Part 2

Once in the car, Cat safely secured and sleeping in a car seat in the rear, Darien turned to her again, wanting, needing an explanation, but was unsure what to say, where to start. Somehow she'd managed to fall back into his life, in nearly as shocking a manner as she had the first time. Michele started the car and pulled out onto the street, heading out of town. After about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence, he said, "Michele, talk to me."

She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything?" When she shook her head and glanced over at him he amended his request. "What happened that night? Last thing I remember is watching the movie."

"Buckaroo Banzai. I remember."  She reached out with her right hand and set it atop his thigh. "And it really doesn't matter at this point."

"Doesn't matter?"  Darien kept his very frayed temper, but just barely. "I find out that not only did we have sex, but also that I'm a father because you dump one of the kids on me and bail, and it doesn't matter?"  He grabbed her hand in a painfully tight grip. "Pull over."

"Darien, I..."

"Pull the fuck over," he shouted at her.

With a soft growl of anger, she did as he directed, pulling off the side of the mostly-empty road and turning off the car. The soft ticking of the engine as it cooled was the only thing that could be heard for long minutes.

"Darien, I am not the sweet, scared little 'Chele you thought you knew. That was an implanted personality for a mission. A mostly successful mission."  She faced him, unafraid to meet his eyes.

"Mission? Seducing me was your mission?"  His voice was low, dangerous, and full of anger. From the back came soft sounds of unhappiness and Michele gave him a shove towards the door.

"Out. Before you wake her."  She opened her own door and climbed out, walking to the front of the car where she waited for him.

Darien glared at her back, debating the merits of sliding into the driver's seat and taking off with Cat. Michele turned around to look at him, almost as if she knew what he was contemplating. With a sigh of pure irritation, he remembered that she probably did. He leaned over the back of the seat to check on Cat, who had settled back into sleep, then climbed out of the car. "Talk."

"Darien, you were never part of my mission. Not directly, anyway."  She leaned back against the hood of the car, her hands stuffed into the pockets of the beat-up jeans she was wearing. "I was after the quicksilver project info and the stored samples of Kevin Fawkes. Nothing else."

Darien didn't know what to think. She was nothing like the scared child he'd known, the one who'd fought back to some semblance of adulthood in the few weeks he'd known her. The woman he'd stupidly fallen for and spent the last year trying to find, fearing what horrible things were being done to her, what horrible things she was being forced to do. Only to discover.... "So, it was all a lie," he said, voicing his thoughts.

Michele shook her head. "No, just carefully disseminated truth from a different perspective. The people I worked for have an agenda, just as yours do. They just have more leeway in how they go about it."  She shuffled her feet a bit before continuing. "My memories about who I was were altered, but how I felt -- feel -- about you was never a lie. Was never part of the programming."

Darien broke out in harsh laughter. "Bullshit. You played me to get what you wanted and now you have a new game going on. I don't want any part of it."  He strode over to her and grasped her upper arm, making her wince in pain. "You are going to have a little chat with the Fat Man, and when it's over I expect your ass will be thrown in prison."

"If that's what you want, but then you'll never see your son." Her voice was soft, resigned. "That's why I left Cat with you. I needed to know she'd be safe while I tried to get him, but Corvan's hunters found me first."  She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "And please let go of my arm, it hurts like hell. I'm not going to run away."

He released her slowly and found blood on his palm. The sleeve of her shirt dark and damp with it as well. "Crap, what happened?"

She ignored the blood as if it were unimportant. "I found the tracker they'd implanted and removed it. Bitch to do, considering I'm right-handed. Darien, I swear I had no idea they were going to grab me that night. I didn't know about the tracker till a few days ago when I caught one of the hunters and made him talk. They must have implanted it years ago..." She trailed off when he said and did nothing.

"Michele, what the hell am I supposed to do, supposed to believe?" The anger had lessened, but was still there. Confusion and indecision were quickly building, though.

"How about this?"  She took his hand into her own, shocking him slightly, and then everything was being dumped into his mind. Images and feelings that flashed through, leaving him with impressions and knowledge that was hers.

Instead of jerking his hand away, he pulled her closer. He now knew what kind of hell her last year had been. Locked in a cage for most of her pregnancy, giving birth there. Having her -- their -- son taken away after only a few short weeks. Her desperate escape with Cat -- Katherine -- shortly after so that she could get him back. And maybe most important of all were her feelings for him, for their children. Those feelings had been the one true thing about her. She hadn't wanted to leave him. Would have stayed if she could, tried to leave those she worked for as soon as she learned the truth, but had been caught.

