scooped up another spoonful.  Darien had come back before.  He could wait.  For a little while, anyway.

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

"You telling me this was all you could get?"  Darien squeezed himself painfully into the low-slung passenger seat of the tiny sports car.  His knees nearly touched his ears as he tugged the door shut. 

"Within the Agency budget, my friend."  Hobbes was keeping a sharp lookout through the windows.

"That figures."  Darien surveyed his position and fumbled around the base of the seat.  "This better not be payback for that Jetta comment."

"Lever's on the front of the seat."  Hobbes, looking perfectly comfortable, waited till Darien had jerked the seat far enough back that he could sit up at least partway.

"So what's the scoop?  Fat Man seemed to think Jennings has disappeared, but you've been following her all morning?"

"Yep."  Hobbes adjusted his sunglasses before pulling out into the post lunch-hour traffic.  "Caught her leaving the apartment, but she didn't head to the gym as planned.  Had a hell of time keeping track of her--she's been all over the city since then.  That bar we spied on her and Gray at, a pawnshop, her apartment again, then she parked at a coffee shop down near that waterfront park and didn't come out.  Either she left by the back door and took a bus, or she's on foot now."

"So you've just been trolling the streets for what, an hour?  And haven't found her yet?"  Darien's fingers drummed impatiently on the door handle.

"What--?  Oh, 'Fish got on your case, huh?"

"And on Adam's.  And Claire's."  Darien wiggled uncomfortably in his seat. 

"Okay, where are we heading?"

"I've got a couple of potential locations."  Hobbes patted his breast pocket.

"HobbesNet?"

"Well, kind of a sub-network...very good at what they do...." 

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

Hobbes kicked Darien out of the car at Alison's favorite coffee shop, a few blocks from her apartment.  He was back in less than two minutes.  "That was a waste of time.  Alison hasn't been in for three days, the girl said."

"Cute girl?" Hobbes asked.

"Stuff it, Bobby."  Darien crushed himself into the seat again, vainly trying to protect his hair from the low roof.

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

The next stop was an imposing little house yet further out in the suburbs. "Home of one Malcolm Gray," Hobbes announced.  "Why dont'cha go Saran-Wrap and check it out?  Don't wanna surprise him too much."

Apart from the finely landscaped yard and a few very nice bits of modern art Darien glimpsed through the windows, it was a total wash.  No one home.  No activity at all.

"Tell me you checked on Malcolm."  Darien glared at Hobbes as he squished into the car yet again.  There would be nothing left of his hairstyle at this rate.

"I checked," Hobbes confirmed.  "Begged off an invitation to a Thanksgiving party by calling in sick this morning."

"He sure isn't home sick," Darien groused.  "If Alison's in danger, we need to find her."

"Did it sound that serious?"

Darien shrugged.  "Not when the Official said it.  But Alex did some digging for us, and I'm starting to wonder who's blackmailing who."

"Oh yeah?"  Distracted, Hobbes patted himself down for a folded paper and skimmed it rapidly.

"Yeah.  Found your CIA connection.  Remember Noel Jennings, the name in those papers Alison had?"

Hobbes nodded.

"He was a CIA agent.  Also Alison's father.  He died in the line of duty.  Guess under whose command?"

"Lincoln's."  Hobbes sounded satisfied.

"Bang on."

"That could be a real can'o'worms."  Hobbes waved his slip of paper under Darien's nose.  "Here.  One more place to try.  Remote enough to be a good meeting place, and near the waterfront, and Alison's got access."  He took a last look at the address, and pulled out quickly.

"What if they aren't there either?"

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

Adam tried not to look at the clock, but it was too big a temptation.  Dang.  Only 1:30.  Not quite five hours since Darien had left.  Five mind-numbing hours.  Even Claire wasn't around--she'd had to go talk to her boss a while ago.  Way too long ago.  Probably talking about him.

And that stupid boss-man was probably telling Claire all about how he was a "scientific experiment."

Man, that was a scary thought.  He'd considered it before, wondering how those guys in Russia could make a baby into a time bomb, but these were supposed to be the good guys.  Was that all Darien was?  Not a superhero agent, but a?what had he called it?  A lab rat?

Well, he was not about to be anyone's lab rat.  Maybe he'd just have to help Darien out a little.

Adam dropped the Gameboy Claire had somehow managed to produce onto his bed.  "Hey!"  The tech was lost in some procedure.  "Hey you!"  There.  Got her attention.

"Need something, Adam?"  At least the techs used his name, even the more annoying ones, like this dark-haired, blank-faced woman.

"Yeah."  Imperiously, he straightened the blankets over himself.  "I want to see your boss."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, that fat guy.  Um...the Official?"

"I don't know if that'll be possible...."  The tech frowned.

Not too bright, are you?  Adam folded his hands.  "I'm your special project, right?  So you can make it possible, right?"

The tech thought this through.  "I'll see if he's occupied, but I can't promise anything."

Gotcha.  "Okay," Adam said brightly.  "Thanks."

As soon as the door closed, Adam swung his legs out of the bed.  They'd let him walk to the bathroom and back, so this wouldn't be a problem.  He moved to the window and stood there, clutching the IV pole in his good hand, daring the Official to show up and plotting out what he could say to convince him to play fair with two potential lab rats.

Claire came hurrying along the corridor, reaching for the intercom instead of the door's keypad.  Adam smiled at her--it was the first time since those horrible last minutes in the truck that he had seen her out of the isolation suit.  He'd forgotten she was kind of pretty.

"Adam, I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Is he gonna see me?"  No need to give away anything more, no need to show nerves.

She glanced back over her shoulder.  "Yes.  Please try not to antagonize him.  The Official is in charge of this project."

"I am this project," Adam objected.  At her sharp look, he raised both hands in surrender.  "Okay, okay.  I'll be good."

Claire shook her head, the disappeared down the hallway.

Adam didn't have to wait long.  The heavy man waddled up to the window, switching the intercom on.  "You wanted to see me, Adam?"

Nice guy routine, now?  Before Adam could reply, he noticed the man standing just behind the Official and his eyes widened.  But Eberts was shaking his head violently, a finger across his lips for silence.  Geez.   Did everyone around here have secrets about him from their boss?  "Uhhh, yeah."  Okay.  Focus.  The Fat Man looked kind of suspicious.  Not stupid, though.  "I just want to, you know, thank you guys, your Agency, for taking care of me."

