Summary:  When all seems lost, how will Darien cope?

Spoilers:  Probably lots.

Timeline:  Five months after The New Stuff.

Note:  This is my first attempt at fan fiction.  Please let me know if it’s any good.  As a UK fan I apologise now for any differences in spelling, or unintentional Uk-isms. 

Things Lost

Chapter 1

A witty guy called Oscar Wilde had one of his characters observe, “ To lose one parent…may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”*  Yeah well, over the years I’d lost both of my parents and plenty of other people I’d cared about, in one way or another.  I can tell you one thing for sure, it wasn’t funny and I wasn’t ready to lose anyone else…

*(Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest)

A tall, slim figure sauntered slowly down the dimly lit basement corridor, paused before an ugly metal door, and with a flourish, swiped a magnetic key card through a lock on the wall.

“Morning there Keepie,” Darien called as soon as the door swooshed open.

“Good morning Darien,” replied the blond haired woman he was addressing.  She was busy supervising the stacking of a delivery of new equipment behind the glass screens that divided the lab, but turned towards him and observed, “You’re late this morning aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well I stopped off for supplies,” he answered with a smile, as he placed three Starbucks coffee cups and a box of Danish pastries on her desk.  He perched on a chair next to the desk, picked up one of the pastries and started to eat.

Claire smiled as she watched Darien devour his breakfast.  Over the five months since they’d returned to work for the Agency this had become part of their morning routine.  She thought she’d be seeing less of Darien now that he no longer needed injections of counteragent.  Thankfully that had not proven to be the case. 

As a complete contrast to his quicksilver-madness days Darien always arrived early, usually bearing breakfast, and hung out with her and Bobby in the Keep until it was time for work.  However that still didn’t mean he turned up to meetings on time.  Claire’s smile broadened.  If there was a briefing scheduled he would wait in the Keep just long enough to get the Official steaming, then saunter in as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Thanks Joe,” Claire said addressing the deliveryman, as she signed the sheet he presented to her.  “See you in a couple of weeks,” she added as he waved and left.

“Got any yoghurts?”  Darien asked as he made his way over to the refrigerator in the corner.

“Yes, top shelf,” Claire laughed.  You know, with the amount you eat, you should be the size of a blimp.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got a fast metabolism.  Need to keep up my strength!”  Darien replied flashing his trademark grin.  He removed a pot from the shelf, grabbed a spoon from above the refrigerator door and headed back to his chair.

Oh, it was lovely to see him like this Claire thought happily.  She still marvelled at how he had changed.  He was still essentially, well, Darien, but he seemed more relaxed these days, more content with his lot in life.

When they’d originally met he’d seemed to be the selfish, irresponsible larcenist, she’d been told to expect.  Even Kevin’s description of his younger brother had been along the same lines, except for his assertion that somewhere beneath his wise-cracking, rebellious exterior lurked a much better person.

It had taken only a short time before the evidence of this ‘better person’ had started to come to light.  He’d immediately shown himself to be insightful and intelligent, with a natural aptitude for his new job.  However, the thing that made it impossible for her to remain the remote, detached Keeper she was supposed to be, was his caring and sensitive nature.  Darien may have felt used and trapped, but he’d put himself in harms way time and time again to protect and help others.

Claire’s thoughts strayed to the memories of those terrible weeks when the counteragent had begun to lose its effectiveness.  She shivered as she remembered how Darien had tried to stay optimistic and bravely did his best to hide his rising fear and panic.  The image of his face when she’d been forced to lie to him about receiving the cure from Arnaud still haunted her dreams.  He’d looked so lost and vulnerable as she’d watched the hope die in his eyes.

Shaking herself, Claire brought her focus back to the present.  They’d managed to get through that terrible time, thank God.  Here was Darien, healthy, and by his own admission, happier than he could ever remember.  He had a job he’d now chosen, friends he loved and trusted, and freedom from quicksilver madness.

Darien was not a violent person and it had eaten him up inside that he could so easily lose control and hurt others, even those he cared about the most.  Typically he’d always blamed himself for his actions whilst under the influence of the madness, however much they’d tried to convince him of the truth.  Even the realisation that the pre-QSM headaches still afflicted him with overuse of the quicksilver gland couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm for his new life.

“Um, Claire?” Darien’s worried voice cut through her thoughts.  “Are you okay?”

She looked up to see Darien leaning towards her with concern on his face.  She smiled brightly at him, “Yes, I’m fine.  Just thinking….”

Claire was interrupted by the swoosh of the Keep’s door as Bobby Hobbes strutted in, pointing at his watch and tutting at Darien.

“The ‘Fish is just about ready to explode up there my friend,” Hobbes reported.  “Time to go.”  Turning to Claire he flashed her a smile and said, “See ya later Keepie.”

Darien rolled his eyes, picked up two cups of coffee and, with a cheery wave at his Keeper, followed Bobby through the door.

“Don’t forget our date tonight Darien,” Claire called after him.  She heard Darien’s answering groan and smiled again.  It was becoming a habit she was indulging in a lot these days.

*****

Darien slouched low in a chair in the Official’s office, staring at the sign above his boss’s head.  They’d been back under the auspices of the Department of Fish and Game since saving the potential cancer-curing crop from Chrysalis’ invisible locusts months ago.  He kind of missed entering the room to discover which new and ever more obscure agency they were paying rent to that month.

“Fawkes,” barked the Official loudly.  “Pay attention!”

Sitting up slightly, Darien saluted his boss sloppily, “Yes Sir.”  The Fat Man must have noticed he’d zoned out there for a while.

“You’re really pushing it today Fawkes,” Bobby murmured angrily as he leaned towards his partner.

“You think?” asked Darien with a smile.

With a glare aimed at Fawkes and a nod to Eberts, the Official signalled the beginning of the briefing.

“We have received some very disturbing information from a number of sources that would seem to suggest Chrysalis has finally completed its reorganisation,” Eberts began as he handed out neatly typed information sheets.  “It has been confirmed that Jared Stark has been replaced and effectively demoted within the organisation.  The new head of the North American sector is thought to be a woman named Tabitha, but further details on her are rather sketchy at the moment.  However, we believe that a major move on their part will occur within the next couple of months.”

The Official looked over to where Darien and Hobbes were thumbing through the pages they had been given.  He smiled internally as he saw the subtle differences in Fawkes’ demeanour now that something had piqued his interest.  It was part of the game they played.  Fawkes feigned disinterest and he played the heartless, uncaring boss.  Not that it was all an act exactly.  He’d been criticised in the past by colleagues for caring too much for those under his command, but if the security of the Nation were at stake, personal attachments would always take second place.