"'Chele, who has him, who has Kitrick?"

"Chrysalis. A jerk named Stark," she answered, stepping back out of his hold. "Look, I promise I'll explain everything, but we have to get someplace safe. Eventually they'll figure out that the rottweiler I shoved the tracker on isn't me, and the guys in your apartment are awake by now. The Agency will be watched."

Darien thought about it for a moment. They were going to need help whether or not she was willing to admit to it. "Would they be watching all the Agency personnel? Or just the building?"

"I know they've been watching you, Monroe, and Hobbes, but the guy I interrogated wouldn't have had knowledge of what the other teams were doing. Standard procedure in case of capture," Michele explained.

"Jeeze, who do you work for, some black ops agency?" Darien asked rhetorically.

"Did work for, and no. We're a lot deeper than just some black ops agency."  Darien's eyebrows went up at that comment. "Darien, you have enemies you don't even know about and an amazing number of them work for the same government you do."

The comment reminded him eerily of the one Allianora had made to him so very long ago. She'd been right, and he was sure Chrysalis was only the tip of the iceberg. Michele's words both frightened him and made perfect sense. After being forced to work for the CIA, and the troubles with the SWRB, learning that there were even more dangerous government agencies came as no major surprise. Who to turn to was a problem. His first two choices had been Hobbes and Monroe. Claire was a possibility, but he could see a fight breaking out within seconds if he showed up on her doorstep with 'Chele in tow. There was no way in hell he could go to the 'Fish; the man had made it clear he had no interest in the situation, and if he knew the hunters were here he'd turn over both 'Chele and Cat to them without a moment's hesitation. There was one other possibility, one who had helped in a similar situation in the past.

"I know a place."

She didn't ask. "Okay, lets go."  She tossed the car keys to him and moved to go past him, but he stopped her.

"'Chele, I..."

"Don't. Not now. Wait till I've had a chance to tell you everything. Then decide whether or not you can forgive me."  She slipped away and got into the rear of the car with Cat.

As Darien climbed into the driver's seat and adjusted it, he could only wonder what other bombshells she had to drop on him.

He turned off the lights and engine in the driveway of the small suburban home. He sat there for a moment, filled with indecision. Did he really want to bring the Agency into this? The Official had already made his position clear where it came to Katherine; would he really give a damn about her brother, or her mother? Turning slightly, he looked back at Michele. She was dozing, one hand resting across the car seat where Cat was still sleeping. Michele needed the rest; she was pale and had deep, dark circles under her eyes -- she looked like she had a pair of black eyes, they were so dark. She was thin, too thin, her veins easily seen under the skin, her cheekbones, collarbones standing out prominently.

She opened her eyes suddenly and looked right at him. "If there was any other way..."

Darien shook his head. "You need to get some rest first."  He slid across the seat and climbed out the passenger side, then opened the rear door for her.

She handed him the diaper bag and then unhooked the infant seat from the base and climbed out with Cat. "Why did you start calling her Cat?"

Darien shrugged. "It seemed to fit. You did know my mother's name was Katherine?"  He set a hand on her shoulder.

"I know, and Kit's named after my grandfather. A translation of sorts from the Irish." She leaned against him as they walked. "Not that it matters."

He wanted to ask her how she knew his mother's name, why she would even bother? She was right, though, it didn't matter, not right this second anyway. "Hold up a sec, 'Chele." She didn't argue and waited on the steps as he went to the door. Ringing the bell, Darien figured he'd end up having to pick the lock to get in, so he was very surprised when Eberts opened the door after only the second ring.

"Fawkes? Darien? What's wrong?"  Eberts was dressed in standard flannel pajamas, his hair sticking up even more oddly than Darien's.

"I need a favor."  Darien hoped like hell Eberts wouldn't turn him away just on principle, would at least give him a chance to explain the situation. He wanted to prepare Eberts for what was sure to be a heck of a surprise, but the chance was taken out of his hands.

From behind Darien, Cat decided to wake up. Eberts twitched, recognizing the sound. Darien shifted to check on the two of them and Eberts vocalized his astonishment. "Michele?"

"Hiya, Ebes. Can we come in for a bit?"  Michele didn't bother trying to hide the exhaustion in her voice. If Darien were to take a guess, he'd say she hadn't slept in several days, had been worried sick about Cat, and he knew she had expended a fair amount of energy saving his ass earlier. "If it's a problem we'll go. Darien said we could trust you."