"You're welcome."  If anything, his eyes got smaller.  "Was that all?"

"Yeah, I guess."  Adam leaned a little on his IV pole.  "It's just pretty neat to know that somebody gives a damn.  Especially if they're a cool secret agent."

"Darien is certainly an asset to our country's security," the Official allowed.

"Who's gonna take care of me after I get out of here?"  Blunt, but guileless, he hoped.

"Temporarily, someone from this Agency, I would imagine."  He was looking suspicious again.  "If you were about to request Agent Fawkes as a guardian, the answer is no."

Adam let himself pout a little.  "Why not?"  He leaned harder on his IV pole, almost like a crutch.  "He's a great guy."

"He's a busy guy and doesn't have the proper medical training for your condition," the Official snapped.

"I have to stay with Dr. Claire?"  This Adam hadn't quite expected, even if he was the fat guy's science project.  "But I'm going to be cured in a couple of days!"

"You'll stay with whomever I put you with."  The Official leaned in, sagging cheeks almost touching the glass.

Screw not antagonizing this fat creep.  "What if I don't want to?"  He matched the older man glare for glare.

"We might not be able to protect you."  It was Eberts' nervous voice who spoke this time, and the Official's glare swung around to include him.

"Shut up, Eberts!"  The fat man stalked off down the hallway without another glance at Adam.  "Dr. Keeply, I want a word with you!"

Eberts hung back just long enough to flash Adam a worried smile and a stilted thumbs-up, before hustling after his boss.

Adam watched them go, then turned and dragged his IV back to the bedside.  So much for being the hero himself.  Or even the sidekick.

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

"Dr. Keeply, I want a word with you!"

Claire, struggling back into her isolation suit as she waited for Adam to finish his little confrontation with the Official, winced.

That didn't sound good.  He must have gotten right under the Official's skin.  At that thought, Claire found herself on the edge of a smile.  Not that she looked forward to seeing the Official right now.  Two hours' briefing him on the cure she had developed for Adam had been more than enough for today.

"Claire."

She met his gaze directly.  Flushed and breathing hard; Adam had indeed gotten to him.  "Yes?"

"I want all your files on the Chrysalis defrosting process, as well as anything related to your work on Adam's cure, on my desk within the hour."

"Sir?"  Claire felt her mouth drop open.

"Including all backup disks and hard copies.  Are we clear?"

"But without those files I cannot continue to work on--"

The Official waved this aside.  "Because of your breach of security regarding this project, your research is being confiscated."

"You can't just--!"

He walked right past her.  "One hour, doctor."

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

Hobbes pulled up along the street, just outside the long drive leading into the poplars surrounding an old house.  Darien rolled down his window.  The breeze smelled of salt, though they were far enough from the water here that the boom of the surf was a faint undertone in the background.  "So this is--?"

"Jennings' old house.  Unoccupied for years, but Alison still holds the title. Inherited it from her mother when she died."  Hobbes eased himself out of the car and Darien followed, unfolding himself like an accordion.

"Oh, right.  When that cousin became her guardian.  They must not have been able to keep up the house."  Darien scanned the yard along the drive, all gone to weeds.  "Nice meeting place.  Secluded, easy access, and not a big chance that it would be connected to Gray or Jennings."

Hobbes edged down the drive a few yards.  "Instinct strikes again."  A blue BMW nestled beneath the trees close to the house, invisible from the road.

"Mr. Gray, huh?"  Darien let the Quicksilver wash over him, stepping from the tell-tale grass onto the gravel drive.  His disembodied voice came from a couple of yards further on.  "I'll check it out, then we can either crash this little party, or wait it out."

Hobbes drew his gun, holding it low.  "No heroics, Fawkes.  I'll be right behind you."

"I'll leave the heroics to you, savior of fair ladies."  Darien was half-way down the drive now, by the sound.  With a sigh, Hobbes followed.

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

Darien approached the house cautiously.   The gravel, despite being overgrown, crunched beneath his invisible feet.  Ah well.  This place was old enough that unseen footsteps were the least haunting you might expect.  No one had kept up the yard, and the garden hedge hung in long dying tatters.  The building itself wasn't much better.  Even in Quicksilver sight, the peeling paint and broken siding showed plainly.

The front door, sporting an entirely out-of-place elaborate knocker, was locked.  Darien wandered around to the side, hoping to find another entrance or at least hear something that would locate his quarry.

"You know better than to pull me out here on a day when I was supposed to be meeting colleagues.  They have no idea why I haven't shown up."  Hello.  There they were, in the room with the barred windows.  Darien peered through the grimy panes.  The short figure must be Alison--it almost looked like a confrontation. Sure sounded like one.

"You're the one who wanted to meet," Gray's deeper voice reminded her.  "I tried to reach you last night...."

"In the most stupid way anyone could have come up with.  'Stalker'!"  Alison spat.  "If that guy can link us at all, it'll be your fault."  Papers crackled.  "I got you what you asked for, okay?  Now get out of here and leave me alone."

"I asked for all of them."  Gray was flipping through the papers.  "You said you wouldn't hold back."

"I'm not."  Ouch, not a great liar, Darien thought.  He tried the knob of a door just to the right of the windows.  It was open--but did it give out on a hallway or the room itself?

"Sure you're not.  That envelope you promised wasn't at Sunset when I went by."  Gray's tone was deceptively calm, and cut right through Alison's outraged exclamation.  "Cough up.  I risked a lot, pulling those strings you pointed me to.  You aren't the only one feeling the unwanted attention these days.  The CIA's a tough nut to crack; that's why I have you."

Darien could see the wall through the nearest window, between it and the door. Good.  That meant he could get into the hall without being noticed.  He eased the door a few inches and it creaked.

"What was that?"

Alison sighed in exasperation.  "Nothing, it's an old house."

Darien waited for the conversation to start again before opening the door enough to slide in.

"I understand your predicament.  Bet you're regretting starting this snooping almost as much as I am."  Alison sounded amused.  "Believe me, I wouldn't wish the CIA on anyone."

"Then give me the rest and make this worth my while."  Gray's voice had lowered dangerously.  "You've got more to lose than I do, if you refuse."

"It wasn't part of our deal."  Darien could see them now, through the open archway from the hall.  Alison was backlit by the windows, Gray towering over her.  The female attorney unlatched her briefcase on a table in the center of the room.  "You're a nasty bargainer.  I hope all your clients rot in prison."  She shoved an elastic-bound file at him.  "You're also damn lucky to be getting this much information.  It's not like I have your contacts."  Her tone shook, angry, frustrated.

