Title: Delēri
Author: BethCarielle
Genre: Action/Drama/Angst- Gen
Rating: PG-13 Violence, swearing, character death.
E-Mail: bethcarielle@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Invisible Man.
Author's Note: Thanks to my betas SuzyH, Invisible_Mom, AXZ, and Cndluhu.
Chapter One
Claire fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock her front door. She was tired, her feet hurt and all she wanted was a cup of tea and a hot shower. Sighing as the deadbolt retracted, she let herself into her house. She moved into the kitchen and set her bag on the table, tossing her coat on the back of a chair. She kicked her shoes off as she filled the teakettle, placing it on the burner. Opening the cabinet she selected a tea bag and set it on the counter next to her mug.
Today had been emotionally draining. She had been working on a gene pattern alteration that might prove to be useful in treating QSM when she received a panicked call from Bobby. Darien was in the van, caught in the throws of Quicksilver madness. She snapped up a pre-filled syringe of Counteragent and ran down to the parking area behind the Harding building. When she burst through the door she found Darien crouched on the ground, prepared to launch himself at Bobby, who was carefully maintaining his distance.
Darien's madness heightened senses picked up her movement and he changed his target, springing from the ground like a cat pouncing on prey. Claire tried to dodge his attack but he caught her shoulder, dragging her to the ground. She could still remember the sneer in his voice as he loomed over her, pinning her hands above her head.
Bobby jumped into the fray, trying to pull the crazed man off of her but the strength given to Darien by the madness was too much. Claire shouted Bobby's name, getting his attention, and motioned to the syringe that she had dropped when Darien attacked her.
Bobby snatched it up, uncapped it and smartly stuck it into the bulging vein in Darien's neck. Darien stiffened, his eyes rolling back in his head as the Counteragent hit his system. His grip on her wrists loosened but Claire couldn't escape his grasp before he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under him.
Bobby moved in quickly, rolling the semi-unconscious man off of her. Claire had rolled the other direction, waving away Bobby's attempts at helping her up. She was fine, save a little bruising around her wrists and possibly her hip from where she had landed when pulled to the ground.
Darien started coming to, groaning as he sat up, head in his hands. She asked him if he was all right and he nodded silently. She knew he was fully aware of what he had done. Quicksilver madness memories where usually pretty fuzzy, but he tended to remember enough to get his conscience after him with guilt. Darien finally looked up at her, apology creasing his features. She simply replied that she knew he was sorry and left as Bobby was helping him up.
She had returned to The Keep and shut down her computer. She wasn't able to concentrate any more. She had truly been afraid of her Kept, she knew at the time he didn't know what he was doing, and they had all been powerless to stop it until Bobby had managed to inject the Counteragent.
She closed up The Keep and headed home, where she was now. The phone had rung and she was finishing up a quick conversation with a colleague at a local college when the door bell rang. Wondering who could be at her place at 8:30pm, Claire padded to the front door. Peeping through the spy hole she saw a young man wearing dark blue jeans, and a white sweatshirt. Making sure the chain was in place, she opened the door the four inches allowed it.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"Yeah, my car broke down down the street," he said indicating a grayish vehicle about 100 feet away, "Can I use your phone?"
"I'll call for you. Who do you want me to call?" replied Claire holding up the cordless phone she still had in her possession, not taking a chance on letting this man into her house.
"I'd really like to make the call myself," he pressed, stepping closer to the door.
"It's alright, I don't mind," tried Claire again, hoping he'd give up on whatever he was trying, clicking the phone on, and pushing the automatic dial button for the 911 switchboard.
"I said I wanted to make the call myself," he demanded, pushing on the door, straining the safety chain. Claire pushed back at the door, trying to re-close it. The man outside was stronger than appearances led to believe and he gave the door a powerful shove, snapping the chain and sending Claire tumbling backwards into the entry hall, and the phone flying.
He grabbed at her, pinning her down the same way Darien had earlier that day, with her hands helplessly over her head. She fought and kicked, trying to push him off of her but he was too strong. With his free hand he smacked her, bloodying her lip. He suddenly let go of her hands and started hitting her with both fists. Delivering a blow to the left side of her face hard enough to knock her out.
As she was losing consciousness Claire saw him stand and felt him viciously kick her in the ribs. Why is this happening she thought, now completely powerless to stop the assault.