“One of our contacts has hinted that a member of Chrysalis might be willing to sell documentation detailing their plans,” Eberts continued.  “As a consequence we would like you to make contact with this individual and obtain the information so we can verify its authenticity.  The meeting is arranged for 11am.  You will find the location in your handout.  

The Official retrieved a briefcase from underneath his desk and handed it to Bobby.  “You’ll need this,” he informed the agent.

“Wait, you’re telling me that someone from Chrysalis is willing to sell out to us?” Darien asked sceptically.  “From what we’ve seen he’d have to be certifiable.  Chrysalis tends to have one answer to betrayal, and I’m not sure a swift death is the payday this guy’ll be looking for!”

“His reasons aren’t important.  We need that information and I want it on my desk by this afternoon,” the Official growled.  “Now, get out there and make that deal.”  The look on his face brooked no argument.

Bobby stood immediately and turned to offer his partner a hand up.  Darien accepted it and hauled himself lazily out of his chair.  As they left the office and headed for the front doors Hobbes knew he was in for a difficult morning.  Fawkes had a look on his face that said he was less than happy about the situation.

*****

“So, where are we supposed to meet this guy anyway?” Darien asked as Hobbes pulled up opposite a large department store.

Bobby nodded his head to the building and said, “Lingerie department, third floor”. 

“You’re kidding, right?”  Darien looked surprised and slightly uncomfortable.

“Nope, it was their call.  Lets go.”  Hobbes grabbed the briefcase he’d stowed behind the driver’s seat and set off across the road.

“How are we gonna blend in, I mean we can’t really keep a low profile can we?” moaned Darien as he trailed behind.

Hobbes chose to ignore him and led the way into the store.  As they entered the lingerie department Bobby started browsing through the racks with purpose.  Darien looked decidedly uncomfortable and was silently regretting not quicksilvering in the elevator on the way up.

“May I be of assistance?” came a female voice from behind Darien.  Startled, he turned to see an assistant standing there.

“Um…I…um,” he began.

The assistant tried to hide a smile and said, “Don’t worry, we find a lot of gentlemen need a little help when making purchases for the lady in their lives.  Shall we start with which items you’re looking for, then what size?” she asked expectantly, gesturing to the lacy thongs on the rack next to him.

“Um…size?” Darien muttered, looking like a startled rabbit.

As if in answer to a prayer, Bobby moved smoothly into view, taking the assistant by the hand and introducing himself.

“Hello there.  My name is Robert Hobbes and this is my associate Darien Fawkes.  We’re marketing a new line of lingerie called Butterflies and your head buyer suggested we call by today to show him some of our samples.”  Bobby looked every inch the marketing executive as he turned on the charm.

“Oh, I see,” replied the assistant in disappointment as she saw her chances of a sale disappear.  I’ll go and inform Mr Brubaker you’re here.”  With that she turned and headed towards the phone on the sales desk.

A few minutes later they were being ushered into Mr Brubaker’s spacious office.  As soon as the assistant left, closing the door behind her, Mr Brubaker spoke, “Let’s get down to business.  I have the information. Did your boss agreed to my fee?”

“The money’s right here,” confirmed Bobby patting the briefcase.

“But first, we’d like to clear up a few things” Darien interrupted, ignoring Bobby’s obvious irritation.  “What’s a member of Chrysalis doing working in a department store anyway and why are you helping us?”

“I act as a courier for Chrysalis.  What better cover than as a buyer for a reputable department store?  I transport ‘samples’ with me as well as more legitimate items.  Who’s going to notice a few extra boxes here or there?”  Mr Brubaker paused to look directly at Fawkes. 

“As to why I wish to terminate my involvement with the organisation, lets just say that Tabitha has been questioning my loyalty based on my erstwhile friendship with Jared Stark.  I think a strategic withdrawal from circulation for a while is the prudent course of action, before Tabitha decides to make it a more permanent arrangement,” he concluded nervously.

“Yeah, right,” was Darien’s only comment.

Hobbes and Brubaker exchanged briefcases and after a cursory check of the contents both men appeared satisfied.

“Nice doing business with you,” were Mr Brubaker’s parting words. 

They were on their way back to the agency within 10 minutes.

*****

“This information will prove invaluable in our fight against Chrysalis,” the Official announced happily that evening.  They had spent the afternoon sifting through the documents Brubaker had provided.  There were details of a proposed meeting between senior members of the organisation, including the location and date.  Eberts had disappeared earlier to locate schematics for the suspect building and plans of the surrounding area.

The Official was in serious gloat mode.  This case was going to put the Agency well and truly back amongst the big players and strike a significant blow against those genetically modified whackos.

Eberts came bustling back into the office carrying a precarious pile of files and what looked like rolled up blueprints.  He was walking at an angle in an attempt to keep everything balanced.  Just when it looked like he would lose the battle Hobbes stepped up to help him.

“Why thank you Robert,” Ebert said with a slight hint of surprise in his voice.

“No problemo,” Hobbes replied genially.

Hobbes had originally been downright hostile towards Eberts, considering him to be the epitome of every single penny-pinching, pencil pusher who’d ever screwed him out of sizeable chunks of his salary.  However, over the past year he’d begun to soften his attitude.  A little bonding over ‘injuries received in the line of duty’ in the filing room and occasions when Eberts’ had been willing to come out from the boss’s shadow had shown a different side to his character.  Especially when it had come down to protecting Adam Reece.  They owed him big time for that one.

“I have managed to procure the necessary plans Sir,” Eberts confirmed to the Official.

“Good, good.”  Borden looked over at Hobbes.  “I want you to take them home Bobby.  Consider all surveillance and containment possibilities and be ready to report your conclusions first thing Monday morning.”

“Yes Sir!” came Hobbes enthusiastic reply.

Darien smiled over at his partner.  Bobby loved this kind of stuff.

The meeting broke up with the Official growling at Darien, “First thing Fawkes!”

Darien just grinned mischievously and sauntered after Hobbes.

Once in the corridor the two agents headed for the front door in silence until Bobby spoke up.  “Aren’t you forgetting something my friend?”

“Huh?” asked Fawkes in confusion.

“It’s the first Friday in the month,” Bobby informed him with an evil smile.  “Wouldn’t want you missing your ‘date’ with the Keeper there.

“Oh crap!” was Darien’s only response as he checked his watch and broke into a run as he headed back down the corridor to the elevator.

“See ya later Fawkes,” Bobby called after him still smiling.