Gray perused the sheets, then tucked them into his own briefcase.  "You won't have to worry about your clients," he said, smoothly drawing a revolver from beneath his jacket as he straightened.  "Sorry about this.  You've been a pleasure to do business with."

Alison backed up to the window, panic catching at her breath.  "You don't want to do this, you'll get caught...."

Gray shook his head.  "I know how to remove evidence.  You'll be in the papers for a while, young attractive attorney mysteriously murdered, and then you'll wind up an unsolved case file."  He lifted the gun, finger tightening on the trigger.

Suddenly his arms jerked downward, the bullet slamming into the hardwood flooring.  Alison ducked, fumbling a gun of her own from her purse.  She fired at Gray and missed, but the taller man went over backwards as if he had been shot or punched out.  Alison braced herself for another shot, aiming carefully to end this mess in her favor.

"Freeze!  Federal agents!"  Hobbes stood in the archway, revolver pointed at Alison.  A brief flash of disbelief was erased by a frown.  "Drop the gun."

Darien emerged, visible, from behind him, and pounced on the dazed Gray, rolling the man onto his stomach and cuffing his hands behind him.  When he looked up, Alison's steady hands still held the gun on Gray.

"Drop it, lady, or I'll shoot!" Hobbes warned.

Darien rose slowly, showing empty hands as he crossed the room, careful to stay between the petite lawyer and Gray.  He recognized that look in her eyes, the hatred and the longing to end this, fighting with a sense of self-preservation. "Hey.  Alison."

Her gaze didn't leave the target.  Darien knelt in front of her, in front of the gun. "Here.  He's not worth it."  He held out a hand for the revolver.

"He can destroy my life."  Now her eyes did flicker to Darien's face.  He kept his hand out, pleading with her.  Those wide gray eyes--this wasn't even like the conversation he had overheard in the bar.  These were a child's eyes, bewildered, pained.

"It's okay.  We won't let him."  Darien slid his hand over hers, the one on the trigger.  "Come on, let it go."

The gun dropped into his grip with sudden heaviness.  Alison stared at him, then shook her head and stood quickly, leaning on the windowsill.

"You okay?"  Darien unloaded the gun and tucked it into his pocket.

When she turned back around, her calm lawyer's mask was in place.  "As fine as I can be after an attempted murder."  Alison paused, and Darien wondered if she had caught the ambiguity in that statement.  She shrugged it off.  "Now what?"

Hobbes, having holstered his own gun, was checking on Gray, who showed signs of coming around.  "Normally, now you press charges," he said dryly. "Blackmail, falsifying a case, attempted murder at the very least...."

Alison smoothed her hair down with one hand, then started moving papers from Gray's briefcase back to her own.  "I'm not going to."

Hobbes jumped to his feet.  "That's tampering with evidence!"

Alison eyed him coldly.  "Doesn't matter if I'm not pressing charges, right?"

"Wrong.  We're federal agents, ma'am.  Someone's gonna be pressing charges."

Darien joined them at the table, and reached for a couple of papers Gray had let slip to one side.  Alison hissed and snatched for them, but Darien lifted them out of her reach, scanning them.  "Hobbes, you might be right about how much the CIA's associated with this case."  He shot a worried look at Alison.  "What is this stuff anyway?  Why would a beginning lawyer have?Hobbes, take a look, will you?  You're better at this spy stuff than I am."

She stood rigid, eyes bright and desperate, while Hobbes checked out the pages Darien held.  He let out a low whistle.  "This ain't prosecution strategy.  More like an intelligence firebomb.  Ms. Jennings?"

Alison kept her mouth tight shut.

Darien exchanged glances with Hobbes.  "I'm sure we could arrange to have this investigation kept under wraps.  Hush up whatever Gray was hanging over your head.  If you can cooperate a little, so we know how big a hole we have to plug, here?"

Alison turned bleakly away.  "Won't work.  You're feds."

"Hey."  Darien pulled out his badge and thrust it in her face.  "We're not CIA or FBI, all right?"

"Department of Fish and Game?"  Her gaze was incredulous this time.

"Long story."

"Very long," Hobbes added.

Alison looked from the badge to Darien, then shook her head.  She snagged her briefcase from the table and strode towards the door.

Darien sighed.  Aces time.  "What more do you know about this Carter Lincoln?"

She stumbled, turning a nervous face over one shoulder.

"Or how about Charles Borden?"

Alison turned fully, briefcase hanging forgotten by her side.  "You know Charlie?"

Hobbes glared at Darien.  "You might say that."

"He's our boss."  Darien stuck his hands comfortably into his pockets.  "So are you going to let us help you?"

Alison dropped her briefcase, dug a tiny key out of an inside pocket, and grabbed Darien's elbow.

In the next room, a fractured skylight had let in moisture, warping the only piece of furniture left, a rickety rocking chair.  A half-rotting old needlepoint hung on the far wall and Alison lifted it down to reveal the door to a tiny safe.  Three practiced spins of the dial and one twist of the key, and Alison pulled out several folders filled with notes.

She handed Darien the top one.  Most of the pages were covered in that same angular hand that he had noticed at her apartment.  "My mom started this," she told him.  She swallowed hard and directed Darien's fingers to a particular page.  "Yeah, I know a lot more about Carter Lincoln."

After skimming through the first few paragraphs, Darien stared at Alison. "Alison, how'd your mom get her hands on this stuff?  She's got a whole private investigation going here."

"Don't ask me, she just did."  But the bite in Alison's voice was balanced by a half-laugh.  "Uncle Charlie used to joke that she should have been the agent, not my dad.  I thought that was funny, and pretended that mom's handwriting was a secret code, but it always made her angry."  She thought a moment.  "Well, that might have been because Uncle Charlie teased her?he thought she was making all this stuff up.  I mean, he'd actually been in on the first investigation, so of course he didn't want to believe they were wrong to clear Lincoln."

"Uncle Charlie?" Hobbes muttered incredulously.

"So how do you know Charlie?" Darien asked causally.  "He's not your real uncle - is he?"

"You know I know him, but you don't know how?"  Alison raised her eyebrows at Darien's eloquent shrug.  "He was always around when I was little.  Mom said he and dad met back in the sixties, when Dad was just a baby agent. We didn't have many relatives.  He probably really visited more like twice a year.  Liked me to call him Uncle."  An unexpected smile softened her face. 

