Darien rolls over later in the day. He gingerly sits up and looks around him. Claire is sleeping fitfully on the couch that she has turned to face him. He regrets his anger toward her. She has stayed by his side even though he has been being a complete idiot lately. His hangover crashes into him, pinning him to the bed. He is nauseous and his emotions are tumbling around in his head. Claire, Bobby, Kevin, Allianora, he sees faces all around him and he doesn't know why the room is spinning.

"Darien, what's wrong?" Claire asks, waking up to his moaning in distress.

"Claire, something's wrong…" He says, "I'm freaking out."

"You're going into D.T.'s. Alcohol withdrawal. It's been a while since your body has had any alcohol and it's angry," Claire explains. "I didn't think you had been drinking enough for this to happen."

"Well, how do I make it stop?" Darien asks, shaking and looking around anxiously.

"This is just the beginning, Darien. Look at me. Do you want to get better?" Claire asks him, taking his face in her hands. "Are you going to stop drinking?"

Darien closes his eyes. He just wants the chaos to stop. "I don't know."

"Darien. Are you going to stop drinking?" Claire asks again.

Darien looks at her, helplessly. Finally, after several minutes, he asks quietly, "Will you help me?"

Claire almost cries in relief. "Yes, Darien, I'll help you."

Nothing soothes Darien for the next few hours. Claire finally calls Bobby to come and help her. Darien tosses, turns, and every movement hurts his chest and side. He can't control his stomach and dry heaves almost constantly. He starts to hallucinate and become violent.

Bobby lets himself in and finds Claire holding Darien's struggling body against the bed.

"Damn, this is pretty bad," Bobby says, taking over the restraining of their friend.

Claire leans back, panting. "He's been really out of it for the last twenty minutes. He doesn't know where he is or who I am."

"Get off me, you bastard!" Darien whispers, with clenched teeth. "I didn't take your VCR!"

"Jesus," Bobby says, as Darien struggles violently. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I could give him a tranquilizer but considering that we're trying to cleanse his body of drugs, it might not be the right way to go," Claire sighs. She leans over Darien.

"Darien, it's Claire, do you know who I am?" She says, trying to reach him through his glazed eyes.

Darien stares right through her. "I didn't take your VCR!"

Bobby lets himself smile.

Claire goes into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. "Let's try something different, Bobby. Let him go."

Bobby releases Darien's arms and Darien, not knowing what to do, becomes passive. He lies still, catching his breath.

"Darien?" Bobby says, quietly.

"Yeah?" Darien asks, looking at him, dazed.

"It's Bobby, kid, your partner?"

Darien shakes his sweaty head. "I work alone. You know that. Ever since Sinclair…" He turns his head away.

"I wonder who Sinclair is," Bobby says to Claire. They watch over the now passive Darien from a safe distance. "You ever handle something like this before?"

Claire shakes her head. "Nope. I've read about it, but this is more intense than I could have imagined."

Bobby nods. "He's having a really rough time. I had no idea that he was drinking. I should have paid more attention. I mean, I knew he was hurting, but I thought he could handle it."

"He's a good man. He doesn't deserve this, but by drinking, he's just making it worse." Claire sighs. "What did you tell the Official?"

Bobby takes a swallow of Claire's coffee. "I said that Fawkes got jumped last night and couldn't come to work for a few days. He wants you to call him with an update of his condition."

Darien has settled down when Claire and Bobby return to his bedside. Claire takes a cool cloth and mops the sweat from his forehead. Darien's pajamas are damp with sweat. He looks over to her.

"Claire?"

"I'm still here, Darien. How're you doing?" She asks, glad to see comprehension in his eyes.

"I'm a little freaked out…hey Bobby," Darien says, sensing his friend's presence.

"Hey yourself, kid. Glad you recognize me," Bobby says.

"As if I could forget you," Darien snorts. "Keep, how much longer is this going to last, I feel like I'm dying."

"You shouldn't be sick much longer, Darien, but it could take a couple of days for you to be well again," Claire replies, honestly.

"I feel like hell and the only thing that means anything to me right now is getting a drink, that's the only thing that'll make me feel better," Darien says sadly. "I didn't think I'd ever want anything more than counteragent but this…craving…it's unbelievable."

"You have to fight it, Fawkes. If you could see yourself…" Bobby stops himself.

"I can imagine, considering the way I feel, how bad I must be. What I can't figure out is why you guys are hanging around." Darien looks at Claire.

"You're our friend, Darien. No matter what you tell yourself, I am your friend," Claire says quietly.

Darien rolls over in his rumpled bed. He mutters, "Thanks."

Darien feels better when he wakes up. He sees Claire dozing on the couch and Bobby is squinting his eyes at one of Darien's philosophy magazines.

"Hey, Bobby. Do you think you could give me a hand?" Darien's throat is sore from the dry heaving he has been doing, but Bobby hears him.

"What do you need?"

"I want to get a shower. I feel dirty. Do I need doctor's clearance for a shower?" Darien looks to Claire who is yawning.

"You should be okay, but are you sure you're strong enough? You tried to run away a few hours ago but you were too weak to stand. Maybe a bath would be better?" Claire smiles, reassuringly.

Once Darien swings his legs over the side of the bed, he realizes that Claire is right. He is overcome with dizziness and weakness. "Damn. Maybe I'll wait."

