Episode 13

By Krys

Teaser:

Robert Collier said: "Something must be done when you find an opposing set of desires of this kind well to the fore in your category of strong desires. You must set in operation a process of competition, from which one must emerge a victor and the other set be defeated." Why does everything have to be black and white with this guy? Didn't he ever try to find the happy medium?

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

Darien sauntered into his and Hobbes' temporary "office," but his partner wasn't there. There was a sticky note on the computer monitor, simply stating: "Boss-Man's office. NOW." At first he wondered if The Maid had finally finished "fumigating" their other office for "bugs," but then Darien shook his head. The Maid was the only person more thorough than Hobbes when it came to detecting and eliminating the pesky little buggers. When Darien had called for a routine sweep, his partner had slapped his back in approval. Even the Maid seemed impressed: she had only "shushed" the tall agent once before she had shooed him out of the room.

Darien glanced at his watch. 10:32 a.m. Thank God I didn't have to bring Adam in for classes today, he reflected wryly. The tutor that Claire had arranged for in order to lighten her workload had called in sick. And since the doctor was busier than usual with yet another all-important hush-hush experiment, she'd given Adam a break from his alternative exercises and studies for the day.

Wonder when the meeting started, Darien thought with a chuckle. The boss was probably pissed that Darien wasn't there on time, but that was something the lanky agent relished. He'd go a different kind of crazy if he couldn't rib The Official in the tiny ways that he felt threw a monkey wrench into the Fat Man's ordered little world.

Savoring the mental image of the 'Fish's famously irritated grimace, Darien strolled out of the stairwell towards his boss's office.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed Hobbes was hunched over at the door, with his hand cupped around his left ear in an effort to make out what was being said inside.

"Yo, Hobbesy, whatcha doin'?" Darien inquired with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Shhhhh! I'm trying to hear this," Hobbes whispered with a scowl.

"Why don't you just go in?"

"Because, genius, it's a closed briefing, and I wasn't invited."

"In other words, you tried to bully your way in, and the Boss had you thrown out," Darien almost laughed.

Hobbes shrugged: his way of blushing.

"And that's when you went looking for me and left that note on your computer."

"You turned off your cell," Hobbes groused.

Darien shrugged. No sense in being bothered when he was enjoying his favorite breakfast burrito before heading in to work. Especially when Claire had this uncanny ability of calling him in the middle of eating or doing something that she expressly ordered him not to do. She'd been needling him about his diet lately, citing concern over his blood pressure, cholesterol and general health as her reasons for prying into his eating habits. "So who is?"

"Who is what?"

"Invited," Darien rolled his eyes a little.

Hobbes grimaced. "Eberts. Just... Eberts."

"Hunh. You know, Hobbes, they could just be watching their soaps again," Darien commented thoughtfully. He and Hobbes smiled a little at the memory of one of their unauthorized "missions". They had always been curious about what The Official and Eberts were doing in all of those "closed meetings" in the middle of the afternoon. So Hobbes had broken out his surveillance gear, and Darien had slipped into the office when Eberts had reentered from freshening up his and The Official's coffee mugs. Darien had almost given away his position when he'd started to snort in laughter: the Boss and his right-hand man had been watching "All My Children" of all things. It had taken all of Darien's willpower not to join in on Hobbes' howls of laughter ringing in his earpiece, especially when Eberts had commented passionately: "Oh, she is such a bitch!"

Darien shook the humorous memory from his mind just as Hobbes too shook his head. "Huh-uh," the shorter man retorted. "Not with guards posted inside both doors."

Darien's eyebrows shot upwards. "Inside? Why would they be inside?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Well, you'd think they'd post the guys outside, since they didn't want you busting in again like you had," Darien thought out loud. "Ah well. Must be one helluva show."

"Would you please shut it? I wanna hear what they're saying," Hobbes whispered fiercely.

Darien shrugged again as he sighed in long-suffering patience. Hobbes' penchant for drama could be irritating as hell sometimes, but right now Darien had little better to do. So he too cupped his ear to the glass door in an effort to make out the conversation ensuing inside.

After a few moments he scratched absently at his head. "I don't know why you're doing this," he chuckled. "Believe me, I tried it before. You won't be able to hear anything unless you've got that fancy set of rabbit ears you keep in your desk."

Hobbes' face brightened. "Hey, not a bad idea. 'Kay, Fawkes, you go get the ears, and I'll keep watch here."

"Why should I get 'em?" the lanky agent whined.

"'Cause I was here first," Hobbes growled. "Get a move on partner. The briefing could be done any minute now."

"Y'know they're going to open the door in a sec," Darien murmured as he straightened up. "Murphy's Law..."

And true to form, the glass-inset door suddenly swung open. Hobbes stumbled into one of his Agency peers, who in turn gazed down at him in mild distaste.

"Ah, Hobbes, just the man I want to see," The Official's voice boomed cheerily over the broad shoulders of the agent who'd been guarding the door against Hobbes' intrusion.

Hobbes righted himself with a nod of greeting, and cast a wary glance back at his partner as he smoothed out some creases in his jacket. "Boss-Man's in a good mood..."

"Which can only mean that we're in for yet another crap-tacular assignment," Darien finished acerbically, just as the flunky retreated so the two men could enter the office.

"Ah, Darien, so good of you to grace us with your presence," The Official commented sarcastically.

"Always a pleasure to serve, milord," Darien shot back with a callous salute as he plopped into the chair closest to the window. He immediately slouched down and stretched out his long legs to prop his white Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers on the edge of the desk.

The Official ignored his agent's blatant disregard for government property, and looked at Hobbes as the senior agent coolly ensconced himself in the other chair. "Time for your mission briefing," he started as his hand suddenly shot out and slapped Darien's feet off of the desk.

"So, what are we doing today?" Darien looked a little put out as he readjusted himself in the chair. "Rattlesnake shoot? Babysitting a lawyer? Oh, no, wait," he grinned mischievously, "guard duty for a cockroach. Or would that be a Senator?"

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "Are you done? I'd like to get to this sometime this century."

In answer, Darien mimed locking his lips shut and tossing away the key.

"Now then," The Official rumbled. "There was a security breach in the NSA's mainframe the other night. A sizable chunk of intelligence files were downloaded by an unknown source."

He paused to reach for a file, and Darien commented in an aside to Hobbes: "Did he say... 'chunk'?"

Hobbes shot him a glare that would have melted glass. Chastised, he turned his head towards the windows and caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye.

"So why is The Agency getting involved in this?" Hobbes inquired.

Just then, Eberts entered the office juggling his laptop, a spiral-bound notebook and two mugs of coffee. He paused mid-step as he noticed The Agency's top two men seated in front of the boss, but his brief look of surprise was quickly concealed as he realized why they were there.

Darien thought he noticed a glimmer of - resentment? - there, before Eberts' usual bland expression once again dominated his face.

"Sir, I'm ready to begin," the aide commented blithely as he delicately slid the computer and notebook onto the oval table behind Darien and Hobbes. He then smoothly deposited one of the steaming mugs onto The Official's desk before returning to his makeshift worktable.

"Ready to begin what?" Hobbes inquired.

"Ah, good," The Official seemingly ignored the question as he curtly waved for Eberts to proceed. "Carry on, Eberts, while I fill these two in on their part of the assignment."

"We teaming up with Ebes again? Cool," Darien nodded his approval.

"You were saying why we were getting involved in this, Sir?" Hobbes asked deferentially.

"They aren't the first group to have had their mainframes raided," The Official began. "Last week the CIA's computers' crashed. The week before that: the FBI's. And yesterday someone tried to gain access to our systems through a backdoor in the DOD's servers. If Eberts hadn't been performing system maintenance at the time..."

"They almost breached the firewalls," Eberts finished. "Luckily, I cut them off before they got in; but whomever it was, they're good. Very good."

"And for you to admit that, they must've scared the crap outta you," Darien commented in mild alarm.

"So, Eberts is gonna track the perps, and Fawkesy and I nab 'em," Hobbes summarized.

"Not... exactly," The Official replied brusquely.

"Whaddaya mean?" Darien looked inquisitive.

"He means that you and Robert will be taking on more of a... supportive role in this assignment," Eberts piped up. His gaze never wavered from the glowing computer screen.

"Eberts, is point man on this case," The Official clarified.

"But, but..." Hobbes stammered. "Why?"

"Why not?" Darien replied with a shrug. "You're the expert spook, I'm the invisible thief, and Ebes here can kick just about anyone's ass in cyberspace and Nintendo."

"Thank you, Darien," Eberts looked pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know Eberts is an egghead, but why does that qualify him for the lead on this case? He has absolutely no experience as..." Hobbes began what was most likely a lengthy protest.

"Because I said so," The Official growled quietly.

Hobbes' head swiveled around in surprise to look at the 'Fish, whose steely glare underscored the fact that his word was law here. Darien shook his head in barely restrained amusement. Clearly, questioning the Bosses' judgment any more at this juncture would most likely prove fatal to Hobbes' career... or even worse, to that sweet raise he'd finally been granted.

"End of discussion," he murmured.

The Official shifted his glare to Darien, who just grinned and held his hands, palms out, in a gesture of appeasement.

"So, what do you need us to do, O Fearless Leader?" Darien swiveled his chair around to face Eberts.

"Right now, nothing," was the assistant's absent-minded response. "I'm following up on a few leads with some online contacts. I should have more information by tomorrow morning."

"So what're we supposed to do until then?" Hobbes sounded frustrated.

"I'm sure there's paperwork that you haven't finished," The Official suggested with an evil little smile.

Hobbes and Darien both grimaced, and rose as one to hastily leave the office before the boss "suggested" they do something worse... like filing. Or in Darien's case: photocopying. No matter how hard he tried to learn, he'd somehow managed to break that poor copy machine in just about every way imaginable. Eberts had even dryly remarked that the only thing left for the lanky agent to do was firebomb the freakin' thing.

The partners left the office, with Darien commenting over his shoulder: "Call us on the cell if we're not in the office, Ebes."

Eberts waved distractedly as he continued to tap a staccato rhythm on the laptop's keyboard.

The Official looked like he wasn't feeling well. He fished in one of his desk drawers for his bromide bottle and muttered, "Crap."

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

Act One

As the door closed behind them, Hobbes started in. "Really, what are we supposed to do 'til tomorrow? I don't know about you, but if I have to fill out one more form in triplicate today, I'd have to blow something up."

"Like... the file room?" Darien suggested with a glint in his eye.

"Maybe," Hobbes replied with a straight face, and then grinned when he noticed that his friend's smile had faltered out of the corner of his eye.

"You could come over to my place and shoot some hoops," Darien suggested with a companionable punch to the shorter man's arm. "Adam's game is improving, but he could stand having a different opponent now and then."

"Kinda hard to play with a gimpy leg."

"Actually, he's gotten pretty good at maneuvering around on those crutches. He even scored a few baskets on me the other day. Anyway, he just got a walking cast this morning and could really use the exercise. So whaddaya say?"

"Alright," Hobbes reluctantly agreed. The kid was growing on him, much like his partner had. It didn't help that Darien and Adam also had a lot of similarities... kinda spooky,t of rabbit ears you keep in your desk."Hobbes' face brightened. "Hey, not a bad idea. 'Kay, Fawkes, you go get the ears, and I'll keep watch here.""Why should I get 'em?" the lanky agent whined.

"'Cause I was here first," Hobbes growled. "Get a move on partner. The briefing could be done any minute now.""Y'know they're going to open the door in a sec," Darien murmured as he straightened up. "Murphy's Law..."And true to form, the glass-inset door suddenly swung open. Hobbes stumbled into one of from the small pizza paddle in his hand just as the phone began to ring: "Hey, Fawkes, you think it's a good idea for Frankenstein's monster to be hobbling around like the living dead in here?"

Adam cracked the dishtowel at him with a wet thwap, and they both laughed as Darien crossed the room clad only in hastily donned slacks to answer the phone.

"Yo, Fawkes." He strode back to the bathroom, with the cordless phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, in order to hear over the towel-snapping competition going on in the kitchen.

"Hello Darien, it's Eberts. I believe I have a viable lead, but I won't be able to follow up on it until tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow night?" Darien asked as he opened the bathroom door some more so the mirror could defog.

Hobbes gestured at the phone from across the apartment, mouthing 'Eberts?' Darien nodded his head and motioned for his partner to be quiet.

"I'll be attending a... conference at the Convention Center. It starts early tomorrow afternoon, and ends on Sunday evening. I'll be meeting my contact there."

"Need any help?"

"Not... yet," was the hesitant answer.

"No way is Eberts going anywhere without backup," Hobbes interjected forcefully. He strode out of the kitchen and curtly gestured for Darien to hand him the phone.

"Will you hang on a sec, Hobbes?" Darien held the phone firmly and pushed his friend back a step with his free hand. "How would you know what Eberts is doing?"

"Deduction, my friend. You ask him what's going on tomorrow night, and then you wanna know if he needs any help. That spells backup. Speaking of which," Hobbes leaned in and practically shouted in the receiver, "Don't you dare think you're goin' out in the field without any backup, mister!"

Darien backed away from his vehement partner with a grimace. "You get that, Ebes?"

"You may assure Robert that I will not be participating in anything dangerous," the assistant sighed.

"Then why go alone?" Darien asked as Hobbes glared at him before stalking out of his line of vision.

"Have you ever attended a gamers' convention before, Darien?"

"Um, no."

"Then you would definitely stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And Robert's presence would most certainly tip off my contact, and thereby ruin our only lead right now."

"How would I tip him off?" Hobbes asked, and Darien suddenly realized that his wily partner had been eavesdropping on the conversation from the speakerphone on the end of the kitchen counter.

"Hobbes, how long've you been listening?" Darien rolled his head back as he restrained himself from the very strong urge to smack the man upside his thick head.

"Long enough. I seem to remember how irritated the boss gets when his agents don't follow the rules."

"Robert, there is no reason to be concerned. My contact is a long-time friend," Eberts interjected.

"Didn't think you were allowed to have friends, Eee-berts," Hobbes snarked.

"Hobbes, for the love of Mike, would you please shut the hell up?!" Darien gritted between his teeth. "Look, Eberts, unfortunately he does have a point. What, if by some strange twist of fate, you manage to get yourself in trouble?"

The assistant sighed deeply. "That is highly unlikely. But if it will ease your mind, Robert, I will keep my cellular turned on, as well as call when I arrive and again when I leave."

"That good enough for you, tiger?" Darien strode out of the bathroom and leveled a pointed glare at his friend. Hobbes got the point and eased up a little.

"Alright. But I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea," he started, but Darien took a menacing step closer.

