Episode 16

By Liz_Z and iwomans_sister

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Teaser

Darien threw open the doors of the Angel of Mercy Mental Institution and stormed toward the front desk.

The blonde receptionist looked up at him and cracked her gum before saying, "Whatcha want?" She frowned as she realized that he was not walking toward her, but past her. "Hey, wait a minute, you can't just--"

But it was too late. Darien had already passed the desk and was walking down the corridor as fast as his feet could take him.

"HEY!" The woman yelled, running up behind him and grabbing him by the arm. "You can't just waltz in here like you own the place!"

Darien turned and fixed her with a stern gaze. "Get out of my way."

"I'll call security!" the woman threatened, her eyes narrowing with anger and suspicion.

Darien brushed the woman's hand off his arm, but didn't start off down the hall again. Instead he pulled himself up to his full height and fixed her with an intimidating glare. "Look, someone I know just got admitted here. I need to talk to the doctors. It had to be a mistake."

"If he was a friend of yours? Probably not," the woman snapped. "To see one of the doctors you need an appointment. You got an appointment?" The question was apparently a rhetorical one, since she didn't give Darien time to answer before continuing, "I didn't think so. Now get out before I have you thrown out."

Darien was about to tell the receptionist just what she could do with that attitude of hers when a doctor brushed by him, reading studiously from a ream of paper held firmly in place by a clipboard. Darien rushed after the man, ignoring the receptionist's enraged shout. "Hey, hey, wait a minute!" he said, keeping pace with the shorter man easily.

The doctor looked up and gave a perplexed, "Yes?"

"Look, Doctor... Jacobs," Darien said as he glanced at the doctor’s nametag, "my name's Darien Fawkes, I'm a federal agent." Darien pulled out his badge and flipped it open, then shut in the practiced motion Hobbes had taught him -- the one where you wanted people to know you worked for the government, but didn't want them to know which particular branch of the government you worked for. "I'm here about my partner, Robert Hobbes. He was just admitted to the hospital, and I think someone made a big mistake...."

Dr. Jacobs frowned, then muttered a quiet 'Ahh' as he realized who Darien was talking about. He turned to the receptionist, who was now speaking into the telephone on her desk with an enraged expression on her face, and said, "Alice, don't bother with security, I can handle this." He turned back to Darien and said, "I was there when Mr. Hobbes was admitted." He shook his head, "Quite an interesting case, if I do say so myself."

Darien crossed his arms. "Look, this has got to be a mistake. Hobbes doesn't belong in here, he was fine yesterday!"

Dr. Jacobs raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that very highly. Breakdowns like this don't just happen overnight."

"Breakdown?" Darien shook his head firmly. "There is no way Hobbes is having a breakdown. Trust me, I'd be one of the first people to know. He is fine."

"Mr. Hobbes is far from fine," Dr. Jacobs said firmly. He looked up into Darien's eyes for a long moment and then asked in a kinder tone, "Would you like to see him for yourself?"

"Hell, yeah!" Darien gave a firm nod.

"Follow me," Dr. Jacobs said, turning down a corridor and walking down the hall.

Darien fell into step behind him, trying to resist the urge to tell the man to hurry up, for goodness sake!

"He was extremely violent when we brought him in. We had to take safety precautions," Dr. Jacobs explained as he opened a door and motioned for Darien to go through.

Darien started to ask what Dr. Jacobs meant by 'safety precautions', but all thought of doing so vanished as he walked into the room. He looked around the observation room, which was very similar to the one at the Agency, and felt a chill creep up his spine that was definitely not caused by the Quicksilver. His attention was quickly drawn toward the one-way mirror that allowed him to see into the adjacent room, and his heart sank at the sight before him.

Hobbes paced around the padded room on the other side of the glass, his arms and torso firmly strapped into a straightjacket, his entire posture rigid with pent-up tension. His eyes shifted from side to side anxiously, as if he expected someone to leap out of nowhere and attack him at any time. He was muttering quietly to himself, but Darien couldn't quite make out the words.

Darien walked over to the volume control for the speakers and adjusted it so that he could hear what Hobbes was saying. "Damn doctors, damn Official, lockin' me up in this hellhole... He's been watchin' me for years, tryin' to get me outta the picture, there's no way I'm gonna let him get away with this." He turned to the mirror, yelling, "You hear me? You’re not gonna get away with this, none of ya, ya bastards!"

Darien, who had been leaning forward so he could hear more clearly, pulled back with a start at the sudden increase in volume. He turned the volume back to its original level, deciding there had been a definite reason why it had been set so low, but couldn’t stop staring at his straightjacket-ensconced partner. He stopped just short of leaning his forehead against the glass, a sick feeling in his stomach as he muttered the only thing he could think of that seemed to sum up the situation. "Aw crap...."

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Garrison Keillor said, "Sometimes you have to look reality in the eye and deny it." Now, there's a lot of reality in my life that I'd like to be able to deny, but the gland in my head hasn't exactly made it easy. Still, even when I was at my most dismal and depressed, Hobbes was always there to firmly deny reality for me -- or, when necessary, point it out.

But this time it was my turn to help Hobbes deal with reality, and I had no idea how I was going to point it out to him, because it looked like he was having no problem with denying it.

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::Cue Theme Music::

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

::Music Fade Out::

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Act One

"Fat bastard! He wants me out of the picture, wants to use my paycheck to hire other agents!" Hobbes continued to rant. "He can't get away with this, I won't let him! He's been out to get me from the start!"

Darien watched Hobbes walk closer to the mirror, saying some colorful expressions about the Official. He heaved a deep sigh and then asked, "Can I see him?"

"Normally I would say no, but in this case, who knows? Each time Mr. Hobbes makes an accusation he seems to get more agitated. Maybe a familiar face will help calm him down. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to sedate him, but considering how he is acting now that might be the only option."

Darien frowned as he followed Dr. Jacobs into the hall. This place gave him the creeps, from its close comparison to the padded cell back at the Agency to the cream colored walls that were also eerily similar to those of his workplace. Dr. Jacobs led him to a normal sized metal door. He opened it and allowed Darien to walk inside.

"Knock on the mirror when you want out."

Darien nodded and watched as the door closed, locking him in. He turned around and saw Hobbes staring at him. "Hey there, buddy. I like the new digs." Hobbes continued to stare blackly at Darien. It made him shiver. "So, are they treating you well?" Still there were no words from Hobbes, which made Darien a little uneasy. When Hobbes finally spoke Darien was surprised by the outflow of his partner's lips.

"The Official’s behind the glass, isn't he? He thinks I'm crazy, he wants to get rid of me. He probably wants to put me on drugs and get all the secrets outta me! I bet he even sent you in here to trick me into saying something. Well it's not gonna happen, my friend."

"Hobbes, would you listen to yourself? If anyone thinks you're crazy it's not their fault, you're in here ranting and raving about crap that makes Fox Mulder look sane."

"I knew it! You're in on it too! I'm not gonna tell ya anything!" Hobbes walked toward the mirror and glared at it as if trying to see through the glass. "You hear me! I'm not gonna tell you a thing!"

"Hobbes, calm down buddy. No one’s out to get you...."

"I can't believe you'd do this, Fawkes. I can’t believe that you’d conspire against me too!"

Darien walked toward the glass window and tapped on it. Nothing he was saying was getting through to Hobbes right now; in fact, everything he had tried had only seemed to make it worse. Something wasn’t right. His partner had been fine yesterday, and now he was a total nutcase. Whatever had happened, Darien was determined to find out and do his best to set it right.

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After some discussion of the situation, Dr. Jacobs directed Darien to the office of Dr. Greer, the Chief Administer to the wing of the hospital where Hobbes was being kept. If anyone knew the specifics of why Hobbes had been admitted, it would be him.

Darien just stood in front of the half-open door for a moment, trying to decide the best approach. Finally he settled for poking his head into the room and rapping his knuckles on the door-frame. Dr. Greer, a middle-aged man with a stocky build and streaks of gray spreading out from the hair at his temples, looked from his computer monitor. "Come in. Have a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."

Darien entered the room and slid into the seat positioned across from Dr. Greer's desk, feeling self-conscious for all that the chair was comfortable. He slouched, looking at Greer through half-lidded eyes and trying to shake the feeling that he was sitting in a parole office.

Greer typed out a few commands on his keyboard, then turned to Darien and gave him a disarming smile. "Now, how may I help you?"

"Ahh, I'm Darien Fawkes, I'm a federal agent. I'm here about my partner, Robert Hobbes?"

The doctor's smile didn't waver, but it no longer seemed as genuine. "Yes, Mr. Hobbes...." He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. "He was admitted about six hours ago. What do you wish to know?"

"I wanna know why he got admitted here, for one thing." Darien couldn't help the traces of defiance that slipped into his tone. This was not a casual thing for him, and he wasn't about to treat it as such. He and Hobbes might be at odds at the moment, but that didn't mean he wanted Hobbes locked away in some padded cell.

Doctor Greer pursed his lips. "Agent Hobbes was admitted to this hospital because he is suffering from an extreme case of post-traumatic stress disorder. That, coupled with his paranoia and his military training, makes him a danger to society--"

Darien cut Greer off in mid-speech. "Don't give me that crap. What'd he do?"

"He had a flashback to an incident that occurred during his service in Desert Storm and drew his gun in the middle of Horton Plaza. Needless to say, that caused quite a ruckus. He nearly shot a security officer before he was subdued and taken into custody. Shortly afterwards, he was admitted here."

Darien sunk even further down in his chair and ran a hand across his face, finding it difficult to absorb the doctor's words. He found it almost impossible to believe that Hobbes would draw a gun in a public place without reason. True, he had drawn a gun in the post-office a little over a year before, but that incident had been drug-induced....

Darien sat up straighter. "Did the police, you know, check to make sure he wasn't drunk? Or drugged?" It was a faint hope, but definitely not one worth passing up.

"Yes, they did. The only drugs in his system were his prescribed medications."

Darien shook his head, still not willing to dismiss his hunch offhand. "Yeah, but maybe he had an overdose? I mean, the last time he lost it this bad, someone had messed with his meds. Maybe--"

Now it was Greer's turn to interrupt. "I can understand your wanting to justify the actions of your coworker, but the simple truth of the matter is this: Agent Hobbes has a history of mental problems. His psychologist has noticed aberrant behavior on his part over the past six weeks. Both she and Dr. Keeply agreed--"

Darien very nearly did a double-take. It took all his effort just to keep his voice sounding something akin to normal as he asked, "Did you just say Dr. Keeply?"

Greer's eyes narrowed. "Yes.... She and Dr. Martin both signed the admittance papers." He leaned forward, giving Darien a stern look. "Is there a point to this line of questioning? Or are you merely wasting my time?"

Darien decided that he had nothing to lose and stood up, pulling himself to his full height and giving Dr. Greer a hellacious grin. "A little bit of both." He paused for a moment and rocked back on his heels, fully enjoying the distasteful expression that was beginning to spread across Dr. Greer's face. "Thanks for the info, doc. I'll be going now...."

He walked out of the room, closed the door with a flourish, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk toward the front doors of the building. His shoulders hunched forward as he thought back on the most puzzling piece of information he had gleaned from the interview.

