In lieu of Darien's opening words are Amanda's:

"A tortured soul named Henry Fink once said: 'You made me what I am to-day, I hope you're satisfied... And though you're not true, May God bless you, That's the curse of an aching heart.' hm... I wonder if he came up with that in therapy."

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Sunday, 2:25pm
Darien snaps awake from his coma. Hobbes, who's been keeping vigil since they all returned from the warehouse, starts from his chair and is by his partner's side before his eyes have even focused. "Whuh... what?" Darien coughs as he tries to remember where he is.

Hobbes hovers over his friend, the relief radiating from his weary face. "Take it easy, partner. You've been out for a couple'a days."

Eyes full of confusion finally focus on him. "What happened?"

"We're in the lab," Hobbes replies. "We brought you and Amy here from the warehouse the other day. You gave us a helluva scare, my friend," he lightly chastises.

Darien frowns, not immediately recognizing the woman's name, and turns his head at the flutter of fabric to his right. Having just finished checking MacKenna's stats, Claire emerges from behind one of those huge tri-fold privacy screens that she had erected to split the room in half. The sudden relief she feels at seeing Darien awake overshadows the look of apprehensive concern on her face. She steps over to his side and begins to check his vital signs, and searches his face for any signs of Quicksilver madness as she asks, "How are you feeling?"

He blinks as he considers her question before replying. "Like some psycho mashed my brain through a sieve." Abruptly, he tenses and glances down at his body. "And why am I in restraints? ...Again?"

Claire and Hobbes exchange meaningful looks before he responds. "What do you remember?"

Darien's eyes unfocus as he searches his memory. His brows rise as the fog slowly lifts from his mind, then plunge as first frustration and then fury swells. He grits out one word: "Arnaud."

Claire glances at the monitor as his blood pressure sharply rises with his surging pulse and emotions. "What else?"

He frowns at her. "The bastard was going to carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, Claire. What, there's more?"

Hobbes nods dourly. "Oh, yeah. Lots."

"Like..."

He shoots the doctor an inquiring look, asking with his eyes if she thought it was okay to continue. She shrugs, not seeing any reason to wait, so he explains. "You remember meeting a girl? At Alianora's old place?" As he's talking, he begins to undo the straps restraining his friend's arms above the bandages around his wrists.

Darien scowls, and he continues. "Arnaud was with her. He knocked you out and took you to Stark. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"No." The battered ex-burglar jiggles his head in an attempt to clear the loud humming from his ears. He stops immediately as he realizes that it's only making his head throb even more in agony. Claire notices his pain and lightly places her fingers on his forehead. She gently pushes his head back and shines a penlight up his nostrils. Seeing no fresh blood, she carefully turns his head from side to side as she checks his ears for any telltale signs of hemorrhaging.

He grabs her hands, irritated with the manhandling. "Claire, what the hell're you doing?"

She stills, and looks him straight in the eyes. "What's the last thing you remember happening?"

"Like I said, Arnaud was going to slice and dice me for the gland." Once again his eyes unfocus as a memory dances at the fringes of his mind. "Waitaminute. Hobbes, I didn't try to, choke you, did I?" His eyes refocus on his partner's face, suddenly unnerved with the violent memory.

Hobbes flexes his bruised neck self-consciously. "Well, yeah, but you were all red-eye at the time."

"Son-of-a-bitch..."

He waves off the apology. "Don't worry about it, partner. I'm okay. Thing is, you remember what happened next?"

"Yeah?" Darien draws out the word a little as his mind continues to clear. "Some jackass plunged a needle in my neck. Then..." his voice fades off as he vainly tries to unravel the rest of his memories. "I dunno, the rest is kinda fuzzy..." he rubs at the back of his neck in an effort to ease the tension in his muscles.

"That was Amy," Hobbes interjects. "She stuck you with a sedative. When you turned around, she grabbed your head, and the both a ya spazzed like you licked a light socket. Monroe called Claire, and we got you two back here asap. That was two days ago."

"Oookay... so where's this Amy chick now?" Darien muses.

Claire motions towards the screen, and he notices the quiet sound of another heart monitor for the first time. He carefully tilts his head to the side as she pulls part of the screen aside so that he can see MacKenna's head. Her auburn hair is unbound, and the waves softly frame her pallid face. The large bruise on her cheekbone is livid against her skin, and she still has electrodes attached all over her head. The wires from them lead into a machine monitoring her brain waves; it shows a bare minimum of activity.

Claire replaces the screen with a bleak expression on her face.

"She's not doing too well, is she?" Darien quietly asks.

Hobbes shakes his head as the doctor responds. "It's still touch and go since she's still having seizures. I doubt she'll last the week if I don't get the information on what precisely was done to her in Virginia."

"What do you mean?"

She sighs in fatigue as Hobbes answers. "She's an experimental. Kinda like you."

"I think... I remember, something about that," Darien rubs at his eyes with his palms, feeling suddenly drained.

She notices the change in his demeanor, and lightly shoves Hobbes away from the bed. "Bobby, would you please tell the others that he's awake? Darien, you really need to rest. You're going to be weak for a while yet, and I'm keeping you here for observation." She elaborates when she notices her patient's unsettled expression. "I still haven't figured out what exactly happened when Amanda touched you; as well as what effect, if any, this has had on the gland."

Hobbes quietly leaves the lab as Darien asks, "What about that number it was doing on my... y'know... hormones?"

"It appears like that's been resolved, but that's another reason I want you to stay put for now," she sinks down into the chair that Hobbes had recently vacated.

"Anything else I should know about?" he yawns.

She shakes her head as she echoes the yawn. "No. Right now I want you to get some rest. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he relaxes back into the soft pillow under him and immediately drops into a deep slumber. Telling herself that she'll only rest for a minute, the doctor soon follows.


Meanwhile, Hobbes has entered The Official's office long enough to tell those gathered there that Darien's finally roused. The Official asks when He can come down and see His "star agent", to which Hobbes simply replies "Later," before ducking back out of the office and returning to the lab.


Monday, approximately 7:25am
Darien awakes to Claire's soft touch on his shoulder. His eyelids crack open to observe her carefully removing the electrode patches from his head.

She notices his stirring. "Try to keep still, or this might pull out a few hairs," she quietly warns.

His brows furrow as the sleep-fog clears from his mind. "Man, did I have some freaky dreams last night..." he begins, but then he realizes that they were more than just dreams. He abruptly sits up, forgetting her warning. "Ouch!"

She backs up a step, holding a patch with a small clump of hairs clinging to it. "I told you to lie still," she scolds.

He distractedly rubs at the sore spot near the back of his head as he gazes at the privacy screen in the middle of the room. "How is she?" he asks, indicating MacKenna with a small upwards jerk of his chin.

The doctor's face firms. "No better." She turns and places the last electrode down on a rolling tray at the head of his cot, and then begins to remove the other monitoring paraphernalia from his arms and chest.

The lab door opens, and Hobbes and The Official enter. Darien cautiously swings his legs over the edge of the bed as they approach. The Official nods at Claire, who is wheeling Darien's monitors and tray out of the way to the back wall. She returns the gesture as she hands Darien a scrub shirt, and then disappears behind the screen to check on MacKenna.

"How you doing, partner?" Hobbes asks heartily, encouraged with the sight of his friend sitting up.

He shrugs ambiguously as he gingerly pulls the shirt on. "I've felt better."

"It's good to see you up, Fawkes," The Official greets him.

Claire mutters to herself as she finishes with MacKenna.

"What was that?" He queries.

She emerges from the privacy screen with a pensive look on her face. "I still can't figure out why she and Darien had had such extreme reactions to each other," she muses.

Darien perks up at the memory her comment rouses in his mind. "You mean from when she grabbed my head?"

Claire tilts her head to the side in query. "Your memories; are they coming back?"

"Well, kinda. I know that after Arnaud knocked me out, they tied me up and dumped me on her couch. She freaked out 'cause she thought I was working for this place called the Shop..."

The Official's face clouds at the mention of The Shop.

"... and then he grabbed her bad arm. There was this, like," he hesitates, at a loss for a better word. "flash, when he touched her. They didn't seem to notice it that time; but then she grabbed his head and yelled at him, and one helluva spark shot between her hands and his head." He frowns, deep in thought. "I thought I was seeing stuff since he'd kicked me in the head earlier. Think that might have something to do with it?"

Claire runs her fingers through her hair as she thinks furiously. "I'm sure it does, but without more information there's nothing I can do." She sighs in extreme frustration. "If I don't find out more about her medical background, she could very well die in the next day or so."

Hobbes joins the conversation with a preoccupied look on his face. "She told Monroe and I that Stark thought that sparky-stuff had something to do with her and Arnie's... oh, what did she call it? ‘Modifications’? That his gland and that thing she does weren't really... compatible."

Claire's scowl lightens a little. "That makes sense, but it's not enough for me to safely isolate the catalyzing influences." She fixes The Official with a level stare. "What I need are the files on that experiment."

He turns His eyes away, uneasy with what she was suggesting. He hesitates, but Hobbes jumps in before He can speak. "What about Arnaud?"

"What about him?" Darien asks irritably. His head is starting to pound again.

"When he kidnapped Amy from the lab, he'd also stolen all the research files. With any luck, he could still have 'em."

"Unless he'd already given them to Stark," Darien retorts.

"What are you suggesting, Hobbes?" The Official queries.

Hobbes turns to Him and replies with enthusiasm. "That I find our mercenary Doctor, and ... 'compel' him to give up the files." He cracks his knuckles, pleased with the idea of beating the crap out of Arnaud.

"Don't even think of going without me," Darien interjects firmly.

Claire glares at him, her expression changing from thoughtfulness to consternation. "There is no way you're leaving here for at least another day or so, Darien. You're in no condition to be running around chasing Arnaud of all people."

"I agree," The Official pipes in. "Fawkes, you're to stay here and rest." Darien opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off. "And that's an order! Hobbes," He turns to the other agent. "you find out where de Fehrn is hiding, but don't take him on alone! I want you to wait until Fawkes is well enough to back you up. Capiche?"

Hobbes nods, pleased that he can finally do something other than wait. "Got it Boss. Fawkesy, you worry about getting back on your feet. And once I've found Arnaud, we'll both kick his sorry ass all the way back to France."

"Switzerland, Hobbes. It's Switzerland," Darien acerbically corrects his partner. At the other mans' puzzled glance, he expands. "He's Swiss-French. Oh, forget it! Just find the bastard and get back here." He begins massaging his temples, acutely aware of his pulse pounding in his head. He's beginning to feel a bit faint.

The Official notices that Darien's gotten paler, and gets Claire's attention with a nod of His head. She looks up from the chart she'd started on MacKenna and notes her patient's wan complexion. She strides over and takes his wrist in her hand to check his pulse. He starts to jerk his arm away, but then realizes that any extra movement just makes his head pound harder. He starts rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, and Hobbes pats him twice on the knee.

"Take it easy, partner. I won't do anything without you, okay? I'll check in later." And with that, he leaves the room.

The Official's moved to the foot of MacKenna's bed, and darkly regards her as Claire finishes checking Darien's vitals. She helps him swing his legs back on to the bed and covers him with a warm blanket. He allows his head to settle into the pillow, but his eyes remain open. He watches as she silently joins The Official at the other bed, and ponders the ramifications of MacKenna's possible survival. His eyes prove too heavy to keep open though, and within moments he falls into a light doze.

"What's going to happen to her?" Claire asks quietly.

He shakes His head. "Until Barnes finds her, or gives up looking, she won't be safe staying in one place for long."

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

He studies the comatose woman darkly for a few moments. "You know our financial situation," He replies in a bleak tone.

"But we can't just put her out on the street in the condition she's in," she reasons.

"No. But the sooner she's away from here, the safer we'll all be."

"How so?"

"Barnes has been breathing down my neck since Monroe and Hobbes got back from Virginia," He explains. "He's already suspicious of us. I don't want him thinking that we're hiding her."

"But, we are," she argues.

"He doesn't need to know that. The longer she's here, the more dangerous it becomes... for everyone. This man will stop at nothing to get her back."

"Well then, I hope Bobby finds those files quickly," she murmurs.


Monday, 8:00am
Monroe promptly hobbles into The Official's office on her crutches. He's seated at His desk, speaking with (who else?) Director Barnes on the phone. Eberts is busy dusting and organizing the office. The rotating fan is on low, barely moving the sodden air in the room.

"... They're still out in the field. No, they still haven't found anything more. I'm expecting to hear from Agent Hobbes any minute now." He notices Monroe entering the office and instructs with His hand for her to be silent. "No, Agent Monroe is still recuperating. I'll make sure she sends her report as soon as she's well enough. ... Yes, yes. Very well." He hangs up the phone as He dabs at a thick line of sweat on His upper brow. "What are you doing here, Monroe?" He barks at her as she limps over to one of the chairs in front of His desk. "You're under orders to stay home and rest."

She carefully lowers herself into the seat. Eberts is immediately by her side, taking the crutches after arranging a folding footstool and helping her to elevate the injured leg. She flashes a warmly grateful smile at him, and he blushes as he hastily returns to his cleaning.

"Well?" The Official grunts. He seems to be in a more cantankerous mood than usual this morning.

"Well what?" she returns crisply. "I was going stir-crazy at home. There must be something I can do around here."

She doesn't notice that the office door's opened to allow Hobbes' entry. He silently strides to the chair askance from her and replies, "Actually, you could help me find Arnaud."

She starts in surprise, and then flinches as the motion pulls at the stitches in her leg. "Dammit, Hobbes, a little warning!"

"Sorry," he apologizes, not looking the slightest bit contrite. "How's the leg?"

"What do you think?" she snaps as she gently massages the tight muscles above her knee. "Now what'd you say about de Fehrn?"

"Claire needs the research files on Amy asap, and I could use some help in finding his fox-hole," he replies with a gleam in his eye.

"How're they doing?"

"Fawkes's awake, but MacKenna's still in a coma," The Official replies in a dour tone.

"Is he still...?" she inquires pointedly.

Hobbes shakes his head. "He's back to normal, more or less."

"Whatever that is," she mutters. Eberts smiles crookedly at her gibe as he finishes wiping off the last file cabinet in the room. He places his cleaning supplies in a tidy pile on top as The Official motions for him to come over. He steps over to His side and nods his readiness.

"Eberts, I want you to help Agent Monroe for the rest of the day. Starting now."

"That's not necessary..." she demurs, but is cut off by the sharp gesture of His hand.

"No. It's either this or being sent home." He fixes her with a gimlet glare. "Well?"

She dips her head in acquiescence before raising her eyes (filled with the irritation she can't express) to Hobbes. "What do you need?"

"We've gotta figure out where Arnaud's hiding," he answers. "Think any of your contacts could help out with that?"

"Maybe," she draws out the word a little as she thinks. "I'll have to make a few calls. Eberts?" She glances up at him in a tacit appeal for his assistance. He looks to The Official, who impatiently waves for him to continue on. He helps her to stand, folds up the footstool and hands her the crutches. As she hops towards the door, he deferentially opens and holds it for her. He looks back over his shoulder, checking if Hobbes was leaving the room with them. But The Official shakes His head, so he closes the door quietly behind himself and trails Monroe to the elevator.

"You want somethin' else, Chief?" Hobbes inquires from his chair.

"Barnes is demanding a field report from either you or Fawkes, as of yesterday. I told him about Monroe getting shot, but he doesn't yet know the three of you've had contact with MacKenna. Before you do anything else, I want you to report in to him..."

"Give a bogus sit-rep?" Hobbes winks knowingly. At The Official's nod, he continues. "Tell him we're getting close, but that we haven't secured either her or de Fehrn yet. Right?"

"Right. He can't in any way know that we have her here."

"No problem, Chief," Hobbes replies with confidence as he rises and strides towards the office door. He swivels around with his hand on the knob. "Hey, Amy said something a few days ago, about hearing stuff some of those Shop guys said about us and The Agency. Whatta ya think they were talking about?"

The Official's face closes up like a wall's slammed down over His thoughts. "Believe me, Bobby, you don't want to know."

He frowns thoughtfully, not quite liking the tone of the Boss's voice. He looks as if he wants to say something more, but decides against it and quietly leaves the office.

The Official sighs heavily and rubs His aching eyes before turning back to His paperwork.

Monday, around 5:00pm
Later that day, Monroe calls Hobbes up to her office. He knocks politely on her door as he peeks around the edge of it. He notices that Eberts has set her up comfortably on the couch, with a few pillows neatly arranged to raise and support her injured leg. There's a hardwood TV tray arranged beside her; with her phone, a note pad, pen, and Rolodex stacked neatly on top of it. She has a triumphant smile on her face, which is modestly echoed in the assistant's expression.

"Wha'? What is it?" he inquires in earnest as he shuts the door behind him.

"We found de Fehrn."

His eyes widen in excitement. "How did...? Who...?" he sputters before his face firms out. "Where?" he grins, with a savage glint in his eye.

"Remember the man assisting him at the warehouse?" she hints. He nods, and she continues. "I planted a tracer on him when he was helping me to the operating theatre. Apparently he never discovered it, so Eberts was able to trace his whereabouts. I called in a couple of guys I know to track his location; they just called a few minutes ago."

"And..." he prompts impatiently.

"And they found him with de Fehrn and Stark at what looks like Stark's house," she finishes, unperturbed with the interruption.

He breaks out in an ecstatic grin. "Your boys say how the detestable duo's doing?"

She chuckles at his facile remark, and Eberts smiles faintly from his spot at the bar. "Stark's pretty pissed at you for shooting him," she pouts in mock-sympathy.

"Tit for tat as far as I'm concerned," he returns, pleased with the off-handed compliment. "Got an address?"

She nods and glances expectantly at Eberts as he steps to her side and hands her a piece of paper. "Thank you, Eberts." He nods and returns to his post. She holds it up to Hobbes, who accepts it with a grateful nod.

"Thanks for the help, Monroe. ...Eberts." He heads for the door, eager to go kick some ass. "Take it easy on the leg."

As he closes the door she replies dourly, "As if I had a choice," with a mildly baleful glance at the assistant.


A few minutes later the lab door slides open, and Hobbes enters with a lively step. Claire is in her comfy chair by her computer, writing notes in her new case folder on MacKenna. Darien's sitting up in his bed, considering whether or not he should try out his legs yet. He looks a million times better than he did just the day before.

The two look up at Hobbes expectantly, and he proudly displays the paper Monroe and Eberts gave him a few minutes before. "Get out of bed Fawkesy, we've got us some ass-kickin' to do!"

Darien grins, glad for the excuse to get out of the lab. He's really craving fresh air and sunshine on his face, what with all the little sounds of the life support equipment's beeping, it just felt more and more like living in a morgue to him. He slides off the edge of the bed, and then suddenly clutches at it to steady himself. His knees wobble like they're made of silly putty.

