Episode 12

by liz_Z and Suz

Teaser:

At the end of 'The Christmas Carol', Charles Dickens wrote in reference to good old Ebenezer, "It was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!"

Unfortunately, I can't really say that I've kept Christmas well. At least, not once I reached adulthood. When I was a kid, I enjoyed it for all the usual reasons: the stories my mom told about when she was a kid waiting to open her own Christmas presents, the cookies, the cheesy holiday specials that always made Kevin groan, playing with the nativity set that Mom put out every year... and presents. Don't forget the presents.

But, as I got older and learned to appreciate the finer arts of burglary, I began to celebrate the weeks after the Christmas season more than the ones before it. That particular form of celebration consisted of my pulling some very nice thefts on unsuspecting rich snobs, and then either enjoying their 'presents' to me in the safety of my home afterwards, or trading them for cold cash with the local fence.

Of course, all that changed when I got the gland implanted in my head and was forced to rethink my thieving ways. I didn't know how to handle it, at first; I spent my first Christmas on the right side of the law drinking myself into a stupor in front of Kevin's grave. The next year, Hobbes and I spent the evening watching old movies and, well, drinking ourselves into stupors. Hobbes managed to hitch a ride home with Claire, who was rightfully pissed at our particular brand of celebrating the holiday season. I woke up the next morning to find I'd passed out on my couch.

But this year, I was bound and determined to do it right. After all, I had a surrogate family of sorts that consisted of my friends at the Agency. And plus, there was Adam. I really didn't want to screw things up with him, and I figured that celebrating Christmas -- really celebrating Christmas, for a change -- would be a step in the right direction. All I had to do was avoid that drunken stupor thing, and I'd have it in the bag. Or, at least, that was what I wanted to believe....

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Lab 101 was sporting a much more festive look than usual. A wreath hung over the lab door, and strings of Christmas lights had been strewn across the walls; some of the test tube beakers even had red and green colored ribbons tied around them in an attempt to make them more decorative. Normally, Claire would have refused to allow her lab to be defaced in such a manner, but the decision had not been hers to make. The lab had been chosen as the location of the Agency's first annual Christmas party, and as such she was forced to grin and bear it.

The party was already in full swing when Darien walked in the door, absently humming a few bars from Tom Petty's 'Christmas All Over Again'. He shook his head and grinned as he looked around the room, observing the uncharacteristically cheery demeanor of the place. There were a myriad of Agency employees engaged in various activities, but Darien's attention was rapidly drawn to the small group gathered around one of the lab tables which had been hastily converted into a makeshift snack bar.

Hobbes and Claire were in the middle of an animated discussion, Hobbes punctuating his words with exaggerated gestures that seemed to be causing Claire great amusement. Alex leaned against the table and stared at the plate of red and green-colored cookies intently, probably debating on whether or not eating one would mar her perfect figure. Eberts, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem with munching on a few of the oddly colored edibles. He was decked out in a red felt Santa hat and a singularly obnoxious light-up tie which flashed with red and green lights that spelled the words 'Merry Christmas', or probably would have if Darien had tilted his head to the side to read them properly.

Adam reluctantly followed Darien into the lab, glanced around the room and muttered, "Aww, c'mon, why do we have to go to this dork-fest?"

"Because I promised everyone we would, that's why," Darien returned casually, unperturbed by Adam's sullen tone.

Adam crossed his arms and walked over to lean against the nearest wall, displeased. "Whatever."

Darien began walk over to the snack table, motioning for Adam to follow. However, Adam ignored him. Darien tried again, then shook his head and turned his attention to his friends.

"The Fat Man didn't show?" Darien asked, referring to the conspicuous absence of the Official. He was the one who had insisted on having the Christmas party in the lab; Darien had thought he would at least make some effort to attend.

"He received a visitor approximately thirty minutes ago and has yet to return," Eberts said, his expression vaguely anxious.

Darien shrugged. "Ah, well. All the more cookies for us, right?" He picked up one of the cookies and popped it into his mouth, noting that it was oatmeal, his favorite. "Mmm, these are good," he said, taking another bite and savoring the flavor.

"Oh, you like them?" Alex said, a mischievous twinkle appearing in her eye. "I made them myself, especially for you."

Darien looked down at the cookie, then back up at Alex, his appetite suddenly vanishing as he recalled a conversation he and Alex had held a while back involving oatmeal cookies... and ground glass. "Umm, thanks," he said, giving Alex a wan smile. "I, uh, think I'll save the rest for later."

He wrapped the cookie in a paper towel and pretended to stuff it in his pocket, in actuality Quicksilvering the object as he placed it inside, then pulling it back out. As he moved closer to Hobbes and Claire he surreptitiously tossed the invisible object into a nearby trashcan.

"Hey guys, havin' fun?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "As a matter of fact we are, or were until you came along." The jovial tone of voice made it clear that he was only teasing.

"Are you kidding? I'm the life of the party!" Darien grinned and leaned forward, draping his arms over Claire and Hobbes' shoulders.

"Ahhh, the prima donna syndrome once again rears its ugly head," Claire said, playfully slapping at Darien's hand.

Darien snorted and was about to make a comeback when the Official stormed into the lab. His posture showed a complete and utter lack of Christmas cheer. The activities in the lab ground to a halt as he came to a stop in the middle of the room, every face turning to look at him. "The party's off," he barked, glaring around the room and daring anyone to tell him otherwise.

Darien's eyes narrowed. "What?"

The Official fixed Darien with an icy gaze. "You heard me." He turned to the rest of the group. "Everyone return to your usual duties. I'll summon you all as needed."

"Yeah, and I'll just disappear into the woodwork," Adam muttered sarcastically.

The Official ignored Adam's comment, looking around at his stunned employees. "What are you standing around for? Get to work!" He turned to look at Darien, Hobbes, Alex, and Eberts. "I want you four in my office, now." He cast Eberts a disapproving glance. "And Eberts... turn off the tie." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room as fast as he had come.

Darien stuck his head out of the lab and yelled at the Official's retreating back, "Hey, wait a second, what the hell's going on?"

Hobbes had a much simpler view of the whole thing. He shook his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to trudge toward the Official's office, muttering under his breath, "Scrooge."

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

Act One

One of America's greatest cartoonists, Kin Hubbard, made the statement, " Next to a circus there ain't nothing that packs up and tears out faster than the Christmas spirit." The Official had just proved exactly how true that statement was. Thanks to him, I had about as much Christmas spirit as the Grinch before his encounter with Cindy Lou. And I wasn't going to bother hiding it.

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Darien sulked into the Official's office and sprawled into one of the chairs, acting every bit as much like a sullen teenager as Adam had when he'd been dragged into the Christmas party. Hobbes walked in after Darien, trying not to be as obvious about his displeasure as his unorthodox partner. However, his posture and the stubborn set of his jaw made it known all the same.

Alex's mood as she walked into the room was something along the lines of an arctic glacier, and Eberts' attitude was that of a kicked puppy. He had removed the offending tie but the Santa hat remained, albeit skewed at a precarious angle that only served to make him look even more forlorn. He walked over to take his usual position behind the Official's right shoulder, his hands clasped in front of his waist.

Darien crossed his arms and deadpanned, "So, you cancelled the Christmas party. What's next, sending us home with coal in our stockings?"

The Official folded his hands on his desk, paying no attention to Darien's comment. "We have a situation."

"We'd damn well better," Darien muttered, this time getting a harsh look from the Official.

"What sort of situation are we talkin' about, chief?" Hobbes asked, carefully keeping his tone neutral.

"The sort of situation that could potentially cause World War III."

Hobbes let out a low whistle. "That's one hell of a situation, there."

"No kidding," Darien said, raising an eyebrow and sitting up straighter in his chair. He was still far from happy, but if whatever was going on was as serious as the Official was making it out to be, it might be wise for him to actually pay attention.

Alex crossed her arms and got straight down to business. "And how are we supposed to prevent this world-wide catastrophe?"

The Official motioned for Eberts to pass out a small stack of file folders situated on the desk. Once Eberts was finished, the Official turned to Alex and said matter-of-factly, "You're going shopping."

Alex frowned. "Umm, sir... I don't quite follow."

"I have received word that one of the head scientists in the Electronics Research division at JPL, Dr. Devdan Ramachandra, has disappeared, along with plans for a top-secret government project."

Before the Official could speak further, Darien held up a hand. "Umm, what exactly are we talking about here? You know, just to keep that whole top-secret government project vibe thing going."

Eberts walked over to the Official's desk and began to flip through the single remaining copy of the file. Perplexity quickly gave way to abject horror. "Oh dear...." He looked over at the Official and raised an eyebrow. The Official nodded gravely. Eberts shook his head and turned his attention back to the file, repeating mournfully, "Oh dear."

Hobbes narrowed his eyes. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

Eberts sighed, then looked up at Hobbes and said, "The plans appear to be for an electro-magnetic pulse generator."

"What, like the EMP bomb I dunked in the bay?" Darien asked, shifting positions uncomfortably in his chair. He remembered very clearly the frantic drive that had preceded said dunking; it had not been fun, to say the least. And he was not particularly looking forward to the possibility of reliving that whole 'Oh crap, I'm dead' thing.

Eberts shook his head. "No." Darien started to sag in his chair with relief, but Eberts continued, "This model would be smaller, more portable, have a wider range...."

Alex's brow knitted. "So basically, we're screwed."

The Official leaned forward, his expression grave. "That's not all. One of our confirmed sightings placed the good doctor in Los Angeles, along with two men who are suspected of being in Javier's employ."

Hobbes, Darien, and Alex exchanged looks. After a moment, Hobbes cleared his throat. "Forget us. The whole West Coast is screwed."

Darien frowned. "OK, wait. If this guy's in L.A., how come we're being pulled in? We going on a field trip or something?"

The Official heaved a contemptuous snort. "Hardly. Dr. Ramachandra was spotted in L.A. approximately three days ago. But he was seen here, in San Diego, this morning. At the Horton Plaza." He smirked. "Guess where you boys--"

"And girls," Alex interrupted.

"And girls," the Official continued with a glare, "are going to be doing your Christmas shopping this year?"

Alex huffed in irritation. "Sir, I already finished my Christmas shopping."

"And I finished my Hanukkah shopping and gave out the gifts," Hobbes said, crossing his legs and bringing a finger up to scratch his ear.

Darien, who had not finished his Christmas shopping, cleared his throat and announced, "Yeah, me too. With the Christmas thing, I mean."

"Liar," Hobbes muttered under his breath. In response, Darien aimed a well-placed kick at Hobbes' ankle.

"I don't care if you've finished your Christmas shopping for the next ten years," the Official announced harshly. "You will go to that mall, and you will search the premises from top to bottom for Dr. Ramachandra and those plans. I am putting all of my best agents on this case, and you three are at the top of that list."

"The way you broke up the Christmas party, it looks like you're gonna be putting the janitor on that list," Darien quipped.

Eberts cleared his throat. "Actually, Mr. Silverstein is perfectly equipped to handle a good deal of the cases--" The Official cast him a stern glare, and he flinched. "Shutting up, sir."

The Official turned back to Darien, Hobbes, and Alex. "Get your wallets, plan your strategy, and start searching for the doctor." He leaned back in his chair, which creaked from the strain, and said, "Dismissed."

Darien and Hobbes stood up and began to move toward the door, followed closely by Alex. Darien leaned over as the three of them walked out of the room and whispered, "Is it my imagination, or is the Fat Man getting fatter?"

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Darien, Hobbes, Alex, and Claire were all gathered around a large map that had the layout of the Horton Plaza printed out on it and was spread out upon one of Claire's lab tables in the Keep. They had been discussing store locations and mall-walking strategies for nearly an hour, and Darien was thoroughly bored. Eberts had graciously allowed Adam to use the computer in his office while the others were busy, but Darien still felt guilty. He had brought Adam along thinking that they would actually have some fun today.

Taking advantage of a lull in Hobbes and Alex's heated discussion of who would be the one to walk Macy's, Darien held up a hand and asked, "Are we done yet? 'Cause I gotta get outta here, Adam and I are gonna head over to Gamefella's--"

"Hold it there, Fawkes," Hobbes said, grabbing Darien by the arm before he had a chance to start for the door. "You ain't getting' off that easy. Soon as we finish this meeting we're crashing the mall."

Darien shook his head. "No way, man! I've gotta take Adam out to check out some games for his PS2."

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "You actually broke down and bought him one?"

Darien shrugged. "Well, he doesn't know it yet. Christmas present. I wangled Eberts into helpin' me pick one out. But it won't matter much if I don't have some idea of what he's gonna want to play on it." He tried to slip past Hobbes, but his partner held his arm in an iron grip.

Hobbes narrowed his eyes. "Fawkes, you have a duty to your country--"

"Yeah, well, I have a duty to Adam too," Darien snapped. This conversation was getting old really fast.

"Yeah, well, if Javier gets his hands on Ramachandra, he could blow out power sources for the entire West Coast in one blast, not to mention disable every electronic device in an 800 mile radius! You gonna tell me you'd rather buy the kid video games than take some responsibility and look out for his safety?"