She woke to the piercing shriek of the teakettle and found herself in a heap in her entryway, blood coating a good portion of her face. She rolled to her stomach, hissing at the sharp pain coursing through her side and back. She managed to get to her knees, ignoring the pain. She brought a hand up to her face, fingers slick on the blood draining from her nose.
Panic setting in again, fueled by fear triggered adrenaline, she quickly stood, slightly unsteady on her feet, and slammed the front door closed, bolting it and retreating to her bathroom. Looking in the mirror she was shocked to see her left eye swelling shut and her face and neck bloody from her hemorrhaging nose. Grabbing a towel she used it to soak up the continuing flow, surprised to hear sirens growing closer. Wondering who had called the police, she startled at the crisp knock on her door.
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" came a voice from the other side. Tentatively, as she was still frightened, she cracked open the door.
"Ma'am, everything alright?" asked the officer on the other side, who was holding up his badge. Claire shook her head and swung the door open farther, allowing the officer and his partner, who she hadn't seen behind him, to enter.
"Ma'am what happened?" inquired the first police officer, while his partner radioed into the dispatcher. Claire broke down, the towel falling out of her grasp, allowing the blood to flow down her face again. The police officer grabbed her elbow and helped her to the couch in the living room.
"Ambulance is on the way," called the second officer from the hall.
"Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?" asked the first officer.
Claire was at loss for words, she didn't know what happened. She knew she was attacked, but she didn't know why.
"A…a young man was at my door…he …he said his car broke down," she said softly.
"Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"He was…he was wearing dark jeans and a white sweatshirt…5'9", 180lbs, about 25-30 years old. His car was small, gray," reported Claire with clinical detachment. The officer wrote down Claire's description and radioed it in, requesting an APB.
The ambulance arrived and the EMT's took over the scene, replacing Claire's hand towel with gauze pads and escorting her to the back of the vehicle, settling her on the stretcher. The police stayed at her house to document the attack and the ambulance anti-climactically took Claire to the nearest hospital.
Once there she was escorted in by one of the EMT's since she was very capable of walking, but still very shaken up.
"Assault?" the nurse questioned the EMT as they entered.
"Yeah. You'll be alright honey," directed the EMT to Claire as she left the ER. The nurse walked Claire to an exam room, helping her sit on the bed. She grabbed some new gauze pads for Claire's stemming nose bleed and started a history.
"Can I get your name sweetheart?" she asked kindly, she was a gentle motherly type woman.
"Dr. Claire Keeply," she replied with her aching jaw.
"Doctor? Where do you work Ma'am?"
"Private facility. Government."
The nurse nodded and continued the history, including address, age, past medical history and current medications. As she was finishing the doctor made an appearance.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms.," the doctor paused to look at the chart handed to him by the nurse, "oh, excuse me, Dr. Keeply. I'm sure you know what we'll do. Basic exam, x-rays, and blood work."
Claire nodded and lay back on the bed with the nurse's help. The doctor began a gentle examination of her face. He carefully palpated her forehead, working his way down her face. She hissed when he reached her left cheekbone.
"Orbital x-ray and full ocular exam," he instructed the nurse, who was writing down orders. He continued his exam, checking her nose.
"Ruptured vessel but no break," he reported, and continued down along her jaw. Although bruised, her jaw wasn't broken either. Motioning to the nurse the doctor turned briefly while she helped Claire into a gown. He returned and checked her clavicles and arms finding only bruises. He checked her hands and Claire gasped when he reached her right.
"X-ray of the right hand and wrist, three of morphine for pain," he reported, moving onto examine Claire's side and back. He palpated her ribs and abdomen, not finding anything broken or extremely swollen.
"Four inch laceration on the inside of the left thigh, bruising on the lower abdomen. Dr. Keeply, was it possible you were raped?" he asked gently.
"I…I don't know. I lost consciousness."
"Bring a rape kit," he instructed the nurse.
Claire sobbed considering the possibility. She couldn't remember. She didn't understand. It was too much. The doctor finished his exam, reporting more bruises and an abrasion on her lower leg, from when she tried to kick her attacker off. The doctor left her in the exam room and in the hands of the nurse.
"It'll be ok sweetheart, it'll be ok," she said, gently cleaning up Claire's face. Claire was crying silently, and kept doing so when the doctor returned.