Eberts nodded and moved out of the way, allowing Michele to enter with Darien right behind her. He wasn't sure if it was Michele's backhanded proclamation of trust or the fact that Cat's whimpers had turned into full fledged cries that had convinced Eberts, but his look said that he and Darien were going to have a bit of a chat. "Is she all right?" Eberts asked about Cat as he swung the door shut and locked it.

Michele was lifting Cat out of the car seat and smiled over at Eberts. "Just hungry."

"On it," Darien said, setting the bag down on the sofa and pulling out one of the pre-filled bottles and can of formula mix. He headed for Eberts' kitchen to warm it. Eberts followed him, but stayed in the doorway, watching mother and child carefully.

"Fawkes, are you nuts? We have standing orders to hold her. Someone wants her and is pulling major strings to make sure she is returned." He turned to Darien and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "And they're not being picky about what condition she's returned in."

The microwave beeped. Darien pulled the bottle out and tested it for temp before adding the formula mix and screwing the top on. "Dead or alive, eh? Makes you curious as to why, doesn't it?"

"Very," Eberts admitted.

Darien moved past him, back into the living room, and handed Michele the bottle. He waited for a moment to make sure Cat was going to eat. He shouldn't have worried; she went at the meal like she'd been being starved for days. He ran a finger through her hair and forced himself not to smile when she focused up at him even as she attempted to finish the bottle in record time. "I have to talk to Eberts. Will you be okay?"

Michele smiled up at him. "We'll be fine. Thanks."  She focused back on Cat and began to pace around the room, trying to keep herself awake until Cat had settled again.

Darien returned to the kitchen where Eberts was starting some coffee. Seeing as it was almost dawn anyway, there wasn't much point in going back to sleep. "Eberts, thanks. For helping, I mean."

"Darien, do you have any idea what is going on?"  Eberts poked his head out the doorway to see Michele still pacing slowly about his living room.

"Not really, but I believe her when she says she's in trouble."  When Eberts frowned, he tried to placate him. "She just needs a place to sleep for a few hours, and my place is not an option."  Darien's brain caught up with reality then. "Damn. Look, we're here because some guys broke into my place. They tried to kill me and take Cat. 'Chele stopped them."

"Darien, you should have mentioned this sooner."  Eberts moved to his phone, but Darien stopped him before he lifted the handset.

"Eberts, she needs a break. Just a few hours. Please?"  Darien hadn't exactly been the best of buddies with Eberts for the last year and was really hoping he'd fold where Michele and Cat were concerned. Hell, he needed a few hours to sort things out himself. It must have been the 'please' that convinced Eberts.

"I won't mention Michele, for now. I'll just send the Maid service to your place. But I can only cover for a few hours."

Darien nodded in agreement. Michele had a lot of explaining to do, to all of them. "Thanks, man."  Darien began to search through the cabinets for the coffee cups and, once he had found them, poured each of them a cup. Eberts was deep in conversation with someone on the other end of the phone line and gave Darien only the slightest of nods when he set the coffee cup down. Eberts was making notes on a pad of paper that had magically appeared out of thin air.

Darien moved to the doorway to see that Michele had given up trying to remain awake and had sat down on the sofa with Cat in her arms. The bottle was empty and set aside. Cat was quiet, but still awake, while Michele was asleep, her head resting along the back of the sofa, one of her fingers tightly clutched in one of Cat's fists. Darien revised his impression of her ability at motherhood. Cat was obviously happy and healthy, considering the circumstances, and Michele had worn herself out over the last few days. Gently he removed Cat from her arms and, after taking a minute to just hold her, set her in the infant seat and handed her the annoying little squeaky toy that looked like a demented duck and was, for some mysterious reason, her favorite.

Standing up, he looked down at Michele. She appeared even younger than he remembered. Seeing her hurt, in so many ways. He'd thought she was long gone, trapped in a life she hated, forced to do things she wanted no part of. He'd thought she was like him. And now he was learning she was the exact opposite. Eberts came out then, carrying a couple blankets and pillows.

"I have a spare bed she can crash on..." He trailed off, seeing that Michele was already sound asleep. "You're welcome to it then, Darien." Eberts handed him the linens. "I have to head into the office in a bit. You can stay here for a few hours without a problem. I've left a message for the Official, explaining the situation without mentioning her."  He nodded at Michele. "You have to bring her in. You must realize this."

Darien could argue the point, but chose not to. "Sure, if she's willing."  He set one of the pillows on the sofa and shifted Michele until she was lying down, curled on her side, a sigh escaping her as she relaxed into a deeper sleep. He pulled off her shoes and then tossed one of the blankets over her. "Did I thank you, Eberts?"