Claire hastens from her chair to help him, but Hobbes beats her to the bed and firmly catches his friends' arm. "Whoa, take it easy partner! We don't have to leave right this second! We got plenty of time to get to Stark's place. I clipped him good in the shoulder, so he won't be up for too much anytime soon."

Darien locks his knees and shrugs off his partner's solicitous hand. He seems pretty irritated and anxious to leave the lab. "But I need to get out of here... now, Hobbes. If I stay in this room one more second, I think my head's gonna explode!"

Claire searches his face with great concern for any signs of Quicksilver madness. "Darien..."

He lurches away from her, smacking at her extended hand in irritation. "I'm fine, Claire. I'm just sick of being stuck in here." He glares down at his legs, which are threatening to give out on him again. Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step away from the bed. Amazingly enough, he doesn't fall on his face, but he keeps a hand out in case he needs to grab on to something quickly.

Her face betrays the severity of her anxiety. "You can't go out like this; it's too dangerous, and..."

"Look, do you need that information or not?" he snaps.

Her lips press into a thin line. "Yes I do, but not at the expense of your and Bobbies' safety. If you're going to be of any help to him, you must allow yourself some more time to recover."

"Claire..."

"No, not another word! Don't make me put you in restraints, Darien." Her eyes glitter with emotion.

Hobbes has taken a step back from the two, taken aback at the intensity of their emotions. "Whoa, whoaaa. Let's just take a moment and calm down here, okay? Look, buddy," he turns to Darien. "Monroe's contact said that Stark and the others weren't going anywhere for a while. They're also keeping an eye on things until you and I get there, so we have some time to get your land-legs back." He gesticulates with his open palms facing the floor in a downward calming motion as he glances back and forth between the doctor and the former thief. "So let's go for a walk down the hall, partner; see how you're feeling in a bit. Okay?"

Claire nods: "Fine." while Darien shrugs: "Whatever."

"Great, now let's get you something for the feet." Hobbes searches for, and then pulls out a pair of slippers from under Darien's cot. He hands them to his friend, and stands within arm's reach as they're pulled on.

While Hobbes is looking for the slippers, Claire steps over to a closet and pulls out a combination walking stick/cane. She returns to Darien's side and holds it out in silent instruction for him to employ it.

He finishes sliding on his left slipper, glances up as he senses her approaching from the corner of his eye, and soberly regards the proffered item.

After a brief pause, he accepts it and cautiously turns to leave. Hobbes shadows him to the door, and as it slides open, the shorter man glances at Claire over his shoulder and notices that she's turned her back. She's returned to MacKenna's chart, and is scrawling some final notes in it. Her back is hunched, betraying her concern and irritation at Darien's being such a pain in her ass.


Monday, around 7:30pm (sunset)
The van pulls up to the curb in an average upscale residential neighborhood.

"Which one is it?" Darien asks from the passenger seat.

Hobbes searches the street for Monroe's associates. "Third one down on the left," he replies absently. Finally, he places one man in a landscaper's uniform trimming the bushes in front of the house about two dozen feet from the right side of the van. The man pauses in his work to glance at the van in vague curiosity before returning to his task.

Darien notices his interest in the landscaping employee. "What? What is it?"

He nods once, and then casually turns his gaze to the other side of the street. He barely moves his lips as he replies, "He's one of Monroe's guys."

"What, the gardener?"

"Know any company that has its people out this late in the day?"

Darien concedes the point with a slight shrug. "So where are the others?"

He jerks his head to his left, indicating with his chin another man coming from the rear of the house two doors away from the one he initially pointed out. "There." He pauses as he searches the street, then turns and appraises his partner's condition. "How you feelin'? Think you're up for this?"

Darien stifles his irritation. "Absolutely. May we go? Now?"

He opens his door. "Okay partner, time to dance." He slides off of the seat, closes his door and casually walks around the back of the van to the sidewalk.

By the time Hobbes reaches his side, he's opened his door and tentatively stepped down onto the sidewalk. The walking stick/cane is nowhere in evidence, and he holds onto the door with one hand as he tests the strength in his legs. "Wow, didn't think they'd be this steady," he muses, thrilled that his strength was returning so quickly. "And Claire said I'd need that thing for another day or so." He smiles to himself as Hobbes steps up to him. "So, which one're we talking to first?"

Hobbes nods towards the landscape gardener. "Let's check out the back." He starts towards the side walkway, and Darien gingerly follows. The landscaper continues cutting the bushes for a few more moments before collecting his equipment and walking around the other side of the house.

He dubiously eyes up the two agents as Darien comments in an aside, "Does anyone actually live here? 'Cause it'd really suck if someone called the cops on us now..."

"It's covered," Hobbes absently reassures him. He nods to the landscaper, and as the man approaches, he asks, "Adams?"

The man nods, replying, "Agency?"

"Yah. What've you got?" Hobbes murmurs. Darien leans closer so he can hear what's being discussed.

The man begins to answer, then shoots a questioning glance at the taller agent. "You okay? You look like hell."

"Thanks," Darien replies caustically. "It must be all the sun I've been getting."

"Fawkes..." Hobbes admonishes his partner, and then looks back at Monroe's contact man. "They all there?"

The man nods. "At least Stark is. And three bodyguards. One looks like a medic."

"The assistant," Hobbes verifies. "Any sign of de Fehrn?"

Adams frowns. "Can't be sure, but yeah, I think so."

"You think so?" Darien queries pointedly.

Adams quits chewing on the inside of his cheek, then replies: "Occasionally there's movement in one of the windows, but no one's there. And about fifteen minutes ago, Morris saw a cigarette floating around on the back porch."

Darien and Hobbes exchange knowing looks. "That's him," Hobbes comments.

"So, how does Stark look?" Darien asks with a tiny crooked smile.

"Pretty bad, but the wound's not life-threatening."

He snaps his fingers in malicious disappointment, and Hobbes shoots him a quelling glance before turning once again to Adams. "What's Morris' twenty?"

Adams gestures with his hand towards the front of the house. "He's the pool guy across the street."

Hobbes nods and starts towards the front of the house, and Darien mutters to himself as he trails the two men, "Doesn't anyone normal live in these neighborhoods?"

Adams precedes the other two men across the immaculate front lawn to his landscaping work van. The side is emblazoned with the company logo "Lush Landscapers" and a cartoon caricature of a vivacious green thumb wearing a hat and proudly displaying various gardening tools.

He opens the sliding door, places his tool belt in between the front two seats, and gestures for the other two men to follow him as he steps into the back. Once the other two are seated inside, he shuts the door, turns and seats himself in front of a small console. He puts on a pair of headphones, flips a few switches and speaks quietly into a microphone attached to the headgear. "Morris."

"Yah."

"They're here. What's your sit-rep?"

Darien nudges his partner in the ribs as he murmurs to him, "What is it with this stuff? You guys born experts in spy-speak or something?"

"Shhhh..." Hobbes frowns and makes a cutting gesture with his hand.

"... not much going on in the house for a while now. Wait a minute... one of them's on the phone..." Morris trails off as he furtively raises his binoculars to try and get a better glimpse of the activity inside the house.

The three men in the van wait tensely as the seconds tick away...

Adams is beginning to look worried. "Morris. ...Morris, you there?"

No answer. But just as Adams is opening his mouth to call to his colleague again, Morris' voice whispers through the speaker. "Think I've been made. Breaking contact..." the speaker crackles as he tears off his headgear, grabs his equipment and makes himself scarce.

"What? What happened?" Darien asks in alarm.

Adams removes his headgear and carefully places it down on the console in front of him. "He's removing himself from the area. He'll call me once he's clear."

"Why doesn't he just come in here?"

Hobbes pats his partner on the shoulder. "If he was made, then coming to us would blow our position too. I know this guy; he's top-notch CIA. He'd do anything to keep us from being compromised."

An ironic grin spreads across Darien's face. "Well, he mustn't be another member of the Bobby Hobbes Anti-Fan Club then."

He wisely ignores the teasing as he turns his head to look at Adams. "How much did Monroe tell you about this assignment?"

"Enough for me to back you up if you need it," the other man replies firmly as he eyes up Darien's pallid face and stooped posture. "And by the look of things, you're going to need it."

Darien blinks as he decides whether or not he should be taking offense with the comment.

"Right," Hobbes affirms as he loosens his gun in his holster. "Right now, I'll need you to stay here and monitor our situation. If things get hairy, call Monroe for backup if you can before you come in."

"Got it." Adams turns to pick up two tiny microphones/wires. He hands one to Hobbes, who carefully pins it to the inside of his jacket as Darien pipes up with a question.

"Wait a minute. Is there some sort of a plan, or are we just charging in there? Because that would be, you know, suicide..."

Hobbes shakes his head in bemusement, and takes the other wire. "No, we're not 'just charging in there'; and yes, you should know by now that there's always a plan." He pauses as he also assesses Darien's condition. "Still up for this, partner?" He finally pins the wire on the back of the lapel on his friend's jacket.

Darien sighs, trying to mask his exhaustion from himself as much as from the others. "If we're doing this today, then yes."

Knowing that his friend was struggling and failing miserably at cloaking how poorly he's feeling, he still takes Darien's word. "Okay. This's what we do: I'm going to draw their attention while you look for the files."

"That's it?" Darien blinks. "And how are you going to keep their attention on you long enough?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but Darien unintentionally cuts him off. "And what about Arnaud? He might still have the files on him."

"True," Hobbes surrenders the point. "That's why you get this." He pulls out and hands a hypo over with a fresh cartridge of sedative in it. "Anyone sees you," he glares at Darien as his partner opens his mouth to correct him, "you knock 'em out with this. It should put a guy down for a coupla hours or so."

"And what if I'm unable to do that?"

He pulls out his spare gun. "Then use this." He hands it over as Darien's face hardens in recollection of the few disastrous times he's handled a loaded gun. "Anything else?"

"No," Darien shakes his head. "Same schtick? You take front and I take back?"

"Nah, let's switch it. They're probably expecting it the other way. Ready partner? Then let's do this." They lightly slap five before opening the side door and exiting the van.

Hobbes sticks his head in as Darien Quicksilvers near the rear. "Mikes on?"

Adams nods as he throws a switch, and acoustic static is replaced by the echo of Hobbes' voice. They nod, and Hobbes carefully pulls the van door shut as Adams slides on his headphones.

"Still there, partner?" he asks to the air on his left.

"Yeah. Ready when you are," Darien's voice murmurs from a few feet away.

"'Kay. Wait for my signal, then move on in."

"And what would the signal be?"

"You'll know when you hear it," he replies with a malicious grin as he peeks around the rear corner of the van at Stark's house.

"Oooh-kaaaay," Darien mumbles to himself as his friend quickly scoots across the street to the cover of some shrubs by a mailbox. Still invisible, he saunters down the opposite side of the street from Stark's house. As he comes even with it, he checks for oncoming cars before crossing the road to the front lawn.

He walks up to the front door and cautiously checks to see if any of Stark's men are inside wearing thermal-vision sunglasses. He waits for a few moments, and then jumps as the sounds of gunfire shatter the tranquil afternoon air. Suddenly, the front door is wrenched open. Two men burst out of the house in pursuit of Hobbes, who's come around from the back of the house in a dead run. He spies the men, and darts back and forth on the street in order to make himself harder to hit. One of the goons skids to a halt and takes aim at the middle of Hobbes' back as the other continues the chase.

Before he can fire though, there's the sound of a hypo hissing as it injects some of the sedative into his neck. The man swats at the mosquito ("?"), then blacks out on the sidewalk with a puzzled look on his face.

"That, was the signal." Darien looks up from the man to see Hobbes wrest open his van door and leap inside.

The van roars to life, and he thrusts it into gear as he floors the gas pedal. The tires scream as the other Chrysalis agent (the medic) halts in the middle of the street to take aim...

But he has to dive out of the way as the van bears down on him.

Meanwhile, a still Quicksilvered Darien is cautiously entering the house. He hears enraged voices coming from the living room/kitchen area near the back porch to his left. He peeks around the corner of the living room from the hall, and spies an apoplectic Stark bellowing at de Fehrn and Brute (the Big Guy).

'Nice outfit,' Darien thinks acidly to himself as he notices that de Fehrn's visible: wearing rumpled slacks, a polo shirt and long overcoat with loafers.

"How the hell did he find us?!" Stark shouts at Brute.

"More to the point... where's Fawkes?" de Fehrn interjects calmly.

Stark stills as he considers the doctor's comment, and Brute reaches into his coat pocket for his sunglasses. A distressed look washes over his face as he realizes that he doesn't have them.

de Fehrn notices his reaction, and sighs impatiently as he shakes his head. "Don't worry, I can see him without those," he reassures Stark. "It'll be easier if I remove..." he reaches up to his eyes to remove his contact lenses, but is interrupted.

"That's not necessary," Stark waves a hand. "The latest information has Fawkes and MacKenna both in comas. They're effectively out of the game... for now."

"And what are we going to do with her?" de Fehrn queries as he readjusts the lens in his left eye.

Stark motions for Brute to leave the room, and the man walks to the sliding door. He opens it as the one conscious agent (the medic) enters the room from the front of the house. He's dragging the other man, and hauls him onto another couch on the far side of the living room.

"Keep an eye out," Stark orders the two men. "Agent Hobbes was likely a distraction for others to enter the house." The two nod, and Brute walks out onto the back porch as the medic begins searching the interior for intruders.

Darien moves closer as Stark lowers his voice. The man looks extremely pale, and has an IV inserted into his arm with a bag hung above his head. He's comfortably situated on an elegant Victorian couch with his shirt removed, revealing a sleeveless white undershirt. The top of his arm (where the ball meets the socket in his shoulder) is generously wrapped, with the affected arm securely resting in a sling.

Once the two agents are out of earshot, he turns and continues his conversation with de Fehrn. "Borden and his misfits have her stowed somewhere in their building, so we have a couple of options. We can either go in and get her,"

de Fehrn sighs melodramatically. "Not again," he mutters dismally.

"... or," Stark continues with a pointed glare at the interruption, "We can wait and see if The Keeper is able to bring her around; and MacKenna will return to us as soon as she's able."

"Unless they've somehow managed to convince her that it's in her best interest to stay with them," de Fehrn counters.

He shakes his head. "Not while Barnes and his men think she's alive. They'll do anything to get her back, and Borden knows that. To preserve his precious Agency, he'll make sure MacKenna's away from there as expediently as possible."

"Can we even trust her to come back?"

"Where else can she go?" comes the smug reply. "We have the only complete set of records on her experiment, and she won't last more than a few days out on her own." He pats a small zippered date book sitting on his lap. "She's already admitted as much to us, and we've offered her the best chance for her freedom so far. She has no choice but to remain under our... 'protection'."

'Not if I can help it,' Darien ponders darkly to himself. He eyes up the date book, and figures that it's large enough to hold a few floppies or mini CDs with the research information on them. 'Now, how to get it?'

His answer comes in the form of Hobbes' van suddenly squealing to a halt in front of the house, just as Adams assaults Brute on the back porch. The sliding glass door shatters as Brute is flung through it. The medic hurtles down the stairs towards Adams, who squeezes off a few shots at the man before diving out the broken door and bolting for the line of bushes separating Stark's yard from the next house's. The Chrysalis agent peeks around the corner of the kitchen doorway, and seeing that the way is clear, then tears off after Adams with his gun drawn.

Meanwhile, de Fehrn has helped Stark off of the floor by the couch, and is bending over to retrieve the planner when Darien jams the hypo into his neck.

"Not so fast, you bastard," he murmurs as he injects a double dose of the sedative into de Fehrn's bloodstream. The mercenary wheels around swinging a fist, and clips him across the jaw. He falters back a step before crashing the butt of the hypo down on de Fehrn's face. There's a wet snap as the man's nose is shattered, then a thud as he collapses to the floor, unconscious.

Darien seizes and Quicksilvers the planner, and then whirls around to spot Stark aiming a pistol at his head. He's wearing thermal sunglasses.

"Shi...!" Darien grunts as he dives for cover. Stark squeezes the trigger, and a bullet whizzes by a hair from his invisible cheek. He clumsily rolls to his feet and lurches at the other man. With one hand, he grabs Stark's injured arm and drives the hypo into the skin directly under his collarbone beside the bandage. He squeezes the trigger, and before Stark can finish hissing the epithet on his lips, the man collapses to the floor, out cold.

Darien staggers and leans on the nearest secure object, (which happens to be the doorway leading from the living room into the front hall) as he tries to get his breath back. His lungs heave for oxygen, and he notices little sparks dancing in his field of vision.

The moment passes, and he takes a tentative step away from the doorsill. The Quicksilver falls away from him, revealing a blanched face and body shivering in shock. He stumbles towards where he dropped the planner, scoops it up and un-zippers it a little to scan the contents. Inside are three small disks in protective plastic cases labeled "A.E. Daniels, file DOD032493". In an almost imperceptible scrawl on the lower right-hand corners of the disks are the letters "re: swrb".

He sighs in relief, zippers the planner shut (without actually reading the writing on the disks), and carefully tucks it in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He grabs the arm of a chair to pull himself up, and notices that his legs have gone 'on strike'. With the surge of adrenaline wearing off, he realizes that he should have taken Claire's advice more to heart than he's done.

His head jerks up at the sound of the front door crashing open. He drops the hypo and shakily draws Hobbes' gun...

As Hobbes bursts into the room.

He sweeps the room with his eyes and firearm, and drops the barrel to the floor as he spies Darien crouched near de Fehrn's limp form.

"Whoa, partner!" he exclaims as he stares down the barrel of his spare gun into his partner's desperate and almost senseless eyes. "Backup's arrived!"

Darien blinks and shakes his head as he drops the gun. "Sorry. Kinda jumpy," he mutters as he once again attempts to marshal enough energy to stand.

Hobbes notices his friend's dilemma, and hastens to help him up. "Nice job, partner," he comments in approval. "Got the goods?"

He grasps the proffered arm and allows the shorter man to haul him up. "Yeah, in my coat. Let's get the hell outta here."

Hobbes nods. "Adams is waiting in the van."

He steadies Darien as he stumbles halfway to the door. "What happened to that medic guy? ..." the exhausted man frowns.

"Down and out in the back yard," Hobbes reassures him. "Let's get you back to The Keep, partner. You look like crap."

"Feel worse," he mumbles in exhaustion as they leave the eerily silent house.


Tuesday 9:30 am
The Official and Eberts enter Claire's lab. She's busy typing on her computer, with Hobbes sitting beside her avidly reading what was on the screen. Darien, whose color has improved once again, is still curled up asleep under a fuzzy blanket on the reclined demented dentist's chair.