"Ok Dr. Keeply, I'm going to perform the rape exam. Tell me if anything hurts."
Claire nodded and held the nurse's hand. The doctor examined Claire, taking swabs to collect any possible evidence.
"No signs of trauma, no lacerations, or signs of forced penetration, no semen," he reported and Claire gave a shuddering sigh of relief. Removing her feet from the stirrups she settled back on the bed.
Sealing the swabs for the lab, the nurse handed them to another nurse and cleared the way for the portable x-ray that was being wheeled into the room.
"We're going to administer the morphine, then take some films, and then I'll get you some scrubs," said the nurse, extending a professional courtesy.
"Thank you…" Claire paused.
"I'm Joy. Call me Joy."
"Thank you Joy," murmured Claire as the morphine was injected and blood was drawn. She then allowed herself to be positioned for the x-rays. She lay still, thinking about what happened. It didn't make sense, she didn't have any enemies. Some random attack. Why her?
"All done miss," said the x-ray tech.
Claire nodded, but didn't move from her spot. Joy came back in with a set of scrubs and helped Claire sit up. "Here honey. Anyone I can call?" she asked placing the blue clothing on the bed next to Claire. Claire shook her head; she didn't know who to call. With her right hand of no use, Joy pulled the curtain and helped her change.
With help she peeled the hospital gown off, and Joy picked up some unopened gauze and a bottle of saline from the table. She wet the pads and wiped the blood from Claire's neck and hands. Claire still had her bra on and she let Joy pull the scrub top over her head. Finding her belongings bag she retrieved her underwear and pulled them back on with one hand, followed by the blue pants, the elastic waist band just snug enough to keep them on. She was still barefoot since she hadn't been wearing any shoes at the time, but she noticed a pair of booties that Joy had brought with the scrubs. Putting those on one handed as well, she sat on the bed.
"Are you sure there's no one I can call?" Joy asked again.
Claire thought about it. Who, if anyone should she call? Instead she stalled.
"Do you have a hair tie?" she asked.
"Sure honey," replied Joy, fishing one out of her pocket, and gently gathering Claire's rumpled hair back into a pony tail.
Just then an orthopedic technician entered the room, prepared to set and splint Claire's hand.
"You have a non-displaced fracture of the fifth metacarpal and partial fracture of the fourth metacarpal. You also have a minor orbital fracture, for which we can't do much. We'll prescribe some Vicodin," reported the tech. "How's the pain?"
"Not bad," replied Claire, the morphine had done its job. The tech gently maneuvered her hand, slipping padding around the fracture. "You'll only have a solid cast for ten days, then a brace," Claire nodded and watched as the plaster was applied to her wrist and hand, followed by a hard wrap.
The tech had left and Claire was sitting on the bed, casted hand cradled in her lap. She knew she should call someone; she couldn't just show up at work like this. None of her close friends lived nearby and neither Bobby nor Darien would be a good choice. Bobby would strike a personal vendetta against the guy and Darien was apt to be indecisive. Alex. Alex was probably her best bet.
"Joy?"
"Yes honey?"
"Can you make that call now?"
"Of course. Who?"
"A co-worker…friend, of mine. Alexandra Monroe, 555-3487. That's her cell phone."
"Sure honey. I'll be right back."
Claire nodded and sat back on the bed, eyes closed. What was she going to say? What happens now?
Joy went into the hall and dialed the number. The phone rang three times before a snappy voice answered.
"Monroe."
"Alexandra Monroe?"
"Yes?"
"This is Joy Bauer at Memorial Hospital. I'm calling on behalf of Dr. Claire Keeply."
"What happened, is Fawkes alright?"
"Who Miss?"
"Isn't there a Darien Fawkes there?"
"No Miss. Dr. Keeply was attacked at her home this evening. She gave me your number as a contact."
"I'll be there in five," replied Alex, snapping her phone shut. What the hell had happened? She ran to her car and climbed in, flooring it to the hospital.
Joy returned to the exam room harboring Claire, who was currently laying silently on the bed.
"You're friend Alexandra is on her way."
"Thank you Joy."
"No problem honey. Everything will be alright."
Claire nodded.
Alex arrived as she said, in no more than five minutes. She stormed into the ER, announcing her presence and inquiring about Claire. Joy saw the mid height, pretty brunette and approached her.
"Miss Monroe?"
"Yes?"