Darien grinned, but it slid away as he consulted yet another page.  He continued flipping through the pages, pausing now and then to make out a tough tangle of letters.  "Alison, could you help me figure some of this out?  I'm no desk jockey."  Hobbes came to peer over his left shoulder, at an angle where he could keep an eye on the still-groggy Gray.  Alison stood at Darien's right, pointing out specific portions of typed text or scribble.

"She must have started with the interviews?not sure if she got in touch with the other agents herself or got the interviews from someone.  That helped her put together?this?" Alison pulled out a folded sheet and opened it.  "A timeline of the mission.  Correlated with the timeline of an escape that took place the same night…see that?"

"Heck of a coincidence."  Darien traced a finger along the long list of mishaps that had plagued these men in the course of one night.

"Exactly."

Alison let Darien look a bit more, then closed the folder and exchanged it for the one on the bottom of the pile.  "She collected all that piecemeal, I think, over about 9 years.  I didn't even see all of this till I was almost out of school, so I haven't had much to add yet.  Just this."  She pulled a stapled collection of printed pages from the third folder. 

Hobbes leaned in for a closer look.  "What'd ya do, send someone to Vietnam to check around?"

"Right."  She flashed Hobbes a grateful smile.  "That was always a problem, because even when the mission went down, there was no way to get back behind enemy lines to obtain any more evidence.  Now that they've got that open door policy?it just seemed too good to pass up."

"And you got all this?"  Darien paged through the collection.

"Mostly just good reporting there, but he did uncover a possible confirmation of Lincoln's involvement with that particular group of Viet Cong agents."  She fingered the papers with distaste.  "I got more than that out of this."

"Gray?"  Hobbes guessed.

Alison almost laughed.  "How'd you know?  I still don't have a clue how he picked up on my inquiries, but my hired guy must have mentioned Carter Lincoln and it got back to someone who knew the name.  Gray showed up in my office about two months later."  The glare she sent into the next room should have been enough to set the man on fire.

Darien balanced the folders in his hands.  "So that's what he was after the whole time.  Lincoln."

Hobbes shifted impatiently.  "Speakin' of which, Ms. Jennings, think ya could fill us in on what Gray was blackmailin' you with?  He's wakin' up here, and we've got a lot of work to do today."

Alison nodded her acknowledgment, but it took a good five minutes for her to gather enough courage to open that private mental safe.

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

The glow of the lamp on the Official's desk was warm against the near-freezing dusk outside.  Almost homey.  Or it might have been if not for the imposing presence of the Official.

Hobbes was in the middle of a story, illustrating every move in their capture of Gray with broad gestures.  "Then, bam! the gun jerks down, fires into the floor, and Gray goes right over backwards.  Like he'd had a seizure or something."

Darien grinned, flexing a sore right fist, and let his partner sing his praises.  He might as well enjoy this part instead of letting those butterflies return.  The bag of caramel popcorn on his lap was a reminder of that, of a victory that the Official didn't know about.  Yet.

"Did they see Agent Fawkes using Quicksilver?"  Was that what the Official was worried about?  Talk about paranoia.

"No, no," Hobbes insisted.  "That's the best part.  Gray went sprawling as I charged in.  Next second, the very next, Fawkes here comes pushing through the doorway behind me.  Like he'd never been in the room before.  Beautiful thing."

The boss relaxed.  "They won't guess?"

Darien finally added something, around a mouthful of crunchy sweetness.  "Are you kidding?  Gray'll just think he didn't see me coming, and Alison was too scared to trust what she'll remember."

"Good enough.  Eberts--?"  But the aide wasn't there.  "Damn, I keep forgetting I left him in charge out there."

Simultaneously, Hobbes and Darien choked, the tall agent spraying caramel bits. "Sorry, boss.  What was that?"  Darien's strangled voice could have been because of the coughing fit--or he might have been laughing.

"In charge of Adam, sir?" Hobbes ventured.

The Official glared at them, flicking bits of sticky popcorn off his desk, and changed the subject.  "So we have Gray."

"In the cell downstairs.  Thinks he's at a local police station."  Hobbes reached over to take his own handful of treats from the bag Darien offered him.

"What about Alison?"  The 'Fish actually looked worried.  "You're sure Gray was working alone?"

"About as sure as we can be."  Darien sat up straighter.  "We sent her home. Told her one of us would visit to fill her in after we'd talked to you."

"She was bein' blackmailed, Chief," Hobbes added.  "That drug ring he dug up at her school was it.  She wasn't involved very high up, but...."

"It was enough to worry about.  She delivered a packet to a fellow student, supposed to have a bootleg paper inside.  There was some serious speed in there too, and he O.D.'d that night."  Darien brushed his tacky fingers together, remembering the quickly hidden horror in Alison's delicate face.  "That's when she tried to get out, even though she needed the income for school.  Of course they made sure she stayed part of the cover-up."

The Official said nothing.  When Darien looked at his boss, expecting something, he surprised a rare withdrawn look, heavy and old.  Huh.  Maybe it would work then, maybe....

"You promised Ms. Jennings every possible discretion, I take it?"  The Official's business attitude had taken over, and Darien wondered if he had imagined that absent moment.

"Absolutely," Hobbes said, around another mouthful.

Darien nodded.  "Why screw up her career now over something she was manipulated into doing at school?"

"Agreed."  The Official was fairly beaming now.  "Good work, boys.  I'll take it from here." Offhandedly, he added, "Did you find out what exactly Gray was trying to collect from Alison?"

"Did your 'friend' tell you to ask that?" Darien countered, without turning a hair.

The Official gave him a slow, angry stare.  "I'm interested in a full report, Agent, that is all."

"Sure you are."  Darien's own gaze narrowed, and one hand crumpled his popcorn bag.  "You knew she was being blackmailed all along, didn't you?  You shouldn't have had to ask that, after seeing those papers we confiscated from the bar."

"Seeing that those papers were mostly evidence that the defense would have already, they were either a blind or she was trying to double-cross her blackmailer."  The Official's voice dripped acid.

"Sir, if you need a liaison to the local police, to clean up this mess with Gray…" Hobbes hastily interrupted.  The Official's question slid into the background.

"Thank you, Hobbes," the Official said dryly.  "I'll make some calls, and we should be able to wrap most of this up tomorrow morning.  I want both of you available."