His bed, as well as all of the monitoring equipment, had been moved to Lab Four with MacKenna the night before.

At the sound of the lab door sliding open, Claire turns her head and raises her index finger to her lips with a sidewise dip of her head towards the sleeping man. The Official and Eberts stride over to her and Hobbes, and He asks, "So?"

Hobbes glances up briefly at them before turning back to the computer screen. "This's some pretty messed up stuff here, Boss," he comments absently as he continues poring over MacKenna's case files.

The Official leans over his shoulder to squint more closely at the screen. "Finding what you need, Doctor?"

She smiles, her relief evidently fighting with her scientific interest in the information. "Yes, thank goodness." She returns her gaze to the document as she strains to keep her voice lowered so as not to wake Darien. "What they were doing here is extraordinary! With Amanda and a few others they were actually able to neurologically, 'rewire' them..."

"For what purpose?" Eberts queries as he cranes his head to look at the computer. In doing so, he accidentally bumps The Official's elbow. He whips His head around to glare at His errant assistant, and the chagrined man blushes as he backs away a step.

Unaware of the interaction between them, Claire responds while continuing to scroll through the open document. "It's difficult to explain, but..." she trails off, thinking furiously on how to word what she was going to say next in a way that the others would understand.

But before she can continue, Hobbes pipes up. "You ever hear of something called Reiki?"

The other two men's faces go blank, and Claire continues. "It's a holistic approach to healing and improving the functioning of the body. It involves the practitioner attempting to cleanse energy pathways in the patient partly with the use of crystals at key focal points..."

"Crystals..." The Official grunts in derision, as she continues uninterrupted.

"... as well as with a form of meditation in order to focus his or her own energies into the hands, so that he or she can heal, in a fashion, the blocked pathways in the patient."

Hobbes grins conspiratorially. "Sounds like a lotta Eastern mysticism hoowah, don't it?"

"Hm," The Official agrees, still trying to read the document on the screen.

"Well, quite a few people swear by it," Claire interjects. "And it seems the scientists at The Shop found some merit in these claims, because they've been working on adapting this technique for use in subversive operations and interrogation proceedings."

"There were subjects other than Miss MacKenna?" Eberts pipes up.

She nods. "Many others. Unfortunately, most of them died from complications after the third phase of the experiment. The survivors have been trained to focus their energies into mainly their hands, which has enabled them to do some pretty remarkable things."

Hobbes breaks in with vigor. "Get this: it doesn't say who, but two of them were able to start fires. Not big ones, but if they were near something flammable, they could torch it. Pretty cool, huh?"

"How many are left?" The Official asks.

"As far as I can tell, all of them were in the complex when Arnaud blew it up," she replies softly. "There's reference of a few being moved a few years ago, but no mention of any specific locations, and a brief afternote stating that the subjects were, 'deactivated' soon after transition."

Hobbes snorts softly. "No loose ends, now."

"Do you have the necessary information to help her now?" He asks brusquely.

She nods again. "I needed some additional medical supplies, so I ordered them through a colleague of mine able to get them at a discount."

"Did you clear this through..." He snaps, but she cuts Him off.

"Through Eberts? Yes, and we can afford it." The frost in her voice indicates that she's a bit testier than usual with His penny-pinchiness. "And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to check on her."

She abruptly rises from her chair, and The Official and Eberts hastily backpedal in order to let her pass. She snatches MacKenna's chart from a stand beside the lab door as she stalks out of the room. Hobbes continues to read MacKenna's computer files, of which he never took his eyes from for the entire conversation. Darien's still sleeping on his chair, with a soft snore escaping from his nostrils every few seconds or so.

Wednesday 8:30am
Everyone, with the exception of The Official and Eberts, gathers around Claire's computer in her lab. Darien and Hobbes enter the lab, and notice that Monroe is already sitting next to the doctor in an armchair brought down from her office. She's holding up a film of MacKenna';s head to the light, and another is lying on top of a manila x-ray folder on the desk beside her. The look on her face is of mild interest, since the one film shows extra vascular pathways, and the other heightened neurological activity in certain areas of MacKenna's brain.

Darien sits down on Claire's left, with his arms resting in front of him on the back of a rolling office chair. Hobbes stands on Claire's right and squints at the x-ray in Monroe's hand.

"What's up?" Darien inquires of the doctor.

"I thought you'd like to hear how Amanda became involved in all this," she replies.

"How long've you been here, Monroe?" Hobbes asks her as Claire directs Darien to the beginning of the file.

"About an hour." She sips a viscous orange-colored liquid from a tall clear water glass as she lowers the film to the desk in front of her.

He screws up his face in distaste at the sight of her healthy morning drink. "Yeeuch! That's, just nasty," he mutters, and averts his gaze towards the computer screen.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles impishly. She takes another sip from her glass as Claire begins speaking again.

"In February of 1993 she had a husband and two children; twins. They were returning to their home in Virginia from a family visit in Massachusetts, when they were involved in an accident with a tractor-trailer. Amanda was the only survivor."

Hobbes whistles almost silently through his front teeth. "Ouch. Bet that was messy."

Darien's face hardens. "How old were the kids?"

"Five months," she replies softly to him before continuing. "She was critically injured, and was transferred to Johns Hopkins Medical Center's neurological unit a month later, listed as a Jane Doe. On March 24th, she was discharged into military care, but there's no mention of whom it was, or where she was taken. She must have been at The Shop ever since, for over eight years." She shakes her head in empathy at what the woman must have gone through.

"Eight years?" Darien exclaims in disbelief.

Monroe pipes in. "Makes sense. It would take a long time to come up with the kinds of modifications to get her, doing... what she, does..." She trails off, uncomfortable with the memory of MacKenna's burning hands grasping her head.

"Kev..."

Hobbes' head snaps around at the voice whispering through the intercom on the far wall. "What's that?"

Darien tilts his head to listen. Hearing nothing, he asks, "What's what?"

"Thought I heard something."

"Kev? ..."

"There it is again."

Claire and Monroe glance up at the guys. "What's the matter?" Claire asks.

"I think she's awake," Hobbes replies as he steps towards the intercom. "You got this thing set up in the other lab, don't you?"

"Yes," the doctor draws out the affirmative as she rises from her chair. "But she shouldn't be rousing yet. Tomorrow at the earliest..." She trails off as MacKenna's voice rises sharply from the other room.

"Kevin, where are you? KEV?!" She coughs harshly, and then the sounds of struggling are heard. Something crashes.

Hobbes and Claire dash through the lab door. Darien follows cautiously, unwilling to get too close to the woman. His curiosity overcomes his reticence, and he stops at the doorway of the other lab. He's greeted with the sight of Claire and Hobbes struggling to restrain MacKenna, who's thrashing underneath them in an effort to escape.

"Get off... Get the hell off!" she shrieks in panic. "Kev!"

Hobbes manages to look up and notice Darien hesitating in the doorway. "Fawkes, get over here!" He curses under his breath as one of MacKenna's fists crashes into his shoulder. He grabs both of her arms and slams them down on the hospital bed. Claire takes the woman's wrists and clasps them down at her sides, so that he can pin down her shoulders.

Darien hesitates for another moment before quickly striding over to the other side of the bed to face Claire. His face betrays the anxiety he feels at touching MacKenna's bare skin and repeating the events from a few days before.

Claire notices his faltering, and snaps, "Gloves. Behind you... on the counter!"

He spins around, grabs a pair of exam gloves and quickly pulls them on. He swings back to the bed and takes MacKenna's wrists from Claire. She snags a hypo and fills it with a sedative.

MacKenna hasn't stopped screaming. "Get off of me, God-Dammit! Kev-vin!" Her back arches up off of the bed in an effort to twist free, but Darien throws himself over her torso and forces her back down onto the bed.

She tries to bite anything in her reach, and he yells as she grazes his ear, "Anytime now, Claire!"

The doctor grabs MacKenna's left elbow with one hand, steadies it, and plunges the needle into a bulging vein. Within seconds of the dispensing of the powerful sedative, she suddenly collapses back onto the bed. Although her body has gone slack, her eyes remain frantic and uncomprehending. The two agents and the doctor heave sighs of relief, and Darien cautiously lifts himself off of the bed. He keeps a firm grip on her forearms as Hobbes releases her shoulders to wipe at his brow. Claire drops the syringe down on the counter behind her, and finger-combs wisps of sweat-soaked hair back from her face.

MacKenna scrutinizes them for a few moments. "Who are you people?" Her voice is rough from screaming, as well as from days of disuse. "Where am I? Where's my husband?"

Hobbes blinks down at her in bafflement, while Claire and Darien exchange perplexed gazes.

She looks back and forth between the three with absolutely no glimmer of recognition as to who they are.

"What? What's happened? Where're my babies? Where's Kevin?"

Darien's head rears back at the mention of his brother's name. "'Kevin'?"

Her eyes fasten onto his in entreaty. "Yes, my husband? Kevin Daniels? How is he?"

"Amanda, do you know what day it is?" Claire asks her as she glances over at the monitors.

The woman frowns as she probes her muddled thoughts for the answer. "... Saturday?" she replies hesitantly as her eyes refocus on the doctor's troubled expression.

Claire shakes her head, and shoots the two men a quelling look to make sure that they don't interrupt. "It's Wednesday. Do you know what year this is?"

"W-What do you mean? How, how long have I been out?" MacKenna's voice rises in agitation as she senses their troubled thoughts. The men look to Claire, and she again shakes her head at their unspoken questions.

"Would you please just tell me what the hell is going on here?!" MacKenna tries to tug her arms out from Darien's grasp, but she's too weak to do so. She glares at him, obviously searching for anything to latch onto to keep her panic from spiraling out of control. "You're hurting me."

He swallows nervously, hesitates for a moment, and then carefully eases his grip before releasing her arms and stepping back from the bed. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, he glances up towards the door and notes Monroe solemnly watching them as she leans on her crutches.

MacKenna follows his gaze, and frowns as a memory dances at the edges of her mind. "Do I, know you?" she asks the woman in the doorway.

Monroe's eyebrows crease as she glances questioningly at Claire. The doctor raises a hand in negation, at the same time regaining MacKenna's attention. "Amanda, I'm Dr. Keepley. You've sustained a brutal shock to your system, and have been in a coma for almost a week now."

"What? Why... I, don't remember."

"Your memory should return gradually over the next few days, but right now you just need to stay calm... and rest."

"But, w-what about my husband? And the kids?" She raises a shaking hand to her throbbing head and rubs around her temple. The combination of the sedative and the aftereffects of the waning adrenaline rush overwhelm her, and her eyelids begin to droop against her will.

Claire waves the others out of the room, and gently takes and lowers the woman's hand down to her side. "This isn't the time. We'll talk more later, but right now you need to get some more rest."

She manages to mumble "But haven't I slept enough?" just before she drifts into unconsciousness.

Claire checks that all of the monitoring equipment is still attached and functioning, and then picks up the fallen IV stand and reinserts the IV needle into MacKenna's hand. She then gently tugs the tangled covers into some semblance of order over the oblivious woman before turning to follow the others out of the lab.

As she walks out into the hall, she comes upon Darien leaning on the doorsill. He's been there watching her the whole time while the others were entering the main lab. As the door clicks shut behind her, he asks, "You really think her memories'll come back, too?"

Claire shrugs. "It might take a bit longer than it did for you, but yes, I think she has a sporting chance."

His face betrays the dark emotions roiling inside him, and she reaches out and almost touches his arm. "What's the matter?"

He shakes his head and backs away a step. "I almost wish she'd never remember what they'd done to her. She'll sleep a helluva lot better at night, then."

She grimaces in empathy. "It wouldn't be much of a blessing though. She'd have to learn all over again that her family was killed in that car accident; and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

His face clouds over and becomes unreadable, and he shoves his hands deep into his pants pockets. "I need some air."

He starts off towards the stairs, and she calls after him, "Darien, you shouldn't leave the building..."

He stops and turns slowly to face her again. "I'm not," he states in a flat tone as he spins around on his heel. The stairwell door is roughly thrust open as the brooding man climbs the stairs towards the roof.

She watches him leave with eyes full of uneasiness, and ponders his unusual behavior as she reenters her lab.


Upstairs (about 3:25pm, Wednesday):
Monroe's office door opens a little, and Eberts peeks around the edge. "Agent Monroe, may I come in?"

She looks up from her book and waves him in. "Of course, Eberts. What's up?"

He glances uneasily over his shoulder to see if he was followed, then eases himself quickly into the room and shuts the door behind him. "We seem to have a situation downstairs."

Her brows crease. "What?" She inserts a marker in the pages and shuts her book. "Is MacKenna..."

He shakes his head. "No. It's The Official. I just came from his office, and... " He hesitates, and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his brow.

"Well? Out with it," she interjects impatiently.

He carefully folds up the cloth and returns it to his lapel pocket. "The Director of The Shop is here..."

"Barnes?"

He nods. "With two agents, and an assistant. They're demanding to know where Miss MacKenna is."

"We'd better warn the others." She carefully hoists herself up from her chair and reaches for her crutches. He moves quickly to her side in case she requires assistance, but she waves him away. "Thank you, Eberts, but I'm getting the hang of this." She hobbles over to the intercom by her door and pushes one of the buttons. "Don't acknowledge; we have company. Stay put until I contact you."

Suddenly the door is thrust open, and one of the Shop agents appears in the doorway. "Agent Monroe, please come with me." He reaches out to grasp her elbow, but realizes that she's on crutches, and instead backs up a step and waves for her to leave the office. "You're needed for immediate debriefing."

"Ah, yes, Agent Eberts has just informed me of your arrival. Let me get my report..." She looks at the assistant in inquiry, and he steps over to her desk to pick up a thin folder. He raises it in question, and she nods an affirmation. He tucks it under his arm and returns to her side as the Shop agent begins to step inside the office in mild alarm.

Eberts glances at the man in innocent bemused query, and waits as the Shop agent stops, turns, and again waves for the two to precede him down the hall to the elevator.

As the doors open on the floor below, Eberts remains inside while the other two are stepping out. The Shop agent shoots him an imperious look, practically ordering him to get out and precede the man to The Official's office.

He surreptitiously pushes a button. "I'm so sorry, but there's one more person I need to fetch for the debriefing," he explains as the elevator doors suddenly slide shut.

Monroe lurches into the Shop agent's way as he lunges for the elevator door in an effort to prevent Eberts' "escape". "Oh, sorry," she apologizes facetiously as he automatically steadies her. "I just can't seem to get used to these stupid things." She straightens up with an engaging smile. "Agent Eberts is just going to fetch our resident doctor so she can give her report to the Director as well. They'll be here in a few minutes. Shall we?" She indicates The Official's office down the hall. At a momentary loss as to what to do, the man shadows her to the door.


Wednesday afternoon, 3:30pm
MacKenna stirs fretfully; in the next room, Claire recognizes the agitation of a woman in the midst of a nightmare. She sets down a can of fish food and shuts the top of the tank over the swarming marine life inside. She walks over to the other lab, and enters just as MacKenna snaps awake.

"Wh-wha?" she stammers as she attempts to sit up. Claire catches her arm just as it slips out from under her.

"Don't try to get up just yet: you're still too weak," the doctor warns gently. She helps the woman lie back down on the bed, and then rearranges the sheets and pillow. She then goes to the back of the room to fetch a cloth, wets it down at the sink, and then returns to her patient's side to carefully clean the sweat from her face.

"What time is it?"

Claire checks her watch. "It's three-thirty. Do you know who I am?"

She blinks as she searches her mind. "Dr. ... Keepley?"

The doctor smiles, encouraged with her patient's progress. "That's right. How are you feeling?" She places a supportive hand on the woman's back as she raises the head of the bed to more of a sitting position.

The invalid rubs the back of her neck with a grimace. "Well, better than last time. What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"What happened?"

Claire hesitates before she answers. "What do you remember?"

She frowns. "I-I dunno. It's all muddled." She falls silent as she wracks her battered brain for answers. "I remember, what was it? Yesterday?"

"You came out of your coma this morning," Claire corrects her.

"Oh. You were here. And two guys. Was there a woman, at the door? On crutches?"

The doctor nods.

"She's, so familiar. The short guy, too." She yawns and scrubs the sleepies from her eyes with both fists, and then winces as the torn muscles in her right arm protest. "Ow." She looks down at her arm as she gingerly touches the bandage. "I was shot, wasn't I?"

Claire's eyebrows knit as she regards her patient. She nods.

MacKenna continues as she stares at the bandage without noticing the doctor's reaction. "There was this... room. A lot like this one, but... bigger." Her eyes narrow as a jumbled knot of emotions swells within her. "I, I didn't want to be there." She falls silent, her unfocused eyes darting back and forth, as she tries to process the memory fragments writhing through her mind.

Her fingers worry at a frayed edge of the blanket covering her legs.

The lab door slides open, and Darien enters. Hobbes is behind him, but he leans on the doorsill after his partner enters the room. MacKenna doesn't seem to notice them, but Claire looks up as they come in. She raises a finger to her lips in supplication for them to remain silent.

Hobbes nods, and motions to her if she wants them to leave. She shakes her head as she indicates that he's fine where he is. Darien strides over to the other side of the bed from Claire and leans up against the table behind him.

"Dammit!" MacKenna strikes the side of the bed with her fist in frustration. "It's all there, I know it... hhhaaaaahh..." she growls as she hunches her legs up to her chest. She wraps her arms tightly around her knees and drops her forehead down onto them.

Claire rests a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "Don't push yourself so hard; it will come back to you, in time."

She raises her head to gaze hopelessly into the doctor's eyes. "When? Tomorrow? Next year?" She sighs heavily. "I just, have this, horrible feeling that I'm, running out of time."

The doctor shoots an alarmed look at the men before returning her attention to her patient. She's at a momentary loss for words.

Suddenly, the intercom buzzes, and Monroe's voice murmurs over the speaker. "Don't acknowledge; we have company. Stay put until I contact you."

Hobbes and Claire exchange questioning glances as he steps into the room and allows the lab door to slide shut behind him. Darien continues staring darkly at MacKenna, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.

Her head whips around to him. "What, is your problem?" she snaps as she glares at him self-consciously.

He blinks himself out of his reverie, and looks directly into her eyes. "What?"

"You've had this weird look on your face since you came in."

"Didn't think you noticed."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "I notice everything."

Hobbes snorts softly. "Sounds familiar."

She glances a question at him. "What do you mean?"

He grins conspiratorially. "Enh, it's just something I do, too."

She searches his face with her eyes, frowning. "We've met before," she states in a detached tone.

Claire clears her throat to regain the woman's attention. "Amanda, how would you like to get out of bed for awhile?"

She blinks out of her rumination, turns her gaze to the doctor, and nods.