"Joy Bauer, we spoke on the phone."
Alex nodded and followed Joy back to the exam room. "What happened?"
"She was attacked by an unknown assailant tonight at her home. Police responded to a 911 call that she started, and they called in the ambulance. She has bruises, lacerations, an orbital fracture and two fractures in her right hand. She's had morphine, and her hand has been set, there's nothing we can really do for the orbital fracture."
Alex was silent, listening to the description of the night's events. Who in the world would attack Claire? Alex followed the nurse through the doorway, gasping when she saw Claire. Her face was swollen, a large dark blue bruise spreading across the left side. She was still cradling her plaster encased hand in her lap. This was unbelievable.
"Claire?"
"Hi Alex," she replied softly.
"Oh my God," Alex whispered as she moved close, "what happened?"
"I don't know."
"We'll find who did this."
Claire nodded, "I'm scared Alex," she whispered, her voice trembling. Alex nodded and pulled up a chair next to the bed and leaned over, picking up Claire's left hand, giving it a squeeze. "We'll find him."
Darien was pacing his apartment. He felt like shit for the way he attacked Claire this afternoon. He hated the madness; it managed to ruin his life on a regular basis. Damn it anyways. He could remember the fear in The Keeper's eyes; he had heard her breath catch in her throat. She was truly afraid of him, at the time at least.
He knew that she knew he was sorry, but it wasn't enough. Bobby had pulled him up off the ground, and he started to voice his apology but Claire had already slipped back into the building. Bobby had brushed it off, telling him that it wasn't his fault and that she was fine, that she understood. Maybe she did, but it didn't make him feel any better.
Darien flopped down on his couch, his body limp against the cushions. He would face her the next morning, but what about right now? He needed to talk. He glanced at the clock, it was only 8:30pm, Bobby would be home. He forced himself off the couch and grabbed his keys.
Darien arrived at Bobby's building, and stood outside his apartment door. He took a breath and knocked firmly on the door. He remained where he was, staring at his feet, and the door didn't open. Perplexed, Darien looked up, and knocked again.
"Hey Hobbes. It's me. You home?"
Silence. Had he gone out? Darien walked to the end of the hall and looked out the window; he could see Golda parked below. Where was Bobby? He went back to the door and knocked a third time.
"Hey Hobbes! Bobby! Open up!" he called again, a door down the hall opening a crack as a curious neighbor peaked out into the hall to see what was going on. Growing concerned, Darien tried the handle. Locked as usual, but when he bent closer he noticed only the door handle was locked, the dead bolt wasn't thrown. That was unlike Bobby. Pulling a pen from his pocket he made quick work of the solitary lock. Cautiously, Darien pushed the door open, revealing a dark expanse before him. The silence triggered his adrenaline and Darien shimmered from sight.
"Hobbes? Bobby?" He called, walking inside, flipping the light switch. He froze at the scene before him. Blood. Lots of blood, even through the warbled Quicksilver vision he could tell it was blood on the floor, and the back of the couch, and leading towards the bedroom.
"Bobby!" he called again, following the splatters into the bedroom. He flicked on that light switch and was greeted with a site of Bobby's prone figure on the floor, his gun clenched in his hand.
Darien rushed to his side and dropped to the floor, Quicksilver shattering off of him. He rolled Bobby onto his back, searching for a pulse in his neck, it was there, weak and slow.
"Bobby. Bobby, speak to me man. What happened?" he asked, running his hands over Bobby's body, finding the stab wound in his side, and feeling Bobby's back arched in the effort to draw a breath. Must have punctured his lung he thought distractedly. He stripped off his own shirt and pressed it against the still bleeding wound.
Bobby's eyes fluttered in response and his mouth moved, but he couldn't speak.
"Hold on partner, hold on," encouraged Darien standing. He grabbed the phone off the nightstand and returned to Bobby's side, holding the t-shirt in place.
"911 dispatcher, what is your emergency?"
"I need an ambulance; 234 Ashland Avenue, apartment B4 my partner's been stabbed. I'm a federal agent, badge number 23081802."
"On the way Mr. Fawkes," replied the dispatcher, reading the screen called forth when she entered Darien's badge number.
Darien nodded, a subconscious gesture of acceptance. Who the hell would do this?
