Episode 4.02

by Krys

This whack job mental patient recently told me, "It won't be too much longer before the ground will open up under your feet. You may live to wish it had swallowed you." She's not even psychic, but damn if she wasn't right...

Total darkness.

Darien blinked, wondering what the hell just happened. He was lying face down on the ground, but where?

A memory flashed; one from his early teens, and his momentary confusion was swept away as his pulse ratcheted into the triple digits. He'd done a standard smash and grab, but hadn't figured in the wireless security system the homeowners' had installed since he'd last scoped out the place. He'd narrowly avoided the police by dashing into the woods, but since he was in a then unfamiliar part of town, he'd quickly gotten lost in the darkness. He'd wandered around for many cold and damp hours, shivering and searching with increasing panic for a way out. Just as he had been about to give up and curl up on the ground in desolation, he'd noticed a light through the thick trees, and had stumbled out to a road miles away from where he'd originally been.

Darien felt the Quicksilver wash over him as he relived that memory, and his breath caught in his throat.

The Keep. I'm in the Keep.

The constriction in his throat eased, and he gulped in air as he tried to calm himself down. He wasn't in the woods any more. He wasn't lost: he was free, and working for the government now.

Okay, so he wasn't necessarily free. He still had his "better half" hitchhiking in the back of his head, even though she no longer drove him to insanity.

Ow.

His head felt like the Blue Man Group had used it as one of their turtle shell drums, and the rest of his body didn't feel much better.

He started to push himself up, but found that his right leg was screaming quite loudly at him, and doing so for a reason: it was pinned underneath something very hard... and sharp. He frowned and felt around his right arm until he found the broken end of the needle Claire had been drawing blood through sticking out of the crook of his elbow. And crap if it wasn't still bleeding. He hissed a little as he pulled it out and felt the small rush of blood as the forming clot was ripped away with the metal.

Come to think of it, he could also feel blood trickling down the side of his face, as well as all over his body, from various cuts. That's how he was able to deduce that the glass divider had fallen on him. It was the only thing nearest to him that would've created all the glass shards he was surrounded and covered with.

As he concentrated on his surroundings, Darien absently noted that the Quicksilver was flaking off him.

"Yo, Hobbesy," he called out in a trembling voice. When there was no answer, he felt the adrenaline rush begin anew, and the Quicksilver enveloped him again.

"D-Darien?"

Claire's shaky call snapped him out of his increasingly panicky thoughts, and the icy coating fell off again. "Claire?" He was trying so very hard not to hyperventilate.

"Are you all right, Darien?"

"Dunno." He shifted a little, and tiny shards of glass dug into his clothes and skin. "Covered in glass. You?"

"I think the ductwork fell on me. I can't seem to get up," she replied. "I could use some help."

He shifted again, and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, but he yelped when white-hot needles of pain shot through his leg. His barely contained self-control shattered, and he shoomed for the third time as he began to hyperventilate.

"Darien Gerard Fawkes, don't you dare pass out on me!"

It was like a cold bucket of ice water was dumped on his head. "Claire?" he hiccupped. By now there must be quite a layer of Quicksilver all around his body, he absently noted, as yet another sheath flaked off him. "Didja hafta use my middle name, too? You sound like my teacher, Sister Anne, from third grade."

She took a deep and shaky breath. "Darien," she called to him in a more soothing voice. "I need your help. I need you to calm down, okay?"

"Yeah," came the quiet reply.

"Are you hurt?"

"The divider fell on my leg, and that damned needle was stuck in my arm. Why can't I see anything?"

"The lights were knocked out by the earthquake, and the emergency lights haven't come up yet. You should be able to see something if you've Quicksilvered your eyes."

"Duh," he derided himself for not thinking of it, took a few deep breaths to center his thoughts and let the Quicksilver flow again, but under his control this time. "Not much ambient light, but I can see some shapes," he replied after a minute.

"Do you still have feeling in your leg?"

He grunted as he wiggled his foot. "Yeah, and it hurts like hell, but I don't think it's broken. Gimme a sec..." He shifted onto his side to get a better grip on the frame, and cut his finger on some of the jagged fragments on its inside edge. "Dammit."

"Darien?" Worry crept into her voice.

"Cut my finger. There's glass all around me," he explained as he popped the digit in his mouth. He sucked on the cut for a few moments before deciding that he was just going to have to let it bleed until it clotted. He carefully felt the frame to make sure he didn't impale himself on any more fragments, and hoisted it up. His leg yelped at him, but he managed to swivel his hips and slide his leg out from under the twisted metal before dropping the frame to the floor with a resounding clang.

He tried resting his aching head on the floor for a moment, but that was the exact spot where he'd hit it when he was thrown from the exam chair. "You know, I'd much rather be at home in bed right about now," he muttered huskily.

"As would I," she replied with a smile in her voice. "Do you think you can make your way over to me?"

"Do my best," he grunted as he slowly pushed himself up to his elbows and knees. "Keep talking to me, Claire," he asked as his body screamed all its aches and pains to him.

"Over here," she replied, and she continued to talk to him until he could feel the warmth of his body close to hers. His searching hand bumped into her shoulder, and he gripped it as if it were a lifeline.

"Tag, you're it," he grunted as he sank down to the floor.

She pulled her free arm around and gently felt his head. "Where did you hit your head?"

He hissed as she encountered the swelling lump near his temple. "Right there," he replied in a tiny voice.

"Everything will be all right," she soothed as she softly smoothed the hair back from his brow. Her fingers came away sticky with blood, and she gasped as the room began to shake again.

"CRAAAAP!" Darien screeched, and Claire snatched her hand back from the sub-zero Quicksilver that suddenly enveloped him. He hyperventilated until his head dropped down onto the floor and his body curled up in fetal position.

"Darien? Darien!" Claire cried out in panic as she felt the entire building above and around them twist and groan in the aftershock.

Bobby came to in a shaking world of hurt and confusion. When did he get a motel room with one of those beds with the magic fingers?

Oh, wait, it was an earthquake.

Earthquake?

Crap!

He felt the ground jerk and heave like it was having a grand mal seizure, and heard various pieces of lab equipment and furniture shift and topple as they were tossed around like a child's toys.

And then there was Darien's voice crying out, "CRAAAAAP!" and Claire's panicked response. "Darien? Darien!"

"Claire?" Bobby was having difficulty triangulating where she was, what with the complete darkness and turmoil going on. "Keep, where are you?" he raised his voice over the din.

"Bobby?!" she cried out in surprise, and then she yelped as the ductwork was practically bounced off of her.

He knew better than to try to get over to her while the ground was still shaking as it was, so he tried his best to brace himself against the tremors until they'd calmed down. Once the floor seemed more or less motionless, he cautiously stood and felt his way to the direction he heard Claire's voice coming from.

"Claire? You okay?" His right foot brushed against something that quickly rustled away. He froze in place for a few panicky moments, wondering if he was about to get bitten by some terrified animal, and then cautiously crunched over the glass and other assorted detritus.

"I-I think so. Bobby, be careful. Darien's right next to me, and I think he's unconscious." The worry in her voice made his heart skip a couple of beats, and he knelt down and felt along the floor in front of him until he touched Darien's hip. He lightly trailed his fingers up his partner's back, noting that there was little response other than almost violent trembling.

"We gotta get outta here," he spoke softly, noticing his voice was as shaky as the rest of him. "God, that was one helluva quake. Had to've been around a 6... at least," he murmured to himself as he gently probed his partner for obvious injuries. "Keep, can you move?"

He heard her shifting in the inky blackness, her grunts of pain less than encouraging.

"I'll be one giant black and purple bruise in the morning, but otherwise I'm fine," she replied wryly. "What I'm worried about is that Darien might have a concussion."

Bobby could feel Claire positioning herself on the other side of his partner, her hands also assessing Darien for injuries. "How do you know?"

"He told me that he hit his head," she replied worriedly. "I have flashlights and emergency supplies down here, but obviously we're going to have a devil of a time finding them in this."

"I knew I shouldn't've left my penlight in the van today." He felt across his partner until he touched the Keeper's wrist. Her hand flipped, and she squeezed his fingers in reassurance... for either his or her sake he wasn't entirely sure. "Where do you have the stuff?"

She paused a moment as she obviously tried to envision the lab's layout. "In the cabinets on the far wall," she replied thoughtfully. "On the other side of the exam chair."

"'Kay. I'll go get it, and you keep an eye on Fawkes." The irony of the last part of his sentence made him chuckle. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

Claire snorted, squeezed his hand once more, and released him. "Be careful, Bobby. The divider fell on Darien; there's no telling what else was destroyed."

He carefully rose. "What about all those critters you've got in here? Any of 'em poisonous enough for me to worry about?"

"Oh, crap," Claire muttered. "Jasmine..."

"Jeeze," Hobbes sighed. He remembered the something that had quickly moved away when he'd toed it mere moments before, and wondered if it was one of the snakes. "Anything else? What about those spiders you used to have?"

"Spiders?" Fawkes' small voice squeaked. "I think I'll just pass out now."

"Darien?" Claire asked in obvious relief. "Darien, are you all right?"

"No?!" He sounded like he was succumbing to a major panic attack, as evidenced by the loud sounds of his quickened and shallow breathing. "First all hell breaks loose, then we get stuck in here with a bunch of poisonous freaked out things?! Do you think I'm all right?!"

"Fawkes, calm down, buddy," Bobby soothed as he dropped back down to kneel beside the others. He went to grip his partner's shoulder, but had to quickly pull his hand back from the liquid ice enveloping the man.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Hobbes!"

"Darien, it's not like they'll be freely wandering around in the lab," Claire attempted to reassure him. "They're just as terrified as we are, and will find the most remote and tiny corners to hide in."

"Yeah, like a nice warm pants leg, or in my jacket!"

"Fawkes, if you don't calm down, I'll hafta slap ya!" Bobby growled warningly. "C'mon, partner, we've been through lots worse; you're no good to anyone wigging out like this."

"Why thank you, Master Dojo, you're such a frickin' comfort."

"Awright partner, that's enough. We need to get some flashlights and the first aid kit," the senior agent ignored his partner's panicky sarcasm and got down to the business at hand. "Fawkes, where're you hurt?"

"Let's just say that glass and I have renewed our extreme antipathy for each other," Darien replied dryly. "The usual: cuts, bruises, and a hole in my arm from the damned needle."

"What about your head, Darien?" Claire interrupted.

"What about it?" he replied testily. "I whacked it when I fell off the chair. Hurts, but I'll live."

"Are you feeling dizzy? Having trouble focusing?"

"Kinda difficult to focus your eyes in a blackout, Claire," he snarked as he felt the Quicksilver finally flake off his body. "Look, let me get my..." he grunted a little as he shifted to find the Mag-lite he always carried. Never hurts to keep one handy, and old habits die hard with a seasoned thief.

"What are you doing?" Claire asked with rising concern in her voice. "Darien?"

"Getting my flashlight," he grumbled. "If we're gonna get out of here, we should see where the hell we're going. Anyway," he finally pulled the Mag-lite out of his back pocket with a pained wince. "I think I've been smacked around enough in my life to know if I've got a concussion or not, Claire. I'm fine."

"Let me be the judge of that," she insisted quietly, and Darien growled in frustration.

"Fawkes," Bobby warned as his friend clicked the small light on. First thing Darien did was a sweep of his immediate vicinity for any sign of critters, and then he handed the light over.

Bobby rose and stepped away from his friends to delicately cross the floor towards the other side of the lab. He reached the cabinets in question, and with Claire's voice directing him, he located the emergency supplies and flashlights.

Just then the backup lights decided to kick in.

"Well, you were no help," he complained at the glowing bulbs. Bobby swiveled around, and his eyes widened as he surveyed the war zone that used to be the Keep. He whistled appreciatively. "Damn, we're lucky we're all still in one piece. Lookit this place," he marveled.

"Looks like spring-cleaning's coming a bit early this year, Claire," Darien quipped as he sat up and warily eyed the large chunk of ceiling with ductwork still attached near the exam chair. He swallowed hard, realizing just how close they all had been to being crushed.

She knelt stock still in the middle of the mess, her eyes wide as saucers and full of distress. "Oh bum, my lab..." the doctor breathed.

She was yanked out of her shock as Darien tried to stand up. "Oh, no you don't," she snapped as she grabbed his arm. "You sit right there and let me have a look at you."

Her Kept rolled his eyes, but sank back down to suffer through her ministrations. Bobby came over with the supplies, and Claire took and opened the first aid kit. She quickly examined Darien, and declared the same apparent conclusion that he had... no concussion. She then cleaned and bandaged the worst of his cuts and scrapes, and then tended to Bobby's.

Once she was finished, Darien carefully made his way to the Keep's door as Bobby took over in cleaning up Claire's injuries.

"Um, guys?" Darien's worried voice drifted over to them. "I can't open the door."

"What?" Hobbes' head reared up, and he finished applying the final Band-aid on Claire's cheek before rising and joining his partner. "Hunh," he grunted. "Either it's jammed, or there's not enough emergency power to make it work."

"Or the Official never had it hooked up to the emergency power in the first place," Darien observed dryly.

Claire snorted as she joined them. But before she could say anything, she noticed something moving out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head ever so slightly, she was able to witness the end of a pale snake's tail disappearing behind the collapsed bank of computers to the right of the Keep door.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, and turned to find something to put her beloved snake in.

"What?" Darien drew out the word warily as he pivoted and glanced at his Keeper. His eyes darted around the room as he realized what Claire was doing. "What got out?" he breathed.

"Don't worry, Darien," she replied, her voice muffled a little as she dug through the rubble to come up with a plastic tub and lid. She dumped out the petri dishes inside onto a small pile on a cart she'd righted, and snagged her handling gloves from another pile of debris. "The tarantula is still in its cage. But I'm afraid Jasmine did get out." She pointed at the shattered remains of the snake's tank with her chin as she carefully made her way to the area she'd seen it disappear.