"God, Hobbes, could you be any more of a rabid den mother?" Darien snidely commented. "Maybe you'd like it better if we sent Claire along to hold his hand."

"Fine, fine! I'll shut up about it!" Hobbes burst out. "I still think this is a bad idea," he finished in a grumble.

Darien imperiously pointed to the phone base, and Hobbes cut it off before stomping once again towards the kitchen. Darien heard him mumble under his breath, "Someday you're going to get that smart-ass sense of humor of yours shoved so far up your..."

Adam softly asked Hobbes a question, only to receive the now standard 'Need To Know' comment in a low growl.

"Okay, that aside, I'll be out tomorrow night too," Darien returned to the bathroom and leaned against the sink. "I'll leave my cell on in case you need anything, 'kay?"

"Thank you, Darien," came the grateful reply.

"But just make sure to call Hobbes like you promised, or he'll end up stalking you," the wiry man warned.

"Fine. I will be sure to call the both of you when I arrive."

"'Kay. 'Night Ebes."

"Good night," the aide replied and disconnected.

Darien hung up and grabbed a clean t-shirt hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He pulled it over his damp hair as he strode out into the main room of the apartment.

"Hey, D," Adam's voice sounded a little strained from the tension palpably radiating off of the two men in the apartment. "You want anchovies in yours?"

"Hmmm?" The question roused Darien from his musing. His eyes flicked over to his partner hunkered on the barstool by the sink. "Yeah, sure. Whatever we've got." He unconsciously smoothed out some creases in his ABBA tour shirt as he came up beside Hobbes. "Hey, partner, gotta sec?"

Hobbes shrugged. "If you don't mind dinner being late."

"It'll take just a minute. C'mon."

"Whatever. Hey kid, make sure you crimp the edges nice and firm... like I showed ya," the stolid man instructed as Darien guided him towards the windows at the far end of the room.

Once there, Darien briefly rested his hand on his friends' shoulder. "Hey man, sorry I snapped at you back there," he started.

"Yeah. Why is that?"

"What?"

"Why are you so 'Everything's hunky-dory' one minute, and you're rippin' my head off the next? Thought I was the only emotionally unstable one around here these days."

"I dunno, man. Gotta lot on my mind right now."

"When don't you?" The criticism was softened by the concern in Hobbes' warm brown eyes.

Darien dropped his gaze uncomfortably as he shuffled one foot.

"Hey, forget it," now it was Hobbes' turn to rest his hand on Darien's shoulder. "When you feel up to it, you know you can talk to me. About anything, right?"

It was just the right thing to say. "Right. Thanks, buddy."

"Anyway, saves money on therapy co-pays," Hobbes kidded. But for some reason, that didn't elicit the grin he was aiming for... just a ghost of a smile that disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Hobbes, I have a favor to ask."

"Name it."

"You mind hangin' out with Adam tomorrow night?"

Hobbes grinned. "Another date with Doctor Casey?"

The rangy man nodded.

"Where ya goin'?"

"This Cajun jazz club downtown."

"Is it the one with open mike night? What's its name?"

"'The Loneliest Monk'," Darien confirmed as he scratched absently at the back of his head. "But it's not like some karaoke bar, Hobbes. It's more like an impromptu jam session. Anyone's welcome to bring their own instruments and join in."

"Yeah. In other words: open mike night."

Darien made a face. "You have no class, my man."

Hobbes looked disconcerted. "What? You can put all kinds'a fancy names to it, but open mike night is still open mike night."

"And you call yourself socially educated," Darien scoffed good-naturedly.

Hobbes changed the subject. "So, you haven't said much on how things're going between you two lately."

Darien shrugged. "Pretty good, considering I had to duck out on our last date, at the last minute, so I could bail you and Alex outta jail," he teased.

Hobbes grimaced as the memory of one of their unauthorized mini-cases helping out Monroe reared its ugly head. "You ain't gonna let me live that down for awhile, are ya?"

"Hell no. With all the crap I put up with from the both of you 'bout all the jail time I've pulled? You so had this coming." Darien grinned triumphantly, but decided to ease up on the ribbing. It was his fault that the others had gotten caught sneaking out of the zoo after all, even if Hobbes and Monroe didn't know it. And as far as the eccentrically coifed agent was concerned, they'd never find out the truth if he had anything to do about it.

Hobbes rolled his eyes dramatically and once again switched the conversation back to Darien's original question. "When you want me to be here?"

Darien let it drop... for the moment. "I'm meeting Case at the club around nine, after her shift is over. Which reminds me: I promised her I'd call to confirm," he finished as he noticed the time on his alarm clock.

He walked over to his cell phone just as Adam called out from the kitchen. "Hey, you guys done with your meeting? I could use some help with this one."

Hobbes looked over and saw the teen struggling, and failing gloriously, to finger-crimp an overstuffed calzone. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there," he laughed as he made his way to the counter. "You're doin' it all wrong. For one thing: you've got way too much stuff in here to close it right." He quickly washed off his hands and set to task righting the oft-made mistake of following one's hunger instructions instead of the verbal ones. As he worked, he and Adam started planning their activities for the next evening while Darien left his message on Casey's answering machine.

As he hung up the phone, he caught a snippet of the other two's conversation. He sidled around the laborers in order to snag two beers from the fridge and set one on the counter next to Hobbes. Darien popped the lid off of his brew and leaned against the back counter beside the fridge as he listened to the plans being made for an all-out movie marathon and snack fest.

A few minutes passed by before he seemingly thought aloud, "Hm, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Whaddaya mean?" Adam's head popped up from intently watching Hobbes' expert fingers fly over the final calzone.

"Asking Hobbes to hang out with you... unsupervised... well, let's just say I wouldn't wanna contribute to the delinquency of a minor."

Hobbes glanced over his shoulder to see that the lack of a smile on Darien's face was outshone by the glint of humor in his chestnut eyes. He guffawed at the thought that Darien would be considered the more responsible of the two as Adam tried his best imitation of his guardian's famous puppy-dog expression.

Darien didn't fall for it. "Sorry kid, I was practicing that look when you were still in diapers."

"Wow, you really are old," the boy sniggered.

"Hey, what does that make me?" Hobbes snapped with a gimlet glare at the teen.

"Older than dirt," the unrepentant one grinned evilly.

"That just cost you season one of Baywatch, my friend."

"And miss out on Yasmine?" Adam squeaked.

Darien laughed at Adam's wide look of horror. "Actually, my favorite was the one in Hawaii. What was that one chick's name..." he trailed off as he pondered.

"Wha'? Which one?" Hobbes inquired.

"You know, the one with the..." Darien motioned with his hands, indicating a well defined... physique. "And she had that... hair."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I know!" Hobbes perked up as the character's name slid to the tip of his tongue. "Wasn't it... Dawn? What was her last name? Masterson."

Darien snapped his fingers. "Masterton, yeah! Man, was she hot!"

Adam grimaced. "Okay, guys. Aren't you supposed to set some sort of example for me? Y'know, being responsible grown-ups and all that crap?"

"Depends on who you ask," Hobbes chuckled.

"Yeah, if Monroe wasn't being farmed out to a different Agency each week, she would'a insisted that she'd be the best person for the job." Darien rolled his eyes.

Adam blushed a little as an impish smile spread across his face. "Alex can 'take care' of me anytime she wants," he replied suggestively.

Hobbes roared in appreciation at that comment as Darien winced.

"Now I know you and Hobbes've been hanging around each other too much," he mock-grumbled, and his partner shot a handful of flour at him in reply. Darien ducked the bulk of it and went invisible.

Before Hobbes could react, the back of his shirt was pulled away from his neck so that a handful of minced onions could be deposited inside. He howled "NO FAIR!" as he batted the invisible hands away and hopped around in an effort to get the stuff out of his shirt.

Adam was laughing so hard, he had to hobble over to one of the barstools and sit down before he fell over.

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

Y'know how they say "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise"? Hey, c'mon people, this is me we're talking about. Well, usually...

Darien showed up at ten of nine the next morning, hoping that Eberts had come up with something interesting for him to do. But since the assistant was oddly absent, the boss had Darien and Hobbes relegated to the much-dreaded file room duty for lack of anything better for them to be occupied with, with the comment that he wasn't paying his two finest agents to sit around and twiddle their thumbs all day.

Later in the afternoon, Claire snagged Darien on his way back from lunch with his partner. Hobbes almost pleaded with her for re-assignment to some chore in the Lab, but she declined with the explanation that all she wanted to do was run some more tests on Darien.

"Great, more tests," was the mumbled complaint.

Claire just looked at Darien as she held back the biting retorts that sprang to her lips. He always grumbled about the testing, but she knew that he knew that they were for his own good. She just wished that he'd ease up on the griping after all this time. And that their relationship wasn't so strained. She found that she missed the good-natured bantering and teasing between them, and sighed a little to herself. So many mistakes; if she'd been through all that Darien had, she'd never trust anyone ever again. Yet Darien still trusted Hobbes with his life, and his sanity. It just proved to her that the ex-thief was a much better person than she could ever hope to be.

Darien slouched reluctantly into the lab, and Claire followed after promising that she'd return her patient to Hobbes in a very short while.

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

Friday evening finally rolled around. Adam was grabbing a Coke from the fridge when the phone rang. He glanced over at the partially cracked bathroom door, but could tell that the shower was still running from the steam seeping out. That, and the fact that Darien's voice was attempting (and spectacularly failing) the higher falsetto of TLC as he sang along to "Waterfall" playing on the shower radio.

"'Don't go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you used to. I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothin' at all, but I think you're moving too fast'..."

Adam grimaced as he hobbled over to the phone. "Stick to the rap, D," he murmured as he picked up the receiver, just as the answering machine came on.

"Yo, Fawkes. You know what to do. BEEEEEEEP!"

"Hello? Darien? It's Eberts," the assistant's voice was raised as if he were in a crowded area.

"Hello, hello? Hey, it's Adam. Darien's in the shower," Adam managed to speak as he cut off the power to the answering machine.

"Good evening Adam," Eberts replied warmly. "Is there any chance that he will be finished soon? I would like to talk to him about something... fairly important."

"Hold on a sec," Adam covered the mouthpiece with his hand as he shouted "DARIEN, PHONE!"

Suddenly the shower cut off, and Darien's dripping head peeked out from around the bathroom door. "What? What is it?" he asked worriedly. "Somethin' wrong? Your leg's aching again?"

"Nah," the precocious teen replied nonchalantly. "Your man Eberts is on the phone. Says he's got something important to talk to you 'bout."

Darien's eyes widened, and his head ducked back into the bathroom as he searched for a towel. His voice drifted out: "Crap. Am I running that late? Dammit! Hobbes'll be here any second!"

True to form, Hobbes' code-knock made the apartment door shudder.

Adam dropped the phone on the table and hopped over to the door as Darien rapidly began drying himself off in the bathroom. As the door opened to reveal Hobbes with arms laden with movies and goodies to snack on, Darien emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel.

"Nice, Fawkes," Hobbes ribbed him. "That a new fashion statement to impress your girlfriend?"

Darien suddenly fake-laughed and just as quickly wiped all traces of humor from his face as he picked up the phone. "Hey, Ebes, wha's up?"

"Hello, Darien. I just wanted to inform you that I shall be at the Convention Center until late in the evening tonight."

"How long've you been there?"

"Approximately seven and a half hours now," the assistant replied a little bashfully.

"Get any hits yet on our mark?"

"Actually, yes. I'm due to meet my contact within the next half-hour."

"Cool. Keep in touch, okay?"

"Hey, where is he?" Hobbes dumped the bags onto the couch and quickly strode over to Darien. "And don't be blowin' me off tonight with all that 'Yer bein' too paranoid Hobbesy', and 'Did you take yer pills today Hobbesy?' crap. We both know that this is need to know here."

"Alright, alright! Jeeze, man, chill out!" Darien backed away a couple of steps from his fervent friend. "Ebes, could ya fill in Hobbes while I go get dressed? I'm running a little behind."

"Of course, Darien. I hope that you and Dr. O'Clare have a pleasant evening."

"Thanks. Here," Darien handed the phone over to Hobbes. "Try to be gentle, 'kay?" he kidded as he grabbed his slipping towel and headed back to the bathroom.

Hobbes ignored his partners' gibe and got down to the business in his hand. "So, Eberts, what's your sit-rep?"

"Good evening, Robert. I am at the Convention Center."

"How long you plan on bein' there?"

"Officially, tonight's events will wrap up at around eleven o'clock, but the attendees usually have after-hours get-togethers well into the night."

"'Events'? What kinda shindig is this?" Hobbes was getting irritated at the thought that the others were erroneously assuming he was going to go overboard with the paranoia thing again.

The assistant sighed ever-so-slightly. "It is a gaming convention, Robert."

"I get the impression you've been there awhile," Hobbes hinted dryly.

"A true gaming enthusiast is at a convention when it first begins," Eberts explained.

"And when did this one start?"

"A little over seven hours ago."

Hobbes did a mental double-take. "You mean to tell me that the boss left you off early just so you could go play video games with a bunch of geeks?"

Eberts sighed again, louder this time. "The Official let me go early so that I could investigate a case, Robert. I am not here to 'play games with a bunch of geeks', as you so eloquently put it."

"I seriously doubt that playing Pac Man for seven hours'd qualify as you working a case, Eee-berts."

"Hey, Hobbes, back off man," Darien strode out of the bathroom as he buttoned up his burgundy silk-like dress shirt. Gold stitching ran along his collarbone giving the semblance of a dressed-up cowboy shirt. "You know anything about working a gaming convention?"

"No," the stolid agent admitted hesitantly.

"Then do us all a favor and shut the hell up about it," Darien counseled. "Looks like Ebes has a good grip on what to do at one'a these things, so let him go and do his job, okay?"

Adam piped up from the couch. "Y'know Hobbes, Eberts has gone to gamers' conferences before." He finished stacking up the movies by hot chick category and glanced up at the diminutive agent.

"And how would you know that?" Hobbes queried with a raised eyebrow.

"He and I hung out with Alex for awhile while you and Darien were on that Furbee case, remember?"

"How could I forget that stupid toy?" Hobbes grimaced. Darien's expression echoed his partners' as he strode over to the bed to retrieve the beat-up pair of cowboy boots that Hobbes had given him as a Chanukah present.

"Anyway, Darien was going to take me to this one... until I busted my leg, that is." He scowled at his guardian, just daring him to make a snide comment. "And, a couple'a my friends were hackers; they were always hanging out at conventions, trying to get the scoop on the newest games."

"So what, you sayin' that computer hackers are also video game freaks?" Hobbes asked incredulously.

