a moment like this

by A. X. Zanier

Another agency learns about the gland's/Darien's ability to host another person and he is requested to help retrieve vital information from a dead agent. After weeks of supposed debriefing Darien wakes up to find his body no longer his own and has to find a way to get control and and get back to the Agency where his only hope to be saved is.

Title: a moment like this

Author: A. X. Zanier

Status: Complete

Rating: R (Language, violence, sexual situations, the usual)

Fandom: The Invisible Man (SciFi, 2000)

Disclaimer: a) The characters and basic story ideas of The Invisible Man are the property of others including, but not limited to Matt Greenberg, Studios USA, Stu Segall Productions and NBC Universal. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine. I make no money from this intellectual exercise. b) This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any opinions or views

expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the author and are used for story-telling purposes only.

Sequel/Series: none

Timeline: several moths after the finale

Spoilers: Probably. Does it really matter after all these years?

Music: The Driver by Bastille

. . .

a moment like this

. . .

"One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

"Fawkes, you don't wanna do this."

I shake my head, my focus on some random point a couple yards in front of me. The building across the side street a blur to my sight. He's right though, my partner, I don't want to do this. No, I simply need to.

Need to end any possible chance of this happening again.

"It's the simplest solution, Hobbes," I say, not sounding resigned so much as certain even to my own ears. If I had learned nothing else while being Delgado, I've learned to analyze a situation and come to the best decision. Granted Delgado had used that skill to survive. Me, well, I have another plan in mind.

"Fawkes, buddy, let's talk this out. Just step back from the edge there and we'll go get a beer and a burger," his voice is pleading. From his perspective he just got his partner, his friend back only to watch him spiral out of control.

My first day officially back at work and it had already been too much for me. They had all acted like nothing had changed, as if the last six months hadn't happened, as if I were the same person.

Hell, I wish I was the same person.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bobby. I can't do this any more." Such a simple statement, those few words that encompass so very much. They had, without even thinking twice about it, taken my life away. And I knew deep in my soul that they would do it again.

I had never been important, no matter what I did, how much I tried to do the right thing, though it went against the grain for me. I am a thief, not a hero. And that was what they had tried to make me into.

What I had tried to remake myself as.

But when I tried to do the right thing, to help out to prevent a possible catastrophe?

I discover that those heros are no more than thieves and liars and frauds wearing the guise of agents, spies, defenders of truth, justice and the American way. Intellectually, I knew that bad shit could and would be done in the name of the greater good, but I had never before been so deep in it that it left me permanently stained with the blood of others.

Some days I felt a kinship with Lady MacBeth, trying to wash the blood from my hands over and over again until the skin is raw and the only blood left is my own.

"Then we'll find another way."

I hear him step closer on the gravel rooftop, but I do nothing to stop him.

"There is no other way," I tell him. "If the 'Fish's chain gets yanked he won't be able to say no and I'll be gone. I saw all the spiffy new toys in there. He was well paid for my services." I glance over my shoulder at him; my partner, my friend. "I'm not a receptacle."

Hobbes sighs heavily. "I know that. Hell, he knows that. But this… this is gonna make him shove you in the padded room and toss away the key."

"He won't need to," I tell him, voice barely above a whisper.

. . . . .

"Morality is the greatest of all tools for leading mankind by the nose." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

"We have a new mission." the Official announced to the room and everyone looked thrilled.

"Wild moose getting rambunctious in the mountains?" Fawkes asked, being his usual smart-assed self.

"No," the Official responded with a scowl. "We have an opportunity to prove that this Agency is being underutilized and deserving of a real budget."

"And how are we gonna do that?" Fawkes grumbled as he leaned against the window, looking out into the bright sunlight he would probably much rather be in. His way had turned into taking as much time to sit lazily on a beach these days as humanly possible interspersed with the occasional job. Usually ones that could not be completed without his unique talents, and which had included a fair share of danger, but he did little without serious prodding.

Hobbes had the sinking feeling all of that was about to change.

"Agent Tobias Delgado." Eberts held up an eight by ten glossy of a twenty-something who was probably the pride and joy of some other ABC agency.

"And?" Darien prompted earning a cluck of irritation from the The Keeper, who sat at the conference table with her eternal patience firmly in place.

Hobbes had no clue why she was here for a routine mission assignment, but would wait slightly less patiently for all to be revealed. That would still be ten times more patient than his partner.

"He was killed a few days ago," Eberts explained.

"Okay," Fawkes acknowledged. "Are we gonna plan his funeral or something?"

The Official smiled. "You are going to aide in the retrieval of information of vital importance."

Hobbes watched as Fawkes' jaw clenched, his interest in the proceedings waning quickly at the too slow for his above-average brain reveal of the task soon to be at hand. "How? Retrace his steps or something?"

Fawkes' eyebrows bounced up slightly, revealing his potential interest in getting out and doing a little footwork that might actually include breaking into places and using the Quicksilver to get to information that few others could. With his time limit gone, he seemed to get such joy using his skills to do actual good… if you could keep his interest. "What was he doing when killed?"

Eberts seemed to be surprised at Fawkes' remarkably astute question. "Trying to meet his handler to hand over the information. Sadly, as his cover was blown, he was captured and did not survive the encounter."

"Clearly," Claire said, her prim and proper voice showing hints of boredom. "Where was he at the time of his death?"

"Syria," Eberts answered.

Hobbes grunted. "That place is a mess. Too dangerous to send Fawkes there. Hell, I doubt I'd survive more than a week no matter how deep the cover."

"Which is why you are not going there." The Official sounded cranky, as if they were interrupting his carefully planned speech with inane questions.

Fawkes sighed, that spike of interest fading quickly. "Not that I'm interested in getting killed by members of Al Qaeda, but how are we going to get this info if we don't go where he was?"

The Official smiled, and Hobbes felt causing a tremor of fear to shoot through him. "He's going to tell us himself."

Silence reigned for several moments, long enough that the 'Fish's smile began to fade when they did not give him the response he had expected.

Fawkes figured it out first. "Oh, hell no," he snarled.

"Oh, hell yes," the Official snapped right back with. "I've been lenient with you and your 'my way' of doing things. This," he slammed his palm on the desktop with enough force to make the cup of pens jump and tip over spilling its contents on the glossy, if scratched surface, "is not an option. You will do as you are told."

"No. No way I'm letting you stick some stranger in my head," Fawkes argued, shoving away from the window and heading for the door.

Claire jumped to her feet, the chair shifting back with a squeal. "Sir," she barked, "if you are talking about injecting mRNA into the gland so that Darien can host this… this dead agent-"

"That is precisely what I'm telling you, Doctor. And if you walk out that door, Agent Fawkes, you will no longer have a job." The threat could not be missed by any of them. And it did not involve something so simple as being pink slipped.

Darien stopped, his hand on the knob, but he did not turn around. "And? I think I could find another job."

"Not a chance. I thought I had made it clear that the gland and its host will remain with the Agency or it will no longer exist."

Hobbes felt the blood drain from his face. The Official meant every word. If Darien left it would be on a cold slab, the gland harvested and prepped for implantation into another volunteer. "Chief," Hobbes interjected quickly before Fawkes could be himself and challenge their boss. "Why? Why is this information so important?"

"Because, Agent Delgado did get out one piece of information before his untimely demise," Eberts explained quickly.

"And what would that be?" Fawkes asked, willing to bite on that bullet, though his tone gave lie to his belief it would change his mind.

"An imminent terrorist attack on the US." The Official tried not to sound smug, as if he knew that statement would be enough to make Fawkes cave.

Bobby knew better. "On what scale?"

"Think 9/11 with pathogens included in the mix."

Hobbes shuddered to contemplate the hell that would cause in his home city of New York, and if they hit DC? If virulent enough it could literally wipe out the US government in one fell swoop.

Fawkes closed his eyes for a long moment. He turned about, leaning back against the wall. "And if I agree to this, how long would I be playing host?"

"A week at most. He would need to be debriefed in detail and given the switching of personalities due to the method…" Eberts trailed off with a shrug.

"I'm not certain he can play host," Claire interjected before the Official could accept Fawkes' tacit agreement to be nothing more than a receptacle.

"And why would you say that?" the Official asked, eyes narrowing in clear irritation. "He hosted his brother just fine, if you recall."

"I recall perfectly well." Claire didn't bat an eye at the implied admonishment for having gone behind the Official's back to inject Darien with his brother's mRNA in what turned out to be a vain hope of finding a removal technique for the gland. "And both instances of Darien hosting another person occurred before the toxin producing cells were removed. I do not know what if any changes it has caused to that connection with the pineal gland."

"And why have you not told me this before now?" The glower the Official leveled at the Keeper had sent far braver souls to their knees, but she didn't even blink, more than prepared to face down their boss to protect Fawkes.

"If you had bothered to consult me on this mission prior to today I would have been more than happy to make you aware of my concerns, but as I am just now hearing about it…" She shrugged, not looking the least bit guilty that she might have ruined the Official's grand plan.

Hobbes felt hope surge through him. Once again Keepy had saved the day, saving Fawkes from his, admittedly small, sense of duty before he could commit to this stupid plan and risk his life on a maybe.

"Keep, that connection wouldn't just go away, right?"

Hobbes wanted to smack his partner upside his head for asking that very telling question.

"Well, no, but that doesn't mean it still behaves the same way. Have you had any more of those dreams we discussed." Claire sounded like she was giving Fawkes an out, an easy one at that.

Instead of answering the question he straightened and looked right at their boss. "How immanent?"

"Weeks, maybe. The information Agent Delgado did get out paints a very frightening picture," the Official answered, tone neutral. He knew Fawkes was on the fence and didn't want to push him, he'd just resist and that would end badly for all concerned.

"A week, right? And then we anti-peptide the guy away."

"Darien, you can't-" Claire began only to be interrupted by her stubborn mook of a Kept.

"Claire," he shook his head, his look too serious for words, "if it's as bad as he says… then it's worth the risk."

She shut her mouth with a snap, going pale in the poorly lit office and nodded her acquiescence.

"Fawkes," Hobbes choked, wondering how he could change his partner's mind.

"Bobby, would you do it to save innocent lives?"

Hobbes swallowed with difficulty. He wanted to say no, that he would never compromise his own body, his soul to stop something that might be no more than wisps and dreams. But he knew it to be a lie. He would. In a heartbeat if there were even the slightest chance to stop the horror that might be coming. He could not speak so he simply nodded. Giving his permission for Fawkes to be an idiot and risk his life.

The Official clapped his hands together. "Excellent. I will let them know we will be ready to proceed tomorrow."

Hobbes felt his veins turn to ice, positive that no good would come of this no matter how much had been intended.

. . . . .

