Part 4 -- Stuck in Moment

You know how there are some days in your life when you wake up and everything seems new? Like you've been given a fresh start, all your troubles, all the things you've been struggling with, have just magically disappeared? I think H.L. Mencken summed up the feeling best when he wrote: "We are here and it is now. Further than that all human knowledge is moonshine." Now on most mornings I might have been tempted to argue the point with good ole Henry, but that morning, I was more than happy to accept it at face value. It seemed as if just about anything might happen, and, as usual, it did.
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Darien awoke to a single crack of sunlight forcing its way through the center seam of the drawn curtain panels and hitting him right in the eye. It took him a moment to recognize where he was and why there was a small, warm form curled up to his side. His body remembered more quickly than his sleep-fogged brain and that reaction prompted him towards alertness faster than any caffeine fix had ever done. Softly, slowly he slid his tall frame down the length of her tiny, sleeping one. She stirred lightly and he nuzzled her ear. "Hey, Lo," he grinned at his own pun.

Lola, however, was less than impressed. "Shhh," she hissed, burying her head under the pillow.

He trailed a hand leisurely across her ass, up her side, and tickled her underarm. "C'mon, wake up, sugar," he cooed.

The only response he got was a muffled plea of, "sleep," as she swatted his hand away. Great. He had to choose to get physical with the only person in the world who liked sleep better than he did. With a disappointed sigh, he left the bed and headed to the shower.
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She was up when he came out, lying in bed watching the news. "Oh, you're dressed," she observed slyly, "You should have woken me sooner."

Darien rolled his eyes and prayed for patience. "Well, you were so peaceful, I just figured I'd let you sleep."

"Oh, well, too bad," she chirruped, sliding from the bed.

"Yeah, too bad," he echoed, wistfully watching her sleek form strolling towards the bathroom. When the door shut and he heard the shower start, he picked up the phone, deciding it would be an opportune time to check in with his partner.

"Hey, Hobbsey."

"Fawkes! What happened? I thought you were going to call me when you got home last night, partner?"

"Yeah, well, I was. It's just that, uh, I didn't actually, ah, make it home last night ...."

"Why you slick little Casanova, you..."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Hoss. It's not what you think; it's just that we, uhm, had, ah, some, ahhh ..."

"Car trouble? Let me guess, you ran out of gas?" Hobbes snorted.

"Ah, yes. I mean, no. I mean yes, we had car trouble. There was a hole in the radiator and we had to leave it in the garage overnight to get fixed."

"Ah hah, right. And you just *had* to stay in a hotel ...."

"Well, yeah, actually we did. The Shilo Inn in Delano."

"Mmmhmm. And there was no room left at the inn, so you two had to share, right?"

"No, no, not right," Darien crossed his fingers, then remembered that Hobbes had once pointed out his tendency to lie with one-word answers, so he quickly added, "That's not what happened at all. Not everyone gives in to every dirty little impulse they have, you know."

Lola chose that moment to begin singing, very loudly and very off-key.

"Really. You want to tell me who's singing in the background then, Mr. Self-Control?"

"Ah, no."

"No?"

"No."

"So you did get a personal tour of luscious Lola's sugar shack last night ...."

"Hobbes, remind me when I get back to damage you for that last remark."

"Oh, please, I can hear you turning into a tomato over the phone line, my friend."

"Hobbes, I'm hanging up now."

"Hey, just exactly how big *is* your sweet tooth?"

"Goodbye, Hobbes."
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By the time Lola had finished showering and dressing, Darien was sitting on the bed fiddling with the TV remote.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked, as she stowed the last of her gear in her bag.

"Just experiencing the wonder of modern technology," he grinned at her.

"What? You finally figured out you could get dirty movies on this thing?" She raised her eyebrows and gave him a friendly nudge with her shoulder as she sat next to him on the bed.

"No," a shy grin accompanied the flush that spread from his ears downward as he nudged her back, "I, uhm, just managed to figure out how to, ah, use the ole Express Checkout option here."

"Wow, you really are a techno-security whiz," she deadpanned.

"And don't you forget it." He stood, pulled her to feet. "C'mon, let's drop the keys and our bags at the front desk and go get something to eat. I'm *starving*." He grabbed their bags and headed towards the door, only to be stopped by her hand on his arm.

"Oh, no. I'll take my bag down. You do *not* have to do it." She gave him a firm look that brooked no nonsense.

"No, Lo, look, I've got it. Really. It's not a problem." He shot back his most charming smile, while silently cursing the duffel bag that had become the third wheel in their little party.

Putting her hand out expectantly, she knitted her brows skeptically. "Yeah, and where have I heard *that* before? Next thing I know you'll be following me and swearing under your breath again."

"Nope, not gonna happen," he shook his head at her, grinning at her schoolmarm scowl. "Honestly, I *want* to take it. Scout's Honor." He made a vague hand gesture somewhere between the Boy Scout and Vulcan salutes, placed a quick kiss in her outstretched palm, grabbed the bags and beat her to the staircase.