"Hold on buddy, they're coming," spoke Darien, trying to keep a running dialogue to keep Bobby conscious. He waited what seemed an eternity until he heard sirens growing nearer the building. The clatter of equipment being hauled up the stairs was indicative of the EMT's arrival.
"In here!" he yelled, and was greeted with the cacophony of sound and the sight of quickly moving individuals. One EMT dropped to Bobby's side, making his own quick assessment and the other EMT placed a backboard next to Bobby. Darien backed out of the way and watched as the EMTs, in one fluid, well practiced movement, transferred Bobby to the backboard and started cutting off his shirt.
They pressed a thick dressing to the puncture in Bobby's side, and aided his breathing with the ambu bag. As the EMTs were placing Bobby on the stretcher and preparing to take him downstairs, three police officers came through the door.
"Agent Fawkes?" one called, looking up from a small notepad. Darien looked up at the mention of his name.
"Yeah," he replied, moving towards the officers, but watching as Bobby was wheeled out of the apartment.
"Can you tell us what happened Agent Fawkes?"
"I…I don't know. I knocked, he didn't answer, so I came in, found this," he said, his arm panning the bloody scene before them, hearing the ambulance siren fade as Bobby was rushed to the ER. One officer was holding a crime scene kit, which he had set on the floor and was beginning to take swabs and other implements out to gather evidence.
The first officer asked Darien a few more questions, and they both watched the second and third officers gather blood samples, take photos, and otherwise document the scene.
"Do you know if Agent Hobbes had any enemies?" asked the officer.
Besides their usual foe he couldn't think of anyone who would want to kill Bobby. Chrysalis and Arnaud were always after himself, and what he had in his head, not his partner, Bobby just ended up in the middle of it.
"We'll take these to the lab," reported the second officer, holding up a baggie with the individually encased swabs in it. The first officer nodded and turned back to Darien.
"We'll run this investigation. I'll have some guys canvas the neighborhood, and hopefully we can get some information out of Agent Hobbes."
Darien nodded, trying to restrain himself from yelling at the officer. 'Hopefully', there was nothing hopeful about it, Hobbes would be fine. Knowing he was no longer needed, Darien cleared out. He needed to get to the hospital.
"White male, about 40, single stab wound to the left side, tension pneumothorax, couldn't get a thoracotomy en route," announced the EMT as Bobby was wheeled into the ER, doctors and nurses flocking to the stretcher.
He was pushed into a trauma room and deftly transferred to the bed, still strapped to the backboard. Examinations began, medications were injected and a thoracotomy performed to release the pressure in his chest.
"Airway secured; he's intubated. 10 of morphine onboard, respiratory's on standby. CT's waiting," reported what appeared to be a resident. The attending nodded and declared Bobby stable to be moved to CT.
Claire had been released and Alex was walking with her out to the parking lot through the ER ambulance bay when a vehicle came flying up to the door and a new patient was unloaded and rushed inside. Claire thought about her past when she was still in college, she had considered a transfer to emergency medicine at one time, but the research promised her by possible employers was too tempting.
Alex opened the passenger side door of her Corvette and helped Claire in. She then walked around and climbed in the driver's side.
"You're coming home with me Claire," stated Alex firmly. Claire wasn't going to argue, her weapon was in The Keep and she didn't want to be alone. They stopped at Claire's first, Alex entering with her gun drawn.
Claire looked around the entryway desolately. The broken chain on the door, blood spatter on the floor, she couldn't believe what happened here not more than four hours ago. Alex went with Claire upstairs and watched as she gathered some clothing and other necessities.
"Thank you Alex." murmured Claire as they got back into Alex's Corvette.
When Darien arrived at the Community Medical Center's ER, Bobby had already been sent in to surgery. He was directed to the surgical waiting room where he had access to a phone. He called The Official and Claire, especially Claire, since she was basically Bobby's primary doctor, as well as his own.
He dialed The Official's cell phone and was greeted with a rough "What?"
"Hey Chief, umm, Bobby's in the hospital," he responded bluntly.
"What?" barked The Official.
"I went over to his place and found him in a pool of his own blood. Somebody broke in, stabbed him, and left. Nothing taken, and apparently whoever it was got the drop on him since Bobby's gun was unfired. He's at Community, in surgery as we speak."
The Official grunted in response, and Darien heard some shuffling, "I'll be right there," said The Official.