"Unfortunately, quite stereotypical, but yes, there is a rather large contingent of people who are well-versed in computer programming as well as online and console gaming," Eberts re-entered the conversation.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Hobbes almost snapped. It was as if he wasn't used to not understanding half of what was being said during this mission mini-briefing, and found that he didn't like the feeling one bit. "I expect a sit-rep at oh-double-oh hours."

"I will call you then. Good evening Robert," the aide-de-camp replied before hanging up.

Hobbes dropped the phone back on the stand and mused over the conversation for a moment. The brown swivel chair squeaked a little bit as Darien sat on it to pull on his boots, and Hobbes spun around on his heel to scrutinize his partner for a few moments.

Darien noticed the pensive gaze on him, and without looking up teased: "What? Is it my hair?" He stood and stomped his feet the final few millimeters down into the worn boots. He frowned when there wasn't an answer and turned to face his partner fully. "Bobby, what is it man?"

"Adam."

"What about Adam?" Darien glanced over at the boy in rising concern, but he was flopped comfortably on the couch and watching the conversation unfold.

Hobbes shook his head a little, indicating that he wasn't alluding to the kid's state of health. "How much does he know about this case?"

"Only what he's heard me talk about on the phone, I guess," Darien replied as the razor-winged butterflies of worry subsided in his stomach.

"He shouldn't know so much about what we're doin', Fawkes."

"Why?" Darien shrugged as he bent over to straighten out one of his black pants legs. "What's he gonna do: sell my 'secrets' to the Russians?" he chuckled. He straightened up with a grin, but that faded away when he saw that his partner wasn't the slightest bit amused.

"Of course not, but the less he knows, the safer he'll be," was the firm reply.

"C'mon, whaddaya want me to do, Bobby - hide in the bathroom and run the faucets so Adam can't hear me on the phone?"

"Better than further endangering a kid you're charged to protect."

Adam grimaced. "Y'know, I am sitting right here, guys. You don't have to talk about me like I wasn't in the room or anything." He straightened to bring his head fully into view over the back of the couch. "And anyway, all I know is that Eberts is at a gaming convention on some sort of investigation. How could that put me in danger?"

"Believe me kid, when I say that knowledge gets you nothin' but trouble these days," Hobbes counseled. "And in the spy racket, ignorance really is bliss."

"Oh my God, Hobbes," Darien groaned. "Are you gonna spout that line again?"

"Oh, so that means you told Casey all about The Agency and what you do?"

Darien looked a little uncomfortable. "She already knows about the gland." He turned and made his way back to the bathroom to put the finishing touches on his hair.

"But have you told her 'bout all the other stuff that's happened since then? And a lot has, y'know," Hobbes called after him.

"Fine, I see your point. But you gotta admit Adam's situation is a little different than Case's," the lanky agent's voice floated out. He ran the hairdryer momentarily to dry the last bits of goo from the tips of his "masterpiece", turned it off, and then admired his handiwork in the mirror.

"True. But in this case what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And you know I'm right."

"I haven't told him any details on the case, and I wasn't planning to. You happy? Or should I sound-proof my apartment too?" Darien splashed a little aftershave on his fingertips and applied it before washing off his hands.

"Not a bad idea; you never know who's listening."

"Jesus, Hobbes..." Darien's head popped out into Hobbes' line of sight.

"Hey, watch your mouth in front'a the kid, mister."

"Ah, dammit, it's not like I've never heard that crap before," Adam piped in.

"Adam," the two men growled warning in unison.

"Fine, okay, whatever! I'll shut up!" He threw up his hands in frustration before affecting an innocent look. "Hey, aren't you going to be late for your date, Darien?"

Darien looked at his watch. "Dammit. Gotta go." He snagged his black leather jacket and keys from the pool table on his way to the door. "Don't stay up too late guys. And you'd better be asleep when I get home, Adam."

"Yes, dad," Hobbes and Adam chorused as the door swung shut behind the long-legged man.

Darien could faintly hear Adam complaining to Hobbes. "How come I can't swear, but Darien can?"

"Because he's old enough to know better."

"Like I'm not?"

Darien hesitated after he locked the door, his carefree demeanor dropped like the façade it was. He scrubbed one hand across his face as the depression fell like a great leaden weight onto his shoulders. He tried his best to keep it from the others, and wondered how long it would be before Hobbes picked up on it and tried to foist the Zoloft off on him.

Well, at least the nightmares have changed. With that thought, a snippet of the previous night's nastiness slid into the forefront of his mind.

Instead of watching Kevin die, he'd watched his older brother and Arnaud slowly slice off his manhood with a very dull and dirty scalpel. "Really, Fawkes, it's better this way," that Swiss-Miss mother smirked. "You wouldn't want to pass on your... 'problems'... to your children now, would you?"

"It is for the best, Darien," Kevin smiled sadly. "We just never figured what long-term effects the Quicksilver gland would have on the reproductive process, let alone on you. There's no guarantee that your children wouldn't be born without some sort of defect. There are just too many variables..."

Then, through the searing agony in his gut, Darien had seen some of the horrible ways a child could be deformed, all somehow related to the gland in his head. One small child had smiled sweetly at him from over Kevin's shoulder; which didn't seem so bad, until he noticed that her eyes were silver, and that she had a snakes' tongue flickering in and out of her mouth from the gap where her two front baby teeth had fallen out. Another child had the gland growing on the outside of his little head; the horrible white thing pulsed like some malevolent squid... as if it had a life of its own. More children had appeared and faded away from his dreaming minds' eye, until he'd woken up with the terror howling its way out from his gut.

The first time he had that nightmare, he'd barely made it to the bathroom to upchuck what felt like the previous three days' meals. Fortunately that was before Adam had returned to his life, and since then he'd tried to keep from disturbing the lad. Adam had enough on his mind already, and there was nothing the boy could do about it in any case.

Thank God he's a deep sleeper.

And Claire was already worried enough about Darien's emotional health. He knew she was talking to Bobby's shrink about his previous nightmares. Some invisible recon on and off over the course of a week proved that conclusively. If he told her about the new twist his nighttime visions had taken, she'd probably insist on medicating him and sending him to a therapist.

No one understands how I'm feeling, he thought gloomily.

Okay, that was a lie. Alex would understand, since she knew firsthand what it was like to have something vital taken from her: like sweet baby James, for example. But she was off on a mission; once again farmed out to yet another government agency so the Fat Man could make more money to further "The Cause". And Darien just couldn't see calling her in the middle of the night to talk... she'd be really ticked that he was bugging her during what little personal time she was allotted these days.

He shook his head in an effort to chase the gloomies away and continued down the hall towards the stairs. Casey was irritated enough that he had to renege on their last date because of his job; she'd probably be really aggravated this time if he made her wait too long outside the club. While it usually didn't get that cold this close to the border, tonight was actually pretty chilly, even by Southern Californian standards.

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

Act Two

At the convention, Eberts was deeply engrossed in the game, Doom. His warrior had either defeated or slain eleven other opponents who were playing from the comfort of their homes all over the country, and he now had a small yet loyal pack of wolf-dogs at his beck and call. Only one opponent had eluded his grasp, and it turned out that the player was at the bank of computers across from him. He deduced that from the muttered imprecations about that "God-damned pack'a stupid mutts", and "what kind'a moron keeps a pack'a wild dogs anyway? Too much effort. Slows ya down."

It was a decidedly feminine voice.

After over an hour of playing Doom, Eberts took a snack break. He was dressed in typical gamer and convention goers' attire: a comfortable pair of old faded jeans, penny loafers, a dark blue cardigan and a black t-shirt proclaiming, "The Truth Is Out There. It's Not Pretty."

He pulled a small brown paper bag from his backpack, bought a soda from one of the conveniently placed machines, and retired to a small table in the cafe to munch and watch the other convention goers mill about.

Once he was finished with his snack, he re-entered the hall to check out some of the other games. He noticed that the one guy playing on the Nintendo system had been there since Eberts had first entered the convention hours before, and he wandered over to see how the latest opponent was faring. Just as he came up behind the small crowd surrounding the two players, the defender decisively trounced the challenger. When the champ asked for any other takers, most of the onlookers turned away, and the rather portly man grinned in triumph. Eberts suddenly felt the urge to "show this upstart a lesson", and he stepped up to challenge the other man.

"Your funeral," the gelatinous lump gurgled.

"We'll see," Eberts replied quietly as he took his seat. He unplugged the controller from the console as he reached inside his backpack for the one that he'd brought from home. The defender nodded in understanding: only a "true" player would bring his own controller, much like a professional pool player who would only use his own cue.

Eberts settled into the butt-groove from the previous challengers, and the game began. After a while, the crowd trickled back as they realized that something important was about to happen.

Eberts was kicking the defenders' ass.

Soon, murmured bets were being exchanged as the two men battled for supremacy. At one point Eberts overheard a quiet remark stating that the defending champ had never been beaten before, and that he'd traveled to conventions all over the country. It seemed to be the man's only occupation.

The champ put up a valiant fight, but after forty-five minutes it became apparent that Eberts was the superior player. After some more time passed, he placed the finishing touches to his impending victory, and the now former champ hung his head in defeat. The obese man dropped the controller to the ground and turned to his opponent, who was receiving many congratulatory pats on the back from the excited onlookers. Eberts had a brief moment of panic, wondering if the man was furious over being beaten by a relative newcomer to the event. But that fear was allayed as the defeated offered his hand in respect. They shook before they stood to get some more blood flow into their legs. The man introduced himself as Marlin as he leaned in towards Eberts, and asked over the still excited chatter from the crowd behind them if they could get together and discuss Eberts' strategy; he'd love to know how the mild-mannered assistant came up with some of his wonderful moves. Eberts agreed to meet the man later on in the evening, and they contentedly parted ways for a few hours.

Just then the woman that had been across from Eberts while they were playing Doom fell into step alongside him.

"Nice job there," she complimented with a nod of respect. "I played against him earlier tonight. He so kicked my butt."

"Maybe beginners' luck," Eberts conceded with a small smile.

"Not the way you were playing. You're an old pro at that game; anyone with eyes could see that."

"Thank you."

"You must spend a lot of time playing," she hinted.

"It isn't the only one I have at home."

"I'm sure. But doesn't your wife get sick'a you playin' all the time?" she raised a black eyebrow inquiringly.

He ducked his head a little to hide the blush creeping up from his collar. "I... I'm not married."

"You?" She seemed surprised. "Not even a girlfriend?"

He shook his head. "I, ah, have a very demanding job," he hedged.

"Oh. Whaddaya do?"

"I'm a, ahm, an accountant."

"Hunh. Figured you as more of a tech support guy," she replied.

"Well, I do maintain the company's mainframe as well."

"I knew it. You seem too smart to just be a measly bean counter," she grinned, her sapphire eyes sparkling.

Eberts felt the flush creep higher. "Th-thanks."

"So, you live here in the city, or did you fly in?" she steered the subject to a less embarrassing topic.

"I live here," he replied quietly.

"You're not one much for talking, are you?" she chuckled.

He shook his head with a little smile.

"I bet I could get you to cut loose," she challenged as she tucked a wayward strand of silky straight black hair behind her ear.

He blinked, unsure of what she was suggesting. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Have a beer... talk about some games?" she tilted her head a little to look up at him. He suddenly realized that this woman was tiny compared to him: barely five feet tall, he figured.

Eberts grin broadened. "It would be an honor to have a drink with you, Miss..." he trailed off questioningly.

The tiny woman stopped dead in her tracks and shook her head. "Duh. Sorry. Forgot to introduce myself." She stuck out her hand. "Samantha Tierney."

Eberts took her hand gently in his own and shook it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Tierney. Albert Eberts."

She frowned a little before grinning again. "You always this formal?" she asked as they dropped hands.

Eberts ducked his head slightly. "Force of habit."

"Well, drop the Miss stuff and call me Sam," she tilted her head sideways. "So, you know a good place to grab a beer?"

"I believe there is a brasserie across the street in the Gaslamp District," he volunteered.

"Great! I could go for something to eat, too." To his great surprise and dismay, she casually hooked her arm through his, and the two made their way through the throng of gamers to their destination.

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

The barmaid dropped some coasters onto the table and smoothly deposited two chilled glasses of beer in front of Eberts and Samantha. "Run a tab?" she queried, and the pair nodded. She jotted a note down in her pad, mentioned that the food would be at the table in a few minutes, and made her way back to the bar.

"So, Albert, what's your favorite game?" Sam asked. She eyed the foam cap in her mug approvingly; the bartender had made sure there wasn't much of a head on it.

"That depends," he replied. "Console, computer or online?"

If his co-workers at the Agency saw him now, they'd barely recognize Eberts: his expression was relaxed and warm, and his posture easy instead of its typical rigid working stance. He took a sip of his beer.

Sam chuckled. "You are hardcore, aren't ya?"

He shrugged a little with one shoulder. "My... career... doesn't allow me much personal time."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean. This is the first real break I've gotten in months."

He tilted his head a little sideways in question. "What do you do?"

Her eyes dropped, and she took a swig of her beer before answering. "Well, I'm in programming..."

"Here's your food," the waitress materialized beside their table with two platters. The first one, an open-faced Reuben sandwich with a huge mound of fries, was set down in front of Sam, while the other, a plate full of stuffed potato skins, gently clunked in front of Eberts' beer. "Enjoy," the obviously fatigued woman smiled and added before leaving them: "Just wave at me if you want anything else, okay?" She then swiveled around and disappeared into the overcrowded bar area.

Samantha dug into her sandwich with gusto, explaining in between mouthfuls that she hadn't had much to eat all day due to travel.

Eberts realized that, as his earlier snack had in fact been his impromptu supper, it had fallen woefully short of his usual evening repast. He was fortunate in that his plate was loaded with nine overstuffed potato skins, and he ended up polishing off three of them before he realized it.

"Wow, this is delicious," Sam enthused. "How's yours?" She nodded at his plate.

"Surprisingly enough... tasty," Eberts admitted. Ever since Hobbes had "treated" him to that horrifying plate of pseudo-food at Wadja's Eats, he'd been leery of eating anything not made with his own two hands.

"So, you never did answer my question," she prodded as she licked a bit of mustard from the corner of her mouth.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled through a mouthful of potato, cheese, sour cream and bacon pieces.

"Your favorite game?"

"Oh," he grabbed his napkin and held it up to his mouth as he spoke around the food. "Current favorite is Halo." He hurriedly tried to swallow a huge lump of cheese, which proceeded to go down the wrong tube. He sputtered as his face started to turn crimson, and Sam immediately dropped the remains of her sandwich. She hopped off of her chair, rushed around to Eberts' back, and began to give him the Heimlich. Two swift upward jerks of her fist, and the cheese chunk flew out of his mouth and onto his plate.