As he started down towards the ground level, he could hear her call indignantly from the room, "Hey, I'll bet you never even were a Boy Scout!" Then, much to his satisfaction, he heard her hurry down the stairs, for once following him.
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Darien was just finishing his "garbage" omelet when Lola returned to the table carrying a plate full of Belgian waffles smothered in whipped cream and strawberries and another of fresh fruit. Placing the waffles by Darien's side, she took her seat and cut into a slice of melon. She watched him put away the last bite of eggs, then slide the empty plate over and start on the waffles. When his mouth was good and full, she smiled cheerfully, "I figured I'd save us some time so I just asked them to roll the rest of the breakfast buffet over to you, OK?"

Grinning, he speared another mound of waffle, rolled it in the strawberries and cream, and slowly, purposefully put it in his mouth, smacked his lips and chewed.

"OK, now you're just being a brat," she giggled. "Hey, you know what was weird? I thought I saw that guy from the bar in Sacramento over by the oatmeal."

Darien put his fork down. "What guy?" he asked around a mouth full of waffle.

"You know, the guy from the burger barn ... the chubby super hero?" Lola twisted around in her seat, trying to get a better view of the breakfast display. "I could swear it was the same guy getting some oatmeal when I was getting my fruit. Wouldn't it be wild if he got stuck driving to San Diego just like we did? I mean what are the odds?"

Darien swallowed, he knew what the odds were and he didn't like them. "Listen, Lo, tell you what? This should cover the rest of the repair. Why don't you go pick up the car?" he put his napkin on the table and rose from his seat.

She looked at the wad of bills he held out to her quizzically. "What? What's the matter? Are you worried about this guy for some reason?"

"Worried? Moi?" he widened his eyes innocently. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing you stopped eating," she pointed at the half full plate of waffles at his seat, "and there's still food left."

He gave a soft snicker. "I'm not worried about some imaginary super hero guy you think you might have seen," he placed the money in her hands. "I'm just, um, gonna pay the breakfast bill and then I gotta go make a call. We can hit the road quicker if you'll pick up the car and grab the bags. I'll, ah, meet you out front in a bit."

"What? You want me to load the bags?" She blinked at him in shock.

"Look, I've carried your bag all over creation, the least you can do is put mine in the car without an argument." Darien shook his head. He was seriously beginning to hate that duffel bag.

"I knew it!" She pointed an accusatory finger his way. "You didn't want to carry my bag! Why in the hell did you keep on offering to carry it if you didn't want to?"

Oh yeah, he hated that damn bag. "Lo, Lo, calm down here. This is not about your bag, I swear. I just really need to call my office, so please, get the car, get the bags and we'll be on the road in no time, OK?"

"Well, OK," she said skeptically to his already departing back, then she put the money in her purse and left.
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Darien paid the breakfast bill at the register, loudly praising the buffet to the cashier. Then he left the restaurant, leisurely sauntering down the first hall he saw as if he didn't have a care in the world. He stopped at the first door that had the "Maid" sign on the handle, slid his credit card between the lock and the frame and slipped in. Quicksilvering, he rushed over to the window and opened it, then jumped into the closet just before the door opened again.

Clyde entered the room, gun drawn, sunglasses on. Sweeping the room with a few rapid glances, he spied the open window, ran over, looked out, then pulled off his sunglasses with a disgusted sigh, "Damn."

He left the room, followed now by an invisible Darien. Huffing and puffing, he rushed through the hotel corridors until he came to his room. Stepping inside, he called to the bathroom door, "Let's go! He slipped out the window on me, but if we hurry we can pick him up before ...." Behind Clyde a vase flew off the dresser, dropping him to the floor.

At the sudden silence, the bathroom door opened. A lone figure emerged and rushed to the figure on the floor, checking the older man's shoulder holster, then, finding it empty, standing and demanding, "Alright, Mr. Fawkes, show yourself or do I really need to take out my thermals?"

Darien reappeared, leaning against the wall, feet crossed and holding Clyde's gun on what to all appearances was a young boy. "Well, well, if it isn't my little peeping tom buddy. Let me guess: you just happened to miss the plane yesterday morning too? I should have known Stark was behind all my little 'accidents'."

"Oh, really, and what exactly makes you think Chrysalis is responsible for everything?" asked Darien's teenage nemesis from Sunday's aborted flight.

"Because Stark is the only scumbag I know who would use a 15-year old kid to do his dirty work ...."

"Actually I'm 23. And don't think we're the only ones you need to worry about. It's true, we've been tailing you, and maybe I did put a hole in your radiator, but that's all. We had nothing to do with that flight cancellation, nor with the fact that Ms. Gerot ... 'lost' her wallet. That is what she told you, isn't it? Terribly convenient, don't you think?" The kid paused, then snorted. "Honestly, Mr. Fawkes, do you really think that bitch is traveling with you because of your charming smile? Wake up: your girlfriend's after the gland just like we are."

"That's a lie," Darien spat out.

The kid gave him a sibilant smile. "Is it? Yesterday, at the airport, while you were phoning your playmates at the Agency, I overheard her telling someone on the phone that she just spent the last week working with the CIA up in St. Helena. Are you really so naive as to think your own government's above using a woman to get to you? Please, it's the oldest trick in the book. As I recall, we even tried it on you once before. But at least with us, you knew we were the enemy."

"Oh really? Well, if she's CIA, why am I still walking around free, huh? After all, she's had plenty of chances to grab me: back in Sacramento, at the rest stop, last night..." his voice choked a little as he swallowed the last part.