Why had Claire, of all people, signed Hobbes' admittance papers?

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Darien walked into Lab 101, his breath hitching in his throat. He was wary to enter it now, as much as he had been when he first began to receive his shots in that hellish demented dentist's chair. It was an anxiety spurred on by suspicion, which, in the same fashion as trust, apparently went both ways.

Claire was seated on her computer chair, thoroughly engrossed in the read-outs on the monitor. Darien cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence. The last thing he needed right now was for her to think he was spying on her... not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind on more than one occasion in the past four months.

Claire didn't even look up in an attempt to acknowledge Darien's presence. "What do you want?" she asked, in a tone that quite clearly stated that she wanted to be alone and was not going to spare more than two minutes of her time tolerating Darien's nonsense unless it was a matter of life and death.

Well, Darien thought, this wasn't a matter of life and death, but it was a matter of his partner's sanity, and that was certainly good enough for him.

Dispensing with formalities, he leaned against the desk on which the computer rested, ignoring the fact that the table scooted back an inch as he did so. "I want to talk."

Claire still had yet to even glance away from her computer monitor. "What about?"

Darien could feel his temper rising. Claire was ignoring him, or doing so as much as she could while still pretending to pay some miniscule kind of attention to him. "Whaddaya think I want to talk about?" he asked, more harshly than he had intended. However, he made no attempt to correct himself, instead speaking louder as he continued, "I want to know why Hobbes is locked up in an insane asylum!"

"It's not an insane asylum, it's a mental institution," Claire said coldly. "And if you've been to visit him, which I'm sure you have, you've probably figured out why."

Darien gritted his teeth angrily, resisting the urge to slam a fist into the computer monitor that Claire seemed so intent on. "He should not be in there. It'll only make things worse -- hell, it's already made things worse."

He pulled Claire's chair away from the computer and stepped in between her and the piece of equipment, leaning forward so that it was impossible for her not to focus on him.

"Why did you do it?" he continued, the hurt in his eyes palpable. "Why'd you have him admitted into that institution?" He hurled the word back at Claire it as if it were an expletive. "I talked with the doctors. You were the one that sent him there. You signed the damn papers, everything!" Darien took a deep breath, allowing his hurt, anger and confusion to boil down into one simple word. "Why?"

Claire's expression was cold, cold as ice. She rose to her feet, looking Darien staunchly in the eye and poking a finger firmly into his chest. "I do not need to explain myself to you! You have no right to question my actions, no right at all. If I had Bobby committed, it was for a reason, and a very important one at that. Now get the hell out of my lab."

Darien stared at Claire with wide eyes, then blinked twice as he tried to absorb what had just happened. Claire had turned the tables on him with a vengeance, and her defensive manner only served to double his original confusion on the subject.

Claire placed her hands on her hips, glowering at Darien. When he made no sign of moving she nodded crisply toward the door, hissing, "You heard me! Get the hell out of my lab."

Darien turned and left the room in a dazed fashion, completely speechless and with more questions running through his mind than when he had entered.

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Dr. Jacobs scanned Hobbes' chart one last time, then looked at his patient. "Given your cause for admittance to this hospital and the fact that you were in the military I should consider you a danger to yourself and others, Mr. Hobbes. But after meeting you and having our little chats, I do not believe that you are capable of hurting anyone else unless you thought that your life or the life of someone else was in danger. However, given your paranoid state and the depression from the PTSD...."

"Which is it, doc? Am I dangerous or not?" Hobbes asked, fidgeting with his hands as his eyes continued to dart back and forth across the office. Plaques and pictures of the doctor lined the wall, giving the office a more homey look.

"My father was in Vietnam. When he came home he was admitted to an institution in isolation due to his military training. I've seen the results, Mr. Hobbes, and I am more prone to believe that having you around other people is the best option. But if you start acting violent, don't think for a moment I won't have your ass thrown in isolation so fast you won't even have time to blink."

Dr. Jacobs smiled; the drugs they had given Hobbes had helped to calm him down, but he was still very paranoid at times. It was obvious he was not yet ready to be released. In fact, it would probably take months for Hobbes to be ready to get back out in the real world. But all things considered, that was good; some of the patients here stayed their whole lives. As for Hobbes, it didn't look like a hopeless cause: he had a job with fairly decent pay, a nice apartment, and most importantly, people on the outside who cared about him.

"So, what exactly does that mean?" Hobbes asked.

"It means that you're going to have a roommate."

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Hobbes walked into the small room he would be staying for as long as he was considered unstable. The walls were an ugly cream color. The two twin-sized bed-frames were made of metal and supported a pair of thin, worn-out mattresses. A cot might have been more comfortable. Everyone had to wear the same outfits: a gray denim over-shirt with a white short-sleeved T-shirt underneath, and black slacks. Hobbes almost felt like he was in prison instead of a loony bin.

He looked down at the floor and noticed that it was tan and black marble-patterned linoleum; the janitor must have a hell of a time mopping the building. There was a poster on the wall above the bed closest to the door, probably his roommate's. Hobbes read the poster, and would have smiled if he hadn't been in an asylum. "'I used to be schizophrenic, but we're okay now.' Great, just what I need. A nutcase for a roommate." He rubbed a hand over his face and then sat down on the bed.

"Ahem."

Hobbes looked up and saw a man standing at the door. He would have thought the man was on staff if it wasn't for the required uniform. He stood up. "Hi, I'm Robert Hobbes." He extended his hand.

"Jerry," the man replied, walking past Hobbes over to the bed that the poster was closest to. "What are you doing in my room?"

Hobbes scratched his head and then stuck his hands in his pockets, "I guess Dr. Jacobs didn't tell you."

A concerned look spread across the younger man's face as he turned toward Hobbes. "Tell me what? They aren't moving me again, are they? I just got assigned to this room."

"No, nothing like that. I'm your new roommate."

"Excuse me?" Jerry asked, glancing around the room in a nervous fashion.

"Yep, looks like you're stuck with me," Hobbes replied, trying to assess the situation. Besides the less than veiled brush-off, the man seemed pretty much normal. "So, do you have a last name?"

"Just Jerry." The man didn't even try to act polite. Hobbes got the distinct feeling that it wasn't his forte. Instead he pulled a book out from underneath his pillow and started to read.

"You have a thing with germs or something?" Hobbes asked. When Jerry didn't reply he sat back down on the bed, wondering what he was going to do around here during the day. The place seemed lifeless and pretty darn boring.

"What did you do, Mr. Hobbes?"

"Just Hobbes." Hobbes imitated Jerry's earlier tone exactly.

"Fair enough," Jerry replied. "Before coming here, what did you do?"

"A lot of things, actually."

Jerry set down the book he had been reading and looked at Hobbes. "Like what?"

Hobbes wasn't sure how much information he was ready to give away, just yet. This Jerry person was starting to act distinctly weird. "Well, umm, I was in the military."

"Really? And what did you do after that?"

"Does this really matter?"

"Considering your accent, I'd say you grew up in New York, maybe Brooklyn or Manhattan. And the tough guy act, you're probably a cop of some kind," Jerry replied. "Am I getting close?"

"So, what are you reading?" Hobbes asked, changing the subject. He didn't like the fact that Jerry had only known him for five minutes but could read him like an open book. It was creepy. Hobbes had never thought of himself as that transparent.

"The government's cover-up about going to the moon."

"The what?"

"It's simple, really. The U.S. never went to the moon when they said they did. Even Apollo 13 was a lie, done by computers with those fake graphics like you see in movies."

"You actually believe that?" Hobbes asked, dumbfounded.

"You don't? Didn't you ever wonder why the flag moved when there is no gravity on the moon's surface? It was rippling because of the wind from where they recorded the footage here on Earth. Some of the shots that they took they used more than once, if you watch the footage closely you'll notice it. The background where they put the flag and the background where they landed matches perfectly, I guess they didn't think that anyone would ever notice it. A rocket scientist may know how to make the rocket, but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows how to put the fuel in it."

Hobbes smiled at the quote; he would have to say that one to his partner sometime and see the reaction. But still, someone believing that the government hadn't gone to the moon, that was crazy! "Yes, but we saw the shuttle take off."

"That doesn't mean they went to the moon. All it means is they left the Earth's orbit. I'm willing to bet they stayed out there until it was time to come back home, after the fake footage was shot and put on TV."

Hobbes sighed. Strange as it seemed, he was actually getting curious about whether Jerry was on to something. "What other evidence do you have besides the flag and the same background?"

Instead of answering, Jerry quickly shoved the book under his pillow again. A moment later there was a knock on the door.

One of the orderlies opened the door and looked inside. "Doctor Jacobs is looking for you, Jerry."

Jerry nodded. After the orderly walked away, he turned back to Hobbes. "They don't really want me to read anything else about the government, other patients have complained about me being paranoid. This book used to be my roommate's."

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Jerry walked into Dr. Jacobs' office, taking a seat. He had been in here a week ago for a status report and Jacobs had said he might be leaving soon if everything went well. Jerry wasn't really sure what he'd do when he left; he didn't have any family, and no one was waiting for him when he got out. He had been admitted by his sister three years ago, but less than six months ago she had been killed in a car accident.

"How are you doing today, Jerry?"

"Pretty good, just spending my days doing the usual."

"You know, Jerry, we've recently discussed the fact that you will be leaving soon. Well, I've decided that sooner is better then later. How does next week sound to you?"

For a moment Jerry was speechless. He was actually getting out! A smile spread across his lips. "I don't know what to say.... Thank you."

Dr. Jacobs looked up from an open file on his desk. "There's no need to thank me, you did this on your own. As for now though, I think it would be best if you keep it quiet. I don't want the others to get jealous that you're getting out."

Jerry ran a hand through his hair. "Sure, I understand."

"I thought you would. Now, for another matter at hand, I've assigned you a new roommate."

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Hobbes walked past the file room, noticing how much security it had. It seemed odd that a simple file room would be so well-guarded in a place like this.

"Hobbes?" A voice came from down the hall. Hobbes turned to see that it was Jerry. "What are you doing over here?"

Hobbes shrugged. "I was giving myself a tour of the place," he replied.

"Yeah well, if you go too much further down this way you're going to get yourself into trouble. They don't like it when we go down that way," Jerry said, nodding toward the hallway Hobbes had been about to enter.

"Why, what's down there?"

"You know, it's funny, no one really knows."

Hobbes noticed that Jerry was coming out of his shell -- that or he just seemed happier. "So, what did the doc want to talk to you about?"

"He just wanted to let me know I was getting a roommate."

Hobbes nodded, not quite believing Jerry's story but not willing to push the subject just yet either. "Speaking of roommates, you said that you got that book from your old roommate. What happened to him?"

Jerry looked around as if unsure how he was supposed to answer. "He was moved to a different wing in the asylum."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Hobbes replied.

Jerry looked around again, scanning the hall for someone who was not there. They turned a corner and ended up in the hall leading to their room. Jerry walked faster and made it to his and Hobbes' room before he spoke again, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "They come for you in the middle of the night, and they stick you full of needles, and after they come for you enough you disappear."

"Excuse me?" Hobbes questioned. Even though he knew it wasn't what Jerry had meant, he kept getting the mental image of various patients Quicksilvering and running invisible through the halls.