"Yes, you did. Get some rest. I'll call you when we know it's safe to bring her in."  Eberts shook his head and left the room, turning off the lights as he went.

The sky outside the window was just beginning to lighten as Darien lowered himself to the floor to sit next to Cat, who was happily waving her arms about and kicking her feet hard enough to rock the seat she was tucked into. "Well kid, looks like it's just you and me again."  He gave her one of his fingers to abuse and watched her until she drifted off into slumber a short while later. Looking from daughter to mother, he wondered exactly what the hell he was going to do now.

Darien awoke with a start, a crawling sensation running up and down his spine. He felt something moving along his shoulder. With more than a little trepidation, turned his head to see, not the spider he expected, but fingers. Michele's fingers, slowly moving in random patterns across his shoulder, light touches that were more than enough to conjure up images of spiders crawling upon him as he slept. He ran his fingertips lightly upon the back of the hand the fingers were attached to and found himself oddly comforted. It was different than what he felt with Alex, the bitter solace of two people who had nowhere else to turn, no hope, no joy.

He shifted, his back aching from sleeping on the floor, his head pounding in that oh-so-familiar way he had learned to hate, and looked over at Cat, who was still sleeping peacefully. She'd managed to curl up half on her side and looked like a kitten, boneless and irresistibly cute. He closed his hand around Michele's, trying not to feel anything, but unable to stop himself. He still cared about her, even if she wasn't quite the same person he'd known. What she'd let him feel -- experience -- last night told him that enough of her was the same for him to still want to be with her.

Michele was sprawled on her stomach, her face turned towards him and anything but relaxed, though she still slept. He was tempted to wake her. He needed to talk to her, to discover where they stood with each other, whether or not she ever really cared. Darien had still been awake when Eberts had left just before six AM and he had yet to call. Darien wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

'Chele opened her eyes then and met his. "I'm sorry, Dare."

He released her hand, which she moved to run through the hair on the back of his head, making him sigh as the pain eased slightly. "For what?"

She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, her look desperately sad. "It's my fault you have these headaches. That Claire's plan failed. I'm so sorry."

Darien was confused. She couldn't have had anything to do with Claire's screw up, she'd been long gone by then. "'Chele, it was not your fault. We should have done more research first...."  She was shaking her head. "All right, explain it to me."

She sat up, pulling her legs up cross-legged on the sofa, hugging the pillow to her chest. "I left a way into the computer system for my agency, so they could monitor your progress with the gland research, among other things. I had programming implanted that I enacted when given the opportunity. The back door was part of it."

"The Keep's computer is on a local system. There is no access from the outside."  Darien said to her, resting a hand on her knee. He was wishing she'd continue the massage of his scalp, his head was one huge ache that told him he'd need more medication soon.

"Doesn't matter. There are ways of dealing with that."  She set her hand atop his, allowing him to feel what she was to a degree. He was surprised to learn she was nearly consumed with guilt over the situation. "They wanted the status quo maintained, and that meant you working for the Agency. So using my back door, our techs reworked the solution to create the headaches instead of reversing the process that causes the madness."

Darien's hand tightened on her leg, squeezing what was surely hard enough to hurt, but she failed to react. "You did this to me? You're the reason I'm trapped in this hell-hole of a life?"

"Indirectly, yes. I take full responsibility for it."  She met his eyes without flinching. "All I can say is I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"  Darien got to his feet and backed away from her. "You ruined what little life I had and all you can say is 'sorry?'  You have no idea what you've done to me, what my last year has been like... Maybe Monroe was right. What the hell is the point?"

Michele slumped where she sat. "I warned you to wait until you heard everything."

"Anything else? Any other wonderful news you have for me? Perhaps you should just put the gun to my head and pull the trigger -- it would be far less painful." His head flared into agony, driving him to his knees as the numbness began to spread, making it difficult to think, to react normally. He had no idea how long he was there on his hands and knees, trying to focus through the pain, before he felt hands easing him into a sitting position.

"Let me help. Please?"  Michele was at his side, her hands attempting to get the muscles in his shoulders and neck to relax and, while her touch helped, her presence only caused more pain, more agony on his heart and soul.

He laughed bitterly. "Help? You mean hurt don't you? Another knife thrust into my back, another dagger into my heart, another..."  He was shouting now, not thinking beyond he was hurt and wanted it to stop, wanting to share the pain, wanting to hurt her as badly as she had hurt him.