Charles Borden had a few enemies, and he knew Bobby did as well, but for someone to actually get the drop on his best agent was quite unexpected. He had a couple of phone calls to make; he needed to know whether or not this was "friendly fire".
Climbing into his car, he punched in a set of numbers and was rewarded with a not so nice hello from a not so nice person. "What's going on? Why go after Hobbes?" he questioned.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't my old friend, The Official. I have no idea what you're talking about Charlie," responded No-Name.
"It wasn't you?"
"It wasn't me what?"
"Someone got the drop on Agent Hobbes tonight, I need to know who."
"Well I'm afraid we can't take credit. Besides, Agent Hobbes is of no use to the SWRB."
"Well then," said The Official as he hit the end button, cutting off the connection. He had kept tabs on Hobbes' activities and he knew he hadn't done anything to aggravate A.S.S., Chrysalis had been keeping to themselves, and Arnaud wasn't interested in Bobby, unless it was to leave Fawkes vulnerable. Dialing a new set of numbers he was greeted by Eberts.
"Yes, sir?" Eberts answered the phone.
"Eberts, call agents Greene and Crena, tell them to get over to Community Medical Center immediately. I want you there too, I'm on my way."
"Yes sir. Why sir?"
"Agent Hobbes was attacked and is in surgery. I think someone might be after Fawkes."
"Right away sir," responded Eberts, hitting the dial tone button and tapping in the cell numbers of the requested agents. Once they were informed he headed for the hospital.
Darien was sitting in the waiting room, trying Claire's house for the third time. Still no answer. He had tried her cell phone and it was turned off. She was always reachable; she had to be for when he went nuts, Darien thought bitterly.
Darien sighed as he replaced the handset in the cradle and sat back in the mauveish colored chair. Why would Claire be unreachable? Her cell phone must be off by mistake. Darien was pondering over the evening's events when the phone next to him rang. He jumped and looked around; no one else was in the room. He picked it up and was greeted by a cold voice.
"Don't try to figure it out. Just give her back," and then a dial tone. Darien held the phone, staring at it confused. Give who back? He startled when The Official came through the door, Eberts right behind him with two other agents.
"What's going on?" Darien asked.
"I don't know. My sources aren't owning up to it. Have you been able to get a hold of Dr. Keeply?" asked The Official.
"No. Have you?" replied Darien.
The Official shook his head and gestured to Eberts, who picked up the phone next to Darien and entered a familiar set of numbers. He waited and also received Claire's answering machine. "Nothing sir."
The Official grunted again and sat in one of the chairs across the room, the extra agents taking flanking positions inside the door.
"So what's with the extra suits?" inquired Darien.
"Just a precautionary measure. The Official felt that the attack on Agent Hobbes might have been orchestrated to leave you vulnerable."
"You mean leave the gland vulnerable," replied Darien bitterly.
Eberts remained silent and The Official expressionless. In a tense silence the group waited for news on Bobby. Darien occasionally tried Claire's house and her cell phone, both of which proved to be fruitless. He was just setting down the handset when it occurred to him that no one had called Monroe. Although more often than not sent out on her own little assignments, she was part of the "team".
Alex had Claire settled in the guest bedroom of her condominium and was about to hit the shower when her phone rang. Snatching up the receiver she was surprised to hear Fawkes' voice. She paled and almost dropped the phone when she heard the news. This was too weird, too coincidental, too spooky.
"Umm, Fawkes, what time did this happen?"
"I don't know exactly, I left to go to Hobbes' place about 8:30."
She sighed heavily, the 911 call from Claire's had been recorded as starting at 8:32. "Darien?"
"Yeah?" answered Darien surprised at the usage of his first name.
"Have you been trying to call Claire?"
"Yeah, can't get a hold of her for the life of me…what happened?" he asked, knowing she was holding something back.
"I don't know. She was at home, some guy forced his way into her house, smacked her around pretty good. Broke her cheekbone and hand, lacerations and bruises. She's with me, too afraid to go home. She's sleeping," Alex reported softly.
Darien forced himself to release the breath he had been holding gaining the attention of the other occupants of the waiting room. What was this? Bobby, Claire and that phone call earlier. "The Official is here, I'll tell him," replied Darien, a catch in his voice.
"Ok, Fawkes. Don't worry, she'll be fine. I'll tell her when she wakes," said Alex, her hardened shell reinstating itself.