"To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

I'm sitting at a table, newspaper in my hands, the words unrecognizable at first, printed in some language I don't know, though it might be French or Spanish or one of their cousins, something related that Latin family anyway. Then, much to my amazement everything makes sense. Somehow I can read an article about a grand opening for a new train station in… Panama.

What the hell am I doing in Panama?

My hand lifts without my conscious volition, bringing a cup of coffee to my mouth to drink. The flavor, dark and intense and not my usual choice at all, but I don't seem to be able to stop myself. Once the cup has been set back down I try to turn my head to get a better idea of where here is, only to have nothing happen.

Weird.

I try to set the newspaper down, and instead just turn the page, apparently fascinated by the local news, which makes no sense to me. I have no reason to be here and decide that whatever the hell is going on I'm over it. I attempt to stand with no obvious effect on my body. I can't seem to move even though my body appears to be functioning just fine.

I have no control.

I freak out, or try to anyway. My mind whirling, wanting to understand what the fuck is going on and why I'm a passenger in my own body. My heart rate should be climbing, my blood pressure should be going through the roof, I should be damn near to Quicksilvering, but nothing…. No sweat, silver or otherwise. No reaction at all.

The indifferent calm forces itself upon me, my mind slowing back down, which turns out to be to my advantage as it allows me to think instead of react like a mindless animal. To forget where I am now, and remember where I had been when last awake.

It takes a long moment, my body continuing with its new morning routine, but the memory returns. Me in a suite of sorts, but not a place I immediately recognize, which makes me wonder how long it has been since I've been aware of the world around me.

Why had I been at that suite? New apartment? Hot date? Undercover job?

None feel right, so I keep pushing. Prodding my memory as to why I had been there, but no answers come to me.

I try a different tack, focusing on the last time I saw Hobbes. The memory comes slowly. A boring room, plain table, chair on either side. Me in one, Hobbesy in the other. He's asking how I'm doing and I tell him I'm fine, but want to know how much longer I'll be there.

Be where? I could only wonder. Where the hell was I and what the hell was I doing there? I dig deeper, switch my focus to Claire this time. We are in a similar room and she has her medical gear with her, plainly intending on using it on me. She runs through a basic exam, her frown growing deeper with every test she gives me.

She finally looks me dead in the eye and says, "We need to end this, you cannot continue this hosting for much longer without sustaining permanent damage."

Shit.

And with that my memory returns in full. Not a week, but weeks of being debriefed. My life turned into windows that opened only every other day at most. Being drugged, probably with melatonin to extend the time Agent Delgado remained in control. I'd fought when I could. Tried to escape any number of times. Even made it back to my apartment on one occasion only to have Delgado take over the next time I fell asleep and walk right back into the loving bosom of that unknown agency.

Right back into hell as far as I could be concerned. Told to behave and do the job I'd been hired for.

I'd signed on for a week and had been trapped for just over a month before the mental recording goes blank. My next time aware of the world about me right now.

And that meant… that meant nothing good that's for fucking sure.

They had obviously figured out some way to turn me off and give Delgado full control. And why not. A burned - make that dead - agent reborn in a fresh new body that few out in the great deceptive spy world knew existed, with - get this - the ability to now go invisible.

My life wiped away at the whim of a government agency.

And to think I had volunteered for this mission.

Idiot.

I looked over the newspaper, though not easily given I couldn't even control my eyes and caught the date. It frightened me when I realize two months have passed since I last saw… anything. I've been trapped in my own mind for weeks, but, and this is the important part, I am awake now, which could mean whatever they had done to give Delgado control has a shelf life.

I have a chance, slim maybe, but better than nothing. I will get my life back and they will all regret what they had done to me.

. . . . .

"Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Hobbes muttered as he looked over the room where Fawkes would be injected with the mRNA of the deceased Agent Delgado.

Fawkes snorted. "Since when is that anything new? I'll be fine. We'll save the day like always and hit the lanes next week. Usual terms apply." He slouched on the table thing that reminded Hobbes of a massage table, complete with spot for his partner to stuff his face into. Probably to make it easier to inject the mRNA into the gland. Which Hobbes liked only slightly less than Fawkes.

Fawkes had never been a fan of needles, but had learned to live with them given the former side-effects of the gland. Keep still ran her tests, but more to make certain Fawkes and the gland remained fine after she'd removed the toxin producing cells. The last shot of Counteragent or anything else his friend had gotten. He hadn't expected Fawkes to pick up the injection habit again by having another person shoved into his head.

"So you'll be buying for another week, will you. I'll have to start choosing the expensive scotch," Hobbes countered with, his efforts at banter less than successful based on the sharp look on his partner's face.

"Hey, keep in mind the paycheck won't have changed any. And assuming I'm gonna lose… not cool, man. Not cool at all."

Hobbes knew that tone of voice. Fawkes may have walked into this with eyes open, but he didn't like the situation either. The nameless feds had insisted on doing this on their turf, no options, no arguments. The intel and the hows of it too important to share with the Agency. Not like Fawkes wasn't top secret or nothing, but these guys knew about the gland and its ability to host another person, little chance they didn't know his partner could go see-through as well. "Fawkes, you can still change your mind."

Fawkes sighed softly and shook his head. "I saw the reports. The ones Eberts tracked down on his own. The threat is real and if this Delgado can stop it… Then I gotta do this." He lifted his head and met Bobby's eye with a seriousness that astounded him. "That's what the good guys do, right? Whatever they can to save the day? Let me do my part."

What could Hobbes say to that? He would do no less if the roles had been reversed. So he would play his part, support his partner and make sure he came back safe and sound. "Okay."

Claire stepped into the room then, mayo cart being rolled behind her by a young woman in a lab coat. "You ready for this, Darien?"

"As I can be, Keep." He shifted back slightly, head ducked down as he looked at her through those long lashes of his. "You're gonna hang around to keep an eye on things, right?"

"Yes, Darien. That was the agreement. I will be here to monitor the hosting." She stepped up next to him and set a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. "Everything will be fine, I promise."

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, his curiously blank and Hobbes could only wonder what was going through his partner's head in that moment. Did he want to do this because he wanted to save the day or because he saw this as a way out? Hobbes greatly feared the latter. That when all was said and done that Fawkes had lost all interest in working for the Agency and had begun looking for a way out. Any way. Admittedly, he'd come back on his own after the Official had made the stupid ass move of threatening to kill Fawkes rather than allow him to retain the gland without the madness to control him.

Fawkes had changed since the early days of resistance and fighting the man. The Official simply hadn't been able to see it. His goal to do the job and protect the U. S. of A., and if that meant using one former thief until he imploded in a spectacular bout of Quicksilvermadness then so be it.

Claire, however, had been unable to let that happen. She may have worked for the Official and the Agency, which forced her to sometimes take care of the gland before the man, in the end she had chosen Fawkes over the job. Saving Fawkes before he had gone permanently Quicksilvermad, the Counteragent no longer able to flush the toxin from his system. Fawkes would have been put down, the gland removed, the receptacle thrown away, a useless husk to be disposed of and forgotten. Then simply moved onto the next step in the grand experiment.

Thank god Claire had chosen right on that day.

"Keep, what if it doesn't work?" Hobbes asked softly. "Will having the extra RNA in there mess with him?" He waved vaguely at Darien whose eyes had turned to him while Hobbes spoke, asking the questions no one had since the meeting yesterday morning.

She had her doctor face firmly in place, not allowing any worry or concern she may feel be seen by either of them. "I ran some extrapolations and there is a very good chance this will work just as it has previously. The precautions we'll be taking are only that, precautions." She brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind one delicate ear. "Darien should fall asleep and Agent Delgado wake a few moments later, just as when we brought back Kevin." She glanced at Fawkes, a momentary look of - pain, dismay, unhappiness - crossing his face at the mention of his brother. "If it does not work, if Agent Delgado does not wake up in a reasonable amount of time, I will flush the gland with the anti-peptide shot, just to make certain none of the mRNA remains behind." She turned her head to look at each of them in turn. "Does that satisfy you?"

Hobbes swallowed hard, but nodded. "Is wrong of me to not want this to work?"

Fawkes shook his head. "Nah. Gotta admit part of me wants it to crash and burn, but I also kinda want to save the day, y'know? If is this is how I can help on this occasion…" He shrugged, his shoulders ending up even lower than before, as if something were trying to drag him down.

Hobbes wished he knew what could be going on in his friend's head to make him seem so very resigned to this. He'd never been much for doing the right thing at any given moment, and yet… And yet his partner remained an adrenaline junkie and this… this had to be the most exciting thing to happen to them since shutting down Chrysalis' last evil plot.

"So, are we ready?" Claire asked and Darien nodded.

"Shall I assume the position?" he wisecracked in an effort to lighten the dour mood the room had taken on.

Claire offered him a small smile for his efforts. Hobbes couldn't, knowing that this was going to go horribly wrong and that Fawkes would be the one to pay dearly for it.

"If you would," Claire told him as she reached for a pair of latex gloves and snapped them into place, the vibrant purple too bright to Hobbes' eyes.

She ripped open an alcohol packet, the scent sharp and biting in the dry over-processed air in the room. She rubbed it on the skin of Fawkes upper arm, tossing it on the mayo table once done. The she picked up the dermal injector. "The melatonin," she said softly, as she set the gun against his arm and pulled the trigger, sending a preset amount of the sleep inducing drug into Fawkes' system.

Fawkes swore at the pain, but didn't move a muscle. Within seconds of it being removed he yawned hugely.

Then the Keep lifted the syringe that contained the mRNA of one Tobias Delgado. The unnamed and never introduced assistant, carefully moved the hair on the back of Fawkes' neck right at the base of his skull and wiped it down with iodine, the dark purplish liquid staining the skin. "Darien, I need you to relax as much as possible now."

He waved a hand that looked like it weighed a ton. His face slack from Hobbes' angle, the sleepy drug working as advertised. "I'm good, Keepy," Fawkes mumbled in a sleep fogged voice.

As soon as his arm returned to the table, The Keeper slipped the long needle into his neck, aiming towards the top of his head. He didn't even flinch, so Hobbes did it for him, his skin crawling in sympathy as he watched the entire needle enter his friend's brain, hopefully between the two halves and into the gland. The Keep was good, but even she made mistakes. If she did so now, Fawkes might never be Fawkes again.

She depressed the plunger at a slow and steady rate until the entire contents had been emptied into the gland. Then and only then did she cautiously remove the syringe, handing it to the assistant as soon as completely free of his skull. Claire then shifted the limp body onto his side, his eyes at half mast and seeing nothing in the room.

"Darien, how do you feel?"

"Jus' fine, Keepy," he mumbled around a huge yawn, shifting a bit as if to get more comfortable for a simple afternoon nap.