*****

“Sorry I’m late Keep!” Darien panted as he arrived breathless at the lab.  It was one thing to yank the Official’s chain, but he was making a real effort to be punctual with his friends these days.

“Not to worry Darien,” she replied pleasantly.  “Albert was telling me you were in a meeting with the Official all afternoon.”

“Yeah, we got some info today that means we should be able to bag us some seriously important bad guys,” Darien drawled as he threw himself onto the demented dentist’s chair.

“Mmmm,” Claire replied distractedly as she collected some instruments together, placed them on a rolling tray and moved towards Darien.

“Blood?” Darien asked with a resigned sigh.

“I think we’ll start there,” Claire agreed.  She quickly took a blood sample with practised ease.  Darien sighed again as he held a small cotton ball over the puncture wound.  He could hear his Keeper moving around behind one of the glass screens.

Claire had suggested these little ‘dates’ of theirs after the first reoccurrence of the pre QSM headaches.  He’d been on an assignment with Hobbes and Monroe, following a Senatorial aide who was suspected of leaking classified information to the media.   Believing there was no longer a time limit to staying quicksilvered Darien had been using the gland extensively for four days.  The pain had started gradually, just a vague discomfort at first, then becoming an annoying ache a day or so later.  On the fifth day he had obtained some pretty damning evidence after a little invisible B&E at the aide’s apartment.  He was just heading back to the van when the pain hit.

It had felt like the back of his skull was going to explode and before he knew it his head was pounding into the sidewalk, scattering flakes of quicksilver in all directions.  Hobbes had been at his side in seconds offering soothing words and comfort until the pain subsided.  The ride back to the Agency had been hell.  Alex had driven like a woman possessed, whilst Hobbes cradled Darien’s head in his lap in the back of the van.  He was convinced the ‘cure’ Arnaud had provided was only temporary and with the monitor on his wrist still showing all green he was afraid he would attack and kill his best friend at any moment.

Back at the keep Claire had given the barely conscious Darien a dose of counteragent, from a batch she had produced to help her with her experiments.  It had had no effect and the painkillers she’d tried were not very successful.  Darien had drifted in and out of consciousness for most of the night.  In his pain free, lucid moments he’d begged to die.  He couldn’t face going back to the days of QSM. 

Luckily the extensive test the Keeper ran revealed the pain was being caused by a reflexive spasming of the gland due to overuse and was not a precursor to quicksilver madness.  By the next day the pain was beginning to lessen naturally. 

With a flash of her usual genius Claire had eventually come up with a relaxant to use in future attacks.  When injected directly into the gland it eased the spasms within minutes, though it left Darien aching and exhausted for hours. 

The bottom line was Bobby and Claire had come through for him again.  He really didn’t know how he was ever going to repay them.  If it took the rest of his life he’d vowed he would do his best to show them how much they meant to him.

“Darien…Darien?” Claire’s voice cut through his reverie.

“Huh?  Oh sorry,” Darien apologised.  “What’s wrong?”

“Where were you?” Claire asked.

“You know, like you said this morning – just thinking…” Darien answered with a faint smile.

“Well, your blood and quicksilver levels are stable, no problems there,” Claire reported with a reassuring smile of her own.

“Good, what next?” Darien muttered, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Well, there are a few new tests I want to do on your eyes to see if we can finally track down what’s giving you those occasional problems with your sight, but….” She hesitated,  “I’ve been working on a new formula for the relaxant.  If it works, we’ll be able to inject it into a vein instead of the gland and it will hopefully cut down on your recovery time.

Darien sat up quickly.  “Well that sounds like a good thing, right?”  Claire had started accompanying them on missions where Darien was expected to use a lot of quicksilver.  Injecting into the gland was a delicate procedure and she wouldn’t allow Bobby or Alex to take on the task.  It was just too risky.  However, they both had experience administering the counteragent and the new injection would require the same technique.

“Yes,” Claire agreed.  “Animal testing has been very successful, but I need to test it under controlled circumstances before I can authorise it for use in the field.”  She looked meaningfully at him.

“What?” Darien asked in confusion.  Suddenly it struck him what she meant.  “Oh,” he managed to whisper as realisation dawned.  “No, no, no, no!”  He stood up quickly and shook his head vigorously as he walked across the lab.  “No way Claire, okay?  It’s bad enough when it happens by accident, but you want me to push the limit on purpose?”

Claire walked over to Darien and took his hands in her own.

“I know it’s not a pleasant experience,” she said in a soothing tone, “but this new formula has the potential to significantly improve your condition.  I’m pretty sure it will work perfectly, I just want to be certain.”

Before he could answer a muffled boom could be heard above them.

“What was that?” Darien asked with a start, as two more muffled booms shook the building.  Claire had no time to answer as an explosion on the far side of the lab stopped any further comment.  It shattered the glass screens and the last thing Darien remembered was flying through the air, before crashing to the floor in a crumpled heap. 

Chapter 2

The first thing he became aware of with returning consciousness was pain.  An all-encompassing universe of pain.  Darien tried to take a deep breath, but a moan escaped his lips instead as he realised this only intensified the agony.

“He’s comin’ round Hanks.”  Darien heard a man’s voice comment with relief.

“No thanks to you!” another voice replied angrily.  “You dumb shit, you weren’t supposed to damage the merchandise!”

The two men began arguing bitterly, but silence fell between them as distant sirens could be heard approaching fast.

“Christ, what a freakin’ screw up!” the second voice exclaimed.  “Get him Davis and lets get the hell out of here.”

Darien tried to convince his eyes it might be a good idea if they opened, but they were refusing to cooperate.  It felt as though they’d been welded shut.  With a super-human effort he managed to prise his right eye open just enough to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

Debris and mangled furniture littered the floor around him and he realised with a jolt of anxiety that he was in the Keep.  What the hell had happened?

He saw a pair of legs and a figure looming over him before he was roughly manhandled and hauled over the man’s shoulder.  He gasped as intense pain coursed through his body.  His grip on consciousness was slipping, but as he was carried out of the door he caught sight of the seemingly lifeless form of his Keeper lying on the floor by her wrecked computer station.

“Oh God” he managed to croak as his heart lurched with concern.  “Please… ” he began, but was interrupted by one of the assailants.

“Which way?” asked Davis

“Not the elevator, it’s not safe.  Head for the stairs,”  replied Hanks.

There was debris strewn all around the corridor and in the stairwell and they had to struggle to make their way through.  By the time they reached the entrance level both men were breathing heavily.