"Why don't you try to eat something? Soup? It'll make you stronger." Claire goes into his kitchen.

"You seem to be feeling better," Bobby remarks, sitting beside his friend.

"I guess. I can't believe you guys have been staying with me this whole time. I'm a mess," Darien admits.

"You're struggling. We all struggle sometimes." Bobby gets a faraway look in his eye. "I wish I had seen it sooner."

"I can't believe how I have lost control of my life, Bobby. I'm flying blind. I do what I am told when I am told and that's all I can do. I don't know what else to do but jump through the Agency's hoops. I miss my life." Darien sighs hopelessly.

"You have your life, Darien," Bobby says, quietly. "It may not be the same one you had before, but it is yours. You are the only man that can do this job. Kevin knew that when he sprung you."

Darien snorts. "Screw that. Kevin needed a lab rat and he found the most desperate person he could, me. Now I'm trapped."

Claire comes in, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl. "You are going to eat this."

"Yes, mother," Darien replies.

Bobby wants to continue the conversation. "Isn't there anything that you get out of working for the Agency, Fawkes?"

Darien blows on a spoonful of soup, thinking. "I mean, you guys are my friends, but besides that…not really."

"You would rather be stealing people's things than helping save children? Are you sure?" Claire asks.

"Well when you put it that way it sounds like I'm a heartless bastard," Darien remarks. "I just wish that I had a choice. A little free will."

"But you don't. You have to make lemonade," Bobby says.

"What?" Darien asks, choking on his soup.

"Lemonade. You know. When life hands you lemons…" Bobby starts.

"Make lemonade, yeah, its just, coming from you…anyway." Darien smiles at Claire.

"He's right. You have done the best that you could, Darien and no one expects any more from you than you've already given. I'm trying my best to get the gland out of you, but…I'm not Kevin." Claire looks at the floor. "I don't want you to give up and doing this…drinking, it's like you're giving up."

Darien nods. It hurts him to know that he has caused them pain. He knows that he needs to talk to Claire, but he doesn't want to do it in front of Bobby. Darien realizes how important Claire is in his life. She loved his brother, he thinks, and he realizes how difficult it must be for her to work with him every day.

"Who's Sinclair?" Bobby asks, curious.

Darien freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth. His appetite starts to waver. "What?"

"You were talking about somebody named Sinclair. You said that you worked alone after Sinclair, I was just wondering who Sinclair was," Bobby replies, watching his reaction with renewed interest.

Darien slurps his soup as he thinks of what he should say. Sinclair was Darien's partner in crime when he was young. They did all their jobs together. Sinclair was Darien's best friend. Sinclair was killed during a botched museum job and Darien doesn't allow himself to think about him. Ever. He hasn't repressed the memory, but if he knew how, he would have. He lost so many people, first his mom, then his best friend. After Sinclair, Darien never felt the same way about making friends. He became a loner by choice.

"Darien?" Claire breaks through his thoughts. "You alright?"

"Yeah." He doesn't look at Bobby. "Sinclair was an old friend. Someone I don't talk about."

Bobby slowly nods. "Okay, buddy. I'm sorry for bringing it up, I just thought that since you mentioned him that…"

"Its okay. I just don't like to talk about him," Darien interrupts. "I'm going to go wash up." Bobby helps Darien hobble to the bathroom. His wounds throb when he finally settles, leaning against the sink.

Claire sticks her head in. "I want to change your dressings after you're done, Darien. Call me if you need any help." She leaves.

"You should ask her for a sponge bath," Bobby jokes.

Darien smiles. "Maybe later. Can you…" Bobby nods and leaves Darien alone.

Darien looks at his pale drawn face in the mirror. He looks like a cancer patient on crack. His face is pale and bruised from the attack and he has dark bags under his eyes. He has never let his appearance deteriorate this much. His hair is plastered against his head. He thinks back to Sinclair.

"Man, you think you've got it so bad, Dary, but you're a king in my opinion," Sinclair said, leaning his short lean body against the fence outside of the ramshackle house he shared with his father.

"I'm not a king, I'm a pauper," Darien had replied from the grass beside him.

"Shit, Dary. You've got a brother who loves you. He bailed your skinny ass out of jail while I sat in that cell for three days. You've got an aunt and an uncle who let you stay with them. You've got a car, ghetto as it may be, but its yours. Damn, Dary, you even get girls sometimes with that skinny ass, what else do you want?" Sinclair had flicked his cigarette into the street. "You have to be able to see the things you have before you can cry about your situation. You could be crippled, Dary, or fucking homeless, but you're not."

"Shit, Sinc, I know I have it okay but I'm not happy so I know that I'm missing something," Darien replied.

Sinclair squatted beside him. "The only thing you're missing is a purpose. You're one of those dudes who needs something to strive for, a goal or some shit. All you need is something to fight for, like a cause. You aren't going to be satisfied robbing houses for the rest of your life; you need the rush, the high from more action. You're one of those people who will never be satisfied with what they have but you'll cry like hell when someone takes it away."

Darien shakes off the memory of his friend. He wonders why after all this time, he remembers Sinc so vividly all of a sudden. Maybe it's because of his advice. Darien looks at himself in the mirror again then splashes his face and foams up his chin with shaving cream. Sinclair.