Hobbes watched carefully, waiting for what he knew to be coming. He did not wait for long.

Fawkes' eyes shot open, his body stiffening in obvious pain as one hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Just like before.

Just like when they'd tried this with his brother.

Which meant it would work.

Shit.

Less than two minutes later Fawkes passed out.

Claire stood there, fingers on his wrist, checking his pulse and making certain that he still lived, but Hobbes could easily see his chest rising and falling, perhaps a bit faster than normal for a sleeping man, but proof of life.

Now they just had to wait.

. . . . .

"The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence; rather a condition of it." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

There is blood on my hands. A lot of it. A sea of it.

My shirt sleeves are wet with it up to the elbows and I can only wish I did not know how it got there.

But I do.

I wish I had never woken up in this body that I no longer have control of. Wish that had not seen the things I had the last several weeks. Wish that I had never agreed to this assignment. That my newfound need to do to the right thing, to help, to save the day… to be a fucking hero had turned out, just as some deep down part of me had always feared, to be nothing more than a waste of time. If this monster wearing my body was one of the good guys then I wanted no part of it. I may have been a thief, but I, at least, had some sense of honor. A code of sorts that I lived and worked by. I loved my job, loved being a thief and had been damn good at it. I simply refused to compromise my morals, limited as they might have been, and took Liz's biggest rule to heart: if the job's done right no one gets hurt.

That's why I went back to save that old coot on that last job. Yeah, it had been an accident, the explosive I'd set to blow his safe causing him to have a heart attack, but I would not have been able to sleep with a dead man on my conscience. So, I'd gone back and done what I could, only to get caught for my troubles.

Life had not been the same since, but at least I'd had some control over it.

And now I could only watch. Watch through my own eyes as… as I did horrible things in the name of god and country. If this was what being a spy was truly about then I wanted no part of it. This… man who wore me like a new set of clothes had no conscience, no morality and no compassion. He did what he needed to do in the heat of the moment without hesitation and without a even a twinge of conscience.

Tobias was good at his job and loved it in the same way I had my chosen profession, the man was completely ruthless and allowed nothing to keep him from his goal.

I remove the shirt, tossing it aside for later disposal. I had learned Tobias was very good at cleaning up after himself and covering his tracks. I turn on the sink faucet, leaving a red smear behind on the fake crystal knob. I lift my head, looking into the mirror as the water flows, warming slowly. I'd lost weight, every muscle defined and standing out starkly in the sunlight that pours in through the window.

The scars are a new addition, most still red and raw given they'd been carved into my body within the last three months. Half of them I have no idea the cause of them, as I had not yet been awake… aware of what had been going on. The most recent one, which had left a three inch curve just above my right nipple had been from a knife. A heart thrust blocked at the last possible moment and then turned about to plunge into the throat of the attacker. The spray of arterial blood bright in the shadowed alleyway he… I'd been attacked in.

I force the memory away as my hands plunge into the steaming hot water, the mirror beginning to fog, blocking my sight, thankfully in many ways. I hated seeing myself knowing what he had done while wearing my face.

The blood had begun to dry, the hot water slowly softening it and allowing it to be purged from my skin to stain the water pink before draining away. When my palms show skin instead of ichor, I reach for the soap and work to build up a lather that will allow the rest to be removed, the suds swiftly changing color from pink to red then back until I rinse the last of the now white soap from my skin.

My hand reaches for a towel and first wipes away the fog from the mirror and I gaze into my own face, my look hard, cold, no feeling in those dark eyes. I am nowhere in there, a mere guest… a ghost wearing my body like a set of clothing.

I run a wet hand through what is left of my hair. When I'd first awoken, it had been long, hanging down past my chin and curling softly as it would, but just a few days ago he had shaved it all off. All that remains a half inch of fuzz over my entire head. Easy to care for and even easier to wash blood from. It didn't hurt that it made me look very different. And it had been necessary given the trouble he'd run into.

I'd been recognized.

Not Tobias, but Darien Fawkes.

I have no clue if Tobias and his superiors know about Chrysalis, but they all know about me. Didn't matter what country, the entire organization had their version of a BOLO out on me. I had messed with their plans a touch too much during my time at the Agency, and while they hadn't dared come after me in San Diego, a world away from this hellhole, they could and would here.

And that had led to today's little encounter into mayhem.

The three Chrysalis agents hadn't survived the meeting with Tobias, who, while confused, still had made certain they would not report back to anyone in the most bloody way possible. He wanted to send a statement. A messy one.

Their bodies, what had been left of them, were a clear warning.

Back off!

I doubt they will. They'll simply take better care when approaching me. Yeah, they'd be confused at first, wondering where I'd suddenly acquired the mad fighting skills I now possessed. Wonder when I went from my harm no one to kill first and ask questions later. Hell, they might even figure out the truth. That I was no longer me, not really anyway.

Maybe if they grabbed me, and figured it out, they could get rid of him and put me back in control.

Yeah, right. No, they'd just kill me and harvest the gland for their own uses.

I watch myself strip and turn on the shower, clearly intent on ridding whatever evidence remains down yet another drain. I feel helpless, and hopeless, and… and angry.

For the first time since I woke up I feel anger burn in me instead of despair.

I want out. I want my life back. My imperfect, some days suckier than others, life back.

Want to go bowling with Hobbes, dancing with Claire, call Monroe to see how she is doing on her search for her son.

Want to be able to close my eyes and go to sleep and not be stuck awake and aware 24/7. My mind churning and whirling and helpless to stop a single thing he does.

I want so badly to smash the face I see in the mirror.

I smash the face in the mirror.

Tobias swore, staring at his broken and cracked features before him, confusion swirling in his eyes and on his face.

But me? I finally feel real hope.

. . . . .

"Whoever had witness another's ideal becomes his inexorable judge and as it were his evil conscience." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Turned out the threat had been real and the Agency had been allowed to join in on the fun, mostly because we hadn't gotten Fawkes back yet. The claim, of course, was that they needed their guy to make certain the op went smoothly, which it did.

The device, one of 'em anyway, a scary piece of electronics and cannisters that, according to them would have taken out a third of the city in the explosion and the rest with the resultant gas cloud.

And the really scary part?

There'd been one in every major city in the country. A couple dozen in all.

So, yeah, the threat had been real. The guy living in Fawkes had been instrumental in making sure our country hadn't been knocked back to the stone age. After that we should have gotten him back.

We didn't.

No, that agency we still didn't know the name of - we're pretty sure the 'Fish does, but he didn't share with the class - decided that keeping their guy in play, with a new face, was more important than Fawkes.

The Official disagreed. Loudly.

It changed nothing.

Apparently this Delgado had friends in high places, or his bosses did anyway, 'cause it only took one phone call for the 'Fish to lose the flush of anger and turn paler than the Keep after weeks in her lab.

After that we weren't even allowed to visit him, the Keep's doc privileges revoked.

We essentially got told to shut up and soldier.

We tried to fight it, tried going behind the 'Fish's back to get to Fawkes, but they had all the power and leverage.

Claire had been given her marching orders, which included the reopening of Perseus to dig deeper into the QS Backpack tech and that meant creating new glands. Glands whose sole purpose was to produce vast quantities of Quicksilver that would be cleaned of the toxin and stored. The Backpacks leased and refilled at a premium.

Hobbes got put in charge of security for Perseus, which kept him busy enough to not be bugging the chief about Fawkes, or be off looking for him on his own.

It only slowed him down though, not stopped him.

The Keep wanted to find Fawkes as much as Hobbes so she'd set aside work space for him at Perseus where he spent his time searching for his partner. If the Official knew about it he looked the other way. The money being paid for the use of Fawkes clearly keeping him happy enough, even without his precious investment.

Claire had also been working on a new version of the gland for eventual implantation, but even with Donovan's notes it was slow going. The small staff working night and day to correct the flaws in the original gland and designing a viable removal technique that would allow the Agency to lure some serious talent to them in the near future.

Hobbes would rather go back to being underfunded and having Fawkes here.

"Damn it."

"Bobby?" Claire questioned as she poked her head back into the room he ostensibly used for role as security chief out here in the desert. Oh, he did work on schedules and such. Made certain the security protocols worked up to par and that there would be no chance of a repeat that killed over a dozen researchers. No way he'd lose Claire as well as Fawkes.

"Sorry, Keepy, didn't mean to disturb you." Hobbes glanced over at her, hair pulled back into a ponytail, white lab coat a bright contrast to the deep blue shirt she wore.

"You didn't." She stepped further into the room, looking at three computer screens on the table. "No luck, I take it?"

He huffed in irritation. Not wanting to admit that he really had no clue how to go about finding Fawkes. Hobbes'd called in every favor he could, had people watching all over the world for even a hint of his wayward partner, but aside from a few sightings that remained unconfirmed, they're been nothing. "Lots of it, just none of it good."

"We'll find him, it may just take some time," Claire said as she set a hand on his shoulder. "You've had no success with the facial rec software that was recommended?"

"Nothing concrete. A few maybes, that's it." He spun the chair about to look up at her. "Facial rec only works if he walks in front of a camera. This Delgado," he shook his head, "he's damn good and probably has been warned the 'Fish wasn't too happy with them usurping Fawkes."

"None of us are happy with that," she pointed out with a hard look on her face. "I simply cannot figure how they gave Delgado full control of Darien's body."

"Does that matter, Keep?" Hobbes asked in irritation. She'd been harping on that same issue for weeks now.

"Bobby, finding him does us no good if we can't get Darien back. If Delgado remains in control it still won't be Darien." Claire crossed her arms over her chest and attempted to look fierce. She didn't quite make it in Hobbes' opinion, but she looked awfully cute trying.

"Which is a moot point if we can't find him."

She raised one eyebrow in preparation for a retort when he cut right back in.

"I figure find him then fix him. If you have him here you can run all sorts of fun tests to figure out what they did," he explained. "And, unless I'm completely wrong, you've already been trying to work out what magic beans they used to make Fawkes disappear." He cracked half a smile at his unplanned pun, which the good Keeper did not reciprocate.

And he understood why. They'd already spent enough time in their cups railing against the winds of fate that had led them to this crossroads. Trouble was while she might be able to create a way to fix Fawkes without him here, Hobbes couldn't find him. Fawkes could be anywhere in the world…

No, that was wrong. Fawkes… make that Delgado had a job. A spy, doing deep cover ops. And… and his cover had been blown. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, if he could find out what Delgado had been doing before he got caught he could figure out where he may be now.

"Bobby?" Claire had apparently seen the change in his demeanor.

"I have an idea."

She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "Good."

. . . . .

"Do whatever you will, but first be such as are able to will." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Anger had been the only thing that worked. And I have to be very angry. Made the whole Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde thing even closer to reality. There were even two different personalities living in my body. Though neither of us really fit the Jeckyl half of the pair. We both have far more in common with the dark evil that permeated Hyde.