"They took Frankie, my old roommate. I know they want me to believe that he was relocated, but they took him. I knew. Sometimes they'd give him things when they thought I was asleep, but I saw.... I could tell they were doing something, he was getting worse instead of better."

"Who are 'they'?" Hobbes asked warily.

"The doctors. I'm not sure which ones, but I think they're running some kind of tests."

"How many have disappeared besides your roommate?" Hobbes asked. Now he was the one looking around to make sure no one was watching or listening.

Jerry thought for a minute and then answered. "Six in all. Frankie was the last one."

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Darien sat in a very uncomfortable chair, staring listlessly across the room at the Official. The Official sat behind his desk with Eberts hovering at his shoulder, as usual. Both men's expressions were completely unreadable.

This brought back memories for Darien, alright -- unpleasant ones. He shifted positions in his chair and did his best to maintain an intimidating presence, the distance between himself and the Official notwithstanding. "So, did you call me in here for a staring contest, or did you actually have something you needed to tell me?"

The Official gave Eberts a nod and the accountant left the room without a word. The Official folded his hands on the desk and turned his attention back to Darien, saying gravely, "We need to discuss the status of your partnership with Agent Hobbes."

Darien sat up straighter, immediately hyper-attentive. "Forget the partnership, I wanna know what happened to screw Hobbes up so badly! Did you have him running extra cases on overtime? Dock his pay? Did that new shrink of his change his meds? Something had to happen to push him over the edge like this!"

The Official's brow furrowed. "I didn't call you here to discuss Agent Hobbes' current medical state. I brought you here to introduce you to your new partner."

Darien started to pick up his rant where he had left off, but faltered as his brain fully registered the Official's words. "Wh... what?" He laughed. "You have gotta be kidding me."

The Official intoned, "I can assure you, I'm completely serious." He looked over at the door as Eberts walked into the room with a large, burly man dressed in a black suit, and nodded appreciatively. "Agent Fawkes, meet Agent Smithers. He will be your new partner for the next few weeks."

Darien stood up and stalked over to the Official's desk, his eyes blazing with fury. "So, you're just gonna stick me with some random Agency heavy and leave Hobbes to rot in a padded cell for the rest of his life? I mean, damn, I'd at least think you'd partner me up with Monroe!"

The Official's eyes narrowed. "She's on assignment."

Darien shook his head stubbornly, waving a finger threateningly in the Official's face. "Yeah, well, you know what? It wouldn't matter even if she was the one standing in that doorway. I'm not playing your little games. I work with Hobbes, or I don't work at all." He Quicksilvered, then turned on his heel and pushed past Eberts, but skidded to a halt in front of Smithers, who had yet to move from the doorway. "Outta my way, Bruno."

Smithers blinked, obviously surprised by the fact that a patch of cold air was ordering him around, and wordlessly stepped to the side, giving Darien room to slip past. Darien exited the room and hurried out of the building to his car, not willing to take the risk that the Official might send Smithers to play fetch-the-receptacle.

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General Creighton Abrams said, "You people are telling me what you think I want to know. I want to know what is actually happening." Well, let me tell you, there was enough weird crap going on that I was tempted to yell that from the roof of the Agency so everyone would hear.

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Act Two

Hobbes looked down at the sorry excuse for food that was sitting on a plate in front of him. After he and Jerry had talked about the people who had been moved to a different wing in the asylum, Hobbes had started to come up with a plan to get into the file room. He wanted to know what was going on, and he figured the only way that was going to happen was if he read the files.

Jerry seemed convinced that the people were disappearing for a reason. Hobbes wanted to find out what they all had in common. There had to be some kind of link that tied them all together... somewhere. Hobbes stood up, deciding that the food didn't look edible. He had plans to make, and his mind was reeling. As he passed a table he stumbled forward, catching the occupant of the table off-guard. He stood back up straight and mumbled a "Sorry," patting the man on the shoulder.

Hobbes left the dining room and headed down the hall toward the room he shared with Jerry. He was ready for phase one. Slipping the butter knife he had stolen from the other man's table, he swung the door to his room closed, but before it had the chance to close he slid the butter knife in the door. He heard the soft click of the door locking into place and knew he had failed. Hobbes reopened the door and tried again. Then again. After three more tries he tilted the knife a little to the right, and to his surprise almost caught the door before it closed.

Hobbes tried it again, and this time he made it. Then, sliding the knife down the door to the handle, he blocked the knob from turning all the way and closed the door. It didn't click. He let go of the knife and it stayed in place. Slowly opening the door, he pulled the knife out and a smile of satisfaction spread across his lips. Hobbes walked over to his bed and, as he had seen in movies, he unscrewed the top off of one of the legs and dropped his knife in it. "Now the only thing left is getting the passcode to the file room," he said to himself as he recapped the bed leg.

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

Hobbes walked past the file room one more time, wishing for the millionth time that his partner were here, because if he was, Hobbes could always sneak over and watch one of the staff members type in the passcode and then he wouldn't have to worry about finding someone dirty enough that he could bribe for it. The only problem was that if he asked someone who refused to help he would get caught.

But he hadn't been here long enough to know anything about anyone... Well, not really. In a place as big as this though, there had to be someone who was dirty. He could use someone from a different level maybe as an informant, but he needed someone who knew the place. Someone who knew not only the people, but the way around. He needed Jerry.

Hobbes changed his course and headed back towards his room for the tenth time in the last hour. His pacing was probably making him look suspicious, but he didn't really care. If anyone asked he would just lie and say he couldn't sit still. After all, he did have ADD, it was a believable excuse. Hobbes entered the room and found Jerry sitting on the bed with a piece of paper in his hand. "What's up?"

"Just reading over something," Jerry answered, looking up at Hobbes. "Where have you been? You missed an interesting outbreak in the dining room."

"Really, how's that?" Hobbes asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"One of the butter-knifes went missing, Quinn's actually. Given his past -- he once tried to kill himself -- they had him put in isolation."

Hobbes felt bad for the guy. "Well, how do they know that he was the one who took it and not someone else?"

Jerry gave Hobbes a curious look. "Because it was his knife that went missing... unless you know something that I don't."

Hobbes scratched his head, "I need to ask a favor. You've been here a while, right?"

"Yeah, three years," Jerry answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, is there anyone dirty here? I don't know, maybe an orderly who gives people extra meds or something?"

Jerry's green eyes almost looked clouded for a second. "You're not.... Umm.... You know?"

"No, no, no.... Nothing like that. You wanted me to figure out what's going on around here, so I'm trying to. The only problem is I need to get into the file room, but I can't do that without the passcode, so I figured maybe I could get it from someone who had something to hide."

"Okay, I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

Hobbes gave him a questioning glance, but then nodded his head. "What do you want to know?"

"Like I said before, I know you're some kind of cop, I'm good at reading people. What I want to know is what kind of cop are you?"

"I'm a Federal Agent," Hobbes replied.

Jerry thought carefully before he spoke again. "Okay, I'll help you."

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

Hobbes walked down a dark hallway that was in the middle of being renovated. This was the only way of getting to the third floor undetected. Opening a white painted metal door, he headed up a flight of stairs, then another, and another. He reached the third floor, but before stepping out he glanced out the window and made sure that no one was in the hall. It looked clear.

Hobbes stepped into the dimly lit hallway and sighed with relief. Everything seemed to be going fine. He leaned against the wall by the stairwell and hoped he wouldn't have to wait long. His patience paid off as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He watched as a medium build and clean shaven man in his mid-twenties approached. "I need some help sleeping."

"You've come to the right place," the man said, pulling out a bottle of pills from his pocket. "Two Ambien should do the trick," he said, pulling them out of the bottle and handing them to Hobbes.

Hobbes took the sleeping pills from the man and stuck them in his pocket, with every intent of flushing them down a toilet the next time he saw one. He noticed that the man was still waiting for his money, but Hobbes had something else in mind, and it didn't include greenbacks. He shoved the man against the wall and his voice turned harsh. "You know, you should really do a check on the people you sell to. If you had you would've known that I'm a fed!"

Fear passed across the man's face, "Y-you're not going to arrest me, are you?"

"Of course not! I'm in an asylum, how can I arrest you?" Relief passed the man's features. "However, just because I can't doesn't mean that my partner can't. I do have a lot of friends in law enforcement," he lied. "Although, all of this can go away if...." Hobbes trailed off, leaving the man to wonder.

"If what?"

"If you tell me what I want to know," Hobbes replied.

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

Hobbes sat on his bed, watching as the orderly handed Jerry a see-through plastic cup with three tablets in it. Then he walked over to Hobbes and handed him his own. Hobbes noted that there were four pills in his own. The doses on his pills had been upped to take the edge off of his paranoia. After the way he had acted the first day he showed up at the asylum Dr. Jacobs thought that it would be better that way.

Hobbes took the small glass of water that was offered to him and swallowed the pills, then opened his mouth to show that he had. The orderly nodded with satisfaction and then turned to leave. A few minutes before the man had entered Hobbes had pulled the knife out of the hollow of the bed leg; now it was in his shirt sleeve.

As soon as the orderly stepped out of the room Hobbes jumped up and dashed for the door. He stuck the knife in the door and tilted it toward the right, then slid the knife to the knob, just as he had practiced. The door closed, but didn't click, but the sound of it closing alone was enough to satisfy the orderly who didn't even turn around, but kept walking down the hall. Hobbes sighed with relief. He would be able to leave the room safely in about an hour.

He left the knife in the door and went over to sit on his bed, then pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and started to memorize the passcode to the file room. As time passed Hobbes checked the door ever more frequently to make sure the knife was still in place. The light in his room had been turned out at eleven thirty and now it was almost twelve. He watched as the lights in the hall turned off and smiled. It was almost time.

"Good luck," Jerry said. Hobbes had asked him to put the knife back when he left; that way he could get back in.

Hobbes nodded and opened the door, then headed down the hall toward the file room.

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

Jerry heard a slight click and sat up in his bed. "Hobbes? How come you're back so soon?"

"I'm not Hobbes," a familiar voice replied.

"Oh, I didn't realize it was you, Doctor--" Jerry was cut off as a sharp object pierced his skin.

"Goodnight, Jerry."

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

Hobbes typed in the passcode, relieved when the door clicked unlocked. He turned the knob and headed into the file room. Pulling from memory one of the names that Jerry had given him, he searched for the cabinet the name would be in. He opened the drawer and flipped past a row of files until he found the one he wanted. The light in the room was low, but he could still make out the words. Jerry had been told they had been moved to a different wing in the asylum, but these said that the patient had been released.

He checked another one and found the same thing, and then another. They didn't seem to have anything in common, but he knew they were somehow linked. Hobbes sighed; there had to be something that connected the men that had been moved; anything. He pulled out Frankie Mathers' file and scanned it, his eyes fell on the list of people to be contacted if anything happened to the patient. There wasn't one. Frankie didn't have any family.

Hobbes pulled back out the last file he had been looking at, and saw that it was blank as well. That was the key to this, there was no family, and so there was no one to miss them if they disappeared.

He was getting ready to leave, but his eye caught a file that was sitting on one of the smaller cabinets that hadn't been put away. Curiosity got the best of him and he opened it.