"Oh, goody," Darien muttered. "I guess I'll just stay right here and make like a statue."

"How's about you give me a hand in getting this door open, Fawkes?" Bobby inquired. "Looks like the frame's jammed the door. Claire, you got any crowbars or anything down here?"

She paused and wrinkled her brows. "I believe I have a safety ax stored in the bottom of the shelves, but you'll need my keys to get the drawer open." She glanced apologetically at Darien. "I just haven't gotten around to moving it since you'd been cured of the madness."

Darien snorted. "Never hurts to keep the more lethal stuff locked away when you've got a mentally unstable criminal around, huh?" he joked.

Bobby cut off his bark of laughter. "Glad to see your self-image has improved, partner."

He turned to catch the small ring of keys Claire tossed at him, and stumbled as another aftershock shook the room.

Darien's face blanched as the emergency lights flickered, bracing himself against the Keep door as Claire tripped over a crumpled computer monitor and fell to her knees with a stifled curse.

Within seconds the tremors subsided, and everyone called out that they were unhurt.

"Darien, I'm going to need your help in catching Jasmine," Claire called over to him. "I'll need a flashlight to see into the spaces back here."

The lanky man nodded, and Bobby tossed his Mag-lite back to him. "Obviously she's gonna bite the first thing that comes near her. You got anything I can protect myself with, Claire?"

She handed over the gloves as he came up beside her, and she moved back over to the shattered snake's cage to pull out a long wand with a "v" on the end. Straightening, she held up the wand with a wiggle of blonde eyebrows, and made her way back to the other side of the room. She passed the table where the tank of her exotic fish had sat, and sadly gazed upon the dead bodies of her finned friends before rejoining Darien.

"If you could shine the light into the spaces behind all this stuff," she began, "I'll pin her with this wand once we figure out where she's hiding."

"And don't worry about me, guys," Bobby called out with a trace of sarcasm. "I'll see what I can do about getting the door open."

"You might want to wait until we catch Jasmine, Bobby," Claire returned. "I don't want her escaping from the lab and possibly biting anyone."

"Yeah, especially us," Darien murmured. He clicked on the flashlight and began to carefully look behind the desks. It actually took only a few minutes before he spotted the Tai Pan's head weaving back and forth warningly, and he backed off to let Claire safely subdue the panicked serpent. He gingerly grasped the snake behind the head, and at Claire's direction, immediately popped the frightened reptile into the tub as she snapped the lid on.

Once they'd poked some breathing holes into the tub, Claire grabbed her field kit and slung it over her shoulder. She and Darien rejoined Bobby at the lab door just in time to stop him from swinging the ax in his frustration.

"If I can't jimmy the damned thing open, then I'm gonna hafta hammer a way out," he almost snarled. He tried to push the door open with his hands one last time, and moved to pick up the ax.

Just then, Darien located the emergency override switch, and as Hobbes got ready to swing the ax, the door clicked and unlocked.

"Nice of you to help me out there, partner," Bobby groused, and Darien tried to hide his grin.

"I'd much rather keep my head than watching you act out a scene from Highlander is all," he explained around a chuckle as he put his back into trying to turn the manual crank.

Fifteen grueling minutes later, the three battered friends managed to squeeze through the partially open Keep door and carefully make their way to the stairwell.

And just as they reached it, another temblor shook the building.

The dust from the ceiling and walls drifted down into Darien's ruined hairdo, and he quipped, "Wow, the earth really moved for me that time, Claire. Was it good for you?"

Claire rolled her eyes as Bobby dipped his head away from the others. "Fawkes..." he growled warningly.

"What? Wasn't it good for you, too?"

Claire giggled uncharacteristically while Bobby fought to keep from grinning. "I'm not into the rough stuff there, junior."

Alex Monroe clenched her fists around the steering wheel of her Corvette in barely controlled anger as the parking lot attendant stared back at her phlegmatically. "Look, lady, I don't care if you're the President of the United States. Lost tickets are gonna cost ya the full $38.00. No exceptions."

Her retort was delayed by the unnerving surge of the ground under her, the car feeling disconcertingly as if it had suddenly gotten a flat tire. Which was unlikely as she was stuck at a stand still. The first temblor had struck as she walked from the airline terminal to the long-term parking lot, knocking her off her Manolo Blannicks. This was by far the strongest quake she'd experienced as a non-native Californian, and she had the badly skinned knee and the ruined designer trousers to prove it. Not to mention the fear-induced foul temper. "Look, you idiot, I'm an agent of the US government! In case it escaped you, we've just had a major quake! Now open the damned gate or I swear-" temper at the breaking point, she reached under her blazer and drew her weapon, leveling it at the shocked attendant. "You will regret it."

The same back-up power airport generators that had flickered into action less than a minute after the last ripples of the quake died down allowed the electronic gate to be raised. She didn't even wait for the thing to finish opening, gunning her engine and roaring through the instant her car had clearance.

Tires squealing, she made a hard left onto North Harbor leading to the downtown area, swerving through stalled cars and debris, and frightened motorists gathered outside their vehicles in the instinctive quest for the reassurance of a fellow human. She hadn't even made it the scant mile from the airport to W. Broadway before the roads became impassable.

Though tourist season never officially ended in southern California, the fires of the two weeks preceding had left the area remarkably visitor-free. Which was a blessing, given the state of the waterfront high-rises. Stopped in the traffic jam behind a semi trailer rig that had been trapped under a falling power pole, she had an up-close-and-personal view of the damaged city. The older 20-story Holiday Inn had lost a fair percentage of the glass in its windows, and an ominous thread of black smoke trailed up into the November midday sky, last week's ash now replaced with a haze of concrete dust. Panic-stricken guests were milling around, with more pouring out the shattered glass entrance every second. Even from half a block away, she could hear the shouts and the crying, terror tangible in the air.

Gritting her teeth against the worry that choked her, she drummed the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel, attention divided between the nearby civilians who had appointed themselves traffic cops and the chaos that loomed ahead of her. Even from here, she could see that there was damage to the newest of the downtown high-rises in the form of shattered glass, and God only knew what else that wasn't visible from this distance. One of the construction sites looked to have sustained some sort of major damage to the topmost floors, the steel I-beams twisted and wrenched out of any alignment. Though other buildings obscured the view of the lower portion, the damaged crane mounted atop the building hung over the west side of the structure at an unnatural angle, the boom torn away. The only rational thought she could focus on was the gratitude that it was Saturday morning, and that the usual teeming throngs of office workers had thankfully been elsewhere.

Another aftershock shuddered through the earth with an audible rumble, and Alex put the 'Vette into reverse, swinging the low-slung sports car up onto the cracked and buckled sidewalk, ignoring the outraged arm-waving of the traffic brigade. She did her best to ignore the shriek of metal as her oil pan and who only knew what else bounced over the treacherous surface, tearing the hell out of her undercarriage. The imperative to reach the Agency didn't allow for any hesitation. Not even the thrashing her beloved little car was taking was enough to stop her. She crept past the tractor-trailer rig and made her way past the Holiday Inn, finally reaching West Broadway only to find her route blocked by a building collapse. Part of the façade of one of the older brick buildings in this area that fringed the Gas Lamp district had fallen into the street like a pile of children's blocks. The hiss of steam from under her hood and the flashing 'check engine' light made it clear the car had taken her as far as it could. She was destined to make her way on foot the last 15 blocks or so. She reached into the back of the sports car and fished her boots out of the overnight bag, trading the impractical high-heeled pumps for safer footwear. Once they were zippered up, she abandoned the car and jogged past the fallen brick pile, heading into the heart of the downtown area that was home to the Agency.

"What the hell was that?" Jared bellowed as he got slowly to his feet, as if unsure the ground was as solid as it was supposed to be.

The deep thrumming of the generators could be heard through the five-foot thick walls of the room, but the emergency power had yet to come on and illuminate their situation. Flashlights hurriedly switched on revealed the worried faces of the technicians in the room through the dust that had been knocked loose with the unexpectedly violent shifting of the earth.

"Sir, we don't know yet. As soon as we have power we'll be able to check the readings." The light being held by Connor swung about to focus on the speaker, Dr. Krandell, who was the lead on this project... for now.

"Guess, then," Jared ordered, not in the mood for games when his plans appeared to have been shaken off their foundations with one keystroke.

"Sir, there's no way to know..." Krandell began, only to have the computers in the room suddenly spring to life and send the man rushing for the nearest terminal. His first words were a surprising string of epithets, which Jared ignored, his mood darkening by the moment.

"Well?" Jared snapped, wanting answers now.

"The system worked, however, we registered a 6.5 instead of the scheduled 3.5," the man actually managed to pale in the light of the LCD screen the information was scrolling across. "And the epicenter was off... by quite a bit."

Jared's hand came up to rub his eyes and not just because of the dust still drifting about the room. "How 'off'?"

"Several miles. It appears to have affected the lower half of the Rose Canyon fault, making a direct impact just north of downtown San Diego..." Krandell trailed off at the look of murderous rage that Jared knew had appeared on his features.

"Fools, you were supposed to avoid raising suspicions at all costs. I provided everything you needed to override the scheduled test, right down to the programming parameters, and you," by now Jared's face had flushed a dangerous crimson hue and spittle had built up at the corners of his mouth, "have managed to screw up even that simple task."

"Sir," Connor said in calm voice that was effective in forestalling Jared's sudden urge to shoot every one of the technicians before him for incompetence.

"Mr. Stark, as you know we were not as fully conversant with the quake technology as we would have liked to have been before this test. There may be bugs in the new programming we have not yet discovered, there could be any of a dozen problems. I'll know more once I've reviewed all the data," Krandell stated with surprising boldness. "It is also entirely possible some of the modified trigger-devices veered off-course and caused the epicenter shift. That fault is, was overdue for release and the test may have simply been the impetus needed for it to go."

Jared ground his teeth, but nodded thoughtfully. "I want a full report on my desk tomorrow morning, understood?"

"Yes," Krandell responded, seemingly thankful he was off the hook for the moment. He scurried back to his computer and added his voice to the multitude of others trying to figure out just what had gone wrong.

Jared turned to his bodyguard. "Connor, was everything taken care of before we left this morning?"

"Yes, as far as anyone knows you've been touring the La Jolla facility since 9 am," Connor replied, unworried.

"Good. Let's get out of here so we can assure Tabitha," He still couldn't say her name without sounding like something horrid-tasting had died on his tongue, "that all is secure at the clinic. Oh, and call my wife. Mustn't have her or Brandon worrying about my well being, now can I?"

"Stairs look safe enough," Hobbes said, shining the flashlight up the stairwell. The yellow cone of light barely illuminated four risers up. The rest of the flight was shrouded in darkness.

"As long as the ground stays..." Darien's voice died away as another powerful temblor rippled the floor, as if some giant had picked up the entire city of San Diego and shaken it like a dirty rug. "Okay, I vote we take the stairs. Anyone oppose?"

"Nay." Claire swiped at her tangled blond hair, staying close to the two men as they picked their way up the staircase. The stygian dark gave the familiar building an ominous feel as they crunched on exploded emergency light bulbs. Hobbes' flashlight happened upon an old electrical conduit that was hanging by a frayed cord, explaining why there were no lights in the stairwell. Luckily nothing barred their way, and they made it up to the main floor after what seemed like a lengthy climb. The unnerving suddenness of each aftershock had them all even more on edge by the time they attained the sunlit main corridor. Being able to see where they were going helped assuage fears. Approaching room 202, the sound of the Official and Eberts bickering was such a welcome relief that all three stouthearted rescuers pushed through the doorway at the same time.

"Sir, I believe if you just raised up then I could slip this further down," Eberts said as he bent over.

"I can't! It's stuck!" the Official yelled, giving a yelp of pain.

Darien couldn't help himself; the stress, the quakes and the general weirdness of the day on top of the Halloween from hell just exploded in one giant guffaw. The image of Eberts and the Official that sprang up in his mind was too awful to contemplate. He sagged against the wall, laughing hysterically.

"You on something, Fawkes?" Hobbes snarked, shoving him aside to get all the way in the office. Claire was right behind him, glancing curiously at the still giggling Darien, who waved them on with an 'I'm-fine' gesture.

"Doctor! Hobbes, come get this thing off me!" The Official, buried under considerable rubble and office furniture, still retained his characteristic bellow.

"Are you having any pain?" Claire switched smoothly into doctor mode, bending down to see under the tangle of desk, cart, chair, and oddly enough, the official seal of the Department of Fish and Game that usually hung above the boss' desk. Hobbes lifted the large plaque aside and Eberts rolled it out of the way.

"My leg--it may be broken," Charlie Borden said gruffly, his beefy face sweaty and streaked with dust. "The damned TV cart fell over and the TV's bolted down. It's too heavy..."

"The rod from the blinds is jammed up under the cart and the chair," Bobby said. "Fawkes, get your skinny ass over here and help out. Pull that rod when I give the word and Eberts and I will lift up the cart."

"What were you two watching?" Darien asked teasingly to keep his mind off the probability that there would be more tremblers. He'd lived in California all his life, experienced many examples of the shakiness of the tectonic plates, but for some reason this one had him spooked well and proper. The recent weirdness about Scarborough's predictions still had him edgy, and in the back of his mind he was fairly sure there had been something about 'a crack of earth...' but he was too rattled to remember the rest.

"We monitor current programming daily," Eberts interjected smoothly, sounding far calmer than his appearance suggested. He had a bloody gash on his forehead, most likely from the glass that had shattered out of every one of the windows lining the outer wall.