I could make Delgado do things, small at first, but more as I practiced and learned to hold onto the anger the way I had learned to control the Quicksilver. And when Delgado slept, I now had control… sometimes anyway. I haven't accomplished much more than walking across a room, but it's a start. I have not been able to prevent Delgado from doing his job, which was probably a good thing as that would end with both of us dead. But I watched and learned and practiced, gaining strength and control every single day.

I have done just enough for Delgado to become concerned that the hosting has begun to crumble. He had tried several times to contact his handler with his concerns, but I stopped him every time.

Delgado had been been hamstrung and gone to ground even though in the middle of an op. Since he could not guarantee he'd be in control he chose to hide and make every attempt to fix things. But he has no clue what is happening to him. I had no idea how much Delgado had been told. Those few weeks I'd been allowed partial control of my body, I'd been told nothing other than they needed more time with Delgado. That his information had been of the utmost importance. No one had given a flying fuck that I felt like I was losing myself, that spending twenty hours a day as Delgado had been killing me. Those few occasions I'd been allowed to see Claire or Bobby I'd tried to warn them that they were screwing with my head. Drugging me back into unconsciousness as soon as they were out of sight. Giving Delgado control for all but a few measly hours every week.

I'd wake up, be allowed a few minutes of me time, mostly to assure them that the body was still healthy enough to proceed, and then returned to the Land of Nod.

My life stolen away from me simply because I chose to do the right thing.

Idiot.

I should have known better.

The learning curve since waking up has been steep, but I think I've done okay. I can, to a degree, use Delgado's knowledge and he seems to be completely unaware of it. Like that first time, when suddenly I could read the paper even though I've never managed more than broken Spanish on occasion out in my real life. I can't say I'm any smarter than before, but I now know things that I've never personally learned.

I guess whatever he's been doing is being stored in my brain, activating new neurons I suppose, and since it's stored there I can see it for lack of a better term and those skills, that knowledge becomes mine as well.

I'd find it pretty damn cool if it weren't for the fact that I'm still the passenger in this situation.

What's weird is that the reverse is not true. Delgado does not have access to anything I know. So, while I recognized the mooks from Chrysalis, Delgado didn't have a clue why they went after him.

And that can only work to my advantage. I may not be some super-spook with contacts and code names, but I'm not half bad at what I do know: being a thief. I had skills that kept me alive at the Agency for over two years, no reason they couldn't serve me well now, especially when I could also troll Delgado's knowledge and adapt it for myself.

I have a plan.

A seriously crazy plan, but given I only have control in moments here and there, the best one I could come up with. It might take weeks to actually pull off, but since it has already been months, a few more weeks would be doable, especially if I could push Delgado even farther into crazytown. The man had begun to crack at the seams and I will exploit that.

Of course I also have to keep him from running for home base, which he had tried to do a couple times now. No way in hell I will allow myself back into their hands and risk being banished again. Who the hell knew what they had done to me. Some kind of drugs, I assume, that allowed Delgado full control. A drug that probably had never really been tested, given I have made my way back from the pit they had locked me in. An oubliette that I have climbed my way out of ripping nails and scraping flesh raw to get back near the top.

And there is no way in hell I will be knocked back down.

. . . . .

"You say it is the good cause that hallows even war? I say unto you: it is the good war that hallows any cause." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

"What can I do for you, Bobby?"

Alex Monroe looked good… looked great in fact, just like always. Not long after Fawkes had been freed from the onus of madness and they'd stopped the Chrysalis plan to destroy any crop producing cancer-preventing enzymes, she'd taken her show on the road. Technically the Official still signed her paychecks, but she had her own unit who did nothing but hunt down and destroy Chrysalis.

Hobbes knew her real aim was to find her son and rescue him from the loving bosom of the Starks, but she had no issues taking down the entire organization along the way. With Stark himself no longer in San Diego near as they could tell there had been little surprise that Alex had wanted to move on.

Trouble was no one but the Agency seemed willing to admit Chrysalis existed. Oh, plenty in the government had been bought, or persuaded, or even killed by them, but their name had in no way been associated with the events. Only the Agency had the ability to put all the disjointed pieces together, however, they seriously lacked the manpower.

Alex had pulled a few strings, got a budget for a separate unit under the auspices of the Agency and gone after Chrysalis herself. The Agency benefitted as well with some money going into the coffers every quarter for the work she did. She'd rattled a lot of chains, but no one had been brave enough to tell her no and make it stick. So, the Official got monthly reports and she did what she wanted; even if that meant flying off to Jakarta to stop a Chrysalis plot she'd glommed onto.

The Agency's unique mandate allowed that, if barely. They weren't limited to US soil only, which gave Monroe all the freedom she needed to chase down and squash every single Chrysalis op she learned about. Hobbes got to read the reports, but otherwise really wasn't involved. His working with Fawkes usually kept them far closer to home even after the Madness had been dealt with. Enough weird shit went on in the good ol' U. S. of A. to keep them busy for several lifetimes. No need to run off to Europe unless necessary.

Thing was she had access to all sorts of toys he did not. Thus why he'd requested a meeting with her.

"I need your help," he told her.

"I kind of figured that, Hobbes. It's not like you normally invite me to hang out at the local bar. That's more a you and Fawkes kind of thing."

She kept the snark to a minimum, but her words still stung. Yeah, it had been a he and Fawkes thing, until his partner had been kidnapped.

"Where is he anyway?" she asked, look completely innocent and curious, which gave the game away.

"Damn it, Monroe. I want him back. You gonna help me or not?" He kept his voice low, but the anger came through loud and clear, based on the frown that crossed her face for an instant. He had the feeling she knew a lot more than she should about the whole situation, and that made him wonder why she hadn't come to him when she realized Fawkes hadn't come home.

"Yes, I'll help, but you need to know you're… we're going to pissing off some very powerful people."

Hobbes cocked his head to the side. "Does it look like I give a shit? What they did to Fawkes ain't right and the Official is having too much fun rolling around in the money they're throwing at him to give a flying fuck."

"So why do you?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and swirling her glass around in the condensation that had pooled on the tabletop.

"He's my partner. It was my job to protect him and I screwed it up."

"I heard he volunteered for the job," she stated, looking oddly smug.

"To host Delgado for a debriefing, yes. Not to be hijacked and sent back out into the field," Hobbes practically growled the words, finding it difficult to hold back the anger that still boiled within him over the situation and how it had played out.

She started at that. "Wait, you're telling me Delgado is in full control of Darien's body?"

"Yeah, what the hell do you think I meant?"

"Shit," she muttered. "Well, that explains a few things."

"Monroe…" Hobbes wanted to throttle the words out of her. Clearly she knew something, something important and he did not want to have to force her to speak. He needed her help and he didn't want to have to blackmail her into it. Though if that was what it took he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Bobby, I'm in. I'll give you everything I know." She held up a hand. "Don't get excited; it's not as much as you might think."

"Alex, I ain't got nothing now. We think he might be in Europe, but that's about it." Hobbes had very little concrete intel, but he'd followed up on every possible lead no matter how thin.

"Oh, he is," she confirmed. "Kazakhstan. About a month ago."

Hobbes felt joy surge through him. They had a chance now. "And?"

"And nothing. He went to ground after running afoul of some Chrysalis agents who ended up quite bloodily dead. Hasn't been seen since." She didn't seem to be overly concerned about this development. Dead is the way she preferred her Chrysalis agents, though she usually liked to do the killing herself.

Hobbes' joy dampened somewhat at that. "Can we lean on his handler?"

She laughed at that. "Bobby, you're not a mobster."

He just shrugged. There was very little he wouldn't do to get his partner back. Threatening Delgado's handler seemed to be a minor thing in the grand scheme.

Monroe's lips tightened slightly as she absorbed exactly how far he would be willing to go in this situation. "We are going to be pissing off some serious people here. People who could bury me if they choose to."

"And? You don't get it, Monroe. They can have my job when this is over. I just want Fawkes back. No cost is too high."

She nodded slowly. "Fair enough. You want to know who you are up against?"

He nodded. "NSA would be my guess. One of their specialty black ops teams. Even Homeland was in the dark about that attack, which means darknet or deeper."

She nodded. "Much deeper and much blacker. And you still want to do this?"

He huffed in irritation. "Do you need it in writing or something? Or is this some sting to see if I'll commit treason to save my friend?"

"Bobby, he's my friend too," she reminded in a soft voice.

He hadn't forgotten, but she hadn't exactly been around a lot lately either. "I know, I just…"

"You miss him. I get that. I do too, believe it or not. If I could have taken the two of you with me I would have, but the Official got all kinds of bitchy when I suggested it."

That was new. He had no idea Alex had wanted the two of them for her unit and it was, he had to admit, kind of flattering. Though Fawkes did have one hell of a knack for falling into and thwarting Chrysalis plots. "Any luck finding Jarod?"

She sighed softly. "Yes, but getting to him is another thing entirely. He's being very cautious these days."

Hobbes snorted. "I would be too if you were after me."

She managed a grin for him. "Where are you working out of?"

"Perseus. Boss reopened it so Claire could work on the QS Backpacks away from prying eyes. I'm security lead."

"Which means you spend most of your days looking for Fawkes. Good. I'll get you some fancy equipment and access to certain databases that should aid in the search." She tipped her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. "We go together when you find him."

"Never would have suggested otherwise," he assured her. He'd known that once he'd let her in he'd have to do it all the way. Not a chance she'd give him the toys without wanting in on the game as well. Plus, she had just enough pull to cover their asses when they succeeded and made Delgado disappear.

"What do we do when we have him?" she asked, the concern in her voice real.

"Deliver him to the Keeper and hope to god she can bring Fawkes back."

. . . . .

"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Two more weeks had gone flying by as I put my plan into motion step by careful step. I'd increased my control markedly, much to Delgado's concern and dismay. He thought he was swiftly devolving into insanity. I had changed the passwords to all his accounts, cutting off his access to money, contacts, hell the internet itself. He couldn't even logon to his computer, which had severely hamstrung his efforts at survival.

Yeah, I have to be careful; Delgado getting dead meant I did too, so I made certain he remained able to keep us alive, I simply cut off his ability to call for help. Not that he really wanted help at this point. He knew if he went in he'd be locked away until they figured out what went wrong and his surprise return to life and his work would be over.

I didn't want that either. Not really. I had nothing but time to think and realized that if he went in, if Delgado went back to the NSA they could simply wipe him and then start over. Inject me with another dose of his mRNA and start this whole thing over again.

And I knew they would fix it so I couldn't come back… ever.

So, I worked on my anger issues and got the pieces I needed together and in place. I am still halfway around the world from my friends, but that simply makes it more challenging, not impossible. And I so do love a challenge.