A picture of Jerry stared back at him; glancing down at the file he saw the Jerry had a release date set. And one in a few days, no less. For a second he wondered why Jerry hadn't said anything about it. Hobbes turned toward the door as the light turned on. Dr. Jacobs was staring at him with a frown on his face.

"You know, I would have expected better from you, Mr. Hobbes. But rules are rules, and since you have broken them, I have no choice but to place you in isolation for the night. Be glad that I am the one that found you. If I didn't like you so much, you'd be put in for longer. Much longer."

"Aw, crap...." Hobbes muttered. He'd been caught.

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

Hobbes sat on the floor, looking at the plain gray wall. He had memorized every crack and every crease in it by now. If they had expected him to sleep, they were crazy. There wasn't a chance, even if he had tried, that he could have fallen asleep in this room. There was something about it that reminded him of a prison cell. All it was missing were the bars. He had spent a few hours yelling to be let out, but his cries had been in vain. And now, looking at the gray wall, he realized he never wanted to see another one like it again.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Hobbes stood up, hoping that whoever it was, they were coming to let him out. Dr. Jacobs had said he'd be in isolation for the night, but he hadn't specified when in the morning he would be let out, if in fact he would be let out in the morning. Typically, periods of isolation tended to last for twenty four hours, but Hobbes was hoping that wasn't the case this time. The sound of the lock on his door being moved snapped him from his thoughts. He waited as the door opened and saw one of the orderlies glaring at him.

"Dr. Jacobs told me to tell you to go have lunch and then meet him in his office."

Hobbes nodded and stepped out of the isolation room. The first thing on his mind was getting changed. He nodded at the orderly and then walked off down the hall toward his room.

He sighed with relief as he stepped into his room. Right now the metal bed didn't sound so bad after all. He laid down on it and closed his eyes for a moment, then let out another sigh. He didn't have time to sleep; after his meeting with Dr. Jacobs he had to pull Jerry aside and ask him about being released. He sat back up and ran a hand through his hair, then stood again.

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

There was a knock on the door and Dr. Jacobs looked up to see Hobbes standing there with a frown on his face. "Ah, Mr. Hobbes, good afternoon," he said, motioning toward a chair for Hobbes to take a seat. As soon as Hobbes sat, Jacobs spoke again. "So, care to tell me what you were doing in the file room last night?"

Hobbes had spent the last half hour going over the answer in his head, he was pretty sure he had it down pat. "I was, uh.... Well," he fidgeted a little to add to the act, "I was looking for my file."

Dr. Jacobs placed a hand under his chin and gazed at Hobbes intently. "I see, and why were you doing that?"

"I wanted to see who the second person who signed my admittance here was."

"Are you satisfied?" Dr. Jacobs asked a little roughly.

"Well actually, Doc, I'm not. I, uh, I thought my boss was the one who had me admitted."

Dr. Jacobs nodded. "Yes, I remember quite well," he replied, referring to the scene that had occurred the first day Hobbes had been brought here. "And now that you found out the information you were looking for, which you had no right to do in the first place, would you mind telling me how you got into the file room?"

"Yes, actually I would mind."

"It's not really a request, Mr. Hobbes."

"I understand that."

Dr. Jacobs nodded, placing both hands on his desk. "Well then, I guess I have no choice but to punish you."

Hobbes almost laughed at the words 'punish you', but thought better of it. "If that's what you have to do... go ahead."

"You'll be helping in the kitchen cleaning for the next week. You will not leave the kitchen after any meal until every dish is scrubbed and to my satisfaction, do you understand that?"

Hobbes nodded. "Yes, sir." He had fully been expecting to be put in isolation again.

"I'll see you bright and early in the morning to make sure that you are doing it right. Now go and get some sleep, I'm sure you must be tired."

Hobbes stood up to leave, but stopped at the door and turned back around. "Doctor?"

Dr. Jacobs looked back up from his desk and met Hobbes' gaze. "What is it?"

"Have you seen Jerry? I've been looking for him all afternoon but no one seems to know where he is." The question had been bugging Hobbes since he had left the dining room. It was almost as if Jerry was invisible.

"His time was up; he was released this morning."

The words sent a chill up Hobbes' spine. "Already?" Jacobs' eyes narrowed and Hobbes hastily tried to cover his blunder. "He, uh, told me he was getting out soon, but I thought it was gonna be in a few days...."

"His release date was originally scheduled for next week, but he was given a reprieve and let out early." Jacobs frowned. "He was instructed not to talk about it."

Hobbes shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know, sometimes it's hard to contain the excitement...." He turned and walked out of the room as quickly as possible, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

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

Hobbes looked up as an orderly opened the door to his room and fixed him with a stern look. "We got a new doctor, a specialist. She's here to check you out. Don't cause any trouble, you hear me?"

Hobbes nodded complacently. "Right. No trouble."

The orderly didn't look completely convinced, but he opened the door wider and allowed a very familiar-looking petite woman wearing a white lab-coat to enter the room. She brushed a few strands of red hair out of her face and fixed Hobbes with a stern look.

Hobbes inclined his head slightly by way of greeting. "Nice to meet ya, Doc."

The woman pursed her lips. "The pleasure's all yours, Mister Hobbes." She turned to the orderly and said curtly, "I'd like to have a word with my patient in private. If you'd be so kind as to step outside and shut the door...." Her tone made it very clear that she wouldn't take kindly to being argued with.

The orderly cleared his throat nervously. "You sure?" One withering glance from the woman caused him to change his mind. "OK, I'm going, I'm going!"

Hobbes waited until the door swung shut and then stood up, his façade of bored disinterest quickly replaced by pure professionalism. "Damnit, Monroe, I was expectin' ya two hours ago."

Alex smirked. "What, you have some pressing business with one of the other inmates?" She crossed her arms, looking anything but doctorly. "Alright, give me the sit-rep."

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

Now, this British guy, Dean Hawkes said, "Half the worry in the world is caused by people trying to make decisions before they have sufficient knowledge on which to base a decision." Well, I was about to come into a whole lot more knowledge, and the decision it lead me toward wasn't pretty.

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

Darien walked down the halls of the mental institution with hands shoved firmly in pockets, not looking much farther than the three feet ahead of him that was necessary to keep himself from making any accidental collisions with an errant doctor or inmate. He didn't really want to visit Hobbes at the moment, but it was better than getting ten phone calls in two hours, all of which were demands that he come into work immediately. And, naturally, they were demands he had no intention of meeting.

He came to a stop in front of Hobbes' room, unsure whether or not he really wanted to go inside. If Hobbes was still behaving anything like he had the last time Darien saw him, it wouldn't do either of them any good.

Just as Darien had finally made up his mind and was about to go in, the door swung open from the inside. Darien's eyes widened as he got a good look at just who had just left the room and was now walking determinedly down the hall.

"Monroe! Wait!" Alex only walked faster, her posture tense. Darien rushed down the hall after her, grabbing her shoulder and whirling her around. "What are you doing here?" He looked her over, noticed the presence of the white lab coat, and raised an eyebrow. "What are you wearing? What the hell is going on here?"

Before Darien could say any more, Alex clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him firmly down the hallway and into the first empty room she found. She slammed the door shut and fixed Darien with a livid glare. "Are you trying to piss me off? Because it's working. Do you know how close you just came to blowing my cover?"

Whatever Darien had been expecting to hear, that certainly wasn't it. "Your... cover?" He tried to hide his shock at Alex's words, but failed miserably.

"Yeah, my cover! Came damn close to exposing me! You're lucky I'm not shoving you up against a wall right now...." Alex's expression softened gradually as she took in the confusion running rampant across Darien's features. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" Darien asked, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.

Alex brought a hand up to her brow, massaging her forehead, and said quietly, "About the mission."

Darien's attention was suddenly fixed completely on the petite red-head standing before him. "What mission? And don't tell me it's need to know, because I need to know now!" His jaw tightened. "It has something to do with Hobbes, doesn't it?"

Alex spoke curtly. "You could say that." She moved toward the door.

Darien stepped in her way, his voice quiet but stern. "Look. I've been trying to figure out what's going on since Hobbes got admitted. If I don't find out soon, Hobbes ain't the only one who's gonna end up in the loony bin. Monroe.... Alex. Please. Just tell me what's going on."

Alex bit her lip and stared off into space for a moment, then nodded crisply. "Fine." She took a deep breath. "Patients from this hospital have been turning up dead outside the institution walls." Noting the expression on Darien's face, she added, "Not literally outside the walls. They've been found as far as twenty miles from here. But the doctors claim to have no knowledge of how they escaped, or why they died soon after doing so. Hobbes was sent in undercover to see if he could figure out--"

"I knew it! I knew he wasn't crazy!" Darien said triumphantly. He realized that he had interrupted Alex and quickly apologized. "Sorry. Keep going."

Alex huffed irritably, but continued. "As I was saying, Hobbes was sent in to see if he could figure out what was going on, and I was sent to be his contact. I've just debriefed him--"

"Oh man, that is a mental picture I did not want to have running through my head...."

"Fawkes!"

"Sorry."

Alex gave Darien a death-glare before she continued. "Hobbes believes that there is a pattern to the disappearances of the patients. He also says that there are more casualties than we originally knew of."

"How many more?" A lump was beginning to form in Darien's throat.

Alex's voice was solemn. "We found three bodies. But Hobbes thinks there are six people who have turned up dead. Quite possibly seven, now."

Darien sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Crap...."

Alex nodded.

"So why didn't anyone tell me?" Darien's tone turned bitter. "They didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth?"

"They probably just needed an honest reaction. You'd be my best bet for that, at any rate." Alex smirked. "You wear your heart on your sleeve."

Darien rolled his eyes. "Well, as nice as it is to know I'm an open book, I think I'll pass on the reading assignments." He moved toward the door.

Alex grabbed hold of Darien's arm. "Where are you going?"

Darien pulled away from Alex's touch an allowed the Quicksilver to flow over his body. "I'm going to have a little talk with my partner."

"Fawkes, wait!" But Darien was already gone.

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

Hobbes paced back and forth in his room, trying to decide what to do next. He had been caught sneaking around at night once already, and if he was found doing so again he might draw attention to himself. However, if he laid low for a while so as not to break his cover, he could cause as much trouble through his inaction as he would if he got caught.

His inner debate was cut short as he heard the door to his room swing open. He turned toward the door, ready to slip back into character in an instant, but was momentarily taken aback by the realization that there was no one standing in the hall or the doorway. Of course, once the initial surprise wore off, he knew exactly what had just happened.

"Fawkes, what're you doing here?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"What, I'm not allowed to stop by and say hello?" Darien's disembodied voice echoed softly through the room. "'Sides, you and I need to talk."

"Didn't need to pull that cellophane crap of yours for that. I'm allowed to have visitors."

"Yeah, well, it's probably best if this particular conversation slips under the radar." There was a soft creaking sound as Darien sat down on Hobbes' bed.

Hobbes glared at an area about three feet above the indentation that was now clearly visible in the mattress. "OK then, see-through boy, what've you got to talk about that's so important you need to burn Quicksilver to do it?"

Darien's voice turned cold. "I know about the mission."