"Okay...pull!" Hobbes cried. Darien jerked the ruined blinds out from the freeform sculpture just as Hobbes and Eberts heaved the top-heavy cart off the pinned man. Borden groaned as the weight lifted off his leg, and a shower of plaster dust rained down on them from bits of drywall that littered the whole area. Everyone coughed, waving his or her hands to clear the air.

"I can't tell if it's broken or not, but you shouldn't stand on it," Claire said with a frown, gingerly manipulating the swollen knee.

"Thank you, Doctor. I think the most important agenda here is to evacuate the building." The Official announced, wincing from the pain of her probing. His gray trousers were ripped from one seam to the other, with the injured knee showing through. It was already bruised and discolored. "The walls are cracked and the foundation could be unstable."

"I can most definitely vouch that the foundation is unstable," Darien grouched.

"How badly?" Borden asked sharply.

"Lab's a cock up," Claire sighed. "We managed to contain the venomous snakes and such, but the most of the equipment is damaged badly."

"Just stay in that chair, sir, and Fawkes and I will push you out," Hobbes directed. He'd kept his head better than most of them, his military training no doubt a plus in an emergency. Darien realized that, despite the fact that most people dismissed Bobby Hobbes as a screw up and a mental patient, the man had it on the ball most of the time. He knew what to do and got it done. Maybe not exactly the way the average Fed might do it, but with intelligence and style, nonetheless.

"I want a 24 hour guard put on this place. There are top secret documents buried under all this!" The Official growled. Darien just put his shoulder to the man's considerable brawn and gave a shove. The wheeled desk chair teetered, but Hobbes cleared a path for them to the office door.

"How are you doing, Albert?" Claire stepped back to let the wheelchair procession go by, then reached up to examine Eberts' wound.

"Very glad to see the three of you relatively unharmed," Eberts answered truthfully. "By my estimation, the first quake was in the 6.5 range."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Claire agreed. "You need medical attention for that--a few stitches, at least."

"I hardly noticed." He swiped a drop of blood out of his eyes.

"Don't do that!" Claire admonished. "I've brought a sticking plaster, at least. Let me bandage it." She produced a clutter of bandages, gauze roll and antibiotic ointment out of her green medical bag and fixed him up quickly. They joined the growing stream of banged, bruised, and otherwise blood-spattered people hurrying out to the street.

Since it was a Saturday, there weren't the full compliment of agents and support staff in the building, but there were a goodly number of employees. The security log, usually located at the reception desk, would be the only way to determine how many had been at their jobs that day.

The main avenue in front of the Harding Building was almost entirely covered in broken glass, fractured light fixtures, bricks, buckled sidewalk pavement and anything else that had held the city together. The Harding Building, built in the early 1920s, had sustained major structural damage. The whole edifice seemed to be listing drunkenly to the left as if it had lost some vital support. Other more recently built high-rises, which were up to California's strict building codes, were less seriously affected. But cars had been crunched by falling debris, their raucous alarms polluting the air, and nearly every visible window had shattered. Shocked citizens stood in tight groups surveying the wreckage.

"We have to lock this building down tighter than a drum," The Fat Man bristled, glancing around at the anxious group of agents who surrounded him. "Pippin, Curruthers! Don't let anyone in or out. This is a major security breach. If Chrysalis or any of our enemies sees our defenses are down, the security of the free world could be at risk!"

"'Security of the free world'?" Bobby muttered out of the side of his mouth closest to his partner.

"More like security of the chief's free lunch," Darien murmured back, and both men furtively grinned.

"What about our families?" Pippin protested, his dark face covered with scratches and cuts.

"Set up a phone tree..." Hobbes directed. "Mary Sue!" He grabbed the arm of a young blond secretary who was weeping uncontrollably, her usually pretty blue eyes puffy and red. "Curruthers, you got a cell? Musta lost mine down in the Keep."

"Right here." The other agent held out a piece of hardware that would obviously no longer function to call anyone, let alone relatives. "Oops, guess I smashed it when I fell." He eyed it before glancing at Hobbes apologetically.

"Fawkes and me will go back in there," Hobbes began, giving Mary Sue a comforting hug.

"We will?" Darien stared at his partner in consternation. Frankly he'd rather not go into a potentially dangerous building again, thank you very much.

"And grab the company phone list," Hobbes continued, unperturbed by mutiny in his ranks. "Maybe we can snake a landline phone out to the front door. Some of the cords should be long enough."

"I believe there are extra cords at the switch board," Eberts offered. "I can help." Darien sighed with resignation. If Eberts was willing to go back in, how could he refuse?

"Good!" Hobbes grinned, his grimy face triumphant. "Mary Sue here will be in charge of calling. Won't you, sweetheart?"

"I will," Mary Sue's voice trembled, but she gave him a watery smile.

Just as the intrepid band was about to reenter, Claire pulled Hobbes aside, pointing to the still blustering Official. "We need to get him to the hospital. I don't like the look of that knee."

Bobby glanced at his boss with a grimace. "Just let us get the phone situation squared away, Keepy, and we'll take care of the next problem. Golda's parked in the first space in the back lot," Hobbes answered. "Should be easiest to get out. We won't be gone long, and some of the other agents'll be able to help you get the Chief up in the back and secured."

Hobbes grunted as he shoved on one handle of the wheelchair, Fawkes in possession of the other, as they steered the Official down the short hallway to the Emergency waiting room. Eberts fluttered along behind, the blood from the cut on his head dried to a nasty-looking crust and spiking his fine blonde hair into a wicked tangle, with Claire bringing up the rear.

The wheelchair bumped awkwardly over a bit of fallen light fixture, eliciting a complaint from the Official on Hobbes' and his partner's competence as orderlies. It was all Bobby could do to keep from whacking his boss on the back of his fat head and telling him he could damned well get up and walk the rest of the way.

"Eberts, make a note," the Fat Man demanded imperiously. "Schedule Agent Hobbes' van for a new suspension. It's a miracle I didn't end up with a concussion!"

Obediently, Eberts reached for his pen and notepad, only to find the ballpoint missing. "I'm sorry, sir, I-I-I seem to have misplaced my pen," the assistant stammered apologetically.

"...Bouncing around like popcorn in a popper," the Official muttered under his breath with a glower in Eberts' direction. "That vehicle is a menace!" he added with a fuming glance over his shoulder at Hobbes.

"Yeah, kinda been trying to tell you that since I started working here," Darien spoke up, annoyance clear in his tone. Bobby silently egged his partner on, knowing that Fawkes could get away with mouthing off to the Official far more easily than he himself could. "But nope, instead of replacing the junk heap with something that hasn't gone to the moon and back, mileage-wise, you just keep sticking Band-aids on the old girl and expect Hobbes and me to lump it. Well, now that you've had a little taste of your own medicine, how's about finding us a new ride? One with AC, maybe?" Fawkes suggested sarcastically.

"I suggest the two of you use your vehicle for everything but surveillance from now on," Borden snarled at Fawkes. "Our budget won't cover luxury vehicles for Agency personnel."

"You mean except that swanky Caddy you drive around in, right? 'Specially not with the Agency being homeless, by the look of things," Darien responded with no reduction of sarcasm in his voice.

They maneuvered their way into the dazed crowd of bruised, bloody and otherwise dented people inhabiting the emergency room, a harried charge nurse racing around in the overheated glow of the emergency incandescent lighting collecting patient information. Eberts stepped forward diffidently and attempted to get her attention. "Miss, we have an injured party," he began, only to be met with an incredulous snort from the nurse who paused long enough to glare at him.

"You and half the city of San Diego," she replied shortly. "You're going to have to take your turn like everyone else in here." With that, she hustled away, handing off an icepack, a blanket and a paper cup of water to three different patients.

When a second, younger nurse appeared seconds later, Hobbes stepped around Eberts and the wheelchair and flashed his Agency ID at her, the Federal shield making an impact even as he snapped the wallet closed before the specific agency impinged on the woman. "Special Agent Robert Hobbes, ma'am," he announced briskly. "We have an emergency here. Two federal agents, one with head trauma..." This got the nurse's attention, and she focused on a nonplussed Eberts, peeling off the bandage Claire had placed on the seeping cut and tut-tutting over the nasty-looking injury.

Claire finally spoke up, much to Hobbes' relief, and he removed himself from the middle of the situation as the Keeper took over the explanations. "I wasn't able to clean the wound thoroughly, so there may still be glass present," the blonde doctor informed the nurse.

"And you are?" was the sharp query as the nurse eyed her skeptically.

"Doctor Claire Keeply, and these are my co-workers and patients," Claire responded in kind.

Chagrined, the nurse made a face, embarrassed. "Sorry doctor, I didn't..."

"No, I'm sure you didn't," Claire retorted, then softened. "I realize you're overwhelmed here, but it really is imperative that my friends receive priority."

"I'll see if I can find an open treatment room," the nurse said, turning to wave at an orderly who hotfooted it over. "Wally, can you find a wheelchair for this gentleman?" she requested, gesturing at Eberts, the cut on his head bleeding once again.

"I don't need," Eberts began, and then swayed, disproving the incipient claim of fitness before it could be voiced. Claire steadied him.

"Stop arguing, Albert," she chided gently.

As the orderly returned with another wheelchair, the nurse hurried off to secure an open treatment room, leaving the Agency's finest to settle an unwilling Eberts into the chair.

"But I'm fine, Doctor," Eberts protested resentfully. "It's the Official who needs attention, not myself."

"Ebes, just chill, will you?" Fawkes said firmly. "Look at it this way; your bump on the noggin is gonna get the Fat Man looked at that much sooner. So just sit down and be a good little patient. You and the boss are gonna slide right on up to the front of the line, do not pass go, do not collect 200 bucks. Capiche?"

"'Capiche'," Eberts conceded, repeating the word primly.

Their personal Florence Nightingale returned with the welcome news that if they didn't mind the pediatrics wing, there was an exam room available there. Claire assured her that as far as she was concerned, most men, whatever their age, generally belonged in the pediatric wing, at least from a behavior standpoint. Laughing, the two women each seized the handles of the wheelchair-ensconced patients and hustled them down the dusty corridor.

"I dunno, Hobbes, but I think we've just been insulted," Fawkes observed dryly, as he watched the little procession disappear through a pair of swinging doors.

Bobby found himself grinning amiably as he admired the sway of the Keeper's curvaceous hips in a delightful rear view. "Oh, I do know, my friend. And yeah, I'd say that was as prime an example of 'insulting' as I've been privileged to witness. Note the vocal nuance. The way the Keepy's nose crinkled up with that 'aristocratic air' of hers. Oh, yeah, partner, that was an insult. But at least it wasn't personal," he added with a gentle elbow in his skinny partner's ribs, winking broadly at him.

Darien snorted. "You're a sap, you know that?" he teased, and Bobby merely smiled. "You've got a thing for her, my friend, come on, admit it."

Hobbes shrugged a bit, by now comfortable with his partner's constant teasing on this particular subject. He ignored the open baiting in favor of a quick glance around the emergency room, looking for a functioning vending machine. He knew his partner needed feeding at regular intervals, and Fawkes had been operating on fumes for hours now. They'd been planning on grabbing lunch and then heading to a movie after Darien's date with the administering chair this morning, but that had been rendered moot when the roof had fallen in on them, so to speak. "Call it what you will, Fawkesy. Call it what you will. Let's see if we can find a few candy bars to stuff into those hollow legs of yours while we wait for Claire," he changed the subject. With that, he lead the way through the throngs of injured San Diegans back in the direction they'd come. Darien followed on his heels like an overgrown Labrador retriever, still trying to get a rise out of him.

Which was when Bobby saw her. He came to an abrupt stop, Fawkes plowing into him with a grunt of surprise.

"Hey, watch where you're going," his partner complained.

Her. Until Claire, the only 'her' he'd really ever cared about. Vivian Hobbes. No, strike that. Now Vivian Oliver. Oliver, he repeated to himself, still disliking the flavor of that as much as ever. Only... Holy crap.

Darien had stepped past him, glancing around to see what had caught Hobbes' attention, so Bobby had a clear view of the double take his partner pulled as the dark eyes swept over Vivian's slender and overburdened figure, the infant in her arms wriggling and fussing in a concerted campaign to be put down. There was no mistaking Darien's utter lack of surprise at the child in Bobby's ex-wife's arms, or the flinch as his partner glanced back at him ruefully. "You knew about the kid, didn't you?" Hobbes asked, unable to keep the coolness of disappointment out of his voice.

Darien's hangdog look was all the confirmation Bobby needed. "You're my partner. You didn't think that little detail was gonna be worth mentioning?" he snapped.

"Oops," was the best Fawkes seemed able to come up with.

"Henry Bromel wrote in one'a his books that 'We all carry around so much pain in our hearts. Love and pain and beauty. They all seem to go together like one little tidy confusing package. It's a messy business, life. It's hard to figure--full of surprises. Some good. Some bad.' And Bobby Hobbes just found himself confronted with the one surprise he never expected."

"Oops? All you can frickin' say is oops?" Hobbes ranted, his tone dropping to a low burr as his mood shifted from stunned to pissed off at his partner.

For an instant... a long instant, admittedly, Darien considered tossing the whole 'you forgot to tell me Claire had dated Kevin' thing back into his partner's face, but held his tongue. He wanted no part of returning to animosity, anger and hurt feelings that had stolen so much from them over the last year. "Hobbes, bud, I found out... when I was clearing your name," Darien paused as he counted up the months in his head, "last October. Things got kinda busy after that and... it didn't seem all that important in the grand scheme of things."

"Not important? You call my wife..."

"Ex-wife," Darien interrupted. "Who remarried and has every right to live her own life." He watched those words sink in and the burgeoning anger drain away. "Look, why don't you go say 'hi' and make sure everything's okay. As a friend." He gave Hobbes a grin. "Maybe you could be Uncle Bobby to the munchkin if you play your cards right."