Eberts gasped for a few moments as he got his breath back. Fuzzy stars danced around the edges of his vision, and his throat burned from the abuse it was put through. A glass of water materialized in front of him, and a small hand gently squeezed his shoulder.

"Take a few sips of this, when you can," Sam softly advised.

He accepted the glass and did as instructed, once the spasmodic coughing had eased. Finally, he was able to draw a shaky, yet stable breath, and he looked back up at Samantha. She had seated herself again, but had moved her chair closer to his in case he needed more assistance. She silently handed him a napkin that she had dipped into her water glass, and he took it to dab at his face.

"Thank you," he murmured hoarsely with a weak grin.

"Don't mention it," she patted his arm with a warm smile. "Next time, eat your supper earlier... so you won't be so hungry from such an extended fast. Believe me, as much as I travel, I learned that the hard way. It's so much more embarrassing having the Heimlich done to you by some burly stewardess on a red-eye flight."

Eberts unintentionally snorted at the term 'red-eye'.

Sam's eyebrows creased in concern. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just clearing my throat," he fibbed. There was just no way he could explain Quicksilver Madness to this woman.

My goodness, he thought bemusedly. Robert's behavior is starting to wear off on me, too. He took another small sip of the cold water to cover the private grin elicited from that errant thought. "So, I was telling you about my favorite game, I believe?" As embarrassing as the incident was, he was eager to move away from it as quickly as possible.

Sam eyed him up assessingly for a moment. Satisfied that Eberts wasn't going to have another choking fit, she allowed the conversation to progress. "You said Halo?"

"Yes. It has some of the best graphics and effects I've come across in a while." His eyes seemed to glow as he discussed one of his favorite topics.

"Yeah, it's a pretty smooth game," she agreed. "It actually has a solid plot to it, and the progression isn't choppy in the least."

"And don't forget the soundtrack," he grinned.

"So kick-ass," she acceded. "But there's some pixilated fuzziness in a few of the close-ups that can throw ya off if you're not careful."

"Hm, I haven't noticed that," he wondered quietly. "Maybe I need to get my eyes checked again."

"When was your last exam?"

He ran some mental calculations. "Actually, my yearly checkup is next month."

"Enh, doin' it a few weeks earlier won't hurt none," she shrugged.

"No, I can wait," he sighed. "My health plan strictly prohibits my having yearly exams earlier than scheduled." He picked up his almost-forgotten beer and took a tentative swallow. It was surprisingly still fairly cold... to him, few things were worse than a warm beer with supper.

"Sounds like you got yourself an HMO," she grimaced. "My condolences."

"Well, my company works on a... very tight budget," he returned. "One has to be resourceful when..."

"When one is... underfunded," she finished. "Yeah, I went through that before. Sucks, don't it?"

"Totally," he admitted with a small smile.

"How are you at writing programs?" she queried.

"No one's broken my firewalls yet," he replied with pride.

"Had a few attempts?" There was suddenly something different in her bearing. A touch of... uneasiness?

"Some in the past," he nodded. "But nothing I couldn't handle."

"What's that saying? 'Pride goeth before a fall'?" she teased.

"My superior keeps me grounded," he confessed a mite hesitantly.

"Sounds like your boss is quite the ball-buster."

"No, just strict. He's a very driven man."

"Hmph. Strict, huh? But you still respect the guy." That was a statement rather than a question, and Eberts fidgeted unhappily. "Okay, I can tell I'm making you uncomfortable. Do you feel up to playing some more games?" She capitulated and gestured towards his throat.

Eberts nodded as he beckoned for the waitress to bring the check, and he pulled out his wallet. He began to withdraw enough money to cover both tabs, but Samantha covered his hand with hers. He blushed and raised his eyes to meet her sparkling blue ones, and she firmly stated: "If you're on an HMO, then your salary can't be up to snuff either. I appreciate the offer, but I'll take care of my own tab." She softened her remark with a warm smile, and Eberts relented.

"Your mother must be proud that she raised such a gentleman," she lightly kidded.

"I am sure she would be," he admitted, and elaborated when Sam cocked her head questioningly. "She passed away when I was eleven."

"I'm sorry. It must've been very difficult for you." Eberts was surprised to see only compassion in her eyes instead of the pity he would have expected. "Was your father still around?"

"Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, his sister moved in with us until he remarried." He smiled a little at the memories of his aunt's arrival at their small house, and how kind and loving she was. She had seemed to know exactly how to ease him and his grieving father through that tempestuous time. He still sent her his monthly letter on how his life was going, although they were always sparse due to the complicated nature of his current line of work. But any letter is better than none, she'd always said, and so he made sure to keep in touch with her no matter what.

He took the check from the waitress and gave her his part of the bill, plus half of the tip. Samantha just gave the woman a twenty and told her to keep the change. Eberts' eyebrows rose at what he considered an extravagant expense, but Sam merely shrugged.

"I just got paid from my last job," she admitted. "I allow myself to splurge once in a while. And tonight I figured I'd give that poor woman something to really smile about." She slid off of the barstool and waited for him to join her, and she led the way out onto the street.

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

While Eberts was enjoying his repast with Sam, Darien met Casey outside of the club only five minutes late. She arched her brow at his approach, and lightly teased him about whether it was the Friday night traffic or the excessive grooming of his hair that had delayed his arrival. She smiled much as she did three years ago, soon after they had begun dating the first time. And the way her face lit up when she was amused still managed to make his heart skip a beat.

They went inside and enjoyed a late dinner of fresh steamed crawdads and jambalaya. The jam session was in full swing when they finished, and Darien actually persuaded Case to get up on stage and sing. Some of the notes came out flat, but no one in the club seemed to care. Finally, closing time arrived, and the club staff shooed reluctant clients out onto the street.

The heavy wooden door opened and disgorged two laughing people. The tall, lanky man had his arm draped protectively around the slightly shorter woman's shoulders. She rested her head against him as they walked towards his car parked a half block down the street. Once there, she leaned against the passenger door and pulled her coat more closely about her.

"Cold?" Darien asked. He moved as if to take his coat off, but she smiled and shook her head.

"Only if I have to stay outside for long," Casey replied. "Would you mind giving me a ride home?"

Darien blinked. "Where's your car?"

"In the shop," she shrugged. "Some idiot banged into the rear bumper in the hospital's parking lot. Almost tore the whole thing off."

"You weren't..." he began. His brow furrowed as he began to worry.

"No, I was in the middle of rounds," she reassured him. She looked up at him with a warm smile for a few moments before saying, "Darien, thank you."

"For what?"

"For such a wonderful evening," she returned. They stood there for a moment gazing into each other's eyes, all of the emotions of the past three odd years rolling through them.

And then Casey shivered again.

"Crap, where're my manners?" Darien shook himself out of the reverie created by her luminous blue eyes. He reached around her as he fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door and handed her inside - the picture of the perfect gentleman. Sliding into the drivers' seat, he blasted the heater once the engine was warmed up.

Casey closed her eyes and sighed as the chill was swept from her bones. "I don't want tonight to end," she sighed.

Darien studied her face intently as he tried to keep a handle on his overactive imagination. "Me neither," he murmured.

The tone in his voice made Casey's eyes snap open, and she caught his hungry glance before he hurriedly averted his gaze. Her face softened, and she reached out and gently turned his face back to her.

"Darien," she breathed huskily, and suddenly she was in his arms. His kiss was tender, not commanding, demanding or forceful. She returned it, remembering the passionate chemistry they had once shared.

It was still there.

Darien lost himself in the kiss. He missed this... missed Casey. Missed being loved.

And then his left leg Quicksilvered.

"Dammit!" he groaned as he pulled back. His cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and he slapped at the errant limb until it reappeared.

He turned his head away from her, prepared to hear something negative or cutting from Case, but instead a slender hand first rested on his shoulder before softly caressing his cheek.

"Side effect from the gland." It was a statement instead of a question.

He nodded as he mentally berated himself.

"Darien, stop it," she commanded quietly. "I'm fine with it."

He snuck a peek at her from the corner of his eye. "Really?"

"No, not really," she chuckled as she traced his cheekbone with her fingertips. "The whole situation is just so... surreal. But I am curious about some things..."

"You want to know what it feels like?"

"Oh, Darien, you don't have..." she began, but he covered her hand with his own. And suddenly she shimmered... and disappeared.

"Ooooooooooh," she breathed out. She held her hands up to look at them, and was disconcerted when she couldn't see them.

Darien smiled a little when the Quicksilver flaked off of her. "What do you think?"

Casey blinked as she gathered her whirling thoughts. She then looked at him with wide eyes. "How long did it take for you to get used to that?"

"What, the actual going invisible part? A few days," he shrugged. In the beginning, even the thought of going invisible had really weirded him out. But after a few years to get adjusted, the whole thing had become as natural as breathing to him. But that didn't change the fact that he was effectively a slave to the frickin' thing.

"Darien, why don't we go back to my place and talk?" she suggested tenderly. She could sense that he was pulling away: emotionally withdrawing back into his shell.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Case," he replied dully.

"Darien..." Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"C'mon, it's late. And you've gotta work tomorrow, right?" Darien couldn't look at her. He just fastened his seatbelt and removed the parking brake.

She nodded as the awkwardness fell like a velvet curtain between them. Darien pulled out into the almost deserted street and headed for Casey's apartment.

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

Eberts was enjoying himself thoroughly. After he and Samantha rejoined the throng of gamers in the convention hall, they had separated for a few hours with the promise of meeting up after the event concluded for the night.

He walked out on to the veranda to look over the bay and leaned on the railing. It was a clear and cool night, and the light ocean breeze made him glad that he wore his extra thick wool blend cardigan. He heard the heavy tread of another person approaching him and casually looked over his shoulder to see Marlin, who grinned toothily when he was recognized.

"You know, I always imagined you were taller," the rotund fellow rumbled.

"Good evening, Marlin," Eberts replied mildly. "How goes the competition?"

"Worthless compared to you," Marlin chuckled. "I've yet to find another opponent as interesting as you."

"I find that hard to believe. After six years, surely..."

"No, no," he waved a beefy hand. "As always, you underplay your skills. You're an exquisite tactician, Albert. I'd find it most difficult to believe that your employer doesn't appreciate your talent."

"In his way, he does," Eberts conceded.

"But..." he rested his meaty arms on the railing beside the slighter man.

"But I am only part of a team," the assistant apprised him. He paused as his expression sobered. "Have you heard anything... new?"

Marlin remained silent for a few moments as he considered his answer. "Yes and no."

Eberts waited patiently for him to continue.

"This isn't someone with a day job. They do this as a full-time profession."

"Go on," Eberts urged. This part he'd deduced for himself, and his friend just confirmed it.

"I don't think it's a man," Marlin murmured.

Eberts' eyes widened at that statement. "A woman? What makes you think that?"

"The style. Many men are devious, but there's a certain level of... finesse, that only a certain kind of woman can bring to these types of jobs."

"Meaning..." Eberts prodded.

"Meaning that she was most likely a former government employee. With high level clearance, no doubt."

Eberts' brow furrowed in concern. "This info come from a trickle-down?"

Marlin shook his head enough that his jowls jiggled like Jell-o. "Collaborative effort with some friends on the inside."

Eberts scrubbed at his face with one hand. "You know this person tried to hit my agency this week."

"Obviously she's just not as good as you," came the burbled compliment.

"No. She would have broken through if I hadn't been checking the system's security at the same time. I was barely able to come up with additional measures just as she was breaking through my firewalls."

"But she didn't get through."

"Thank goodness, no," came the relieved sigh.

"So now you know what to protect against," Marlin clapped Eberts on the shoulder, which made the slighter man stagger a step to the side.

He rubbed at his shoulder; there would probably be a light bruise there tomorrow. "I hope so."

"What's this? Do I sense doubt coming from 'The Power Behind The Throne'?" Marlin teased.

"Thanks for the help, Marlin. I owe you one." Eberts grinned at the lighthearted jab.

"No, we're even now," the portly man shook his head. "Especially after that favor you did me the other year."

"I didn't do all that much," Eberts confessed. "All I did was get you some additional time to get your papers in order."

"C'mon, of all people, you should know that when it comes to an audit of that magnitude, if one isn't fully prepared at the outset, then one is in for some serious ghay'cha'."

"You always had a flair for the dramatic," the assistant shook his head with a chuckle.

"No more so than you, my friend."

The two men chatted for a while longer, letting the topic stray to less important things, before parting company for the evening.

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

Act Three

At ten 'til midnight, the phone in Darien's apartment rang. Hobbes simultaneously stabbed the mute and pause buttons on the remote with one hand as he snagged the receiver with the other.

"Bobby Hobbes."

"Hello, Robert. Eberts reporting in."

Hobbes glanced at his watch. "You're early. What's your sit-rep?" He shook his head sharply in response to Adam's tilted head and questioning look. The teen sighed a little, relieved that it wasn't Darien, and continued his assembly of the perfect midnight sandwich: turkey and ham, bologna, sliced Swiss and cheddar cheeses, tomato, lettuce, ketchup, honey mustard, relish, sliced pickles, and chips... all stacked precariously on a large Kaiser roll.

Adam licked his lips in anticipation, and firmly smushed his creation with both hands in order to get more in his mouth on the first bite.

"I've met with my contact," the subordinate replied proudly.

"Aaaand?" Hobbes rolled his eyes.

"And I would very much appreciate it if you would check on something for me."

"Me," Hobbes stated in disbelief. "Whaddaya want me to do?"

Eberts paused a moment. "See if you can track our hacker's sig."

Hobbes frowned. "What?"

"After this person was finished downloading files from our sibling agencies, she left a signature behind."

"I have abso-frickin-lutely no idea what the hell you're sayin'," Hobbes scratched the top of his head.

Eberts sighed in resignation. "It's kind of like leaving a memento behind at 'the scene of the crime'," he explained. "Much like those snipers did on the East Coast last fall."

"Ah. The tarot cards."

"Exactly. Our hacker has left behind an image of a smiley face... with... a bullet hole between its eyes," Eberts finished a little sheepishly.

"That's wonderful, Eeberts," Hobbes grated sarcastically. "But that still doesn't tell me exactly how you expect me look for this... woman."

"Hey, Hobbes," Adam called from the kitchen. "You want something to eat? I got some ham left over here."

"Adam is still awake?" Eberts admonished. "Robert..."

"It's not like it's a frickin' school night or anything!" Hobbes retorted. "As long as the kid's in bed and asleep by the time Fawkes gets back, we're okay."

"And do you know exactly when Darien will be returning?" came the acerbic reply.