Darien's words caught Hobbes completely off-guard. "Who told you?" he asked harshly. He wished that Darien was visible; glowering at thin air made him feel oddly self-conscious.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't you!" Darien snapped harshly.

"Damn straight it wasn't! I was undercover! And if even one of the people on-staff here thought I didn't belong in this room, it coulda been blown in an instant."

"Why are you guys all so convinced that I'll blow your cover? I know how to pull a con! I passed the freakin' agent-training exam, which you gave me. Why does everyone think I'll screw things up?"

Hobbes opened his mouth to speak, then faltered. Quite frankly, he couldn't think of a single practical reason why Darien had been left out of the loop. There was the emotional angle, of course, but in some ways that had worked against them as much as it had worked for them.

It all boiled down to one simple thing: the Official hadn't trusted Darien enough to bring him in on the mission, and Hobbes hadn't so much as protested. During Darien's recent arrest and arraignment, Hobbes' own trust in his partner had been stretched to its limits. It had, in fact, come very close to shattering completely. He hadn't wanted to disbelieve Fawkes, but the evidence was piled sky-high, and Hobbes had already known that Darien was up to something. The only conclusion he had been able to draw was that Darien was lying, and it had caused him no end of confusion and heartache.

Yes, he had been relieved to discover that Darien was not responsible for the string of bank robberies, or for the death of the security guard. But the emotional aftermath was still there. A month ago he would have requested that Darien be put on this case, or at least be informed of what was going on. What did that say for their partnership now?

Hobbes felt his shoulders slump a bit as the anger began to drain out of him. Darien had every right to be upset. Hobbes certainly would have been, if he were in the same situation. "OK, so maybe I should've told ya. But there're some things you've been holdin' out on with me too, and you know it. I still don't know where you've been goin', nights."

Darien's voice had lost none of its acidity. "That's none of your business. But, just for the record, I've stopped going 'out'. Apparently, I'm not allowed to have a social life." The last sentence was said with a great deal of sarcasm.

"It ain't exactly a social life if no one can vouch for where you've been," Hobbes said, unable to keep himself from commenting on Darien's choice of words. "Having a social life generally implies hanging out with other people, ya know."

"Yeah, well, I've never been much for generalities." The mattress squeaked again as Darien stood up. It was obvious by the sound of his footfalls that he was headed toward the door.

"Fawkes, wait!"

Darien's footsteps stopped. "What?" His voice was hollow, impassive.

Hobbes exhaled slowly, then took a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "It won't happen again."

"Good," Darien replied curtly. The door to the room swung open, then shut a few seconds later.

Hobbes sat down on his bed and automatically shifted away from the still-cold spot where Darien had been seated earlier. "Well, crap." He shook his head and then reluctantly went back to debating his next course of action. There was nothing he could do about Darien right now, but he could do something about the mission.

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

Hobbes leaned forward with his ear pressed against the door of his room, listening to make sure the coast was clear. He couldn't wait any longer; he was about to perpetrate another late-night raid on the file room. He had to find out for sure whether or not Jerry's file claimed he had been 'released'.

He was just about to slip out into the hall when he heard four sets of footsteps coming down the hall. He straightened up abruptly and took several steps back as he realized that they were stopping in front of his room, quickly tucking the knife he had stolen from the cafeteria back in its hiding place.

The door swung open and three orderlies walked into the room, followed by one of the hospital doctors. Hobbes' eyes narrowed with suspicion as he slipped back into the role he had been playing ever since he had been admitted. It wasn't very hard at the moment. "Whaddaya want?"

The doctor gave Hobbes what was obviously supposed to be a placating grin. It was far from effective. "I'm here to give you your medicine."

Hobbes was immediately on his guard. "Look, pal, I don't know what you're tryin' to pull, but I've already had my meds!"

Unperturbed by Hobbes' comment, the doctor pulled a syringe containing a translucent purple liquid out of his pocket. "You've been given a new prescription. Calm down, this won't take long."

Hobbes lunged for the doorway, but the orderlies tackled him to the ground, one holding his arms, another holding his legs, and the third holding his head so that he couldn't move. Hobbes struggled with all his might, yelling at the top of his lungs. He definitely wasn't acting any more. Everything was happening almost exactly as Jerry had described. But this time, Hobbes was the victim.

And unfortunately, it made perfect sense. When they had been preparing for the mission, he and Claire had reached a mutual consensus that it would be best not to put down anyone on his list of contacts, thanks to his family's... connections. He fit the profile of the other patients who had gone missing perfectly.

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

Act Three

This Greek historian, Polybius, said, "There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man." And just because he was born over 2,000 years ago doesn't mean he isn't right. I mean, when my conscience tears into me, I get pretty damn miserable, pretty damn fast. Now, you'd think that as a thief, I might've learned to ignore it. But it always pops up just when I want to ignore it the most.

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

Darien awakened the next morning to discover that he felt extremely restless, and it wasn't because of the cacophony of sound caused by the group of Agency heavies pounding on his door. He escaped from them with ease, using the same trick he had while under house arrest. However, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he should be doing. Something that, in all likelihood, was right under his nose.

Since he didn't have anything else to do, he began to drive aimlessly around town. When he ended up driving by the mental hospital three times within 20 minutes, he decided that his conscience was nagging at him to apologize to Hobbes. After that revelation he drove around for another half hour just to be spiteful, but in the end his guilt got the better of him. He was still very upset over the fact that no one had told him about the mission, but he had gone overboard while talking to Hobbes and he knew it. Things were bad enough already without him giving people even more reason to be angry with him.

Darien walked into Hobbes' room and looked around uneasily. Hobbes was seated on his bed with his feet partially entwined in the bedclothes. He appeared to be completely engrossed in a book of some kind -- so engrossed, in fact, that he didn't even notice Darien come in.

Darien cleared his throat. Hobbes' eyes widened and he jumped, hurriedly starting to stuff the book behind his pillow. When he realized that Darien was the one standing in front of him he stopped trying to hide it, but his eyes narrowed in blatant suspicion. "What're you here for this time?"

Darien shrugged. "Figured I should probably pay ya a legitimate visit, for appearances' sake." He sat down on the bed across from Hobbes and leaned forward as he rested his arms on his knees. More quietly, he said, "And, I, uhh, came to apologize."

Hobbes merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the book.

Darien frowned. "Umm, hello, I'm about to make an at least semi-sincere apology. The least you could do is pay attention--"

Hobbes held up a hand. "Shh. This is interesting."

Darien felt a surge of anger welling up inside him. He leapt to his feet, crossed the room in three steps, and snatched the book out of Hobbes' hands. "Damnit, Hobbes, would you listen... to... me...." He trailed off as he caught a glimpse of the subject material. "What the hell is this?"

Hobbes stood to his feet and tried to grab the book from Darien's grasp, but Darien held onto it stubbornly. "It's none'a your business," Hobbes snapped as continued his attempts to negate Darien's hold on the book, "so just hand it over!"

After a long struggle, Darien finally wrenched the book out of Hobbes' grasp. When he saw the title of the book his nose wrinkled. "'Modern Conspiracy Theories'? Come on, Hobbes...." He lessened his hold on the book, and Hobbes snatched it away.

"I'll have you know that this book," Hobbes thumped the object in question with his free hand, "has a lot of interesting stuff, my friend. Some of it just smacks of Chrysalis."

Darien just shook his head and laughed. "Where did you find that thing?"

Hobbes sat down on his bed, once again eyeing Darien suspiciously. "Why d'you care?"

"Well, whoever gave it to ya must have been a complete nutcase!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth Darien realized that that very well might be the case and quickly added, "No offense intended."

"Yeah, well, for your information, half of this stuff really did happen, or at least has a basis in fact." His expression became thoughtful. "I think Jerry might really have been onto something with that thing about the moon...."

"What thing about the moon?" Darien was extremely confused. Hobbes had changed subjects quite abruptly, or so it seemed to him. And who in the world was Jerry?

Hobbes shrugged. "You know. We never went there. The US, I mean. It was all a big scam."

Darien placed his hands on his hips, straightened up to his full height and gave Hobbes a stern glare. "OK, you know what? This isn't funny."

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "'Course not. Cover-ups this huge never are. I mean, the whole freakin' world thinks we landed on the moon. Or most of it does, anyway."

"Hobbes!" Darien ran a hand through his hair in a rapid, haphazard motion, making his hair stand up even straighter and wilder than it already was. "Quit it! I'm serious! You're talking crazy here, it's starting to freak me out!"

Hobbes stuffed the book under his pillow and moved over to Darien, looking around in a nervous fashion and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You wanna know who's really crazy around here? The doctors. They're crazier than the patients. Sticking you fulla needles, asking funny questions, doping you up with pills you don't need... I'm tellin' you, Fawkes, these people are freakin' nuts! And Jacobs is in on it, I just know it. All smug and casual, but I'm tellin' ya, he knows more than he lets on."

Darien sucked in a shuddering breath, staring at Hobbes with an anguished expression on his face. This wasn't an act, it couldn't be. Hobbes would have no reason to pretend to be crazy in front of Darien, not now that he knew what was going on. He began to back toward the door.

Hobbes' eyes widened and sweat started to bead on his forehead. "Fawkes? Where're you goin'? Don't leave me here alone! The doctors'll start messin' with me again!"

Darien did his best to ignore Hobbes' pleas and opened the door to leave.

Hobbes rushed forward and seized hold of Darien's arm, his tone desperate. "Fawkes, don't leave me in here alone! Fawkes!"

Darien shrugged off Hobbes' grip, then hurried out the door and slammed it behind him. He leaned against it and heaved a deep sigh. "Ahh, crap...."

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

Alex's high heels clicked rhythmically on the pavement as she walked across the parking lot to the Angel of Mercy Mental Institution. Her 'daily therapy' with Hobbes wasn't for another hour, but she had to at least pretend to have something to do besides that, which meant she was going to have to keep herself busy in her 'office' all afternoon.

"Alex!" Darien's voice was strained, and barely above a whisper. The sudden chill in the air only served to confirm that his invisible form was lurking somewhere nearby.

Alex's pace slowed. "What do you want, Fawkes?"

"You've gotta get Hobbes out of here, or else he's gonna end up having to stay for good."

Alex came to a complete stop, her hands automatically moving to her hips. "What are you talking about?"

"I went in to see him about half an hour ago, he's acting completely nuts!"

"Maybe he doesn't know you know--"

"Oh, he knows, alright." Darien's tone suggested that he had informed Hobbes that he knew quite forcefully. "He was ranting about how the astronauts never really landed on the moon and how Dr. Jacobs is in on some weird hospital-wide conspiracy."

Alex nearly jumped as she felt a chill hand placed on her shoulder.

"Look, Alex. You're the only person who's said two words to me about any of this without yelling in my face. The Fat Man's not gonna listen to me, and Clai--" Darien caught himself in mid-word, "the Keeper's too pissed with me to believe a word I'm saying. You're my only hope, here."

"Hey, I'm not Ben Kenobi, and I sure as hell hope you're not thinking of yourself as a princess now." Still, despite Alex's gruff words, she was paying attention.

"Just trust me on this. You have to get Hobbes out of that building, now."