“Please …”  Darien tried again, fighting the rising nausea he felt.  “Claire….”  How could they just leave her lying there?  He’d seen blood running freely onto the floor from an obvious head wound.

Davis and Hanks ignored his pleas as they steadily made their way towards the front doors of the Agency.  Just as it looked like they were home free the sirens wailed loudly outside the building and sounds of approaching emergency services personnel could clearly be heard.

Both men exchanged panicked looks and mouthed colourful expletives.

“Leave him!” Hanks shouted as he turned around and started running back the way they had come.

The man carrying Darien stuttered to a halt, with a confused look on his face.  “But…”

“I said leave him!” spat Hanks.  “If we’re caught we won’t live to see tomorrow.  You think the boss couldn’t reach right into prison and snap our necks without a second thought?  Now come on!”

Darien felt himself being shrugged off Davis’ shoulder and he landed hard on the faded linoleum floor.  He grunted as the air was expelled from his lungs.  The quickly fading footsteps of the would-be kidnappers heading for the rear exit were replaced by the sound of people entering the building through the front double doors.  

As blackness encroached on Darien’s consciousness once again he felt a cool hand on his neck as the paramedic checked for a pulse.

“This one’s alive!” he shouted.

Darien tried to speak, but his words came out in a garbled rush.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay – take it easy,” said the paramedic soothingly.

“Please …my Keeper…help her…Cla…” he managed to mutter as the darkness finally claimed him.

*****                                                          

Beep, beep, beep, beep.  What was that annoying noise?  Darien attempted to make sense of what he was hearing.  Beep, beep.  He tried to move his head towards the sound, but thought better of it as pain lanced through his head. 

“Ugh!” he exclaimed.

“Ah, Mr Fawkes,” said a drawling voice.  “I see you’ve decided to join us”

Darien looked up to see a balding middle-aged man in a white coat standing at the side of his bed.

“Wh...wh?” said Darien attempting to speak, but finding his tongue had other ideas.

“Easy there Mr Fawkes, you’re in hospital.  There was an explosion at your workplace two days ago..”

“Two days?”  Darien gasped.  “What…?” he faltered as memories of the explosions and Claire lying injured on the floor of the Keep assaulted his mind.

“Claire!” he exclaimed, trying to lever himself up off the bed.  He screamed as his body punished him for attempting to move and slumped back pale, sweating and exhausted.

“Please Mr Fawkes, calm yourself, you’ve sustained some fairly serious injuries and you need to rest.  I’m your doctor, Dr Evans.  Miss Keeply is in the next room and she’s receiving the best of care,” he assured his patient.

Darien visibly relaxed and his eyelids started to droop.  “So she’s gonna be fine?” he managed to mumble before falling asleep.

Dr Evans took a moment to check to see if Darien was sleeping peacefully, gave the monitors a cursory glance, then turned to leave the room.  As he exited the door he was confronted by a younger man in the corridor.  He was dressed immaculately in a black designer suit, white shirt and red silk tie. 

“Well?” demanded the man.  By the tone of his voice it was obvious this man was used to being in charge - someone it would be foolish to contradict or disappoint.

Dr Evans swallowed hard, knowing the information he had to share would not be well received.

“Well Sir, he’s stable, but I’m afraid the injuries he sustained will take some time to heal.  The force of the explosion must have thrown him onto his left side because most of the damage is located there.  The dislocated shoulder has been strapped and a cast placed on his left wrist,” Dr Evans said, as he began listing Darien’s injuries. 

“There are a couple of broken ribs, with a few more that are probably cracked.  We’ve removed several large pieces of glass that were quite deeply embedded in his side.  Those wounds could become a cause for concern if infection sets in, but all we can do at the moment is keep an eye on them.  However, the injury, which has the most bearing on whether Mr Fawkes can carry out his job, is the one to his knee.  It’s extremely swollen at the moment and, although we’ve managed to reposition the kneecap, ligaments have been torn and there’s some obvious muscle damage.  It would have been better if he’d broken his leg.”  Dr Evans finished summing up his patient’s condition and waited for the other man’s reaction. 

He didn’t have to wait long.  The last word was hardly out of his mouth when the suited man began to vent his feelings.

“When I find those bastards I’m going to personally smear them all over the floor,” he shouted.    The man visibly fought with his raging emotions.  “Have you told him about the others yet?”  he continued in a much calmer voice.

“I told him his Keeper is alive, but that’s all so far.  He fell asleep before I could say anything else.”  Evans informed him.

“Well, I want him told as soon as possible, is that clear?”

“Yes Sir,”  Dr Evans replied promptly.

*****          

“Mr Fawkes, are you awake?” a female voice enquired.

“Huh?  Um, Yeah,” Darien replied as he tried to pull himself back to full consciousness.  He slowly opened his eyes to see a bright-eyed young nurse standing at the side of his bed.  He felt groggy and struggled to focus on the young blond haired woman.  Must be meds for the pain.  He sighed with relief.  There was still pain, practically everywhere, but now it was manageable.

Sun was streaming through the window of Darien’s room and he realised just how bright it was as he turned away from the nurse, who was readjusting the IV needle in his arm.  He hated needles!  As he squinted towards the window he tried to lift his left arm to shield his eyes, but nothing happened.  Looking down he saw that his arm was in a cast from elbow to hand and there was strapping around his shoulder and torso.  A frame over the bed supported his left leg in a type of sling.

“Aw crap!” he exclaimed.  “What happened?”  He let out a groan as his ribs protested at his overenthusiastic exclamations.

The young nurse fussed around his bed, but didn’t answer him.  She straightened the sheets one last time and headed for the door.

“Dr Evans will be with you in a few minutes,” she informed him.  Flashing him a brief smile she left the room.

Darien laid there, confusion causing a jumble of different thoughts and questions to flit through his mind.  What had happened?  Where was Bobby?  What about Claire?   Claire! 

Just as the memories of what had happened in the Keep started to replay in his mind, fuelling his rising panic, the door to his room opened and Dr Evans entered.

“Ah, Mr Fawkes, glad to see you’re back in the land of the living,” he commented distractedly as he checked Darien’s chart.

“Doc, how’s Claire?”  asked Darien, unable to wait any longer.

The doctor picked up a chair by the window and carried it to the side of Darien’s bed.  He sat down and placed the clipboard he was carrying onto his lap.

“I’m afraid Miss Keeply’s condition is extremely critical,” Evans replied with concern.  “She suffered severe trauma to her head in the explosion and I’m afraid it’s too early to tell the scale of the damage.

“But she’s going to be fine, right?”  Darien’s large brown eyes looked pleadingly at the doctor.