The two agent mumbled acknowledgments, Darien a few reluctant seconds behind his partner. 

"Oh, boss, there was one more thing."  Darien passed the bag of popcorn to Hobbes as he stood.

"I'll be right outside, partner."  Hobbes sauntered out the door, closing it softly behind him.

The Official had reached for his telephone, but dropped his hand when Darien stretched, catlike, and came to perch on the corner of his desk.  "This better be important, Fawkes."

"Don't worry."  The lanky agent picked up a pen and started twirling it between his fingers.  "You seem pretty relieved at the way this whole thing worked out."

"I expect discretion from my agents.  Though maybe not this level of discretion. That's why we were approached for this job."  The Official reached for the phone again.  "Now, if that's all...."

"Approached, yeah."  Darien was still focused on the spin of the black pen.  "By your CIA friend who has a kid named Alison, right?"

"No."  The Official snatched the pen from him and laid it neatly aside.  "Alison Jennings has no relatives in the CIA."

"Oh, my mistake.  You're right, she doesn't, anymore."  Darien brought one foot up onto the desk.  "Not since Noel died.  Man, it musta been tough to go out on very mission wondering if you were gonna buy it, leave your wife alone to raise your baby daughter…"

"Where did you dig that up?"  The Official's voice was tight and quiet.

Darien shrugged.  "It's not real highly classified, that part.  The mission flopped, but it got Lincoln a commendation for getting his people out of that particular sector of North Vietnam alive.  All except Noel.  You remember that, right?  I know you helped clear Lincoln of misconduct over the whole thing."

The Official ignored this last comment.  "He deserved the commendation. Lincoln is a good man."

"And a good friend of yours?" Darien suggested.  "Like Noel was?  Or just a superior?"

The Official continued to play the game.  "How would I have even known this 'Noel'?"

Darien leaned in close.  "Hey, I know you worked together.  In Cuba, wasn't it? Back when you were still CIA?  Not to mention that you took charge of making sure 13-year-old Alison continued to receive money from her dad's pension after her mom died in that car accident."

"And why exactly are you going over facts that, according to you, I am already well aware of?"

"Just curious whether anyone else knows where that pension money was being drawn from.  After it was ordered discontinued."  Darien drew a deep breath and stood casually.  "Usually I'd tell you that cooking the books is the coward's way out, but in a cause this good I think I have to congratulate you instead."

The Official glanced over his shoulder at Eberts' empty space, then back at Darien.  "Get out of my office."

"Come on, there's no other witnesses here," Darien reminded him.  "My word against yours.  I just want to know what you're going to do about Adam." Tension tightened the long moment of silence between them.  "This isn't me trying to be insubordinate, but even if I was, you've got to agree that the cause is just.  Adam's just another government orphan.  Just like Alison."

The Official stared at him, then started to laugh, a low, smug chuckle.  "Nice try."  He applauded mockingly.  "But you should know by now that emotional manipulation doesn't work on old war horses like me."

"Would I stoop to that?"  Darien swallowed, trying to hold back the temper that cruel laughter had stirred.  The shadows cast on his boss's face by the lamplight edged it with the devil's own malice.  "I just want to know what you're planning."

The 'Fish was still chuckling.  "Yes, well, I was thinking of having Claire keep an eye on him."

"Excuse me?"

"Economic reasons, mostly.  Takes him off the direct Agency budget, keeps him with someone familiar with Chrysalis' interest in him, and also within reach of medical attention."

Darien's hands tightened into fists.  "Adam is not a science fair project!  He is a normal kid who needs to play, and go to school, and have parents--not a goddamned Keeper!"

"Or at least one parent?"  The Fat Man grinned at him.  "Face it, even under wraps like this, there's no way you could ever adopt Adam permanently.  Why should I let him stay with you, even if it's only until I find some more suitable agents to take him?"

"You really think he'd stay with anyone else?" 

When the 'Fish didn't answer, Darien snatched up the phone receiver and slapped it into his pudgy hand.  "Who were you going call a minute ago?  Lincoln?  Why don't you do that right now?  Even though you have no idea how much attention the CIA has been paying to Alison lately."

The Official moved to hang up the phone.  "You're as paranoid as Hobbes."

Darien blocked his hand.  "Really? Lincoln's the one who stopped the pension checks, not paid them out of his own agency's budget."

"Wrong on that count at least."  The Official smirked.  "Lincoln diverted the money for those checks - I just delivered them."

Darien refused to be budged.  "You really want to know what Gray was milking Alison for?  Call Lincoln.  This whole mess is about him."

The Official considered this, then drew the phone back to his ear and punched in a number.  "Gettysburg, please.  Yes, it's him."  His tone became jovial. "Carter, just calling to let you know we caught Alison's blackmailer.  Malcolm Gray, and yes, he is in custody....  Alison?  She's been promised all discretion, in fact, I wanted to run the press release by you before...."  The Official broke off, smoothly professional expression fading.  "Already?  That's a bit premature, don't you think?  No, that's fine…I just was expecting more time to….  No.  No problem.  We'll have Gray ready to release to your men tomorrow morning?"

Darien leaned over and punched the speakerphone button.  "Carter Lincoln?"

"Who is this?"  The voice was dignified, collected, a good match for the soberly graying man Darien had seen in court.

"Agent Fawkes.  Charlie's best guy. The one you requested to get this blackmailer off Alison's back."

"How did you get on this line?  Charles?"

"Hey, he trusts me."  Darien let his voice go as smooth as Lincoln's.  "Got a question for you: is Gray just going to  'disappear'?  Or are you going to kill him outright?"

"Why should I do either?"  Lincoln's deep tones were amused.  "What does that have to do with you anyway, Agent?"

"Oh, maybe because I know what he was after.  No wonder you pushed my boss so hard to nail the guy.  I did nail him, and now I've seen an interesting file on that mission you led in '73."

There was silence on the line.

"You know, Noel Jennings' last mission?"

"Everyone involved in that was completely exonerated."  There was challenge in the voice now.

"Oh, I know."  Darien bent closer to the phone.  "I also know that only a couple of people were ever told who was really in charge of the information pipeline on that mission.  Or of, shall we say, connections with select Viet Cong double agents?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Agent Fawkes."  That challenge had developed a dangerously sharp edge.