Hobbes shook his head. "Nah, I'll have my own one day. Don't need to be mooching offa my ex to satisfy some displaced parental instinct." He clapped Darien on the shoulder making him wince as contact was made with a particularly sore spot. "Come on, she's looking like her day was worse than ours."

Darien couldn't disagree as he trailed after his diminutive partner to the desk where Vivian stood juggling a purse, diaper bag and an increasingly fussy infant. Thankfully neither of them appeared to be injured, which would hopefully keep Hobbes from going all overprotective on the pair.

Hobbes sidled up next to her and waited until she finished arguing with the harried woman on the far side of the desk before making his presence known. "Viv, hey... ummm..."

"Real smooth there, Hobbes," Darien declared, once again amazed how Mr. Suave and Debonair with the ladies always fell apart with women he cared about. "Hey, Viv, who's this cutie-pie?" He reached out to tweak the nose of the brown-haired, blue-eyed infant - not quite a year old at a guess - who was clutching tightly onto a yellow blanket and an obviously much loved teddy bear. The child stared up at him with wide eyes, as if she had never seen anything like Darien before.

"Bobby? Darien? Oh, I..." Vivian turned away from the desk, the nurse moving onto the next person who was demanding her attention. "This... is Emily," she answered with what Darien could only describe as guilt in her eyes when she looked at Hobbes. Emily just then let out a wail of unhappiness and tried to flip herself backwards out of her mom's hold. "Em," Viv admonished, quite plainly at her wits' end and stressed out at the moment.

"Let me take her for a minute," Darien offered, figuring Viv could use the break right about now. Besides, Em was a cutie, indeed.

Vivian looked to Hobbes for advice.

"He can handle her. 'Specially since he never matured much past the age of five himself," Hobbes assured Vivian.

"Gee, thanks, and that would make you... what? All of 10?" Darien snarked back good-naturedly. "We'll stay right nearby, Scout's Honor," he added, with just a touch of the puppy look to convince her he was sincere.

Vivian considered for a moment. When her daughter made another attempt to free herself from Mom's arms, it convinced her to allow Darien to play over-sized baby-sitter for a few minutes. "All right, but... you'll stay nearby?"

"Yes, ma'am," Darien responded, ducking his head down. Viv shifted her hold and handed the infant and the items still tightly clutched in tiny fists over to him. He easily held Emily on her back along one arm as she stared up at him in seeming rapt fascination. Using his free hand he tickled her and she let fly with a giggle of pure mirth. Darien moved a few steps away, making sure he stayed within sight of Vivian, and out of the way of the bustling masses. He stayed just within earshot of the pair as he did his best to distract and amuse Emily.

Darien was mildly surprised when Viv threw her arms about Hobbes, leaving his friend momentarily at a loss for what to do. Then he returned the hug, taking a few seconds to offer comfort to each other on a day that had been filled with one shock after another. When she pulled away, it was obvious that she was feeling a touch better. "Thank you, Bobby."

Hobbes shrugged. "Just doing my duty, ma'am." He tipped a non-existent hat, the move eliciting a smile from her. "Why're you here? Don't look like either of you were hurt."

"Brock was injured, and I can't get any information," she explained, worry creeping into her voice.

Darien slipped back in next to them, Emily contentedly investigating the buttons on his shirt. "Was he working undercover again?"

"No," Vivian answered shaking her head. "Investigating a fight that involved some longshoremen and Navy sailors. The call I received said some pallets fell on him when the quake hit."

"He'll be fine," Darien tried to assure her without much success. "Hobbes'd hurt Brock if he did something stupid like get injured." That earned him a watery smile as she fought to hold back the tears that surely had been building since she'd gotten the call.

Hobbes took matters into his own hands and reached over the desk to snag the sleeve of one of the nurses on the far side.

"What?" the woman snapped, plainly not in the mood for another complaint.

Hobbes flashed his badge yet again. "Agent Robert Hobbes. I'm trying to locate Special Agent Brock Oliver, he was brought in from..." He turned to Vivian.

"Dock 23," she filled in.

"Sir, I..." The woman looked at their little group and sighed. "I'll see what I can find out, but it may take a while. If you hadn't noticed, it's a bit of a madhouse right now."

"Thank you." Vivian's words were heartfelt and full of relief. The nurse rushed off, dodging questions from several others to make her getaway. "And thank you, both of you."

"Anytime," Hobbes told her, and Darien knew that his duty-bound friend meant the words with all his heart. "Now, if we could just figure out where Fat Man and Little Boy disappeared to."

As if those words had conjured her up, Claire appeared before them, looking tired and sore. "Claire," Darien announced, surprisingly relieved to see his Keeper.

"Darien, good, I found you. The Official and Eberts are being treated, but it may be a while before I know if they will be released." Claire's eyes wandered over the child now gamely trying to eat Darien's shirt, to Vivian; plainly making the correct assumption of whom the child belonged to, and then to Bobby. "I've been asked to assist for a few hours until the initial flood of patients has receded."

Hobbes nodded, as if he had expected something like this. "Any chance you can get us back to where they stashed the boss? He shouldn't be left alone, 'specially if they're givin' him painkillers."

"Oh bloody hell, you're right, of course." Claire rubbed her face, wincing as she hit one of the more prominent bruises. "This way."

"Claire, hold up a sec," Darien called out, glancing over at Vivian. "Think you can sneak Viv in and help her find her husband?"

Claire eyed first him and then Hobbes, who was doing a fair imitation of Darien's pleading puppy-dog eyes, and nodded. "Certainly. Might as well. Things are so chaotic here, that provided you stay out of the way, no one will notice you," she said to Vivian. "Besides, it'll be nice to know that one family managed to be reunited in this mess."

Vivian took Emily back with only a single squalling complaint that was silenced when a bottle of formula magically materialized from within the depths of the diaper bag. Much as Claire had told them, no one bothered to challenge their presence as they made their way through the halls, filled mainly with patients with minor injuries. "Bobby, once you've spoken with the Official, I need you and Darien to return to the Agency and secure certain files in the Lab. I'll have a list for you before you leave."

"Keep," Hobbes began, but stopped when he realized, much as Darien had, that she probably wouldn't trust anyone else to do this for her. "Sure, we can handle that. Want us to check on Pavlov while we're at it?" The tone was at least partially facetious, but Claire took him seriously.

"Oh, would you be a luv and do that for me? Poor baby must be completely frightened out of his mind by now." Claire dodged a gurney being rolled hurriedly down the hall. "You can ask my neighbor, Rebecca Franklin, to watch him. Otherwise..."

Darien stopped her; not about to agree to take the mutt home with him again, especially when he had no idea if his building still stood. "We'll handle it, Claire. You just try not to worry about anything..."

Claire snorted. "As much as anyone can in this."

There wasn't much Darien could say to that; even Chrysalis' proclamation of preparing for a great cataclysm some unknown time in the future could not compare to the immediacy of Mother Nature's most recent temper tantrum. And, as if the goddess in question had heard that thought, the earth shifted beneath his feet yet again.

Broadway was almost more chaotic than the last time Darien had seen it, although it was what could be loosely termed controlled chaos now. Police had set up barricades around some of the more dangerous potholes in the street, yellow caution tape was being unfurled around damaged buildings, and smack in front of the Harding Building Alex Monroe was arguing with a beefy specimen from the local PD.

"See Susie," Darien climbed out of Golda, pointing towards the shapely agent. Hobbes grinned, watching their compatriot poke her finger into the almost pregnant swell of the officer's belly. "See Susie get mad. Will the nice cop get mad?"

"See Bobby break it up," Hobbes added, marching over. He had to step around a pile of bricks some enterprising street person had begun to pile into tiny hovel. Flipping out his Federal ID, he flashed it in the face of the growling policeman. "Fed. Special Agent Robert A. Hobbes, what's the problem, Officer?"

"Hobbes," Alex Monroe greeted him, her tone drier than a crystal clear martini.

"You with her?" The cop jerked his thumb at Monroe. She mimed biting off the end. Darien chuckled, sidling up enough to hear without getting involved.

"We work together, Department of Fish and Game," Hobbes agreed, snapping his ID closed with a flourish.

"I was just explaining to Sergeant...." Alex ran her scarlet tipped nail with mock seduction down his blue shirt to the nametag, "Blankovsky, of the need to remove important government files from the building, but he refuses to allow little ole me entrance."

"Place looks like one'a my kid's Lego structures when the two year old takes a couple bricks out--unsteady and unsafe," Blankovsky retorted as he glanced up at the cracked and misaligned edifice. "Can't let anyone in until the building inspector gives his okay."

"And when will that be?" Monroe demanded.

"Can't say, Miss, the whole city is a war zone right now...days?" Blankovsky shrugged, his gaze shifting down the street at some altercation between a shop owner and potential looters. "Gotta go. For your own safety, stay out of the building until it's inspected."

Alex frowned as she tapped her foot, with both arms crossed over her impressive breasts. "Bureaucracy..."

"When'd you get back, Alex?" Darien asked, hoping against hope that she didn't want him to go back into that death trap. The little jaunt with Hobbes and Eberts to retrieve the telephone list and set up a land line to the outside of the building had been more than enough for him. He'd never been afraid of the dark--no self-respecting cat burglar could have pursued the trade with a phobia like that, but there was something definitely surreal about creeping blindly around a building that could crumble at any moment.

"Just in time to feel the earth move," Alex grimaced. "Pippin over there brought me up to speed as much as possible. How's He doing?"

"The Fat Man is getting the best of care over at New Vistas," Hobbes answered. "Eberts needed stitches and a couple people got knocked around, but we were all damned lucky."

"Looks like the two of you managed to stop some debris with your heads..." She cleared her throat as if embarrassed. "Glad no one was hurt badly."

"Come on, Alex, admit you were worried," Darien pulled her into a hug, and then extended his arm to include Hobbes in the cuddle. To tell the truth, he needed the physical contact. His head was still hurting and he ached all over from the original fall out of the administering chair. Luckily he'd been able to pull his long sleeves down over the bruise on his right arm from the needle. It had blossomed into a spectacular array of dark red, black and blue. "We missed you, too."

"Mary Sue turned out to be quite a good little worker. She's pulled in some unmarried agents who can take over from Pippin and Curruthers so that they can get to their families--Curruthers' baby isn't even a year old," Alex began, a far away look in her eyes. "Uh--" she gave herself a little shake, "So Hawkins and Heyes will stay out here in front, leaving the most important job for the two of you."

"Get to the point, Monroe," Hobbes rubbed his forehead. Darien realized they were all operating on too much stress and not enough food. His belly was growling; it had been an age since breakfast.

"The lab and its contents must be protected at all costs--you two have a higher security clearance than Hawkins and Heyes," Alex laid a sisterly hand on each shoulder like she was imparting some important last words of wisdom. "Claire would want the two of you to personally watch over her research, as well as all those...creatures."

Darien smirked. He'd almost forgotten Alex's almost uncharacteristic Achilles heel, her dislike of snakes. Then he realized she wanted he and Hobbes to stay inside the building, underground, in that steel-doored deathtrap of a laboratory. "Wait a minute here--I'm all for protecting the research--as long as it gets this gland out of my head, but what about protecting the flesh? Huh? You want me and Bobby to risk our lives for...a bunch of computer discs and spiders...not to mention snakes?"

That last coaxed a brief expression of distaste out of Monroe, but she schooled her beautiful face quickly. "As the receptacle of the gland you're expendable, and you know it, Fawkes," she answered sweetly, with a poisonous smile. "Wear a hard hat when you go down there. You heard the portly sergeant, the whole place is a lot like a Lego house built by a two year old."

"That's not exactly what he said..."

"She's right, Fawkes." Hobbes put in quickly. "We can't let looters like those yahoos..." he waved over at the two Blankovsky was hauling away. "Get down there and find out what the taxpayer's money has been funding. It's important stuff and it's our job to protect it."

"Never expected you to capitulate so fast, Benedict Arnold," Darien groused.

"Tell you what," Alex conceded. "I'll send Hawkins in to deal with the critters. That make you feel any better?" she snarked in Darien's direction.

"Yeah, actually, it does," Fawkes responded stubbornly, refusing to be humiliated by the implied lack of masculinity.

"What'll you be doing while we're sitting on the rubble?" Hobbes interrupted the looming snipefest as he turned to Monroe.

"We could start puttin' the most sensitive stuff in boxes, get it out of there in a couple of hours," Darien butted in again with sudden inspiration. Anything to avoid spending the night in the cold and dark.

"There's no where to put it--can't just rent a storage locker at the bus depot. We need to find some place with the facilities to store some very top secret information," Alex tapped her foot again. "I'll be checking out a few temporary places outside the city limits where there's hopefully less damage."

"What about Kevin's old lab?" Darien put in reluctantly. He had very unpleasant memories of the place, but it was secure and had all the equipment Claire would need for her experiments.

"That's perfect!" Alex and Bobby said in unison, looking shocked that they'd spoken together.

"I can get out there in a few hours," Monroe decided swiftly. "Can you get word to Claire and the Official?"

"Sure thing, an' take Golda," Hobbes offered generously. "Shocks ain't much, but she's got four wheel drive, and I tuned up the engine since the fender bender."

"What fender bender?" Alex questioned.

"Long story," Darien rolled his eyes, determined not to think about Scarborough's prophecies. "But you think there's anywhere to get something to eat? At least give the condemned men a last meal?"

"Suck it up, Fawkes, it's only until morning," Alex laughed. "But a Federal badge works wonders at Ralph's. They can't refuse to serve their government."

"And if they do, you've got a little automatic friend, huh?" Hobbes grinned, cocking his finger in her direction.

"Mr. H and Mr. K go everywhere with me, " Alex agreed. She batted her eyes at the two of them, pretending to chew gum. " Whaddl'it be, guys? Beer, pretzels and hot links? All the testosterone junk food groups?"