Darien said nothing, but shuffled his feet and suddenly found a spot on the floor that seemed worthy of admiring. When Hobbes put things that way, it made him feel very guilty.

Claire, who had been quiet for long enough that Darien had almost forgotten she was in the room, chose that moment to speak. "Darien, Bobby's right." She placed a hand on Darien's shoulder for a moment, saying in a gentler tone, "The video games can wait. This can't."

Darien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I know, but...." He took a deep breath and said vehemently, "This sucks."

Hobbes shook his head. "You've been hangin' around Adam too much, you're startin' to sound like a teenager."

Alex couldn't resist the urge to insert smugly, "The fact that you act like one is bad enough."

Darien debated on sticking his tongue out at Alex, but decided that that would merely prove her point. Instead he settled for a wry, "Ha, ha. Very funny." He glanced around at his friends and said, "Well, if we're gonna do this now, I need to drop Adam off at home first or somethin'. I can't exactly just leave him here, if the Fat Man keeps on like he's been doin' there won't be anyone left in the building. Anyone got a problem with that?" He narrowed his eyes and looked in Hobbes' direction.

Hobbes shook his head. "Nope, no problems here." He draped an arm over Darien's shoulder, no mean feat considering the height difference between the two, and said, "I think I'll come with ya. Just to make sure you don't decide to play hooky or nothin'."

"How thoughtful," Darien snarked, brushing Hobbes' arm off of his shoulder and walking out of the lab at a brisk pace that he knew Hobbes would have difficulty with. He kept it up until they turned the corner into Eberts' office.

Adam had been doing something on Eberts' computer at some point in time, but now he was slouched with boredom. When Darien and Hobbes walked into the room, he looked up and griped, "You guys really need to upgrade your computers. These things are ancient!"

"Couldn't find anything decent to occupy your time with, huh?" Darien asked, giving Adam a knowing look.

"Just a bunch of boring strategy games. Betcha we'll find something a lot cooler to try out at Gamefella's." He paused when he saw the forlorn expression on Darien's face and then spoke again, now with a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. "We are going to Gamefella's... right?"

Darien bit his lip. "Umm, about that.... Something came up. It's gonna have to wait."

Adam nodded, his eyes clearly displaying both disappointment and anger. "Figures." He turned back to the computer and began to pull up a new game of Pac-man, staring at the screen with an intensity borne of barely concealed fury.

Darien heaved a deep sigh and started to mutter something in the way of an apology, but abruptly stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Hey," he said, a sly grin appearing on his face, "how'd you like to go to Horton Plaza instead? I betcha we can still check out some video games there."

Adam paused his game and gave Darien an incredulous look. "Are you serious? Hell yeah, I wanna go!"

Before Darien had the chance to reply, Hobbes grabbed him by the collar and glanced over at Adam. "Hold that thought." He dragged Darien over to a far corner of the room, shoved him against the wall and hissed, "Fawkes! We're goin' on a manhunt here, not a shopping trip!"

Darien placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward, glowering at Hobbes. "It's not a manhunt, it's a freakin' stakeout! At Horton Plaza!"

"Doesn't matter. You can't bring a civilian on a stakeout! It could be dangerous!" Hobbes snapped, his jaw rigid and his fists clenched.

"Like there aren't gonna be any civilians there already," Darien returned stubbornly.

Hobbes shook his head, summarily dismissing Darien's words in favor of a loud, "No. No way, no how, no!"

"Hobbes," Darien said, his tone curt as he attempted to keep from yelling, "we're looking for a geek with a laptop, not a terrorist army! How dangerous could he be?"

"You never can trust those government geeks, Fawkes. They have more up their sleeve than they let on." Still, Hobbes' posture relaxed a bit. "I'm tellin' you, this is not one of your better ideas."

Darien couldn't stop a wide grin from spreading across his face. He had won the argument.

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"You go high, I'll go low," Hobbes said as he led the way into the Horton Plaza. It was a three story open-air aggregation of retail chains of every conceivable stripe, the mall occupying a square city block of prime downtown real estate. The architecture was a cross between Spanish mission and something out of Disneyland or the homeware designer Mackenzie-Childs' showroom gone mad.

Darien scowled at Hobbes' back, annoyed at the arbitrary assignment of duties. "Why do we get stuck going up?" he whined. "All the cool shops are on the ground level," he added.

Adam smacked Darien on the arm. "Yeah, man, but all the food courts are up there," he reminded his guardian, pointing at the mad-hatter finials and cornices of the Ben and Jerry's shop 45 feet over their heads, clearly visible from where they stood.

Darien grinned at the boy conspiratorially. He had never entirely grown out of the teenaged appetite Adam was beginning to display. As if to confirm it, his belly rumbled. "You got a point, kid," he agreed, turning his attention to his partner who was waiting impatiently for them to wrap up their exchange. "Sorry, man, we keepin' you?" he asked innocently, provoking a frown from Hobbes.

"Fawkes, we're working here. Claire and Alex've been here for almost an hour already, so let's get a move on! You're the one who wants to squeeze in a little personal business on the clock, partner. Just don't forget we're here for a reason, right? So we meet the ladies back here at 1500 hours if we haven't found anything. Got your cell?" Darien nodded, and Bobby went on. "You spot the guy, use it. Call me. "

"Yes, mom," Darien teased his smaller partner. "C'mon," he added to Adam and led the way up the sloping ramp that connected the ground floor to the ones above. Adam trailed after him, peering around at the holiday shoppers and decorations with a mix of pubescent male revulsion and wistfulness.

"Hey, Darien?" Adam spoke up as he slipped past a downward-bound mother and her brood of children.

"Yeah?" Fawkes answered, waiting for the boy to join him on the second floor mezzanine.

"Why're we looking for this guy?" Adam asked curiously.

Darien made a face. "In the words of my inimitable partner, 'that's need-to-know'… Sorry. This working for the government thing sorta makes you paranoid after a while. Just trust me on this. We really, really wanna find him before the bad guys do."

Adam appeared to accept this, following Fawkes up the escalator to the third floor. As they stepped off, though, he asked the next most obvious question. "So… who's the bad guy?"

Darien sighed. "Me'n Hobbes had a run in with him before. Let's just say if he has his way, it's not gonna be a very merry Christmas for anyone."

"So don't tell me," Adam mumbled. "Can we grab some lunch, since we're stuck here?" he asked, a hint of the same whine in his voice that Darien had unconsciously mastered at about his age.

"You're not into shopping?" Fawkes asked as he led the way towards a burger chain's stall across the way from where they stood.

"Puh-leeze!" Adam sputtered indignantly. "Bo-ring!"

Darien couldn't quite suppress a smile as he ordered his choice of meal deals before addressing this latest condemnation of one of his favorite recreations. In his opinion, shopping was a bit like the legal version of casing a joint: an opportunity to check out all the tasty consumer goods prior to making one's selection. He even felt the occasional nostalgic pang, the longing for a time when he had planned and pulled his own jobs.

He waited as Adam placed his own order, then paid the pimply-faced counter clerk and took their order tags. "Look at it this way," he remarked, handing Adam his number, "it's a great way to meet girls."

That had the desired effect, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Adam instinctively smoothed his well-coifed dark blond hair, casting a clandestine glance around the food court at the plethora of teenaged girls littering every table, bench and chair in the area. A number of them were looking their way, and Darien noticed the slight rise of color in Adam's face. He took pity on his young charge and ignored the boy's embarrassment, retrieving their lunches as their numbers were called and handing Adam his.

"So where do you wanna sit?" he asked blandly, following Adam's glance around the court as his attention settled on one of the few vacant tables that was also conveniently placed in the vicinity of a handful of admiring thirteen or fourteen year old girls.

Adam nudged his head in the direction of the girls. "There?" he suggested with seeming innocence.

"Lead the way," Darien replied calmly, following after his ward.

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It was almost 45 minutes before Darien could tear Adam away from his young admirers, and only the promise that they could spend some time checking out the latest video games and systems as soon as they'd walked the mall was sufficient inducement to get the boy moving.

Together, they wandered the mall from top to bottom over the next three hours, running into Hobbes a few times but never catching a glimpse of Ramachandra. Darien had managed to accomplish at least some of his long-delayed Christmas shopping, but he'd allowed himself to succumb to the temptation presented by the two or three beauty-supply outlets interspersed through the mall. As he headed for the latest one, Adam groaned piteously.

"Aw, come on, Darien, not another beauty shop," he complained, his posture drooping in a discontented slouch. "How much styling crap do you need?"

"Hey, watch it," Darien laughed. "Who was it who spent his first morning in my bathroom checking out all my stuff?" he reminded his ward.

Adam's response was a longsuffering sigh and he trailed after Fawkes with a dejected air, taking up a post near the wall of shampoos that currently occupied Darien's attention.

Fawkes was busy checking out a line of hair care products that promised incomparable body and styling support, interrogating the clerk on the truth of the claims when he felt Adam nudge him in the ribs. "What?" he asked, annoyed at the interruption.

Adam jerked his head in the direction of the door and Darien scowled as Claire and Alex made their way into the shop, chattering amiably about the great deals they'd found on shoes at one of the department stores. "Check out the hot chicks," Adam announced, loudly enough for the two women to overhear, and they approached Darien and Adam: Claire grinning, Alex looking less pleased to see them.

"Adam!" Claire greeted the boy. "You actually came along?" she asked rhetorically, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.

Adam grimaced. "D promised to take me to check out video game systems," he replied, the complaint unmistakable.

"We’re getting some Christmas shopping done," Fawkes clarified with a pointed look at his young companion. "You know, presents?"

"Yeah," Adam snorted, "for your hair!"

Darien frowned at Adam and cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. "Stop complaining. You’ll get your shot at test-driving the PS2 at TechToys as soon as I’m done here," he reminded the boy.

"Fawkes, I can’t believe you actually brought a kid along!" Alex said disapprovingly. "I’m amazed Hobbes let you get away with it!"

"Oh, give me a break, Alex," Darien glared at her. "The mall is filled with teenagers! What difference is one more gonna make? It's not like Ramachandra is selling crack or guns or anything. 'Sides, I didn't want Adam sitting around Eberts' office all day playing with his Gameboy," he defended his actions. "He's got a year of socializing to catch up on."

Alex cocked an eyebrow at Darien skeptically. "The rules never have applied to you, have they?" she asked sarcastically.

"Hey, I follow rules that make sense," he argued. "But if this Ramachandra guy is such a big danger, then the Fat Man woulda shut down the mall, not sent us on an all-day shopping expedition to see if we could bag him," he pointed out impatiently.

There was little Alex could say to that, and she scowled at Fawkes, shaking her head with professional annoyance. "Fine," she snapped, turning to Claire, who had been distracted by a bright display of nail polishes in every conceivable shade of red, not to mention a rainbow of colors that had only recently gained acceptance. "Come on Claire, let's let the boys finish up their 'day of beauty', shall we?" she suggested. "It looks like Fawkes has this place pretty well covered," she added, waving a hand at the collection of shopping bags around Darien's ankles, two of which were emblazoned with the logos of the other beauty supply shops in the mall. "Oh, and could you do me a favor?" she directed the question at Fawkes with acid sweetness, "pick me up a couple of lipsticks while you're at it?" and with that, she caught Claire by the elbow and hustled her out of the shop.

Adam watched them go, admiring attention on Alex's black leather-clad derrière as she stalked off, the form-fitting pants flattering her figure. "Man, that is one hot chick," he teased Darien, "even if she is bossy as hell."

"When she gets like that, she's a royal pain in the ass," Fawkes opined, annoyed. Adam laughed.

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Eventually Darien made his selections and shepherded his charge back down the ramp to the ground floor, Adam's pace much more enthusiastic on the downward trip than it had been on the upward one. Darien on the other hand lagged behind, less than thrilled at the prospect of an hour in the video game store, intermittently losing track of his companion in the throngs of holiday shoppers that ebbed and flowed through the mall. He wasn't paying particular attention to where he was going, so when he plowed into Adam a few paces further along, he nearly lost his grip on his collection of shopping bags. "Hey," he protested. "Why'd you stop in the middle of things like that, man?" he asked with ill-concealed petulance.

"Check it out," Adam suggested, glancing back at Darien over his shoulder, his grin wide. He pointed towards the brightly painted plywood miniature cottage that was decorated with synthetic snow and plastic icicles, topped with a candy-cane lettered sign that read 'Santa's workshop'.

It was apparently shift-change for the mall Santa. As they watched, a rotund red velvet-suited Saint Nick accompanied by a slightly zaftig green-clad 'elf' were busy ensconcing themselves in the little tableaux. Santa settled his bulk into a gaudy red and gold throne while the elf bustled around the rope cordons, trying to organize the line of small children waiting for their chance to sit on Santa's lap.

"What, now you're telling me you wanna sit in his lap, too?" Darien asked ironically, sparing the seasonal icon barely a glance.

"No, you dweeb," Adam scolded. "Look! It's the Official and Eberts!"

Startled, Fawkes stared over Adam's head, taking a closer look at the little scene before them. Sure enough, under the fake beard and the decoratively droopy red velvet hat, the face of the Agency's head honcho was clearly recognizable. Eberts too was unmistakable, the green felt 'Robin Hood' style hat perched on top of his thinning blond hair lending him a rakish air in contrast to the absurdity of the green leggings and ankle boots, and darker green tunic that came to mid thigh. A five-inch-wide shiny black vinyl belt fastened with a gigantic gold buckle completed Eberts' ensemble.