Alex sighed. "Fawkes...." It was impossible. They had to finish the mission. They had to find out what was going on in this hospital that would result in so many patients' deaths. And yet, despite all her inner protests, she heard herself saying, "I'm not making any promises. But I'll see what I can do."

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

Alex walked into Hobbes' room and stopped just inside the doorway, crossing her arms as the door swung shut. "What the hell are you trying to pull?" She gave Hobbes an indignant look. "I could understand you not telling Fawkes about the mission. I can't say I would've condoned it, but I could understand it. But now that he knows, you have no right to keep messing with his head!

"And why didn't you tell him about this mission, anyway? Because no matter what I might've said, I do not think it's just because you wanted an honest reaction. Is this about that arrest a few weeks back? Because if I hadn't been out on assignment, I could've straightened you out on that in an instant. You're his partner! You more than anyone should know that he wouldn't have been capable of something like that. I mean, burglary, sure. But knifing a guard? Fawkes can't even touch a weapon without flinching!"

Alex paused momentarily, both to catch her breath and to give Hobbes a chance to speak. However, Hobbes just stared at her.

Alex's eyes flashed indignantly. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Hobbes held a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then gestured around the room and said in a stage whisper, "They'll hear you."

"Don't pull that crap on me," Alex snarled.

"Shh!" Hobbes hissed. He walked over to Alex and then whispered, "I don't know what you're talking about, but you need to keep it down. They have the whole hospital bugged."

"Cute. Real cute." Alex gave Hobbes a stern look. "You might have been able to fool Fawkes with this little act, but you're not gonna get me."

"What're you talking about?" Hobbes snipped. "You're not with them, are you? It'd be just like the Fat Man, to team up with this buncha mad scientists...."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Hobbes, we're investigating this hospital, not participating in some megalomaniacal scheme for world domination."

"That's what they want us to think," Hobbes muttered. He narrowed his eyes at Alex and stepped backward, as if growing more and more suspicious that she was part of the all-consuming 'they'.

Alex threw up her hands in the air in frustration. "Fawkes was right! You're freakin' nuts!" She whirled around and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Then she continued her brisk pace, making straight for the exit, fishing through her pockets for her cell phone and muttering a wide variety of curses under her breath.

Just as Alex's hand bumped against her phone, Dr. Greer came up beside her and gave her a winning smile. "Is everything alright?"

Alex nodded tersely. Then the beginnings of a smile played across her lips as she realized the small window of opportunity she had just been given. After all, Greer was in charge of the transfers of most inmates, among other things. "Actually, one of my patients, Mr. Hobbes, has been experiencing an increase in paranoid and aggressive behavior lately; I'd like to request his transfer to another hospital, one better suited to his current mental state."

Greer nodded. "Yes, with his condition worsening so rapidly, moving him might be a good idea...." He continued to speak, his voice remaining casual but picking up a bit of an edge. "Doctor Stephens," he referred to Alex by the alias she had been given for this assignment, "I've noticed that you spend a great deal of time working with Mr. Hobbes. If I didn't know better, I'd say you considered him your only patient."

Alex forced herself to laugh. "You would, wouldn't you?" Her hand still clinging to the cell phone in her pocket, she quickened her pace. "But I do have other patients, and I need to attend to them now. So, if you'll excuse me...."

Suddenly Dr. Greer was much closer than Alex would have liked. However, just before she gave in to the instinctive impulse to knock him to the ground, she felt a needle jab into her neck. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but as she did she lost all sense of balance and fell to the ground.

Greer stood over her, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have come here, Agent Monroe...."

Alex tried to get up, tried to speak, but she found herself unable to. She felt like she was being smothered, wrapped in a dark blanket that was dampening all her senses. And, even as Greer bent down to lift her off of the floor, she lost consciousness.

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

Darien walked down the long halls of the asylum, heading toward the room that his partner was in. He let out a deep sigh as he continued to walk. It wasn't fair that the Official still didn't trust him. He should have been told about the mission, plain and simple, but he hadn't been. Almost everyone involved had lied to him. And, looking back on things, he was half-inclined to put Hobbes' actions from the day before down to some kind of cruel joke.

He reached the door leading into the room Hobbes was in and paused, then let out yet another sigh and opened the door. "Hobbes...." The room was empty. Okay, Darien thought, I'm sure he's just out and about somewhere else around here. He wondered where he could look; he didn't really know his way around. But he did know where Dr. Greer's office was....

He walked back out into the hall and headed down toward the doctor's office. When he got there he knocked on the door. At the sound of Dr. Greer's voice droning a preoccupied 'Come in', he opened it.

"Hey Doc, uh, I was just wondering where the patients would be at this time of day?"

"Ah, Agent Fawkes, I'm guessing you're looking for Mr. Hobbes." Greer sounded none too thrilled at the prospect, but considering Darien's last encounter with the doctor, it was probably to be expected.

"Yeah, I am," Darien replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Well," Dr. Greer said, looking at a file that was on his desk, "last I heard he was moved to a different wing."

"He uh, was moved?"

"Well, that's what this file says," Greer replied, glancing back up at Darien. "Apparently he started acting extremely paranoid and when his doctor tried to sedate him he became violent."

"Who approved the transfer?" Darien asked, starting to get a little nervous.

Dr. Greer looked back down at his chart, "Doctor Jacobs."

Darien had to work very hard to keep the blood from draining his face. Maybe Hobbes had been right after all. "Would you happen to know where he has been moved to?"

Dr. Greer shook his head and gave Darien an apologetic look. "I'm afraid the file doesn't say. I'm sure once he's settled in all the details will be in order."

"I just have one more question."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Would you know where I can find his doctor?"

Dr. Greer looked back at the file one more time. "She requested to be moved to a different facility after Mr. Hobbes tried to attack her. That's all it says here."

"Thanks Doc," Darien replied. He left the office and stepped out into the hall. Immediately he pulled out his cell phone and started walking outside. When he got there he dialed the Official's number.

"This is him."

Darien shifted the cell phone into a slightly more comfortable position on his ear and asked, "Hey, why was Hobbes moved to a different asylum?"

"Excuse me?" the Official asked.

"I was just talking to Dr. Greer and he said Alex requested that Hobbes be moved to a different facility."

"Agent Monroe has done no such thing," The Official bellowed on the other end of the phone.

Darien paled. "Ah, crap...."

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

Alex tried to open her eyes, but the lids felt weighted down. Whatever had been in that needle Dr. Greer had jammed into Alex's neck, it packed quite a punch. She was currently betting on a very potent sedative.

Once the thick, cottony feeling subsided enough that she could think, she tried once again to open her eyes. This time, she was met with at least partial success; they opened a crack, then snapped shut again of their own volition as a painfully bright light intruded on her irises. The sound of another person's discontented moan was what prompted her to fling her eyes open in earnest.

Alex tilted her head to the side, finding it borderline painful to do so, and saw a familiar figure strapped down to a hospital bed. "H...Hobbes?" Her own voice sounded strange to her ears, hoarser and dryer than usual.

Hobbes shifted his position so that he could turn a bleary gaze on Alex. "Monroe? What're you doin' here?" Alex was willing to bet she wasn't the only person who had been drugged, if Hobbes' groggy demeanor was any indication.

Alex tried to sit up, but found herself strapped down in a very similar manner to Hobbes. "Cover musta been blown." She had no idea how, though.

"Wonder what they're gonna do now they've got both of us," Hobbes muttered.

Alex heaved an exasperated sigh. "Who exactly are 'they'?" Dr. Greer chose that moment to enter the room, flanked by a couple of orderlies. Alex pursed her lips. "Oh. Never mind."

Greer looked from Hobbes to Alex, his eyes twinkling with amused satisfaction. "And how are we feeling today?"

Alex's expression was murderous. "Oh, just peachy, thanks."

Dr. Greer ignored the acidic tone of Alex's voice and began busying himself with a medical tray, which was covered with a variety of drugs and syringes. "I'm glad you are enjoying the accommodations. It took quite a bit of fast talking to arrange them for you."

"I'm sure," Alex droned wryly. She decided to change tactics. "You can't hold me here like this, I'm a federal agent."

"For the department of Fish and Game," Greer said laughingly. "Let me assure you, I've done my homework on you and your coworker, here." He nodded toward Hobbes.

Hobbes struggled against his restraints and muttered, "Bastard's pullin' strings all over this hospital, works for Chrysalis or somethin'...."

Greer rolled his eyes and continued to prepare a syringe. "Really, Mr. Hobbes, I'm beginning to think I gave you an overdose."

Alex licked her lips, which suddenly seemed very dry. "Overdose of what?"

Greer snapped on a pair of latex gloves and moved over to Alex, the syringe he had just finished preparing held firmly in one hand. "You're about to find out first-hand," he said coldly. Before Alex had the chance to react Greer stabbed the needle into her neck and injected the clear purple liquid into her bloodstream. Then he moved on to Hobbes, checking vitals, the dilation of pupils, etcetera.

Alex was rapidly losing awareness, but somewhere in her half-conscious haze she noticed that Hobbes was slipping something out of Greer's pocket.

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

Before the door to Lab 101 even had time to swish all the way open Darien stormed through the small opening and looked around the room angrily. "Alright, is something bad really going on or am I just being left outta the loop again?"

Claire, who had been leaning over a microscope and staring into it intently, nearly jumped a foot into the air at the shock of Darien's loud bellowing. "What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent but not succeeding completely, as she was still rather shaken.

"Whaddaya think? First you deliberately don't tell me that Hobbes is undercover--"

"Who told you that?" Claire snapped, her hands automatically coming to place on her hips.

"--and now Hobbes and Alex are missing!" Darien leaned forward so that his face was mere inches away from Claire's. "So is this just another chance to screw with my head or has the crap really hit the fan?"

The look of horror that spread across Claire's features gave Darien his answer long before she spoke. "We have to find them, now. Their lives could be at stake." However, instead of moving toward the door, Claire gathered together a variety of chemicals and began to measure and mix them with a precision only she could manage.

Darien, supremely perplexed by Claire's behavior, took a few steps toward the door, then halted and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Taking precautions," Claire said sternly. "I've been studying the bodies of the patients found outside the Angel of Mercy hospital. The cause of death appeared to be natural at first, but the fact that all three victims came from the same hospital and shared the exact same symptoms seemed highly unlikely. There was another body found yesterday morning... the man had died less than four hours before he was discovered. I was able to discover traces of a drug in his system that was designed to cause something similar to panic disorder and stimulate the adrenal gland, which would--"

Darien held up a hand. "Whoa, Claire, Cliff Notes, remember?"

Claire huffed in exasperation, but tried again. "It enhances a person's fear responses."

Darien's suspicions rose. "Umm... could paranoia be defined as a fear response?"

"Well, not according to the dictionary definition, no. But in Bobby's case, they are definitely related." Claire paused in her work just long enough to give Darien a suspicious look. "Why?"

Darien felt a pang of guilt as he said, "'Cause he was off his rocker yesterday, really getting into that whole conspiracy theory thing. And he definitely seemed pretty freaked out."

Claire's brow furrowed. "So, you're saying he was frightened?"

Darien swallowed hard. "I'm saying he was terrified." Not that Hobbes ever would have admitted it....