She set one of her hands across his lips and he stopped, looking stunned that she would have the audacity to do that. "You will terrify Cat if you continue," she hissed in anger.

Darien batted her hand away, without any real strength behind the movement. "Bitch. She's your brat and nothing but an inconvenience to me. What the hell do I care?"

"Lie to yourself if you must, but you do care. And it scares you." 'Chele rested the hand he'd moved on his chest, over his heart. He knew it was running at trip hammer speed, just below the level where the quicksilver would flow, and he couldn't convince it to slow. His anger, his pain, and her presence kept it elevated. She was right and, at the moment, he hated that fact. "Let me help you."

He still didn't trust her. "How?"

She held up what looked like an oversized nicotine patch. "This will counteract the effects. The pain, the numbness, the weakness. It was designed at the same time they created the flaw."

"You created, you mean."  The anger was still there, burning merrily in the background.

She shook her head. "I'm not that good. I stole what I could before I left. That included exactly what they did to you and this.... this leash."  She waved the patch between two fingers. "Hopefully Claire may be able to reverse the problem with the information."

Hope flared momentarily in Darien's eyes, in the depths of his soul, only to be overwritten by another wave of agony that radiated out from his head to leave his entire face feeling numb and knowing there was no way he could stand. A groan, which he tried to hold back, escaped, and Michele acted before he could prevent her. Peeling open the package, she slid up his sleeve and set it on his arm.

"Claire's solution of having the gland distribute painkiller is unique, but pointless."  She held him in a firm hold until the even he could feel the drug making its way through him. It was nothing like the combined cooling and burning rush of the counteragent. It was more like someone had removed a layer of dirt and grime from him. Over the course of several minutes, his entire world went from dark to light. That thick cloud that had been hanging in front of the sun for months was...well, not gone, but thinned dramatically.

"Michele?"

"Claire didn't catch the depression side effect, did she?" As Darien sat up, she caressed his face with her hands. Her fingers ran through the hair at his temples. "Better?"

"Yeah, better than I've been in a long time. What the hell is in that thing?"  He was impressed; the painkillers would leave him high as a kite more often than not, at least at first, but allowed him to function for the most part. He knew he'd been unhappy and severely depressed, but neither he or the Keep had thought it might be anything but the natural result of everything that had happened. The last year had worn all of them down.

Michele shrugged. "I really don't know. I could recite the formula and the attendant explanation, but I haven't studied enough to really understand it. I do know the headaches and the depression were chemically induced and that this fixes it temporarily."

"How long?"  He wanted to know how much time he had clearheaded, how much time he had before the darkness closed back in, before the pain, both physical and emotional, returned.

"Each patch is good for twenty-four hours. I brought a score of them. Hopefully, with the info in my head, Claire should be able to duplicate them and eventually undo the damage. Maybe even get the gland out of your head, finally."  Michele rubbed her eyes and moved away from him. "I swear I didn't know they were going to do this to you, or I would have stopped them. I... I need to talk to the Official. There's so much that he, and you, need to know. I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted to fix what I could."

That sounded bad. "Fix what you could? What does that mean?"  Darien got to his feet and went to Cat who had awoken at some point, but had stayed quiet while he and Michele had talked.

"She likes you," Michele said quietly from her position a few feet away on the floor. "That's good."

"'Chele?"  Darien crouched down next to Cat and picked her up before turning to look at her mother. 'Chele had gone very pale and was drawing in deliberate breaths almost as if she were trying to keep herself from becoming violently ill all over Eberts' floor.

"I... I'm okay. Just a little off."  She got to her feet slowly and put a hand out to lean against the wall for support. "Can you watch her for a couple?"  Darien nodded not sure what was going on. Michele looked sick, sick beyond what exhaustion had done to her. "Thanks." She stumbled away, headed for where Darien knew the bathroom was.

Cat proceeded to thwap him with one tiny fist to get his attention back on her. "Silly, like I could forget you."  He noticed the pair of duffle bags sitting on the floor and moved to them. One was stuffed with clothes for both Michele and Cat. The other had... stuff. Papers, notebooks, disks, dozens of pill bottles. Pictures. Lifting one, he got to see his son for the fist time. It was a documentation shot, with a code number across the bottom, but he could see the similarity to Cat. Kit's hair was far darker, identical to Darien's own hair, his eyes still birth blue, his mouth set in a grim line of unhappiness, an ID bracelet wrapped about one ankle.

"We'll get him back, Cat. We'll bring him home."

Cat waved her arms and cooed. It was nice to know someone had confidence in him.

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