Darien erupted into laughter, stifling the outburst with real effort. "Holy Fat Man, Batman, you're right," he snickered, doing his best not to descend into a fit of hysterical giggling. "Oh, man, I wish I had a camera," he lamented. "We're missing a primo blackmail opportunity!"

Adam snickered appreciatively as they lingered a moment longer to watch a flustered Eberts attempt to maintain control over the gathering of children without noticeable success.

"Remind me to tell Ebes he looks great in tights," Darien requested as they made their way, laughing, past the Santa display en route to the video game store. Adam's snort of laughter went unheard by the objects of their amusement as they entered the game store.

Adam instantly lost himself in the latest and greatest new systems, several of which were set up for demonstration purposes to entice unwary parents into plunking down their credit cards to acquire a megabuck toy for their offspring.

Darien wandered around the shop, absently noting the advertising posters for games based on everything from Lord of the Rings to nauseatingly realistic battle and strategy games. He grimaced at the image of one hapless monster opponent being gruesomely decapitated by a fair-haired heroic type as his newborn parenting instincts stirred to life, making him wonder who on earth would let their kids play a game that explicitly grisly.

He was busy reading the fine print on a Gameboy cartridge when he heard Adam's victory whoop. Setting the package back on the shelf, he returned to where Adam was doing a celebratory jig in front of the X-box console he'd been trying out. "What up?" he inquired, peering over Adam's shoulder and eyeing the TV screen that was flashing with the flaming letters 'high score'. "Cool!" he approved, knowing that winning was winning, whether it was basketball or video games.

"Kid's got game," the clerk commented with a grin as he approached the pair. "You should think about signing him up for the under-15 series at the Game Con semi finals. They'll be hitting town in a few weeks," he suggested to Adam.

"Oh, man, that'd be cool," the boy enthused. "Can I, Darien?"

Fawkes swallowed the words 'we'll see', feeling sudden and inexplicable empathy for his Aunt Celia when she'd been bombarded with his endless requests to participate in dubious activities and the like. "Lets get Eberts to check it out. He's big into that kinda thing. He can tell us if it's worth your time," he suggested, postponing a decision until more information was available.

"Man, I kicked some big time monster butt," Adam informed him as he stepped away from the console to let another young player take their turn. "So… You gonna get me a system like Eberts'?" he prodded.

Darien pursed his lips, biting back yet another parental truism. "You know," he started, "It's gonna be Christmas in a few days. Wanna see what ends up under the tree before you start in on me?"

"We're getting a tree?" Adam asked, suddenly wistful again. Darien knew it usually corresponded to some memory of Adam's former life. It was a feeling he had considerable personal experience with.

He gripped a slender shoulder fondly. "Yeah, we are," he confirmed, suddenly determined to make this a Christmas neither he nor Adam would regret. "We're due to hook up with Hobbes in about 15 minutes," he reminded his ward. "What say we walk him past Santa's workshop?" he suggested impishly. "It'll make his day."

Adam snorted his agreement. "Oh, yeah."

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

Act Two

Claire nearly lost Alex in the holiday crowds as she lingered over-long in front of a display of housewares in the window of the Crate and Barrel. She didn't even realize it until she heard Alex's query over the din of the shoppers.

"Claire?"

"Right here, Alex," she assured her friend loudly and peered around, trying to locate her. She spotted her a few yards away, trapped in an eddy of consumers that swirled around a pushcart style booth featuring the typical tourist-oriented assortment of T-shirts and postcards. Claire made her way to where Alex was attempting to ease her way through the masses. "Where'd you go?" she asked the agent.

"I was looking for you," Alex answered dryly.

"This is a waste of time, isn't it?" Claire asked, waving a hand around her to indicate the mall. "We can barely manage to keep track of each other, much less spot Ramachandra in this crowd."

"Never say never, Claire," Alex chastised her. "We've just got to keep looking. We're scheduled to meet up with Hobbes and Fawkes in about half an hour… that should give us just enough time to check out the shoe sale at Nordstrom's." This last suggestion was delivered with an impish grin that made Claire laugh.

"Oh yes, please, let's!" Claire agreed. Together, the two women made their way to the far end of the mall and the Nordstrom's that anchored one end of Horton Plaza. They zeroed in on the shoe department and began their search for the perfect pair of strappy holiday sandals.

"So where are you wearing yours?" Alex asked the blonde doctor. "Hot date with Hobbes? The symphony? Where?"

Claire ignored the slight color in her face triggered by the mention of a date. It had been far longer than she cared to think about since she had been out on one. Or attended much of any other social occasion, for that matter. "Actually, I was thinking of going to the Cal Tech class reunion at New Years," she confessed. "The organizing committee tracked me down last month and asked if they could put me on their list…"

"Class reunion, huh?" Alex arched an eyebrow at the Keeper. "That what passes for a social life among the intellectual luminaries?" she teased a little. "Claire, we've really gotta do something about that," she added.

"You're a fine one to talk," Claire retorted, "I haven't heard you mention a date as long as I've known you!" she pointed out.

Alex frowned, then grinned unexpectedly. "Wanna know what I do on my off time?" she asked, humor glinting in her eyes.

"I certainly do, miss five-star-A," Claire harrumphed with mock indignation.

"Then let's pay for these, report back to Hobbes, and I'll show you," she laughed, heading for the cashier with Claire in her wake.

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

They met up with Hobbes, Darien and Adam at the prearranged spot, comparing notes on what they'd seen, both of them waxing enthusiastic over their various purchases. Hobbes interrupted their gleeful tally of acquisitions with the question: "So did you even bother keepin' an eye open for Ramachandra while you two were buyin' out the place?" he scolded grumpily.

"Spoil-sport," Alex scolded back.

"Don't take it personally, Monroe," Darien interrupted. "You shoulda heard him go off on me when I got here," he informed them, waving a hand at the assorted shopping bags at his feet.

"Just give me your sit-reps, OK?" Hobbes interjected, putting an end to the incipient gripe-fest.

Obediently, Claire informed him succinctly that she hadn't seen anyone who even remotely resembled their quarry.

Alex eyed her fellow agent and rattled off her report in turn: "Three men of Indian or Pakistani descent, none of them Ramachandra. You happy now?" she asked sarcastically. "Since you seem to have assumed the role of senior agent here, we'll just be heading out. You can handle the report to the Official, I'm sure, since Claire and I have a hot date--" she said deliberately, grinning at Bobby's flustered expression, "-- with the shooting range," she added, laughing. "Come on, Claire, we're outta here."

Claire glanced at Hobbes uncertainly, then followed Alex down the half-flight of steps to the exit that opened onto 3rd Street. "Are you serious?" she asked Alex, catching up to her to match her pace. "Are we really going to the gun range?"

Alex shot her a look that betrayed her enjoyment. "You said you wanted to know how I spend my off time, Claire," she reminded the Keeper. "Besides, I've seen you with that Desert Eagle of yours. I'd be willing to bet you spend a fair amount of time there yourself, right?"

Claire found a reluctant grin creeping over her face. "Oh, very well...." she agreed, knowing she sounded more as if she'd just confessed to shoplifting than a fondness for small arms.

Together, the pair made for the parking garage where Alex had parked her Corvette hours before, chattering like magpies about their favorite weapons and how long they'd been using firearms.

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

This French playwright from the 1600s, Jean Baptiste Racine, said, "The feeling of mistrust is always the last which a great mind acquires." Well if that's the case, Hobbes must be one of the greatest minds the world has ever known... 'cause I think he acquired his feelings of mistrust at the age of two.

The scary thing is, he's usually right.

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

The Official glared at the twosome who sat sheepishly before him. "So you searched the entire mall, wasted hours of valuable time, and found... nothing?" His voice was fraught with disapproval.

"That's affirmative, sir," Hobbes said reluctantly, wishing he had something more to report but seriously doubting that Claire and Alex's having managed to locate two pair of leather boots and a large assortment of clothing and beauty supply products would meet the Official's criteria.

"Do you not understand that this nation's security is at stake?" the Official bellowed, slamming a hand down on his desk.

Darien reclined back in his seat. "Actually, I'm still havin' problems with the whole walking-the-mall-to-save-our-nation-from-domestic-terrorism thing...."

The Official shook his head. "Fawkes, this is serious."

Darien smirked. "Yeah. Which is why you were sitting in the mall dressed in a Santa suit with kids hanging off your lap."

The Official's face reddened. "Agent Fawkes, do not make me dock your pay."

"Um, technically, you can't...." Darien trailed off, noting that the Official looked as if he was about to explode at any moment. "Uh, never mind."

The Official gritted his teeth. "I want all of you back here, bright and early tomorrow morning. We are going to find Ramachandra if we have to search the entire city with a fine-toothed comb."

Hobbes nodded. "Yes, sir."

Darien stood up to leave, but the Official barked, "Fawkes, you have not been dismissed yet!"

Darien didn't even break stride. "Stuff it. I'm goin' home."

"Stop acting like a teenager," the Official growled, his tone of voice eerily familiar.

Hobbes' eyes narrowed and he leaned forward in his chair, scrutinizing the Official carefully.

Darien froze. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," the Official barked. "You've passed the agent-training exams, it's about time you started pulling your own weight around here."

Darien glanced back at the Official, his gaze cold as he said, "Don't worry. I'll be here first thing in the morning." He walked out of the room, a sinister expression on his face.

Before the Official had the chance to protest, Hobbes did the same. "Fawkes," he said, hurrying to catch up with Darien, "I wanna talk with you."

Darien shook his head, not even bothering to turn around as he said, "Not now, Hobbes...."

Hobbes grabbed Darien's arm and pulled him to a halt, giving him a pointed look. "Outside." He tried to convey the urgency of the situation to Darien through his expression, without actually stating his reasons.

Darien started to protest again, but stopped as he saw the look in Hobbes' eyes. "Uh... OK. Let's go."

Hobbes remained silent the rest of the walk through the halls, but his posture was rigid and he couldn't help the occasional glance around the halls as he led Darien toward the back parking lot. Only when they were standing in an empty part of the lot, and after he had made one last practiced glance around the perimeter to make absolutely certain no one was there to listen in, did he speak.

"He knew," Hobbes said, barely able to conceal his fury. "The fat bastard knew."

Darien frowned. "Knew what?"

"About what we were saying in the Keep!" Hobbes said, his tone of voice making it clear that he thought Darien should have realized this by now.

"Hobbes, it was a throwaway line. So a lot of people think I act immature. So what? It's not like it's anything new," Darien added bitterly.

Hobbes shook his head, trying to think of a way to present his argument that would catch Darien's attention and convince him it was more than just a paranoid theory. "I'm tellin' you, Fawkes, he never woulda come up with that on his own. Snot-nosed punk, maybe. Hell, even petulant two-year-old I could hear him sayin'. But teenager? It's not his style."

Darien mulled over Hobbes' words, then asked cautiously, "So, what're you saying?"

Pleased that he had managed to get through to Darien, at least a little bit, Hobbes said, "I'm sayin' he was spyin' on us." He held up a hand before Darien had the chance to protest. "Hey, it's not like this is the first time this sorta thing's happened. He always shows up the minute we start tugging on the leash. He knew, Fawkes. He knew the second Claire told you about Arnaud's 'cure'. It ain't no coincidence, my friend," he said solemnly.

Again, Darien took the time to consider Hobbes' statement. "So he, what, has the Agency bugged or somethin'?"

Hobbes shook his head. "Not the whole Agency." He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, although it unintentionally had the effect of creating a dramatic buildup. "But the Keep is probably crawling with the things."

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

Darien slipped into the Agency, wearing the traditional black garb of the thief. True, he was not actually pulling a robbery this time, but he got to wear it in his current occupation almost as much as in his former one, it seemed. And, while it did not make him completely inconspicuous to passersby, who often stared at him as if debating on asking whether he was a wannabe Goth, it was familiar. Relaxing. Besides, it helped to set the mood.

He was notably less cheerful than he had been lately as he walked down the Agency halls; no whistling of offbeat Christmas carols for him tonight. Instead, he kept an eye out for any late-working Agency members who might still be haunting the halls, ready to Quicksilver in an instant if someone came into view. This was most definitely an unauthorized visit to headquarters, and he was not in the mood to explain it to the Official any time soon.

He walked up to the door of the Keep, frowning at the tickling, repetitive thump he could feel right through his shoes. What was that? He slid his keycard through the electronic lock, tucking it back in his pocket as the door swung open, and took a step back at the cacophony of sound that suddenly assailed his ears. Apparently, what he had felt outside the door were the vibrations caused by the rumbling of a bass guitar, supplied by the heavy metal CD that was ever so graciously cranked to full volume.

Darien shook his head and walked into the lab, wondering why Claire would have left her music on so loud after-hours, then nearly Quicksilvered involuntarily as a head poked up from behind the lab table supporting Lucinda's glass cage. However, he managed to stop himself from vanishing completely when he saw that the face in question belonged to Hobbes.