"Not... exactly. But don't change the subject, Eberts." He stood up and strode into the bathroom, motioning for Adam to resume watching the movie. The boy shrugged, carried his half-eaten sandwich and soda back to the couch and clicked "The Mummy Returns" back into roaring action.

Hobbes pushed the bathroom door mostly shut so he could hear Eberts better.

"Fine," the aide sighed. "What I need you to do is to run a search on all companies in San Diego that have T1 lines. They are fiber-optic cable Internet connections: they are to dial-up connections like race cars are to horse and buggies," he explained. "My thoughts are that our hacker might be using the legitimate connection as a cover, so any abnormal usage on the companies' part would stand out if you know what to look for."

"This could take me a while," Hobbes warned. "And I don't exactly have a computer handy right now, y'know."

"I'm aware of that Robert," came the reply. "I will make sure that you have access to the computer room at The Agency for tomorrow. Is that acceptable?"

Hobbes grinned. "Only if you don't mind paying me overtime."

"Depending on how long it takes you to get the information we need, you still have seven and a half hours left before you would begin accruing extra pay," Eberts explained crisply. "There is the matter of you and Darien leaving work early yesterday."

Hobbes grimaced. "How the hell did... never mind. Are you planning on stopping in at work tomorrow?"

"I will be coming in at lunchtime, depending on how long I am out tonight."

"I see," Hobbes replied flatly. "And would you just happen to be accruing overtime for your... 'efforts' tonight, Eberts?"

"As of now, I am technically off the clock," was the acerbic reply. "And for the record, Robert, I am a salaried employee. How many hours I work makes no difference in my pay."

"Must be nice," the sturdy agent snarked.

"Goodnight Robert. I will talk to you tomorrow," Eberts ignored the jab and hung up.

"Daddy's friggin' pencil-pusher," Hobbes groused in irritation as he punched the power button on the phone.

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

Eberts hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh. Robert could be so... vexing when it came to money, he thought. Between Hobbes and The Official, the constant bickering over the years about finances had given the humble assistant a stomach ulcer.

He shook the matter from his mind and turned his attention to the departing convention goers. People were milling about as they searched for their friends, acquaintances and spouses. Eberts looked around for Samantha, and after a few moments spotted her making her way towards him.

Her face lit up when she saw him recognize her, and Eberts was surprised to feel an answering grin spread across his face.

"So, handsome, whaddaya wanna do now?" Sam asked as they came abreast of each other.

Eberts looked around himself in puzzlement. "Are... you talking to me?"

She chuckled. "Of course, silly. Know anyone else named Albert here?"

"Actually..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she grimaced wryly. "So, have any plans?"

"I've been invited to a few room parties at the hotel across the way," he replied. "I was asked to bring a friend if I liked. Interested?"

She considered the request for a moment. "Hm. I think I've had my fill of crowded places for now. Wanna go somewhere and talk?"

"Sure. But there aren't many places open at this time of night that are suitable for having a conversation," he admitted.

"What about the lounge at the hotel? There's that huge balcony with the chairs and couches in it."

"Is that where you're staying?" Eberts inquired.

"Yep. Special convention rates since I booked early," she replied smugly. "As long as we don't disturb anyone, there shouldn't be a problem if we hang out there for a few hours or so."

"Would you like to get something to eat or drink right now?"

"I have snacks in my room," she replied as she led the way out of the Convention Center. "You up for some coffee?"

Eberts' doctor's warning to cut down on the caffeine surfaced as he thought of all the coffee he drank that day. "I'm more of a tea person in the evenings," he replied mildly. "Better for my blood pressure."

She chuckled. "I much prefer herbal teas myself. Although decaf Earl Grey is pretty tasty."

They came to the street and checked the traffic flow before crossing. "So," Eberts began once they'd made it safely across. "What kind of programming do you do?"

Her back stiffened slightly as she stepped up onto the curb. "I freelance design sentinel programs for corporate mainframes," she replied without emotion.

"Security," he nodded his approval. "Quite profitable in a highly competitive field. You must be very talented... or have excellent connections."

Sam forced a smile as Eberts opened the door to the main lobby of the hotel for her. "A little of both, actually," she replied dryly.

Eberts blushed and stopped in his tracks in the middle of the lobby as he realized how his comment could have been taken. "Oh. My. I-I am so sorry. I didn't mean... I... I mean..." he sputtered a little as he tried to find the right words to apologize to her.

Sam's face softened and she began to chuckle. "You sure are cute with your foot stuck in your mouth."

He gathered his composure and started over. "I must apologize. I did not mean to infer that as a woman you were inferior in any way to men, or that you would need assistance in order to compete..."

Her eyes sparkled as her amusement grew. "I guess now this means I'm gonna have to kick your butt." She began walking towards the stairwell.

Eberts looked uncomfortable. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," she laughed. "Care to join me for a game in my room? Maybe that's the only way I can prove my superiority to you."

He relaxed and smiled a little. "I accept your challenge," he nodded his head to the side and then followed her up the stairs to the floor her room was on.

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

Saturday was normally quiet at The Agency, with the cleaning staff being the only denizens in the halls of the Harding Building. Hobbes arrived promptly at eight o'clock, looking as if he'd had much more than the mere three hours' sleep from the night before. He carried a small white bakery box and his standard cup'a joe from Starbucks up to the computer room, where to his mild surprise his key-card allowed him access to the "heart of The Agency". Or so Eberts thought of the room.

Guy might be a geek, the compact agent mused as he set down his breakfast. But he's a useful geek. A lot smarter than he lets on.

He took a moment to familiarize himself with the layout of the small room before settling down in the comfortable chair in front of the obviously high-tech computer.

"Damn friggin' Eberts, getting all the friggin' nice stuff," Hobbes grumbled to himself. "I've been here longer, I'm the senior agent. I gotta piece'a crap computer from the stone ages and a broken chair with a spring that pokes my butt, and Mr. Tax Man gets all the best toys." He shrugged as his face set in cynical resignation. "Not like they've ever thought of me as much more than a piece'a furniture anyways." He shook the erroneous dark thoughts from his head, pulled his pills out from the inside pocket of his jacket and downed a couple with a coffee chaser.

He powered up the computer a moment later and set to his task.

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

Eberts arrived an hour and a half later, looking as if he had very little sleep. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles around them. He looked quite abnormal, as he wasn't wearing his standard work clothes. Instead he was clad in a t-shirt, jeans, v-neck sweater and a beat-up pair of loafers. "Good morning, Robert. Have you had any results from your search?" Eberts greeted the only slightly balder man.

"Actually, yes," was the distracted response. Hobbes pored over the information on the computer screen and typed a command before turning to look at the assistant. He raised an eyebrow at the other man's appearance, but refrained from making a comment... for the moment. "You're here early."

Eberts barely rolled his eyes as he set his steaming mug of coffee down on the small side table he reserved for it. He crooked an eyebrow in disapproval at the open bakery box and the smattering of powdered donut sugar on every surface around it. "I see you have made yourself comfortable," he remarked dryly.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure everything's back to its immaculate state before I go," Hobbes replied crisply.

"I'm sure you will, Robert," Eberts smiled as he looked at the screen. "I see you have made good use of those classes I recommended. Maybe I should assign you to tutor Darien."

Hobbes snorted. "Kid's good, but I doubt he'll ever completely get the hang of it," he chuckled. "You didn't see how much he was sweating during his final. Thought he'd lose some'a that vaunted hair of his from the strain."

Eberts' eyes sparkled in amusement at the imagery. He tapped the monitor to segue their conversation to the task at hand. "Care to update me on your work so far?"

Hobbes turned his attention back to the information on the screen. "I narrowed the possibles down to a handful of places in the city. Haven't gotten to checking their usage yet."

Eberts looked slightly surprised. "I did not think you would have made this much progress in so little a time," he verbally applauded. "Excellent work, Robert."

Hobbes blinked at the, from the assistant anyway, exorbitant praise. "Might take me a while to figure out how to get into the companies' systems to check their internet usage though."

"If you would like any assistance, Robert, I would be more than happy to oblige."

"Thanks, but I said last night that I could handle it. Bobby Hobbes doesn't back down from a job just 'cause it's hard."

"All right." Eberts refrained from shaking his head in amusement, as he didn't want to offend the older man. Robert has made some improvement in regards to his self-esteem, but he is still quite sensitive, he thought to himself. "I shall leave you to your work then." He picked up his mug and turned to leave.

"Hey, where you think you're going?" Hobbes called after him.

The aide paused in the doorway. "Back to the convention," he replied with a note of wariness in his voice.

"Why? I thought you got all the info you needed last night," Hobbes queried. He held back on needling the other man; Eberts was actually being nice to him today, after all.

"My contact called me earlier this morning, and may have some more information on our hacker."

"Awright. Give me a call later. We'll exchange what we have then," Hobbes enjoined unintentionally. "I should have more on our perp after lunch."

Eberts nodded. "As long as you are finished by 3:30. I will call you at one o'clock."

"Why 3:30?"

"Because anything you do after that would be considered overtime," the younger man replied. "And The Official has not authorized anyone for such an expense."

"Damned penny-pincher," Hobbes grumbled as he turned back to the computer.

Eberts bit back the retort that sprang to his tongue in defense of his boss. No need in arguing fruitlessly over an erroneous opinion that he knew Hobbes would never change. He turned and left the room, making sure that the door was secure from the outside. It tended to stick sometimes, something that had been added to the already extensive list of items that needed repairing.

Once he was sure that the assistant was gone, Hobbes whipped out his cell phone and dialed his partner.

"Hrmph," grunted Darien, obviously having been roused by the incessant ringing of the phone.

"Rise and shine, Fawkesy." Hobbes enjoyed needling his friend, especially when he had good cause to do so. "Get your lazy butt outta bed."

"Mmph. W-What time is it?" the gangly man mumbled. "Dammit Hobbes, today's Saturday, for cryin' out loud!"

"Yep," he agreed sunnily. "And I've got a job for you. So wipe those sleepies from your eyes and pay attention, gland boy."

Darien sighed gustily. "What now?"

"I need you to go to that convention today."

"Hunh? Why?"

"'Cause Eberts is heading there now, and I'd feel a whole lot easier if he had backup," Hobbes replied as his fingers danced over the computers' keyboard. On a hunch, he ran a check of the traffic on the outgoing lines from the Convention, and grunted in surprise when he picked up an anomaly. "Hunh." He frowned, shook his head, and started a trace program in order to ascertain the exact location the strange signal was coming from, as well as figure out its destination.

"You really need to let this go, Hobbesy," Darien sighed again into the phone. "You're just gonna have to accept that Eberts is the lead agent in this case."

Hobbes merely grunted again as his eyes darted back and forth on the computer screen. His typing speed increased so that his fingers were practically flying over the keys as his attention hyperfocused on the task at hand.

"Jeeze, Hobbes, don't get all surly on me," Darien misinterpreted his partner's silence. "Even your therapist told you to ease up on Eberts. There's no reason for you to be jealous..."

Hobbes twitched as his partners' words began to register. "Hey, Fawkes, do me a favor and shut up a minute," he interrupted gruffly. "Think I'm on to something here."

"What?" Darien sounded fully awake and curious now. The phone picked up the rustle of sheets as he kicked them from his legs, slid off of the bed and padded into the bathroom. "Hobbes?"

"Weird," Hobbes murmured. "Friggin' weird."

"'Kay, you know what? I'm just gonna hang up now, go back to sleep and pretend you never called," Darien snidely remarked.

"Don't even think about it, partner," Hobbes warned without skipping a keystroke. "You do and I'll come over and drag your skinny ass to that Convention Center myself."

Darien chuckled as he flushed the toilet. "You'd have to find me first."

The computer screen flashed the result of the search program, and Hobbes whistled silently through his teeth. "Seems our hacker friend is up to mischief again," he commented blandly.

"Wow. Really? How d'ya figure that?" Darien seemed surprised that Hobbes could get results so quickly.

"Because I'm just that good, kid," the stalwart agent retorted with a touch of pride.

"So what's he doing?"

"She, Fawkes. According to Eberts, it's a she," Hobbes corrected him. "Looks like she's breaking into the DOJ's system this time. Crap, lookit her go."

"Where's she doing this from?" Darien's wry comment brought his partner out of his awestruck observation of a master, or in this case a mistress, at work.

"Hold on, let me check," he replied. He typed in a string of commands and watched the tracer finish its job. But then, just as it was zeroing in on the source of the hacker's signal, the program suddenly froze. Hobbes muttered "Crap," and he started tapping in command after command, but nothing was working.

"What's the matter? Hobbes, what happened?" Darien began to sound concerned.

"Damn thing froze on me," was the frustrated reply. "Either the search program overloaded the computer, or the hacker found out she was bein' traced and sent a sentry after me." He slapped the table in annoyance as his efforts proved fruitless.

"Did you figure out where she was working from?"

"Program narrowed it down to a section of the city before it choked," Hobbes replied. "Gonna reboot and see if anything's salvageable. Fawkes, get dressed and go to the Convention Center. I have a funny feeling Eberts isn't as safe as he thinks." He shut down the computer manually and began the reboot sequence. "And make sure he doesn't 'see' you, got it?"

"Yeah, partner, I got it," Darien sighed in resignation. "Dunno how I'm gonna explain it to Adam that we can't go to the park today."

"Yeah, I'll get Claire to go over and baby-sit," Hobbes stated. "I saw her on my way in. She should be at your place in about half an hour. Is the kid up yet?" The computer chimed as it completed its internal virus scan, and he started trying to piece together whatever information the search program did get before it was annihilated.

"Nah. Out like a light," the rangy man replied. "Seems he couldn't get to sleep after I got back, 'cause he had too much sugar and caffeine. Wonder why?" The deceptively affable tone of his voice inferred that he knew the exact reason why, and would take it out of his partners' hide when the opportunity presented itself.

"Yeah, well, we'll deal with that later," Hobbes hedged. "Right now you'd better get a move on. Conference Center's just around the corner from work."

"And what're you gonna do while I'm out rubbin' elbows with the cream of gaming society?" Darien asked before yawning cavernously.

"I'm gonna narrow down the search field before hoofing it and doin' some recon," Hobbes replied matter-of-factly. "Unless you'd rather switch, that is," he grinned at the jibe.

Darien tried to sound nonchalant with his answer. "Mmmm, nah. You go ahead. More'n ten minutes in a room full of Ebertses would probably make you go postal," he teased back.

"Ha ha. Get a move on, partner."

"Hey, you're the one... what is it? Kibitzing?" Darien chuckled. "Okay, I'm going. I'll leave a note for Adam in case he wakes up before Claire gets here."

"Fine. Move it. I'll meet you at 1:30 to compare notes. Oh, and hey, Fawkes?"