Hobbes comments, "Uh, hey, you think that's such a good idea?" The women look at him, and he continues. "You know, what with..." he nods towards the intercom with raised eyebrows.

MacKenna frowns, not understanding his reference, but Claire shakes her head. "Now's as good a time." She lowers the protective side bar on the bed, helps her patient pull off the blankets and carefully swing her legs over the edge. She turns around, snags her cardigan from the back of an office chair, and covers the other woman's shoulders with it. MacKenna smiles her thanks and holds on to the doctor's arm as she gingerly slides off of the bed.

"Lock your knees," Claire advises her as her feet touch the floor.

"Whoaa." Her legs shudder spasmically as they threaten to give out and pitch both women to the ground. Claire spreads her feet widely apart as the other woman strives to lock her knees.


Meanwhile, upstairs (approximately 3:15pm, Wednesday)...
The Official's office door bursts open to reveal Barnes, Noble, and two Shop agents. Barnes' expression is granite, with his eyes glittering in barely suppressed wrath. He stalks into the office with Noble barely a step behind and to the left of him.

The Official's gaze snaps upwards, and His face drains of all color as He recognizes the men entering. He hastily drops His pen onto the desk as He half-rises from His chair. One of The Shop agents positions himself at the other door, while the second closes and locks the office door behind him.

Barnes stalks over to the desk and slams his open hands down, startling the already jittery man behind it. "Where are they?" he demands coldly.

The Official blinks as He attempts to compose Himself. "Who?"

Barnes' eyes narrow. "I don't have the patience for your games, Mister Borden. You will tell me where Amanda Daniels is... now."

Over His momentary shock, He glances over at Eberts. His assistant is standing frozen in the corner with a stack of pink forms in his hands, looking very much like a deer caught in floodlights. He nods imperceptibly towards the door, and Eberts nods in affirmation, looking relieved at the dismissal.

Noble steps over and casually takes the pink forms from the other man's nerveless fingers. He glances at the open cabinet and casually comments, "Excellent system. I've found that color-coding is by far the most superior method."

"Thank you," Eberts replies, taken aback with the compliment. "There are other methods I use as well..." he begins, but is interrupted by the Director and The Official.

"Noble..."}
} the men warn ominously, and the two assistants drop their eyes and part ways.
"Eberts..."}

As Eberts cautiously eases towards the main door, The Official returns His gaze evenly to the incensed man in front of Him. "Have you heard of an organization known as Chrysalis?" He replies in a bland tone.

Barnes frowns, unsure if he was being led astray, but then nods cautiously. "Yes."

The Official nods and averts His gaze to the taciturn scene transpiring at His office door. Eberts has been halted by the two Shop agents, who are menacingly gripping the butts of their guns. The assistant has his chin raised in defiance, but just can't seem to bring himself to graze past the two men.

Barnes' gaze follows His, and he curtly gestures for his men to allow Eberts to exit. They hesitate before slowly standing aside and leaving barely enough room for him to squeeze through to the door.

At The Official's encouraging nod, His nervous assistant steels himself and hastily brushes by and out the door. One of The Shop agents moves to follow him, and Barnes shakes his head. "Wait outside." The agent tilts his head to the side in inquiry, but follows orders and repositions himself outside the other office door.

Barnes returns his attention to The Official. "So?"

He raises His chin, and takes a breath to start spinning His web of truth, half-truths and lies like the master He is.

Thursday, 11:00am
Monroe hobbles, sans crutches (but with a cane), down the hallway in the basement. Every time she puts weight on her injured leg, she winces and mumbles an invective. To her left is MacKenna, walking just as slowly and leaning heavily on her cane. [Incidentally, it's the same one Darien was supposed to have used on Monday.] Both women are pale and sweating from their exertions.

Following closely behind them is Claire, with a mildly worried and yet encouraged look on her face.
"Slow down, Alex," she chastises lightly. "You're not going to run marathons anytime soon."

"Maybe not, but the least I can do is make it down this hall," is the sour reply. "I am so sick of sitting on my ass."

"Hear, hear," MacKenna murmurs in agreement. With each step she ends up putting more and more of her weight on the cane, until her knees start to noticeably wobble.

Claire lays her hand gently on the other woman's shoulder, which stops her in her tracks. "Let's take a moment to rest," the doctor advises.

"I can rest when I'm dead," she retorts, and sets off again towards the end of the hall. But just as she passes the bathroom doors, her knees give out on her: pitching her right into Darien's arms just as he emerges from the men's room. "Ahh, shit!" she grits out under her breath.

Darien self-consciously moves his hands, from a rather sensitive area above her waistline, to her shoulders as he helps her to straighten up. "Nice to see you, too."

Claire and Monroe smile a little as they observe the two blushing. Monroe's expression seems to say: 'Awwww, isn't that sweet.'

"Darien, what are you doing down here? I thought you went upstairs for awhile," Claire asks him as she comes to MacKenna's side and offers her arm for support. The shorter woman seems relieved at the opportunity to get some space between her and Darien.

He pulls his gaze from MacKenna's disconcerted face. "Couldn't raise you on the intercom, so I thought I'd make sure you guys're okay."

"That's sweet, Fawkes. Really," Monroe comments facetiously. "Is that the, only, reason you're down here?"

He grimaces a little in distaste at her allusion. "No. We're ordering delivery for lunch. Thai food okay?"

Monroe and Claire nod as they realize that they're hungry, and MacKenna looks a little bewildered.

"What's the matter? Never had Thai before?" he asks her.

She shakes her head. "That's the problem. I don't remember."

Claire smiles at her in reassurance. "If it makes you feel better, your medical records make no mention of food allergies."

"Hunh, as if They cared," she mutters drearily.

"So who's paying for lunch?" Monroe queries. She's noticed the sly grin on Darien's face. "Wait a minute, don't tell me that..."

He nods. "Yep. Big Man's springing for the grub. You should'a seen Hobbes and Eberts' faces; it was priceless. Wish I had a camera."

Claire pulls MacKenna aside a bit while the two agents banter about lunch. "Look, I know this is difficult for you,"

She snorts at the understatement.

"But you need to have some patience," Claire finishes uninterrupted.

"That's what got me in this mess in the first place," she replies heatedly. She explains as she notes Claire's confused frown. "If I hadn't been so damned impatient to find some sort of a remedy for ADHD, I'd never've gotten involved with that experiment."

The doctor's frown deepens. "I'm not so sure about that." At the other woman's confounded scowl: "The files mention that you'd been selected for the first round of human testing before you'd even known about its existence. I have a feeling that you would've been involved in that experiment one way or another, whether you wanted to or not. So you really shouldn't dwell too much on your past decisions," she states.

"Kinda hard for an obsessive-impulsive," MacKenna interrupts with quiet ferocity.

"But there's nothing you can do to change what's happened," is the rejoinder. "So let's just concentrate on the here-and-now, shall we?"

"Yeah, as in lunch," Darien cuts in lightheartedly. "Even better: the Boss's paying!"

As Claire breaks away from the group towards the elevator, he takes the cane from MacKenna and hooks her now free hand around his elbow. "Time for you to get some sunshine. How's about a picnic on the roof?"

She shrinks away from his touch, but for some reason, there's no reaction from the brief skin contact.

"What?" Darien asks.

The diminutive woman frowns in confusion. "No sparks."

He shrugs away her concern. "Hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. We all need to unwind a bit, so let's just save the science experiment crap for later, huh?"

They set off for the elevator a few yards away. But again MacKenna hesitates.

"What is it now?" he utters impatiently.

"As much as I'd love going outside, Barnes might have people watching this place."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "God, you're almost as paranoid as Hobbes," he retorts.

"From you, Fawkes, that's a compliment," Monroe adds with a small grin.

Claire isn't amused at their repartee. "Amanda has a point. There's no guarantee that The Director bought the whole story. We'd all be safer if we just stayed in The Official's office for now."

"Kill-joy," Darien mutters as the elevator doors open.


Thursday 1:00pm
Everyone's gathered around the circular table at the front of The Official's office. Thai takeout cartons are strewn all over it: some are partially full, but most are completely cleaned out.

Monroe, Claire and Eberts have pushed their chairs back from the table. Hobbes continues to pick at what's left of his meal, while Darien and MacKenna are still shoveling away as if they haven't eaten in weeks. It took a few minutes for her to start eating, but when she noticed that the others were serving themselves from all of the containers, she'd let her guard down a bit and served herself a plateful.

"Kinda hard to trust any food after eight years of eating it laced with god knows what," she had explained around a mouthful of Spicy Beef and Broccoli.

Occasionally they inspect the other containers for remnants to clean out, and they show no signs of slowing down.

They seem unaware of the others watching them in almost disgusted fascination.

Darien passes MacKenna a container of noodles just as she hands him a bowl of fried rice; it's almost as if they're wordlessly anticipating the other's thoughts.

A few more minutes pass, with the silence broken only by the delighted chewing noises from the two experimentals as they finish up the last of the food and finally push their respective containers back.

MacKenna sighs in satisfaction and Darien noiselessly belches as he leans back in his chair and cracks open a fortune cookie.

Monroe mutters to herself, "That was... so gross."

The Official leans back in His chair as He picks contentedly at His teeth with a toothpick. His gaze sweeps over the assembled group of adults before settling back on MacKenna. His eyebrows twitch as He witnesses a mixture of emotions swirling across the woman's face: satiation, delight at eating non-institutionalized food for the first time in years, and the ever present uneasiness with her surroundings. He absently wonders how long it will be before she starts frowning again.

And, as if she's read his mind, the familiar scowl clouds over her face. Her gaze fixates on her fidgeting hands as she plunges deep into her troubled thoughts.

"Ya know, you might feel a little better if you smiled more," Hobbes quietly counsels her.

"Excuse me?" She looks at him as if he's sprouted another head.

At the same time, Claire quietly responds to Monroe's aversion with no indication of surprise at MacKenna and Darien's behavior. "I've noticed a sharp increase in Amanda's metabolic rate, which would explain her appetite."

"What about him?" Monroe indicates Darien with a jerk of her chin.

His head swings around. "You know, I haven't really eaten anything in a few days, unless you count that stuff I got through the IV," he responds a bit sourly.

Hobbes shrugs in mild discomfort under the severity of MacKenna's stare. "Well, it's been found that smiling when you're depressed actually makes you feel better..."

She breaks in with restrained ferocity before he can finish his thought. "Look, I've been poked, prodded, sliced, diced and julienned for the past eight freakin' years. What the hell do you expect me to be now: Little Miss Happy Mary Sunshine?"

Noticing the tension levels rising in the room, Eberts rises and begins to clear off the table in his usual unobtrusive manner.

She swings her head around to The Official, effectively breaking off her exchange with a thoroughly discomfited Hobbes. "What are you going to do with me?"

"What?" Hobbes asks as everyone's gaze pivots back over to the conflicted woman.

The Official's eyes narrow as He contemplates how to respond to her question. MacKenna's gaze fixes on Him, and it's as if there was no one else in the room. "Well?" she asks.

Something flits through His eyes... An emotion.

Uncertainty.

He opens His mouth to say something...

But Hobbes unwittingly interrupts. "We're not going to do anything with you; but I think it's pretty obvious what Barnes and his goons want," he looks around at the others before his gaze settles back on MacKenna. "Right?"

She inclines her head slightly. "Yeah, me. Dead."

Darien puts his two cents in. "But, you're worth more to them alive."

"Not anymore," is the pensive reply. "The final phase of the experiment was just about over. It's not like I was one of their agents they could just put out in the field or anything."

"Ah, yes," Claire agrees with her unease apparent in her voice and body language, and all eyes turn to her. "Amanda's files inferred as much. The last entry stated that she was being transferred for some sort of final phase in the research, and then... 'deactivation'."

"See?" MacKenna grits out between her teeth. The others notice that she's paled, her eyes glittering with hatred and despair. "So I ask you again, Sir, what are you going to do with me?" she addresses The Official.

Darien reaches over and lays a comforting hand on her arm. Luckily for the both of them, she's wearing Claire's long-sleeved cardigan. "We're not handing you over to them," he replies fiercely.

"You got that right," Hobbes agrees.

There's a moment of tense silence. MacKenna continues to stare steadily at The Official, and once again all eyes are on Him. He still looks uncertain, but He seems to have come to a resolution. "You're welcome to stay with us until you're fully recovered. We can place you in a safe house..."

"What?" Darien interrupts. "What do you mean, until she's 'fully recovered'? Why can't she stay here?"

"Because, my friend," Hobbes interjects, "she still has some pretty powerful people hunting for her."

"That's never stopped us before," is the heated retort.

"That was a special case," The Official contends in an unspoken reference to Dr. Gaither.

"Aren't they all?" Darien shoots back.

"Waitaminute. Excuse me, are you saying that you want me to, join you, as a member of this Agency?" MacKenna interrupts.

"Well, yeah," Darien replies. "We've got the resources to help you..."

Eberts nervously clears his throat.

"And I'd say you've a lot to offer to help us out, too. What do you think?"

"I think that's what they told me to get me involved with that project in the first place," she replies caustically. "You know, I used to be your above-average, abnormally happy woman with a husband... babies... a family. All that's gone now, and you expect me to say what? 'Yeah, sure, I'd love to join your happy little family here'? I had a family... they're all dead now... and for what it's worth, so am I." Her face is set like stone, but her eyes betray the intensity of her anguish and fury.

Darien tries to reassure her. "Look, you're not dead yet..."

"Yeah, well, I might as well be. You think Barnes's just gonna let me go without a fight? Dream on, man! He will hunt me down and take me out, and there's not a goddamn thing anyone can do about it."

Hobbes pipes up. "Well, I wouldn't say that, necessarily..."

She cuts him off before he can continue. "I would. And I do. Have you ever dealt with The Shop before?"

Monroe and The Official both look increasingly discomfited.

MacKenna notices. "They have," she indicates them with two jerks of her chin. "You get in these guy's way, and you just... disappear." She snaps her fingers. "And when they're done with you, it'll be like you never existed." Her expression changes as she has a realization. She looks at Hobbes. "You don't have any immediate family, do you?"

She looks at Claire, Monroe, and then Darien. "You don't; and you; not you either. There's no one outside this room to miss any of you when you're dead, are there? So essentially, the only family you do have is each other. And ya know what? That's more than I'll ever have. They took everyone I loved away from me, and they'll do it to you, too. And I can't let that happen again. I won't. I can't let anyone else die because of me; so the faster I'm outta here, the better off you all are."

"And what are you gonna do, run?" Darien asks.

She just looks at him, at a loss for words. Her eyes say, 'What else can I do?'

Eberts pipes in as he has an inspired thought. "What about, Chrysalis?"

The Official's head swings around to regard His assistant. "What about them?"

He looks up from the trash bag he's tying shut, and realizes that all eyes are now on him. He swallows nervously. "From what Darien reported of the conversation he overheard between Mr. Stark and Monsieur de Fehrn, they were expecting Miss MacKenna to escape from here at her first available opportunity, and then somehow find her way back to them."

Darien cocks his head to the side as he digests that notion, and MacKenna frowns in speculation. Monroe and Hobbes exchange knowing concerned glances, while Claire and The Official nod their understanding of where Eberts was heading with his thought.

"Continue, Eberts," The Official prompts.

"Well, when she's feeling better, why don't we just give them what they want?"

Darien scowls. "You mean, send her in as a double-agent?"

"Of course!" Hobbes verbally applauds. "They can take the heat from The Shop, while Amy here gets protection, resources, and whatever dirt on those scumbags she can dig up! Nice thinking, Eberts," he nods his praise to the other man, and the assistant blushes at the unexpected compliment.

"Excuse me people, but we seem to be forgetting the last time we tried this," Darien breaks in. He looks around the table at blank faces. "Remember? I got caught downloading Stark's hard drive, and was almost de-"

"Yes, yes," The Official breaks in before His lanky employee divulges pertinent glandular information. "This time, will be different."

"And how can that be?" he challenges in a hostile tone.

"Because I don't work here," MacKenna interjects. Darien's head swings around to regard her darkly, and she continues. "You were already an agent here when that went down, right? I'm not allied with anyone; so if I show up at Stark's office with the disks and a plausible cover story, then they'd have little reason to think I'm lying. That about cover your thoughts on this?" she directs her last sentence to The Official, who nods in agreement.

"Pretty much."

"One problem though," she retorts. "I don't see a reason for me to be helping you."

"We saved your life, you ungrateful little..." Monroe snaps.

MacKenna fixes her with a fiery glare. "And I didn't ask you to," she interrupts quietly.

"So you would've rather we left you there to die."

"Y-yea-yah. It sure as hell beats the alternatives." The two women glower at each other for a few moments.

"Would you knock it off?" Darien interrupts testily. "Look, Amanda... Amy," he catches her gaze and stares intently into her eyes. "We're not in this for any reason other than to help you out..."

"Maybe you aren't," she interjects in an acid tone as she shoots an enigmatic glare at his Boss.

"Why is it so damned hard for you to trust us?!" he finishes as he smacks the table with the palm of his hand. She jumps a little at the unexpected ferocity of his gesture, and he notes a glimmer of an old, yet familiar fear in the back of her emerald eyes.

She swallows hard and nods at Hobbes. "Him, I trust." She looks back at Darien. "And, maybe you. But the others..." she shakes her head. Claire's jaw drops in disbelief at not being included in the trusted category, and MacKenna notices the doctor's reaction. "No offense intended, Doctor. You'll have to understand that for the past eight years, I've been dealing with research doctors constantly telling me that they have my best interests at heart; and then turning around and doing the exact opposite. I just can't afford to fully trust you; at least, not right now."

"I... understand," is the modest response.

"I don't," Hobbes pipes up. "Why'd you say you can trust me?"

MacKenna lifts one of her hands slowly from the table, echoing her action from the night she "pushed" him to tell her the truth. "You can't lie to me, remember?" she prods gently. A tiny smile briefly flits across her face as the memory pops into focus in his mind. Another thought occurs to him, and he opens his mouth to ask the question...

But she beats him to the punch. "As far as I know: yes, it's permanent. As long as the commands are brief and specific, then there shouldn't be any adverse long-term effects."

"Well, that's just great. Wonderful. So now what?" Darien grumbles.

"I think this is the part where your boss says 'You're free to go', gives me my disks back, and I walk out that door," MacKenna replies with guarded optimism.

"That's not such a good idea," Claire replies.

The other woman's face crumples into weary vigilance. "I knew it," she murmurs. "Here it comes."

The doctor shakes her head in frustration as she stands. "Stand up," she orders. MacKenna shoots her a questioning glance. "Stand UP," she repeats, and the other woman carefully moves to comply.