Hobbes stood up, nonchalantly taking in the fact that Darien's head and torso appeared to be floating in mid-air, and said, "Took you long enough."

Darien moved closer, yelling, "What?" The only reason he knew Hobbes had spoken was because he had seen Hobbes' lips moving.

"Took you long enough!" Hobbes repeated, louder this time.

Darien brought a hand to his temple, trying to ward off a rapidly developing headache. "Turn down the music!"

Hobbes shook his head. "This way, the Fat Man can't hear us!"

"Fat Man nothing, we can't hear us!"

Darien jumped as Alex moved into view from behind another one of the lab tables. "There's nothing over here," she said, her voice raised just enough that they could hear her through the music.

"When did you...." Darien shook his head. "Never mind. What're you doin' here?"

"The same thing you are, Fawkes," Alex said. "Looking for bugs."

"I know that," Darien said harshly. "Why?"

"Hobbes invited me. He wasn't sure if you'd show or not, and he wanted an extra pair of eyes to help him out. And since I'm trained for this sort of thing," Alex gave Darien a not-so-subtle wink, "I agreed to join the party."

Hobbes gave Darien a pointed look. "We've found three so far. One behind the fridge, one under the computer desk and one," he gestured to a spot under the snake cage, "right here." Darien bent down, frowning as he tried to spot the small listening device. Hobbes watched him for a moment, shifting impatiently, and then pointed at an area concealed in shadow, whispering directly into Darien's ear, "There."

Darien raised an eyebrow as he finally spotted the small listening device. "Crap, how long has that thing been there?"

Hobbes shrugged. "You got me."

Just then the lab door swung open. Darien, Hobbes and Alex turned toward it, identical expressions of startled guilt on their faces, as Claire walked through the door with a stack of files in her hands. She nearly dropped them as she took in the level of noise, as well as the room's occupants, shouting over the din, "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Darien shrugged sheepishly. "We're having our own Christmas party?"

Hobbes thwapped Darien's arm, saying insistently, "Holiday party."

Darien rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

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

"I can't believe this," Claire said, shaking her head.

"Believe it." Darien gave Claire a solemn look. He had spent the last fifteen minutes explaining the situation to her while Hobbes and Alex renewed their search for any more listening devices the Official might have planted in the room. Hobbes had turned the music down to a more reasonable level at Claire's request, but it still droned on faintly in the background.

"This is low, even for the Official," Claire snapped, her eyes sparking with anger.

"Really? 'Cause this is exactly the sort of thing I'd expect from him," Darien said, keeping a poker-face expression in an attempt to hide just how furious he was. He preferred to take out his frustration on the Official later instead of letting loose now, since he doubted that Claire would appreciate him smashing another one of her keyboards.

Hobbes and Alex walked back over to Darien and Claire. "We're done," Hobbes said, dusting his hands off on his pants.

Darien glanced over at Hobbes curiously. "How many?"

"Ten," Alex replied.

"Including the ones Gaither used on us a while back," Hobbes added.

"The Official said he had those deactivated!" Claire said, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head in outrage. "He even had someone in to remove them!"

"Or rewire 'em to suit his own purposes," Hobbes said darkly.

Darien's expression morphed into an angry scowl. "So that's how he knew about the suicide gene." He had always found it strange how the Official had appeared just when Claire was offering him his freedom. Now, though... now, he wasn't surprised, not at all. Glancing around at his companions, he said, "Look, I gotta go home, I left Adam at the house watchin' Buffy reruns."

"Be here bright and early tomorrow," Hobbes said. "We need to have some serious planning sessions, figure out what to do about this."

Darien nodded. "Yeah, sure... bright and early." He turned and walked out of the Keep, his hands in his pockets and his head tipped toward the ground, his brow furrowed in thought.

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

In an interview for 'Entertainment Weekly', Steve Irwin said, "I was born and raised with crocodiles; they are a piece of cake. But children are so... unpredictable." Now, I'm no Crocodile Hunter, but I've learned first-hand just how unpredictable children -- especially teenagers -- can be. And let me tell you, I was not amused.

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

Darien drove into the parking lot for his apartment building, his brow furrowed with irritation. The Official had been listening in on every word they had said in the Keep for... well, who really knew how long? True, he had incorporated Gaither's bugs to suit his purposes, but there had been other, less sophisticated listening devices in the lab as well. They could quite possibly have been there since day one.

Darien was abruptly pulled out of his train of thought as the headlights of his car captured a brief glimpse of a person dressed in a red jacket and blue jeans on the far side of the parking lot. His eyes narrowed as he pulled into a parking space. That figure looked very familiar....

He got out of the car and began to walk toward the corner of the parking lot. His frown deepened as his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness and he was able to clearly make out the form of Adam, who was playing with the skateboard that Darien had managed to locate last Saturday when Adam complained about the lack of extracurricular sports he was currently able to participate in. Darien immediately felt his temper rising; he had specifically told Adam not to go outside, due to both the recent chill in the weather and the fact that his apartment was not located in the best or brightest part of San Diego. And yet here Adam was, rolling around the parking lot as if Darien had never said anything of the kind.

He stormed over and clapped a hand down on Adam's shoulder. Adam jerked around to face Darien in a momentary panic, but relaxed as he saw Darien's face. "Don't do that!"

"Didn't I tell you to stay inside?" Darien reprimanded. "What are you doin' out here after dark?"

Adam frowned, his expression hardening into the petulant look that Darien had been seeing so much of lately. "I'm just havin' a little fun, man. Chill out."

"I specifically told you not to come outside!" Darien said. "It's not safe to be out here after dark. Someone could grab you, you could get hit by a car...."

Darien tightened his grip on Adam's shoulder, intent on taking him back indoors, but Adam shrugged off his grip. "Stop telling me what to do! You're not my father!"

Darien stopped short, that simple sentence striking a multitude of chords in his brain. He had used those exact words against both Kevin and his Uncle Peter any number of times in his teenage years. It had always made them furious, in a way that had given him a perverse sense of satisfaction at the time. Now, though, he was on the receiving end of this little bit of teenage cynicism, and for the first time he understood exactly how cutting a phrase it was. Feelings of hurt, anger and disbelief raged through his mind. He was unable to stifle the explosion he could feel building up within him.

"Damnit, Adam, I am not trying to be your father!" He snatched the skateboard from Adam's grasp, only just managing to resist the urge to throw it to the ground and stomp on it.

"You coulda fooled me," Adam returned icily. "You're always tellin' me what to do!"

"I'm your legal guardian, I think I'm entitled! And I am looking out for your best interests, here!"

Adam pulled the skateboard back out of Darien's hands, holding it stubbornly. "No, you're looking out for what you think are my best interests! You don't have a clue what you're doing, not one freakin' clue!" And before Darien could grab him, Adam turned and began to run across the parking lot, tucking his skateboard under one arm as he maneuvered his way between cars.

Darien swore under his breath and began to chase after Adam, having a more difficult time slipping through the narrow gaps between cars than the wiry teenager had. "Adam, wait!" But Adam had already exited the parking lot and run around a corner of the building, quickly making his way out of Darien's line of sight.

And then, to Darien's horror, he heard the sound of screeching brakes, followed by a loud yelp. A car careened down the street past him, the driver glancing behind frantically, but stepping on the gas, as if afraid they had been seen committing some heinous act.

"Adam?" Darien paled and put on an extra burst of speed, rounding the corner, and nearly tripped over Adam's skateboard as it rolled across the pavement, coming to a stop at his feet. It was badly cracked, a long splintered line that tore down its entire length. He stared at it for a moment, his mind unwilling to process the implications that the damaged toy held for the person who had been holding it, then looked up, his eyes searching frantically for what he was certain would be the broken and bloody body of his former charge. "Adam!"

A group of trashcans had been knocked into a jumble on the side of the road. When Darien yelled, they shifted and a dazed voice wafted out from beneath them. "Darien?"

Darien rushed over and pushed the trash bins out of the way, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw that Adam was alive, albeit rather shaken. "What happened? I mean, I thought you were...."

Adam shook his head. "Nah. Some crazy driver almost hit me. I jumped outta the way, though."

Darien bit back the urge to ask Adam what he had been doing running out into the street, opting for a less controversial, "You hurt?"

Adam tried to move and gasped in pain. "Yeah.... My leg. The right one." He made a face. "I musta landed on it wrong."

Darien bent forward to take a closer look at the leg in question. It was twisted into a position that did not look entirely natural. "Crap... we need to get you to the...." Darien checked himself in mid-sentence as he remembered that Claire had gone home for the night, and that even if she came back to the lab to treat Adam's injury the Official would be able to listen in on any conversation they had. "We need to get you to the hospital."

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

Act Three

Darien paced back and forth on the floor of the small hospital room, every now and then looking over at Adam, who was lying on a hospital bed with his leg in a temporary brace. The doctors had taken X-rays almost an hour before, and Darien was impatiently awaiting the results. With each second that ticked by he lost more of his patience and self-control. What was taking so long?

Darien looked up as the door swung open, ready to tell the doctor just what he thought of the way Adam had been treated so far, but his harsh words died in his throat as he saw who had just walked through the door.

Casey O'Claire. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a hairclip. She stared at him with blue eyes that had until a moment ago been sparkling merrily.

Darien's eyes widened, and he could feel a flush creeping up his neck as he squeaked, "Casey?"

Casey's expression was stony. "Darien?" She didn't sound like she was asking a question so much as making a dire pronouncement. But after their last meeting, Darien couldn't blame her.

Adam looked from Darien to Casey, confusion sweeping across his features. "What's goin' on? You two know each other or something?"

Before Darien had the chance to answer, Casey shook her head. "No. No, I never really knew him."

Casey's words cut Darien to the quick. His jaw tightened as he felt her cold gaze. He took a deep breath, suppressing the swirl of emotions that were playing havoc with his brain, and said in a tone that was pure business, "How's Adam? Is he gonna be OK?"

"He has a transverse fracture of the right tibia...." Casey trailed off at Darien's worried and uncomprehending gaze. Her expression softened a bit. "A broken leg. It was a clean break, though; it should heal quickly."

Darien nodded, still a little befuddled by the stream of technobabble but appreciating the translation. "OK, that's good...."

"We need to set his leg, now. Then, after we make sure the bones are back in the right place, we'll fit him with a cast and give him a pair of crutches." Casey smiled over at Adam. "But don't worry, you'll be skateboarding again in no time."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know about that?"

Casey laughed. "Your shirt, silly." She gestured at the skateboarding logo emblazoned prominently on the front of the shirt Adam was wearing.

Adam picked at the Quiksilver logo on his chest, giving Darien a meaningful glance. "That was, uh, kind of an inside joke."

Casey's expression darkened. "Yes... yes, I'm sure he found it quite amusing." She forced a smile back on her face and said, "Well, let's get that leg taken care of, shall we?"

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

Several hours later, after Adam's leg was set, the cast placed on it, and the doctors had given Adam his prescription pain medication, Darien pushed the wheelchair Adam was situated in toward the car.

Adam looked over at Darien, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as Darien helped him into the car. "So, you and the doc were an item, huh?"

Darien gave Adam a stern glance. "The key word there being 'were'. And it was a long time ago."

Adam snorted in disbelief. "Aw, c'mon, she's hot! Why'd the two of you break up?"

There was a haunted look in Darien's eyes as he made sure Adam was properly situated in the back seat of his car. Old memories were being stirred up left and right. Memories that he had kept buried for almost three years now, for Casey's sake as much as his. "We, uh... we had some issues." He walked around the car and climbed into the driver's seat, fishing through his pockets for his keys. It was as good a distraction as anything.

"Oh yeah? What kinda issues? 'Cause if I were you, I woulda tried pretty damn hard to work 'em out. I mean, she's... she's hot!"

Darien sighed. It was obvious that Adam wasn't going to give up until he had an answer. "Well, for starters, I lied to her about my job."

"Why'd you do a stupid thing like...."

"Not this one. The old one." Darien didn't feel he needed to elaborate further on that point.

"Oh." Adam cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, I can see how that woulda caused some problems, but still! Why didn't ya try to make up with her?"

Darien rubbed the back of his neck absently, still having been unable to locate his car keys. "Well, nearly getting thrown in prison and then having your brother," he frowned as he tried to remember Casey's old words on the subject, "micro-graft a synthetic bio-partition to your cerebral cortex tends to distract you for a while. But after... things went haywire, I paid her a visit." He shook his head at the memory. "She wasn't very happy to see me at first." That was an understatement; Darien could still remember the way she had slapped him.

"And?"

"Well... for a little while it looked like we were gonna work out the problems, maybe even repair our relationship again. But... there was an incident."

"What kind of incident?" Adam asked as he leaned forward, thoroughly interested.

"An unpleasant one," Darien said, purposefully avoiding giving Adam a straight answer. "She told me to stay away." He shrugged. "I did." He finally dug his keys out of his right jacket pocket and jammed them into the ignition, pulling out of the hospital parking lot. Focusing on the road gave him a viable excuse to fall silent.

Adam waited impatiently for a few minutes, and eventually decided that Darien wasn't going to elaborate. "OK, so she told you to screw off. That was ages ago, man! I mean, it's been what, a few years now?"

"Two and a half," Darien said automatically.