"Yah."

"Try not to lift too many wallets while you're in there," Hobbes quipped just before he hung up. He scratched at the stubble already sprouting along his jaw. Now came the fun part: convincing Claire to take a break and go over to Darien's place for a few hours...

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

It being a Saturday, the entire Convention Centertance, Robert, I would be more than happy to oblige.""Thanks, but I said last night that I could handle it. Bobby Hobbes doesn't back down from a job just 'cause it's hard.""All right." Eberts refrained from shaking his head in amusement, as he didn't want to offend the older man. Robert has made some improvement in regards to his self-esteem, but he is still quite sensitive, he thought to himself. "I shall leave you to your work then." He picked up his mug and turned to leave."Hey, where you thi her a fraction of the time to get to their meeting spot as it did him.

A broad smile brightened Sam's face once she spotted Eberts. "Heyla! Ready to go kick some newbie butt?" she asked as she came abreast of him.

Her smile was contagious, as he found himself bashfully returning the grin. "Absolutely." He held out his elbow, and she threaded her hands around it as they strode towards the entryway of the hall.

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

At the main entrance, Darien looked around in surprised bemusement. My God, I was right, he marveled. I've never seen so many Ebertses in my life! He shook his head to clear it, took a deep breath and practically dove into the teeming throng. He allowed the crowd to sweep him along until he reached the upper level of the Convention Center. He detached himself from the rear of a group of giggling teenagers, all wearing various Magic: The Gathering t-shirts, and leaned against a wall for a few moments to get his bearings.

Most of the traffic was flowing in through a set of double doors into the gaming hall. All were stopped and given a brief pat-down by security guards to make sure no one was trying to sneak anything in or out of the hall before they were asked for their convention ID badges. Only a few of the seasoned gamers trickled out from time to time as they paced themselves throughout the activity-packed day.

Darien fruitlessly searched for any sign of Eberts before making his way to the entrance. He came to within ten feet of the doors when he realized that he wasn't going to be admitted without one of those badges. He briefly considered going invisible, but decided that it was much too crowded for him to be successful. So he did the next best thing: he relieved a badge from one careless, trusting gamer who had casually stuffed it in the cargo pocket of his pants.

As soon as he cleared the doors, Darien started a methodical search of the large room for his co-worker. He began on the left side and slowly worked his way clockwise around the perimeter. As he casually ambled along, he made mental notes of which games Adam might like. Never hurt to stock up for the next presents-required holiday, after all.

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

Sam crowed triumphantly. "Hah! Told you I'd kick your butt!" she teased Eberts with a wink.

He shook his head in bemusement as he chuckled. "To the winner go the spoils," he replied with a small bow.

She looked back at the flashing score on the console and typed in her screen name. Eberts' eyes widened as he recognized Sam's handle. She pressed Enter, and then it was Eberts' turn to enter his name.

She twitched one of her eyebrows in surprise. "'Ping of Doom'?" she read aloud. "No freakin' way!" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he caught the briefest glimpse of a strange emotion: was it... anxiety?

Two booths away, Darien finally spotted Eberts chatting it up with a diminutive woman. Hm, didn't think being shorter than Hobbes was possible, he wondered wryly. It was a rare treat to watch Eberts act like a normal person instead of The Official's yes-man. Darien moved to a more sheltered spot at the Dungeons and Dragons booth and kept an eye on his quarry.

Sam reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny cell phone. It was vibrating furiously. "Sorry," she apologized to Eberts. "Damn thing still surprises me when it goes off. It's probably my last client having some sort of freak out over a command he entered wrong. Gimme a few minutes?"

"Sure," he replied with a smile. "Take your time. I think I need to practice on this one." He waved at the military game they had just finished playing. "I should have the codes figured out when you get back."

She chuckled. "Smarty-pants." Suddenly she went on tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on Eberts' cheek. She turned away before she could see the furious blush that enveloped his face and neck, and walked towards the same Dungeons and Dragons booth that Darien happened to be hanging out at.

"Oh crap," Darien muttered when he saw her approaching. But he forced himself to relax as he remembered that she'd never seen him before. The only way he'd get noticed was if Eberts saw him, so Darien sidled closer to four guys huddled around a gaming table by the partition. The engrossed players didn't even notice the tall agent until he bumped into what looked like the guy running the game.

"Whoa. Hey, man, sorry about that," he apologized as he caught the eight-sided pair of dice the guy dropped.

"Thanks." The man looked like what Darien considered the typical living-in-mom's-basement grungy dude: hair fairly short on the top and sides, with the long hair in the back pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had on loose-fitting khakis, some kind of sci-fi shirt ("Bat Boy Lives!" were the words Darien could make out) with an unbuttoned flannel shirt over top. The other three men were dressed similarly, although the one directly across from the guy in charge had his hair neatly combed and short all around.

"Hey, dude, wanna join in?" Grungeman magnanimously asked.

Darien glanced around, and saw that Eberts was looking his way. He quickly snagged a folding chair from the next table, turned it around, and plopped down on it. He hunched a little, so that his hair wouldn't poke out above the assembled heads. "Sure, why not?" he shrugged. "So what exactly are you guys doing?" He attempted to peer around the Trapper Keeper folder standing on its side in front of Grungeman, but the guy suspiciously put his hands in front of Darien's face with a sharp shake of his head.

"Well," Short Hair began. "You see, Marcus, he's the DM, just sicced a Minotaur on Jesse's elf mage," he gestured to the man to his right. "And my dwarf twins are rushing to help defeat it. Jon's centaur is down in the mines trying to find an entrance to the next level. What's your character?"

"Huh?" Darien grunted. The more the little guy had talked, the more confused the agent had become, and now Darien had the deer in headlights look in his eyes. He suddenly had this dropping feeling in his stomach that he had just taken a ninety-degree wrong turn into... the Twilight Zone.

Grungeman, a.k.a. Marcus the DM, grinned and companionably slapped the tall agent on the shoulder. "I think we've got ourselves a newbie here," he chuckled. At Darien's uncomprehending look, he continued. "This is Dungeon and Dragons, buddy, old school. Except for Jason here," he waved at the short-haired little guy. "We've been playing D&D since it first came out. Lemme guess, you're checking out games for your kid, and was thinking it'd be a pleasant change to have a nice, quiet board game around instead of a bells and whistles Playstation Two. Am I right?"

Darien heaved a great sigh. "Yeah, yeah, that's it exactly. My brother used to play D&D when we were kids, but I never could get the hang of it. I always wanted to act out the stuff going on, 'cause the board and all those papers and dice just seemed so..." he trailed off as he tried to think of a kind way to say it.

"Boring?" Jesse laughed. "Yeah, my sister used to tease me that I'd turn into one'a those trolls from the game if I stayed cooped up in the basement all the time playing."

Darien spied Samantha heading for the exit, and looked over Marcus' head at Eberts. The assistant had turned back to the military game and was completely absorbed in it. In other words: the coast was clear. Darien checked his watch and stood up quickly. "Sorry guys, didn't mean to interrupt you," he smiled apologetically. "I gotta get going... my sister has to get back to work soon. Hey, thanks for clearing up some stuff for me." He nodded at Marcus, and after saying a quick goodbye to the other men, he strode quickly into the crowd and disappeared.

"Man, did he ever stick out like a sore thumb," the up-till-now quiet Jon murmured.

Darien hurried to the exit, and impatiently put up with the security guard's unhurried inspection for contraband. Finally the bored man swished a metal detector over Darien's body and declared him "clean". His cell began to trill soon after he cleared a group of gamers waiting to get inside. He clicked it on as he scanned the people milling about in the lobby.

"Fawkes," he answered distractedly.

"I was right, partner," Hobbes' enthusiastic voice almost boomed into Darien's ear. He winced and held the earpiece a little further from his head.

"Hobbes, I can hear you just fine. You don't have to shout." He resisted the urge to give as good as he was getting, but just then he spotted Sam's shiny black hair bobbing towards the outside balcony. He set off at a brisk clip, and wove and dodged through the crowd so he didn't lose her again.

"I tracked our perp down to a couple'a blocks from the Center. Looks like she used the same server the convention's using and used one'a the Internet games as a cover. I'm headin' to her place now. Wanna come along?" Hobbes continued proudly.

Darien shook his head as he stepped out onto the parapet. His face was almost slapped from the cold, steady breeze coming in from the water. "Can't right now, buddy. I'm... kinda in the middle of something here. Think you'll be okay on your own?"

"Hey, kid, I've been bustin' bad guys since you were learnin' to crack safes in juvy. Bobby Hobbes knows how to take care'a himself," the elder agent finished a bit testily.

"Like I had any doubt of that," Darien mumbled.

"What? What was that?" Hobbes asked suspiciously.

"I said: wouldja take a look at that," the rangy man dissembled. "Hey, Hobbesy, I gotta go, man. This chick's checking her voice mail, and I'm gonna have to fade into the scenery. Give me a call when you're done?"

"No problem, partner. Just watch your step."

Darien clicked the phone off and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. He surreptitiously checked the area around him to see if there were any possible witnesses to his "little disappearing act"; and, satisfied that there weren't, he triggered the gland and quickly shimmered out of sight.

He strode over to where Sam was leaning with her back against the balcony's railing, punching in some codes into her tiny little cell phone. She held it up and listened to what Darien figured was her voice mail. He edged closer to see if he could learn anything more about her.

"Damn, couldn't you guys wait just a little longer?" she murmured in irritation. She shook her head and punched a phone number on the keypad and pressed "Send". Darien made a note of the number in case it had future relevance.

"Hey, it's me. No, I just got it." She sighed in exasperation. "Where else would I be right now? Yes, the convention," she replied in a patronizing tone. "Look, I think it's a bad idea to do that right now." After a moment, she suddenly flushed crimson, and her eyes sparkled in anger. "Hey! I already picked up attention the last time! Someone managed to track my sig, and almost traced me to my location!" She paused and heaved a great sigh as she listened to the person on the other end. "What I'm saying, is that they're asking me to do this stuff closer and closer together, and I really don't feel like getting caught," she replied crisply. "If they want all the information now, then they can do it their own damned selves!" Suddenly all color drained from her face as she was told something less than pleasant. "They wouldn't dare," she almost whispered as she turned and clutched the railing in a death grip. Slowly her face stiffened into a mask made up of fear and anger. "Yes, I understand. I'll have it by tomorrow morning." She didn't wait for the other person's answer as she viciously punched the "End" key.

She leaned heavily on the railing for a few moments as she heaved a few deep breaths in order to compose herself. She glared at her phone as she did so, and suddenly drew her arm back as if she were going to hurl it into the water below.

Darien had to hastily sidestep so that he wasn't struck in the face. To his dismay, his foot scraped loudly against the tiles, and he backpedaled until he was more than arms' reach from the woman.

Samantha spun around with a panicked look in her eyes, but saw that she was alone on the balcony. Her stance relaxed a bit, and with a grimace she tucked her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. She sighed gustily and ran her hands through her hair and then over her eyes.

"How did I get involved in this mess?" she asked herself. She looked like she was about to cry, but instead she shook herself and dried her eyes. "Can't do this now, Sam," she vocalized. "You've got a handsome man waiting in there for you. No matter what those bastards say, it's way past time you did more than just work."

Her pep talk seemed to help her calm down, and she set off at a brisk pace towards the doors leading back into the building.

Moments later, Darien allowed the Quicksilver to fall away as he ruminated on all he'd just heard.

"Aw, jeeze," he murmured to himself. "My perverse luck must be rubbing off on him." He ran his fingers absently through his hair before shoving both hands in his pockets. He leaned back against the balcony's railing as he continued to mull over Sam's phone conversation. "This doesn't sound good, Ebes my man; not good at all."

He wondered briefly if he should call Hobbes and tell him what just happened before he shook his head. No, best if he sniffed around some more before he did anything. There was no point in raising his partner's suspicions over a weird phone call. For all he knew, Sam could just be involved in something with her job that she didn't like. And the long-legged agent felt that Eberts was entitled to have a personal life for once.

I mean, what're the odds that Eberts would end up hanging out with our hacker? he wondered. That thought set off a train of questions in his mind, of which he dismissed as quickly as they came. Questions like: what if Eberts went over to the dark side and was helping the hacker? Or, maybe she was trying to seduce him into giving up Agency secrets? What if this chick was working for Chrysalis?

Darien shook his head. While hanging out with Hobbes has taught the former thief that paranoia is not just a good thing, but a necessity in the secret agent biz, at times like this it was just plain ridiculous.

Suddenly he was struck with another stray thought. Eberts? Handsome? Not exactly the way he'd describe the assistant...

The wind picked up behind him, and with a shiver he sought refuge inside the building.

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

Act Four

The next day, Adam hobbled across the apartment to answer Hobbes' structure-rattling knock, while Darien poked his head out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. "Damn, he's early," the lanky agent muttered as he ducked back into the bathroom to put the final hasty touches on his spiked mane.

When he emerged three minutes later, Hobbes was pacing restlessly around the studio. Adam had plunked himself back on the couch with his rigidly encased ankle propped on the coffee table, and was trying very hard not to grab a pen and plunge it through the cast where his skin was screaming to be scratched.

"Fawkes, we have a stakeout to get to. And we're running behind... again," Hobbes tapped his Rolex impatiently. "So, who's got baby-sitting duty with gimpy, here, today?"

"Uhm, well, I meant to talk to you about that last night," Darien dissembled. "Claire's in LA at some CalTech thing, and what with Ebes being point man on this, and Alex being stuck on one of the Fat Man's loaner details, well, there isn't anyone who can stay with him today," he continued uneasily as he watched a flush creep up his smaller partner's neck. "So that means he's gonna have to hang with you... In the van...? " He turned the full force of his most earnest and pleading gaze on his impervious partner, begging silently for Hobbes not to blow a gasket on the spot. He couldn't see Adam's expression, but he had coached the boy on his poker face with the knowledge that Adam's eagerness to spend the day doing secret agent stuff with his guardian wouldn't play well with Mr. Play-It-By-The-Book Hobbes.

The bunched muscles in Hobbes' jaw didn't bode well for a satisfactory outcome, and Darien sighed.

"Whaddo I look like, Mr. Frickin' Rogers?" Hobbes replied through gritted teeth. "Fawkes, we're on the job here! Dragging the kid around on company time is against every single protocol there is, and you friggin' well know it!"

"It's a stakeout, Hobbes, not a deep cover mission. Well, not for you, anyway. Not this time. Since your lead fell through yesterday, you get to camp out in the van across from the Convention Center while I tail Eberts and his lady and hope I stumble onto something useful. So tell me, oh great one, what sorta trouble can Adam possibly be?" Darien put his hands on his hips impatiently, knowing it was the same argument he'd used to sway Hobbes to let the kid accompany them on the mall stakeout just before Christmas.