A few lanterns, a couple of sleeping bags and some S'mores, and it was just like home. Sure, it was a steel death trap of a home covered in hastily swept up glass piles; but who had time to be picky when there was beer to be drunk and ghost stories to be told?

"Lame," Darien rolled his eyes as Hobbes finished up his tale of the killer with the hook for a hand. Pretty much everything was going to sound lame tonight, though. Being stuck in an underground lab, with God only knew what crawling around, did wonders for his paranoia and phobias. He didn't care if Alex did say she'd managed to get all the animals out of here. He wouldn't put it past her to leave one behind. 'Sides, who knew how many of those eight-legged creepy-crawlies lived down there of their own free will?

Hobbes looked at his partner, smirking at the way Fawkes kept looking around him. Like it wasn't obvious what he was looking for. "Careful there, partner. Might be a piranha lurking 'round." He laughed as Fawkes shot him a dangerous look before tossing a bag of Fritos at him. "Come on." He got up, grabbing one of the flashlights as he made his way to the other labs.

"Where are you going?" Darien was in no hurry to go looking for anything. Not that he wanted anything creepy or slimy coming to him...

"It's called exploring, Fawkes. You ain't exactly Chatty Cathy tonight."

Sighing with only a little bit of frustration, and a lot of boredom, Fawkes grabbed his own flashlight. "Fine...."

There wasn't much to see down here, unless you happened to enjoy staring at broken lab equipment and shattered beakers. There were a few things left intact, but nothing that looked very important. The Official was going to freak at the replacement bills for a lot of this stuff.

Together, Darien and Bobby shoved open the sliding door of a small research lab, flashing their Mag-lites around at the small outer room. Seeing nothing of note, they managed to open the second, inner door with relatively little difficulty. This room hadn't been hit as hard, and it looked like a good thing. Everything in this lab looked expensive. Tubes and beakers blinked eerily in the beams from their flashlights. As a matter of fact, Fawkes almost missed it in his hurry to get to the next lab. Or rather, almost missed them.

Two glands, suspended in liquid. Two glands, identical to the ones in Darien Fawkes' head.

Two glands.

They had to have stared at those two tubes in shock forever, or at least it just felt like it.

Finally, Bobby spoke. He didn't like the look on his partner's face; he hadn't seen anything close to that look since the days of red eyes and raving lunacy. He'd never wanted to see that look again. "Hey, Fawkesy..."

"She did this. She made another gland." Darien's voice was eerily calm. He noticed that there were no bubbles in the tubes, since there was no power to keep the small tanks online.

"Two. Two glands," Hobbes pointed out, his tone oddly detached.

Darien's lip curled in disgust, and he grabbed an empty beaker. Throwing it against the wall, he began taking out his frustration and anger out on the already lightly trashed lab. "Dammit! She knows what this thing can do, and she made more!?" He made to grab one of the tubes containing a gland, wanting to smash it, wanting to destroy the thing before it ruined someone else's life.

Bobby moved quick, grabbing his partner's wrist. "Whoa, Fawkes, don't. You don't want to do that, partner."

"The hell I don't!" He shoved Hobbes away from him, feeling his hands begin to shake. "I can't frickin' believe she did this. After everything I just cannot..."

"Fawkes, will you listen to me?" Bobby shouted, trying to get his obviously incensed partner to focus on him rather than on the glands and their creator. "You don't know why she made those things. For all you know, she made 'em to try to figure out how to get the one in your head out..."

Darien kicked the lab table hard. "Really, Hobbes? How's that? By sticking them in some poor bastard's head, and then ripping it right back out? No thanks." He thunked the tube down ungently on to the table as if it had burned him and turned away from it.

"You don't know what they're for. Why don't you ask her? Why don't you talk to her?" The argument felt familiar. Hell, hadn't they just had a similar one just a few hours before?

Fawkes opened his mouth to argue when he heard the crunch of boot on glass.

"One helluva wise man named Martin Luther King said, 'The hope of a secure and livable world lies with disciplined nonconformists who are dedicated to justice, peace and brotherhood.' Now, if that doesn't describe the folks here at the Agency, then there's a whole lot less hope for this world than I thought."

"Hobbes?" Darien's voice dropped to a near whisper. "We got company."

Bobby smoothly pulled his weapon from its holster as he nodded. "Better check it out," he murmured back. "But we should make sure they can't get in here."

Darien grimaced. "Got it. How?"

"I'll MacGyver some sorta alarm or somethin' above the door."

"'Kay, I'll scout ahead," Darien replied as he allowed the Quicksilver to flow over him.

"Fawkes!" the elder agent quietly snapped, and Darien turned back just in time to catch Bobby's backup gun as it was tossed to him. "Watch your back, partner. I'll be right there."

Darien nodded and disappeared from sight.

He crept up to the Keep, and saw a flashlight beam dancing around inside as he came flush with the still partially opened door. Crouching defensively, Darien brought up the gun as he heard stuff being shifted around with muffled curses that he couldn't recognize.

He slipped through the door and realized why he couldn't understand what the intruder was muttering: it was Chinese.

'Crap,' the lanky man thought. Just to be sure there was just the one man, Darien scanned the rest of the lab, but he seemed to have lucked out.

He quietly picked his way over the debris and crept up behind the black clad and slightly shorter man, when he suddenly cried out in pain as an unseen person tasered him in the small of his back.

Darien crashed into the Chinese agent in front of him, the Quicksilver exploding from his body with the impact, and they fell like a pair of dominos.

As he fell, Darien twisted and lashed out with a rear kick, and was glad to feel his heel impact with the other person's belly. The man grunted as his solar plexus spasmed, and he staggered back.

Right into the waiting arms of Bobby Hobbes, who cold-cocked the guy, causing the taser to skid across the uneven floor.

The other Chinese agent squirmed out from underneath the twitching former thief and rushed the door. Bobby was caught as he was moving the unconscious man, and was brutally shoved to the side as the other intruder fled.

"Fawkes!" Hobbes grunted, but Darien was lying curled up on his side, hoping against hope that the shooting pain in his lower back didn't mean that he'd thrown it out again.

Realizing that his partner wasn't able to pursue, Bobby whipped out his walkie-talkie and radioed the men outside that there was an intruder attempting to leave the building.

Once he cuffed his prisoner, Bobby headed over to his partner. "Fawkes, you okay?"

"Fox? There's a fox in here?" was the mumbled reply.

Bobby felt his stomach drop sickeningly. 'Oh, please don't tell me he's lost his memory again.' "C'mon, partner, don't screw around with me here."

"Partner? Who're you?" Darien looked up at Bobby with no trace of recognition in his eyes.

Hobbes' mouth opened and closed a few times as his stunned and wearied mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening.

It was too much for Darien, who burst out laughing.

"Oh, oh Bobby, you should see your face!" he choked out between guffaws. "Ow, ow, owie. Laughter bad," he grimaced suddenly. "Moving bad."

Worry, shock, anger, and finally amusement rapidly chased across Bobby's face before he began to chuckle. "I should kick your ass for that, Fawkesy, but I'd say you've had enough for one day, huh?" He held out his hand and helped his friend stand up.

Darien grunted in pain. "Like I didn't have enough friggin bruises, now I get electro-shock therapy on top of it? Damn, I've got some bad karma today."

Hobbes moved them closer to the emergency lights. "Here, let's take a look at that."

Twenty minutes later, Bobby lowered the walkie-talkie and stalked over to his now conscious and very sullen prisoner.

"Your buddy was lucky; he got away. My question for you is: what the hell were you lookin' for?"

The man just glared back at the shorter American agent.

Darien sat on the floor by the Keep door, guarding it against further intrusions as he toyed with the taser. He watched the stare-down with bemused interest and wondered how long this guy would be able to hold out against Bobby Hobbes' patented glare. Longest he ever clocked anyone was just shy of two minutes.

He checked his watch. 'Wow, three minutes and counting,' he thought. 'This guy's a pro.'

The former thief carefully pushed himself up, using the wall for support as his back screamed at him, and sauntered over to the raging battle of wills. "Yo, Hobbesy," he called out quietly so as not to startle his partner. "I think I know what they were after."

Hobbes tilted his head to the side without breaking eye contact with the other man. "Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, what is it?"

"The backpack," came the amused reply.

"Wha'? What backpa... Oh, Mei Lin's backpack?"

The Chinese agents' eyes widened a fraction at the defected doctor's name, and his whole body tensed.

"Ah-ha HA!" Bobby shouted in triumph, causing their captive to flinch slightly and break eye contact.

Darien leaned down so his face was even with the prisoners. "Gotcha," he murmured with a feral grin.

The Chinese agent snarled and yanked on the cuffs securing him to his chair. "Release me," he growled in English.

"Oh-ho, so now the cat's outta the bag, you suddenly feel like talking, huh?" Bobby crowed.

The man straightened on his chair. "I am an attaché of the Chinese Consulate. I have diplomatic immunity... you have no right to hold me here."

Darien appeared to consider that as he straightened, his head bobbing from side to side. "You see, that's where you're wrong, buddy," he replied. "You're not on China's sovereign soil right now; you're trespassing on United States government property. Which, as I do believe, is a pretty big no-no, and will really embarrass your boss... once we take you back."

"Nice to see you've been reading up on your international law, there, Buckwheat," Hobbes commented approvingly, and exchanged their standard low-five.

The enemy agent's eyes glittered with fury, and he ground his teeth together.

"What say we move our 'guest' to more accommodating... accommodations?" Darien asked his partner airily.

Bobby nodded his agreement. "Yes, let's," he replied as he pulled the key to his cuffs from his pocket. Both men advanced on the Chinese agent and released him from the chair he was bound to, recuffing him as soon as he was standing.

Flanking the man, they hustled him upstairs to the waiting agents so he could be transported to county lockup for safekeeping. They cautiously climbed the stairs to the ground floor and handed over the prisoner to Heyes and Hawkins once outside.

The two hapless agents also received quite an impressive lecture from Bobby on how sloppy guard duty allowed two thieves to enter the building, as well as let one escape.

"Not a word, Fawkes," Hobbes growled in an aside when he caught his partner smirking and obviously preparing some smartass commentary.

Darien snapped his mouth closed on his joke about thieves, hiding a smile at the properly chagrined expressions on the two agents' faces.

Fresh agents arrived soon after to supplement the group gathered outside the Harding Building, and Hobbes made sure they were properly briefed of the current situation.

Satisfied that there were now enough men around to keep a tight lid on things above ground, Bobby and Darien returned to the Keep for a late snack.

"Glad Alex brought us some brews," Darien commented before he took a swig from his bottle of Sierra Falls.

"And that she remembered water too," Bobby replied with a weighted sidewise glance at his partner.

"'Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.' W. Somerset Maugham," Darien rattled off his quoted reply. "Awright, awright, I get the point!" the lanky man groused after receiving another one of his partner's patented glares. "But after what's happened the past week or so, and especially today, I think I'm entitled to some down time."

"Afraid that's in short supply, partner." Bobby handed over an unopened water bottle, which his friend took and rested on the floor at his left side. "I know your wiggy meter's maxed out right now..."

"No shi..."

"But that doesn't mean you should grab a beer at the first opportunity," the agent overrode his younger partner's sarcastic retort. "I worry about you, Fawkes. It's not a healthy habit to get into, especially when you're on duty."

"Having this gland in my head isn't exactly good for my health either, Bobby," Darien shot back. "And neither is having a friend who keeps secrets from me!"

"Fawkes, I'm sure she was under orders..."

"Like that ever stopped her from giving me the cure? She told me about that, why not this?"

"Point made. But before you freak out on her, you might want to see what her side of the story is, that's all."

Darien's head dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. "Yeah, I know. I'm just so frickin' tired, Bobby."

"We all are, partner. We all are." Hobbes draped a companionable arm across his friend's shoulders as he switched the bottle of beer for water.

"I wasn't talking about lack of sleep."

"I know," was the quiet response. "Just remember who's got your back, okay?"

Darien smiled wearily. "Yeah, thanks buddy."

Hobbes nodded. "That said; I got first watch. Take a catnap, my friend. You look like hell."

The next morning, Eberts wheeled the Official through the side door of the McDonald's a couple of blocks down from the hospital.

Before they were even at the table where Darien, Bobby and Alex were more or less sprawled in the back near the bathrooms, the Chief rumbled, "Status report!"

"I tell ya, Fawkesy, they gotta rebuild Wadja's," Hobbes finished with a pained expression. "They make the meanest burgers in town!"

Monroe rolled her eyes. "If you mean 'Meanest burgers' as in disgusting health hazard burgers, then yeah, they certainly do," she teased. "That place deserved to be burned to the ground."

Before Bobby could respond in defense of his beloved lunchery, the Official snapped, "Enough!"

"And a lovely good morning to you, too, sir." Darien saluted the boss with his cup before taking another sip of the wondrous elixir known as coffee.

"Can it, Fawkes," Borden growled back. "The pain medication's wearing off, and I've had very little sleep."

"Welcome to the club, boss." Darien passed over two covered Styrofoam cups of coffee obviously waiting for the others' arrival. The Official took one and uncharacteristically handed it to Eberts before taking his own.

"Hobbes, report."

"Certainly, sir." Bobby lowered his cup and straightened with a slight wince. "We had one incident last night, when two Chinese agents attempted to appropriate the Quicksilver backpack and the research info."

Borden glared at his senior agent, and Hobbes continued quickly. "Not to worry sir, Fawkes and I managed to capture one, who's currently cooling his heels in county lockup."

"What about the other agent, Robert?" Eberts queried.

"The prisoner had tasered Fawkes, and the other managed to get past me in the confusion," Bobby replied with a trace of embarrassment.

The Official nodded. "But they didn't manage to take our property," he asked, with the slightest emphasis on the word 'manage.'