Adam smirked. "Exactly. Two and a half years is a long time, she can't still be that pissed...." Darien gave him a pointed look in the rear view mirror, and he quickly rethought his claim. "Well, maybe she can. But I'm tellin' you, you should call her or somethin'."

Darien quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you're giving me advice on how to handle women?"

Adam leaned back in his seat. "Well, someone has to get through your thick skull. All that hair must be ruining your reception."

Darien shook his head and turned his attention back to his driving. Or, he tried to, anyway. But somehow, no matter how much he tried to focus on other things, his thoughts kept floating back to a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed doctor who was still back at the Cabrillo hospital.

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

Darien hovered over his young charge, fluffing another pillow to add to the three already cushioning Adam's leg, which was immobilized from the knee down. "D, would you just go, already?" the teenager sighed petulantly, wincing as Fawkes' well intentioned meddling jarred him painfully.

"Fawkes, I promise, we'll take care of him. Don't you and Hobbes have an engineering geek to catch?" Alex urged the reluctant agent. "And you know Hobbes is gonna be up here in a second to drag you out by the hair if you don't get a move on," she added with a gentle push between his shoulder blades.

As if to punctuate the statement, Darien's cell phone began to trill imperatively in his hip pocket. Fawkes palmed the little phone and eyed the display window. "Hobbes," he muttered, casting an apologetic glance at his ward. "I gotta go, Adam," he said, worry coloring his voice as he vacillated, swaying from one foot to the other, torn between conflicting duties as an agent and as a parent.

"Darien, go," Alex urged gently with another push. Fawkes went, reluctantly peering back over his shoulder as Monroe shepherded him through the front door of his own apartment.

Adam waved one hand wearily at his foster father with a game attempt at a smile. "Hey, man, Ebes and I are gonna kick each other's butts at Halo," he assured Darien, who was still straining for a glimpse of Adam as Alex shut the door on him.

Eberts finished setting up the gaming console and handed Adam one of the joysticks with a tentative smile. "Are you sure you're feeling up to this?" he asked the teenager.

Adam shrugged, settling the control unit on his flat stomach and manipulating the joystick to get a feel for its individual idiosyncrasies. "I guess," he answered with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, failing to meet either adult's eyes.

Alex leaned over the back of the couch on which Adam was ensconced and lay her palm on his forehead, checking for a fever. "Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. She was on unfamiliar territory here, her experience with childhood illnesses minimal.

Adam sighed again, and inexperienced or not, Alex could hear the wealth of unspoken emotion in the sound. "You guys don't have to hang around here," he said flatly. "Don't you have better things to do than baby-sit me?" he asked her, glancing her way quickly, then focusing intently on the joystick on his belly, fiddling with it and trying the firing controls.

Alex met Ebert's concerned eyes briefly before she sat down, perching on the opposite end of the black couch. "Actually, no, we don't," she assured Adam.

"The Official requested that we ensure you were taken care of while Darien and Robert concluded their mission," the Agency's resident lackey informed the teenager.

Adam snorted softly. "Yeah, right. More like he doesn't trust me," he muttered. "Darien doesn't...." With that, he looked up, glancing from one to the other of them defiantly.

Alex bit her tongue on the reflex response that hovered unspoken. She could see it register with the boy, regardless.

"I know what you're thinking...." he said sullenly. "Why should he?" his eyes dropped back to the joystick again, neutral territory. "I don't even know why he defrosted me in the first place," he added softly, and something in the inflection warned Alex that the real issue lurked close under the surface of those words.

"Adam, Darien loves you," Eberts said, the total certainty in his voice making the boy look up at the mild-mannered accountant.

Alex nearly gasped at the raw pain in the child's expression.

"Why should he?" the boy asked again, meaning something else entirely this time. "My mom didn't." There was a moment of silence that Alex was hard-pressed not to try to fill, then Adam spoke again. "I guess it's cuz she wasn't really my mother," he added, the desolation in his voice tightening like a vice around her throat.

"Love isn't about genetics," she said firmly. "Love is about feelings. It has nothing to do with logic, or rational thinking, or anything else involving the brain. You love with your heart. And Darien has a heart bigger than anyone I've ever known," she continued. She couldn't have explained why, but she knew intuitively this was an argument she had to win. "I don't think he knows any other way to be. And he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Right now, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to have kids of his own," she said, unprepared for the wave of sudden empathy that swept through her.

Adam scowled. "How come? He'd be a great dad. Is it 'cause of the Quicksilver? I guess it'd make it hard to score with girls, being able to do this cool trick, and not be able to talk about it," Adam added after a moment's thought. Then the furrow on the youngster's forehead relaxed. "What about Dr. Casey?" he asked sharply, distracted from his own troubles for the moment.

"Dr. Casey?" Eberts asked.

"Yeah. The ER doctor we saw last night. He said he knew her from before...." Adam eyed Eberts as the accountant pondered this.

"Do you mean Dr. Casey O'Claire?" Eberts asked after due consideration.

"He called her Casey," Adam shrugged. "I wasn't really paying a lot of attention. I was a little outta it," he admitted, shifting his leg restlessly, then wincing.

"It's more than just not being able to talk about the Quicksilver," Alex corrected. "The same gland that allows him to make himself invisible secretes hormones that… may make it impossible for him to be a father." She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact, but she had no idea how much in the way of sex education the boy had received.

"The stuff that let Claire keep me from 'going off' when she defrosted me!" Adam exclaimed, wide-eyed, looking between them for confirmation. "He told me the gland was making some kind of -- what's it called? -- estro-something--"

"Estrogen," Eberts interjected.

"Yeah," Adam agreed. "And Claire used it to slow me down so I wouldn't explode, or whatever, while she fixed the virus I have."

The two adults nodded.

"So that means he can't have kids?" the teenager asked, insightful well beyond his years.

Once again, Alex was impressed at the intelligence the boy displayed. She tried to keep the color from rising in her face, not quite sure how she'd gotten herself into the position of describing Darien's reproductive issues with his young ward.

"Right," she nodded. "Or at least it will be a major problem for him to, unless Claire can figure something out."

"She will," Adam said with the blithe certainty of youth. "She's smart! Really smart. She figured out how to make me better," he pointed out.

Alex smiled slightly. "Yes. Yes she did." She hesitated a second, then impulsively voiced an admission she never thought she'd confess to anyone but the blonde doctor. "I know how Darien feels, though...." she added, images of her infant son as she'd last seen him flashing past her mind's eye.

"You mean you can't be a mom, either?" Adam asked with a concerned frown.

"I mean it'd be hard for me to have another baby," she admitted, ignoring the sympathy on Eberts' face, focusing exclusively on the boy.

"You had a baby?" Adam asked disbelievingly, eyeing her up and down with an unmistakably male evaluation.

The blush Alex had fought off before now dusted her face. "A little boy, named James."

"So how come you're here, and not home with him?" Adam asked with a hint of criticism.

"He... I... he doesn't live with me," she answered brusquely.

"Oh," Adam observed sagely. "He lives with his dad, huh?"

Alex felt her blood run cold as she flashed on the accidental truth of those words, the color and heat fading from her face as rapidly as it had come. It amazed her how painful that piece of knowledge was.

Something of her distress must have shown because she saw concern on both Eberts' and Adam's faces as they watched her. "Yes," she answered, vaguely pleased that her voice remained steady.

"How come?" Adam asked softly.

She cursed her weakness, the pain, the loss and the never-ending anxiety for the safety of her son that caused it. "Because," she said quietly, suddenly realizing that this might help explain to the boy why the woman he'd thought of as his mother could have deserted him. "It turns out I wasn't really his mother."

Adam stared at her, mystified. "But you just said -- you said you had a baby. How can he not be yours?" Whatever sex education the boy had, it obviously hadn't included in vitro techniques.

"It's complicated," Alex sighed. "I thought he was my son. I still think of him as my son. I love him. But it turns out… It turns out that Jared Stark, the man Darien stole the cryopod from to keep you safe, interfered in the way I got pregnant."

The blank look from the teen forced her to wrack her brains for a non-technical explanation. "I'm not married. I was starting to think that wasn't going to be a part of my life. But I wanted a family, Adam. The way Darien does. So I decided to have a baby without having a husband. Only it turned out that the doctors I went to worked for Stark. So instead of using my egg and sperm from an anonymous donor, I ended up pregnant with Stark and his wife's baby. He used me as an incubator," she said bitterly.

Adam mulled this over, a small frown between his brows. "So he's your baby, but he's not?" he asked.

"Exactly," Alex said.

"But... why'd you let Stark have him? I mean, you said you loved him. And like you said, it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't yours, I mean, the normal way." The confusion was giving way to shades of the same pain she'd seen on his face when he'd spoken of his own mother.

"Because I was afraid," she said, the admission that had festered in her heart for over six months since she had handed the child she'd borne to his genetic mother making her throat tighten painfully.

Adam waited, the uncertain look making it clear that he didn't understand. Alex sighed. "I was afraid I wouldn't know how to be a good mother. James was stolen from the hospital the day I gave birth to him. I only saw him the one time, and then he was gone. When I finally found him again, he was just so...." she trailed off, regrouping. "Small. Helpless. And there was so much I didn't know how to do. I mean, I'd missed out on the whole of his life so far. What did I know about being a mother?" She could hear the bitterness in her voice, the self-condemnation that had led to her decision to return the child to Eleanor Stark.

Of course, at the time, she hadn't known that she was being manipulated by a master of the art. At the time, Stark's wife had been totally convincing in her sworn intent to leave her husband and his organization of genetically manipulated super-soldiers. If she'd had any idea she was being played, she would happily have shot the woman -- and her smarmy husband -- without a second thought.

Adam considered this, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his lip. "You didn't need to be," he said at last. "Afraid, I mean," he clarified. "I think you'd've been a great mom. Like D would be a great dad. And I'm a kid. I should know."

His confident assessment left Alex touched at a level she usually guarded herself rigorously from feeling. For a split second, the random tremors that signaled a return of the paralyzing anxiety that hit her on occasion flared along nerves and muscle, then subsided. The small warmth that sparked in its place glowed with a far friendlier heat than the searing burn of that old fear.

"Thanks," she smiled at him, ignoring the slight blur of emotion that fogged her vision.

"No problem," Adam smiled at her genuinely, his own brooding worries having dispersed for the moment.

She puttered in Fawkes' kitchen, fixing snacks for the couch-bound invalid and his gaming buddy before taking up a seat on one of the stools lined up at the breakfast bar to watch the progress of the competition over the back of the couch as she nursed a mug of coffee.

It was well over an hour later, and Eberts had excused himself to visit the bathroom after having polished off most of a liter of coke, when Adam returned to the issue that had been bothering him earlier. "Hey, Alex?" he asked over the top of the sofa's backrest. "Do you think she was afraid?" he asked hesitantly.

"Who?" Alex responded, momentarily blank.

"My mom.... Can I still call her my mom? I mean, since I guess she wasn't?"

Some of the earlier pain was back in his voice, and Alex forced herself to consider the question honestly, and compare it to what she knew of the woman who had been Adam Reese's handler.

"Yes, I think she was," she told him. "I think she was terrified of seeing you go through what that disease would have made you experience." She'd never spoken directly with the woman. Her orders to pick Adam up from the little suburban bungalow he'd called home for most of his life had come through channels. But Alex would have been willing to take any bet named that Adam's surrogate mother had fled for the reason Alex had given.

"You don't think it was 'cause she was afraid of me, do you?" Adam asked uncertainly.

Alex slipped off her stool to crouch behind the sofa to ruffle the blonde hair fondly. It was still a shock to her how easily this boy had slipped past her guard and made himself at home in her heart. I must be getting soft, she laughed at herself.

"No, I don't think she was afraid of you. I think she was afraid for you. That she wouldn't be able to help you. So she called us. So we could." She refused to think about the fact that she had been willing to condemn this child to death before Fawkes had his stroke of larcenous genius and had made Stark cough up the only viable alternative. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing Adam at least had been salvaged from the man's clutches, even if her own son remained in Stark's grasp. Stark's plans for either boy didn't bear thinking about.

She focused on Adam's intent blue eyes, meeting them unflinchingly, letting him see the truth of her answer in her own face.

Finally the boy nodded slowly, heaving a sigh. "Do you think I'll ever see her again?" he asked wistfully.

Alex paused for the slightest instant. "I don't know, Adam," she confessed at last. "Maybe someday," she added. "Like I hope to see James again."

The teen nodded again, more firmly this time. "Can I have some more Coke?" he asked, abandoning the serious subjects for the evening.

Alex laughed softly and rose to pour yet another glass of the carbonated staple of teen life.

"Ready for round two?" she heard Adam ask Eberts as the accountant emerged from the restroom.

"You mean you're ready for another trouncing?" Eberts asked.

Alex smiled to herself as she handed the glass over the back of the sofa to a cocky Adam.

"Trouncing?" Adam repeated with a hint of good-natured mockery. "Trounce this, Eberts," he retorted as he launched the game.

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

Hobbes glanced over at Darien, noting the faraway expression on his face. Darien had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since he had gotten into the van, and unless Hobbes could find a way to pull him out of his reverie, he would probably remain so for the rest of the trip.