I step out into the late afternoon sunshine, only able to speak the local language because Delgado did, my skill at accessing and using his memories having increased along with my ability to lock him away for a time. I nod to the few I have personally cultivated in the area. They lived on the left side of the law, which make them perfect for my use. Poor Delgado confused and dismayed as to how he'd ended up in a one room studio on the bad side of the tracks so to speak, but these are my people. Thieves and thugs and other less than savory types that I understand. I had cut a couple deals, fulfilled my end of them and have been, well, not welcomed, but permitted to go about my business with the understanding that I would leave them to theirs as needed.

They don't trust me, and that feeling is mutual, but it gained me the access I need. I walk around a corner, hand held out slightly and have the currency easily removed from my palm. Another block down the favor is returned and I find myself in possession of a burner phone.

One of many I have acquired and hidden all over the city.

I might be stuck here for the time being thanks to Delgado's coming out party with Chrysalis. They'd been nipping at his heels ever since, much to my annoyance, which made this whole endeavor that much more complicated. Stark had been a big enough thorn in my side in San Diego, I certainly don't need them catching me out in this hell hole of a country.

So I had cultivated a local network of kids who kept an eye out for me. I paid them well, thanks to Delgado and his seemingly unlimited supply of funds, and they let me know if anyone seems to show interest in me. So far, so good.

And, yeah, I know they could rat me out at any second for a higher payday, but that is the risk of working the seamier side of life.

I head over to the cafe I frequent, and take up residence in my usual spot. The waiter, a son of the owner, brings over a pot of coffee. Or as close as they come to it here. It is strong and dark and tastes of danger and nightmares, but they always supply a small amount of cream and pink packets that taste close enough to Sweet & Low that I am willing to look the other way. I'd done the owner a favor my first week here and he'd not forgotten it. If I have to hide, this will be where I run to. They may be forced to turn me in eventually, but they will try to help first and that counts for a lot in a place like this.

He gives me a nod and smile and asks if I want my usual.

"In thirty," I tell him, needing a few minutes to myself first. I know his father will be joining for the meal as often happened, especially when he needed my assistance on something.

He does a little half-bow that I tried over and over again to get him to stop doing, as it afforded me a level of respect I do not feel I deserve. "Of course, Mr. Fox," he responds, then turns and goes back inside.

I know, kinda stupid to use my real name, but luckily no one here has suspected that I mean anything other than the name of the animal. Still risky, but given the word in Kazakhstan sounded completely different from my actual name, I feel confident enough to let it slide. Besides it is way too late to close that particular barn door.

I pour my coffee, add my cream and fake sugar and lean back in my chair to sip it, surveying my domain, which isn't much. After killing a few minutes, mostly to make certain I have not been followed, I set the cup down and pull out the cell phone. I can only hope the requested modifications have been made to it else this will be a wasted effort.

I flip open the phone, the tiny screen lighting up , showing a full charge. I press a few buttons to get to the texting screen and key in the phone number from memory. I can only hope that said number remains in the possession of one slightly… okay, make that very paranoid agent and proceed to key in a short text.

I sit there with my thumb over the send key for nearly five minutes before pressing the button.

My hail mary sent, I snap the phone closed and stuff it into my pocket.

. . . . .

"Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Hobbes stared at the text, hope having dulled after two days with no success in tracing it back to its origin. The sending phone apparently having been modded in such a way as to discourage such things. Or, you know, destroyed.

But then why send it?

Wanna hit the lanes? Usual time next week?

He had to believe it came from Fawkes, 'cause who the hell else would ask him to go bowling?

It just made no sense. It seemed to suggest a time and a place, but for what he had no clue. Last he knew Delgado had been in complete control, that Fawkes was gone with little chance of returning without a fair dose of drugs that the Keep hadn't invented yet.

He'd tried texting back only to get no response at all. Hope, that had been faint to begin with, had now faded to nothing. I mere pinpoint of light in the far off distance.

Which meant… He had no clue what that meant.

He knocked on the door frame of the lab where Claire stared intently into a microscope.

"Yes?" she said without lifting her head.

"Can I talk to you for a sec, Keep?" Hobbes didn't want to intrude if she was working on something important or time sensitive.

She turned to look at him. "Of course. How can I help?"

He shook his head. "In my office," he requested, glancing over at the lab techs scattered about the room. None of them had really taken notice of him, but that did not mean they would not report his every word back to the Official. His office was the one place he knew to be free of bugs.

The Lord and Master of the Agency had not been thrilled about his chat with Alex… officially anyway. Hobbes had been able to read between the lines and could see that while the money might be nice, having his strings pulled from above had begun to irritate him. The Agency forced into compromises with the QS Backpacks over and over again when those renting the tech had cried foul at the high prices and lack of training the agents using the device had received. Sadly, without Fawkes that training would not be happening as no one else had a clue how to make them work so easily. Yeah, the Quicksilver and Snowflake Effect could be chemically induced, but it was a pain in the ass for the agents and accidents had happened with unplanned visibility occurring and ending in deaths followed by the swift self destruct of the Backpacks leaving little to nothing to recover of the agent's bodies.

Not a good way to encourage others to believe in the viability of the tech. There'd been rumours already that the project should be fielded out elsewhere, where it could be better understood and the agents using it more easily trained, and yes, that included the Keepy being stolen away, leaving the Agency with nothing to hold it together any longer. Some of the agents would find homes elsewhere, but Hobbes knew he wouldn't, so it was in his best interest to do whatever it took to keep the Quicksilver tech here.

He still felt the best way would be to get Fawkes back.

He swung the door of his office shut and waved for Claire to take his chair, which was definitely the more confortable of the two, and she did, seeming willing to be patient and wait for him to be ready to speak without encouraging him to hurry up so she could get back to her work.

He cleared his throat, probably louder than necessary before he began with his crazy-ass theory. "Is there a chance, no matter how slim, that Fawkes could take back control, if only for a short amount of time?"

The fact that she didn't immediately answer was encouraging to say the least. A'course she then immediately burst that tiny, fragile bubble of hope.

"Without knowing exactly what they did to… make him the secondary personality, not very likely." She cocked her head slightly, hands folded neatly in her lap. "Why?"

Hobbes, even knowing he'd deemed the room clean just that morning gazed warily about for a moment before pulling out his phone and pulling up the relevant text. He handed her the phone so she could read it for herself.

"All right, I understand where you got that idea from, but-"

"Keep, the room is clean," he stated, getting an immediate sigh of relief from her.

"Sorry, Bobby, I've had some of my… personal research come into question recently."

Hobbes chuckled ruefully. "Me too. That's why I make certain this room is clean. Even to the point of unplugging the phone and computer. Just in case."

She smiled grimly. "Good plan. As to your original question: yes, it is very possible. They can't have had more than a few weeks to come up with the personality suppressor, and while Darien wasn't quite himself towards the end it was still him."

This time Hobbes sighed in relief. "Okay. That's… that's good. I just have no idea what to do with this damn text. It has to be him, but last I heard he was in Europe, no way he's meeting me for bowling next Tuesday."

She shook her head. "Not meet. Probably another text or call with more information. And why did you fail to tell me you know where he is?"

Hobbes chuckled and grabbed the uncomfortable chair to sit before her. "Not me, Keepy. Monroe. I dragged her into this mess as well. Apparently, Delgado ran into some Chrysalis mooks and made a mess of them, but not before word spread that Fawkes is at large and an easy target."

A look of dismay crossed Claire's face. "Oh, that is not good." She tapped one finger on the desktop, a thoughtful look on her face.

Hobbes frowned deeply, not wanting to think about Fawkes falling into Chrysalis' hands while not himself. If he was lucky they'd simply dissect him, if not they might just figure out the fun new superpower of the gland and use it for themselves. Flush out Delgado and put one of their own in, send him home playing Fawkes and… and bad things would follow quickly.

"Keep, if we can figure this out maybe we can get him home before Stark's goons track him down."

"Well, presuming he only has limited control for a short amount of time I would guess he's trying to set up a… a meet, for lack of a better term."

"How about a rescue? That'd be accurate at this point," Hobbes grumbled.

"True enough," she agreed with a nod. "Perhaps, since he's not likely to be there in person, he's simply letting you know when he plans to call?"

Hobbes nodded slowly. He'd come to the same conclusion, but had needed to confirm whether or not Fawkes could have even partial control of his own body. "Okay. That's good to know. Any way to even guess on how much control he has?"

She shook her head. "If he were here for me to run tests, of course, but unless he contacts me directly…" She held out her hands, clearly wanting understanding.

"And fixing him?"

She shrugged. "I need information. You know that. Even with tests I may not be able to determine what was used. Creating a counter for it will be… challenging."

"But what about that anti- anti-whatever shot you used to get rid of Cole?" Hobbes had been counting on it being simple to get rid of Delgado, but the look on her face seemed to imply the opposite would be true.

"Even Kevin's mRNA had only been in the gland for a few days. It's been months. I have no way of knowing how much of Delgado's memories, his personality have now been stored in Darien's brain." She sounded about as happy as Hobbes felt at those disheartening words. "I will flush the gland; it will have to be done either way, but until I'm certain that I can safely remove Delgado, Darien will have to continue to host."

"So, what you're saying is that you need to know exactly what they did to give Delgado control of Fawkes' body."

"That would certainly help, yes."

Hobbes nodded tightly, look serious. "I'll see what I can do."

. . . . .

"Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Delgado woke up, as usual as of late, irritated and confused and uncertain how he'd spent the previous day. He'd leave himself notes, in what he thought were hiding places, which I, of course, knew all about, so I would remove them, or, if I were feeling extra evil, change. The writing appearing identical, since I've become damn good at mimicking him, but left him convinced it had not been written by him. It hadn't been of course, but it is fun fucking with him.

I let him handle most of the daily basics since it took effort for me to maintain control and since I couldn't turn myself off, couldn't sleep… and, damn if I didn't miss sleep by this point.

Hell, I can't even get drunk enough to pass out. Tried that more than once and, while the body, Delgado included, would pass into that drunken stupor I still remain stubbornly conscious.

Probably damn surprising that I was any semblance of sane.

Then again maybe I am not.

So, after weeks of clandestine communication with one Bobby Hobbes I have a glimmer of hope that I might see an end to this torturous situation. Yeah, I could've taken the easy way out. A quick bullet to the brain will end pretty much any undesirable situation, but death had not yet become something I longed for. No, I wanted my body back. Wanted to go home to my crappy apartment in San Diego. Wanted, in some weird twisted way, to go back to work at the Agency. To get my life back.

Not remain in what has become a mockery of existence.

Delgado might have been a top spy at one point in time - during his own life obviously. But now… now he has become more paranoid than one Robert A. Hobbes.