"Ok, sure. Talk to you later," finished Darien still shocked. He dropped the phone into the cradle with a loud clatter.
He was lost in thought for a moment, staring blankly at the carpet, his mind trying to make sense of what was happening.
"Agent Fawkes?" inquired Eberts.
Darien looked up, seeing the question written on the faces of those before him. "Claire's at Alex's. She was…she was attacked too," he whispered.
"Attacked how?" demanded The Official.
"Some guy forced his way into her house and beat her up. Ocular fracture, broken hand, cuts and bruises. Didn't want to go back home so she's with Alex."
The Official's stony demeanor not changing, he stood and gestured to Eberts. "Call me as soon as you get news on Bobby," he said and left the room with Eberts in tow.
After the call from Darien Alex's senses went into overdrive. Every little sound and shadow had her spooked. Two Agency members both attacked in the same evening within a half hour of one another. Deciding against leaving Claire unprotected she bypassed her shower and instead retrieved her second 9mm weapon and made sure it was loaded. Sticking that one in her shoulder holster, she made sure her primary weapon was loaded and ready in her waistband holster.
Gathering up her laptop she went down the hall, and quietly opened the door to the guest bedroom. Claire was sleeping fitfully, casted hand held close to her body. Slipping into the room Alex pulled up a chair near the bed and settled into it. What ever was happening, nothing more would happen to Claire. She promised herself that.
****
Alex woke to the sound of her phone ringing. Cursing herself for falling asleep she jumped from the chair, looking at the bed hoping it didn't wake Claire and reaching for the extension in the guest bedroom. She was about to pick it up when she realized the bed was empty. Forgetting about the phone she drew her weapon and listened. She didn't hear anything, which worried her. idnt'ing about the phone she drew her weapon and listened. S. hoping it didn'oom before it could wake Claire. holster. g roomLeaving the room she made her way down the hall, when she heard a door close. Spinning around she saw Claire coming out of the bathroom.
Claire saw Alex in the hall, weapon drawn and froze as she spun around, training the gun on her. Sighing with relief Alex lowered the weapon and re-holstered it.
"The phone rang, you weren't in the room," Alex explained as Claire came back towards the guest bedroom.
"You were asleep; I didn't want to wake you," Claire said with a gentle smile.
Alex nodded, "How are you feeling?"
"Sore," replied Claire, re-entering the bedroom and sitting on the bed. Alex took her place in the chair again and sighed. Claire had to know.
"Claire?"
"Yes?" she answered as the phone rang again. Alex snapped up the receiver.
"Monroe!"
"Damn, I was starting to worry when you didn't pick up the first time."
"Sorry Fawkes. What's up?"
"Bobby got out of surgery last night, things went fine. They repaired his lung, and the soft tissue damage. Also received a blood transfusion, he had lost quite a bit. He's on a respirator in recovery but they think they'll be able to take him off of it by tonight. Have you told Claire?"
"I was just about to."
"Ah. Well tell her he's doing alright. How's she doing?"
"Looks like crap, probably feels like it," she said watching Claire listen to the one sided conversation with interest.
Alex ended the conversation and hung up the phone. "That was Darien. I was about to tell you," she started, gesturing to the phone before continuing, "last night Bobby was attacked too. Stabbed in the side, punctured his lung," she reported carefully, watching Claire pale under her bruises, causing a sharp contrast in color. "He's alright. He's in recovery, on a respirator still. They think they can take him off of it tonight according to Fawkes," Alex rushed on.
Claire remained in a shocked silence. Both of them, in one night? This was no longer a random attack. It couldn't be. What was this? She thought that was all over. Alex had moved from her chair to the bed, sitting next to Claire. Claire had started shaking; the stress was getting to her.
"Claire? Are you alright?"
Claire nodded slightly, her head swimming with question, disbelief, and fear.
"Claire?"
"Yes?"
"Do you want to go to the hospital?"
Claire looked up at Alex, meeting her eyes, she could see the worry and wanting to comfort there.
"Sure," she said scooting towards the edge of the bed. Impulsively Alex leaned towards her and wrapped her in a hug. She wasn't one for tactility but Claire just needed a hug. Claire hugged back weakly, considering the bruised ribs and casted hand.
"I really, really want to take a shower," said Claire pulling away from Alex.
"What about your hand?"