"This is a need-to-know operation, Fawkes," Hobbes gritted through his teeth. "And the junior birdman here definitely doesn't need to know! How many times I gotta keep telling you that for him, ignorance is bliss? What he don't know, can't hurt him. Or us, for that matter. Not to mention we're dealing with national security issues on this one!"

Darien caught the slight slump of Adam's shoulders as the boy slid deeper into the couch. He debated on whether to argue that every one of their missions have to do with national security, but the rigid set to his partner's jaw convinced him to try another way. "Bobby," he switched tactics, hoping a double whammy would tip the balance in his favor. "What if there's some sorta emergency? He'll kill himself on the stairs here if he has to make a run for it or something. And what if Chrysalis or someone's been watching my place, looking for a chance to grab him? You can't tell me Adam's secure here all by himself. Even if you have the 'Fish post a couple of sentries, someone could still get to him: remember what happened with Kate?" he alluded to the time Dr. Kate Easton had been abducted from his apartment by agents of the nefarious organization. "Look, man," he dropped his gaze to the floor and looked uncomfortable. "If I can't be here with Adam, then you're the only one I really trust to protect him."

Hobbes glared at him with his fists balled at his side. Finally, after a long moment, he threw his hands into the air in surrender. "Alright! Alright, the kid stays with me." With that, he turned to the boy. "You know we're not gonna be makin' a regular event outta this threesome thing, right?" he asked sternly; it was more a statement than a question.

"Yeah, I get it," Adam said straight-faced, and then grinned widely. "This's gonna be so cool!" He popped to his feet and tugged the daypack that had been leaning against the couch over one shoulder. He looked from one to the other of the men with bright eyes. "Ready when you are," he announced excitedly.

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

Hobbes adjusted his headset slightly and tapped the mic. "Yo, I-Man. You still with me?" he asked.

The slightly static-fuzzed response from his partner somewhere inside the huge Convention Center across the street crackled out of the speakers Hobbes had rigged so Adam could listen in on Darien's antics. "What do ya want now, Bobby? I'm supposed to be undercover, man. I know this is a pretty strange bunch, but even with these geeks, I'm gonna stick out like a sore thumb if I start talking to myself in a crowd."

"Just checkin'," Hobbes assured him.

"Just checkin'," Darien repeated in a sarcastic mutter. "Trust me, I'll let you know the second I spot our guys. Now lemme do my freakin' job, ok?"

Hobbes made a face but didn't bother to respond. Instead, he let up on the transmit button and looked across the van's interior to where Adam was seated in one of the two temporary jump seats that had been installed in Golda's rear compartment the day before. The van was uncharacteristically loaded with expensive electronics on loan from the Agency's main computer rooms, complete with the roof-mounted satellite dish that let Hobbes monitor activity on the DOJ servers that their quarry had already accessed. But Hobbes figured that since he'd interrupted her little foray yesterday, she probably never finished her task. The uplink had been arranged reluctantly by the DOJ, but only when it had been pointed out to them that the Agency was on the same side, and was trying to assist in the capture of the hacker who threatened both of their databases. Hobbes had been entertaining himself for the last several hours by nosing around the firewalls of the remote servers, looking for suspicious activity. He had yet to spot anything, and was seriously beginning to wonder if their near miss of the day before had scared off the perp.

Adam was playing with some sort of electronic toy, from which assorted beeps, whistles and what sounded like gunfire emerged tinnily.

"So. Whaddaya think?" he asked the boy.

"About what?" Adam replied, looking up from his game.

"About the glamorous world of espionage, what else?" Hobbes grunted, before grinning at the slight wrinkle of the nose that met that clarification.

"Oh, bor-ring," Adam pronounced without hesitation. "Man, if this is what you guys call a job, then maybe I gotta rethink the whole 'what do I want to be when I grow up' question." He set the toy aside, put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands to peer at Hobbes. "Is this really what you guys do all day?" he finished with a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

Hobbes pondered how to respond. "You know, real life ain't like one of your video games," he observed as he leaned back in his chair and met the boy's eyes.

The gangly teen snorted. "No kidding. Too bad, is all I can say."

"You can't be more wrong, kid. That's the problem with crap like that," he waved dismissively at the small electronic game resting on the makeshift counter. "It gives people this warped sense of reality when it comes to stuff like fighting and dying. I been shot at, and it ain't a game, lemme tell ya. 'Specially not when you get hit,' he added solemnly.

Adam straightened, his expression betraying his keen interest. "You were shot? I mean, working for the Agency?" At Hobbes' terse nod, he went on. "What about D?"

"He's been shot at a lot, and even took a bullet, too. And had the crap kicked out of him more times than I can count. Kid's a human punching bag. Which is why the Official made him go through a sort of Agent's training course," the senior agent answered. "I've been shot more than once. Got a purple heart in Desert Storm, back in the day, and nearly bought it a few times in military intel and then the CIA. This is a helluva dangerous business, boy wonder."

A skeptical smirk twitched on Adam's mouth. "Dangerous? You call this dangerous?" he asked with a broad sweep of his hand to indicate the placid interior of the van. "Crossing the street is more dangerous than this. But sitting around for hours and hours waiting for some geek to make their move? Like I said, bor-ring. I think my butt fell asleep."

Hobbes folded his arms across his chest, annoyed that he was failing to make his point. "See, that's just it, there, Adam. Buncha clueless kids like you grow up playing their frickin' games, and then think, 'what the hell, I think I'll enlist, play them games for a living' and then end up in the military with no friggin' idea what they're getting into. If they make it through basic without running home to their mammas crying about how mean everyone is, then they get to figure out what they're gonna be doing with their time when this nation isn't gearing up for a war. If they're lucky, or good, they get put on the fast track for officer's training. If they're not, then it's life as a grunt. You think this is boring? Try life as an enlisted guy."

"Sounds like the voice of experience," Adam wiggled his blonde eyebrows tauntingly.

"Hey, smart guy. I turned down an appointment to West Point right outta high school. Like every other stupid punk in the world, I wanted to see some action. Well, I did. Saw more than I ever bargained for, and I came up the hard way. Made Sergeant a couple of years outta Parris Island, and got stationed in the Middle East. Watched eleven of my guys buy it when a crazy bastard drove a car bomb into our Embassy in Beirut and blew 'em to hell. That's when I decided intel was where I wanted to be. Damned if I was gonna stand around waiting for some stupid mook to tell me what to do. I wanted to know what was coming, and what the guys in charge planned on doin' about it."

The boredom had disappeared from the teenager's features as interest replaced it. "Wow. Desert Storm, huh? What did you do?"

"What, in the war you mean?" Hobbes asked, then continued at Adam's nod. "Sniper. Damned good one, too."

Adam's eyes widened. "Cool!"

Bobby frowned. "Nothing 'cool' about killing people, kid. Nothing. But sometimes it's necessary. Doesn't mean I gotta like it though, which is why I finally quit."

Adam's eyes gleamed with excitement. "But man, Bobby," he disagreed. "For an old guy, you done a lotta stuff, huh?"

Hobbes snorted. "You gotta be an old guy to have done stuff. Life is all about experience, and that takes time to get. Time like this, sitting around twiddling our thumbs. Because every once in a while, you know all hell's gonna break loose and then things stop being boring in a hurry."

Adam thought about this for a moment. "So... tell me a story, gramps," he urged, and Hobbes laughed.

"Gramps? Now you want war stories?" he chuckled, oddly pleased at the boy's interest. "Remind me to add some military history to your class work, there. You're sounding like me when I was a kid. My mentor fought in Korea, back in '51. I was always buggin' him for stories when I was a little younger than you..." he trailed off as memories of the philosophical chasm between himself and his blood family surfaced, but then shook them off. "Jack was one hell of a guy," he added sadly, recalling John Lynches' funeral service earlier in the year.

"So're you," Adam grinned at him.

Hobbes snorted disbelievingly. "Riiiiiiight," he answered with heavy irony.

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

The next two hours passed a great deal more swiftly than the first, and Hobbes found himself more annoyed than pleased with Darien's occasional interrupting the flow of his story-telling with a sit-rep. Adam was a rare enthusiastic audience, and all of the old war stories were dusted off and led forward for inspection. This allowed him the opportunity to make some correlations for the boy between politics and military history, inextricably entwined as they were. It was a subject he found fascinating, and he had never been able to interest his lanky partner in it. But his partner's young ward, on the other hand, was only too eager to hear about his experiences in the Middle East. Even if Hobbes needed to stop at intervals to explain who the players were, it was still a largely satisfying way to spend the time.

Throughout the conversation, he kept an eye on the feed from the DOJ servers coming in via the satellite link, though they remained steadfastly uninteresting. He'd almost given up on anything occurring when his attention was diverted with Adam's leading questions regarding one of his less-than-sterling pranks on a commanding officer. "What, you want I should write up a manual? Fawkes'll kill me if he finds out who you got the idea from," Hobbes pointed out as he turned to face the flat panel display that had suddenly started flashing a red warning field.

"Aw, c'mon, Bobby, I'll never tell," Adam wheedled coaxingly.

"No way, kid," Hobbes reiterated. "Hold up a sec," he added as he focused on what the DOJ servers were telling him. "Looks like the rat is goin' for the cheese," he said with satisfaction. His fingers flew over the keyboard while he tracked the subtle footprints of the hacker through the outer firewalls. Pausing only long enough to toss his headset to Adam, he commanded; "Get Fawkes on the line. Tell him we have some action. Finally."

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

Darien had been following Eberts and Samantha around the convention floor for most of the day as they wandered from booth to booth surveying the various new games and gaming accessories.

The couple stopped at a small bank of computers displaying a live feed of a new interactive game. The signs above the computers declared that this was some sort of sneak peek of a yet unreleased war game. And it seemed that Sam and Eberts were all a-twitter with excitement over it. Each picked up a controller and glanced at each other over the top of their monitors. Sam winked, Eberts blushed, and the two got down to some serious playing.

"Ebes an' his chick friend're playing some sorta war game now." Darien let the extreme boredom seep into his voice. "Damn, could I go for a bacon cheeseburger or three right about now." The mere thought of food caused his stomach to grumble loudly, just as Adam's voice chuckled in his ear.

"Crap, D, you eat more'n I do. What's the deal?" Adam's voice murmured in the background.

"Probably somethin' to do with the wonder gland," Hobbes teased.

"Ha ha, very cute. Okay, guys, I'm takin' a snack break. Looks like these two aren't goin' anywhere for awhile."

"Bad idea, partner," Hobbes' voice got louder as he edged closer to the microphone. "You got a job to do, so do it an' stop yer gripin'."

"Easy for you to say when you got a cooler of sandwiches right beside you," Darien snarked back. "Me, I haven't eaten since breakfast, an' I'm frickin' starving!"

"Fawkes..." Hobbes warned.

"Step off, bro," Darien muttered. "You're the one sitting on your ass while I'm killin' my feet and starving to death. Hell with this, I'm getting some Doritos." And with that comment, the foot-sore man set off for the upstairs lobby and the snack area.

A few minutes later found Darien contentedly munching on a large bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and occasionally taking a sip from a can of Cherry Coke. As he returned to the war game booth that he'd left his marks at, he noticed with some dread that the controllers were now being utilized by a handful of guys dressed in Metallica t-shirts and baggy slacks. Sam and Eberts were nowhere to be seen.

He spun around as he ran over in his mind the chewing out he would get from his partner for abandoning his post. There wasn't much worse to endure than the 'I told you so' lecture that Hobbes seemed to have memorized from some Marine rulebook back in the day. But Darien heard a woman's buoyant guffaw and turned to his right.

Whew. There they were, about 35 feet down the next aisle, strolling hand in hand as they joked and laughed at what the other was saying.

Damn. Don't think I've ever actually seen or heard Eberts laugh before, Darien mused as he followed at a safe distance. It's nice. He actually looks... normal.

The assistant and the petite woman continued to wander from display to display, often stopping at various booths to pore over arcane gaming paraphernalia, for the next two hours.

Darien was about ready to literally throw up his hands and call it a day when Sam suddenly yanked Eberts between two of the booths. Darien's heart skipped a beat as he also ducked between two displays and sheathed himself in Quicksilver.

"Hobbes, we got a..." he hissed as he darted over to the narrow gap where the other two disappeared. And skidded to a halt.

Samantha's hands were intertwined behind Eberts' neck, and they were... were...

Whoa, you go Ebes! Darien stared in amazement for a moment. Then his earpiece crackled with Adam's alarmed reply.

"Darien? D, what's goin' on?"

"Um, you know what?" the slightly embarrassed agent quietly backed away and stepped into a booth with a clothes rack full of various capes of all sizes, colors and fabrics. Hidden behind the display, he let the Quicksilver fall away as he peeked around the corner of the booth at the kissing couple. "Cancel that, man. False alarm."

"False alarm?! Jeeze, partner, you nearly gave me a friggin' heart attack!" Hobbes snarled. "You ever do that again, an' I'll kick your ass from here to Poughkeepsie!"

"What's Adam doin' on the mike?" Darien ignored his partner's outburst. "Thought you didn't want the kid involved."

"Kinda late for that now, isn't it?" came the sarcastic reply. "Anyways, kid wants ta know what kinda new games there are, an' I don't know the first thing about that stuff. Not to mention I'm right sick of him gripin' about how he was gonna be at this shindig if he hadn't busted his leg. So, what's your sit-rep?"

"Ahhhh, well..." Darien stalled as he tried to think of something non-incriminating to say. Then he noticed that Eberts and Sam were going in two different directions. "Looks like Ebes and his chick friend are splittin' up for awhile."

"Well, what're you waiting for?" Hobbes retorted impatiently. "Follow this woman an' see what she's up to."

"Yes, sir, right away, Sir!" the rangy man snapped off a sloppy salute that Hobbes couldn't even see, and set off after his quarry. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Eberts was heading for the snack area. Must be getting the munchies too, he thought, and turned back to the task at hand.

Sam set off at a brisk pace that Darien actually found difficult to match. This chick may be short, but she's one helluva power walker, he marveled as he strove to keep from lagging too far behind. Soon they came to another trade booth: this one sporting a game demo that promised 'The most realistic action than any other game on the market!'. By the looks of things, the people running the stand had closed up shop for the day, and had most of their things packed away already. But there were two computers on either side of the booth that were still on, and both had open access to the Internet.

Sam stepped up to the terminal on the left, which was at the corner of the booth and against the back right wall of the large conference room. She pulled a CD disk from her small backpack purse and inserted it into the appropriate drive. Suddenly, the demo of the company's beta version of some sports game popped up on the screen, and Sam began industriously typing away.