"Oh bum, it's worse than I thought...." Claire renewed her fervor in mixing up various chemicals. "It's very possible that he's been dosed with the drug."

"And this, this is really bad, right? I mean, it could--"

"It could kill him."

Darien's train of thought came to a screeching halt. "How's that?" he asked, trying to keep calm but not succeeding in the slightest.

"From what I can tell from the autopsies, one of the side effects of the drug appears to be a dramatically increased production of adrenaline. The heart beats faster because of the person's constantly rising level of anxiety. It starts a chain reaction that, if not stopped, can result in massive heart failure. It certainly did in all the bodies I've looked over so far."

Darien swallowed hard. "And, uh, how long does it take before the heart failure thing happens?"

Claire shook her head. "Hard to say.... I'd be guessing three days, maybe two if the individual was under enough strain."

That was far too close for comfort, in Darien's opinion. "Look, you need to stop playing with your science experiments, we need to go now! Or you might be performing Hobbes and Monroe's autopsies too."

"Yes, Darien, I know, but we need to plan this out, ask the Official for a team so that we can conduct a proper search--"

"There's no time for that!" Darien yelled. "We need to go now! I am, whether you do or not!"

Claire seized hold of Darien just before he rushed out of the door and dragged him forcefully back into the lab. "Wait a minute, wait just a minute!" She shook her head, presumably at Darien's brashness, and continued, "I've almost prepared the antidote."

A surge of hope filled Darien's entire being. "You have an antidote?"

"Well, in theory. It hasn't been tested, but I believe--"

"Whip it up, Keepy!" Darien all but pushed Claire back to the space where she had been working less than a minute before and motioned for her to pick up where she left off.

Claire shook her head, but didn't comment on Darien's actions and continued her work. Two and a half agonizing minutes later, she looked up and proclaimed, "Done."

"Alright, let's go!" And Darien once again bounded for the door.

"Darien!"

Darien skidded to a stop, turning around and giving Claire a desperate look. "What now?"

Claire quickly poured the antidote into a vial, covered it to keep it from spilling, then grabbed a doctor's bag that she knew contained a few empty syringes, as well as a full medical kit, and hurried out the lab door. "Now we can leave."

Darien sprinted out of the room after her, quickly catching up. The two of them hurried out of the building, then piled into Darien's car and careened out of the parking lot toward the hospital, both fully intent on saving their friends.

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

Act Four

In regard to what happened during Claire's and my rescue attempt, what I have to say is simply this: "Anxiety leads to a narrowing of the field of attention, the so-called tunnel vision, and when people are anxious, they are unable to attend to the total situation as is necessary to enable them to act rationally, but impulsively do the first thing that comes into their heads, which is usually determined by what others are doing at the same time." J. A. C. Brown, 'Techniques of Persuasion'.

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

Alex opened her eyes slowly and squinted against the pain of the lighting. It wasn't that the room was overly bright, so much as the fact that she felt like she had the mother of all hangovers. As she came closer to complete consciousness she started to remember what had happened. Dr. Greer had put something into her bloodstream, something that needed to be tested, and she was the test.

A slow mumbling sound came from the hospital bed next to hers and Alex turned her head to see Hobbes lying there, his eyes darting hastily back and forth. "Hobbes?" she said, her voice still hoarse.

"Don't close your eyes again. They'll come out!"

Alex immediately scanned the room as far as her eyes could see but didn't find anyone. "Hobbes, we're the only ones here."

"No, they're here. You just can't see them because they're hiding."

Alex checked the room once more, and for the first time noticed how small it was. She tried to shake the sickening feeling of claustrophobia as it sneaked into her senses. "Who are they?"

"The real question is what are they," Hobbes replied, his voice becoming more frantic. "Rats, they're overgrown rats."

A small bead of sweat rolled down Alex's temple as the room started to close in around her, seeming to get smaller and smaller by each passing second. She tried to shake the feeling again by paying more attention to Hobbes. "T-there's rats in here?"

"Big rats, with red eyes. You know, kinda like Fawkesy when he was Quicksilver mad. But they can talk. I think the government made them, they must be tests...."

Alex tuned Hobbes out for a second as she tried to concentrate. Everything she had ever learned seemed to be failing her at the moment. She should be trying to find a way to escape, but her mind was full of fear. She knew the walls weren't closing in around her, but her eyes were telling her a different story. They were getting closer and closer. She struggled against the restraints holding her in place, but to no avail.

"...and when you're sleeping they run out of the air vents and whisper what products you're supposed to buy. They can scurry so fast when you wake up that you don't know they are there, but they are. Always watching, always keeping their beady red eyes on you."

Now Alex was really starting to get worried. Not only did she have to deal with her claustrophobia, but what she would have normally classified as paranoid ranting actually seemed to make sense, and it scared her. "Hobbes, we need to find a way out of here."

Hobbes shifted position slightly to make what he was about to attempt easier. "Haven't you been listening? They're watching us. They'll know if we try to escape," he replied, inclining his wrist from right to left as if that in itself did them any good. But in all reality it did, because as he did so, unbeknownst to Alex, a pen slid into his hand and a smile spread across his chapped lips.

"Hobbes, are these rats dangerous?"

There was a slight pause and then he replied in a questionable tone, "I, uh, I dont think so." A frown appeared on his face as he started to strip the pen down to its component parts with one hand, finding it wasn't an easy task.

"You don't think so? Are they or aren't they?" Alex replied desperately.

Hobbes finally got the pen stripped and stuck the tip of it into the lock of the restraint. At first it slipped back out, but carefully he got it back in with his thumb and index finger and started moving it around. When he felt it tap the metal segment, he pressed against it and immediately moved the pen's tip to the center, causing the lock to release. Then he did the same to the restraint on his other hand.

"Hobbes, we need to get out of here," Alex repeated, her eyes closed as if she were warding off some unknown terror. When she opened them she almost jumped, something that might have amused Hobbes if he weren't so intent on fighting back fears of his own. "How did you...?"

Hobbes removed her restraints in the same fashion he had his own. Alex stood up, staggering dizzily as she did so. Hobbes steadied her and then said, "Scream for help."

"What?" Alex asked, obviously somewhat confused as to what that would accomplish.

Hobbes picked up the tray that Dr. Greer had left in the room, clearing it of its items and handing it to Alex. "Scream for help and stand by the door. When it opens hit whoever comes into the room over the head."

Alex nodded, then took the tray from Hobbes and let out a blood chilling scream. Less than a minute later the door opened and an orderly stepped in, greeted by a blow to the face that rendered him unconscious.

"Nice," Hobbes said, picking a syringe off the ground that hadn't shattered in the fall.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking some of this stuff back so the Keeper can study it and find out what it is."

Alex nodded, then followed Hobbes as he started to sprint down the hallway. "Uh Hobbes, you do know the way out, right?"

"Of course," Hobbes replied, taking a left turn in the hall. He immediately stopped when he saw a small group of orderlies walking down it. "Oops." He quickly backtracked, hoping they hadn't seen him.

"What?" Alex asked, stopping dead in her tracks.

"We can't go that way."

"Why not?" Alex replied, taking another step forward to see what was going on. Hobbes quickly pulled for her arm to stop her but it was too late.

"Hey!" came a shout from the hall. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Hobbes shoved the needle into Alex's hands. "Get this to Claire." When she just stared at him wide-eyed, he gave her a push in the right direction. "Run!" he yelled. "I'll stall them."

Alex nodded, then spun on her heel and ran down the hall. Hobbes took a deep breath and turned around, hoping to distract the orderlies as long as possible.

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

Darien was intensely grateful for the Quicksilver that covered him as he walked through the hallways of the hospital. Usually, he was all too willing to say 'Screw the gland', but on occasion it did prove to be a genuine asset... and right now was definitely one of those times.

Still, he had no idea where to look for Hobbes and Alex; for all he knew, they weren't even in the building. Still, he had to try....

Darien barely had time to leap out of the way as a figure dashed around the corner and barreled down the hall, only giving him the briefest glimpse of her face before she turned another corner and disappeared from sight. Still, that glimpse was all Darien needed.

"Alex?" Darien took off after her, catching up rather quickly since she tripped and fell to the floor of the corridor. Just as she managed to scramble back to her feet he grabbed her from behind. She promptly let out a loud scream and kicked him solidly in the solar plexus. Darien only just managed to keep the Quicksilver from falling and managed to gasp out, "Alex...." a second time.

Alex's struggles to free herself slowed. "Darien?" Her voice trembled, and as she sank back into Darien's arms it became quite apparent that the rest of her was trembling as well. In some ways this was familiar, as it brought back the incident from approximately six months ago.... But even then, Alex had not seemed as vulnerable as she did now. She was completely terrified.

Without a word, Darien increased the flow of Quicksilver so that it covered her as well as him. Two fierce-looking orderlies barreled around the corner mere seconds after he had done so. He clapped a hand over Alex's mouth in case she tried to scream again and quickly moved her down the corridor, mentally retracing his steps and trying to think of the quickest way outside.

Once they were a safe distance away from any hospital personnel, Darien ducked into an unoccupied room, allowed the Quicksilver to fall and uncovered Alex's mouth. "OK, Alex, listen to me. I need you to be quiet."

"Fawkes, you have to get me out of here, I can't stay in here, it's too small...." If anything, Alex looked even more terrified than she had before.

Unable to think of a better method to calm Alex down, Darien scooped her up in a tight hug. "Alex. I'm going to get you out, OK? But you have to be quiet." He pulled back and gave Alex a stern look. "You understand?"

Alex took a shaky breath, but nodded. "Yeah...."

Hoping that Alex really did understand, as in her present condition she had every reason not to, Darien once again Quicksilvered the two of them and began the arduous task of getting them both out of the building.

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

Darien felt a surge of relief as he and Alex opened the exit door leading outside; it had taken quite a while longer than he had expected to get there. Alex had known another way out from where they were, but she had kept rambling on about the walls closing in on her and forgetting to answer Darien's questions until he went down the wrong hallways and ended up in the wrong places. But as the two made their way outside he immediately shed the Quicksilver and rushed over to his car where Claire was waiting to administer the antidote.

Alex felt her claustrophobia recede as soon as she stepped out in the open space of the parking lot, but as she and Darien approached Claire she began to panic. Claire was holding a needle in one hand and a tourniquet in the other. "No," she almost screamed, "don't stick that in me! I don't know what's in it!"

"Alex, it's okay. It's an antidote," Darien said, trying to calm her down. He went to gently place his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged away, not completely sure.

"How did you get that?"

"I made it," Claire replied, a questioning look on her face.

"You're lying, you're trying to poison me," Alex said, becoming even more agitated.

"I'm telling you the truth, Alex. I got a small sample of the drug from the last victim. Due to the fact that he died so soon after the shot was administered the drug hadn't completely broken down in his blood stream yet. It was enough for me to make an antidote, but regrettably not enough for me to study."

"You have to trust us, Alex," Darien added, worried about the fact that she was starting to act as paranoid as Hobbes. If she was already this far along he hated to think about what his partner might be like.

Finally Alex nodded and moved closer to Claire, letting the Keeper give her the shot. "What happened?" Claire asked, a worried expression on her face. "And where is Bobby?"