"No, sir," Darien spoke up. "It's all still safe and sound... in Lab Two." He shot a look of pure malice at his boss, who had the grace to wince slightly.

Eberts' eyes widened, and he singed his mouth with a particularly large gulp of coffee.

Just then, Claire wearily strode up to the table. Hobbes and Monroe slid over in the booth to allow the doctor room to sit down, as it was quite obvious that she was exhausted.

Darien pointedly sat where he was, back ramrod straight, not giving an inch.

"Monroe, report," Borden kept from locking his gaze with his tallest agent's continued glare.

"Looks like there's minimal damage at the desert lab," she replied with an enigmatic look at Fawkes as she rubbed her stiff neck. "The place checks out security wise, but will need a major cleaning before it's habitable. Then we just have to find a way to safely transport all the stuff there."

"Sir, your usual?" Eberts whispered in his bosses' ear. At the resulting nod, he moved to the long line at the registers, as this was one of the few restaurants that had gotten power back on. And that was only because it was on the same power grid as the hospital down the street.

"Looks like things are under control then," the Official summarized. "Good work, people."

"Not quite everything, boss," came Darien's steely quiet reply.

Bobby sighed as he closed his eyes momentarily. "Fawkes," he warned softly.

Just then, Eberts came back with the Official's breakfast.

Darien shook his head, ignoring his partner. "And when exactly was anyone going to tell me about the twins?"

Claire's blond eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head to the side. "Darien?"

Chestnut eyes affixed on her with the amazing combination of both sorrow and banked fury. "The glands, Claire. Care to explain why you're making more when you haven't even figured this one out yet?"

The eerie calm in his voice was enough to warn the others just how upset he was, as well as to cause the raising of hairs on the backs of necks.

The Official opened his mouth to speak, and Fawkes immediately cut him off.

"And if you so much as insinuate that need to know crap, so help me I will do something you'll regret."

Borden's eyes glittered. "Threats will get you nowhere, Agent Fawkes."

Darien ducked his head with a nasty grin. "Maybe not, but it sure as hell'll make me feel better."

"Fawkes," Monroe interrupted quietly. "This is neither the place or the time. We're all exhausted and in serious need of some rest."

"Which we won't get any time soon," Darien returned coldly. "And this is the perfect time. What I want to know is why there's money being used for making new glands when you were supposed to be finding a way to safely extract the one in my head. Unless, of course, you had no intention of honoring that deal." His eyes had yet to waver from the Official's.

"Darien," Claire almost whispered, and the distress in her voice was enough to swing the lanky man's attention back to her. "It's not what you think..."

"Really? Remember that little talk we had about my nightmare? What was it you'd said?" He stroked his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Oh yes: 'It's just stuff and nonsense, really; you're reading too much Harry Potter.  Go back to the Harlequin romances, and you'll feel better in a trice.'" His lips curled into a sneer.

She paled, and she snapped: "Darien Fawkes, do you really think I would put anyone through the hell you went through?"

"I dunno any more. Would you?"

She returned his glare for a moment before her face suddenly softened. "You should know the answer to that. Did you ever stop to think that I might have manufactured new glands so that I don't have to constantly be poking and prodding yours?" she queried gently. "Would you like me to milk you like Jasmine? Because I need Quicksilver to test the backpack prototypes."

Fawkes' glowering lightened as he considered that.

"Never mind that," the Official rumbled. "Agent Fawkes, the doctor was under orders to keep that part of her research quiet."

"Why?" Darien murmured. "One invisible man not good enough for you, Charlie?"

Hobbes watched his partner warily.

"No, it isn't."

Darien blanched. "You think one of me was bad, try having five guys go QSM at once."

"I do not have to explain myself or my decisions to you, Agent Fawkes," Borden growled. "And right now we are in the middle of a crisis." He turned his attention to his senior agent, dismissing the argument. "Agent Hobbes, you and your partner are to secure all the sensitive equipment and files for transport. Agent Monroe, you and the doctor will supervise the cleanup of the Perseus Project location, as well as make the necessary arrangements for the transfer of the doctors' works." He glanced over at Hobbes, clearly expecting something from him.

"Mary Sue reported that the phones are workin', if you can get a clear line from all the people calling their families," Bobby quietly put in. "And some of the cell towers are intact, so we should be able to get a signal over most'a the city."

The Official nodded. "Good. I expect regular reports from all of you then." He handed his empty tray to Eberts, who quickly disposed of the trash before returning to take the handles of his boss' wheelchair. "I'll notify you all this evening when our next briefing will be, and where."

With nary a glance in Darien's direction, the Official directed his assistant to depart. Eberts shot an apologetic look at the former thief as he rolled the boss out of the bustling fast food restaurant.

The tense silence in the van could have been cut with a chainsaw when Bobby and Darien pulled up to the Harding Building.

"What the..." Bobby exclaimed as he noted the additional yellow tape cordoning off the building as well as the buildings on either side. "Awww, crap. Damn, federal disaster management noseholes... Let's see 'em manage a colt .45..."

FEMA personnel as well as National Guardsmen were all over the place, inspecting the buildings and ensuring no one entered the ones declared uninhabitable, and Bobby had to park the van a couple of buildings down the block. Both he and Darien strode up to the first guardsman in their path, and Hobbes began interrogating the soldier while Fawkes stood to the side and darkly contemplated the battered building.

Darien was snapped out of his brooding thoughts as Hawkins came up to him.

"Sorry, Fawkes, we couldn't get these guys to understand that we have some important stuff to get out of there yet. But at least we now have some military assistance to guard the place, huh?" The man's lopsided grin vanished as he realized that any attempts at humor were lost on the taller man. "Hey, Fawkes, you okay?"

Darien shook himself. "Just tired. Nothing that a vacation to Cabo San Lucas wouldn't fix."

Hawkins grinned at that. "I hear that." He nodded towards Bobby, who was gesticulating his unhappiness to the guard, now joined by two others, with his badge waving about. "What're we gonna do about getting the stuff out of the Keeper's labs?"

"First thing is we get Hobbes away from these guys," Darien replied blandly. "Before he says or does something that'll get him locked up in the hoosegow."

Both agents headed over to the ensuing argument, and Darien hooked one of his arms with his partners' while Hawkins apologized to the soldiers. Dragging a still protesting Hobbes back a few feet, Darien stopped and hissed in the shorter man's ear, "Hobbes, would you quit it? They're not gonna give in, even if you were the frickin' president."

Bobby sputtered a little in his frustration. "This is a matter of National Security, my friend!" he retorted loud enough for the guardsmen to overhear.

"And just how important is the welfare of the peregrine falcon in this situation?" snarked one of the uniformed men, and his compatriots snickered.

Bobby's face turned red, and he started to march right back towards the soldiers, but Darien stepped in front of him with a firm hand on his chest. "Whoa there, tiger, don't go off half-cocked on these guys. There are other ways to handle this."

Hobbes blinked a few times as he gathered his thoughts. "Hunh? How d'ya figger that, Fawkesy?"

Darien Quicksilvered his hand on Bobby's chest in silent answer.

The shorter man snorted in amusement. "Sneaky little thief," he chuckled.

"Always," Darien grinned. "So what I'm thinking is this: you and Hawkins run interference while I shuttle Claire's stuff out of there."

"Yah, but first we gotta have something to put all this stuff in," Hobbes replied thoughtfully.

As if it had sensed his thoughts, Bobby's cell phone began to trill. He reached into his jacket, flipped it open, and answered "Bobby Hobbes."

"It's Alex," Monroe's weary voice replied. "I've got a truck coming your way. Should be there in the next half hour. How're things going?"

Hobbes snorted. "Frickin' FEMA and the National Guard're keepin' us outta the building," he snarked. "Fawkes' gonna hafta pull the ole inviso-sneak routine to get all the stuff out."

"Crap. Well, Claire said that she'd given you guys a list, but she's got some more stuff to add to it: her hard drives and hard copies of her research, as well as all of the items in Lab Two."

Bobby's expression hardened. "He's havin' enough problems as it is just thinking about that room," he murmured into the phone as he shot a troubled look at his partner. Darien had stepped away a couple of paces and had turned to watch the flurry of activity around the dilapidated office building.

"Well, tell him to suck it up and take it like a good little agent," she snapped. "Look, Bobby," her voice softened, "what the Official made Claire do sucks, but right now we just don't have the time to tend to injured egos. Those two will have to sort this all out after we get ourselves in a stable situation."

"I know," Bobby sighed. "This just couldn't've found a worse time to happen, is all."

"Gee, you think?" Alex snorted. "Look, we've got the Maid out here with some of the agents to get this place cleaned up. We'll deal with the heavier equipment in a day or so. Right now we just need to get all the sensitive stuff out here where it's more secure."

"Gotcha. I'll give you a heads up when the truck's loaded," Hobbes replied and hung up just as the truck rumbled up the street.

It took Fawkes a few hours, but he managed to find everything on Claire's must-have list and shuttle it outside. There were two more sizable aftershocks in the meantime, but luckily they were mild enough to not cause any more damage to the Harding Building.

Hobbes stood by the back of the loaded truck, waiting for his partner's return. He was really getting worried, what with how bad Darien was looking after each bout of extended invisibility. The last time he'd come out of the building, Fawkes was staggering and pale, and he was only carrying a small box of zip disks and CDs.

Bobby had also sent Hawkins out on a food run a while ago; he was certain that the Invisible Man would need some serious recharging of that cavernous stomach of his. But he'd just received a call from the other agent, saying that the grocery stores and restaurants that were open were so freakin' full that Hawkins knew he wouldn't get back to the Agency anytime soon.

The senior agent was startled out of his musing by the sounds of gagging. He looked around wildly, instinctively knowing that his partner was in trouble. He triangulated the location and quickly trotted over to the propped-open fire door on the side of the building.

"Fawkes, drop the Saran wrap!" Bobby entreated. After a grueling few seconds, Darien's huddled form flashed into view at the bottom of the steps. He was on his knees, hugging his belly and desperately trying not to vomit.

He didn't succeed. Bile streamed from his mouth to the pavement, and his whole body shuddered violently.

Hobbes knelt beside his friend, placing a brotherly hand on Fawkes' back in support as he waited for things to settle down. He noticed the hastily dropped box with the files on Mei Lin's Quicksilver backpack about a foot away, reached out and snagged it closer so that it wouldn't be forgotten.

Finally, Darien's stomach ceased its efforts to escape his body, and he listed to the side before leaning heavily against Bobby. "Kill me, please," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"No can do, partner. But I am getting you out of here. You've done plenty today, and you're way past due for a break... and some food."

The mention of comestibles caused Darien's face to flush a ghastly shade of puce. "Ack. No, no food."

"Yes, yes food," Hobbes retorted firmly. "You haven't had a decent meal since yesterday morning, and you used up waaay too much of the Jamba juice, my friend."

"What 'bout the truck?" Darien replied, cracking open one bloodshot eye.

"Monroe's on her way with a couple'a guys to take it to the lab. Once they get here, I'm taking you home."

Golda pulled up at the street, and Monroe and two agents piled out. Alex looked around before spotting the small rental truck down the side alley beside the Agency, and led the others back to it.

"Hobbes?" she called out.

"Back here," he replied, and she directed the two agents to guard the truck as she came up to Bobby and Darien.

"Fawkes, what the hell?" she exclaimed with wide eyes. "I'd say you looked like crap, but that's putting it mildly."

"Gee thanks," he murmured as he raised a trembling hand to wipe the corners of his mouth.

"Fawkes just spent the last four hours pulling stuff out of the building," Bobby explained. "By himself."

Monroe allowed herself to look worried for a moment as she thought. "Well, I was going to have you two stay overnight and watch the labs again, but..."

"No way," Hobbes interrupted. "As soon as you get that truck outta here, I'm takin' Fawkes home. He's in no shape to walk, let alone do guard duty another night."

"Would you park your mother hen routine and let me finish?" Alex snapped. "As I was saying, I was going to have you guys watch the building again tonight, but Fawkes is obviously in no shape. So I'll get Pollock and Silverman out here, instead. That work for you, Hobbes?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. You mind taking this to the truck?" He indicated the box of disks and printed files with a jerk of his head. "It's the last of the things Claire wanted. All that's left is the big equipment and the smashed stuff."

She nodded and picked up the box. She turned to walk away, but at the last second she swiveled around. "Take care of him, Bobby," she commented quietly, with a look of deep concern in her eyes, before resuming her trek to the back of the open truck.

Staring in shock at the yellow tape cordoning off the entire row of townhouses, Hobbes shook his head. "I can't believe this! That's a new building!"

"The ground in this area is notoriously unstable, since the homes were built on sand," Geraldo Cisneros replied. He'd already given the bad news to several other residents of Alta Verde Downs, and all stood in angry clumps surveying their uninhabitable homes. "After the inspectors come down they will decide if the buildings are livable."

"Haven't we heard this before?" Darien grunted, glancing at Hobbes.

"Some have large cracks in the stucco, although these few appear unharmed," Cisneros continued after the groans from the homeowners had died away. Hobbes' place was included in the sweep of his arm, giving Bobby a small measure of hope that he wasn't completely homeless.

"Want me to do a little inviso-shuffle, get you some clean shorts and a toothbrush?" Darien asked sotto-voce when Cisneros had moved away to listen to someone else's complaints.

"Aww, let it go, Fawkes, I can wear these clothes for another day," Hobbes answered dejectedly. He didn't enjoy the feel of a several day old dirty shirt, but there were worse things in life.

"Not in my opinion," Darien replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't want you using up more juice on that."

"Hey, after forcing me to spend the night under several hundred tons of fractured stonework, I think I can take on one little condo," Darien assured airily. "Besides your teddy bear, you probably need to take some meds?"