She was so intent on what she was doing that she never noticed Darien edging closer to get a better view.

"Hey, Darien, Hobbes wants me to tell you somethin's come up," Adam's voice cracked a little in excitement as he picked up on the older man's rising anxiety.

"What is it?" came the almost whispered reply.

"Somethin' 'bout the DOJ's outer firewalls bein' breached," Adam replied with the grin obvious in his voice.

"Hey, man, I hope you used the facilities recently," Darien chuckled quietly. "Sounds like you're about to pee your pants."

"Okay, that's just, just gross, man." Adam fell silent as Hobbes growled something. "Awright already! Jeeze, yer a friggin' grump," the teen complained over the reprimand. "D, he wants ta know what your... 'sit... rep' is?" He paused as he tried to figure out what he'd just said. "Hey, Hobbes, what the hell does sit-rep mean, anyways?"

"Situation report!" Darien could hear his partner's irritation over the delay as he typed furiously in an effort to track their quarry. "Now shut up an' do whatcher told, kid!"

"Adam, man, you might wanna cut the chatter for a minute. Hobbes needs to concentrate now," Darien warned his charge in a more polite manner. "Well, I'm hanging out watching Sam play some sorta hockey game. Nothin' much goin' on here. Is our friend the hacker being a busy little beaver again?"

Hobbes snorted as an 'X'-rated image popped into his head. Adam looked quizzically at the older man, and Hobbes just shook his head as he started up his tracking program.

"You might say that," was his partner's amused reply.

"What's the game like?" Adam queried. "Man, I'd give anything to be in there right now."

"Believe me, kid, I'd give anything to be where you are now," Darien almost whined. A second later, though, his interest was finally piqued. "Wow, that's pretty realistic."

"What? What?!" Adam inquired earnestly as he watched the code streaming across Hobbes' monitor.

"This chick's pretty good. She just knocked some guy down like she was a friggin' wall."

Adam frowned a little. At the same exact moment, another one of the DOJ's firewalls was penetrated.

"There goes another. And another... man, she's a regular Scott Stevens," Darien murmured in approval. He leaned against the divider wall a booth down from the woman completely focused on her game. "And there's the goal, my friend," he verbally applauded. "And they say chicks can't play sports."

"Darien," Adam's strained voice startled the agent into full alert. "Did you just say she shot a goal?"

"Yeah. Why? What's going on?"

"The hacker just finished breaking through the first set of firewalls. Hobbes just said that his tracer program said that this person's in the Convention Center." Worry suddenly darkened the teen's voice as his throat tightened. "D, dude, be careful in there."

Darien would have been touched with the concern in his ward's words, except he had snapped into full attention of his surroundings. He glanced around him to see if anyone was near, but this area of the convention room was clear of passers-by as well as booth keepers. "Adam, tell me what's happening now," he murmured as he sidled even closer to Samantha.

"Another firewall's been breached," was the strained reply. "Just one more to go in this set."

Darien's stomach churned, but not in hunger anymore. Every time another firewall was breached, Sam just happened to knock down or punch one of her opponent's men at the same time. "Damn, this sucks," he whispered as his eyes narrowed. "I am so sorry 'bout this Ebes, my man."

"It's her, isn't it?" Adam spoke quietly as not to distract Hobbes' concentration. "Eberts' girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I think it is," was the lanky agents' melancholy reply. "Whaddaya want me to do, Hobbes?"

"He said give him a minute," Adam replied. "He wants to finish documenting what she's doin', and when he says, you can make the bust."

"Of all the friggin' women who could'a done this, why'd it have to be Eberts' friggin' girlfriend?" Darien's voice quavered as he grew angry at the perverse God that allowed this to happen. His hands unconsciously balled into fists, and he forced them to relax as he furiously thought of how he was going to have to explain this to the mild-mannered assistant.

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Darien whirled around into a defensive stance as he swung a fist at the interloper.

Eberts parried the blow and stepped back. "Darien! What are you doing here?" he looked completely puzzled and a little shocked at the spiky-haired agents' presence.

Darien dropped his hands, and the slightly shorter man tilted his head questioningly. "I thought you were tracking our hacker," he began, and then his eyes widened a little. "What, she's here?" His eyes darted around as he looked for someone possibly lurking in the booths. "Where?"

Darien cast a quick, guilty glance over his shoulder at the completely engrossed woman. The look on his face when he turned back to Eberts spoke volumes, and smaller man blinked as he recognized Samantha playing the hockey game. "Why are you two back here? You're supposed to..." his voice drifted off as he realized what was going on. "Do you think that Samantha is the hacker?" he asked incredulously.

"Darien, she breached the last firewall!" Adam almost shouted in his excitement, and Darien winced at the volume.

Eberts misunderstood the taller man's expression. "I am very disappointed in you, Darien. I could understand this level of paranoia from Robert, especially if he had fallen behind on his medication schedule, but you..."

"Yeehooo, you get 'er, Hobbesy!" Adam bellowed in excitement as he watched the senior agent cut off Sam's access to the DOJ's mainframe. "Darien, her access's been severed! Hobbes sez to nab her ass!"

Darien jerked as the exhilarated boy's voice dinned in his ear. He whirled around to see that Samantha was staring at him and Eberts like a deer in headlights.

Or a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

For a second everyone froze, and then the terrified woman suddenly bolted toward the next aisle.

Eberts automatically darted in front of her, effectively blocking off her only avenue of escape. His face was a mask of anguish as he realized that he had been horribly betrayed. Sam pleaded with her eyes for him to let her go, but the assistant stood firm.

Darien came up behind her, and she tensed like a frightened rabbit. But one look at Eberts' face and her panic just crumbled. She dropped her face into her hands and turned away in shame as if she just couldn't bear to gaze on the hurt she had caused the man she'd become so attracted to.

"I got her," Darien murmured into the mic on the lapel of his black leather jacket. "Hobbes, could you help me get her outta here?"

There was some static before the triumphant voice of his partner came through clearly, "Great job, partner! I'll pull the van around and meet you at the front."

"Gimme a few minutes," Darien replied dejectedly before he pulled the earpiece out and let it dangle against his coat. He pulled out the pair of cuffs Hobbes had loaned him and moved to secure Samantha's wrists.

"Darien," Eberts called out quietly, and the lanky agent turned sad brown eyes to his friend. "Please, let me."

Darien nodded in understanding, and handed the assistant the cuffs as he strode past him to snag the CD from the computer. He then turned the corner into the other aisle to give the two some privacy to say their goodbyes.

A minute later, Eberts led a stark-faced Sam out of the back of the conference hall to where Darien waited. The three quietly made their way to the exit, and waited as Darien flashed his badge to the security personnel and softly explained the situation in brief to their satisfaction. The three then made their way to the front of the building, where Hobbes was proudly waiting with the back of the van open. Sam never raised her head from staring at her feet for the entire journey outside, and waited meekly while Darien helped Adam into the front seat of the van.

Hobbes secured their prisoner in one of the temporary jump-seats kitty-corner from his own, and started the van up after hopping into the drivers' seat. He glanced impatiently over his shoulder, but refrained from commenting when he noticed the stark expression on Eberts' face. "Eberts, you comin' with us?" he inquired.

"No, thank you Robert," was the subdued reply. "I believe I could use a nice long walk right now."

Hobbes merely nodded his understanding and turned his attention to assisting his teenage passenger belt himself in.

As Darien eased around Eberts, he briefly rested his hand on the other man's shoulder before climbing into the back. Eberts silently closed the doors, and Golda pulled out into traffic with nary a word spoken inside.

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

Tag

Darien and Hobbes strode down the hallway en route to the Keep to pick up Adam. As they walked, they discussed what they were going to do that evening.

"I tell ya, Fawkes, this movie's a killer on the big screen. Be a shame to miss it and be reduced to watching it on your dinky little TV," Hobbes shook his head in disgust. "Just because you lack any imagination regarding your personal life doesn't mean you gotta subject the kid to the same fate."

"Hobbes, I've been running my ass off between work and Adam and Casey," Darien snapped. "There's nothing wrong with me wanting to spend one quiet night in with Adam for a change."

Hobbes opened his mouth to argue his point further, but was cut off by his partner's raised index finger in front of his face.

"You know what?" the taller man declared testily. "If you two are so fired up about this thing, then why don't you take Adam and go see this phenomenal movie? Maybe then I could get a moment's friggin' peace!"

"C'mon, buddy," Hobbes wheedled as they turned the corner towards the stairs.

And almost smacked right into Eberts returning from the file room.

"Whoa!" Darien steadied the assistant as he staggered a step back from the near collision. "You okay there, Ebes?"

The aide steadied the contents of a small stack of files under his arm. "Thank you, Darien. Good evening, Robert," he replied quietly before continuing his trek back to The Official's office.

After he turned the corner, Hobbes shook his head. "That's three days now he's been mopin' like that," he sympathized. "He really fell hard for her, huh?"

"Yeah," Darien looked thoughtfully in the direction from which they'd come. "Hey, Hobbes, meet you in The Keep, okay?" he asked as he set off after the assistant.

"Where ya goin' Fawkesie?" Hobbes called after him.

"Gonna check on something with the boss," he called over his shoulder. "Go ahead, I'll be right down." He rounded the corner and disappeared.

"Don't stir things up partner," Hobbes thought aloud. "You keep dancin' with the devil like you've been doin', someday you're gonna end up with yer ass burnt." He stared down the empty corridor for a few moments before he turned and strode to the stairs.

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

"Hello? Anybody home?" Darien knocked on the Official's door as he tentatively opened it a notch.

"Darien, come in," the boss's voice sounded surprised. "I would have thought you'd left already." He was stationed as always at his desk, various papers of unknown importance scattered in a semi-circle in front of him.

Darien entered and gestured over his shoulder as he gently pushed the door almost shut. "Actually, I was on my way to pick up Adam and go," he replied politely.

"So what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you... about Eberts," he began, just as the door behind him was pushed open.

Darien stepped out of the other man's way as The Official commented, "Speak of the devil." He waved his assistant over to his desk, and Eberts cocked his head questioningly.

"I'm sorry, Sir?" he asked as he handed two of the files in his hands over.

The Official took and laid them onto the desk beside the spread out papers. "Thank you Eberts. Agent Fawkes was just telling me he wished to discuss something about you."

Eberts' eyebrows drew together in suspicion, but he remained silent.

Darien took a deep breath and came closer to the big desk. He glanced at his co-worker in commiseration before diving in. "I don't know how else to put this, so I'm just gonna get to the point," he began in a rush.

The 'Fish raised an eyebrow in curiosity before he nodded his head. "Continue," he rumbled.

"I think we should cut a deal with Samantha Tierney." Darien's best poker face was on display, but its integrity was challenged when the fat man in front of him smiled.

"And why should we do that, Agent Fawkes?"

Darien's eyes narrowed at the velvety tone exuded in the seated man's voice. "Same reason you implanted an invisibility gland in a thief," he replied with a raised eyebrow of his own. When there was no reply, he continued. "She's admittedly one of the best hackers out there today, and we could learn a lot about the tricks of the trade from her. Kinda like the fox guarding the hen house deal."

"So speaks the voice of experience," The Official softly mocked.

"Damn right," Darien retorted, refusing to let the Fat Man distract him from his argument. "Who better to catch crooks than a guy who used to be one?"

"And your argument is that the same could be applied to Miss Tierney," the boss stated in an almost jovial tone.

"It's been done before," Darien shot back. He glanced at the assistant's face in time to witness a number of emotions wash over him. Pained grief, anger and the glimmerings of hope burned in the quiet man's eyes before he dropped them to stare sightlessly at his feet.

"And why should it be done again?" came the boss' inquiry.

"Because if you have any respect for your so-called right-hand man, you'd realize that he cares for her. And if you wanna keep him around, then I suggest you do something that'd pull him out of this funk he's been in for the past week," Darien retorted scathingly.

"Eberts isn't entitled to a personal life," The Official rumbled.

"You're an insensitive bastard, you know that?" Darien hissed as he advanced closer to the desk.

"No, I'm a dedicated bastard," the boss snapped back. "And I expect the same from my employees!" His jowls quivered in barely suppressed rage before he got a grip on his emotions and once again presented his calm exterior. "But I don't expect you of all people to understand. Is that all, Agent Fawkes?" he asked in obvious dismissal.

"No. Not by a long shot. How long you think Ebes can go like this before his quality of work begins to slip? You're nothing without his help, and you know it. The least you can do is cut Sam some slack and cut a deal with her." Darien plopped down in one of the chairs in front of The Official's desk as he settled himself in for a long argument. The set of the lean man's jaw showed that he wasn't going to back down until he got a satisfactory answer.

"And as you well know, Agent Fawkes," The 'Fish's voice grew frigid. "I can do much, much less than that." His eyes glittered with implied malice in an effort to cow his rebellious agent into submission.

"Than I guess that means you won't ever find out who hired her to do the job," Darien wasn't impressed.

The boss stilled as he considered what was just said. His eyes narrowed in calculation as he realized what the former thief was getting at.

After a few moments of tense silence, Darien continued. "You don't think she was doing this just for kicks, do ya? Hobbes found out she was getting paid to break into as many government agencies' mainframes that she could and get as much info on top secret projects so her employers could sell it on the black market." He paused to let the impact of his words sink in.

The Official took the bait. "Continue."

"If you promised to cut her a deal, then she'd be a helluva lot more willing to give up some names, don't'cha think?" He leaned back and nonchalantly inspected his fingernails.

"And what do you propose we give her in return?"

"A reduced sentence in a minimum-security prison," the agent replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

The Official glowered for a moment. "I'll consider it," he rumbled.

Darien nodded and stood, satisfied that he'd made his point. He strode towards the door, but hesitated in the open doorway.

"What now, Fawkes?" The boss' voice gained a dangerous burr to it.

"And you might want to give Eberts a few days off. He must've got a lot of vacation time accrued by now that he'll lose if he doesn't take it. Am I right?" He fought to hide the smirk building in his voice and on his face.

"Thank you, Agent," The 'Fish's voice was arctic.

Darien caught Eberts' eye and smiled at him in commiseration. He was surprised to see a sadly grateful smile returned before he closed the office door behind him. It was as if the assistant was thanking him for the intervention on his behalf, and somehow Darien knew that he'd have that kindness returned to him someday.

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

This dude named Gerard Bullitt figured: "Of the real universe we know nothing, except that there exist as many versions of it as there are perceptive minds." He must've been thinking of Albert Eberts, 'cause this man has enough different sides to him that make me wonder whether any of us will ever be perceptive enough to truly know who he is...

End