She grasps the edge of the table with one hand and guides the chair back with the other as she rises. A moment passes, and suddenly her legs wobble violently before giving out from underneath her. She pitches back into her chair, and Darien half-rises in reaction to help her.

Claire just stands there with a no-nonsense 'I told you so' look on her face.

MacKenna glares at her as she readjusts herself in the chair. "Your point?"

"You're not going anywhere in the shape you're in."

"So what do I do in the meantime? Sit pretty and play lab rat to your mad scientist?"

Darien unintentionally snorts in amusement, and Claire shoots him a quelling glare.

"No," is the curt reply. "You'll continue your rehabilitative exercises with Agent Monroe until I'm satisfied that you can handle being on your own out there."

MacKenna's face acquires a wry aspect to it. "You're, actually concerned about my well-being, aren't you?"

"Yes," is the doctor's exasperated reply.

She taps Darien lightly on his elbow. "You know, she's kinda cute when she's angry, isn't she?"

He grins widely as Claire tilts her head in a stern effort to mask her irritation at the shorter woman's teasing.

Thursday 4:30pm

The door to Lab 101 slides open to reveal Monroe and MacKenna both leaning heavily on canes in the hall. The younger woman waves for the agent to precede her into the Lab, and they carefully limp over to the two chairs waiting beside the giant fish tank in the middle of the left side of the lab. Both of their faces are beaded with sweat.

Darien's sitting in the exam chair, allowing Claire to take yet another blood sample for testing. They both look up when the door opens, and he grins a greeting while she looks back down to finish the task at hand. The doctor pulls the needle out, places a cotton ball on the puncture site, and hands him a Band Aid before placing the vial of blood in a small rack on a rolling tray table beside her.

She calls out over her shoulder to the women on the other side of the lab; "I'll be with you in a second."

Monroe slowly eases down into her chair. She grimaces as she begins massaging the tense and sore muscles around the bandage on her leg. "And the Invalid 500 ends in a photo-finish. Y'know, I think I might've popped a stitch with that last lap," she comments in an aside to MacKenna.

The auburn-haired woman plops down in her chair and gingerly tests her healing shoulder by rolling it around in the socket. "Hey, I wanted to take a break, but you insisted," she returns.

"Oh, c'mon,"

"I'm not the one with a hole in my leg,"

"No, just one in your arm and a coupl'a extra in your head,"

"Oh, you bitch..." MacKenna's eyes narrow a little in anger; that last light-hearted gibe hit a little too close to home.

"Whoa, ladies," Darien interrupts the bantering before it gets too serious. "Don't make me separate you," he finishes as he strides over to their side of the room.

"She started it," Monroe asserts.

Abruptly, MacKenna's face closes off like a protective wall's dropped down over her vulnerable emotions.

"Well, somebody sure is moody today," Monroe comments under her breath.

Darien notices the sudden shift in MacKenna's mood and steps over to her side. He lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

She shakes her head and shrugs his hand off. "Nothing."

He takes a step back to give her a little space. "No, it's something. What?"

She grimaces, and then carefully rises from her chair to pace part-ways across the room. "Just when I start to feel like a normal human being, reality boots me upside the head." She raises haunted eyes to regard the others.

Monroe finishes massaging her leg, and rearranges herself to a more comfortable position in her chair. "Everything's come back?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," she sighs deeply, and rubs at the back of her neck in an unconscious effort to ease tense muscles. "I always had a touch of paranoia, you know, before,"

Claire steps into view from the other half of the lab room with the small rack of vials in her hands. She looks concerned with the other woman's state of mind.

MacKenna continues, uninterrupted. "But now, I can't stop wondering: why me? Why'd they have to pick me? Why'd I survive, and so many others didn't? And why the hell did I have to ask so many Goddamned questions in the first place? I just had to be smart, didn't I? Too smart for my own good." She drops her head down behind her hair in an effort to hide the sudden rush of tears she's fighting to suppress.

Darien starts towards the distressed woman, but hesitates and stops as he sees Claire set down the vial rack and move towards her. The doctor places a soothing hand on the shorter woman's uninjured shoulder before gently hugging her. MacKenna doesn't return the loose embrace, but just leans slightly into the taller woman as she fights down the sobs that threaten to overtake her.

Disconcerted and not knowing how to handle it, Darien rapidly strides across the room and out the lab door without another word.

Monroe and Claire notice his odd reaction, and exchange troubled glances as the door slides shut behind him.


A few hours later, Darien returns with Hobbes trailing along behind him. Unfortunately, what with Barnes and his men hanging around in the city now, Darien, Hobbes and especially MacKenna have to remain hidden inside the building until The Shop folks return to Virginia.

Monroe, Eberts and The Official went home around 5:30pm, so the three have the whole building to themselves for the night.

The door slides open to reveal MacKenna in the middle of some stretching exercises in the right side of the lab. The Smashing Pumpkins is blasting from a radio on the counter behind her, and Claire is nowhere to be seen.

"... Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage..."

Wearing only the sleeveless black tank top and cut-off sweat shorts that she wore the night she met Darien and the others, MacKenna hastily stops in the middle of bending over backwards when she sees who's entering the lab. She loses her balance and thumps on the floor with a muttered curse. She then ducks behind the exam chair to pull on a lab coat she'd hung there earlier as she turns off the radio.

"... What was lost can never be saved... despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a... CAGE!" *snickt*

"Oh, hey, don't stop because of us," Darien greets her warmly.

"Thanks," she replies uncomfortably. "But I don't much like having an audience."

Hobbes scans the room. "Where's the Keep?"

"She went out for some stuff. She should be back pretty soon," she replies as she finishes buttoning the lab coat. She walks over to Claire's computer and sits down stiffly in front of it.

Darien steps closer. "You okay? You look... kinda nervous."

She avoids looking at him. "Well, I'm not exactly in my element here, if you know what I mean."

"I think so," he replies quietly. "You've been through a lot..."

"No shit," she mutters as she unconsciously scratches at the palms of her hands.

"Anything I can do to help?" he finishes as he stops a few paces away from her.

She glances up at him. "Yeah. No offense, but, keep your distance."

He frowns, wondering if he did something to tick her off.

She notices and holds up her hands, palm out. "Zippity-zap?" she reminds him.

"Ah," he nods, and backs up to lean on the edge of the fish tank's table behind him.

Meanwhile, Hobbes has been casually surveying the layout of the lab. He leans on the partition between the two halves of the room as he asks, "So, what's she picking up?"

"Some clothes and, stuff," she replies with a little hesitation.

"'Stuff'..." he prods.

She sighs. "Soap, shampoo, deodorant... you know, stuff I can wash up with? It's been a few days since I showered, you know," she sounds irritated with his probing.

"That's it?"

"Uh, yeah. Would you like an itemized list?" she snaps.

"Cut it out Hobbes," Darien chastises his partner lightly before turning back to MacKenna. "You had any dinner?"

She nods as she shoots Hobbes a nasty glare. "Yeah. But she's picking up a pizza while she's out, too."

His stomach rumbles loudly. "Oo, what kind?"

"Onions, peppers, mushrooms... and ham, I think."

"Fawkes, we just ate about an hour ago!" Hobbes protests. "You can't be hungry again?!"

Darien grins sheepishly. "Yup."

"Man, that's just weird," the shorter man grumbles.

"What can I say? I'm making up for lost time here."

MacKenna scrutinizes the lanky man thoughtfully. "I know why I'm like this, but you," she pauses as she ponders the possibilities. "I can't see why you'd be the same way..." Her eyes unfocus as she runs calculations in her mind, and she suddenly swivels her chair around to face Claire's computer. "Maybe there's something in the files..." she mutters under her breath as she begins tapping away at the keyboard. A couple of document windows open up, and she begins scrolling through them methodically.

The guys exchange puzzled glances. What the devil was she talking about?

She leans forward as she squints her eyes at the screen, and the front of her partially buttoned lab coat falls open slightly.

"You know what?" Hobbes states as Darien approaches the computer. His friend seems to have abruptly forgotten that he's there. "Think I'll run a perimeter check, make sure the building's secure. You hanging here for a while, Fawkes?"

No answer. Darien's leaning over MacKenna's shoulder, completely engrossed with whatever she's doing.

"Fawkes," Hobbes raises his voice.

"Huh? What?" Darien's head swings around. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be here," he reassures his friend offhandedly with a wave of his hand, and his attention veers right back to the vicinity of the computer screen.

"Yeah. Right." Hobbes checks his watch, grabs his Lithium bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket and pops a couple into his mouth. He dry-swallows them as he stalks to the lab door. "See you later." He shakes his head in mild disgust as he leaves the lab.

As the door's sliding shut, Darien's head dips down a little towards MacKenna's. He sniffs lightly at her loosely bound hair.

She recoils from his nearness. "What the hell're you doing?"

One corner of his mouth tugs up in a light smile. "Your hair... it smells nice."

Her head turns a little so she can look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Didn't you hear me when I said I haven't bathed in a few days?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, so I stink."

"Not really. You smell nice; kinda like roses," he replies softly. He sniffs her hair again as his hands come to rest lightly on her shoulders. Warm breath tickles as he nuzzles her ear with his nose.

"Darien, would you please knock it off?" She shrinks away in an effort to get some distance between them. He gets the hint and pulls back a little.

But only just a little.

He peers over her shoulder at the documents on the computer screen. He's so close that she can smell the last vestiges of his aftershave. A few moments pass as she tries to ignore his closeness, concentrate on finding the particular entries on increased metabolism from the research files, and ignore the escalating waves of heat rushing into the palms of her hands.

He leans on the back of her chair. "You know," he breathes thoughtfully into her ear. "You are pretty cute, for a..." he pauses as he's distracted by the glimpse of cleavage from his vantage point.

She stops scrolling down the document and once again turns her head enough to look at him askance. "What? A fat chick?" she replies wryly. "Wow, gee, thanks mister." She turns back to the computer screen and furtively glances down at her hands. The burning sensation was getting more intense, so she shakes them a little before resuming her typing on the keyboard.

He notices. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just not used to all this typing anymore," she half-lies as she tries to squelch her reaction to his seductive behavior.

His hands move as if drawn from the back of the chair, and he begins to gently massage her tense shoulders. She attempts to shrug him off and edges away, but he automatically follows her as if pulled by a string. She continues to edge away until she falls off the chair and unceremoniously plops onto the floor. He blinks in surprise, and then reaches out to catch her arm and help her stand...

She smacks his hand away in irritated alarm. "Just back off!" She scoots back until she bumps against the legs of the table behind her, and catches the edge to hoist herself up. She glares at him in near panic as she realizes that the palms of her hands are rapidly heating up the cold metal of the table under them.

"What? What's the matter?" he asks in utter puzzlement. ‘Man, is this chick jumpy,’ he thinks to himself.

Her eyes dart around the room as she searches for something to ground out on. Finally, her gaze settles on the giant fish tank a few feet away in the middle of the room. As Darien prepares to step towards her, she darts around him and plunges her burning hands into the water of the tank.

There's a sizzling crack-y sound, and a modest cloud of steam almost envelops the diminutive woman as it billows across the ceiling.

... Just as Claire enters the lab.

"I brought you a few changes in clothing, too. I hope I have the right sizes... What the bloody hell?" she exclaims in alarm. She almost drops the large pizza box in her hands as the duffel bag of personal effects slips off from her shoulder.

"What? What's going on here?" Hobbes barks as he rushes into the room. He bumps into Claire, causing her to finally drop everything precariously balanced in her arms. "Oh my god, Claire, I'm so sorry..." he blurts out in embarrassment, and bends down to help her pick up the scattered items.

In the middle of the room, MacKenna's legs have given way, and she's sunk down to the floor. She isn't having a seizure, but she's cradling her hands to her chest in severe pain.

Darien stands frozen in bafflement, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"What the hell just happened?" he blurts out to no one in general.

MacKenna gasps silently in an effort to control the white-hot needles of agony stabbing at the palms of her hands. She manages to grit out "Circuitry overload," before curling up around her scorched hands and rocking back and forth on her butt. "Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap..." she mutters under her breath.

Claire overhears their exchange over Hobbes' repeated murmured apologies for bumping into her. She rises, leaving him to pick up the rest of the stuff she dropped, and strides over to the fish tank. Her eyes widen in amazement as she sees that the water level's dropped at least an inch or so, with all but a couple of fish having been cooked to death. And the remaining two are looking about ready to go belly-up at any second.

"How did you..." she begins, and then notices that her patient's down on the floor on the other side of the tank. She immediately rounds the table, drops down to MacKenna's side, and tries to get a better look at the woman's hands.

"No! Don't touch me!" MacKenna grunts and shrinks away from Claire's touch on her arm. But the doctor gives her a stern look and firmly presses her to be still, and she relents once she realizes who it isn't.

Back at the door, Hobbes has noticed the condition of the fish tank. "Whoa, you must've really been craving seafood," he comments in a low tone.

Claire gently pulls MacKenna's right hand away from her chest and scrutinizes it. The fingers are curled in towards her palm, where the skin is a mottled and sickly white and already blistering. The left hand shows little difference. Without looking up, the now grim-faced doctor orders "Darien, get me the first-aid kit."

The demand jolts him into motion, and he quickly treads over to the other side of the lab, retrieves the kit, and returns to her side. He kneels down and first hands her a pair of surgical gloves, and then a medium-sized tube of burn cream. Once the gloves are on, she carefully pries MacKenna's fingers open and applies a generous dollop of the cream to the palms of her hands... while the other woman hisses through her teeth from the fresh stabbing needles of pain each little movement brings on. Darien then hands Claire a roll of thin gauze, of which she gently wraps around MacKenna's hands to protect the burns.

Claire lowers the woman's left hand down to her lap, and steadily gazes into her green eyes. "Now, what brought that on?"

MacKenna blushes deeply, and her eyes dart momentarily to Darien's face before resting on an innocuous spot on the floor between her knees. The action speaks volumes to the doctor, who turns and imperiously orders Darien out of the room.

"Darien, out."

He looks surprised. "What did I do?"

She stares at him sternly. "I don't know, but obviously something went on here while I was gone. Why don't you help Hobbes do a perimeter check while Amanda and I talk?"

"Well, actually, I was just coming back from..." Hobbes begins.

"Bobby," Claire interrupts. "It never hurts to double-check yourself, does it?" She shoots him a pleading look, and he gets her hint.

He sets the stuff he had picked up onto the table by the door, and snags a slice of pizza from the box. Amazingly, the entire pizza suffered no ill effects from being dropped onto the floor. "C'mon partner, let's take a walk. You still hungry?" He displays the still-hot slice to his friend, who realizes that he's actually starving again.

Darien's stomach rumbles loudly, and he shakes his head to clear it as he stands up. "What the hell, I could use the air," he replies sourly. He rubs at the back of his head as he walks over to the door. He snags the pizza box from the table and takes it with him out of the lab. Hobbes opens his mouth to say something, but notices the dark look on Darien's face, and instead takes a huge bite out of the slice of pizza in his hand as the door slides shut behind him.

"Now," Claire starts once the door is shut. "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

MacKenna continues staring at the floor, and Claire realizes that the woman is actually embarrassed!

"Well?"

"I'd rather not."

"Tough."

MacKenna closes her eyes for a moment as she tries to figure out how to explain. "I don't know if you noticed the scars on my wrists and hands," she begins.

Claire frowns, and nods. "I was wondering about those," she replies quietly.

MacKenna's eyes open and refocus on the doctor's face. "They're made to look like they're from carpal tunnel release surgery, but the Shop doctors did something so that I could focus a lot of... bioelectrical, energy into my hands..." she pauses a moment as her faces screws up in disgust. "God, it sounds like a line of shit even when I think it!" she exclaims.

Claire rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Amanda. Believe me, I've heard more far-fetched things than this."

"Yeah, I guess you have," is the thoughtfully subdued reply.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a research doctor, and Darien does that... thing... y'know," she shrugs. "He's like, Arnaud."

Claire rocks back on her heels, unsure of how to respond. How much did Arnaud and Stark tell her about the gland?

MacKenna notices her hesitation. "Arnaud and I had a little, 'sharing', session during the flight from Virginia. He told me his version of what’d happened since he'd first gotten involved with, um, the... oh, what did he call it? The... Quicksilver project?"

Claire opens her mouth to say something, but the other woman seems to sense what she's about to voice.

"Yeah, and he told me about killing Darien's brother; seemed quite proud of it, too. But, he’s not one to think things through very much, is he?"

The doctor smiles wryly. "Not well enough, thank goodness."

"Well, anyway, he also said what he did to Darien; and if it weren't for his, visibility problem, I would've thought he was full of it."

"And what would you have done to help him?"

"I dunno," she sighs. "Once I'd rested a bit, he and Mr. Stark wanted me to help him steal your files on this... gland," she hesitates, uncertain about the wording. "Then we would've had more information to help me figure out which neurological interfaces were screwed up during Arnaud's implantation."

Claire doesn't say anything; she just looks questioningly at her. Under that even gaze, MacKenna begins to feel self-conscious. "Y-you're wondering if I'm still out to get those files, aren't you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

"Look, I won't say anything to try and set your mind at ease; truth is, I don't know what I'm gonna do anymore." A shadow crosses her face as she begins to brood on her dubious future, and she absently picks at the gauze wrapping around her right hand.

Claire gently but firmly pulls the woman's restless fingers away from the bandages. "Let's just skip that for now, and concentrate on what happened between you and Darien just now."

MacKenna's expression changes as if she's just eaten something sour. "Do we, have to?"

"Yes, we do."

She looks at the doctor thoughtfully for a moment, and then moves as if she's going to stand up. Claire rises and helps her up, and MacKenna begins to pace. She stops at the end of the tank and somberly regards the dead fish inside before glancing at the doctor out of the corner of her eye. "Sorry about your fish," she begins contritely.

She hesitates, and Claire presses her. "Never mind that, now. Go on."

She heaves a great sigh. "Like I was saying earlier: the Shop docs operated on my head and my hands quite a bit. I'm not sure if the stuff they installed was mechanical, biological, or some sort of a mix; but it allows me to focus a lot of energy into my hands so that I can, well, 'push' people to do what I want." She pauses a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. "I only have a certain level of control over this, and I tend to lose it when I get emotional; mostly when I'm ticked off. I'm hyperactive, too; and something they did to me has increased my metabolism so that I continuously generate excess energy. And if I don't expend some of the surplus that ends up building up over a few days, I tend to unconsciously discharge." She looks directly into Claire's eyes. "One time I, set a man on fire," she speaks quietly. It's obvious that the memory is one of her least pleasant ones. She glances away and continues. "I haven't had a chance to discharge since what happened last week at that warehouse, and I didn't know how to do it without your noticing."