"That's an affirmative," Bobby sighed. There were times when he wished he could just toss all those pills in the john, but with the current climate of nervousness and unrest, the last thing he needed was a raging case of paranoia from going without his prescribed medications. "Treat it like a heist--get in and out as fast as you can before Cisneros comes back around this way."

"Got any special requests?" Darien asked with a cheeky grin despite his haggard appearance.

"Got a bottle of Glenfiddich with a label that says 'drink me tonight' under the bathroom sink," Hobbes instructed. Darien glanced around, but all the other homeowners had followed the manager around to the other cul-de-sac, so no one was within viewing distance of his little performance. As Hobbes watched in appreciation, Darien's body just seemed to melt into air, a silvery glow flashing for just a moment before he disappeared completely. Hobbes never tired of seeing the miraculous transformation, even if he sometimes pretended it was old hat. What Darien could do was truly a special gift, but the side effects were almost as bad as Bobby's afflictions. Even now that the madness had been cured, Hobbes had noticed Fawkes having increasing difficulties after invisibility: most notably earlier, after Fawkes' extended impersonation of a moving man. He hoped Claire had managed to salvage the blood test she'd been in the midst of harvesting when the earthquake hit, and could find some way to solve Darien's problems.

"Just like I was back in high school," Darien quipped invisibly. "Useta pull off a quick job during lunch hour."

"You want the keys?" Hobbes tossed the keys in the direction of the voice, grinning when they seemed to vanish.

"Takes all the fun out of it, Hobbes," Darien griped, but the front door opened as if by magic, and then all was quiet.

Ten minutes later they were back in Golda with a bag packed for Hobbes, heading up the freeway to Darien's building on Park Boulevard. Leaning against the window of the van, breathing in deep, almost gulping gasps, Darien was obviously worn out from the latest sojourn with the gland. Hobbes made a mental note to remind Claire that Fawkes needed adequate food and sleep before a mission from now on. Hot links, soda, an all nighter with way too much coffee and a sausage McMuffin with cheese for breakfast were not the kind of fuel that kept that fast burning metabolism going strong.

"You okay?" Hobbes questioned, popping his usual handful of pills with a bottle of Arrowhead water. "Look like Wyle E. Coyote after the Acme bomb's gone off in his face."

"Meep-meep." Darien grinned weakly, imitating the Road Runner. "Nothing that a root beer and a bunch of Oreos in front of the TV won't fix."

"How about I make us some dinner?" Hobbes suggested. "You must have real food in that glass fronted fridge."

"If I have a glass fronted fridge..." Darien sat up straighter as they turned onto the street parallel to his. The bohemian neighborhood looked relatively untouched by nature's pique. In fact, a few businesses were open, and most people seemed to be going about their ordinary Sunday as if nothing had happened.

The large brick edifice that housed Darien's loft appeared in pristine condition. None of the now familiar yellow tape decorated any of the neighboring buildings, and the front door opened without force.

"You lucked out, Captain Marvel," Hobbes said, hefting his overnight bag.

Inside the apartment, the movement of the earth was a bit more noticeable with books strewn across the floor and a few pictures askew, but Fawkes had once done far worse damage during a bout with the madness, so this was nothing to complain about.

"Man," Darien collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his forehead where he'd gotten the worst bump. "Never thought I'd be so thankful to see this pile of junk. Oh, crap...." He sat up in alarm.

"What?" Hobbes asked, his alarm bells going off just at Fawkes' expression.

"Aunt Celia! Madeline--I never even thought about calling them." Darien scrambled for the phone, but at first could only find the cradle. The handset wasn't nestled in its usual place. A short hunt located the missing object under a tumble of cushions, and he dialed hurriedly.

"While you call, I'll whip up some eggs," Hobbes announced, reassured when he heard Darien connect with his elderly aunt. He didn't hold as much concern for his East Coast relatives. They might have tried to call, but he doubted it. They'd never shown much consideration for him in the past, so he'd pretty much severed the connection long ago. Even considering the recent visit back to New York, which had reestablished some ties, he didn't plan on giving them a call. But Darien yearned for family, and he only had the two old women left. He needed the reaffirmation of relatives for peace of mind.

Bobby broke eggs, added milk and beat them with a fork, trying to dredge up anyone besides the man in the room with him who even gave a damn whether he was alive or dead. He was about to conclude that there was no one when he remembered Adam--or Alex as he preferred to be called now, and his foster parents, Bobby's cousins, Charlie and Deb Steinman. Might be a good idea to send them a message assuring them all was well stateside. He half listened to Darien's end of the conversation while assembling the ingredients for the meal.

After talking to Celia, Darien made another brief call, but hung up without leaving a message.

"She doin' okay?" Hobbes asked, flipping the large omelet out of the pan and onto a plate. He cut it in half, putting one portion on a second plate just as the toast popped out of the toaster. Heaping bread into a basket, he also added sliced tomatoes onto the plates before setting them in front of Fawkes. A far more decent meal than a box of Oreos.

"Didn't even feel it up in Cold Springs." Darien practically inhaled the food. "This is good, Hobbes," he said through a mouthful. "Couldn't get a hold of Grams."

"Out in a rural area like that the power lines are probably all down," Hobbes said rationally, buttering his toast and plopping a tomato on top.

"I'm kinda worried about her..."

"Maddie? She's a tough old broad."

"I guess so." Darien paused, setting down his fork. He certainly qualified for the clean plate club.

"Lookin' a little less transparent there, buddy-boy," Hobbes complimented, pleased that his easy solution had done the trick.

"And I still want those Oreos." Darien got up to find the cookies, then spied a computer ad strewn on the floor by the pool table. "Ad - Alex! He probably heard about the earthquake; the news is full of pictures of the damage downtown..."

"I was thinkin' the same thing. Maybe we can get a message to him through Claire... or Monroe," he hastily added as a shadow crossed his friend's face at the mention of the lovely doctor. "I'm sure one'a them's got a secure connection."

Yawning cavernously, Hobbes pulled the van up to the curb in front of the damaged Harding building, or as close as they could get, given the chaos that rendered the sidewalk out front impassable. "Looks like they started the party without us again, partner," he commented, turning off the engine.

"Doesn't look like they missed us, either," Darien replied as he unfastened his seatbelt, gazing out at the milling throngs of emergency personnel, FEMA representatives, EMT's and even a pair of uniformed National Guardsmen standing sentry at the front door, AR-16s at the ready. "There's Monroe. Looks like Pollock took one for the team."

Hobbes climbed out of the van and followed his partner down the half-block to the crowd in front of the Agency's now derelict home. "Hey, Alex. Been practicing your kick-boxing techniques on Pollock here?" he asked, peering at his fellow agent's bruised face. Monroe looked up, maintaining her grip on the icepack she held to the back of Pollock's head.

"About time you two got here," Alex snapped irritably.

"Oooo, Susie's cranky," Darien snarked back. "Sounds like you got as much sleep as Hobbes'n I did the other night. I could make some sorta comment about payback bein' a bitch, but I'm a magnanimous kinda guy," he grinned at her wickedly.

"Real big of you, Fawkes," she responded dryly. "As a matter of fact, Pollock here, and Agent Silverman both got the worst end of the deal. From what they could tell me, our Chinese friends were back last night. Talk about slow learners. Fortunately, the majority of Claire's top-secret toys were moved down to the Perseus lab yesterday, including the ones our late night visitors were interested in. When they discovered the prize was gone, they took out their frustration on Frick and Frack."

Hobbes snorted. "Figures they'd try it again. How'd you let 'em sneak up on you?" he directed this enquiry at Pollock.

"I didn't," the disgruntled agent replied sarcastically. "I MEANT to let the bastard clock me. Only way I'm gonna get a day off for the next month by the looks of things."

Darien laughed. "That's using your head, there," he retorted, ignoring the chilly glare from Pollock as he turned his attention to Monroe. "So what's your plan for tonight? I can tell you I'm not gonna be volunteering for any more guard duty. This place is as wide open as the Great Plains. Anyone who wants something can pretty much waltz right in and take it."

Monroe handed off the icepack to her patient as she got to her feet to scowl at the taller agent in annoyance. "Tell me something I don't already know," she responded shortly. "The National Guard boys are on loan, but only for the rest of this afternoon. SDPD can't promise more than a drive-by security check, and there isn't a rent-a-cop left in this city. Even if we had the money to pay for one, that is. According to the FEMA mooks, Harding looks like it's going to be condemned, or at least closed until the city engineers can get a look at the foundation and give it the all-clear."

"So I was right. We're homeless," Fawkes said, a hint of smugness in his tone.

"For the moment," Alex agreed unhappily. "The problem is, the Agency doesn't have enough liquid capital to finance a move right now..."

"Has it ever?" Darien interrupted cynically.

"And that means we are effectively out of business until we come up with a plan B." Alex ignored Fawkes' snide commentary as she eyed Hobbes, who knew that Fawkes was missing the point.

Bobby nodded, suddenly grim. "And that means we're either gonna have to come up with plan B right now, or the Agency is finished. I doubt the Fish and Game yahoos are gonna fork over our operating budget if we ain't got a place to operate from."

"What's the big deal? We all move to the Perseus lab until this place-" Darien waved a hand randomly at the building under discussion, "Is patched back together again. No fuss, no muss."

"Except that the lab is a top-secret operation, and the Fat Man isn't gonna be wanting to tip them off he's got resources they don't know about," Hobbes supplied, feeling like he was talking to a kindergartner. "Not to mention that F&G is gonna want its local office to be, well, local."

Monroe nodded. "Hobbes is right. Part of the arrangement the Agency has with F&G is to act as its local representative on the odd cases that crop up. If we move 50 miles southeast of the city, we're going to be in violation of our arrangement and they'll cut us off."

Fawkes shrugged. "So? We find some other sucker to pay the bills," he suggested.

"There are no other 'suckers', Fawkes," Monroe replied caustically. "The federal budget is on the table back in DC right now, and god only knows what sort of mess the appropriations committees are going to make of governmental agency budgets this year. Homeland Security is about the only one guaranteed its full cut. The rest is going to be divvied up after the mess in Iraq gets first dibs."

The frown lines between Darien's brows told Hobbes that his junior partner was finally getting the big picture. As did the scuff of one sneakered toe on the cracked concrete of the sidewalk; as well as the sudden fascination that same sidewalk seemed to hold for his partner. "Fawkes, whaddya got up your sleeve?" he asked cautiously, by this time knowing all the signs of Darien about to do something potentially foolish.

Fawkes looked up, and Hobbes knew his suspicions were on the money. Darien had dragged out the big guns, that earnest puppy-dog expression setting off red flags on his Fawkes radar. "How much do we have?" Darien asked.

"How much what?" Alex asked, apparently having failed to pick up on a Fawkes-plan in the offing.

"How much do we have in the bank?" Darien clarified ironically. "And how long do we haveta float this 'Titanic' of an agency until we get our funding back?"

"Not enough, according to Eberts when I talked to him an hour ago. And we have to make it through the month before the next capital infusion hits the agency coffers," Alex answered warily, now aware something was up.

Fawkes appeared to consider this, toeing the crack in the sidewalk again. "So what, exactly, is it going to cost us to find a new dive to call home?" he asked, not looking up this time.

"Given the fact that everyone and his brother is in a similar boat in this town right now, God only knows what price per square foot real estate is going to be going for," Monroe threw up her hands in frustration.

Darien scowled. "Would five grand help?" he asked uncomfortably, shooting a look at Hobbes from under his eyebrows.

Bobby gritted his teeth on the demand that hovered behind his lips to know where the hell his partner had found that kind of money. And why on earth he hadn't heard about it before now. He felt his jaw clenching and unclenching in the effort to keep silent, knowing that the last thing this partnership needed was another massive misunderstanding.

Darien was waiting as if braced for Bobby's explosion, but when it didn't immediately follow, he glanced at Monroe, who stood with fists on hips and was glaring ferociously at him.

"Well, would it?" he asked sharply.

Alex took a deep breath and nodded once. "It might," she admitted with obvious reluctance.

Darien gave an uncoordinated shrug as if settling a burden on his shoulders and met her gaze firmly. "By the time you find us a place, I'll have it in my hot little hands," he said.

Hobbes bit his tongue on all the threats and accusations that hovered on it, and knew he wasn't going to find out what his partner had been up to. Monroe eyed Fawkes consideringly for a long minute and then nodded again, accepting the deal without further interrogation, and obviously not willing to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. "Alright. Find me the money and I'll find us a place to call home," she agreed.

The sigh was heavy and obviously one born of frustration, as keys were tapped and the distinctive clicking of a scrolling web page were heard. "Damn," Alex cursed softly. "I knew the choices would be limited but this... as Fawkes would so eloquently put it, this sucks."

She glanced down at her PDA, which showed the breakdown of the money she'd been able to beg, borrow or steal to fund this endeavor. It was even looking like the mystery cash Fawkes had so grudgingly parted with might just give her enough to put a payment down on something other than a rat infested building shell on the wharves. Barely. Finding something that met the unique needs of the Agency on short notice was turning out to be difficult at best and a nightmare of monumental proportions at worst.

What they really needed was another building along the same lines of Harding, and not just "office space." Right now, in San Diego, large quantities of space were at a premium, as proved by the building spree still going on in downtown. The waiting list was months long for high rises that would not be completed for a year or more. The chances of her finding a place within the next day or two that could be made suitably secure in a reasonable amount of time, and that Fish and Game, assuming they would be continuing their sponsorship of the Agency (a bold assumption on any given day), would pick up the tab for once everything had returned to some semblance of normalcy post-quake were looking to be slim to none based on all the listings she'd searched in the last several hours.

Her head beginning to ache from staring at the screen in the close confines of the van, she wrote down the three likeliest candidates and began making calls. With some fast-talking on her part, and the hope of making a commission by the greedy real-estate brokers, she got appointments to see all three that afternoon.