"Jesus, you really aren't the brightest bulb in the box, are you? It's a wonder you've been such a thorn in Stark's side. Why hasn't she made the grab? Why should she? She's got you tailing her so closely you're gonna drive her right up to the front steps of her building and follow her in." The kid looked Darien up and down and sneered, "You're like a dog on a leash and all that bitch has to do is spread her legs and you'll come running..."

"That's enough," Darien exploded, flinging the words out in a growl as he threw his free hand in a roundhouse punch that knocked the Chrysalid down and out. He stood over the agent's unconscious body for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to sort out just who he was angriest with: Chrysalis for once again messing with his life, the kid for lying about Lola, Lola because maybe the kid wasn't lying or himself for just being so stupid once again. He should have learned by now: trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. He hadn't been good at it before the gland; having his good buddy, Manny Merrick, frame him for a crime Manny himself had committed had taught him that. And now, well, now it could get him killed. Maybe Hobbes was right, maybe a little more paranoia on his part would be a good thing. Hobbes. Crap. He had to call Hobbes and tell him about these guys.

Darien quickly tied up Clyde and the Chrysalis kid using their belts and some of the electrical cords in the room to hold them fast. Then he dialed the number to Hobbes cellphone.

"Bobby Hobbes."

"Bobby, listen, we got a situation here ..."

"Fawkes! What happened? Where are you? I just talked to you 45 minutes ago and everything was fine!"

"Hobbes, would you just skip the 20 questions and listen. We were followed by two guys working for Chrysalis. One of 'em is a guy named Clyde but I think he's a freelancer. I don't know the other guy's name but he's a typical Chrysali, looks like a 15-year-old kid."

"Are you OK? Did they hurt you? Where are you now?" Hobbes went into rapid-fire questioning mode as his secret agent alarms went off.

"Yeah, Bobby, I'm OK. I've got them tied up in their room at the Shilo Inn in Delano. Room #257."

"Alright, now listen: I can have a couple of agents there in less than 90 minutes to make the pick up. I want you to wait for the cavalry, Fawkes."

"Nah, man, I'm gonna hit the road with Lola."

"Negative, my troll-headed partner. You don't know what other little surprises Chrysalis has in store for you. They know you've been driving back via Route 99 from these two; they're bound to have other operatives watching this route. Stay put and let the Agency do the driving, capish?"

"No can do. Look, I had to go invisible in order to sneak up on these guys. Now I need to get to the Keep before I turn into a psychotic pumpkin, ya know? Besides, they may have already called in for a pick-up squad. The sooner I'm outta here, the better."

"Dammit, Fawkes! I *told* you there was something hinky about all these little accidents you've been running into. First that cancelled flight, then the car and that girl ...."

At Hobbes' mention of Lola, Darien instinctively felt his anger rise. "What? What about her?"

"Nothing, nothing, kid," Darien could almost see Hobbes putting out his hands in a calming gesture, trying to placate him, "It's just that that background check was awfully clean, not even so much as a jaywalking ticket. I hate to be the one to say it, partner, but how do we know she's not Chrysalis?"

"She's not Chrysalis, Hobbes." Darien's knuckles stood out white as he gripped the phone.

"Yeah, but how do you *know*, my friend?" The words were classic Hobbes, but the sympathy behind the brusqueness in his partner's tone surprised the younger man.

"Because she's not," Darien let out a long slow sigh, debating whether to tell the more experienced agent what the kid had told him about Lola being CIA. He shook his head. No, the kid had just said that to rattle his cage. If he told Hobbes, he'd probably be playing right in Chrysalis' hands somehow. "Because I *know*, Bobby."

It was Hobbes' turn to sigh. "Alright, but Fawkes, listen to me: anything goes wrong, even the slightest bit, you call us, my friend. Don't try to be a hero to impress this girl. I mean it. Just send up the bat signal and we're there."
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Lola was waiting in the car when Darien came out. He jumped into the passenger side and strapped himself in. She looked over at him, furrowed her brows. "So, ah, I guess you want me to drive then?"

"Yeah." He turned hard eyes toward her, "Why don't you do that?"

They rode in silence, without even the radio playing. Darien sat rigid in his seat, his hand gripping the door handle. Lola sped, weaving in and out of traffic, watching as the car ate up the miles carrying them back to San Diego. A little over an hour into the trip, she sighed, swung her eyes over to Darien. "You know, if there's something you want to say here, you should probably just go ahead and say it."

"What?" The question was bland, but his delivery belied the heat of his feelings.

"I'm just saying, if there's something you need to tell me, you should just come right out and tell me."

"Tell you? Now what would *I* possibly have to tell *you*?" He felt a twinge of conscience at the vehemence of that question, remembering just how he had been lying to her. Then again, if she was CIA, she already knew that. Maybe this was all just part of her strategy.

"I don't know, Ray. But I can definitely sense that there's something in the atmosphere. I think it'd be better if we got it out into the open." She kept her voice calm and her eyes glued to the road.

Fine, she wanted to clear the air, he would. But in his own way. He'd dealt with enough con men first hand to know better than to come right out and ask if she was playing him. So instead he said: "Last night you said you were going to do something ... that you knew you shouldn't but you would. What, what did you mean by that?"

She gave a small sigh of relief. "Oh, only that I knew I shouldn't get involved with you. After all, if experience has taught me anything, it's that I have lousy taste in men."