"If I tell you that the trouble on that mission, caused by faulty information, created a nice diversion for their escape, will you take me seriously?  Really, the only thing I'm curious about is who you had inside internal affairs to help you cover up.  There weren't a lot of traces left in Vietnam to erase, even if anyone could get to the evidence in that mess."

Darien shifted position, his voice shifting from entertained to deadly serious.  "I got this information--documented, mind you, and including some very recent corroboration--from a reliable source.  I hate to make unnecessary trouble for anyone, but if anything mysteriously tragic happens to Alison Jennings, if I hear she's so much as caught a cold, I'll be coming after you myself."

Lincoln was silent a moment.  "One lone little agent, armed with paper bullets."

"Hey," Darien reminded him coolly, "even paper bullets can shred an armored reputation, if they're fired hard enough.  I know a few journalists who would love to get their hands on this.  And they will, unless you back down."

"Hmmm."  Lincoln seemed to be mulling this over, a wait that made Darien nervous.  "All right, Agent Fawkes.  There will be no move made against Alison Jennings, to obtain information or otherwise.  Noel was a good agent, and I would hate to make trouble for his daughter unless it was life or death. But I want Gray."

Darien shot a questioning look at the Official, who shook his head.  "Why don't you let my boss decide that score?"

"Are you telling me he put you up to this?"

Darien grinned.  "Oh, I wish.  Actually, I managed to keep him in the dark this time.  Amazing, isn't it?"

"Charles, pick up."

The Official lifted the receiver again, but neglected to switch from speaker mode.  "Carter, I had no idea...."

"Dispose of Gray at your discretion then, Charles.  But I want to know anything he tells you.  Don't get any ideas.  And make sure you keep track of that agent."

The dial tone buzzed loudly in a room whose two occupants were barely breathing.

"That was stupid," the Official spat at him.

"Maybe," Darien allowed.  "It worked, though.  And now you owe me.  For your little orphan's safety."

The air fairly crackled as the Official stared at him, hand twitching in a death grip on the receiver.  Then he slammed it down, rose laboriously, and walked to the window, where he stood gazing into the dark.  "You'd better be here on time in the morning, we have a lot to do."

"Thank you, sir."  Darien tossed off a mock salute to the Official's back and strode out of the room.

Once his footsteps had faded, the Official returned to his desk, removing a black folder from one locked drawer.  The papers inside were those copies of those confiscated at the Sunset Bar, with a few additions.  Charles Borden began to go through them with a green pen and the methodical effectiveness of a man who has broken more than one cipher in his day.

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

The day the Official "invited" me to join the Agency almost two and a half years ago, he (mis)quoted Nietzsche in an attempt to convince me that the ends justify the means.  At least for him.  The problem with that has always been the same: the less you care about how you reach your ends, the less likely you are to enjoy them.  Even as a thief, that held true for me.

"Anything done out of love is beyond good and evil."  Yeah, maybe.  I didn't love the method here--too much like playing the Official's own game.  But I did love Adam. 

So how come I felt like I had just walked through a sewer?

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

Darien heard the doorbell chime faintly somewhere behind the cream-colored door.  His fingers itched, and it took all his concentration to keep from glancing over his shoulder.  It felt wrong, exposed, to be standing in front of this particular swanky duplex in the broad light of morning.

"Coming!"  Her voice was prickly with exasperation, but when the door jerked open, she managed a confused smile.  "Agent Fawkes?"

"Good morning, Alison."

"Can I help you?"  She still looked puzzled.  "Your partner was just here."

Darien nodded.  "I know."  He had waited till the van was out of sight before approaching the house.  "This isn't exactly official business.  You can call me Darien."

"All right?Darien.  It's a little early for a social call."  Alison swung the door wide.  Her hair and her blue-gray suit were pristine, though shoes and jacket were still missing.  "This is fine though, come in.  You caught me with about a half-hour to spare."

Darien allowed himself to be shepherded into the living area.  The house was warm in the morning sunlight, decorated in creams, browns, and reds.  "So, how much did Hobbes tell you?"

"Oh, the rigmarole I expected."  Alison slurped her drink.  "Gray is in custody, won't be bothering me again, it won't be in the papers, no one else will know…. And he seemed to think a lecture on the dangers of the CIA was in order.  Like I don't know that."

Darien grinned at this caricature of his partner's attitude.  "You're gonna hate what I have to say, then."

"Oh no."  She pretended to be frightened.  "Come on, how bad can it be?"

"Well, Carter Lincoln knows you're continuing an investigation into that old mission of his, and he isn't too pleased."

Alison squeezed her eyes shut, muttering something obscene under her breath. "I really hoped I'd gotten away with this, just Gray finding out, and you non-CIA guys.  Should have known better."  Her hands clenched white around the tall mug.  "Wait, are you saying he's going to come after me because I can compromise his position?"

Darien shrugged, rubbing his knuckles across the nap on the arm of his chair.  "He could.  I think he was planning on it, but because you shared your information with me, I was able to cut a deal with him."

"What kind of deal?"  Her voice lowered with icy intensity. 

"I told him I know what's in your files, and got him to promise to leave you alone - as long as you stop actively snooping around."  Darien waited for the ice to shatter.

It didn't.  "What did you do that for?  I could threaten him with the same things you did.  Maybe get a little bit of justice for my dad?my mom too."

"Maybe."  Darien sighed.  He knew how she felt.  Every time Alison mentioned Lincoln, the venom in her voice recalled his many daydreams of killing Arnaud.  Darien thought of the picture he'd seen in Alison's bedroom?the petite woman, the dark smiling man, and the wispy girl barely out of diapers.  "I understand why you'd want to know all you could, particularly about your mom's supposed car accident," he said carefully.  "I would too."

"Well, I want to do more than just know."

"Takes guts to go snooping around CIA business," Darien observed.  "Even through Gray's contacts.  I don't think your mother would have asked you to risk it."

Alison opened her mouth to protest.

"Wait a sec, hear me out."  Darien raised a calming hand.  "It won't change anything if you can root all this up.  It's already been gone through by the government, and Lincoln is a powerful man now.  Even if all your mom's theories were right, and he actually did aid those enemy agents in escaping, no one's going to believe it.  You'll just put yourself in the line of fire, for no good reason."

The woman sipped at her latte, only her stiff posture giving away her anger. Then she placed it carefully on her desk and knotted both hands in her lap.  "If I give up, I'll never know for sure.  And never get justice." 