Oh, he'd figured out that the original owner of the body must have made a return appearance - he'd never been told any details about me, which had worked to my advantage as it turned out - though at first he simply thought he'd been going insane. Some weird split personality disorder. Actually more accurate, he simply had no knowledge of the details as to how he'd been reborn in a new body with all his memories intact. Well, minus a few hours prior to his death. Those had apparently been so traumatic that'd even his mind had wanted no part of them.

Trust me, if they had been buried in here somewhere I would have dredged them up and thrown them at him over and over again just to make him lose his grip on reality a bit more.

I know I have a violent streak - it came to the surface every time I had gone Quicksilvermad, but this… this is pure twisted nastiness.

So much of him had been stored in my head that I knew every trauma, every moment of guilt or regret and made certain his overnight hours were filled with them. I would push and push and poke and torture, but never allow him relief. Never allow him that moment of sweat soaked wakefulness, because that would grant him a moment of peace. Of hope.

And, I reasoned, if I had none, neither would he.

Petty, maybe, but there it was.

Even in apparent communication with Hobbes, my hope remains low. Even if I got home, got to my Keeper there would still be a fair chance that this would be it. That I would only get use of my body when so angry that it overrode everything Delgado is.

A ghost is a shell.

Hell, there was a fair chance that even if I did make it back to the loving bosom of the Agency they'd just wipe me and start over. Maybe not Delgado, but some other agent, one more important than one former thief turned invisible man cum secret agent.

The one lesson most certainly pounded into me by the Official, intentionally or not, was that I would never matter, that I would never be more than the receptacle to the all important Quicksilver Gland. I would never be more than a warm body containing 17 million dollars worth of biotech that could probably be more useful in a more experienced agent. Like Delgado, for example.

Only now, they didn't have to move the gland and risk losing an agent to a dangerous surgery. Now they could just shoot the gland up with some mRNA and viola, you get old agent, new body and, oh yeah, with the ability to now go invisible.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Granted, I… or rather this body would not last forever, but I probably have a decade of usefulness in me before age and injury cause me to be less than able to carry on the dangerous duties a deep cover operative need. I'd either be permanently sidelined; AKA the gland removed for implantation in a new younger model, or put to work doing less savory tasks. Doesn't take much to kill a man that you can sneak up on while invisible.

With the proper mRNA, like, say, my father's, and the body would be of use for another decade or so. Snipers didn't necessarily get involved with the nitty gritty details. They found their perch aimed and fired. Then moved on to the next target.

Hell, I could probably do that well into my fifties unless my eyesight began to fail and even that could be corrected for a while.

I was never going to get out of this. At least not until every bit of usefulness had been dragged kicking and screaming from my body.

And that is a realization I never wanted to make.

I flip that switch in my head and leave my apartment, laptop bag in hand. I have absolutely nothing planned for today other than negotiating a few new deals so as to get enough money together to get out of this godforsaken country. I have been considering France for my next stop. Paris, maybe, with England a hop, step and jump away thanks to the Chunnel.

Once there… I'd plan how to get back to the US. I mean, once in a US-friendly country I suppose I could head to the nearest consulate, but explaining who I am and why I am there would be tricky at best and get me arrested at worst. Okay, make that dead at worst, which would kind of screw things up more than a little.

Of course, once I had revealed myself I would more likely end up with an NSA rep in front of me wanting to know where Delgado was. While tempted to abuse that opportunity to shove their failure and semi-insane/dead agent under their noses, I know better.

No, my best chance of regaining my life is to get home to San Diego.

I walk down the cracked street, looking out of place in this neighborhood just by dint of being white and taller than average, but they no longer look twice at me. Unlike Delgado, who had moved every couple of days, once Chrysalis had taken notice of him, I had settled in and it drove him up a wall. Certain there were Chrysalis agents around every corner. I know better, of course. They have better things to do than search every nook and cranny for Darien Fawkes. Oh, if we ran into each other they'd probably make an effort to kill me, but that would be pretty much it.

I keep my eyes open, but don't worry any more than usual about Chrysalis.

I turn the corner, heading for the equivalent of the local Starbucks where I will be abusing the WiFi to do some research when a POS SUV comes screeching around the opposite corner and slides to a bone jarring halt beside me.

I react like a good superagent and let the Quicksilver flow even as I move and pull the pistol I have shoved down the back of my pants. Two balaclava wearing figures fling themselves from the vehicle and straight at me, the glasses over their eyes obviously thermals if they can know where I am.

Which makes me wonder if I have jinxed myself by thinking about Chrysalis or if the Quicksilver Dreams have simply bled over into my conscious life. If my current state is actually conscious. I have some concerns that I am nothing more than a sleepwalker in my own body.

I respond by firing at the one directly in front of me. I used to be a horrible shot, Delgado, however is not and it has been his skills I delved into when teaching myself the use of this particular weapon. The gun gave a soft pop and struck center mass, causing the masked man to grunt and stagger back, but not fall.

Fucking body armor.

I twist about, swinging the laptop case at the one coming at me from the left, and just missing as he ducks under it. Still, it gives a me a few more seconds of time so I do the wisest thing given the situation; I retreat as fast as I possibly can.

The sharp pain in my back doesn't even slow me down and I take the next corner at a dead run. I don't make it far, much to my dismay. My body slowing and stumbling into the crumbling curb and then the wall of the building. The world going fuzzy about me.

The Quicksilver falls away without my permission, leaving me leaning heavily against the dirty vertical surface. I expect to see blood dripping on the ground, figuring I must have been hit pretty bad to be this far gone already, but see nothing.

A wave of dizziness spins the world about, driving me to my knees.

Shot, yes, but not with a bullet.

"Tranqs?" I ask of the air about me in confusion.

Three black masked figures approach me then, the SUV rolling slowly up behind them and I know I've lost this fight.

I just wish I knew who has found me.

With a sigh of resignation I close my eyes and let the sedative sweep me away.

. . . . .

"The lie is a condition of life." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Fawkes looked dangerous. Not that the kid had ever been all sweet and innocent, naive, maybe, but never innocent. A couple of stints in prison will rub the shiny off of anyone. But he looked different now; predatory, sitting there watching Claire with a hunger in his eyes that set the hairs on the back of Hobbes' neck to standing up.

She'd gotten a bunch of tests done while Fawkes had been unconscious, then woken him… them up to do them all over again. Only nothing had been making any sense.

Alex had scored us everything on what the NSA lab techs had whipped up to make Fawkes go away, for forever or so they'd though, which thankfully only turned out to be about a month once Delgado had been turned loose on the world. Claire felt reasonably certain she could reverse the process, but claimed she had to get Fawkes' hormone levels stable first. Trouble was she had no idea why they were so screwy.

So she ran test after test after test only to see the same results over and over again.

Fawkes seemed to take it all in stride, except for that look, the one that worried Hobbes and made him want to stop Claire every time she walked into the same room as his partner. Thing of it was he couldn't certain that was his partner in there.

Okay, granted some of the time Delgado, the poor schlub, got to drive the bus, but he had been broken at some point. His sanity a frail thing that made questioning him mostly useless. It rarely took much prompting by the Keeper to get Darien to take over, but his answers didn't appear to make much more sense than Delgado's.

Hobbes stepped through the open the doors and into the room, watching his partner warily, whose eyes never left the Keep as she bustled about the room gathering pointy things for today's round of poking and prodding.

"Hey, Hobbes," Fawkes said with a quick nod.

"Morning," Hobbes responded automatically as he looked him over. The changes just a few months had made still shocked him. Leaner and meaner in the simplest terms. His hair uncharacteristically short; Delgado having shaved it all off after encountering Chrysalis in an effort to change his appearance. It had only grown out a couple inches since then, which probably contributed to the disturbance in the force he felt around Fawkes these days. Also, though Claire claimed he'd lost a fair twenty pounds or so, he'd clearly bulked up, the t-shirts that used to fit perfectly now noticeably tight about his shoulders and biceps, while his pants still slid down to his hips if not fastened securely.

Hobbes had seen the workout routine the kid did every morning like clockwork; little wonder he'd added mass in his upper body. Kid looked like he could bend steel bars with his bare hands. Hell, he probably could. They'd learned he had access to all of Delgado's knowledge. The guy had been in there long enough for data to be stored in Fawkes' brain, adding and rewriting neural connections, which would also account for the change in personality that even the Keep had noticed. Right now Fawkes remained a weird combo of him and Delgado, and as long as Delgado stayed in there it would continue. Claire had mentioned that it could be possible the Delgado memories might always remain, that Darien might never be the man we knew ever again and Hobbes found himself missing his smart-mouthed partner more than he had thought possible.

"Is it?" Fawkes asked, finally turning his heavy gaze from the Keeper. "Still no outside contact for me, remember?"

For an instant there was a flash of the Fawkes of old, but it vanished back into that wary look that seemed to be a permanent part of the man sitting on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"That'll change soon, won't it Keepy?"

She hmmmed, choosing to remain noncommittal on the subject, which Fawkes couldn't have missed if he was trying.

"Well, you can't hide me here forever. Either the Official will figure out something is up, or Delgado's bosses will finally go looking for him, and we all know they'll start by going to our boss and crawl up his ass until he gives them something."

Claire turned about to look at Darien, then Hobbes, who shrugged. "He's not wrong."

"I am aware, but until I can figure out what is going on inside him… you I don't dare administer the drug that should reverse this." She glanced down at the items she had gathered together, sighed deeply, as if realizing she would accomplish nothing by repeating the same tests over and over again. "That the original drug did not work as planned is not overly surprising, given the short amount of time they had to come up with it."

Fawkes barked in harsh laughter. "Keep, that's a bold assumption. They clearly knew about the gland's ability to host. If they had known even for just a few months prior to actually needing that ability they would have had plenty of time to come up theoretical solutions for suppressing the original host. Synthesizing it may have taken a few weeks, especially if they had to use specific DNA, i.e. that of one Tobias Delgado, for the design, but creating a working variant would have taken no time at all once live testing began."

Hobbes blinked. He knew Fawkes was smart. Hell, he showed off his above-average regularly on any given day, but this… this was Keeper smart. "Claire, how the hell-"

She shook her head. "I've no clue, this is not within Delgado's area of expertise." She looked honestly flustered. "Darien certainly absorbed more than enough information about the gland to make an educated guess, but-" She tapped a finger on the countertop while she pondered her Kept's sudden delving into geniusland.

Hobbes had gotten the gist of it, he had only been a genius for a few days, after all, but clearly Fawkes had done his homework on the subject.

"I suppose with all the additional neural activity he could have worked it out," she suggested, not liking that resolution much based on the look on her face.

"Keep, Delgado's not the person that's been shoved into Fawkes' head," Hobbes pointed out, and it wasn't Cole he'd thought of.