"Lousy taste in men, huh?" Darien snorted. His taste in women hadn't been exemplary in recent memory.

"Yes, lousy. I've had three big relationships in my life. Each and every one of them was a disaster. I came out west with my first boyfriend right after we graduated high school. He let me clean out my savings to pay our way and then dumped me before we even left the L.A. bus stop. I swore then and there I'd never let another man put me in that position.

"A couple years later, I got involved with a bouncer in the one of the strip clubs I worked. He liked the horses a little too much, but he was the sweetest guy in the world, and I thought, 'hey, everybody's got their faults, right?' Problem was: he wasn't so sweet when he was drinking, especially when I wouldn't give him the money he needed to pay off his gambling losses.

"So there I was, right back where I'd sworn I'd never be again. Only this time, *I* left. I ran as fast and as far as I could -- all the way to France with my sister's help. I took a job apprenticing for a well-known chef there. And goddammit, despite everything I'd learned, everything I'd promised myself, three months later I found myself marrying him. Five months after that, it was over and I was on my way back home." She stopped, her eyes still fixed on the road, only the harshness in her tone betraying her emotions. "Marriages fail all the time, Ray, for lots of reasons. Mine broke up over a burned batch of puff pastry. You can share a bed with a Frenchman. Just don't try and share his kitchen."

"So that's it, huh? You came back home, swore off men and concentrated on your work, right?" His tone was hard, accusatory. "Until of course, you met me, and I just swept you off your feet with my charm and wit and you fell head over heels and you just couldn't stop yourself, right? Right?" His voice got progressively louder as he let his anger at her alleged betrayal, fueled by the first prickles of counteragent craving, bubble up and over into his consciousness.

"Stop it," she demanded. Blinking she pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the highway. She put it in park, then slumped with her head in hands. "Just stop it."

They sat like that for a moment. She with her face covered; he staring as if he could tear the truth out of her with the force of his will alone. Finally she lifted her head, put her shoulders back and met his stare with her own. "Listen," she began levelly, "If you think last night was a mistake, then say so. I'm not trying to trap you into anything, Ray. If last night was all you wanted, then fine, say so. We'll shake hands and part company when we reach San Diego. You can drop me off at my shop and never see me again. Just tell me, that's all I ask."

He looked at her sitting there, trying to see through her suspected façade. But while her face remained shuttered, her words were so plainly open that he couldn't imagine her as a CIA operative. No, he knew two of the best trained agents in the business, and Lola simply had none of the knife-sharp edginess that Hobbes and Monroe displayed. Then again, she could have been trained in that CTS stuff like Monroe -- what was it? Corruption, Temptation and Seduction? Is that what she had done -- purposely lied and seduced him into following her? He looked at her again, saw her hands twisting in her lap as she waited for his answer. No, no. He could not have been that blind, not again, not after Allianora. If she had planned last night, he would have known it, would have sensed it. He was not going to let a Chrysalis lie or his counteragent addiction goad him into ruining his chance at a normal relationship. "No, Lo. Look, I'm sorry, I'm ah, just a little cranky 'cuz I'm getting a headache," he gave her a weak smile, "And hey, you did keep me up way past my bedtime last night."

She stared back at him, narrowing her eyes as she looked into his. "Alright," she said simply, "But I mean it, Ray, I'm not asking you for more than you're willing to give. You just need to let me know." She put the car back in gear and slowly edged her way off the shoulder. "Now why don't you close your eyes and take a nap to get rid of that headache, huh? I think I can find the way back to San Diego on my own."

He broadened his smile and rubbed her shoulder to reassure her as she pulled the car back onto the highway, but his mind echoed the kid's words: '... you're gonna drive her right up to the front steps of her building and follow her in.'
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Darien did close his eyes, catnapping courtesy of the sun warming his face through the windshield and the rhythmic sound of the tires on the road. His sleep, however, was far from peaceful, the madness always in pursuit, its whispers and hushes skirting the edge of his consciousness, twisting his dreams. Still he slept through the miles, unaware of when they finally left the highway or crossed into San Diego proper. It was only when the car slowed, turned, then stopped finally that he roused himself from his stupor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lola spoke softly, as if he were a sleeping toddler. "I didn't mean to wake you. At least not yet, anyway."

Darien yawned, rubbed his eyes. "Where are we?"

"We're home, in San Diego. I was going to wake you in a little bit and ask whether you wanted to take the car after you drove me home or if I should just drop you off and return the car. But first I wanted to run in here," she pointed at a neon sign for The Kaiser Pharmacy, "and pick up some Tiger Balm for your headache. From the way you were twitching there, it must be a doozy." She ran a soothing hand across his forehead and down his left temple.

"How solicitous of you," he said quietly, then grabbed her comforting hand, jerked it behind her back and pulled her face up to his, nose to nose, eye to red-streaked eye. "Or were you just going to go in there and send out a pick-up squad for me?" He saw her eyes widen and her face pale at his suddenly aggressive behavior. He felt the fear shiver down her body through his fingertips. And while a part of his mind was disgusted by his abuse of her, another part was empowered by it, relished it, fed off it.

"What, what are you talking about?" She pulled lightly against his grip, then began to struggle in earnest when he grabbed her other arm and pinned her against the dashboard. "Stop it, Ray! What's the matter with you?"