Hobbes cleared his throat and shifted his hands on the steering wheel. "What's on your mind there, Gilligan?" Darien's complete lack of response unnerved him, so he swerved the van just enough to get Darien's attention and said in a louder tone of voice, "Fawkes!"

Darien, who had placed his hand against the passenger door window to brace himself against the unexpected sideways movement, snapped, "What?"

"I wanna know why you're givin' me the silent treatment here, partner," Hobbes replied.

Darien was quiet for several moments, and Hobbes was about to employ a more dramatic means of getting his partner's attention when Darien finally spoke. "I just... I don't know if I'm ready for this."

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "Fawkes, you've taken down worse guys than this without breaking a sweat. I think you'll be able to manage arresting one wayward über-dork."

Darien stared at Hobbes in utter confusion, then let out a peevish huff when he realized that Hobbes was referring to capturing Ramachandra. "Not that, Hobbes!"

"Well, what then?" Hobbes practically yelled, throwing his hands up into the air only to have Darien lunge for the steering wheel in an attempt to keep them from veering out of their designated lane and into the path of an oncoming car. Hobbes clapped his hands back down on the wheel, ignoring Darien's loud exclamations of protest at his actions, and said in a more civil tone, "C'mon. Tell me what's runnin' through that messed up head of yours."

"Whaddaya mean, that messed up head of mine? You're the one who almost got us in an accident here!" Darien snapped.

Hobbes studiously ignored the comment, waiting patiently for Darien to open up and discuss his problems.

Sure enough, after a moment Darien sat back in his seat, heaving a resigned sigh. "I'm... I'm worried about Adam."

"Fawkes, he'll be fine. Lotsa teenagers get broken legs. Just you wait, he'll be runnin' around again in six weeks or so as if nothin' ever happened...." Darien's harsh glare caused Hobbes to trail off in mid-sentence. "But that ain't what you're worried about." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement of the facts.

"No, it isn't." Darien shook his head bemusedly. "He's just so... angry."

"Fawkes, he's a teenager. Show me a teenager who's not angry, and I'll show you a kid with some serious issues, my friend."

"Yeah, well, I'm not used to it, OK? I mean, it was fun hangin' out with him before. Now...."

"Now you actually have to take charge, keep him outta trouble and all that crap."

"Yeah, and I'm just not used to it, you know? I mean, he's... and I'm...." Darien ran a hand across his face. "Was I that bad at his age?"

Hobbes turned into the Horton Plaza parking garage and snorted at Darien's question. "Judgin' from your juvie record I'd say that compared to you, Adam's a piece of cake."

Darien bit his lip. "Crap. I was, wasn't I?"

Hobbes pulled the van into one of the few remaining empty parking spaces in the garage and nodded. "You bet." He got out of the van and started to walk toward the exit, but paused as he realized that Darien was not following. He turned around and shook his head as he saw that Darien had still not gotten out of the van, and appeared to be deep in thought. "Fawkes!" Darien looked up, and Hobbes motioned for him to come over. "C'mon, we don't got all day! We gotta find this guy before he slips into the woodwork again!"

Darien got out of the van, slamming the door shut a bit harder than necessary, and followed Hobbes, his expression dangerously close to brooding.

Hobbes sighed and resumed his walk toward the mall doors. Whether they caught Ramachandra or not, with Darien's current attitude it was bound to be a long day.

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

"Aw, c'mon, Hobbes, just let me go in that one," Darien pleaded as Hobbes dragged him by yet another health and beauty store, this one advertising a new, longer-holding brand of hair-spray. But Hobbes spared only a quick glance in that direction before hurrying on to look in the next store.

"No time, Fawkes. I am not lettin' this guy slip through the Agency's fingers again. No one gets away from Bobby Hobbes," Hobbes stated firmly.

"C'mon, Hobbes, we didn't find him last time, why d'you think we'll find him now? Hell, he probably left twenty minutes before we got here!"

Hobbes tapped the side of his nose. "Oh no, he's here. I can smell 'im."

"Ah yes, the amazing olfactory senses of Bobby Hobbes," Darien said sarcastically. "I have had it with this so-called mission, Hobbes. It's a damn witch-hunt. We're never gonna find this guy...." Darien trailed off, his jaw dropping. A short, dark-haired Indian man who perfectly fit the description of Dr. Devdan Ramachandra was digging frenetically through the toy display in the front window of F.A.O. Schwartz.

Hobbes turned to see what Darien was looking at, his confusion turning to astonishment at how simple this had proved to be. "Holy crap, I-Man, we've got 'im." The two men broke out into a run, rushing toward their quarry.

Ramachandra continued to search frantically through the pile of toys, muttering in a lilting, melodic voice, "Where is it? It has to be here... where is it?" However, his search came to an abrupt halt when Hobbes clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened as he looked up at Hobbes and he tried to pull away, but Hobbes held him firmly in place. "Let go of me," he hissed, "this is a public area. Do you want to make a scene?"

Darien looked puzzled, but before he could ask what Ramachandra meant, Hobbes spoke. "We'll make as much of a scene as we need to." He flashed his badge and snapped, "Federal agents, you're under arrest." Then he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, a smug grin on his face.

As Ramachandra eyed the badge and handcuffs his expression changed not to one of panic, but to one of relief. "Oh. Is that all?"

Darien's eyes widened. "Is that all? You have gotta be kidding me. You're under arrest, man. Goin' to jail, for... umm..." he looked over at Hobbes, "what's he goin' to jail for, exactly?"

Before Hobbes had the chance to reply, Ramachandra cleared his throat and began to speak. "Gentlemen, there seems to have been some sort of mistake...."

Darien elbowed Hobbes in the ribs. "You hear that? He called us gentlemen."

"Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Hobbes replied, grinning.

"We don't get that very often."

"No, we don't."

Rather confused by Darien and Hobbes' banter, Ramachandra continued, "I'm not a traitor, as you gent-- ah, agents seem to think. I've been trying to keep some extremely dangerous technology from falling into the wrong hands."

"Oh, yeah, that's why you were hanging out with Javier's goons," Hobbes deadpanned.

"Wait!" Ramachandra shook his head. "You think I was working with those men? I've been running from them!" He stared at Darien and Hobbes, his tone begging them to understand as he continued, "They almost caught me in Los Angeles, but I managed to escape."

"Oh, yeah, that's about as convincing as Fawkes' one word sentences," Hobbes droned. "Look, pal, I don't wanna hear your life story. I just wanna take you in."

"But if you arrest me before I get the plans for the electro-magnetic pulse generator back, Javier and his men could still obtain it and all this will have been for nothing," Ramachandra moaned.

Darien frowned. "You lost the plans?"

Ramachandra squirmed under Darien's scrutiny. "I... I put the data chip they were stored on inside of a FurReal Friend, a toy cat." He pulled a small computer chip out of his pocket. "I had to remove the digital audio chip to properly insert the data."

Hobbes blinked. "The what?"

"The digital audio chip," Ramachandra repeated. When Hobbes looked no closer to understanding what he meant than the first time, he clarified, "The device that made the toy purr."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hobbes asked, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"I was here two days ago, hiding from Javier's men," Ramachandra said, clearly losing patience. "I placed the toy in one of the displays. After all, they would be looking for me, not a toy." He looked over at the toy display he had been searching through when Darien first saw him. "But... it is no longer here." His voice was fraught with anxiety. "I thought that since it was an unpackaged model, they would not try to sell it. Apparently, I was mistaken."

Hobbes slapped the handcuffs on Ramachandra's wrists. "Yeah, well, that's tough luck, ain't it?"

Ramachandra stared at Hobbes with a horrified expression on his face. "But I have to find that toy!"

Darien's expression softened at Ramachandra's obvious desperation. He tilted his head to the left and said in a candid tone, "Look. We'll come back after we drop you off at the Agency and see if we can find out what happened to the toy. But first we need to take you in. You'll be safer at the Agency. Javier's men can't get you there. Trust me, we don't want him to get his hands on that EMP generator any more than you do. But we need to make sure you're safe, too."

Hobbes' jaw dropped. "Fawkes? What're you talkin' about?"

"We need to get that information. That means we need to get our hands on the toy," Darien said, unable to keep the patronizing tone out of his voice.

"Fawkes, he's... he's lying!" Hobbes stared at Darien, his expression pained.

Darien took a deep breath and then turned away from Hobbes, focusing his attention on Ramachandra and saying, "C'mon. The van's in the parking garage."

Ramachandra took one last look at the toy display and then nodded reluctantly. "Very well...."

Hobbes was still more focused on Darien's blatant undermining of his authority than the fact that his prisoner seemed to be cooperating fully. "Fawkes...." When Darien made no reply he began to guide Ramachandra down the hall, saying sternly, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you...."

Darien purposely tuned out the rest of Hobbes' speech. He had heard those same words recited to him more times than he cared to remember. He followed Hobbes and Ramachandra out of the mall, trying to ignore the speculative and surprised stares of the numerous passersby, and the three of them drove off toward the Agency.

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

Darien and Hobbes had placed Ramachandra in the basement cell, which the Official had only recently seen fit to repair, even though months had passed since its run-in with Arnaud's explosive laptop. After taking care of their prisoner, they had immediately rushed back out to the van so that they could head back over to Horton Plaza to investigate the toy angle. However, the awkward silence that had permeated the air on the trip to the Agency had persisted for the majority of the return trip so far.

Finally Hobbes spoke, his voice seeming loud after the long period of silence. "So, why'd you trust him?"

Darien looked over at Hobbes, taking a moment to properly assess both the question and what Hobbes meant by asking it. It was obvious whom Hobbes had been referring to. He was staring straight out the window as he drove, not even attempting to make eye-contact. His driving was much more conservative that it usually was, as if he were on autopilot.

That meant that he was putting a great deal of thought into the question. He wanted to know why Darien had taken Ramachandra's side and he wasn't going to accept some casually spoken excuse as an answer. This was a very serious matter to him.

Darien rubbed the back of his neck, a habit that he had only developed within the last three years... shortly after the gland had been put in, to be specific. After a moment of consideration he said, " You've said it yourself: the bad guys always rabbit. He didn't rabbit. Therefore, he couldn't be a bad guy."

Hobbes appeared surprised at first, although Darien couldn't blame him. Having his own words thrown back at him in a logical, if somewhat twisted, manner had to be startling. Darien hoped it would also communicate to Hobbes that Darien had been using exactly the same instincts that Hobbes had been teaching him for the last several months -- hell, the last two and a half years -- and the fact that they had led him to a different conclusion than Hobbes' instincts was merely an example of free thinking, another thing Hobbes had encouraged. If there was anything that could be said about Hobbes it was that he would never discourage someone from thinking outside the box.

Darien was beginning to think that Hobbes had been offended by his statement so he prepared to find a way to clarify what he had meant. Then to his satisfaction, Hobbes nodded sagely and gave Darien an appreciative nod. "Alright. That works for me."

Darien grinned and turned his attention forward again, for once relieved by the fact that Hobbes had begun to drive erratically again.

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

I need to make something clear -- I'm not trying to belittle what Hobbes said or did while dealing with Ramachandra. In nine out of ten situations, I would have backed him up all the way, because I've learned the hard way that Hobbes is right a lot more than he's wrong. And considering the circumstances, his actions were completely understandable.

But in this case, I had to rely on another lesson I've learned in the time I've worked with him. I guess it's best summed up in the words of Benjamin Spock....

"Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do."

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

Act Four

Darien stood back and watched with unchecked amusement as Hobbes walked up to the check-out counter, shoved the nearest customer out of the way, and leaned forward so that he was face to face with the pimple-faced teenage boy who was running the cash register.

"Federal agent," he said, flipping his badge open and shut in the same lightning-quick motion he had used when addressing Ramachandra. "We need to talk."

Surprisingly, the cashier did not ask for a better look at Hobbes' ID. Instead his eyes widened, sweat began to bead on his forehead, and he asked warily, "What... what about?"

Hobbes tucked his badge back into his pocket and rested his elbows on the counter, but the more relaxed position did not lessen his intimidation of the cashier in the least. If anything, the teen looked even more nervous.

Hobbes shifted his position slightly, but other than that gave no hint of the irritation that Darien knew he must be feeling; he obviously knew that the menacing aura he had built up around himself was about to lose a great deal of its potency. "About a toy you had up in your display," he said firmly. At the cashier's confused look he elaborated, "The FurReal Friend."

The cashier blinked several times in rapid succession and then let out an awkward, tension-releasing laugh. "Hey, you really had me there for a minute, man. I thought you were serious."

Hobbes paused for a moment and then lunged forward without warning, grabbing the cashier's collar, lifting him off of the ground and dragging him half-way over the counter. "You thought right," Hobbes said icily.

The cashier let out an audible gulp.

Darien noted the line of customers who had been waiting to make their purchases and were now staring at Hobbes with open-mouthed astonishment. He stepped forward, saying smoothly, "This is federal business. We'll only be a few minutes. Why don't you make another circuit of the store while we finish things up here?"

The customers nodded mutely and most of them shuffled off toward various displays, although a few put down the playthings they had been carrying and hurried out the door. His task done, Darien turned his attention back to Hobbes, who had yet to lessen his grip on the cashier's collar.