The first was in La Jolla, and was the one she thought had the most potential, until the agent announced that both the asking price and monthly charge had nearly doubled and not solely due to greed. The steel and glass edifice had sustained no obvious damage, and would make an impressive headquarters for the unloved stepchild that was the Agency. Funny thing was, Alex was starting to realize that the Agency was more like Cinderella, just waiting for their fairy godmother to come along and grant them their heart's desire, and she was beginning to hope she'd still be there when it occurred. But with the damage to so many office buildings due to the quake, hundreds, if not thousands, of businesses had been displaced and the hunt for new locations from which to work was hitting a feverish peak. No one wanted to lose more money than necessary, so the cat fighting over that ultimate in location, location, location was moving apace, and poor schlocks like the Agency were going to be left in the concrete dust.

Disgruntled, Alex moved onto choice number two, which, while far less upscale than the first, was still a major step above the ancient Harding building. But, once again, she discovered that the price was more than she could wangle at the moment. Two days ago she could have had this building for a pittance, and now, thanks to the ground beneath their feet throwing the mother of all temper tantrums, it had become a hot commodity and drifted far, far out of reach.

Alex sat in the van and mulled the situation for a few minutes, then called the gentleman who was supposed to meet her at option number three to cancel, knowing that the funds she currently had would not be enough for that location either. She started the engine and aimed it for downtown, figuring to head back to what was left of the Agency building and make sure the transfer of everything of value to the Perseus Project Lab continued apace.

Some streets were still blocked, and her route was more roundabout than usual as several of the one-way streets reversed or were handling traffic in both directions at the moment. She was cruising at an annoyingly slow 15 MPH down G Street when she did a double take at the building she was crawling by. The facade was eerily familiar, although the color scheme was markedly different and for a change, undamaged. The words carved into the granite over the entrance proclaimed it to be the McKinley Building, but it was the small 'FOR SALE' sign taped to the inside of the soaped over glass doors that caught her eye.

Without regard to the other drivers, she gunned the engine and slid into the first available parking space, of which there were many since a street-side parking ban had been in effect for the last two days in order to keep the roads as clear as possible. Within seconds of her turning off the engine a police officer appeared. A flash of her badge and the all-purpose 'federal business' earned her a dispensation on the parking, provided she didn't stay put for too long.

Seconds later she had her cell phone out and was dialing the handwritten number from the sign.

The McKinley Building, built in the '20's as a twin to the Harding Building just over a block away, had amazingly withstood the shaker of '03 without so much as a light fixture out of place. The fact that it was identical in almost every way to their former place of employment was strangely comforting to the displaced Agency group.

Alex, Hobbes, Claire, and Eberts stood in a line just behind Borden, admiring the old structure, speaking quietly as if afraid of disturbing their new neighbors. Fawkes shuffled his feet, waiting for one of his compatriots to open the front door on their new address, feeling oddly out of sorts. The whole week had been fraught with turbulence, and not just from the constant movement of the ground. Finding that Claire had been manufacturing glands had been a shock of major proportions, especially coming so closely after Scarborough's predictions of upheaval and danger. And at long last Darien recalled the quatrain he'd had niggling at the back of his mind for days. The one found at Mona's.

He still wasn't sure what it all meant, but the crack of earth had certainly come true--belches forth mercury's buried treasure? Did that refer to the Quicksilver glands found only after the earthquake revealed Claire's research? But what did moon dancing have to do with anything? Fawkes was brought back to the present by a grouchy harrumph from

The Official, who was confined to a wheelchair until his knee healed up. Growling impatiently, he asked, "Will someone open the door before Thanksgiving?"

"Certainly, sir," Eberts replied primly, as he clutched a cardboard box of files to his chest. He struggled with the door until Hobbes came to his rescue, swinging it wide enough for the six people to enter.

"Alex, you did an absolutely bang up job," Claire announced as she looked around in wonderment. "It's the spitting image of the old place. Are the rooms all the same?"

"Same dingy walls..." Darien started, tracing his finger in the dirt on a window.

"Same faulty wiring," Hobbes continued. "But there's something hinky about this place. Makes me feel kinda dizzy..."

"It's inverted," Eberts declared with finality.

"Very good, Eberts. You get the gold star," Alex agreed dryly with a supercilious smirk. "There are a few differences besides the charming view of two banks. There's a working freight elevator, for one, and the entire first floor is just one enormous space--no interior walls at all. I think it might have been a rehearsal hall at one point, since there are still barres for ballet and mirrors. The subbasement's the same way, but it looks like it's been used more for storage..." Leading the way, she took them all down in the creaky elevator to the space that would be the Keep.

"Marvelous!" Claire crowed as Hobbes, Fawkes and Eberts curiously prowled the huge room. Walking the length of one wall, Darien watched his reflection in a dusty full-length mirror. It was like glimpsing countless parallel universes, all containing one tall, spiky haired man. "I'll have much more area to work and...." Claire started in on her plans.

"Hold your horses, doctor," Charlie Borden cut in. "It will take weeks of work to get this place into any kind of shape, security wise, and our budget only allows for the minimum until this disaster is over. Make a list of exactly what you'll need to resume your research and submit it to the finance committee."

"And who would that be?" Darien snarked.

"Lemme take a guess--You and Eberts?" Hobbes asked his boss.

"Got it in one, Hobbes," Borden nodded.

"I'll continue my work out at the Perseus lab, then," Claire said more quietly. "Which brings up a matter I'm unhappy to report. The two new glands are dead. They didn't survive the transfer after being out of refrigeration for so long."

"Hallelujah!" Darien shouted, pumping his fist in the air like a quarterback after a field goal.

"Not such good news, I'm afraid, Darien," Claire shook her head. "Without the extra tissue to use in experiments, I've only got the source to go to in trying to uncover this metabolic problem of yours."

"Wish I had his metabolic problem," Alex muttered.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Darien asked with widening eyes.

"Saddle up, partner, it's back to bein' a full time lab rat," Hobbes grinned, patting him on the arm in sympathy.

"If my calculations are correct," Eberts spoke up, holding aloft a calculator. He hit a button and showed the Official the final tally on the little screen. "And they usually are; we'll need this amount just to begin work on a state of the art lab for the doctor."

"Absolutely out of the question," The Official replied testily. "Less state of the art, more used equipment with some life left in it."

"But sir!" Claire protested. "If we are to maintain the gland at proper levels of function, then I have to have specific equipment. Modern, specific equipment. I've only begun to delve into what might be going on when Darien stays Quicksilvered for long periods of time."

"Find a way to do your experiments, and save money, too," Borden ordered. "Dispense with any other field of endeavor until you fix the gland."

"Of course," Claire frowned thoughtfully, and Darien recalled her mentioning once that the Feds maintained a warehouse full of outmoded supplies. Most likely where she'd obtained the horse needles she used to inject the Counteragent he no longer needed.

Unless they were from some sort of a veterinary clearinghouse...

"Darien is my number one priority, as always. There's no way I would give up on him now when I'm so close to solving this..."

"You're close?" Darien asked hopefully. The earthquake really had been a true blessing in disguise, for destroying those extra glands and refocusing Claire's attentions back onto the primary goal. He didn't relish the idea of more tests on his tender flesh, but if it moved them one step closer to removing the gland from his brainpan, he would submit without too many complaints.

"Every new piece of information is a step forward, Darien," Claire said confidently. "We all have a new lease on life and I, for one, am going to make the most of it."

"Some ancient guy once said that 'Charity begins at home.' Of course, it always helps when you have a home to go to."

The Otis elevator creaked to a halt, and the horizontally divided wire mesh doors rattled open. Bobby, Darien and Claire piled out into the new Keep, all carrying ventilated boxes.

"I don't know why you don't just take them to the other lab, Claire," Darien complained good-naturedly. "You've got plenty of room there."

"But my presence there is only temporary, Darien," the blonde doctor replied with a long-suffering sigh. "There's no reason for me to keep moving my animals around. Makes them quite cranky, and I promised Monprit that I'd continue to milk Jasmine for him."

Hobbes shuddered slightly as he carefully set down his precious cargo. "So I guess that means you'll need someone to feed all of them, huh?"

She nodded as she placed her small box beside a medium-sized glass tank filled with wood shavings, on one of the metal tables she'd set up along the nearest wall to the elevator. "I have here the feeder mice, and they should be sufficient for the snakes over the next few weeks." She carefully loosened the flaps securing the top of the box, and then lowered it into the tank so she could release six little rodents. "If either of you wouldn't mind heading to the pet shop tomorrow, we'll need more insects and grubs to feed the other reptiles."

Darien slid his carton on a table a few feet away from Claire's. His expression sobered as he leaned an unbruised hip on the edge of the table. "So, those glands. What are you gonna do with them now?" he asked quietly.

She turned to face him solemnly. "They're the only samples I have left, so I'll be spending most of my time at Perseus attempting to create more from those. Since I haven't had a chance to fully inspect the glands since the earthquake, I don't know the level of degradation or damage they've suffered. I may have to take a tissue sample from yours should the others prove completely unsalvageable."

Darien tilted his head to the side in confusion. "But didn't you clone them from mine already?"

The doctor shook her head, her blond mane in a ponytail swishing about her shoulders. "No. One was grown from the original sample Kevin had used, and the other was actually Gavin Barris' gland."

Hobbes frowned thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Barris' was made with the QSM like Fawkes', and the other one's like Kevin's original design."

Claire nodded her agreement. "That way I can compare the genetic structure of both glands to get a better picture on how Darien's is working, and how close to Kevin's original design it still is."

Silence ensued for a few moments as the three fell into thought.

Hobbes shook off his divergent line of thought and looked at his partner. His eyes widened as he took in the darkening expression on the tall man's face. "Fawkes, what's up?"

Claire also gazed upon her Kept, and was just as taken aback. "Darien?"

The lanky agent glared with unfocused eyes at a spot on the floor in between his Chuck Martin's. He didn't answer right away, which began to raise alarms in his friends' minds.

"He did to Barris what he'd intended for me in Mexico," he murmured as if he were thinking aloud. "Everything Arnaud's ever done has been underhanded, sneaky and immoral, so what the hell did he do to the cure?"

Claire's eyebrows furrowed as Fawkes' musing struck an answering chord of distrust. "That's what I'm going to find out, Darien. What I'd originally intended was to compare Barris' gland with the original sample, to find out the exact nature of Arnaud's genetic modifications that brought about the madness. Now that I know about your difficulties with extended invisibility," She affixed each man with an accusatory glare, of which both men failed to meet, "I shall be attempting to clone Barris' gland and apply the cure to it, so that I can study in greater detail how exactly it is affected."

"Kinda like those rats with the invisible bacteria infection?" Darien asked, raising his head to meet his Keeper's gaze. The fatigue showing so plainly in his eyes was not just from the strain and lack of sleep from the past two week's events.

Claire realized with an internal start that Darien had been looking tired all the time lately, and she mentally berated herself for not noticing it sooner. "Exactly," she replied. "I will still have to perform tests with you, though," She tilted her head to the side questioningly, an implicit question on whether or not her words would be met with resistance.

Darien merely nodded once in acquiescence. "If that's what we have to do to make sure that Swiss bastard didn't screw me over yet again, then so be it," he replied quietly.

Bobby sighed. His troubled expression clearly stated that he was sick and frickin' tired of having the mercenary always managing to yank his friend's chain in very nasty ways.

Tabitha was tapping the tabletop with a gold pen as Davies completed his report on the accidental quake, not the actual cause, of course, but the more than reasonable one that Tabitha's cadre of technicians had come up with. That the altered programming Jared's people had used had been as buggy as any newly released video game was an irritation and quickly being resolved so that future efforts on his part would go smoothly.

"The techs suspect it was an unforeseen cascade effect, which caused the quake to occur in Rose Canyon instead of the unlisted fault west of the Miramar base as planned. They fully expect to have everything corrected by the time of the next scheduled test." Davies concluded, making certain to sound as upbeat as possible.

Tabitha snorted in derision. "Which as you well know has been delayed for at least six months pending an investigation as to how this... 'accident' occurred."

Jared intervened at that point as one of the suspected causes of the faulty quake had been his people's programming of the lighting trigger. "My people have assured me this was fluke and was not caused by..."

"The cause has yet to be determined, which is why my people are going over everything in detail. Including the programming at your end. In the mean time, I would suggest you return your focus to meeting your deadline on Threshold instead of trying to usurp control the Farsight program," Tabitha said warningly; and if it weren't for the fact Jared knew he had covered his tracks completely, he might just have been worried. "Now, are there any suggestions for how we can take advantage of the current situation locally?"

Those gathered about the conference table glanced at each other, before a lone voice spoke up from the far end. "We could test some of those new biologicals. Infiltration via the water supply would be simple to accomplish, and our people could easily track the results given we suffered far less damage than the norms."

"Possible," Tabitha agreed. "Anything else?"

"We could move some of the counterfeit bills that we've been producing. We do need to get them into circulation before that design is pulled in favor of that multi-colored horror that was just released," Jared suggested. Tabitha had been holding back on the counterfeit money for months now, claiming that the timing wasn't right. Now, the situation was near perfect given the chaos that still reigned and the infusion of cash that was sure to be needed in the area. Hard currency as opposed to electronic to rebuild the economy and infrastructure of the area. Plus there were certain to be increases in underworld and black market activity thanks to every thief and opportunist taking advantage of the distraction of the local authorities. It would also provide a simple and easy way to seed the money into the area.

Tabitha's eyes narrowed as if trying to determine his ulterior motive, but for once he had none. "If you can do so without detection." The dig was intentional and obvious, but Jared let it pass without a response.

"Of course, Tabitha. I'll inform you once it is underway."

End