"Oh, please, can we drop the charade now?" Darien looked at her with all the warmth of a rattle snake. "You know who I am, just like I know who you are. Did you really think I was just going to sit here and let you hand me over to the CIA like a good little boy?" He laughed softly and nipped the side of her neck.

"The CIA? What does the CIA have to do with anything?" She was shaking her head with such a desperate look on her face that he could almost believe her confusion was genuine.

"So you admit it! You've been working for the CIA all along?" he whispered in her ear. Pain and anger stained his voice, his body shaking with the violence of his quicksilver-maddened emotions.

Lola pulled against his grasp like a swimmer fighting the undercurrent. "Yes, yes! But I still don't understand what my working with the Culinary Institute of America has to do with you!"

It was the incongruity of her last desperate admission that stopped him. Still gripping her arms, he stared down at her, searching her fear-darkened eyes with his own bloodshot ones. "What?" He growled low in his throat. "Culinary what?"

"Culinary Institute of America -- CIA, that's what you wanted to know, isn't it?" She squirmed weakly once again to free herself, begging through clenched teeth, "Please, Ray, you're hurting me."

"Don't call me that!" He released her, throwing her back against the door. He closed his eyes, set his jaw, willed the monster back into the box. He froze like that for a moment, knuckles white with tension as he crushed the padding on the car seat in his grasp. Then he kicked the car door open behind him and burst forth onto the street.

Not caring which direction he was headed, he let his long strides fly over the pavement, running as if his life depended on it. But it wasn't his life at stake, it was Lola's and his one thought was to get as far away from her as he could. Turning first down one alley then another and another. But as fast as he ran, the madness was faster. It was in the middle of fifth alley when the pain overtook him and he fell to the ground, his screams echoing off the brick walls of the buildings closing him in.
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Lola stared at the empty seat where Ray had been sitting just moments before. Something was wrong, *seriously* wrong. She needed to tell someone but she didn't have a clue as to who she could call. She looked at his seat again, where only his jacket now remained. Shaking her head, she looked out the window in the direction he had taken, then back at his jacket with renewed interest.

Digging through his pockets, she found a few business cards, all for the same person -- one Robert A. Hobbes who worked at something called The Agency. Hobbes ... Hobbes ... Hobbesy! That was what Ray had called his partner. Pulling her cellphone from her purse, she dialed.

"The Agency," a female voice announced brusquely.

"Yes, can you connect me with Mr. Hobbes' office, please?"

"Mr. Hobbes? Office?" The woman's voice was tinged with amusement. "Yeah, sure. Hang on."

Lola heard the line go mute as the call was transferred. On the second ring, a rich, male voice answered: "Hobbes here."

"Yes, Mr. Hobbes, you don't know me but I'm calling on behalf of Ray Miller...."

"Lola. You're Lola Gerot, aren't you?"

"Why yes, I didn't think Ray would have mentioned me to you."

"Listen, you can drop the act, sister. We know you have Fawkes. What I want to know is how do we get him back?"

"What? Who?"

"I don't know how much of his file you've read, my friend, but trust me, he's gonna get real nasty real soon and your people are *not* prepared for it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hobbes, I don't what you're talking about. I've been driving back from Sacramento with your partner, Ray Miller. He was complaining about a headache and I stopped to get something for it, when he had some sort of fit. Now he's run off and I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself or someone else ...."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you are. Tell you what: why don't you just tell me where you are so you can let Bobby Hobbes worry about finding him?"

"Fine. I'm at the Kaiser Pharmacy on the corner of Bunker Hill and Revere. I'll wait for you here. Now please hurry."

Lola flipped her phone closed and blinked. Mr. Hobbes sounded only slightly more rational than Ray had. She just couldn't reconcile the raving lunatic from the car with the goofily charming man she'd spent the last two days traveling with. Probably the smartest thing she could right now would be to put Ray's things out on the curb for his partner to pick up and then clear out before he got there. Yes, that's exactly what her sensible younger sister would advise. 'Then again,' she thought ruefully, 'I always did have lousy taste in men.'
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Hobbes hung up the phone and gave a low whistle through his front teeth. This girl was good, real good. He turned to his boss and two female colleagues. Even in the dimness of the Keep, he could see the concern etched clearly on their faces. The Official, he knew, was concerned about keeping his secret weapon safe, both from harm and from prying eyes. Monroe was worried about a fellow agent, as any good agent would be. And Claire, well, he had a few suspicions as to why Claire was concerned -- some he liked, some he didn't.

He sighed, better not to dwell on that topic, particularly when his partner was in danger. "OK, we know from our agents who picked up those Chrysali goons in Delano that she's CIA. So there's one of two scenarios going on here. #1: The CIA has already grabbed Fawkes and Lola calling us with this story is meant to throw us off the scent. After all, if we're on a wild goose chase for a quicksilver whacko, they've got more time to get away clean, no? Or #2: He actually did go whacko before they had the chance to make the pick-up and they're waiting for us to find him and fix him, *then* they'll try and grab him."

"I'm voting for scenario #1," Alex announced.

Bobby nodded his head, "For once, Monroe, we agree on something."

Yes, but what if it's scenario #2 and Darien really has gone quicksilver mad?" Claire postulated.