"Now," Hobbes said in a casual tone as he fixed the cashier with a stern glare, "I want to know what happened to that toy."

"What toy?" the cashier asked, his eyes glassy with fear. From the expression on his face, Darien had the feeling that Hobbes' earlier comments had literally been scared out of his memory.

Hobbes looked as if he was about to take the interrogation techniques up to a more dangerous level, so Darien placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hobbes, ease up a little, will ya? The kid's about to pee his pants."

Hobbes considered Darien's statement and then released the cashier's collar. The cashier promptly lost his balance and fell over backward, landing on his backside with a loud thump. But one look at Hobbes was enough to convince him to scramble back to his feet.

"There was a toy that was part of that display over there," Hobbes said, speaking slowly as if he didn't expect the cashier to be able to understand anything faster. "A FurReal Friend. It's not there any more. What happened to it?"

"I, I don't know," the cashier said, his eyes darting around frantically.

"Wrong answer," Hobbes said, leaning over the counter angrily.

The cashier's face turned completely white and he took a frantic step back, nearly falling again in his haste to get out of harm's way. "Alright, alright, man! My manager took it home, OK? There weren't any more in stock and he'd promised his kid he'd get her one. It's not like he didn't pay for it, jeeze! What, do you people keep track of those things individually or something?"

Hobbes smirked. "You'd be surprised at the things we keep track of." He placed his hands behind his back. "I'd like to speak to your manager. Could you get him for me?"

The boy nodded and began to rush out from behind the counter, but then stopped and muttered a curse under his breath. "No, I can't. He's out of town for some regional sales meeting or something."

"What's his name?" Hobbes asked.

"Jack Harris," the cashier said hurriedly.

"What's his address?" Hobbes asked, not even skipping a beat.

"Hey man, are you allowed to ask that question?" was the cashier's hesitant reply.

Hobbes' eyes narrowed and his voice lowered an octave as he repeated slowly, "What's... his... address?"

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

Several minutes later, after having gotten every bit of information they could out of the cashier, Darien and Hobbes walked out of F.A.O. Schwartz. "You really did a number on that kid," Darien said, glancing over at Hobbes.

Hobbes smirked. "Had him eatin' out of the palm of my hand."

"More like you had him scared he was gonna get the crap beaten out of him if he didn't cooperate," Darien said dryly.

"A little fear can be a good thing," Hobbes replied. "Besides, we got that Harris guy's address."

Darien nodded, looking down at the piece of paper he had scrawled the address on. "I used to know this area pretty well," he said, absently rotating the piece of paper with his fingertips.

"What, you lived there?" Hobbes asked.

"No. Worked there."

Hobbes snorted. "Funny, I thought you were more into working high-rise apartments and old folk's homes."

Darien gave Hobbes a stern frown. "Hey, I went where the money was."

"More like where the money wasn't, if you were robbin' that part of town," Hobbes said.

"Not everyone over there is broke, you know," Darien returned irritably. "I actually made some pretty good money then."

"Whatever you say," Hobbes said in a patronizing tone.

Darien took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten before asking, "So, what're we gonna do, just knock on the door and tell that kid, 'Federal agents, we need to confiscate your Christmas present'? Somehow I don't think that's gonna fly."

"And that's why you're gonna steal it, my friend."

Darien came to an abrupt stop. "What? You have got to be kidding me."

Hobbes turned to look at Darien. "I'm dead serious, my friend."

"Hobbes, I can't steal a Christmas present from a kid! It's... it's...."

"It's for the good of the nation. Now keep walkin'."

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

Dressed in black for the second time in as many nights, Darien crept silently toward the Harris's house. This was more out of habit than anything else, as he was going to remain Quicksilvered for the majority of the break-in, but it was a habit he felt would be wise to keep.

He came to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the house, crossing his arms as he observed both the house and its security precautions, if that was what they could be called. The house was a typical one-story middle-class dwelling; probably had a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two, maybe three bedrooms. The plot of ground it had been built on was covered sparsely with Bermuda grass and had a path cutting from the front door to the sidewalk. The driveway took up a good third of the yard.

The only thing he could see that truly passed for security, aside from the obligatory locks on the front door, were two motion-sensing lights placed on the corners of the house. This might have posed a minor problem for Darien pre-gland implantation, but now it would be easy to avoid any complications they might cause. After all, if there was no visible motion for the lights to detect, they wouldn't come on.

Hobbes chose that inopportune moment to speak, his voice floating out of the headset Darien was wearing. "Whatcha waitin' for, someone to open the door?"

"Just gettin' the lay of the land, Hobbesy." Darien tucked his hands into his pockets, the fingertips of his right hand brushing against his lock-picks as he elevated his heart-rate and felt the Quicksilver trickle over his skin.

"Well, I think you've got it by now, partner," Hobbes said dryly, "so get your invisible ass in that house and find that toy."

Darien purposefully ignored the impatience in Hobbes' voice as he walked nonchalantly down the small path that led from the sidewalk to the front door of the house. He pulled his lock-picks out of his pocket and set to work on the lock.

Less than a minute later, Darien tucked his picks back into his pocket and placed a hand on the doorknob, turning it experimentally. It opened without resistance, so he walked into the house, shutting the door behind him. "I'm in," he whispered, glancing around the small living room.

His attention quickly focused on the large Christmas tree in one corner of the room. Ornaments, tinsel, and strings of lights had been placed on it in a haphazard but beautiful manner, the branches so heavily laden that the lowest ones hung mere centimeters above the ground. But there was something missing, something very important....

"Hobbes," Darien said, his voice tinted with confusion, "there aren't any presents."

"What?"

"You heard me. There aren't any presents under the tree."

"Maybe the parents stuck 'em in the closet," Hobbes mused.

Darien walked over to the closet and opened it, but found nothing more than a few hung-up coats and a vacuum cleaner. "Guess again." Purely on a whim he moved out to the kitchen, remembering that his mother had always kept a few presents on the top shelf of the pantry, although Aunt Celia had never dared to thanks to his penchant for late-night snack raids.

However, before Darien had the chance to search the pantry's confines, he noticed a shiny red piece of paper hanging out of the trashcan. He leaned forward to get a closer look and found a myriad of brightly colored wrapping paper, some pieces dotted with candy-cane decorations, others plastered with caricatured renditions of Santa Clause.

"Looks like Christmas came a couple days early this year," Darien quipped. "All the presents've already been unwrapped. Betcha by now the toys've all made their way into the kid's bedroom." He stepped out of the kitchen and into the narrow hall that led to the bedrooms.

"Yeah, but how're you gonna know which bedroom is hers, genius? Ya don't want to wake up the parents or anything."

Darien stopped in front of the second door in the hallway, a smirk spreading across his features. "Well, unless Mommy and Daddy have a 'Lady and the Tramp' poster on the front of their bedroom door, I think it's safe to assume this room is hers." He opened the door, being careful not to let it creak as he did so.

"'Lady and the Tramp', huh?" Hobbes' tone became thoughtful. "That's a classic. Lots better than the crappy stuff Disney's churnin' out these days."

Darien moved toward the toy-chest, but couldn't resist whispering, "What, you're telling me you actually watch that stuff?"

"I'm just sayin' the kid has good taste, that's all." Hobbes' voice took on a teasing quality as he continued, "Ya know, since you're a parent now and all, maybe you should start paying more attention to the Disney Channel."

Darien pursed his lips and continued to sift through the toy-chest, making a mental tally as he went: Teddy Bear, Cabbage Patch Kid, half a dozen Beanie Babies, and at least ten different Barbie dolls. But there was no sign of a FurReal Friend anywhere. He moved on to the closet, but all he found there was a large stack of board games and a broken Etch-a-Sketch.

Darien was about to give up the search and ask Hobbes if this was really the right address when a soft voice asked, "Is... is someone there?"

Darien turned around and saw a small, dark-haired five-year-old girl staring in his direction with wide, frightened eyes. "Aw crap," he whispered, just loud enough for Hobbes to hear, "she's awake."

"Hello?" the girl called, louder this time. She sat up, clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. Darien moved closer, hardly daring to believe his luck, or lack thereof. The toy she had wrapped tightly in her arms was none other than the FurReal Friend he had been searching for since he arrived.

"Fawkes, just walk away. Leave the kid alone, we can't afford to get caught doing this."

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

Dr. Seuss, who was always impeccable with rhythm and rhyme, even when he had to make up words in order to pull it off, wrote, "But you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick, that he thought up a lie and he thought it up quick."

Now, I'm not exactly a fat, green tub o' lard, but I was a con man as well as a thief, back in the day. And as such, I can spin a pretty good tale... or at least, one that'll convince a five-year-old.

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

Not particularly looking forward to Hobbes' reaction to what he was about to do, Darien took the microphone off and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he walked over to the girl's bed and kneeled down so that he was at eye-level with her, more for his benefit than hers. "Hi. My name's Darien, I'm one of Santa's invisible helpers."

The girl stared in his direction, wary but at the same time trusting. "Hi.... My name's Mandy." Her expression became inquisitive. "Mr. Darien, why were you playing in my closet? And why did you pull everything out of my toy-chest?"

Darien took a deep breath, trying to think of how best to formulate a reply. "Well, Mandy, there's a problem with your Christmas present."

Mandy tilted her head to the side and hugged the stuffed animal. "What's wrong with it?"

Darien watched the toy bobbing its head back and forth in a disturbingly similar fashion to that of a real cat and, remembering that this was not the only thing it was supposed to do, said, "Umm... it doesn't purr."

"Yeah, I know," Mandy said sadly. "Daddy made me open it early. He's not gonna be here on Christmas 'cause of his meeting with the board of erectors."

"Umm... I think you mean...." Darien thought for a moment and then sighed. "Never mind."

"I think my present wasn't ripe yet," Mandy continued sagely.

The concept of a present becoming 'ripe' was an entirely new one to Darien, but he took it all in stride. "Well, if you'll let me take it back to Santa's workshop, we'll, uh, do our very best to get it ripe in time for Christmas, OK?"

Mandy bit her lip. "You promise?"

Darien nodded, belatedly remembering that he was still invisible. "I promise."

"So it'll purr for Daddy when he comes home?" Mandy asked hopefully.

"Yeah. It'll purr for Daddy when he comes home." Darien gently took the stuffed kitten from Mandy's grasp and handed her the teddy bear from the toy-chest, watching her eyes fill with awe at the sight of the toys, which appeared to be floating around in mid-air. "I'll come back after Santa and I fix the kitty," Darien said, "I promise."

Mandy lay down in bed, a yawn escaping her lips. "Goodnight, Mr. Darien."

"Goodnight, Mandy." Darien pulled the blankets closer around Mandy and tucked her into bed, allowing the Quicksilver to flow over the stuffed cat. Then, after making one last farewell glance toward Mandy, who was once again snuggling into bed, he slipped out of the bedroom door and hurriedly made his way out of the house. He scrambled into the van as quickly as possible, allowed the Quicksilver to fall and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

Hobbes glanced over at Darien, a broad smile on his face. "Good goin' there, Fawkesy. Or should I call you Mr. Darien?" he asked, his grin growing wider.

"Oh, like you could've done any better."

Hobbes merely snorted with amusement and jammed the keys into the ignition, pulling Golda out into the late-night traffic and heading in the general direction of the Agency.

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

Claire looked up as Hobbes walked into Lab 101, bringing Ramachandra in with him. Alex followed close behind them, holding the FurReal Friend precariously in one hand and looking at it as if it were a drowned animal. "So this was what all the fuss was about," she said, shaking her head. "A stuffed cat."

"A stuffed cat that contains the complete guidelines for how to build an electromagnetic pulse generator twice as powerful as anything designed to date," Ramachandra said softly.

Claire moved over to the trio and held out her hand to Alex expectantly. "May I?"

"Sure." Alex unceremoniously dropped the toy into Claire's grasp.

Claire turned the toy over in her hands, studying it intently, and then systematically ripped the head off of the body, exposing its fuzzy innards.

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "Jeeze, Claire, I knew you were a dog person, but...."

Claire held up a hand for silence and fished around inside the decapitated head, letting out a triumphant "Ah ha!" as she pulled out the complicated machinery that controlled the sounds and movements that the toy cat was supposed to make. She looked over at Ramachandra, asking, "Is it here?"

Ramachandra moved closer so that he could look at the jumble of technology and nodded. "Yes, that is the data chip." He pointed it out to Claire. And then he reached out to take it.

Before Claire had the chance to protest, Hobbes placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him, her expression questioning, and he placed a finger to his lips to indicate that she should remain silent. Then he allowed Ramachandra to remove the computer chip and replace it with the sound chip. Ramachandra, in turn, handed it to Alex, who placed it in a small plastic case and tucked it in her pocket.

Ramachandra cleared his throat and said, "I have a request...."

Claire looked from Hobbes to Alex to Ramachandra, unable to keep the suspicion from creeping into her voice as she asked, "And what would that be?"

Ramachandra took a deep breath. "I want... I want you to destroy it."

Claire's eyes widened. "What? You can't be serious! That chip contains the products of years of research! People have spent years of their lives on that project, yourself included. You can't just throw it away!"