"Kevin," Claire stated in shock.

Fawkes just gave her a feral smile.

"Bloody hell." She pushed away from the counter, one hand to her forehead as she reasoned it out. "If the neural connections that linked to Kevin's memories were reactivated, then yes, it makes perfect sense that Darien could access and use them." She turned to look right at Fawkes. "The human brain is designed to sustain one consciousness, not two."

"Four," Fawkes stated, sounding bored.

"What?" Hobbes did not like the look on his partner's face.

Fawkes held up his hand and counted off. "Me, Delgado, Kevin, and Cole. Four sets of… data for want of a better term. I take up the most space, obviously, but the neural connections that helped sustain Cole and Kevin and atrophied after they left have clearly reactivated allowing me to access that information." He tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing at the Keeper. "You and Kev were a lot closer than you let on."

"Holy shit, Fawkesy." Hobbes looked from Fawkes to Claire and back again. "Keep, you gotta fix this. We're losing him."

She nodded slowly, still trying to absorb what she'd just heard from Fawkes. "He's not stable enough."

"And why is that?" Fawkes asked.

"Your body seems to be reacting as if Quicksilvermad, which isn't possible as there is no toxin in your system," she stated, sounding irritated.

"And?" he prompted.

"And there is an excessive amount of catecholamies in your system, which, while it does cause increased neurotransmitter function, would not account for what we are seeing here, unless-"

"Unless what, Keepy?" Hobbes wasn't too sure what was going on before him, but got that it was important.

"Unless he were constantly angry for an extended period of time." She waved at Fawkes. "Which he clearly isn't..." Her voice trailed off as Darien surged to his feet, the menacing look on his face enough to make Hobbes go for the gun he wasn't currently wearing.

Fawkes didn't stop until towering over the Keeper, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but in front of her previously harmless-seeming Kept. He punched the wall next to her head hard enough to dent the metal. "I'm very angry, Keeper."

Hobbes wanted to pull Fawkes away, but the look on Claire's face quickly changed from burgeoning fear to understanding. "Darien, I am sorry, I did not realize you meant literally."

Fawkes sagged slightly then backed away. "I wouldn't hurt her, Hobbesy." He still looked like he wanted to shove his fist through something, but also seemed relieved that he'd gotten through to her, finally. "Fix it, Keep, please?" he pleaded, heading back to the bed, to perch on the edge of the thin mattress. "I'm starting to forget to I am."

"I'll need to run tests."

He nodded. "I figured."

"On Delgado," she corrected. "I suspect I'll need the anger chemicals out of your system for the anti-suppressor to work. And then I'll flush the gland as a precaution. After that we'll take it one day at a time."

"Works," Darien agreed with a nod. Then he looked over at Hobbes who felt only slightly confused. "Sorry to scare you, but she wasn't listening to me."

"S'okay, Fawkes. I'll forgive you this time." He moved over to the bed and held out his hand for a low five, which Fawkes did with a tired grin on his face. "See you on the other side, my friend."

"Damn straight, you still owe me a night of bowling."

. . . . .

"A virtue must be our invention; it must spring out of our personal need and defence." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Claire had run tests for fours days while I sat back and watched. It had been weird as hell, since there were times she'd look right at me. Not Delgado, me. And in those moments I knew everything would work out. That she would do everything her power to give me back me.

I've been at Perseus for almost three weeks now. Well, three weeks as just me as she endeavored to assure herself that I was indeed all alone in my head. Kevin and Cole had faded first, but Delgado… well, he is most certainly gone, no personality remaining, but everything else still swirls around in my brain. And, since I'd been him for so long the skills and information have been integrated. I will never not know how to shoot a glock with such deadly accuracy that even Monroe would be impressed.

Or how to torture a man until he screams his voice raw.

The answers wanted having been given long before, the pain caused for pleasure only. I still dream about it; part nightmare, part twisted pleasure.

The part of me that remains Delgado reveling in the blood and pain he had inflicted.

Part of me wanting to do it again... and again… and again.

The Keeper keeps assuring me that the memories will fade over time, provided I don't continually go wandering through them. After trying twice to explain that I am not the one looking to remember those horrible things, I gave up and just do the best I can with the memories when they intrude on my day.

The hardest thing to do?

Let go of the anger.

I had spent so much time hoarding my anger. Doling it out in tiny yet precise dribs and drabs so that I could stay in control of my own body that it has become nearly impossible to just be.

I've been in control for almost a month and I still wake up every day with anger in my heart.

Of course, that was assuming I had actually slept.

Can't seem to do that right any more either.

"Darien, how did you sleep last night?"

The Keep has a smile plastered on her face that I know is fake, just like I know the question is no more than a test to see if I will lie about how little time I spent in less-than-blessed unconsciousness last night. There are monitors all over my room, I am never not watched while here at Perseus, and have no idea when I might be permitted to leave.

I most certainly am not myself.

Well, not my old self anyway. I will never be that person again and there is nothing that can be done about it short of rewinding time and risking harvesting of the gland by saying no and meaning it.

I shrug. "Out for maybe two hours. Lots of unpleasant dreams. Gave it up as a bad job around four a.m."

She nods. "How do you feel?"

Exhausted. Tired. Weary to my bones and beyond. But I tell her none of this. "Bored," is what I say and, while true is ultimately a deflection. She knows I can't sleep, so telling her I'm tired is a waste of both our times.

"Darien-"

"Look, Keep, we both know my sleep patterns are going to be whacked out for a while and you've already told me you don't want to use medications unless necessary, so what else can you possible want to know." I'm snippy, but can't seem to help myself today. I don't want to be here any longer simply because I need to move on, to attempt to find some sort of normal in all this fucking mess and it will not happen here.

I want, weirdly enough, to go home to my crappy little apartment that I don't even know if I still have since I haven't paid my rent in six months.

She huffs at me, irritated that I've preempted her planned speech this time. "You appear to be healthy, aside from your sleep issues, which I can continue to monitor with daily check ins. You will need to keep an accurate record, but I see no reason for you to remain here any longer."

I stop my irritated pacing and turn about to stare at her. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I find it hard to believe that after a month at Perseus she is going to turn me loose on the real world.

She gives me a huge smile. "Yes, I'm signing off on your conditional release. Not back to active duty just yet. I believe you should take some time to acclimate back to… your normal life."

I snort at that. Like my life had been normal for the two years prior to this. And, while thrilled to be moving on from here, I have no idea where I will be going. I really did not want to trade Perseus for a lab at The Agency. "Uh, not to be a pain in the ass, but where will I go? I have a feeling there's a new tenant in my old place."

"Alex has taken care of that," she assures me, much to my surprise.

Yeah, Alex had stopped by a couple of times to check in on me, and apparently had been instrumental on them finding me and getting the data from the NSA that officially got rid of Delgado, but she hadn't said more than a dozen words to me the entire time. I have no idea why she helped, but am beyond thankful that she had. "Why?" I wonder aloud.

Claire shakes her blonde head at me. "Because you are her friend."

I take that at face value. I never have understood Alex's motivations other than her need to get her son back. I'd offered my services over and over and would do so again in an instant if there were even the slightest chance I could help her get James back. "What about the Official?"

"Alex is taking care of that as well."

I snicker. I can most certainly understand not wanting to be the one to tell the Official about me being back. Though why the NSA hadn't cut off their funds when Delgado had fallen off the face of the planet is beyond me. I glance down at my wrist, where the all green serpent remains and rub the thumb of my left hand across it, half expecting to see the segments change color before my eyes.

Now that is a nightmare I could grasp upon to hold myself together. A reality I feared even now, nearly a year after the Keeper… Claire had given me the shot that banished the toxin-producing cells from the gland. I sigh softly. "And the gland?"

"Appears to be perfectly functional," she tells me, cocking her head slightly. "Why? Are you having an issue you have not informed me of?"

I shake my head. I've Quicksilvered any number of times since waking up, so I know that will not be a problem now or in the future, it is the other talent of the gland that I want to know about. "No, just... Is the whole pineal/Q-gland thing still happening?"

Her look goes instantly neutral as she clearly figures out what I am getting at without saying directly. And, yeah, I'm more than a little concerned about it. I know what her answer will be, but there's still a tiny part of me that hopes that removing Delgado broke the connection that allowed him to set up shop in me.

"Darien, that is not something that can just go away. You understand that, yes?" She seems duly sympathetic, as if she realizes how this news will hit me.

Thing is, even though I am certain of her answer it still hits me like a truck into a concrete wall. I stop dead, one shaking hand running through my hair. Still too short to create my once preferred style, but growing quickly now that there is no reason to buzz it down to nothing. Yeah, it changed my looks, quite dramatically at that, but Chrysalis would still know me on sight and either capture or kill me depending on the day and who I ran into.

Shit. How many new enemies had I made thanks to Delgado? Will I even be of any use to the Official now?

"Yeah, I figured." I find a wall to lean back against, slouching down as depression begins to sink in. "How pissed is the 'Fish gonna be?"

"That is one of the few things I can say I am uncertain of."

"Which is why you have Alex breaking the news," I say with a nod. "When do I go before his majesty?"

"Tomorrow, if you are feeling up to it," Claire tells me straight-faced, and I burst out in laughter.

"So you're not turning me loose, so much as throwing me to the wolves," I point out, not thrilled at the prospect.

"Would waiting make it any easier?" she asks me and I have to admit she's not wrong.

"No, I guess not." I rub the back of my neck, wondering exactly what I will say to my boss when in front of him again. I know I was not sold into slavery willingly, but the man had no problems taking the money once I'd been taken. "I'm not sure I'm ready to get back to the whole spy gig."

She stands, hands clasped before her. "No, you are not, which I will make certain to tell the Official."

"You're assuming he'll give a damn what you think," I grouse, kind of wishing I can just run away. That half the universe isn't out to get me and take advantage of the tech buried in my cranium. "Any chance you might be able to remove the gland in the near future?" A last hope, no matter how faint and unlikely. Even knowing I will be a better spy thanks to Delgado's memories and skills, my taste for it has faded. The thrill not one I might ever seek again.

She steps up to me, sets a hand on my forearm and tipps her head up to look me in the eyes. "I'm afraid not. At least not without killing you." The look on her face is pleading, wanting me to understand that she would remove the gland if she could and that, to her, for now anyway, that my life is more important than the gland. But for how long, I wonder. Should I rebel, choose to not do as the Official wants, will I find myself back here, only strapped face down on a table awaiting a quick death as she drilled into my skull.

Damn, I wish Bobby is here to talk me. The Keep is the Keep and will always side with the Official when push comes to shove. I'm the receptacle and her job is all about the gland. She cares, but only when convenient or to manipulate me.