"Either way, it seems to me that the key is going to be one Lola Gerot, my friends. So I say we take a little drive over to the ole Kaiser Pharmacy and find out exactly what Miss CIA 2001 knows."

"Alright, Bobby. But I'm taking a syringe of counteragent, just in case." Claire dug in the refrigerator for a vial of the blue liquid. She removed one and punctured it with a fresh needle.

"Good, give it to Alex," he ordered in a tone that harkened back to his time in the Marines.

"What?" Claire froze as she pulled a fully loaded syringe from the empty vial.

"You're not coming this time, Claire. It's too risky," he said more gently.

Claire faced him, pulling herself up to her full height and setting her jaw. "Bobby, you know I can handle myself ...."

Bobby stood firm. "Look, you're our only ace-in-the-hole, Claire. If the CIA already does have Fawkes, then he's gonna pop real soon. When that happens, they're gonna have to come back to us for counteragent. But if we bring you out into the field and they nab you too, that's it, game over, Keepie."

"He's right, Claire," the Official announced. "The best way for you to help Fawkes right now is to stay here."

"Alright," Claire sighed, reluctantly putting the needle and its case into Alex's waiting hand. She watched as the Agency's own Steed and Peele moved away from her, their trained minds already sifting through the various engagement scenarios. Just before they exited the Keep, Claire jumped forward and impulsively grabbed Hobbes' forearm. "Bobby ...."

He turned to her, his eyes locking on hers. "What?"

She dropped her own eyes and could actually see the blush staining her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze. "Just ... just bring him back safe."

Hobbes glanced at where her hand still gripped his arm, put his own hand over hers and squeezed. She felt a bit of his warmth soothing her coolness. He gave her a quick nod, his lips pressed in a tight line of concentration. "I will, Claire, count on it."

She lifted her eyes up to meet his again. "I always do, Bobby," she said firmly. Then she released him and he was gone.
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Darien opened his eyes and looked at the buildings surrounding him. Picking himself up off the ground, he wiped the dirt form his hands and knees. It was going to be alright now, he was calm. The answer had been there all along, right in front of him. He'd been running from it, but now, here, he was free to stop running, to simply reach out and take what he wanted. And what he wanted was Lola. Whistling a cheerful tune, he started out of the alley and back towards where he'd left her.

His frenzied flight had taken him farther than he'd realized, but, now that he was thinking clearly again, it didn't take him all that long to retrace his steps. He let the quicksilver coat his rangy frame as he emerged from the alley onto Bunker Hill St. The car was still parked in front of the Kaiser Pharmacy, but Lola was no longer in it. Instead, she was standing outside it arguing vehemently with two other people: a compact, muscular man he recognized as Bobby and that red-headed bitch named Alex.

Bobby and Lola continued to argue, gesturing dramatically at each other. Alex scanned the crowd forming on the street, slowly scrutinizing every direction with her sunglass-shielded eyes. Darien stepped back into the mouth of the alley as she looked his way. When she just continued along with her visual survey, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Alex leaned over and whispered something into Bobby's ear, which seemed to bring the argument with Lola to a head. He pulled out his cuffs and, much to Lola's consternation, slapped them on her. Then they dragged Lola -- still shaking her head and repeating her favorite chorus of "no, no, no" -- to the van, threw her in back and sped away.

Darien left the alley again, this time visibly sauntering over to the abandoned car. He slipped into the driver's seat and checked the ignition. How thoughtful of Lola to leave the keys. He put it in gear and leisurely pulled out into traffic. There was no real reason to rush. He knew where they were taking her. And it was better this way, really. Because now they could all play.
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Darien parked the car a few blocks from the Agency, trying to decide his plan of action once he was inside. He was beside himself really, like a kid on Christmas morning -- so many victims, he hardly knew where to start.

There was Hobbes. He'd slipped up on a few chances to kill that annoying little manic-depressive. Now, he'd make sure to finish the job. Then he'd start on his iceberg of a Keeper. Yeah, he could have some fun warming her up, all right. Alex next, perhaps? No, Eberts. He could make quick work of the fat man's toady and then play with Alex for a bit. The bitch had a tongue like a knife, so maybe he'd cut it out. Or no, he'd leave it in -- the better to hear her scream. Last but certainly not least, was the Official. He'd beaten his boss close to death once before, when he was under the influence of Simon Cole's mRNA. He truly regretted the fact that that lovely memory had been erased when the Keeper's anti-peptide shot had obliterated the rest of the original invisible man's memories from his brain. This time he'd record every snap of breaking bone, every shade of bloody bruise, every guttural moan that accompanied the old man's demise.

But first there was Lola. She was a little bit of unfinished business he wanted wrapped up before taking his time and making them all pay for his last year and a half of torment.

Darien smiled and stepped out of the car. Now that he'd gotten himself organized, he could set to work. Walking at the back edge of a crowd of pedestrians, he nonchalantly let the quicksilver flow and disappeared from sight. Using the flow of traffic on the sidewalk as a shield, he checked the front entrance of the Agency for guards wearing thermals. Not all that surprisingly, there weren't any. 'Cheap bastard probably couldn't afford 'em,' he thought.