“As I said, it’s too early to tell.  We’re doing everything we can but…” Dr Evans finished with a shrug and a shake of his head.

Darien lay there stunned.  He looked away from the other man to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m also the bearer of more sad news Mr Fawkes,” the doctor continued.  “A number of your co-workers were killed in the explosion.  I, ah, I understand Mr Robert Hobbes registered you as his next of kin.

Darien’s head jerked back to the doctor, a look of horror on his face.

“ You don’t mean…you can’t mean…” he stuttered to a halt.

“I’m truly sorry Mr Fawkes, I understand he was your partner.”

“No, no, no,” Darien began, shaking his head vigorously and ignoring the pain in his shoulders and back.  “He can’t be dead, he wasn’t even there that night.  I was only there because the Keeper, I mean Claire, wanted to do some tests…um.”  Darien stopped talking, unsure how much the doctor knew about him.  If he let any secrets slip the Official would have his ass.

“Ask my boss,” he continued.  “He’ll tell you.”

“I’m really sorry Darien,” said the doctor, switching to his forename for the first time.  “Apparently your employer called Mr Hobbes in for an urgent briefing twenty minutes before the bombs were detonated.  His body is currently down in the hospital’s morgue.  I’m afraid they have only found partial remains from Mr Borden and Mr Eberts.”

Darien gasped for breath as it felt like a tight band was slowing being squeezed around his chest.  His lungs wouldn’t work!

Dr Evans stood up quickly.  “Nurse!” he bellowed.

“Look at me Mr Fawkes!” the doctor said urgently as he placed Darien’s head between his hands.  Darien’s eyes turned to stare at him.  “Please calm down, you need to breath, slow and deep.”  He saw the grief and loss reflected there, together with the panic that was flowing through his patient.  Evans could see Darien battling to follow his advice, and slowly he began to take ragged breaths.

 The nurse arrived and handed the doctor a filled syringe.  Evans spoke soothingly as he injected the substance into Darien.  “I’m just giving you something to help you relax, okay?” then he watched as Darien’s body relaxed and his eyes slowly slid shut.

Evans breathed a sigh of relief.  “I knew it was too much information too soon,” he said to no-one in particular.  “Still, I didn’t expect such an extreme reaction.”

*****                                                          

Four days later Darien was in no mood for arguments.  They were still pumping him full of drugs and he felt they were deliberately keeping him groggy and sluggish.  He’d been lying there for hours trying to put his thoughts in order and fighting the pain meds when they threatened to send him into drug induced sleep.  Nevertheless, he’d finally worked it out.  Bobby, Eberts and the Official weren’t really dead.  These people were lying, kidnapping bastards and he had to get away.  He didn’t know what their game was, but he wasn’t playing this time.  They’d refused to let him see Claire, saying it would upset him too much to see her in her current condition.  They’d even tried to tell him she was in a coma, with little chance of recovery. Ha!  Hell, they’d even refused to let him see Hobbes’ body. 

There was absolutely no proof about anything he’d been told since waking up in the hospital.  Darien had had his head messed with by enough pros to recognise a con when he saw it and he wasn’t going to fall for this one.  He’d even told them so in no uncertain terms.  All he had to do now was think of a plan.  He looked ruefully down at his injuries.  If only they weren’t real!  It looked like he would have to bide his time, at least for now.

Just then the door to his room swung open and in walked Dr Evans flanked by two burly orderlies.

“Right Mr Fawkes,” he said briskly.

“What, you gonna get them to finish the job?” Darien snarled, nodding towards the two newcomers.  “Now I’m wise to your game, there’s really no need to keep playing.”

Dr Evans smiled sadly.  “No Mr Fawkes, these men are merely here to help me comply with your request to see your partner’s body.  This delusional state you seem to have lapsed into is unhealthy and is hindering your recovery.  It’s against my better judgement with regards to your physical well-being, but if that’s what it takes – so be it,” he concluded with a shrug of his shoulders.

Darien was quite frankly stunned by this turn of events.  “Oh,” was all he could manage to say before a nurse bustled in to detach him from the monitors around his bed.  Finally she unhooked the IV bags from their pole and said “Ready doctor”.

The orderlies manoeuvred Darien’s bed around and through the open door.  Dr Evans and the nurse holding the IV bags flanked the bed as they made their way down the corridor to the waiting elevator.

Darien’s thoughts were racing.  What if it was true?  What if Hobbes really was dead?  No!  Darien stamped on that idea straight away.  They were still trying to trick him.  They’d show him some badly burnt cadaver and try to pass it off as Bobby.  Yes, that’s what they were trying to do.  He relaxed slightly and tried to ignore the pain caused by the movement of the bed.

As the doors to the morgue opened there was a distinct chill to the air.  Dr Evans nodded to the assistant they’d found there and said, “Number 14”. 

The assistant answered the nod with one of his own and proceeded to open the latch on drawer 14.  He slid out the shroud-covered body, then stepped back.

Dr Evans turned to Darien.  “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.

“Absolutely,” Darien replied without hesitation.

Evans folded the covering back from the face of the cadaver and then moved so that the orderlies could position the bed next to the table.

Darien looked down at that oh, so familiar face.  He gasped and all colour drained from his face.  He reached out and traced the contours of Bobby Hobbes’ face with his hand.

“Oh God…” he managed to utter before the tears started to flow.  A sob escaped his lips, followed by an anguished howl.  It was true.  It was all true.  Bobby was dead - the Official, Eberts.  What if Claire died too?  They were his friends, hell, his family.  What would he do without them?

Tears were pouring down his face, accompanied by gut wrenching sobs.  Pain was shooting through his body, but he didn’t care.  All that mattered was Bobby really was dead.

Dr Evans waited for a few minutes, then moved to administer another sedative.  His plan seemed to have worked.

As Darien slipped into unconsciousness Evans looked at the assistant and gestured towards the body. 

“Make sure that gets back before it’s missed,” he instructed dispassionately.

Chapter 3

Darien was lying in his bed staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the events fate had decided to throw at him.  It had been almost a week since he’d seen Hobbes’ body in the morgue.  When he’d woken from the sedative he’d felt numb, empty inside.  He might just as well have been dead himself.  After all, the life he had known, and was just beginning to enjoy, was gone forever.  Everyone who’d defined and enriched his life had left him to cope alone. 

As if that wasn’t enough, his job was no longer there either, because without Charlie Borden the Agency had been disbanded and the few remaining agents reassigned.  Even the Harding building had been destroyed – bulldozed because of structural weaknesses caused by the explosions.