"Somehow my cover was blown," Alex replied, trying to recover from her lapse into fear and distrust. "Doctor Greer injected that stuff into Hobbes and me and left. Hobbes somehow got out of his restraints and then freed me. We were trying to escape when two orderlies saw us. Hobbes told me to run and that's when Fawkes found me," she said, giving a quick synopsis. "Oh, and Hobbes told me to give you this." Alex pulled the syringe out of her pocket and handed it to Claire. "It's the stuff Greer injected us with."

Darien's eyes widened. "Greer? But I thought...." He trailed off at the expression on Alex's face, quickly moving on to another subject. "Where's Hobbes?"

"I'll show you."

"No, stay here with Claire. I'll find him. I just need you to give me directions."

"Fawkes, let me help you."

"You are helping me -- by staying here."

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

Darien, once again invisible, was doing his best to find his way back through the building, but even with Alex's instructions it was proving to be extremely difficult. The hospital was as bad as a maze; every corridor looked the same, especially in Quicksilver vision. Darien was just about to give up and start afresh from the front door (if he could find it) when he heard what distinctly sounded like Hobbes' voice echoing faintly from the end of the hallway to his right.

Moving quickly but quietly, Darien slunk toward the door from which the sound was emitting. He glanced around to make sure no one was there, then slipped into the room.

The room didn't fit with Alex's earlier description, but Hobbes was there nonetheless. He was also strapped in a straightjacket, a sight which affected Darien just as powerfully as it had the last time. However, he pushed back the guilt and borderline nausea, then let the Quicksilver shower off his lithe form.

Hobbes' eyes widened and he backed up against a wall. "Get away from me."

Darien held up his hands to show he wasn't up to anything and moved toward Hobbes slowly, saying in his most soothing voice, "Hobbes, it's me. I'm here to get you out."

Darien's words didn't calm Hobbes in the slightest. "There's no way you coulda gotten here so fast. Fer all I know you're a hallucination, or that guy with Fawkes' face."

"Hobbes, that guy's dead."

"Prove it."

"You saw the body!"

"That coulda been the real Fawkes."

"He had red eyes!"

"Coulda been contacts," Hobbes replied stubbornly.

Darien growled with frustration. "We don't have time for this," he snapped, walking toward Hobbes with every intention of dragging his partner out of the building by the scruff of the neck if need be. But as soon as he got within three feet of Hobbes he found himself flat on his back on the cold linoleum, laid low by a blow he hadn't even seen. Even though Hobbes' arms were trapped in a straightjacket, he could still kick pretty damn hard.

Once Darien hit the ground Hobbes rushed for the door, but skidded to a halt as the same two orderlies who had been chasing Alex earlier walked into the room.

The smaller of the two men loomed over Hobbes and snarled, "Sit yer ass down."

The larger orderly, however, noticed Darien right away. "How did you get in here?" he asked, his tone laced with both confusion and suspicion.

Darien, who was currently in the middle of an attempt to get up off of the floor without aggravating any soon-to-be bruises, deadpanned, "Magic." At least, that was what he intended to do. It came out as more of a pained moan because upon getting to his knees his head had informed him of just how hard it had impacted on the linoleum.

The shorter man frowned. "Get 'im outta here," he said, nodding toward Darien. The taller man cracked his knuckles and advanced on Darien slowly, obviously intending to do so by force.

Darien finally made it to his feet and did the first thing that came to mind: he Quicksilvered. The orderly that had been planning to pummel him stopped in mid-step. "What the hell...." Darien took full advantage of the man's confusion and punched him square in the jaw. The man was down for the count instantly.

Hobbes also didn't waste the chance Darien had given him. He lunged forward and head-butted the orderly in front of him as hard as he could. The man let out a surprised moan, then fell to the floor, badly winded.

Darien moved over to Hobbes and reappeared. "Hold still, I'll get you outta that," he said, indicating the straightjacket.

Hobbes shied away from Darien. "How do I know you're really gonna do that?"

Darien did his best to keep from letting out an exasperated sigh. "You don't. You're just gonna have to trust me."

For a moment, paranoia warred with friendship, the inner struggle clearly apparent on Hobbes' face. Then he nodded, the movement quick and jerky as if he was afraid he would change his mind otherwise. "Do it."

Darien let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as he hastened to undo the straps and buckles that held the jacket in place. "Alright, Hobbes, stay with me, buddy. We're going to make it out of here." He placed his hand on Hobbes' shoulder and allowed the Quicksilver to flow, thankful that Hobbes was no longer trying to put up a struggle.

By the time they made it out of the building, Hobbes was quite blatantly exhausted, and Darien was more than a little worried. He had a feeling that if Hobbes wasn't treated soon, it would be too late. So he was all too grateful to see that Claire was standing outside the car, syringe filled with the antidote in one hand and tourniquet in the other.

He shed the Quicksilver and hurried over to her, Hobbes still in tow. Claire wrapped the tourniquet around Hobbes' arm and then injected the needle into the most prominent vein. Hobbes probably would have protested, had he not been too short of breath to do so.

Once Claire finished administering the antidote, she bundled Hobbes into the back of the car with Alex. She insisted on sitting in the back with them so that she could monitor them in case they had any adverse reactions to the antidote. Darien climbed into the driver's side and drove toward the Agency at full speed; for him, the entire trip passed in a blur of borderline-dangerous driving and worry.

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

The Official and Eberts were in the middle of one of their numerous discussions of the budget over the last several months and how they could change it for the better over the next quarter when the office door was thrown open and Darien barged into the room with even less care than usual. The door slammed against the wall hard enough that the Official was surprised the glass didn't shatter.

Still, he gave no sign that he had been in the least bit flustered. "Glad to see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence again, Agent Fawkes," he said sarcastically.

"Shut up and listen to me," Darien said in an irate tone. "You need to get a team of agents together and send them over to Angel of Mercy, now."

The Official pursed his lips. "And why would that be?"

"Why the hell do you think?" Darien snapped. "We figured out what's going on over there, they have some psycho doctor testing drugs on some of the patients!"

"And do you have proof of this activity?"

"Hobbes and Alex both got injected with it, and Alex got outta the building with a needle full of it. That proof enough for ya?" Darien snarled.

The Official frowned. That put an unexpected spin on things. However, before he had the chance to respond, Darien started speaking again, practically shouting at this point.

"Look, are you gonna get the team together or not? Because if you don't stop this, I sure as hell will." The set of Darien's jaw and the clenched fists he held at his side indicated he had every intention of backing up his claim, or attempting to at any rate.

The Official considered for a moment, then barked, "Eberts! Get a team together."

Eberts nodded. "Yes, sir." He scurried out of the room to obey the Official's order.

The Official turned his full attention back to Darien. "Satisfied?"

"Not really." Darien walked up to the Official and towered over him menacingly. "When something's going on with my partner, you had damn well better keep me informed on what it is, because if you ever, ever pull a stunt like this on me again, I don't care what aces you try to pull out of your sleeve. I'm gone." With that said, he turned and walked out of the room.

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

Tag

Eberts walked into Lab 101 and glanced around the room. Claire was standing over Hobbes, who was complaining quite loudly about the numerous tests she had run on him over the last few hours. Alex was seated nearby, saying in her usual sarcastic tone that she had been through the exact same amount of tests that he had, and that if he didn't stop complaining she would push his tongue down his throat and let him choke to death. Darien was sitting in a much more secluded position, not completely alienated from the group but not really participating in the conversation either.

Darien looked up as the door slid shut, a hopeful look appearing in his eyes. "What's the scoop?"

Eberts cleared his throat. "We sent a team of agents over to the hospital. They apprehended several doctors and orderlies that had been a part of or had been bought into assisting with Dr. Greer's experiments."

Darien held up a hand to stop the flow of words emitting from Eberts' lips. "Was Dr. Jacobs one of them?"

Eberts shook his head. "On the contrary, he checked out completely. He was shocked and appalled when he found out what had been going on in the hospital."

Hobbes frowned. "But then how come he knew about Jerry getting moved?"

Eberts had to work very hard to prevent himself from reacting to Hobbes' mention of a 'Jerry'. The only Jerry he knew of was a Mr. Jerry Gibson.... And his body had been the one to turn up near the hospital early that morning. "Dr. Greer was his superior, and the primary handler of all patient files. Dr. Jacobs assumed that what he had been told was correct because he had no reason to believe the doctor would lie."

An unnerving grin crossed Darien's face. "Speaking of the good doctor, and I use that term very loosely, how much time is he gonna be doin'? Twenty-five years? Thirty? Life?"

Eberts squirmed. "Actually, we did not have the opportunity to apprehend Dr. Greer."

Alex let out an irritated moan. "He got away?"

Eberts sighed and nodded. "Apparently, he is affiliated with the SWRB...."

"Well, that explains why he was such a sadistic bastard," Alex muttered.

Hobbes' comment was made in a low tone that Eberts could not clearly make out, but from what little he was able to discern it became readily apparent that he was much better off not knowing.

Eberts attempted to continue his earlier line of speech. "As I was saying, Greer used his contacts within the SWRB to--"

"Look, Eeeeeeberts, he got away, OK? I don't need the fancy explanation." Hobbes leaned back in the examination chair and ran a hand over his eyes. "I'm too tired for this."

Naturally, Hobbes' statement begot a whole new round of Claire cooing over him and insisting that she run more tests. However, all protests aside, Hobbes seemed to be enjoying the attention.

Eberts turned to Darien. "If you'll excuse me, I need to return to my duties."

Darien nodded understandingly. "OK, Ebes. Hey, thanks for keeping us posted."

Eberts gave Darien a half-smile, nodded, and then walked out of the room, hoping the Official would not be too irate over his absence. Budget-juggling waited for no one.

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

Late that night, Hobbes lay on one of the uncomfortable hospital beds in Lab 2. Claire had said that she wanted him and Alex kept overnight for observation. She wanted to make sure there were really no as yet unseen side effects on their systems, either from the drug or the antidote. Still, the beds were eerily reminiscent of the ones that Greer had kept Hobbes and Alex strapped down on while he ran tests and studied their reactions to the drug, and as such Hobbes found that sleep was purposely eluding him.

"Hobbes?" Alex's voice was quiet, but coherent. Apparently, she was having the same amount of difficulty sleeping as he was.

"What?" Hobbes replied, not bothering to open his eyes. The lab was dark enough he wouldn't have been able to see Alex if he'd tried.

"Did you really believe that thing with the rats?"

Hobbes' lips twitched upward as he resisted the urge to laugh. After taking the time to carefully consider his reply, he said, "Ahh, you know... I read it in a book."

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

The first time I read 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest', it was a couple of months before I spent my first stint in jail. It scared the hell outta me, and I swore I wasn't ever going to touch that book again. And yet, about ten years later, I picked it up and got the hell scared outta me all over again.

That book gives you a strange window into the mind of a crazy person. Now, I can say with ease that my experiences with insanity have been decidedly different than they were for the inmates in that book.... But when Hobbes opened up a week or so later and divulged a little of what he'd been through in that hospital, the words of Chief Bromden, put to paper by Ken Kesey, ran through my mind.

"It's still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it's the truth even if it didn't happen."

End