Slowly he made his way through the empty halls, the absence of agents not really worrying him. After all, the Agency was prone to sudden shifts in manpower thanks to the ever-present budgetary crisis. The whereabouts of Bobby and Alex did concern him, though he suspected he'd find them when he found Lola. And he had a definite idea about where that might be: the one place he hated most in the world, the padded cell.

Sure enough, there was an agent standing guard outside the mouth of hell, and this one had thermals. Still invisible, Darien stood just inside the connecting corridor and removed some coins from his pocket. He tossed the quicksilver-coated change hard to the far end of the other hall. When the guard turned towards the noise, he charged from behind, brutally knocking the man's head against the wall. The guard slipped to the floor and Darien stepped over him to peek into the window of the door. Sure enough, Lola was locked inside, still arguing, this time with Monroe.

He heard a sharp hiss from his left, turned, then felt a sting in his neck. The last thing he saw was the Keeper emerge from the doorway of the padded cell's observation room. She too wore thermals and was holding a tranquilizer gun. He de-quicksilvered and fell to his knees. "But I haven't even finished my turn yet," he whined, then fell over in a heap.
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Darien bobbed back to the surface of consciousness slowly, drifting along for a little while on the current of conversation he heard. Finally he placed the two voices: Hobbes and Claire, his friends. He also realized that he was safe in the Keep, sitting in his usual chair.

"That was a good shot, there, Keepie," Hobbes gushed at Claire, a bit like a shy 13-year old with a crush. "You got some aim."

"Well, thank you, Bobby," Claire answered sweetly, "but really it was your plan. You're the one who guessed that Darien would fixate on Lola after going quicksilver mad." She frowned and furrowed her brows, "I do wish you hadn't had to arrest her though."

"Yeah, well we did think she was CIA and had kidnapped Fawkes," Bobby scratched his chin. "All the same I, I do feel kinda bad. I mean we did throw her in the padded cell..."

Darien groaned, put a hand to his head. "Oh. My. God. You threw Lola in the padded cell!"

"Hey, Fawkesy, you're awake! Good to see you up and around there, partner," Hobbes slapped Darien on the back, causing the groggy agent to wince, "uhm, so to speak,".

"Please, Bobby, tell me you did not throw Lola in the padded cell."

"Yeah, well, where else was Monroe gonna interrogate her? Don't you remember, kid?"

"You let *Alex* interrogate her? Oh man, this just keeps getting better ..."

"Hey, excuse me. Bobby Hobbes had his hands a little full right then. I had to worry about searching her luggage *and* finding you so we could give you your Visine fix there, ole Red Eyes."

"Oh man, you searched her bag?"

"Yeah. What? I was supposed to just ignore the fact that as a CIA operative she might have guns and explosives in there?"

"It was not his fault, Darien," Claire countered in Bobby's defense, "We all did think that Lola was with the CIA."

The doors swished open and Alex entered the Keep, her usual sarcastic smirk plastered across her lovely face. "Oh yes, it was one of Hobbes' finer moments, actually. Bomb squad at the ready, he gingerly opened the zipper on her duffel and began to remove all that high tech weaponry," she snorted delicately, "You know: stilettos, clogs, mules, dress pumps, sneakers ...."

Darien's jaw dropped open. "Shoes!" he spluttered, "You mean that duffel, that, that, that *lead weight* I hauled around like a pack animal was full of *shoes*?"

"Well, yeah, they were shoes. But hey, you never know. Any one of them could have been a small nuclear device ingeniously disguised by our friends over at the Company. And you know Bobby Hobbes' motto."

"Always double up on your medication?" Darien and Alex spouted out in stereo.

"No. Better safe than sorry, my friends. Yes, thanks to the agency's trusty x-ray scanners, I for one can tell you with all certainty that each of those shoes is exactly what it appears to be: expensive, well-made, and completely harmless."

Darien was feeling well enough now to grace Hobbes with a sarcastic smirk. "Wow, Bobby. Way to keep America safe for democracy."

"Just doin' my job, Fawkes, just doin' my job." Hobbes pursed his lips and shook his head at his greenhorn partner.

Hopping from his chair, Darien stretched his long limbs and started towards the door. "Well, I guess I better go find her. Man, is she gonna be pissed. I can't believe you arrested her," he stopped in mid-sentence and looked over at his three co-workers. "Hey, just what did convince you finally that she wasn't with the CIA?"

The Keep's door swished open and Darien was almost bowled over by an innocuous figure carrying a stack of files. "That would have been me."

"You, Ebes? Hobbes listened to you?" Darien turned to his partner, "What's up with that, Bobby?"

Hobbes rubbed his temples, "Well, you know, every once in a while the little weasel does manage to a make a few salient points."

"Excuse me, Robert, but may I point out that *I* saved this Agency from a wrongful arrest suit that *you* opened us up to ...."

Hobbes leapt at the bait. "Wrongful arrest, my sweet Aunt Fanny. There's no way in hell she ever could have made that stick, *Eberts*."

"Guys, guys," Darien pleaded, "As nauseating as this little spat is, could somebody please answer my question? How did you guys find out about Lola?"

"Well, you see, Darien," Eberts began, "I had recently just returned from my vacation to the West Coast Videogaming Olympics -- where I might add I took the gold in Mortal Kombat Advance ...."

"Oh, Albert, that's wonderful!" Claire gave the Agency's resident milquetoast a quick hug.