Darien had expected her to sound angry, or pouty, but not this cool observation.  He swallowed hard.  "You've already come up on Lincoln's radar. You do know enough, have a good enough theory, to make someone very uncomfortable. I don't think you should push it.  Whether Lincoln ordered your mom's death or not, you don't want to force him into trying the same thing with you."

She blinked slowly.  "So close….  Darien, I owe it to them."

He leaned forward, elbows on spread knees.  "No, you don't.  You owe it to them to be the best damn lawyer in San Diego, and not erase a promising career and life over something you'll never be able to prove."

In the silence, a clock was ticking slowly, and both listened for a moment. 

"All right."  Alison's hands were still clenched white in her lap.  "I'll back off. For now.  Are you sure Charlie didn't ask you to come down and talk me out of this?"

Darien laughed and headed for the door.  "Positive.  When I said this was off the record, I meant way off.  Now you go put those drug smugglers away, OK?" 

"Don't worry about me, Agent.  I'll be good."  Alison watched him go, returning his farewell wave with a small one of her own.

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

Adam smacked the Gameboy down on the tray next to his bed, then winced and gingerly touched the bandage on the back of his left hand.  The needle had been removed about half an hour earlier.  "Claire, I beat the stupid game again!" he called.  "Aren't you done yet?"

No answer.  So much for his theory that the boss-man had bugs planted all around the room.  Adam hopped off the bed and paced over to check out the monitors.  Claire had tried to explain the various readings to him, but it was too much like school, and too complicated to focus on.  But trying to figure them out did give him something more productive to think about than what Claire would tell him when she got back from this "last round of tests."

The door flung open.  For a moment Adam didn't recognize the woman, the blue lab coat, though he had seen her like this the day before, out in the hallway.  She darted to him, blond hair flying, face brilliant.  "It worked, Adam!"  Excited hands took his shoulders.  "All of it worked."

"I'm cured?"  A slow smile broke through the apprehension in his face.  "I'm normal now?"

"More or less."  Claire was starting to look a bit teary, so Adam gently shook off her hands.  She straightened and rubbed a hand across tired eyes.  "Oh, and you have a visitor."

It was Adam's turn to dart for the open door, fully expecting a tall, lanky figure to duck through.

Instead, it was that very hot chick who'd brought him here back before the deep-freeze.  "Adam?"  She'd been to see him the evening before, hiding in that white suit, and he'd been too sleepy to want to deal with the woman who still scared him a little.  Now she was the one who looked uncertain.

"Hey, Ms. Monroe."

The half-smile lit up her face, though not her eyes.  "Sorry I wasn't here earlier today, I had an errand to run."  She presented him with a large shopping bag.

Digging into it, Adam found a set of brand-name skater clothes, including underwear and shoes.  The shirt read "Quiksilver."  "Does Darien know you got me these?" he asked, smirking over the shirt. 

"Say thank you," Claire chided him.

"No."  Alex pulled something else out of the bag and held it up.  "I wasn't sure what brand you like, but this seemed to come highly recommended."

Adam snatched at the clear tube.  "Gel! All right."  He held it up to the light, inspecting it.  "Looks good. Thanks."  He turned to grin at Claire.  "So, where's the shower?  No more stupid sponge baths."

The two women exchanged smiles.

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

The hours dragged.  Lunch --  still not pizza -- came and went.  Adam would have prowled through the whole facility, but Claire insisted that he be accompanied anywhere he went.  Monroe took him on a short tour, but he wasn't allowed into any interesting-looking areas.  After that, he stayed with Claire in "his" room, either pacing, brooding, or attempting to find new paths and cheat codes in the three games he had.

He was half-asleep over Dr. Mario, thumbs moving automatically on the buttons, when something cold covered his mouth.  "Shhhh!"  The familiar voice stopped his yelp of surprise.  "Wanna play that trick on Claire?"  Electrified by the unexpected presence, Adam nodded.

Claire was making notes on one of her sheets of print-out, and didn't even notice the other papers vanishing from her desk.  Not until she reached for one and noticed that the desk was bare.  "What the--?"  She looked around, on the floor, behind her chair.  Then she heard Adam laughing and turned to find him.

The room was empty, unless he was hiding in a corner somewhere.  "Adam?" Claire rose, steadying herself with the edge of the desk, and jerked her hands back from its icy surface.

In a shower of Quicksilver, Adam appeared on the other side of her desk, leaning weakly against it in a struggle to hold in his laughter.  A few seconds later, her mess of papers reappeared.  "Oh, man, that was good!"  Adam held up one hand to meet an invisible high-five.

"Darien!" Claire snapped.

The tall agent shook his own Quicksilver coating from his red cargo pants and white long-sleeve shirt, then draped an arm around Adam's shoulders.  "That was pretty good."  He smirked at Claire.  "She's an easy mark."

"Sorry, Claire."  But the boy wouldn't stop grinning, as Darien shoved him towards the door.  "Hey, where we going?"

"Home, where do you think?" Darien asked.

Adam stopped short.  "The Official said I'd be staying with Claire," he said uncertainly.

Darien took his arm from the boy's shoulders at once.  "Is that what you'd like to do?"  He looked at Claire, who shrugged her ignorance of the whole business.

"Well...." Adam looked at Darien, lost for words.

"Here's an idea."  Darien held out his right hand.  "You want to be my roommate?"

"You got a TV?  And microwave?"  Darien nodded with a grin, and Adam shook his hand firmly.  "We'll get along okay, then."

Darien glanced around the room.  "Do you have anything you need to bring?"

Adam scooped up the shopping bag, now loaded with what was left of his old clothes.  "Just this."

"Oh, Adam, one last thing."  Claire beckoned him over and gently took his left wrist.  She unfastened the metal bracelet, and held it until the pulsing red light had faded, leaving the circle dull except for the name.

"Thanks," Adam said.

 Darien, catching Claire's eye, nodded in agreement.  Thank you.  Claire gave Adam a light hug.

"Take care."

"Let's get outta here!"  Adam dashed for the door, Darien in tow.

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

Tag

"No fair!" Adam slammed a hand down on the floor, nearly upsetting the can of pop sitting beside him. "How'd you do that?"

"I would advise you to watch your back next time, Adam," Eberts admonished smugly.

"You watch your own," Adam growled as they started a new round of Sniper Hunt.