"Have any plastic bags?" Claire asked with a smile.
"Yeah," said Alex, standing and leaving the bedroom, heading towards the kitchen. Alex was rummaging through her kitchen drawer when the phone rang. Snatching up a white garbage bag, she answered the phone.
"Monroe," she stated half expecting Fawkes' voice on the other end.
"Return her and no one else gets hurt," said a cold voice.
"What?" demanded Alex, her voice rising. She was answered by the dial tone.
"What the hell?" she muttered, punching in star 69.
"The number called cannot be reached, please hang up now," replied an automated voice.
Senses on edge she hung up the phone and hurried back up the stairs, checking her primary weapon as she did so.
Claire was in the bathroom, hot water forming steam in the air, trying to comb out her hair. She was muttering when Alex entered, plastic bag in hand.
"What was that?" asked Alex, with a smile.
"Oh, bloody hell, just complaining about my hair. It really needs to be washed."
"Ah. How are you going to do this?" asked Alex holding up the bag.
"Well, I think tying and taping are going to have to do it," replied Claire.
Alex nodded, opening the bag and handing it to Claire. Claire pulled it over her casted hand and had Alex draw the plastic yellow strings tight. Alex retrieved a roll of medical tape from the bathroom cabinet and taped the edges to Claire's arm.
"Hope that works," she said, tearing off the last length of tape.
"It should be fine. Thank you," said Claire.
"Ok. I'll be in my room," lied Alex as she left the bathroom and not moving farther than hallway. She wasn't planning on having Claire more than a few feet away from her. Especially if that phone call was indicative of anything. The only her they could mean was Claire. Who wanted her?
Darien sat in Bobby's recovery room, watching the machine beside the bed force air into his partner's lungs. He was triggering the ventilator on his own, and they were basically letting it do some of the work so Bobby could recover. He was to be extubated that evening. Bobby hadn't regained active consciousness yet, he just briefly opened his eyes once last night after being moved into the present recovery room.
Darien wasn't sure if he had slept or not. He had called Alex, worried about Claire, and The Official to let him know Bobby was going to be fine. Right now he was just waiting. Waiting for either Bobby to wake up, or for someone to arrive, not that he expected anyone.
Just as he was thinking that he heard a soft knock on the door. Expecting a nurse, he looked up to see Alex standing in the door, another figure in the shadows behind her.
"Hey Alex," he greeted her quietly.
"Hey Fawkes. How's he doing?" she asked entering the room, leaving Claire in the doorway.
"He's good. Triggering the vent," reported Darien. "How's Claire?"
"She's good. I think she's embarrassed," replied Alex softly.
Claire took a deep breath, wincing at the pain that coursed through her bruised ribs, and walked into the recovery room. She couldn't very well believe that it was truly Bobby lying in that bed.
Darien saw furtive movement in the doorway and stood up. He moved towards Claire, who shrunk away from him.
"Claire? What's wrong?" he asked, appalled at the bruising on her face and the cast she gingerly held close to her body.
"Sorry Dahrien. I guess I'm a little spooked still. How's he doing?"
"He's good. Going to be extubated this evening."
Claire nodded and moved towards the bed, stroking Bobby's hand with her good left hand. This wasn't right. Why would they do this? Why her? Why her friend?
As Claire settled on the hospital chair, Alex beckoned Darien into the hallway.
"Fawkes, have you gotten any phone calls?" she asked bluntly.
"Yeah. Last night," replied Darien carefully. "Why?"
"I got one this morning, telling me to 'return her'."
"Yeah, the one last night saying 'give her back'. Give who back?"
"I think they mean Claire. I haven't let her out of my sight, or at least hearing, since I arrived at the hospital last night. Has The Official said anything?"
"He was here last night when I called you. He knows about Claire. Said he didn't know anything about Bobby's attack. Which he wouldn't if they were after Claire," answered Darien, putting two and two together. "Who do you think it is?"
"Someone from Claire's past. That's all I can think of. Last night, while Claire was sleeping, I ran a search on her through FBI and CIA databases, and the DOD database. You know what's weird? Her name didn't come up once."
"I thought she worked for the DOD."
"So did I," replied Alex.
"So you're saying she lied?"
"Either that, or she was too high security to be put in the computer."
Darien and Alex both looked into the recovery room where Bobby lay and Claire sat. What was The Keeper hiding?