"What do you think happened?" said a woman with a British accent.

"What I want to know is where is Fawkes?" a man replied.

"Maybe he wasn't with Bobby."

"Then why isn't he answering his pages? No I think whoever did this to Hobbes has Fawkes."

"Do you think it's Arnaud?"

"I hope not because if it is we may never see him again."

Bobby lay in a bed listening groggily to the conversation with his eyes closed. When Darien was mentioned his eyes snapped open. The Keeper and the Official, unaware he was awake, continued to talk.

Bobby made a move to sit up and immediately regretted the action. His head began to pound and he fell back against the bed with a moan.

Claire and the Official turned upon hearing him.

"Bobby, you're awake," Claire said, then set about checking him over.

Bobby closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. "There were two," he stated.

"What?" the official asked.

"There were two," he repeated. "One kept me busy and the other snuck up behind me."

"Do you know where Darien is?"

"They took him. He was out cold in the back of the van."

"Did you recognize either of them?" the Official questioned.

"No, the one I saw didn't look familiar."

Both Claire and the Official's faces fell.

"What about the van?" Claire asked. "Did you get license plate?"

Bobby sighed. "No. Damnit. If something happens to him it's my fault."

"No it isn't Bobby," Claire argued.

"Yes it is. I'm his partner and I'm supposed to look out for him. I shouldn't have been taken by surprise."

Claire, who knew how strongly Bobby felt about this subject, looked away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Darien awoke to one of the most horrible headaches he had ever experienced, second only to him QSM ones. Eyes still closed he listened to a sound that could only be water dripping onto some hard surface. Pain slowly began to reach his senses, starting at his wrists and moving down through his arms.

Darien slowly opened his eyes, surprised to find it dark. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw the source of the pain in his wrists. His hands were hand-coughed around a pipe above his head that was tall enough to make him stretch when he was standing up straight. While unconscious he was literally hanging from it by his wrists.

Darien groaned and pulled himself up, trying to take some tension off his arms.

"Ah, Agent Fawkes," a voice said from the surrounding darkness. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was run over by a Mac truck."

"Well it was nothing that serious you were only hit with a crowbar."

"Only a crowbar? Well that's good," Darien said sarcastically. "I was worried it was something that could do lasting damage."

"We've had our doctors check you out, you'll be fine."

"Yeah, let's cut to the chase. What do you want?"

"I want to know what the Agency knows."

Darien snorted. "Believe it or not, the only thing the Agency tells me is one a need to know basis, and apparently I don't need to know much."

"Forgive me if I don't believe it," the man said, punching him in the stomach.

All of Darien's air was expelled in a loud "oof" and he hung from the pipe gasping for breath.

"Wanna try again?" the man asked.

"They don't...tell me...anything," he gasped. "I'm just...the hired...help."

"Wrong answer," the man said, connecting his fist with Darien's jaw.

He repeated this for over an hour and when he was done Darien hung bloody and bruised from the pipe.

The man turned on the light and Darien recoiled in response to the brightness.

His mouth and nose were bleeding, his lip was split and both his eyes were beginning to bruise. His wrists were bleeding where the hand coughs continued to dig into them and he was almost certain one of his ribs had cracked. He was so exhausted he barley had the strength to look up and see his attacker.

"You," he muttered, referring to the man who now stood near the door of what appeared to be an empty basement.

"Yes Fawkes its me. And although I could continue to beat you for several hours, something much worse than anything I can do to you, will set upon not too long from now."

Darien, realizing what he was referring to, lifted his head and looked at his tattoo, which was half full.

"It's simple Fawkes, you tell me what you know, I'll let you go back to your keeper and get your shot. You remain silent you sit here and rot in madness."

At those words Darien looked up at him, a wave of sheer panic coursing through his body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As Bobby sat flipping through photos of criminals and ex-criminals he couldn't help thinking that it was useless and he should be out searching for Darien.

Claire walked into his room. "Hello Bobby, are you feeling better?"

"Yeah my headache is-" Bobby stopped, a sudden realization hitting him. "Keep when did Darien get his last shot?"

She looked at him, the look on her face telling him she was thinking the same thing. "Four days ago, so he has two more left, assuming he hasn't quicksilvered."

Neither of them spoke the fear on both their minds that Darien might already be dead.

Bobby started to get out of his bed.

"Bobby what are you doing?" Claire asked in alarm.

"I can't just sit here doing nothing. I'm fine, I need to go help."

"Ok, ok. Just do me a favor first."

He looked up at her expectantly.

"Finish looking through these photos. If we find the guy, it could help us a great deal."

Bobby sighed. "Fine."

An hour later Bobby was getting frustrated and was about to slam the photo album shut when he saw a picture of a blonde man in the center of the page. "That's him! Claire!" he called.

"What? What is it?"

"That the guy right there."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Can I go now?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been approximately 36 hours since Darien had been kidnapped, and he was starving. They had yet to feed him and the hunger pains made him ready to throw up.

His tattoo was now over three quarters full and a small twinge at the back of his neck was telling him he needed a shot, and soon. Suddenly the small twinge exploded into fiery pain, and he cried out, unable to do anything but hang from the pipe.

"Well Fawkes it looks as thought the gland is starting to protest not getting its shot. Are you sure you don't have anything to tell me?"

Darien lifted his head and glared at him, his eyes streaked with red lines. "I already told you, they don't tell me anything."

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Too bad."

Another wave of pain caused Darien's body to jerk so hard, the hand coughs cut another wound into his wrists which began to bleed.

The man turned and walked out of the basement. He walked u[p the stairs and towards the blonde man who had kidnapped Darien.

"Has he talked sir?"

"No and if he doesn't soon we'll just have to give up."

What, let him go?"

"Let him go?" the man repeated. "Who said we were going to let him go? No we're going to take that gland out of his head. That's been the plan from the beginning. I just wanted to get any information I could out of him before he dies."