"I can, and I will," Ramachandra said with stoic determination. "The contents of that chip are far too dangerous. I can't allow it to fall into the wrong hands...." The door to the Keep swung open, admitting entrance to the Official and several back-up agents. Ramachandra turned to face him, continuing smoothly, "Or even some of the right ones."

"Give me the toy," the Official bellowed.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Alex said calmly.

"Give me the toy!" the Official repeated, looking for all the world as if he was about to throw a temper tantrum. "In the interests of national security, give me the damn toy!"

A disembodied voice rang out from the doorway. "Uh, before you do that...." A shower of quicksilver flakes fell to the floor and Darien appeared, wearing a black stocking cap with a tiny camera lens attached to the front of it. He gave the Official a cocky grin. "Smile. You're on Candid Camera."

"What is the meaning of this?" the Official bellowed, his face turning candy-apple red.

Blatantly ignoring the Official's words, Hobbes moved over to Darien and tilted his head to the side. "So, did you get it?"

"Oh, I got it," Darien grinned. "All the footage we're gonna need."

The Official frowned. "What kind of footage?" he asked, his tone laced thickly with suspicion.

Darien pulled up a chair and sat down, slouching indolently and crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, you know... you rummaging around in your office, telling Eberts how to file paperwork, listening to that fancy little surveillance system you've got built into your desk.... How long has that been there, by the way? I mean, did you always have the same lack of trust in us that you do now?"

The Official's face was no longer red; its color had changed to a singularly disturbing shade of blue. He turned to Hobbes, speaking in a soft tone of voice that completely belied the menace lying therein. "Give me the toy. Now." He didn't need to say more; it was obvious that he was threatening Hobbes, not to mention everyone else in the room, with the prospect of losing their job. What that threat might mean to Darien was an entirely different matter.

"Very well, sir," Hobbes said, his expression unreadable as he handed the Official the dismantled cat.

"Get him to a secure government facility," the Official said, gesturing at Ramachandra and addressing the agents who had followed him into the room. They did as they were told, seizing hold of Ramachandra and directing him out of the room in a much more forceful manner than was really necessary. Without a word, the Official turned and began to follow them out the door.

"Umm, aren't you forgetting something, sir?" Darien asked, grinning cheekily.

"And what might that be?" the Official asked sternly, not even bothering to turn around.

"The bugs. The ones planted here in the Keep. Aren't you gonna deactivate them or something?"

The Official's only response was to walk out the door, the metal door sliding shut behind him.

Hobbes cleared his throat and brought a hand up to scratch his right ear. "Well, I guess we know the answer to that...."

Alex grinned. "Don't worry. Back-up plan, remember?"

Hobbes nodded. "Yeah. Back-up plan." He walked over toward the door of the lab, then paused, looking over at Alex. "You coming?"

Alex nodded. "Just a minute." She turned to Claire and pressed the tiny case with the computer chip inside into Claire's palm. "You know what you need to do," she whispered. Then she followed Hobbes out of the room.

Darien leaned back in his chair, watching Claire with half-closed eyelids. His posture completely bespoke the fact that he was ready to take a nap, but his voice was alert as he asked, "So... you gonna do it?"

Claire took a deep breath, staring at the small square of plastic in her hand that held something that could, albeit somewhat indirectly, destroy Western civilization in its entirety. And, ever so slowly, she nodded. "Yes... yes, I will. It's... Ramachandra was right. This is too dangerous to leave in anyone's hands."

She turned on her Bunsen burner, picked up a pair of tongs, and used them to hold the small plastic container over the flames, taking a shuddering breath as she watched the casing melt and curl from the heat. She had the feeling something very similar might be happening to the small computer chip inside.

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

Darien, who was curled up on the chair that Claire used to seat him in while giving him his shots of counteragent, glanced up from the book he had been reading. He was intrigued by it, but he couldn't resist pulling himself out of the story every few minutes to watch Hobbes and Alex in their continued efforts to render the bugs in the Keep useless. They had been installing pieces of equipment in strategic locations for well over an hour, and Claire was beginning to lose patience with the lengthy invasion of her working space.

"The Fat Man's gonna be pissed, you know," Darien said, biting back laughter as he watched Hobbes balancing precariously on a ladder while attempting to attach some piece of technical wizardry or another to the top of a light fixture.

"I don't give a rat's ass whether he's pissed or not," Hobbes replied. He glanced down at Alex, who was sorting through a motley gathering of tools. "I need a screwdriver and the soldering iron."

Alex handed Hobbes the requested objects. "Make sure you ground the power supply properly."

"I know what I'm doing," Hobbes sniped.

"Of course you don't," was Alex's stoic reply.

Claire, who had until now appeared to be completely absorbed in reading a long sheet of computer print-outs, said, "If you two don't stop I'll kick you both out and have Darien finish the job for you."

Hobbes snorted. "Oh, yeah, he'd do a real good job. He can't even work a copy machine."

Darien slapped the book down on his lap, muttering a curse under his breath as he realized he had lost his place. "You're never gonna let that go, are ya?"

"What d'you think?" Hobbes answered his complaint. He handed Alex the tools he had requested earlier and said to her, "OK, hand me the socket wrench."

"You sure you're doing that right?" Alex replied, handing him the requested tool. "Let me have a look."

"I'm almost done, and I'll work faster if you'll stop telling me what to do," Hobbes replied flatly.

Darien tilted his head to the side. "So this is really necessary, huh?"

Alex nodded in affirmation. "After the way he acted when you brought up the subject of the bugs? Absolutely."

Hobbes smirked. "He'd have to tear this room apart before he figured out how to dismantle this signal jammer we're setting up."

"And I've set up a few surprises for him," Alex said.

After a few more minutes of tinkering and good-natured sniping, Hobbes finally moved down from the ladder and announced, "It's finished."

Claire looked over at the rest of the group and asked, "How do we know whether it's working?"

Darien took a deep breath and said in a loud stage-voice, "You know, the Official's been acting like such a jerk lately, I've been putting some serious thought into taking the FBI up on their latest offer. Something about a GS-18 salary and eight weeks' paid vacation a year...."

"Oh, brilliant way to test it, Fawkes," Alex muttered sarcastically.

When fully three minutes passed by and the Official had yet to storm into the room backed up by several armed agents, the group heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"Well, that's that," Hobbes said, beginning to pack up the tool kit he and Alex had been using.

Darien frowned. "Uh, Alex, I've got one question... what were the surprises you installed?"

Alex gave Darien an enigmatic smile. "Well, since he isn't going to be able to listen to us any more, he needs to listen to something...."

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

"Eberts!" the Official yelled, yanking a pair of headphones off of his head and slamming a hand down on his desk.

Eberts jumped up from where he had been sorting through the Official's personal file cabinet and turned to look at the Official, having been more than a little rattled by the Official's outburst. "Yes, sir?" he asked timidly.

"This," the Official pointed to the electronic device that had been cleverly fitted inside one of his desk drawers, "is a state of the art surveillance system, is it not?"

Eberts nodded, confused. "Yes sir, it is."

The Official slammed his hand on the desk again and bellowed, "Then why the hell is it playing elevator music?"

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

Tag

Darien sat in his car about five hundred feet away from Casey's house, just as indecisive as he had been when he had parked there nearly half an hour earlier. He wanted to walk up to her door and knock, but he was afraid she would slam it in his face as soon as she saw him, that she would refuse his apology, that she would say that she never wanted to see him again.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice someone had walked up to the car until he heard the sound of knuckles rapping against the passenger side window. He looked up to find himself staring at none other than Casey herself.

She gave him a tentative smile and said, "So, you want some company? Or are you just going to sit out here all night?"

Darien opened the car door and stepped out, folding his arms on the roof of the car and watching Casey. Her hair was loose, falling down to her shoulders. She looked calm, more relaxed than she had seemed at the hospital. But there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty to her movements, and to Darien's as well, although he tried to hide it.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling uncharacteristically shy and uncomfortable. After all, he had barely spoken a word to Casey in two and a half years, at her request. It felt very awkward to come forward now. "So," he fumbled for a conversation topic, "how've you been?"

Casey shrugged. "I've been good. Work's been interesting, and I've been doing some volunteer work with UNICEF in my spare time...." Her expression grew wary as she asked, "How about you?"

"Oh, things've been good," Darien said purely out of habit, then forced himself to come to a stop. Lying to Casey had caused their troubles in the first place; it was not a habit he wanted to pick up again. "Although lately, they've been getting kinda crappy again," he added, absently twirling his fingers over the chipped paint on the roof of the car. "Umm, Casey...."

He looked down, trying to think of something, anything, to break the awkward silence he could feel settling down around them like a blanket of new-fallen snow.

"I'm sorry," he blurted finally, his eyes filled with long held-in guilt. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Darien...." Casey exhaled slowly, leaning against the cool metal and looking up at the night sky, where the stars were just barely visible through the glare of the streetlights and the wispy clouds that were smattered across the horizon. "I'm sorry too."

Darien's brow wrinkled with confusion. "For what?"

"For not giving you a chance," Casey replied quietly. "I was... I was afraid. Afraid that you'd lie to me again. That I'd believe you, even after all that happened. I was afraid to trust you." She walked around to the back of the car and sat on the trunk.

After a brief instant of hesitation, Darien sat down beside her. "Guess we both did things we regret, huh?" He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at the blacktop. He could feel Casey's gaze on him, but he didn't look up, not yet. He wasn't sure he wanted to see her reaction to the question he was about to pose. "If we could just start it all over, you know, with a clean slate... would you be willing?"

Casey sighed. "Darien...."

Darien didn't let her finish, instead continuing on hurriedly, "Because the Quicksilver madness isn't a problem any more, and there's been a lot that's gone on in the last few years, and I wouldn't lie to you again, Casey." He looked over at her now, saying earnestly, "I don't have anything to hide any more."

"Oh, really?" Casey asked challengingly. "Then prove it."

Darien sighed in exasperation and shifted his attention back to the asphalt, not enjoying the feeling of the imaginary spotlight he suddenly found himself in. "C'mon, Case. Just the fact that I had the gall to show up here, even after all the crap we've been through... that has to speak for something."

"And what about the fact that it took you two and a half years to get the gall to show up? Is that supposed to speak for something?"

"Yeah. It means I respected your wishes, best as I understood 'em, and I was willing to do whatever it took to make you happy. Even if that meant I wasn't part of your happiness." Darien thought for a moment about what he had just said and shook his head, laughing. "Damn, that sounds sappy."

His heart skipped a beat when he felt feminine fingers intertwining with his own and Casey said softly, "Sometimes, sappy is good." He looked up to find that she was smiling at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement and what he hoped was happiness.

"Casey...." Darien began, but all thoughts of what he had been about to say were banished from his mind as Casey leaned forward, ever so cautiously, and brushed her lips against his.

She pulled back, her breathing shallow, her eyes asking a question that both she and Darien were afraid to put into words.

In answer, Darien wrapped one arm around Casey and pulled her back toward him, returning the kiss with a fervor borne of long-suppressed emotions and needs. By the time they finally came up for air, Darien had thrown all uncertainty to the wind.

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

It was distinctly uncomfortable for Christmas Eve; the dark clouds that had been clinging ominously to the sky since the wee hours of the morning had finally made good on their threat of rain, letting loose a downpour that sent normally sunny San Diego into a state of barely-controlled chaos. People ran across streets holding umbrellas and unrolled newspapers over their heads, rushing toward their desired shelter, be it building or vehicle. However, for the two men sitting in the tan Ford Econoline, shelter was the farthest thing from their minds.

"Hurry, Hobbes!" Darien slammed a hand down on the dashboard as if the jolt would make the van move faster than it already was.

"I'm goin' as fast as I can, Fawkes, unless you wanna end up overturned in the gutter 'cause of this damn rain slickin' up the damn roads," Hobbes insisted.

"But at this rate, we're not gonna make it to K-B Toys before our lunch break is over!"

"Fawkes. They won't have that... that...."

"FurReal Friend."

"Yeah, that thing. They didn't have it in the last three toy stores we looked at. And you and I both know the mall's still sold out." Hobbes shook his head. "It's a lost cause, Fawkes."

Darien shook his head stubbornly. "No! I promised Mandy I'd get her a replacement that worked in time for Christmas, and I will!" Darien gave Hobbes a harsh look, practically daring him to indicate they should do otherwise.

Hobbes hissed a breath out through his teeth. "Fine. But stop complainin', OK? I'm doin' the best I can here." He stared out the windshield for a moment, barely able to see through it because of all the water sloshing across its surface even with the assistance of his windshield wipers, and grumbled, "Forget a white Christmas, I'd settle for a dry one."

Darien crossed his arms, his expression as dark and dismal as the sky outside. "Would you stop talking about the freakin' weather and get us to the toy store?"

"Man, Fawkes, would you just take it easy? We'll get there, alright?" Hobbes frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Uh, Fawkes... if you're so desperate for one of those weird kitty toys, why didn't you just get it on Ebay?"

Darien's jaw tightened and his face began to redden with anger directed both toward Hobbes and toward himself for not having thought of the same thing before he began this hopeless crusade. "Just drive, Hobbes. Just drive."

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

End