"No can do, chief," Hobbes said firmly. He didn't budge an inch.
The Official leaned forward so that he and Hobbes were practically eye-to-eye. "You may not work here anymore, but I can still make your life miserable. I want to see him. NOW."
Hobbes' jaw jutted out stubbornly. "I just dragged his ass back from Chrysalis. He's not ready to see anybody but the Keeper."
The Official's eyes narrowed. The way Hobbes was acting suggested that Darien was severely injured. "You're not getting your job back just because you brought him here. I wanted you to bring him back in good condition, not as damaged goods."
"That's all he's ever been to you, isn't it? A receptacle, an invisible ace in the hole. Well, I've had it up to here with that attitude." Hobbes waved his hand approximately a foot above his head in an indication of his level of frustration. "The only way you're getting in there is over my dead body, and I don't think that is something you can legally accomplish under the circumstances."
The Official glared at Hobbes for a long moment. "This isn't over, Hobbes. This is far from over." He turned and barreled off in the direction of his office, debating on which means of punishment would be most fitting for his ex-agent.
**********
Stark glared down at Smyth's dead body, his emotions roiling. Darien had escaped. And it appeared he had killed his handler, as well. How had this happened? Smyth had claimed he was broken, not to mention mentally unstable. He was supposedly incapable of something like this.
And yet, he had done it. He had managed to break his programming and escape, and he had destroyed Stark's only means of control over him in the process. This was clearly evident by the completely demolished remote control that lay a few feet from Smyth's limp hand.
There was a backup remote, of course. But it had a very limited range of usability, only a thousand feet. And Stark had not thought it necessary to keep Darien fitted with a tracking device, because he had seemed completely obedient in every way, and hadn't seemed to entertain any thoughts of escape.
But, obviously, Stark had been mistaken about that. He snarled and bent down to pick up the bullet-ridden remote, crushing it in his grip. The pain the jagged bits of metal caused him was nothing compared to the pain he was going to inflict on Darien after he got him back. And he would get Darien back, of that he was certain.
He turned and glared over at the myriad of underlings that were milling around the corridor, barking, "Clean this up!" He dropped the destroyed remote to the ground and began to pace slowly, wondering where Darien would have gone. His first instincts were that Darien would have returned to the Agency, but then again that might be exactly what Darien wanted him to think. He would certainly investigate the matter, but he would keep his mind open to other possibilities as well. Sooner or later, he would get his hands back on Darien. And then the sparks would fly.
**********
Once Hobbes was certain that the Official wasn't going to come back, he tapped out the code for Claire to let him into the lab. The door swished open a few seconds later and he walked into the room. "How is he?" Hobbes asked, gesturing at Darien.
Claire absently nibbled on her lip as she said in a similar tone, "It's hard to tell, he won't let me near him. He's suffering from shock, I can tell that just by looking at him... this was probably too much for him to take in, all in one day." Her brow wrinkled as she continued, "I'm trying to figure out what that thing around his neck is, but...."
"I think it's what they used to try and control him with," Hobbes said, his voice taking on an icy timbre. "There was a remote thingy that went with it. This guy pressed a button and Fawkes started actin' as if someone had set his pants on fire."
Claire promptly went into scientist mode. "Hmm, maybe it stimulates the pain receptors, or emits some sort of electric shock. I won't know for sure until I get a closer look." She glanced over at Hobbes. "Did you get the remote? A device like the one you described would probably have a limited range, but still...."
"I shot it," Hobbes said sheepishly. Claire raised an eyebrow. Hobbes shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Claire rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue in a teasingly reproachful manner, and then looked over at Darien. "I'm worried about him." She sighed. "The physical damage I can take care of, but the psychological damage... that will be harder."
Hobbes scratched his ear, squirming uncomfortably. "Just don't send him to the nuthouse or anything, and he'll be fine. I'm tellin' ya, I came out of that place more messed up than I went in." Claire gave Hobbes a questioning look, but before she could say anything Darien began to whisper to himself again, causing both of his friends to automatically shift their gaze in his direction. "He'll be alright," Hobbes insisted, attempting to convince himself as much as Claire. "He has to be."
**********
They were there. Darien had hoped they would go away, that they would leave him alone now that Hobbes had come -- for real, this time -- but the voices were still there, taunting him, laughing at him, whispering in his ear that this was all just a trick like the last time and the time before that and the time before that, never mind that this time the charade was lasting longer.
Darien didn't want to believe the voices; a part of him knew they weren't real. But another part of him insisted that yes, they were, and they just might be right.
"Shut up," Darien told the voices. "Shut up and leave me alone."
Make us, they replied.
"I will. I will," Darien insisted, bound and determined to do so, but the voices just laughed.
You can't make us leave. You can't do anything anymore. You're nothing but a gutless coward.
Darien bit back a sob and said harshly, "Leave me alone!"
"Sorry partner, but we ain't goin' nowhere." It took Darien a few seconds to realize that it was Hobbes, not the voices, that had spoken.
"Is this real?" Darien asked, looking up at Hobbes and Claire with a pleading expression on his face. He had had his hopes dashed to the ground so many times in the past... how long had it been, anyway? A month? Two? It had seemed like forever. Over time all hope had vanished, replaced by the simple knowledge that he would never escape, that he would be trapped in that Chrysalis hellhole until the day he died. Now, there was a possibility that the nightmare might be over. And while he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it just yet, he desperately wanted to.
Claire squatted down in front of Darien, placing her hands on her knees, looking at him earnestly. "Of course it's real, sweetheart."
She's lying, the voices spat. You know she's lying.
"Shut up," Darien mumbled again under his breath.
Hobbes bent down, concern clearly evident on his features. "You need anything, partner? I can get you some food or something."
Darien couldn't remember the last time he'd really had any sort of appetite. Smyth's underlings had had to force-feed him more often than not, because he had refused to eat. "No, I'm not hungry..." Darien ran a hand over his face, "I'm just tired." He looked up at Hobbes and Claire and asked timidly, "Can I go home now?"
Claire shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea right now, Darien. I need to check you over first, make sure you're alright." She gave him an apologetic look. "There's a bed in lab three, would you mind resting there?"
Darien's heart sank; he had been hoping Claire would allow him to go home. But he merely nodded and mumbled, "OK." It was easier to follow orders right now than to try and think for himself.
"You'll probably be able to sleep better without that thing around your neck," Hobbes said pointedly.
Darien's hand automatically strayed upward to the collar, but stopped a fraction of an inch away from the cold metal. If this were a dream, or a hallucination, or a test, like the voices kept insisting, then any attempt to remove the collar would be met by agonizing pain and the end of the illusion. And whether this was real or not, he didn't want it to end.
Darien lowered his hand again, trying to ignore the look of disappointment on Hobbes' face. "It'll be fine... I just wanna lay down."
Claire nodded, staring at Darien with a piercing gaze. "Alright, come with me." She led Darien out of the lab and down the hall, then swiped a keycard through another door and led him into a small room that did indeed have a bed. Darien collapsed onto it wearily, trying to ignore the voices as they plagued him with their usual cacophony of riotous laughter and deceitful whispers. He finally fell into a fitful slumber, his brow knitted with tension, his body automatically curling up into the fetal position.