Claire opens her mouth to speak, but MacKenna cuts her off. "Look, I wasn't sure how much of this you'd believe; hell, after eight years I still have difficulty believing it myself!" She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, Darien and Hobbes stopped by to check on us, and we got to talking about why Darien's still so hungry all the time. Hobbes left to do a..." she hesitates as she tries to remember the words he used. "Perimeter check, and Darien stayed to see if I pulled up anything on increased metabolism from my files. He..." she trails off, looking increasingly discomfited.

Claire's brows knit in concern as she notices the other woman's blushing. "Amy, what happened?"

"Um, he... came on to me."

Claire's eyes widen in mild surprise. "How so?"

"He... smelled my hair. And... He couldn't seem to stop... touching me."

Claire's brows then come together as a thought hits her. "I'd better check those results..." she murmurs to herself as she turns to the testing equipment on the other side of the lab. She rips off a few sheets of paper from the dot matrix printer sitting beside the rack of vials on a counter and begins poring over the results.

Back by the fish tank, MacKenna takes a few deep breaths to get her emotions under control before walking up to Claire. She peers around the taller woman's shoulder at the printed results of Darien's blood work. As they read, their eyebrows slowly rise: MacKenna's in surprise and Claire's in worry.

"Am I reading this right?" MacKenna asks in concern. "Are those saying that..."

"Yes," Claire sighs. "His estrogen levels are rising... again." She shakes her head.

"'Again'? This is a continuing problem for him?"

The doctor nods and turns towards her computer. She strides over and sits in the chair MacKenna had sat in earlier, and clears the screen in order to pull up another document. "I just can't seem to isolate the catalyst behind the gland's interface with his hormonal output," she murmurs as she types.

MacKenna comes over, picks up the test results, and continues reading over them while Claire reads through some of her documentation on the gland. After a few moments, the doctor sighs and shakes her head as she pushes back from the computer. MacKenna looks up from the papers at the sound and frowns thoughtfully. "Have you done any P.E.T. scans?"

Claire tilts her head sideways at the suggestion. "No, why?"

"It might be a good idea to map which areas of his brain are acting up. I bet if you figured out which ones specifically are involved, and link that up with the results of his blood work, you'd have a better idea as to the cause."

Claire blinks in surprise. That makes sense...

MacKenna smiles slightly at the doctor's expression. "You don't have relevant scientific discussions very often, do you?"

The doctor smiles. "Not as often as I'd like," is the amused response. Her face slowly firms, and she turns back to the computer as she waves the other woman closer. "Read this and tell me what your thoughts are," she begins as she opens up a document window. She senses after a few moments that MacKenna hasn't moved, and looks up into the woman's troubled eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Do you really think I should be reading that?"

She pauses to think for a moment, and then shrugs one shoulder. "I need help with this, and there's no one else available with the necessary clearance and experience. And I think you might have a point about your contact with Darien somehow affecting him adversely. So who better to help me out with this than you?"

MacKenna shakes her head in negation. "You're placing way too much faith and trust in me."

"I don't think so. Why else would Arnaud have been so interested in you?"

"Well, not for my classic beauty, that's for sure," is the self-deprecating remark.

Claire shoots her a 'you gotta be shitting me' look as the lab door clicks and slides open. MacKenna's face braces in preparation of facing Darien again, but Hobbes just pops his head in to the room. The pizza box follows, and he sets it down on the counter next to him.

"He left you half," is the brief comment as he rolls his eyes at his friend's gluttony. "We're about halfway through; check in in about fifteen, okay?"

"Thanks Bobby," Claire replies warmly as she rises and retrieves the box. The lab door slides shut, and she beams encouragingly to the shorter woman. "Still hungry?"

MacKenna's stomach growls in response, and she shrugs and comes over to take a slice. "I hope you guys have a good expense account: 'cause I'll need to eat again in a few hours."

Friday 9:00am

The lab door slides open to allow The Official's and Eberts' entry. The assistant looks particularly put out as the Boss demands, "What's going on with Fawkes?"

Claire and MacKenna look up from some printouts they’re poring over, and the doctor responds. "I'm sorry?"

Eberts fills them in. "We just passed him in the hallway, a few moments ago. He seemed rather... unsettled."

The Official nods, with an utterance of "Hm," in agreement.

Claire's face firms in concern, and she carefully hands the file she's holding over to MacKenna, who continues reading where she left off.

Eberts notices that MacKenna's wearing soft cotton gloves on both hands.

And that she's blushing furiously.

The doctor stands and motions for the men to follow her out of earshot from the other woman. "His recent blood work has me a bit concerned..."

"How so?" He utters.

"His estrogen levels are rising again, and it seems that the blocker is losing its efficacy."

"Which is why he's getting moody again," He queries.

"Yes."

"And your solution for this is..."

"That's the problem," she sighs. "I have no solution... for now."

"So we're back at square one," Eberts interjects.

"I'm afraid so."

"Have you told him?" He asks.

She shakes her head and glances askance at the seated woman. "I don't think he's in the state of mind right now to deal with this with a level head."

Eberts glances over at MacKenna, who seems to be completely engrossed with whatever file she's reading. He takes a few tentative steps towards her, just enough to scan the top of the pages for the name of the file. His back stiffens, and he wordlessly begins to sputter as he slowly turns his head back towards his Boss.

The Official notices his reaction out of the corner of His eye, and grunts, "What is it, Eberts?"

"It... It's the..." the assistant falters.

"What?" He barks with increasing impatience.

MacKenna glances up at the tableau behind her, and tilts her head towards Claire in wordless query.

The doctor shakes her head at the other woman as she anticipates the obviously upcoming dispute. Since Eberts is still looking like a fish gulping for water, she answers for him. "It's my notes on the QS9300 project."

The words come like a slap to The Official's face. "What?!"

She raises her hands defensively. "Before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain..."

He brushes past her (having obviously jumped to a conclusion or two) and bears down on MacKenna. Her expression is the picture of innocence and caution, until he snatches the file from her fingers and roughly shoves it at His assistant's chest. She winces at the pain He causes to her burnt hands, but He's too incensed to notice.

"What did you do to her?" He demands furiously. His hands twitch as if to grab her by the shirt and haul her bodily out of the chair, but He manages to restrain Himself. "Did you..."

Her eyes narrow: she's considering which response would be the most effective with Him. She chooses to be calm and reasonable. "No, sir, I did not," she replies quietly.

"You expect me to believe..."

Her face hardens. "Y'know, I really don't care what you believe; but for the record, I do not just 'push' people for the hell of it. This’s something I neither like or want to do. But the doctor felt that my knowledge and experience in neuropsychiatry could be helpful with Agent Fawkes' current..." she hesitates briefly, and a disconcerted look washes across her face and disappears. "Condition."

He visibly calms down, but His eyes betray that His anger has crystallized into cold fury. They turn to Claire. "Doctor," He growls menacingly. "You'd better have a damned good explanation for this."

Her expression is inexorable. "Yes. I need help."

He's not mollified. "And this justifies a breach of security? Of this magnitude? With... with..."

MacKenna softly interjects. "A person of questionable loyalties and no clearance?"

His eyes narrow into slits. "Yes," He hisses. His gaze hasn't wavered from the doctor's.

"Then let me justify her actions." Her chin rises in challenge, and He turns back to her. Again, The Official's eyes are the only evidence of how dangerous He is when He's provoked.

"Amanda..." Claire begins.

"No," is the quiet reply to the unspoken protest. "He obviously won't believe it coming from you. Please, let me try."

She shrugs and lets it go.

"Take a good look at me, sir," the auburn-haired woman begins. "I'm in no shape to go out there on my own for at least another day or so. The doctor's made that point painfully clear. Meanwhile, one of your men is increasingly losing his grip on reality. I'm talking about Agent Fawkes," she states in an aside as she notices Eberts' questioning look and opening mouth. "I don't know if our, 'confrontation', last week is to blame or if it just aggravated an already existing problem; but it's pretty obvious that his and my talents act like oil and water. I couldn't live with myself, knowing that I might've permanently screwed up his wiring."

The Official looks perplexed. "I don't follow."

Claire pipes up. "I ran a thorough battery of tests on both Amanda and Darien; my findings suggest that his earlier problem with the gland has been aggravated with his exposure to her... gift."

"How so?"

"We're not sure, yet. But one thing is certain: the gland has increased hormonal production again, and it's getting worse by the day," she replies. "So far, the blocking agent I've manufactured is keeping the levels in check... but just barely."

"That still doesn't justify a breach of this enormity," He retorts.

"It does when I have, at hand, someone intimately versed with the scientific processes that were used to make Amanda what she is now," is the rebuttal as she refers to the still-seated woman.

"Meaning me," MacKenna clarifies quietly.

"If we want to help Darien before things get really out of hand," Claire continues with a weighted sidewise glance at the other woman, "then we're going to have to place a certain level of trust in Amanda's expertise."

"That's not what I have difficulty trusting," is the grim rebuttal.

"But it's not really your call anymore, is it?" MacKenna snaps, and His head jerks around at the tone in her voice. She meets His gaze, her eyes flashing with barely restrained irritation. "Look, a decision's been made; and your time now would be better spent in figuring out what to do next rather than browbeating your employees over minutia."

His face begins to redden, and a vein in His forehead bulges as His blood pressure rises in tandem with His wrath. Eberts gulps as he and Claire automatically take a step back from Him.

MacKenna just sits there, exchanging glares with Him. One of her legs begins to hyperactively twitch.

A tense moment passes, and surprisingly, The Official is the first to break eye contact. He turns His head to a thoroughly astonished Claire. "What are your plans, Doctor?"

She scratches absently behind her ear as she tries to gather her thoughts. "W-well... We..." she shakes her head, "we'll need to run some more tests, and Amanda's given me a few suggestions worth a closer analysis."

He nods. "Eberts, go fetch Fawkes. And have him report to the Lab immediately."

The assistant nods and hastens to the door.

"Oh, and Eberts..." Claire pipes in. He pauses in the open doorway, and she continues. "You might want to have Jerry keep an eye on him, too. I'm concerned that Darien might try something rash in his current frame of mind."

"Understood," the assistant affirms, and hurries down the hall to the stairs.


Fifteen minutes later, a completely unnerved Eberts enters the Lab. His cheeks are flushed, and he's slightly winded. Immediately behind him are Hobbes and Monroe, also with concerned looks on their faces.

Claire, MacKenna and The Official look up from their respective copies of Darien's latest test results, including the films from the P.E.T. scans Claire took the night before.

"What is it?" He asks gruffly.

Eberts has halted a few steps inside the room, and Hobbes and Monroe nudge around him. "He's gone," is the alarmed reply.

"Gone?" Claire asks.

"Gone: vamoose: AWOL: flown the coop," Hobbes verifies. "Jerry saw him leave about twenty minutes ago. Said that Fawkes looked like he had a bug up his butt about something."

MacKenna blushes just as Claire shoots her a knowing look.

"What?" Hobbes glances back and forth between the two women, and Monroe pipes in.

"Whatever's going on between those two, it's making him worse." Claire frowns at her as she continues.
"He made a pass at me in the hall on his way upstairs. He wouldn't back off until I slapped him." She shakes her head at his behavior. "Who knows who else he'll try to get fresh with out there."

"What color were his eyes?" Claire blurts out.

"Normal; no trace of red in them," is the concerned reply. "But it doesn't seem to matter; he's acting almost as bad as if he were QSM."

"So what do we do now? Go after him?" MacKenna asks.

The Official rounds on her. "You're staying put, young lady," He orders firmly before turning back to His agents. "Monroe, did he say anything to you to give you an idea on where he'd go?"

She stills as she considers, and then shakes her head. "He was mumbling something about the difference between being lonely and alone."

"Him and those stupid quotes," Hobbes shakes his head in irritated bemusement.

"Not now," He barks. "We need to get Fawkes back in here now, before he does something really stupid to get himself killed... or worse."

"Um," MacKenna begins hesitantly.

"What," The Official rounds on her again imposingly.

Her eyes are cast downwards, her entire posture betraying her uncertainty. She looks up at Him briefly before diverting her gaze to Claire. The doctor nods at the unspoken query, and the woman straightens up in her chair before slowly rising to face Him. "I think I know where he's gone," she replies in a soft tone.

He blinks. A few moments pass in silence before he impatiently demands "So? Out with it, girl! Where's Fawkes?"

She hesitates, and Claire intervenes. "I believe he's gone to confront The Director."

He stills. "Barnes?" His voice quavers ever so slightly.

"If they catch him, they'll torture him," MacKenna murmurs. She once again raises her eyes to meet His.

"You know how They are," she finishes, her voice heavy with emotion.

He nods and speaks over His shoulder at Jerry without disengaging His steely gaze from the diminutive woman. "Jerry, find out where Barnes and his men are. Now."

The agent nods and exits the lab without a sound.

"Eberts," He orders. "Assemble the troops. Hobbes, you're leading the recovery team..."

"On it, Boss," is the calm response.

"Monroe, you make sure that she," he brusquely indicates MacKenna, "doesn't leave this room. Under any circumstance, capiche? We don't need any more loose cannons running amok here."

She nods and limps over to the door as she loosens her gun in its holster.

"Doctor, have you found a remedy yet for Fawkes' condition?" He addresses Claire.

"Not quite," she replies. "We need some more time..."

"You have two hours," He cuts in. "Is this imbalance still interfering with the counteragent?"

Feeling a little flustered at the strict time constraint placed upon her, the doctor stammers "W-well..."

"Yes," MacKenna interjects. "The excess estrogen is inhibiting re-uptake of this counteragent, which by the calculations means he could go 'pop' pretty soon."

He nods once as He runs His own mental guesstimates. "You'd better get on it then."

Her knees begin to shake, and she sits back down in the rolling chair. She swivels around to the computer and begins typing industriously as Claire shoots a weighted glare at The Official before joining her.

He doesn't notice, since He's already turned His back on them and is striding towards the lab door. As it slides open, Eberts flips his cell phone closed, nods pleasantly at Monroe as he passes her, and trails Him out of the lab en route to His office.

Friday morning, 9:45am

Darien parks his car about a block away from a sleazy dive of a motel, ironically dubbed The Roaches' Nest in spray paint over the actual name (The Rest Inn) on the partially burnt out neon sign at the parking lot entrance. He grunts in pain as a mild seizure momentarily overwhelms him. He smacks the back of his head until the pain subsides, and then turns the rear-view mirror so he can check what colors his eyes are.

No signs of abnormal red yet, but he can feel the 'demon' striving to escape its cage.

"Oh, well, it's now or never," he thinks acidly. "Right now, turning into a bloodthirsty psychopath might actually come in handy with these folks." He shrugs at the thought, and cautiously surveys his surroundings before exiting the vehicle. He pulls a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of his jacket and put them on as he leisurely strolls across the street to the motel office.

Inside, his nose is greeted with the reek of stale cheap cigars, hashish and B.O. A small clock radio on the counter whispers the dulcet strains of Barry Manilow, and he grimaces more at the choice of music than at the offensive odors.

He walks over to the front desk and looks for the clerk. "Hello? Helloooo, is anyone home?" he calls out.

There's no answer but for a faint rustling from the back room. Darien leans far over the counter to try to get a glimpse of who might be back there, but can only see the wrinkled hindquarters of a mutt way past its prime. He spies the registry book on the clerk's side of the counter and snags it as he lowers himself back down. He opens it to the most recent entries, and is a little surprised to find that Barnes actually signed his own name when he and his crew checked in.

"Guess they like their privacy," he murmurs, as he's noticed that The Director has rented all of the rooms for the next week.

He freezes as he hears a soft scuffing noise behind him, and furtively checks to see who's behind him from the large mirror facing him on the wall to his right. Seeing nothing, he whirls around...

To an empty room.

Unless you count the ancient hound plopping his rear down beside the front door. His milky eyes regard Darien with bemusement for a moment before his head whips around to industriously bite the fleas attacking his butt.

But Darien senses movement from the corner of his eye, and instinctively knows that someone has noticed his presence; someone who is now trying to conceal themself from him. He quickly glances around to see if there are any security cameras or passers-by. Satisfied that there aren't any relevant witnesses, he quicksilvers and silently glides over to where he noticed the activity.

Unnoticed on his arm, the snake tattoo acquires another two notches of red. Whispering voices intrude on the corners of his mind, and he absently recognizes that he's going to need yet another shot of counteragent soon.

Seeing no one on the other side of the window, he eases around the counter and into the motel manager's office. His nose is assaulted by the sickening sweet smell of cloves and rotting meat, and he spies a pair of feet sticking out from the mostly closed bathroom door on his right.

The manager... it must be.

Darien pinches his nostrils shut and pushes the door open just enough to look inside the bathroom. Yup, it's either the manager or his assistant; dead for probably a day, since there weren't many maggots crawling around the bullet-hole in the young man's forehead. Darien stares at the dead man in horrified fascination before the bile begins to rise from his stomach. He hastily backpedals out of the doorway and makes his way to the back door of the office. He opens it as the quicksilver falls away from him, and opens his mouth to take a deep breath of fresh air...

As he's hit with the next onslaught of QSM seizures.

Simultaneously, the butt of a gun cracks into the back of his skull, and he slumps to the ground.

.....................................

'Y'know, people really need to stop whacking me in the head,' Darien muses grumpily as consciousness swims back into focus. 'Doesn't anyone care that I have a gland back there?'

He realizes that he's sitting propped up in an armchair in one of the motel rooms. All of the shades are drawn in the completely black room, and he can sense that there are several others in there with him.

He unintentionally lets out a soft moan as he shifts in the chair. His head's really starting to pound now.

A light *snickts* on a few feet to his left, and Barnes' face leans into the circle of light. He smiles, and Darien shivers a little at the cold malice in the other man's eyes.

"Ah, Agent Fawkes I presume."

"I'm sorry," Darien speaks huskily. "Don't you mean Dr. Livingston."

Barnes chuckles at the weak attempt at humor, and Darien immediately wishes that he'd stop. It wasn't a very nice laugh, and it grated on his already aching head. He shifts again in the chair, and realizes that his hands and feet aren't bound as he expected them to be. He raises a slightly shaking hand to scrub at his face before massaging the back of his neck. 'I wonder how long I've been out,' he ponders absently.

Suddenly he grunts as he's gripped with another seizure... always worse than the last one.

Barnes motions to his men, and the main room lights are switched on to reveal Darien desperately clawing at the back of his skull in an effort to quell the seizures. One of the men steps toward the quivering man in reaction to his suffering, but halts when the Director shakes his head.

Barnes watches Darien in detached amusement as the convulsions ease off.

"What's the matter Agent Fawkes: got a little headache?"

He smiles crookedly. "Something like that." Calm now, he glances over the rims of his now bent and twisted sunglasses, and the other man catches a glimpse of scarlet and brown eyes.

"Interesting side effect."