"Yeah, Ebes, just great," Darien added, "Now, please, I'm begging ya here ...."

"Oh, of course. As I said, I had just returned from vacation today and so was unaware of the identity of the alleged CIA operative Agents Hobbes and Monroe had implicated in your disappearance. However, I did have to deliver some files to the Official while Miss Monroe was ... 'interviewing' Miss Gerot in the padded room ...."

Darien groaned, "Interviewing. Yeah, right. I'm sure that's just what she was doing ...."

"Don't start with me, Fawkes. It's your criminal ass I was trying to save," Alex shot back.

"Ahem," Eberts cleared his throat, "If I may continue?" The sniping stopped and the Official's toady began again. "Anyway, I recognized Miss Gerot as the owner of my local bakery," he licked his lips and whispered conspiratorially to Darien, "She makes the best cherry-cinnamon jumbles."

Darien raised his eyebrows and smiled weakly at his mild-mannered co-worker. "Thanks, Ebes, it's ... vaguely disturbing that you think so."

"And once I had vouchsafed Miss Gerot's identity, the Official, of course, ordered her released from the padded cell. Ah, once we had uhm, trapped and tranquilized you, that is."

"Of course," Darien deadpanned. "Well, I better go find her ...."

"Oh, she's with the Official," Eberts offered.

"What now? With the Official? Alone?" Darien was quickly approaching panic.

"Why yes. He's debriefing her before she leaves."

"Oh man, first Alex, now the Official -- this *can't* be good." Darien dashed out of the Keep, not even noticing that Bobby and Eberts were hot on his heels.
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Darien could hear his boss dumping a load of Official-speak on Lola even as he approached the fat man's office.

" I'm pleased to inform you, Miss Gerot, that it's been ascertained that due to your lack of classified knowledge, you can be allowed to return to your normal life without the threat of a security breach. However, I must strongly advise you not to discuss any of the last few day's events with anyone, ever, for the sake of this nation's security, as well as your own. And remember, we will be watching."

He burst in, startling them both, and headed straight for Lola. "Hey, Lo. God, I'm glad you're OK. Here, c'mon, let me take you home..."

She sat, motionless, without even an upwards glance at him. "What's your name?"

"Look, I'm sorry, I know it's been a lot for you to process..."

"What's your name?" she demanded.

Darien looked at her, hunched in the chair, taking slow, measured breaths. He couldn't see her face but he didn't have to. He knew the expression it held. He'd seen it long ago as Casey sat staring at him in a courtroom. He wasn't quite sure how he'd wound up at the same crossroads with Lola, but maybe, just maybe, he could salvage this. After all, honesty was the best policy, right?

"Darien Fawkes."

She got up slowly, still staring at the floor, shaking her head slightly as she moved towards him. "Nothing, then ... not even in the beginning ... not one thing, not one *true* thing," she said softly, as if to herself. She lifted her face to stare up at him, nailing him to the floor with her eyes.

"Oh, baby, I know I've got some explaining to do..."

"You lying bastard," she growled and with that her arm flew out and connected squarely across his face. "I don't want your explanations."

One more deja vu, Darien thought as he remembered the sting of Casey's slap in the hospital when he'd first gone to see her to ask for her help with the gland. He was still shaking his head from Lola's blow -- he hadn't expected someone so tiny to be so strong -- when he realized she was almost out the door.

"Lo, wait." He reached out to catch her elbow.

"No," she hissed and jerked out of his reach. "Don't you touch me. Don't come near me. Just stay the *hell* away from me." And with that she was gone.

For a few moments, no one moved. Darien just stood, staring at the doorway and listening to the click of Lola's heels moving farther and farther down the hall. Finally, the Official broke the spell with a quick hand motion to Eberts, who went scurrying off to ensure that she was safely escorted out of the Agency.

Hobbes came up behind Darien and put his hand lightly on the taller man's shoulder. "Aren't you going to go after her, my friend? You don't let a woman like that just walk out of your life."

"Nah, Bobby, trust me, I've been here before. Once they leave like that, they're gone for good." He rubbed a hand across his chin and sighed. It had been a long few days and these last minutes the longest of all. Darien shrugged off Hobbes' hand and started out the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" the Official demanded.

"To get drunk. I mean, I think I should celebrate, don't you? I've finally become the agent you've always wanted me to be -- someone willing to lie and betray an innocent woman's trust just to keep himself and this damn Agency's secrets safe."

"Oh, I don't think I deserve all the credit," the Official gave Darien a Cheshire grin. "After all, you said it yourself: you've been here before. Or are you still trying to convince yourself that Kevin and the gland are to blame for Casey?"

"You, Kevin and the damned gland can all go to hell," Darien retorted, slamming the door behind him for emphasis.

Hobbes turned to the Official and cocked his eyebrows in the direction of the door.

"Yeah," the Official replied to the unspoken question, "Look after him, Bobby."

"Don't I always," Bobby said without turning as he exited the office, "Don't I always."
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The great American dramatist Eugene O'Neill once wrote: "There is no present or future, only the past, happening over and over again, now." Now, that's a very eloquent way of saying that no matter how hard or how fast you run, there's no escaping your past. Of course, I think the great 20th century Buddha named Yogi Berra said it best: "It's déjà vu all over again." Word.

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FINAL, 12/12/01, Page 56 of 56