The only good news Darien had received since waking up in the hospital was that Alex Monroe had not been at the Agency that night.  However, when he’d asked to see her he was told of her re-assignment to the CIA and immediate posting abroad.  Apparently Alex had stopped by to say goodbye, but he’d been unconscious.  The only evidence of her visit was a small brown teddy bear by his bed, a message telling him to stay strong and a promise to visit as soon as her assignment was completed.

Darien heaved a sigh, turning towards the door as it started to open.

“Good morning Mr Fawkes,” came Dr Evan’s cheerful voice as he entered.  “How are we feeling today?”

Darien may have been over medicated and at the mercy of those who dealt with his every physical need, but that didn’t explain why he didn’t like this man.  Dr Evans was obviously English, just like his Keeper, but there was nothing of her warmth in his precise diction.  Something about the doctor just didn’t sit well with him.  Realising Evans was waiting for an answer he said, “Okay I guess.”  There was no enthusiasm in his reply.

“Good, good,” said the doctor absently as he made notes on his ever present clipboard.

“Who’s looking after Pavlov?” Darien asked suddenly.  He’d been thinking about him on and off all morning.

“I beg your pardon?” Evans asked in a confused tone.

“Claire’s dog,” Darien explained, “Who’s taking care of him?”

“Oh, I...ah…I really couldn’t say,” Evans stammered uncomfortably.  After a slight pause he continued, “Would you like me to find out for you?”

Darien nodded quickly.  As Dr Evans busied himself checking the monitors, Darien asked another question, this time the same one he’d been asking for days, “Can I see Claire?”

Evans smiled slightly as he turned to look at his patient.  “You’re very persistent aren’t you?”  After a few moments thought the doctor answered, “I’ll make you a deal.  You eat all your lunch and we’ll take you through to see her this afternoon, alright?”

Darien’s eyes showed real interest for the first time since he’d been admitted.  “Really?” he asked, not daring to believe his ears.

“Certainly,” replied Evans.  “But you must finish all your lunch remember.  Forgive me for saying so, but you really can’t afford to lose any more weight.”  He emphasised his point by nodding towards Darien’s torso, where his ribs were becoming painfully obvious through the skin.

“Um… I’m not really hungry,” Darien muttered.

“Do we have a deal?” pushed the doctor.  Fawkes would need all his strength in the coming weeks and months.

“I’ll try okay?” Darien fudged.

“Not good enough Mr Fawkes.  The deal is non-negotiable,” Evans insisted.

Darien sighed deeply, staring up at the ceiling.  “Okay, okay, all of it,” he agreed with another resigned sigh.  It would be worth it to see Claire.

*****

At two o’clock that afternoon the two burly orderlies were back and Darien was taken to Claire’s room.   He’d been warned to prepare himself, but he still let out a gasp as he saw her lying there unmoving and as pale as death.  The ventilator next to the bed hissed loudly with every breath it pumped into his Keeper’s lungs.

“Oh Claire!” he whispered and silent tears began to roll unchecked down his cheeks.  “Can I hold her hand?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes from her face.

With a quick nod from Dr Evans, Darien was manoeuvred into position.  Claire’s seemingly lifeless hand was placed in his own and he took it gently.  It felt so strange, almost surreal.  His Keeper was right next to him, but he felt no connection to her, almost as if he were looking at a stranger.  There was no sense of anything that had made her ‘Claire’ – his doctor, confidante and friend.  Her warm smile and the blue eyes that could light up her face were missing.

Claire and Bobby had sustained him, protected and cared for him during the most difficult two years of his life.  He’d already lost Bobby and now he was also being asked to say goodbye to Claire.  Dr Evans had told him just before the visit that she would never recover.  The latest batch of tests had revealed no brain activity and they were going to switch off the ventilator.  It was so like Claire to have made a living will and to want her organs to help others.  Her compassionate heart would beat for someone else, giving them another chance at life.  Just as she had given him another chance.

Darien sat there in silence, trying to comprehend how his life had once again turned so dramatically in such a short space of time.  Was it really only two short weeks ago they had all been in the Keep laughing and joking?  He, Bobby, Claire and Alex had been goofing around, trying to persuade a reluctant Eberts to put aside his solitary night of computer gaming and join them at the bowling alley.

He shook his head and wiped his eyes.  He didn’t want to remember that happy time at the moment.  Everything was too raw and too real to think of the happy camaraderie they had shared. Before death and destruction had shattered their lives.

“I’m ready,” he managed to croak, as he kissed the tips of his fingers and placed them on Claire’s pale cheek.  Darien took her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze.  The click of the ventilator’s off switch sounded so loud in the hushed room.  The steady beep, beep of the heart monitor slowed and stuttered, until a continuous tone signalled flatline.

Darien felt his stomach lurch and he swallowed hard in an attempt to hold down the lunch he had struggled to eat earlier in the day.  He concentrated hard on a small crack in the ceiling to try and stop the tears from overwhelming him.  Someone gently removed Claire’s hand from his grip and Dr Evans placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  He produced a syringe and injected the contents into Darien’s arm.

“This will help you sleep,” he said simply.

Darien tried to twist around.  “No, I don’t…” was all he managed to say before the sedative took effect.

Checking that Darien had succumbed to the drug, Evans ordered, “Take him back to his room and watch him.”  Turning back to the body on the bed, he detached the monitors and slowly began to peel off Claire’s hair and skin to reveal a plain looking woman with close-cropped red hair beneath.

 Chapter 4

“Is it done?”  demanded the designer suit clad figure waiting in the corridor ten minutes later.

“Yes, the last link to his old life has been severed,” replied Dr Evans with a tired sigh, as he emerged from Darien’s room.  “The cloned skin and cartilage technique Arnaud de Fehrn provided us with worked perfectly.”

“Good,” responded the other man.  “The way things have been going lately I was beginning to wonder whether my luck would ever improve.”  He hesitated, and seemed to realise he had revealed too much, showing weakness.  Continuing in a harsher tone he said, “Hanks and Davis have yet to be traced.  However, the delay in their capture gives me longer to plan a very slow and agonising demise for them.”  Their over-enthusiasm for explosives could have royally screwed up his scheme. 

“Mr Darien Fawkes is integral to my plans.  Without his assistance our little coup will not succeed.”  Looking directly into the doctor’s eyes he asked, “When will he be fit for action?” 

“I really couldn’t say with any certainty,” Dr Evans replied with a grave look on his face.  “He seems to have been much closer to his work colleagues than I was led to believe and their ‘deaths’ have left his deeply depressed.  We need to find something to motivate and encourage him to want to get better.”