Darien lounged against the kitchen counter, watching. The windows all reflected the same image, warm light, the flashing of the television screen, the tense bouncing of the competitive pair in front of the couch. Himself and Hobbes, bottles in hand, back near the kitchen. He couldn't stop grinning. Some part of him, which had started dying with Kevin and just about finished with the whole Mei-Lin fiasco, was waking back up and it felt good. Seeing his friends enjoying themselves, that gold-blond head crouched over the game controller right here in his own apartment....

"Fawkes?" Hobbes prodded him with the end of his bottle. "You hear about what the Fat Man did to Claire for goin' along with you?" At Darien's headshake, he continued, "He took away her research, all the Adam stuff and the defrosting."

Darien shrugged. "She knew it was a risk. Besides, you telling me she won't have backups? You know Claire."

"Oh, I'd never lay a bet on that score. Still...."

Darien raised his eyebrow at Hobbes. "What d'you think I should do, have Adam send her a thank-you card?"

"Or something." Darien drained his bottle. "I'll think about it."

A commotion from the gaming center broke in. "Please, just one more," Adam begged. "I'll get you next time, I know it!"

"I'm sorry, Adam. It's past eleven and I do have to work tomorrow." Eberts saved their game and shut off the platform, leaving the monitor to glow blue.

"On Saturday? Glad I don't work your job." He reluctantly helped Eberts gather up the cords and gaming cartridges. "You coming back to visit tomorrow?"

Eberts looked at Darien, who nodded. This had come up earlier in the night. "Why don't you just keep the Playstation here for a while?" Eberts suggested.

"Really?" Adam chuckled in malicious delight. "You're awesome, Ebes. I promise it won't be long." He pitched his voice louder. "Only till Darien buys me one. That should be pretty quick here."

"Or what?" Darien asked. "You'll make my life a living hell?"

"I can, you know." Adam grinned at him again.

"Knock yourself out, kid," Hobbes told him.

"Hey! We're talking about splitting an Agency paycheck between two people, one of them a teenage boy," Darien reminded the room at large. "Adam is no longer a pampered guest of His Majesty the Official."

"Pampered, my ass," was Adam's comment.

"You said it." Hobbes saluted Adam with his bottle, then finished it off.

Eberts retrieved his jacket and shook Adam's hand. "A very good game. Keep working on your aim."

"Thanks."

"Guess I'd better take off too." Hobbes deposited his bottle in the trash, and ruffled Adam's hair on his way out the door. "Don't drive this guy too nuts, I have to work with him."

Adam furiously tried to smooth down the mess Hobbes had made. "Next time you ruin my hair, you die!" he called as the door closed behind the two agents.

Darien had rinsed his own bottle and started clearing up the snacks when he noticed that Adam was busily reconnecting the entire gaming setup. "Not a chance, buddy. Not tonight. I am way too tired."

Adam blew this off, not backing off from loading up his favorite game. "Well, I'm not."

Darien looked pointedly around the room. "When you make enough extra cash that we can afford a two-room apartment, then you can stay up late gaming." He stuffed the chips back in the cupboard.

"Man, you are no fun."

"Go get ready for bed, okay? Brush your teeth or something while I clean up in here."

Grumping, Adam switched off the TV and gathered up his little bathroom bag, slamming the door on his way in. Darien started straightening up the room, dumping the rest of Adam's pop, cleaning chips out of the carpet.

Less than a minute after the door slammed, Adam called through the door, "Where'd you get all this hair stuff? Gel, mousse, wax--it's like a salon in here! Can I try some out?"

"Tomorrow. And keep your hands off that stuff unless you ask me first."

"What, it's expensive?"

"Very. So are you, and don't you forget it."

A more subdued Adam flopped across the bed about ten minutes later.

Darien had just finished piling a couple of blankets and an extra pillow on the couch. "You're okay with the lights off, right?"

"Sure." Adam, staring at the ceiling, didn't move.

Darien checked the lock on the door and then hit the light switch. After yanking off his jeans, he stretched out on the couch. "'Night, Adam."

"'Night, Darien."

For a long few minutes Darien lay there in the dark, which was broken only by the faint gleam of streetlights in the windows and by Adam's soft breathing. It reminded him of something, not recent, it didn't sound anything like Hobbes. For one thing, Hobbes snored.

More like long before, back when he was even younger than Adam, sleeping in the same space with another boy. Lying awake in the dark, imagining monsters prowling outside the tent just waiting to pounce. Hearing Kevin's rhythmic breaths, his sleeping sound, and knowing that Kev would always be there, even if the monster decided to come in. After mom died, and nightmares took the place of monsters, that sound could still quiet him at night.

This was different, though. Had Kevin ever lain awake in the dark, listening to his younger brother, and trying not to be afraid? Trying to understand what it meant to be the strong one, the smart one, the one who should be protecting the sleeper? If he had, maybe it had felt like this.

Adam turned on the bed. Again. And again, with a sigh this time. Great, the kid couldn't sleep. Too much caffeine?

No. That look on his face when he came out and flopped down on the bed. There was something on his mind. Darien would wait--if Adam wanted to talk, he would.

It was at least five minutes, measured in the length of the darkness, before Adam sat up, a faint silhouette in the bed. "Darien?" he whispered cautiously.

"Yeah?"

A pause. Then, slowly, "Does life ever get--you know--normal?"

Hoo boy. Darien sat up also. "Well, define normal."

Adam's tone sharpened. "I don't know. When you go to school, or work, and have friends and a Mom and a home...?"

Darien swallowed his own memories. "You're probably asking the wrong guy. My life hasn't been 'normal' for a long time."

"Do you ever miss it?"

A silence, two held breaths. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"I miss it too." Damn. The kid was crying, or trying not to, his voice all cramped with the effort of holding it in. He must be going through hell, trying to make sense of the loss of his entire life, with no one he knew, nothing familiar to help him.

Darien rolled off the couch and sat on the bed next to Adam. "Hey. It's okay to miss them. It's okay." Abruptly Adam was clinging to him, and Darien squeezed back, holding the small body that shook silently.

They sat there for a while, the dark only broken by half-choked sobs and ineffectual whispers of reassurance.

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

I've heard it said that "when God closes a door, He opens a window." The news that the gland made it impossible for me to father children was an iron gate slammed right in my face. I'd always taken that particular possibility for granted. A good thief, when the door is closed, looks for some other way in. I didn't even bother to do that, and yet--here was Adam. Suddenly I have, if not a son, at least a little brother. Maybe this is my chance to get the family thing right. Finally.

End