"Thanks. Wait a coupla more hours and you'll really get to see some fireworks," is the caustic reply.

Barnes chuckles. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Agent Fawkes. In a few hours you'll most likely be dead." He nods almost imperceptibly, and the three Shop agents converge on Darien in his chair.

They align themselves in a semi-circle behind him as the Director rises and approaches him.

"Oh my, are you trying to intimidate me, Mister Director?" Darien grins.

"No, not really. Just making sure you don't make a break for the door."

Now it's Darien's turn to chuckle. "Now why would I want to do that, and ruin this perfectly fun little playdate we have going?"

Barnes steps closer as the other men grab Darien by the arms and head to restrain him. His smirk widens at the rough handling...

Until he notices that Barnes is pulling a taser out of his pocket. It sparks menacingly as he taps his prisoner between the eyes with his index finger.

"Now then, Agent Fawkes; we're going to have a little Q and A session. With every unsatisfactory answer, well, I think you know what I'll be doing with this."

Darien's smile is wiped away as a few hundred volts of electricity rip through his rib cage.



11:30am, Friday morning

The phone rings, and MacKenna automatically answers it without taking her eyes from the computer screen. "Yeah. Oh, yes, she's right here. Okay, I'll tell her." She hangs up the phone as her gaze swings around to Claire. "You're wanted upstairs."

The doctor frowns as she lowers the latest printout to her lap. "They've found Darien?"

"Mr. Eberts didn't say. He just said that Charlie wanted you in his office... 'pronto.'"

Claire checks her watch as Monroe glances at the clock on the wall. "It hasn't been two hours yet," Monroe comments.

MacKenna shrugs as the doctor rises from her chair and begins to gather her papers together. "'Time is of the essence here, people,'" the seated woman returns in a tone obviously mimicking The Official's.

Monroe grins as Claire steps up behind MacKenna's chair. "Think you can finish this while I'm gone?"

The shorter woman nods. "I have a couple more modifications to make before I run this last simulation," she replies. "But it looks like we've hit the winner here. I should have the final results ready in about ten minutes. You want me to start synthesizing it while you're upstairs?"

"Oh, yes!" Claire blurts out, and whirls around to grab a small vial of pinkish fluid from the rack.

As she turns once again to the lab door, Monroe remarks, "Always helps to have a visual aid with these boys."

As she approaches the door, the doctor replies to MacKenna's question. "Go ahead, but give me a ring before you start." The door slides open, and she stops in the doorway. "Oh, and Amanda?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure you're getting quite hungry, so I asked Eberts to have one of the men bring lunch down. It should be here any minute now."

MacKenna smiles warmly. "Thanks."



As Claire is hastily opening The Official's office door, the lab door clicks and slides open to reveal an Agency man carrying two large paper bags and a plastic grocery sack filled with drinks. He hands them over to Monroe, who accepts the bags with a few murmured words of thanks so as not to distract MacKenna from her task. The man leaves the room, and Monroe waits for a few minutes until MacKenna leans back in her chair and rubs wearily at her eyes.

"Amanda."

"Hm?" She swings her chair around to face the agent.

"Food's here."

Her stomach growls loud enough to be heard across the room. "Mmm, goody, I'm starving!"

Monroe shakes her head as the shorter woman snags the cane leaning beside her chair and totters over to her. "When aren't you hungry?"

She smiles crookedly. "Only right after I'm done eating. Whatcha got?"

"Looks like sandwiches. And salad," she replies as she lightly rifles through the bags.

"Screw the rabbit food and hand over the meat," is the spirited reply. "Any pastrami in there?"

Monroe rummages through the two paper bags; her hands emerge with two hugely overstuffed sandwiches, some napkins and a large bag of chips. She quickly repacks the one bag with MacKenna's food as well as a couple of drinks from the plastic bag. She hands it over, and the other woman tales it back to her chair at Claire's computer.

MacKenna wolfs down her lunch as she scans over the final incarnation of the formula to regulate the gland's interaction with Darien's hormonal production. She taps a few keys, and moves over to rip off the sheet of paper printing from the dot matrix printer beside her. She absently licks a bit of mustard from her finger as she rises and gathers the necessary chemicals to begin synthesizing the solution.

Monroe watches as she finishes her salad. It still kind of freaked her out that this short little shit could inhale so much food and still be losing weight. She shakes her head a little in awe. "Don't forget you're to call Claire before you start mixing that stuff," she reminds.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, right," MacKenna murmurs. She scoops up the phone and dials a couple of numbers after reading a piece of paper taped to the phone. "Doctor? I'm ready. Okay, thanks." She pauses as The Official makes a comment. "It'll take about twenty minutes 'til the first batch is ready. 'Kay." She hangs up with a small ironic grin.

"What?"

"Men. They're so impatient. Thinks I should've had this stuff synthesized yesterday."

"That's The Official for you," Monroe comments around her napkin. "He's tough, but he means well."

MacKenna's face hardens. "That's what they said about The Director."

"Barnes?"

"No. His predecessor." She looks nauseous from the memories rushing to the fore of her mind.

The agent's eyes fill with sympathy for the younger woman. "Amy, it's all over now," she reassures softly.

MacKenna raises haunted eyes. "No. No, it isn't. It'll never be over for me. Not while..." she trails off as she swallows convulsively against the bile rising in her throat.

"What?"

She turns away to the lab equipment and begins mixing the gathered ingredients together. Only the trembling of her hands belies the overwhelming emotions surging through her. "Never mind," her reply is spoken so quietly that Monroe has to strain a little to understand the words. "There's nothing I can do about it in here."

Monroe's face firms. "You're not going after him. Look, we're the professionals. Let us handle this."

MacKenna hunches her shoulders. "As long as The Shop exists, it won't matter who's in charge. MacDougall, The Director, Barnes... they're all the same. And they won't stop until they have me back... one way or another." She begins to shiver as goose bumps break out all over her body. The beaker in her right hand shakes as she klumps it down on its stand. She rubs at her bare arms vigorously as she turns and leans on the counter now behind her.

"You're worth that much to them?" Monroe asks in surprise.

Eyebrows rise. "You don't have kids, do you?" she counters harshly.

Monroe's face closes like a wall's slammed down on her inner thoughts. Her eyes glitter as she remembers her beloved James flying away from her in the helicopter. With that woman. "What does that have to do with this?"

MacKenna looks uncertain for a moment. She wasn't expecting that sort of reaction. She shakes off the divergent line of thought and continues. "This project is so important to Them that They murdered dozens of people, including my family, just to ensure its 'integrity'. Hell, I don't even know if my brother is still alive or not!" Her eyes squeeze shut at that agonizing thought, and a tear edges out from the corner of one eye. She clamps down on her surging emotions and grips the edge of the counter behind her, hard.

'Oh shit,' she thinks as she realizes that she's losing control again. That sudden insight, coupled with the dull pain from the flash burns, is enough to distract her from her misery, and her mind races in an effort to figure out what she's going to ground out on. The giant fish tank had been emptied and transferred to another room late last night, with the two surviving fish placed in a smaller tank to hopefully recover from their injuries. It would take too long to fill the large sink at the back of the Keep...

'Where else... where else?!'

She can feel the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack coming on. Her eyes dart around the room, and an idea presents itself to her as they settle on Monroe.

The agent's been talking the whole time, completely unaware of all that's been rushing through the agitated woman's mind. "... this is all over, I'll check with some of my contacts back East. We'll find out where he is, okay? Amy?"

"Hmm?" she smoothes her expression so as not to betray her anxiety.

"I'm sure he's fine."

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For caring. You don't have to, you know."

"Yeah, well, you kinda remind me of someone I used to know," Monroe replies with a small, private smile tinged with an old sorrow.

"This still doesn't change anything with Barnes though. He'll eventually figure out that you guys're harboring me, and then it's bye-bye to your little Agency."

"We're not that easy to destroy," Monroe returns with a feral grin.

"You of all people should know better," MacKenna refutes heatedly as she steps away from the counter towards the other woman. She crosses the room under the pretense that she's getting another drink, and Monroe glances down and rummages around in the plastic bag by her feet as she responds.

"Look, we may not seem like much to you, but that's just what we want the others to think..." Her sentence is cut short as MacKenna firmly clasps her head between burning hot hands.

"I'm sorry Agent Monroe, I really am," the experimental murmurs in regret. "But I can't let you keep me here like this. Barnes slaughtered my husband and my babies, and I'll be damned if I don't return the favor. He's responsible for so much misery, and I will stop him... one way or another."

"If you go after him alone, he'll get you for sure," Monroe replies as if she's in a trance. Which she is.

"Any suggestions?"

"You need backup. At least let me come along to watch your back. And you don't even know where they are yet."

MacKenna pause as she considers. "All right. But you will not interfere with anything I do from now on, understand?"

Slowly, Monroe nods.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, we'll find out on the way. No matter what happens today, your only concerns are recovering your Agent Fawkes and getting the hell out of there... safely. Just leave Barnes to me. Anyone else from The Shop is expendable."

"I understand."

"Then tell me in your own words what I just said."

Monroe blinks as she gathers her muddy thoughts. "We find Barnes. I get Fawkes out of there. Kill anyone I have to from The Shop that interferes, but leave Barnes for you to take care of. Watch your back, make sure that no one opposes you, but don't get in your way myself."

MacKenna nods. She's markedly paling form the energy she's exerting. She releases Monroe's head, and the seated agent shakes it to clear her mind.

She glares at the shorter woman standing in front of her as her thoughts come into focus again. "That was a lousy thing to do to me," she almost growls.

"I'm sorry, but I saw no other way," MacKenna replies in contrition. Her eyes are sorrowful as she backs away and fetches her cane from the other side of the room. Her gait is noticeably more wobbly, and she sinks into her rolling office chair to rest for a moment.

Monroe watches her as she checks on the antidote's progress. MacKenna shakily turns off the Bunsen burner and uses a pair of tongs to pour the steaming contents of the large beaker into a number of smaller vials waiting in a centrifuge. She caps them and closes the lid to the machine before programming and turning it on. She swivels around to face the agent again, and Monroe notes that the color's already beginning to come back to the other woman's cheeks.

"No seizures this time," she comments flatly.

"No," is the subdued reply. "I've built up a pretty substantial 'charge' since yesterday. I should have a few more 'pushes' in me before the neurochemical buildup becomes toxic."

"You planning on 'pushing' anyone else around today, or am I the only lucky recipient?"

"I said that I didn't like 'pushing' people, Agent Monroe," MacKenna sighs. "And I meant it. Would you rather I held all this energy in until I torched something?"

"It's better than what you just did to me."

"Not necessarily." The two women lock gazes, and Monroe watches the tears welling up in MacKenna's eyes. "In one of Their little experiments, They kept me from grounding out. And then They sent in one of the delivery guys to rape me." Her green eyes reflect a shadow of the horror playing itself out in her mind. "He went up like crumpled newspaper. You ever see someone burned alive, Agent Monroe?" The tears fall freely now. "He didn't stop screaming, until They sent someone in to put a bullet between his eyes."

A few moments pass as the imagery sinks into Monroe's mind. MacKenna drops her gaze and scrubs furiously at her face. "Well, that's it for that stroll down memory lane," she comments huskily. She shoves her feelings down into a tight little corner of her mind as she opens eyes now devoid of all emotion and rises to snatch a pen and note pad from the other side of the computer. She scribbles a few small sentences and props the note on the humming centrifuge.

Monroe rises and tosses the remains of her lunch in the trash can beside the door as MacKenna retrieves her cane and approaches from the other side of the lab.

"Ready?" she nods to the agent, and the women file from the room.

On their way upstairs they run into Jerry and another Agent, and MacKenna 'pushes' the unnamed Agent to take a five minute nap in the hallway while 'pushing' Jerry into telling her where Barnes and Darien are. She then orders the muscular Agent to forget that he ran into her and Monroe just now, and the two women make their way unopposed and unnoticed from the building.

MacKenna quivers from a mild seizure as they turn the corner to the elevator. It doesn't go unnoticed by the female Agent limping slightly beside her.

12:20pm, Friday afternoon

Claire and Hobbes return to the Keep to find Monroe and MacKenna gone, but a note's taped to the centrifuge simply stating: '12:05- Gone hunting. Synthesis complete in about ten minutes. Try to meet us around 12:30. You should know where. ~ Amy and Alex'

"Sonofabitch!" Hobbes punches the wall in frustration. "Doesn't anyone follow orders around here?!"

"Not now Bobby," Claire replies worriedly. She checks the centrifuge, and is relieved to see that the antidote's turned out the way that her and MacKenna's calculations predicted. On the computer screen is the latest model predicting the results of the final compound, and the doctor gingerly draws out the purplish liquid from the middle strata in the tubes into a medium-sized syringe. She caps it and places it in a protective case alongside another syringe filled with the familiar blue counteragent.

Meanwhile, Hobbes calls upstairs and notifies The Official of the latest development. He grimaces as he holds the phone away from his ear: BossMan's bellowing on the other end like an enraged bull. Something about why no one sees fit to follow orders around here. And so on, and so forth.

"Yes sir. I know sir. Punk-ass kids. Yes sir. Shutting up sir," Hobbes interjects as he gingerly holds the earpiece as close to his head as he can tolerate.

Claire finishes her preparations and waits impatiently beside him as he listens to The Official's tirade.

It doesn't seem like He'll be winding down anytime soon.

She taps her watch meaningfully, and he shrugs as if saying 'What'm I supposed to do here?'

In answer, she snatches the receiver from his hand. "Sir, its Claire. I suggest you shut up and mobilize the recovery team," she snaps. The voice on the other end falls ominously silent for a moment, and she continues. "Amanda finished synthesizing the antidote before she left, and I have a full dose of the counteragent ready. Bobby and I'll rendezvous with the recovery team outside. What?"

She pauses at His response. "Sir, do you think that's such a good idea? Oh. All right. Yes. We'll see you there." She hangs up the phone with a strange look on her face.

Hobbes watches her quizzically. "What? What is it?"

"He said that he and Eberts are coming along... to coordinate."

"That's fine, as long as they don't get in the way," he replies grimly. "You ready? Then let's get a move on."

He checks his pocket for the two extra cases of shells he put there earlier, and she grabs the case with the filled syringes along with her jacket as they rush out of the Lab.


12:15pm, Friday afternoon

Monroe and MacKenna pull up behind Darien's car down the street from the motel. Monroe backs up and parks a couple of spaces away on the other side of the street. The two women scan the area for signs of Shop agents, but there was only a tired hooker sitting in a lawn chair on the corner smoking a cigar.

Monroe checks the ammo in her guns, and MacKenna watches her with a trace of amusement in her eyes.

"I think you missed the Saturday Night Special hidden in your bra," she teases.

"No I didn't," is the bland reply. "And it's in my boot. Everybody always assumes I keep it in my bra," she raises one eyebrow. "But that could just be an excuse to feel me up, too." She straightens and reaches over the other woman to the glove compartment. It opens up to reveal MacKenna's knife in its sheath.

Her eyebrows rise in surprise, and she takes it from Monroe's open hand. "Thanks."

"I can't let you go in there unarmed, but I don't trust you with a gun."

"Good, 'cause I can't stand 'em. Mom insisted I learn how to handle a firearm, but she never said I had to like the stupid things."

Monroe glances at her askance. "Military brat?"

She nods. "Yah. But just Mom. Dad was a contractor. Derek took over the business when they died."

Monroe doesn't respond. She figures it's just nervousness talking right now. "Okay, I'm going to check out the office. You stay out of sight in case Barnes has lookouts posted. Anything happens, could you please wait until the reinforcements arrive?" she asks earnestly, knowing what the answer's going to be before it even forms on MacKenna's lips.

The other woman sprouts a small smile full of irony. "I don't think so. I'll scout out the rooms and meet you behind the office. Don't worry about me, Agent Monroe. I ain't some babe in the woods."

"No, you definitely aren't," she murmurs as they get out of the car. MacKenna eases across the street and ducks down a side alley to cross around to the back of the motel.

Monroe glances at the hooker, who saucily winks at her and flashes the peace sign three times. The agent nods at her contact and strolls casually down the sidewalk towards the motel office. There's no notice of the limp from her gunshot wound.

At the corner of Macon and Boulevard she meets up with her second contact, Adams looking every inch the affluent businessman, and they act as if they're meeting for a tryst. They hold hands and nuzzle each other as they make their way into the motel office's front door.

The old hound dog is napping in the same spot Darien last saw him; it's pretty obvious that he's deaf and blind. But his head jerks up at the smell of strange humans, and he takes a few whiffs before disinterest and humidity overcome him again.

The couple leans on the front desk, and Adams rings the bell. When there's no answer, Monroe's forced attitude of simpering paramour fades. She eases around the desk and freezes when she catches the pungent aroma of decomposing management. Adams looks at her questioningly for a moment, and then the odor wafts over to him... momentarily causing his eyes to water. And they weren't even in the back room yet.

She pulls out a handkerchief from her pocket and holds it to her face as she loosens her primary gun in its holster. Adams follows suit as he shadows her into the back room. They come across the dead manager, and follow in Darien's footsteps to the back door. She signals for him to cover her as she cracks the door open to peek outside...

Only to smack up against MacKenna trying to open the door from the other side. The wicked tip of the knife pricks Monroe's throat before she can get the barrel of her gun up.

It's immediately retracted as MacKenna recognizes whom she's threatening. "Jesus, what took you so long?" she whispers testily. "I was beginning to think..." she trails off as she catches the scent of au de stiff from inside the office. "Holy shit, that's odious!" She backs up a few steps to allow the other two to get out and shut the door on the stench.

She sneezes violently, and Monroe jerks away as the knife swishes by a few inches from her side. "Hey, watch it!"

"Oh. Whoops, sorry," she apologizes contritely, and carefully sheathes the razor-sharp blade in the small of her back. "What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I found them." Her mouth snaps shut as she shoots a searching glare at Adams. "Who the hell're you?"

"Adams," Monroe replies evenly. "He's okay. Now where are they?"

MacKenna continues to glare at the man for a few tense moments before relaxing a bit and focusing on the taller woman. She jerks her head back and to her left. "Room Twelve. Looks like there's five of 'em, including Barnes and Noble."

She freezes and blinks, as the names put together distract her train of thought for a moment. But then she shakes her head and continues. "Eleven and Thirteen have inside doors connecting to it, so we might be able to surprise them by coming in from all sides. What do you think?"

Monroe considers the suggestion. "It's better than just charging in the front door and getting mowed down," she replies thoughtfully. "Adams, you take Eleven. Amy..."

"I've got point," she butts in.

"No way. They'll cut you in half before they realize it's you."

She shakes her head. "Barnes'll expect me to try something suicidal. He knows I won't let them take me alive."