“Then I suggest you find a way and soon,” his superior said with menace.  “What about his injuries?”

“I’ll have a better idea tomorrow, once we reach the new facility.  I have some tests scheduled and the physical therapist there will be able to give her input.”  Dr Evans deliberately kept his tone neutral, knowing that the slightest hint of irritation would only provoke his employer further.

“I’ll expect a detailed report in two days – no later,” the man barked.

“Yes Sir,” Evans agreed, as his employer turned on his heels and stalked down the corridor.  Disappointing Jared Stark was not an option he cared to explore.

*****

The next morning Dr Evans informed Darien he was to be moved.  He explained that they had uncovered evidence of Chrysalis’ involvement in the Agency bombing and it had been decided to move him to a more secure facility.  Darien had hardly reacted.  What difference did it make where he was anyway?

In an attempt to engage Fawkes in conversation and to get an answer to a question that had been vexing him for days, Evans changed the subject.  “We’ve been carefully monitoring your tattoo since you were admitted Mr Fawkes and it is still showing ten green segments.  We were under the impression, from your Keeper’s files, that the segments slowly turn to red as your blood becomes saturated with quicksilver...” Dr Evans sounded puzzled, unsure how to continue.

“Huh?  Darien was roused out of his semi-stupor by the surprising topic under discussion.  “I don’t need counteragent anymore,” he replied with growing suspicion in his eyes.  “Haven’t needed it for months now.  How come you don’t know that?”

Dr Evans moved to reassure Fawkes quickly with a barely perceptible hesitation.  “We’re still waiting for your most recent medical records to be transferred.  There was significant damage to your Keeper’s computer files,” he lied smoothly.  He adopted a pained expression and continued, “I’m sure your Mr Eberts would have completed the task by now.  I understand he was quite the expert in that field.”

Darien settled back into his pillows.  “Yeah,” was all he said, his thoughts switching to Eberts’ quiet competence.  Anything, from retrieving sensitive data by hacking into computer networks or running an ultra efficient filing system had come easily to the unassuming man.   If he could keep Bobby out of the filing room…

“So,” Evans said forcefully, trying to distract Darien from the memories he could see bubbling to the surface in his patient’s eyes.  “If you could fill me in on some of the missing details, it would help me with your treatment.”

Darien forced himself to concentrate on the doctor.  “Uh, well, we managed to get some info from Arnaud.  Claire…” there was a slight catch in his voice.  Coughing to clear his throat, he continued, “She constructed a suicide gene to kill the cells that were producing the toxin…she saved my life,” he concluded in nothing more than a whisper.

As Evans heard the explanation about the cure for quicksilver madness he maintained a look of professional interest.  However, inside his head a voice was screaming ‘Stark is going to go ballistic!”

When he eventually left the room the doctor was already trying to work out how to inform his employer of yet another problem with his master plan, without suffering his wrath.  He just hoped there would be no thoughts of shooting the messenger.

*****

Jared Stark sat behind his borrowed metal-framed desk and surveyed the dingy office they had provided for him.  Oh how the mighty had fallen.  His hands were clasped tightly together as he struggled to contain the rage coursing through his body.  He’d always thought the idea of ‘seeing red’ was the fanciful imaginings of some writer – that was until Darien Fawkes had appeared on the scene and begun to screw up his near perfect existence.

“So, let me get this straight, Fawkes no longer suffers from quicksilver madness, is that what all your stuttering explanations and half formed apologies are leading up to?” Stark demanded, giving Dr Evans a stare that could have liquefied metal.

“Yes Sir,” replied Evans, regretting the day he’d thrown in his lot with Chrysalis.  Not that there had been much option really.  Fleeing from England and the threat of prosecution for his part in an organs for money scam, Chrysalis had found him selling illegal prescriptions in a less than savoury part of New York.  There was no returning to England.  Even if he didn’t end up in jail, the British Medical Association had revoked his licence to practise medicine.

Stark had promised him a seven figure salary and a new identity in return for his services for a few years.  Due to the youthful appearances of the Chrysalis members they occasionally employed older people for limited periods of time to allay the suspicions of outsiders. Evans had been flown in from Chicago at a moments notice and been given just twenty-four hours to come up to speed on one Darien Fawkes, after the botched kidnapping had left him badly injured.

“Fawkes’ bouts of QSM were essential to my plans,” Stark said, his voice now menacingly quiet.  “What do you suggest I do now, abandon almost six months of plotting to regain my rightful position?  Throw in the towel and skulk off to some godforsaken backwater to live out the rest of my miserable existence?” 

Stark drew in a deep calming breath and continued, “This whole elaborate scheme depended on forcing Fawkes into QSM and unleashing him on those he believed were responsible for the deaths of his friends.  The madness and a high powered weapon would have done the rest.  His damnable morals won’t allow him to take revenge if he’s in his right mind.  He couldn’t even kill the man responsible for his own brother’s murder.”

“Well Sir, I had no way of  knowing…” Evans began.

“Enough!” Stark interrupted.  “I WILL take advantage of the coming opportunity, but obviously I need to reconsider my strategy.  Fawkes’ usefulness however, is at an end.  Terminate him.”

The cold finality in Jared Stark’s voice shocked Evans.  The doctor had always enjoyed the high life and his conscience had hardly troubled him, as he’d sold anything from illegal drugs to human organs.  He’d even carried out dangerous experiments on unsuspecting patients, but cold-blooded murder by his own hand?  Had he fallen so far?

“I don’t think…” he began.

“This is not a debate!” Stark shouted.  “I said terminate him!”

Both men were distracted as a third man at the far side of the room spoke for the first time.

“I believe I have a solution,” he said quietly.  “The gland may still be of use to us.”

Chapter 5

Bobby Hobbes prowled around the Official’s office like a predator waiting for the hunt. Every muscle and sinew in his body was taut, as he battled with barely suppressed energy.  Fawkes had been missing for over two weeks. Two weeks of false hopes, frustration, and despair.  He craved action, to feel he was doing something, to see results.  Standing around wasting time talking was not going to get the job done.

“Bobby please…” Claire began, “all that pacing is making my head ache.”  Her voice held a sad, weary quality that he wished he could erase.

Hobbes looked over to where Claire was sitting by the window, the blinds drawn against the bright sunshine.  She was looking pale and tired, but immeasurably better than on his first visit to see her in the hospital.  She’d been extremely lucky according to the medical reports.  The head injury she had received from the explosion in the Keep could easily have been much worse.  As it was she’d only needed to spend four days in the hospital and a week resting at home, before returning to work.   Probably too early, he mused, but with Darien missing, none of them felt like taking it easy. 