"Darien?"

"S'okay, Keep." I pat her hand distractedly. "I get it. You'll find a solution."

"Of course I will," she agrees, sounding as if she is grateful to be let off the hook.

"So, when do I get out of here?" I ask as she moves away. I imagine she has a ton of work to get back to now that she's convinced I'll be just fine.

"Bobby should be here in about an hour. He'll handle your transport for the time being."

Claire is hiding something, I just know it, but I decide not to call her on it right now. I'm just barely seeing a light at the end of the exceedingly long tunnel, I really don't want to snuff it out just yet.

I have a bad feeling things are going to get a lot worse before they actually get better.

If they get better.

. . . . .

"Faith: not wanting to know what the truth is." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

Hobbes wanted to change his mind, to not be here right now because he had the horrible feeling this was going to end badly. Very badly. He watched Fawkes without being too obvious about it, trying to gauge his mood, but Hobbes simply couldn't, his partner had changed too much, the subtle signals that used to warn him of impending trouble gone, wiped away by months of fighting to be the one in control of his own body.

The happy-go-lucky kid with the fight-the-man-at-every-turn attitude replaced with a seriousness that Hobbes had once wished would appear, for even a moment, on a job, but now… now he wanted the snark and sarcasm, wanted the dry wit and stubbornness and the scary intelligence that saw the answer before anyone else.

"We can do this later," Hobbes said softly as they stood outside the door to room 202, knowing the Official sat on the other side, expecting them to enter and beg forgiveness for bringing Fawkes home.

"No, we can't," Claire stated with a shake of her head, the blonde strands pulled tightly back in a fierce bun, causing her to look far more stern than usual.

"Keepy, this don't feel right. He needs a few more days to acclimate… to get used to-"

"Hobbes," Fawkes interrupted, "it won't get any easier if I wait." He shrugged, the shoulders somehow ending up lower than previously once the motion had been completed, an air of resignation hanging about him.

"Fawkes-"

"Bobby, what else can I do? Run? Even with the Quicksilver I wouldn't last long." He sighed softly, tucking his hands into his rear pockets, causing the shirt he wore to stretch dangerously tight over the muscle he'd added.

"Don't mean this is the right time to face the music," Hobbes argued, but knew he'd lost this round. If they didn't go in the Official would surely come out and the game would begin anyway. He'd wanted to save his partner, but until this moment he hadn't realized that by bringing him home he may have simply chose a different path that led to his destruction. Least out there, playing tag with Delgado he'd been free. Freer that he would be here, anyway.

Fawkes snorted. "There will never be a right time for that." Before Hobbes could continue the current useless discussion Fawkes swung opened the door and stepped into the room.

They took up position at the far end of the conference table, putting most of the room between them and the three by the desk. Hobbes flanked Fawkes's left, Claire his right, one of her hands resting gently against her Kept's forearm, though to lend support or keep him from bolting Hobbes couldn't be sure, possibly a bit of both. Hell, he wanted to bolt from the room, dragging Fawkes with him.

Their lord and master sat behind his desk as always, Eberts behind to the right, Alex in front to the left leaning back against the desk, arms crossed over her chest, chin up a appearing rather proud of herself, which Hobbes couldn't really argue with. She'd done damn good, begged, borrowed or outright stole the resources needed to bring Fawkes home.

The Official cleared his throat. "So, you're back."

Fawkes nodded. "Looks like."

Claire stood up straight. "Alex has apprised you of the situation?"

"She has. Though I have to wonder why you did not inform me sooner. Perhaps that autonomy I have granted you over Perseus was a mistake." The Official may have sounded bored, but the threat buried within those words was unmistakable and caused frisson of fear to slither down Hobbes's spine and settle low in his belly.

"They probably figured you wouldn't want to lose your cash cow," Fawkes stated at his snarky best.

Hobbes wanted to jab an elbow into Fawkes's gut to get him to behave. Something was going on here, Alex's assurances that the fix was in to the contrary.

Eberts sucked in his breath while the Official cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing dangerously. "They would be correct," he confirmed. "However, given the contract guarantees payment in full no matter how it ends, I am more than satisfied to have you back, Agent Fawkes."

Hobbes grunted as if kicked in the gut, and muttered under his breath, "Typical, manipulating things his way."

"Be glad that I did, Hobbes, or he would be shipped right back to the NSA to finish the job." Not a threat this time, so much as the simple, bare facts. Beside him Hobbes heard Fawkes swallow hard. The kid wanted no part of playing host ever again, so long as the Official remained in charge the potential of it occurring again would remain.

Another Sword of Damocles for Fawkes. Like living with the Madness hadn't been enough.

"So, what now?" Hobbes asked, since his partner couldn't seem to speak at the moment and that worried him. Normally the snark and defiance would have been out on full display and instead him simply stood there, clearly paying attention and understanding every word that had not been said.

The Official drummed his fingers on his desk for several painfully quiet moments. He broke it by saying, "Since the Keeper is insisting that you," he focused his beady blue eyes on Fawkes alone, "are not yet ready to take on field assignments you will assist in the training of the Backpack agents until you are cleared for full duty."

Fawkes found his voice then, though Hobbes wished he hadn't as the despair had been layered so thick that a deaf man would feel it on his skin.

"And if I don't want to return to working here at all?"

Monroe blinked, shifting to set her hands on the desk. "You have a better offer?" She almost sounded hurt and Hobbes couldn't really blame her. She stuck her neck way out to get Fawkes back here only to have him essentially reject them.

Hobbes knew better. Fawkes was testing the boundaries, wanting to know where he truly stood after everything. They, the three of them had rescued Darien Fawkes, but the Official only cared about the gland. The receptacle was eminently replaceable.

Shit. No wonder Hobbes had tried to back out of this. He should have seen this sooner, should have realized… Too late now by far, now he could only stand back and watch it play out and hope like hell he'd be able to put the pieces back together afterwards. He glanced around Fawkes to look at Claire who wore a frown deep enough to cause those cute little wrinkles on her forehead. Even she had caught on that something more than a simple meeting was taking place here.

Fawkes shook his head. "Aside for trying to put my life back together, no, not really."

"Are you saying you wish to tender your resignation?" Eberts asked, a confused look on his face.

"Not what I'm saying, I-" Fawkes ducked his head down for a long moment, and Hobbes could feel him struggle for the words, the effort to say the right thing and not just snap out a response.

"I'm just not certain how much use I'll be any more. If the Keeper hasn't already told you, I'm not exactly right in the head, and not in a good way." He'd found strength as he spoke, the words clearly as much for himself as the Official. Fawkes knew better than any of them how screwed up he was, only there wasn't a pill or shrink or cure that would fix it. If he was lucky the memories Delgado had left behind would fade, but even Claire didn't see that happening, not in the near future, possibly not ever.

"Agent Monroe has informed me of your current condition. I believe it will only increase your value to this Agency." The smug look on the Official's face caused Hobbes stomach to drop. "Your talent with the invisibility and your new skills… Oh, yes, your value has gone up quite a bit after this job."

Hobbes closed his eyes for a long moment, wanting to rub his face in his hands. He should've known the fat bastard would see nothing but the potential value of Fawkes in his current state and fail to notice how much the kid wanted out. Needed time away to find his balance again. The weeks at Perseus having done little more than prove he would never be the same again.

"Which means what?" Hobbes asked, part of him already knowing the answer: Fawkes as a person did not matter. As a receptacle he remained invaluable.

And the kid needed to feel valued. Hobbes knew that. Hell, Claire and Monroe knew that.

The Official officially didn't give a flying fuck. He would use Fawkes until he broke and then start over again.

"Which means the price for him to work for other agencies will go up, dramatically," Eberts responded, bless his greedy little heart.

Monroe shot the right hand man a sharp look, suggesting she had no idea they had fully planned to continue whoring Fawkes out as needed. "That was not what we discussed."

"You are not in charge here yet," the Official snarled at her. "Until that day happens I will still decide how my property is used."

And there it was, the confirmation Hobbes feared and, based on the sudden release of tension from his partner, Fawkes had expected to hear. No matter how many times he had bitched and moaned about being a tool, Hobbes had never really believed it could be true until this moment. Hobbes wanted to say something… anything that would ease the sting of that realization, but as usual his misfiring brain froze, unable to come up with even a single word that might turn this farce of a meeting around and prevent his friend from doing something irrevocable.

"And if I balk? Just erase me and stick in someone more compliant?" Darien barely spoke above a whisper, but the words were more than enough to drag a gasp of shock from Hobbes.

The dam finally broke and words tumbled past Hobbes's lips, "Don't even think that, Fawkes. We went through hell to get you back, no way the boss would just…" The look on the Official's face turned the flood of useless words into a trickle and then stopped them as efficiently as a kid sticking his finger into a dike to stop the water from escaping. The Official not only could, but he would.

In a heartbeat.

Which meant all they had done, all the heartache they had suffered losing Fawkes had been for nothing. He'd probably be better off on his own even if he were slowly sliding into permanent insanity due to have quartet living in his head. Better alive and free than permanent slavery to The Agency.

"I would not recommend that anytime in the near future," Claire interjected in an obvious, and failing, attempt to protect her Kept.

Fawkes had no leverage, no handholds to grasp onto and, thanks to Hobbes dragging him back here, no hope. Until Claire could remove the gland safely Fawkes would be stuck here and be forced to dance to the whims of the Official. Once upon time the kid had hope, knew that the Keeper, mostly anyway, worked to keep him alive and well and whole and searched for a way to get him out. To finish the deal made with Kevin. Test the gland then go free. A pardon allowing him to rejoin society and just be a normal person with a normal, boring, safe life. But until that miracle occurred, he would be stuck. A puppet on a string, pulled in any direction deemed most useful at that moment. The puppet master a bastard who cared nothing of poor schmuck dangling beneath his hands.

"Darien?" Monroe's voice actually trembled on his name, much to Hobbes's dismay. If she'd given up, then what chance did Fawkes have?

Fawkes lifted his head slightly, looking at her through his eyelashes, giving her a grimace of a smile, but the sole word he spoke clearly aimed at the Official. "Woof."

Hobbes felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. "Fawkes-"

Fawkes shook his head, eyes closed for a long moment, then he lifted his head, jaw set, as if he had come to some decision. "I'm good. Just need some fresh air. If that's alright with you, sir."

It was the 'sir' that gave the game away for Hobbes. Fawkes was about to do something stupid and Hobbes knew he would be the only one who might be able to stop him.

The Official raised an eyebrow even as he tipped his head to grant permission for Fawkes to leave. He didn't look at any of them, just turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Hobbes didn't wait more than a second, taking only that much time to shoot a worried glance at Claire before following his partner out of the office.

. . . . .

"No price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

I step off the ledge.

finis