"But he can't be anticipating you to show up here."

"Oh yes, he is. That man plans for everything. I have yet to see him surprised by a sudden change in plans."

Monroe scrutinizes her for a few moments, and then makes her decision. "Fine. Barnes doesn't know about Adams, so that'll give us a little element of surprise. Just, please be careful."

MacKenna smiles softly before turning towards their target. "I always am," she murmurs.


*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*


Meanwhile, in Room Twelve, Darien's roughly awakened by the bitter stench of smelling salts. "'Chew!" he sneezes violently, and grimaces as it comes back to him why he passed out in the first place.

He hurt. Everywhere.

'Feels like I got licked by a lightening bolt... again,' he ponders as he groans in agony.

"Now, now, Agent Fawkes," Barnes' voice grates on the lanky man's eardrums. "It does you no good trying to escape that way."

"Who said I was trying?" he grumbles, and then coughs from a dry throat.

"Some water?" he hears that smarmy little guy ask... what was his name? Noble?

He cracks open scarlet eyes, but they can't seem to focus quite right. Someone approaches him carrying something, but everything looks like a TV screen does when the vertical's off: all wavy and weird. It was beginning to make him nauseous.

"Y'know, I might be willing to cooperate more if you stopped zapping me so damned much," he grates out.

"Or, you'd cooperate more knowing that I won't," Barnes counters as he steps up once again with the taser. "A few more jolts from this will kill you, you know."

"And that's supposed to scare me into talking? 'He don't know me very well, do he?'" Darien quips to the disinterested Shop agent on his right.

"Hm. Maybe not," is the thoughtful reply. "Guess we'll just have to switch to another method of questioning." He looks expectantly at his assistant, who nods, sets down the full glass of water he's carrying, and fetches a medium-sized satchel from the other side of the room.

"Whatever it is, it won't work," Darien retorts with a grin. "You see, right now I could care less which way you wanna torture me. 'Cause at this point, I really don't give a god-damn. So go ahead," he gingerly laces his hands behind his neck and cradles his head. "Do your worst... or best; 'cause I'd rather die than tell you stupid bastards anything at this point." His grin widens ruthlessly as he sees that he's hit somewhat of a nerve.

Barnes' face tightens in anger. He purses his lips as he considers his options. "Well, I guess this means that our 'little playdate' has come to an end then." He motions for his three agents, and they haul Darien roughly out of his chair.

"What, checking out so soon?" he taunts around the searing agony washing over his body.

"No, but you are," Barnes replies grimly. He pulls out his firearm and aims it at Darien's heart...

Suddenly there's a knock on the door.

Barnes frowns in consternation for a moment, and then the look fades into one of anticipation. "She took her sweet time in getting here," he comments over his shoulder to Noble.

The assistant nods, and cautiously approaches the door.

Barnes turns and aims at a spot over Noble's shoulder as the door is opened, while the three Shop agents hustle Darien towards the back of the room.

Before the door is fully opened, Noble is suddenly jerked through the doorway. He begins to shout in surprise and alarm, but his cry ends in a wet gurgle as Barnes sees a flash of steel before the door clicks shut.

"Amandaaaaaa!" he shouts in fury as he opens fire.

As his men release Darien and draw their weapons as the two connecting doors crash open to reveal Adams and Monroe. Their guns flash, and one by one, the Shop men begin to drop.

Barnes dives for cover beside the bed. He watches an agent of his go down on one knee and draw a bead on Adams, but the man is thrown off balance as one of Monroe's bullets rips into his chest. He seems to crumple to the floor in slow motion as a second Shop agent returns fire at her. She dives for the protection of the connecting wall between the rooms just as Adams leans around his doorsill and shoots the man in the back of the head. The third Shop agent edges towards the front of the room to protect Barnes, and Adams darts into the room as Monroe covers him with another round of shells.

Seemingly oblivious to the gunplay surrounding him, Darien has managed to shakily pull himself up into a crouch. As he leans on the arm of a chair to finish his ascent into verticality, Adams rushes to his side and practically hurls him through the connecting door into Room Thirteen.

"HEY!" Darien begins, but is cut off as Adams slams the door shut.

Meanwhile, the final Shop agent has reached Barnes, and keeps Monroe occupied as he hauls The Director through the front door of the room. Adams drops to one knee and begins to shoot, but is rewarded with empty 'click's. He curses as he rapidly exchanges the empty clip for a full one, and Monroe squeezes off a few shots before her gun is emptied as well.

Adams looks up to draw a bead on his quarry, but they've already escaped through the door. "Shit!" He turns and looks to Monroe, who is half kneeling in the doorway to Room Eleven. "You okay?"

She nods, and moves to rise. The too-sudden movement yanks at the half-healed wound in her leg, and she stifles a curse as she makes her way into the devastated room. She drops her empty clip into her pocket and reloads as she scans the room. She shoots Adams a searching look as she makes her way to the closed door to Room Thirteen. "Fawkes?" she asks him.

"Should be fine," he replies as he kneels and checks the fallen Shop agents for signs of life. Monroe waits for a moment, and he shakes his head. "Dead."

She nods again. "Let's grab Fawkes and get the hell out of here."

"What about..." Adams begins, but is interrupted as shouting suddenly erupts, along with gunfire, from Room Thirteen.

"Fawkes!" Monroe shouts, and bolts for the front door as Adams wrenches at the connecting door. She skids to a stop in a small puddle of blood on the sidewalk in front of the room just in time to see Barnes hastily retreating from the next room that Adams had thrown Darien into. The third Shop agent's shouts of alarm and anger are abruptly cut off by the sound of a heavy object, more than likely a chair, crashing onto him.

"How do you like that, you cocksucker?!" Darien shouts gleefully. "Doesn't feel so good on the receiving end, does it?!"

"Barnes!" Monroe barks as she aims at his heart.

He whirls around and immediately begins shooting at her. She jerks backwards in reaction as she fires her own gun, and she slips on the puddle of blood. She continues to fire as she falls, but the bullets fly wildly, and Barnes keeps shooting as he runs down the sidewalk towards the main street. One of his bullets strikes the gun from her hand as another grazes her shoulder. Monroe grunts as she thumps onto the sidewalk, and shakes her hand to get the feeling back. Her shoulder begins to burn as the blood trickles down her arm, and her leg blares its protest at the overexertion.


*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*


Adams yanks at the connecting door, but it's somehow jammed shut.

He throws his shoulder into it a few times, and then karate-kicks it twice before the deadbolt twists enough for the door to crash open. He swiftly draws his gun and scans the room for enemies...

But for the crumpled body of the third agent lying amidst the shattered remains of a desk chair, the room was empty.

No Fawkes.

And no Barnes.

"Adams!" Monroe calls from outside.

He cautiously surveys the room a second time before replying. "Room's clear!"

"Where's Fawkes?"

He makes his way to the open front door. "Gone." He scans the parking lot, and notices a small group of people rushing towards them. "Reinforcements' here," he comments as he kneels down to check her for injuries.



12:40pm, Friday afternoon

Darien still can't get his eyes to focus right. Even invisible, his vision is all blurry and wavy, and the floor seems to sway and twist underneath his feet like a boat on choppy water. His stomach gurgles its protest, and he swallows against the bile attempting to rise into his mouth.

"Not now," he states in a firm voice to his roiling tummy.

It ignores him, like everything else in his life does.

Shut your pie-hole, Fawkes. Go invisible like the good little rat you are, and... maybe... you'll get a shot. If you don't screw up and disappoint us. Which you'll somehow manage to do anyway.

"You shut up," he mutters to the voices in his head. "I'll deal with you later, Charlie-boy. Right now we need to worry about Amy."

Why? What'd she ever do for you?

"Let me know I wasn't alone," he replies as he opens yet another connecting door. He absently notes that he's moved through three rooms with no sign of either MacKenna or Barnes.

"Gotta be coming to the end of this place soon," he comments to a wall sconce beside the door. He limps through the room and places his hand on the knob of the next door, but hesitates when he hears voices. He places his ear to the door to better hear what's being said on the other side.



12:42pm, Friday afternoon

After making sure that Monroe was all right, Hobbes leaves her in Claire's masterful care. He orders his men to fan out in teams of two and search the area in a two-block radius beginning from the motel before starting off on his own search path.

"Bobby..." Claire stops him. He twists around on his heel, eager to go find his friend.

"What?"

She holds out the case, and his face brightens in understanding. "Thanks, Keep. I've got it from here." He spins around and rapidly strides down the sidewalk, following the almost unnoticeable trail of blood on a hunch. The Official and Eberts watch him go, their unease apparent in their posture and expressions.

"Be careful, Agent Hobbes," Eberts calls out.

The stocky agent waves absently over his shoulder, his attention already hyperfocused on the task at hand as he lowers his thermal-vision goggles over his eyes.



12:46pm Friday afternoon

Darien listens to the conversation on the other side of the door. Amy sounds terrified. His emotions surge in response, and he begins to turn the knob of the connecting door.

But the main door to the room opens, and Hobbes' profile is backlit from the brilliant sun outside. His gun sweeps the room in tandem with his gaze, and he freezes when he spies Darien's Quicksilvered outline in the room.

"Fawkes, what the hell're you doing?" he calls out, but is cut short when his partner rapidly strides across the room and clamps an invisible hand over his mouth. He shivers at the subzero touch, and automatically bats Darien's arm away.

"Shhhhhhh," Darien hisses in his ear. "You'll spook them."

"Fawkes," he begins in a normal voice, but he sees the hand come closer to his face. "Fawkes," he murmurs, "What's going on here? Why'd you run off like..."

"Amy's next door," is the whispered response. "With Barnes. And his dillhole assistant, I think," he finishes with a grimace.

"She can deal," he replies tersely. "Right now you got some medicine coming." He pulls out the case with the blocker and counteragent from the inside of his jacket with one hand as he snags his partner's arm with the other. "Y'know, this'll go a whole lot quicker if you dropped the see-through act."

Darien shakes off Hobbes' tightening grip. "Bobby, this isn't the time! Did you hear what I said? Amy's in the..."

"Next room with Barnes and his dillhole assistant, I know," he paraphrases. "And you can help her if you let me give you these shots." He tries to catch his arm again, but Darien backs away a few steps.

"You can't stop me, Robert," he purrs menacingly.

Hobbes draws his gun and aims it at his partner's chest. "Don't make me do this Darien."

The quicksilver falls away, showing Darien with a feral grin on his face. He hunches his head and shoulders as he steps up to Hobbes and leans into the barrel of the gun. "Go ahead, finish what he started," he murmurs. "He was getting ready to shoot me anyway when Amy knocked on the door."

Hobbes hesitates, and runs his gaze assessingly over the taller man. "Jesus, Fawkes, what did that bastard do to you?" he breathes as he notices the sorry state of Darien's singed and ripped shirt.

"I believe it's called torture, my friend. Feels worse than it looks, so I'd appreciate you not getting all touchy-feely," he grins mirthlessly before turning serious. "Look, Amy risked her life to save me. I owe her, Robert. Let me repay the favor; then you can give me those shots. Whatta ya say?" He looks over the rims of his ruined sunglasses at his partner, and Hobbes slowly drops his gun before holstering it.

He shakes his head. "Someday Fawkes, I'm gonna decide that shooting you is better than following your lead."

"C'mon, you like seeing me this nuts," is the smooth response. "It's nice to have someone crazier than you; gives you some spice and variety in your day."

"I want spice and variety, I'll get it in my diet," Hobbes retorts. "As for insanity, you just keep getting your shots, and let me be the expert there." He checks the rounds in his gun, closes it up and looks evenly at his friend. "What's the plan?"

Darien straightens and claps Hobbes on the shoulder. "Awright. We know Amy nailed the little guy..." he trails off as he tries to recall the Shop assistant's name.

"Noble," Hobbes interjects.

"Noble, right," Darien nods, and continues. "She hurt the little guy bad from what I saw, so we've only got Barnesie to worry about. I say we kick the front door in and gun the bastard down."

"That's original," Hobbes mutters.

"What?"

"I ain't giving you a gun the way you are now," he replies.

Darien smiles as he pulls out a Glock tucked in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. At Hobbes' dismayed look, he elaborates. "Swiped it from the guy I clobbered with the chair," his grin widens.

Hobbes sighs as he turns around. "I really need a vacation."



12:40pm, Friday afternoon

The front door to the room jerks as Hobbes and Darien assault it.

Barnes flicks his gaze at it to see if the dresser that he slid in front of it's holding.

With each resounding blow, the already battered piece of furniture shudders, and he knows that it's a matter of seconds before the whole thing collapses in on itself. He returns his attention to the terrified woman in front of him.

His eyes are cold and filled with malice. His gun points unwaveringly at her heart.

"Go ahead, let's get this over with," she growls.

"Oh no, I have something much more enjoyable in store for you," he replies with a shark-like grin.

Her eyebrows furrow, and then a slow, feral smile spreads across her face. "We're almost through with the final phase of the experiment, aren't we?"

He shakes his head in bemusement. "You always were too smart for your own good," is the smug reply.

Her smile disappears. "So what now?"

He shrugs. "Transport you to our facility here in San Diego; and, the rest depends on you."

"How so?"

"If you show willingness to cooperate, my superiors should be able to secure you a permanent position within our organization."

"Sounds like fun. There's just one problem."

He frowns. "What?"

The door shudders again as it begins to splinter from the force of the blows.

The savage grin reappears, and her green eyes glitter in anticipation. "You'll be dead before your backup arrives." Her body tenses as she prepares to leap at him.

His finger tenses on the trigger. "I don't think so," he replies smugly.

She continues to grin as she rushes towards him.

'Oh well,' he mentally shrugs. 'Now or later, it won't make much of a difference.' He pulls the trigger on his gun, and is rewarded with an empty 'click'. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he vainly squeezes the trigger three more times before MacKenna is upon him. She bowls him over with the force of her charge, and she clips him twice in the face as they go down. He tries to ward off her fists, and abruptly her fingers slide around his throat. Her thumbs find his Adam's apple, and she squeezes with every ounce of strength in her body.

Realizing that he has moments before his air supply runs out, he repeatedly rams the butt of his gun into the side of her head.

She grunts, blinks, and grins even more fiercely. She plops her rear down on his chest... hard... and the rest of the air in Barnes' lungs is forcefully expelled. As he lies momentarily stunned, she pins his arms down with her knees, re-centers her thumbs on his windpipe, and throttles him with all her might.

"Bye-bye, Barnesie," she grits out between clenched teeth. "Die quick and rot." The half-healed bullet wound in her right arm is screaming from the strain, and she can feel the strength ebbing from that hand.

She bites her lip and tries to ignore the pain as she ekes every last ounce of energy into strangling the life out of him. Her efforts are rewarded, as the man's movements become sluggish and uncoordinated before his eyes unfocus and his body goes completely limp.

Just then, the door splinters as Darien and Hobbes' feet crash against it.

MacKenna doesn't seem to notice it, or even to care.

"Again. Ready? One... two... three!" Hobbes' voice commands, and the door finally crashes open. The two agents rush in. Hobbes quickly scans the room with his gun at the ready, and Darien's reddened gaze immediately fixes on MacKenna and Barnes on the other side of the room. He straightens up and grins savagely as he notes that Barnes is unconscious and moments away from death.

"That's my girl," he murmurs with pride.

"Amy, NO!" Hobbes rushes over and tries to pull her off of the Director, but he can't seem to make her hands budge. So he tries to reason with her. "Amy, this can't be the only way. You're not a murderer."

Green eyes raging with all of the pain and horror of the past eight years turn to him. "I am what they made me," she pants.

"You are what you want to be," he returns fiercely. "Don't sink down to his level; you'll become just like him!"

Her stormy eyes begin to clear. "I'm not like him. I'm not like anybody. He can't do this to anyone else; I won't let him."

"Killing him's not the answer," is the heated reply. "It won't matter how many Barnes' you kill; there're a hundred more like him just waiting for the chance to take you down."

His reasoning begins to sink in, and her hands relax. The fierce sparkle in her eyes fades, and she gazes at him dully. "But... I'm so tired. I-I don't think I can run anymore."

Unnoticed by the two, Darien's stepped up behind his partner. He kneels down beside them and casually glances at Barnes. 'Damn, the bastard's still breathing,' he absently notes. He rests his hand on MacKenna's arm, which gains her attention. He gently runs a finger down to her hand and traces her fingers, leaving a tiny trail of sparks that raises the hairs on her arm.

"You're the one with the magic fingers, remember?" he hints. "What better way to get your revenge than to use their own experiment on them?"

She blinks, and frowns. The repeated blows to her head are taking their toll.

In the corner, Noble groans as he begins to rouse.

"Bobby, why don't you check on him; I've got it here," Darien suggests. His face is unreadable as he gazes intently at MacKenna.

Hobbes hesitates as he weighs his options: ignore the assistant and risk any number of nasty confrontations, or briefly attend to the injured man while leaving his QS-meshuggenahed partner unattended with an equally unstable chick...

Not very good choices, my friend.

"Don't kill him," he warns as he rises and crosses the room.

Darien smiles beatifically. "Nope, just the next best thing." He gently guides MacKenna off of Barnes and helps her sit down on the floor beside the unconscious man. He slides a supportive arm around her shoulders as he murmurs suggestions in her ear.

Hobbes uneasily glances over his shoulder at the two experimentals. It's like he's turning his back on two savage predators, even though one of them he considers his best friend. He checks the knife wounds on Noble's throat and upper torso; none of them seem life threatening, although the man has lost quite a lot of blood. The assistant stirs, mumbling incoherently in his distress.

'Hm, must still think Amy's got 'im,' Hobbes wonders. He glances around his immediate vicinity, snags the corner of a bed sheet and rips it into strips to begin bandaging the worst of the cuts. Noble mutters and stirs for a few more moments before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

On a hunch, Hobbes pulls out his handcuffs and carefully secures the assistant's hands behind his back. He then turns to check on his partner.

He's still seated, with his arms in a light embrace around MacKenna's shoulders. She's slumped against him, and he's resting his chin gently on the top of her head as he readjusts his legs to a more comfortable position in a loose semicircle around her. Hobbes edges around to get a frontal view of them, and Darien's now-silvered eyes snap open to glare a warning at him. He's struck with the parallel image of an animal protecting its young. Or an injured mate.

Then he notices the muzzle of the Glock his partner swiped from the Shop agent he'd nailed with the chair, and it was pointed right at his heart.

DISCLAIMER: Most of the images from this site are originally manufactured and owned by Stu Segal Productions, Studios USA, and NBC/Universal. I just played with them in Photoshop for my own amusement, and derive no profits from them, other than the satisfying eye candy. Nope, not selling, not making any money, and I break out in hives at the mere mention of laywers.