Then to top it all Claire’s beloved Pavlov had disappeared whilst out with his dog walker.    Someone had pulled up in a station wagon and asked for directions.  She’d only been distracted for a few minutes, but that was enough.  Pavlov was nowhere in sight.  A search of the neighbourhood had proven fruitless, calls to the dog pound a waste of time.  Even the posters and flyers had revealed no clues.

Bobby gave Claire an apologetic smile and perched on the table next to her.   “Sorry Keep,” he said quietly.

The ambulance transporting Darien to the hospital had been found abandoned three blocks away from the agency, together with the dead bodies of both paramedics.  The few eyewitnesses around at that time of night only managed to give vague and contradictory reports of the incident.  But, what they all seemed to agree on was that the patient, who was quickly bundled into a dark coloured van, looked in a bad way.

Investigations into the attack on the Agency had revealed that the explosive devices used were concealed in packages delivered that morning.  Their regular deliveryman, Joe Davis had failed to turn up for work since that day and was currently their prime suspect.  The problem was, they could find no motive for his actions.

Luckily, due to the late hour there had been very few people in the building and no one had died.  Only Darien was unaccounted for and those who had been injured were now back at work.  The Official’s rage had been a sight to behold.  As a result, new security measures were quickly being drawn up, but the damage had been done.

Bobby shook his head as his imagination started showing him ever more horrific scenarios of what might have happened to his best friend.  He needed to banish such thoughts from his mind and focus on the task at hand.  Fawkes was used to getting kicked around, in fact he seemed to have a real knack for it!  Hobbes’ face showed the ghost of a smile at the thought, but it faded quickly.  Yeah, but he’d been there to watch his back.  Now Darien was out there injured, alone and at the mercy of God knew what set of whackos.  

“Bobby!” growled the Official.

“Sorry Chief,” he answered, as he realised he’d lost track of the conversation.  That wasn’t like him.  He usually had to fill Fawkes in on missed briefing information.  Looking at the assembled group he didn’t think any of them were on top of their game right now.

Eberts suddenly burst into the Official’s office, his usually sallow complexion uncharacteristically flushed.

“I think Darien has been found!” he exclaimed loudly to the assembled group.

Bobby and Claire were on their feet instantly, with Alex rising mere seconds later.  They rushed over to Eberts, clamouring for more information.

“Where is he, is he alright,” Claire asked quickly.

Bobby’s eyes blazed with hope for the first time in days.  He’d tried to stay positive for Claire and Alex, but in this business he’d met enough creeps, weirdos and downright evil psychopaths to be more realistic.

“I, I’m afraid…” Eberts struggled to speak.  “I’m afraid they have found a body,” he concluded unhappily.  “He…it, was found in a dumpster behind a restaurant downtown.  Er, a vagrant was searching for food, but unfortunately he discovered Dar…er…a body instead.”

The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound to be heard, as the atmosphere of shock could be felt like a physical presence.

“Oh, Bobby,” Claire moaned as she turned towards him.  Her face had a stricken expression. 

Hobbes moved swiftly to catch her as she almost collapsed.  He held her close, trying not to let his emotions betray him.  After a few moments, he helped Claire to a vacant chair, knelt in front of her and took her hands in his own.

Alex stood alone, shock and anger evident in her expression.  She’d only known Darien for about a year, but he’d somehow managed to get under her skin.  His perceptiveness over her feelings for her missing son and his caring attitude had broken down some of the defences she’d built around herself over the years.  He’d become the irritating, pain in the ass brother she’d never had.

The Official sat behind his desk an inscrutable expression, honed from years of practice, hiding his inner turmoil.

“I’m, ah…I’m afraid there’s more,” Eberts stammered.  “Um…the body…um…it’s headless,” he managed to finish with a shiver.

“You mean they got the gland?”  Borden breathed.

“I’m afraid so Sir”

*****

Bobby stood outside the Keep, his forehead pressed against the coolness of the metal door.  Darien’s body had been brought back over an hour ago and Claire had insisted on examining it.  He’d wanted to go in there and be with them both, but just couldn’t face it.  The guilt he felt was palpable.  He should have been there that night to protect his partner.  If he hadn’t left maybe there was something he could have done.  Maybe Darien would still be alive.

Before he could delve deeper into his feelings of guilt, the Keep door swooshed open.  Claire came rushing up to him, the expression on her face a mixture of confusion and hope.

“It’s not him, it’s not him,” she cried, as she clutched at Bobby’s arms.  “It’s not Darien.”

“Whoa there Keepie,” Bobby said, trying to calm her down.  The stress seemed to be getting to her.  “Just take it easy.”

“No, no, Bobby, I’m fine really!”  Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly to try and convince him she was in control.

The Official and Eberts chose that moment to appear and found Hobbes trying to calm an obviously agitated Keeper.

“Hobbes!” barked the Official, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Well, you see, ah…I was just..ah…the Keep…” Bobby began, his head tilted to one side, and his body squirming under the Official’s angry gaze.

Claire cut through Bobby’s ramblings forcefully, “Sir, Darien isn’t dead, or at least that’s not his body.”

“What?!” Borden exclaimed incredulously.  “He was identified by the quicksilver in his blood and his snake tattoo.  I saw it myself.”  He stood there shaking his head and massaging the bridge of his nose.  He’d let her return to work far too soon.

“Yes, the tattoo,” she agreed.  “That’s what got me thinking.  It’s showing two red segments!  Don’t you see?” she continued when the others stared blankly at her, “Darien’s tattoo doesn’t go red anymore – no toxin no red indicator!”  She breathed a sigh of relief as the men around her seemed to eventually understand what she had said.

“Anyway, it piqued my curiosity and I decided to remove the chip, only there wasn’t one.  The tattoo on the body is just that – a normal tattoo.”  Claire’s voice sounded happier than it had since Fawkes had disappeared.  “I’ve started a DNA analysis, but that’s just for confirmation.  Personally, I’m certain I’m right.”

Hobbes was having trouble processing this new information.  He stepped away from the group and entered the Keep.  Approaching the table, he pushed the white cover away and examined the upper right arm of the corpse, front and back.  Fawkes had been shot whilst protecting a young girl named Jessica Semplar early on in their partnership.  The bullet had passed cleanly through his arm, but had left two small scars.  However, there were no marks on this arm.  Proof positive in Bobby Hobbes’ mind.&