Notes: Okay, so I should have been doing HW, but I really wanted to get this story into its actual plot before I had to spend time in HW penance. I guess I should warn those of you that don't like stories with new characters to stop reading now, because there are three new characters in this chapter who are going to be regulars in this fic. Anyhoo, on with the chapter...

Chapter 2

As much as everything that has happened there should point to the contrary, being in those stark, echoey halls of the Agency's early 1960's vintage building have a sort of calming effect on me. Maybe it's a subconscious association with my presence there meaning that I'm going to be cured of my momentary madness for another week, or the fact that two of the very few people left on this planet that have actually elicited trust from me work there, or I might just have some sick affinity for being poked, prodded, or just being in pain. I wonder about that sometimes.

Anyway, as Bobby and I made our way up to the third floor, AKA, the lair of good ol' Charlie Borden, our obese first-in-command, I felt myself settling back into a bit of my usual self -- a welcome feeling after spending an entire weekend wallowing in the alcohol-soaked land of depression. It also helped that Bobby had stopped peering at me every twenty seconds.

Bobby pushed the doors to the floor open ahead of me, and when I came through I spotted a nervous looking Eberts standing as some sort of sentry outside the 'Fish's office door. Kinda put the image in my head of what a Chihuahua would look like as a junkyard guard dog. The thought made me smirk with my usual impishness as Bobby and I swaggered up to him, Hobbes with his usual 'get outta my way, you little paper-rat,' face on as he stared down Eberts' neutral expression.

"Hello Robert, Darien," he nodded to both of us, to which Hobbes did not respond; I simply made my best QSM grin, which always makes Ebes gaze linger in well-contained fear for those priceless extra seconds before he turns to the business at hand. "The Official has been waiting for some time now. Here are your briefings on the case that he shall be presenting you with momentarily," he thrust the ever-so-too-neatly stapled and plastic-covered files that we were supposed to read up on when we had the time to in the duration of the case. Can't say that I always do. "And the Official has given me permission to admonish you both on--"

"Shaddap, Eberts," Bobby snapped, and brusquely brushed the Paper Rat aside, swung the door open, and proceeded to ignore him as he went in. I smiled again at Eberts, and waved a little bit before following Bobby in, pleasing myself with the ever-violated look that Eberts gave us before the door swung shut.

"Well, good afternoon, Fawkes," was the first greeting I received from an annoyed looking Alex Monroe, who sat, legs crossed elegantly, dressed and made-up so perfectly that she resembled a department store mannequin in many ways; however, I don't think that a mannequin could beat the crap out of me if I ever commented lewdly on the prominence of its cleavage, nor do I ever recall myself getting turned on by a mannequin... But I digress.

She sat next to Claire, who did her best to smile at me 'n Hobbes, although I think I sensed a bit of her trademark annoyance with it, probably stemming from the fact that she lost precious research time when made to wait, idly, in the 'Fish's office for lil' ol' me.

And the Official. His usual stare, rather, glare pierced right through Bobby, who stood between me and the Fat Man as if he were a mere window. I couldn't help but smile sheepishly and scratch the back of my head in chagrin. I knew he was pissed, and I knew it was my fault, and I knew that even if I wanted to use the excuse of being in a depressed stupor, it wouldn't matter. It was obvious what he was telling me, in that strange psychic-boss way:

You're losing a week's worth of pay for this.

"So nice of you to join us, boys," he began in low, humoring tones, and gestured for us to have a seat; I accepted, gratefully, as my head was still a pounding reminder of my weekend activities. "I had originally planned to debrief you all on this upcoming case before our guests arrived, but they should be here any minute, so I will leave it up to them to fill you in on our latest endeavor."

"Guests?" Bobby asked, cocking an eyebrow, "Guests, as in, we're taking care of them, guests as in we're having our shoulder looked over?" He crossed his arm at the notion of both.

"Have some patience, you'll find out soon enough," the 'Fish told him, with a grin playing at the sides of his mouth. I rolled my eyes; if there was anything that didn't put my partner in a state of 'patience' it's telling him to do exactly that.

"'Soon enough' he says; gonna get us killed one of these days, 'soon enough,'...." Hobbes muttered, though with enough restraint that he plopped himself down into the chair next to me and began to drum his fingers anxiously on the arms.

Lucky enough for Hobbes -- we hadn't been sitting long enough for an uncomfortable silence to creep over us before Eberts cracked the door open and popped his head in and looking about like a gopher smelling the air out of his hole.

"Shall I show them in now, sir?" he asked the Official, who nodded. The Whippin' Boy then opened the door all the way, and stood aside to let the two figures that he had brought with him into our underfunded presence. Charlie began to stand, and each of us followed suit, though I did so reluctantly; all this up and down was not playing well with my stomach.

"I'd like you to meet the representatives of our new collaborative effort with project le Pur, Agent Martin Dunn, and Agent Alma Cross."

Bobby and I exchanged glances before we both turned to get a good look at the new saps who were to have the pleasure of working with us, or above us as the case usually was with these government mooks. I was unimpressed.

Agent Dunn was your generic-looking, most likely FBI-trained, West Point-graduated, WASP, straightedge US Government Agent, sporting the white shirt, blue tie, and ubiquitous black suit. Early thirties, expressionless face, well-shaven, hair so excruciatingly cropped and set that it looked like the little 'hair pieces' that I expected him to be able to take it off like a helmet. I wasn't gonna hold my breath waiting for the day that this guy invited me 'n Hobbes out for beers. Not that I'm touching another beer for a very long time...

And now another hen in the rooster house. Agent Cross came across on first impression the exact opposite of our stately Ms. Monroe, the last of the gentler sex to have joined our merry band. If this girl was a field agent, then I was a Hot Dog vendor; as much as her partner embodied 'Government Agent' she did not.

About Claire's height and build, though she looked a little rounder in the hips; couldn't really tell, since she was wearing a below-the-knee, navy blue jumper-dress with one of those 'empire waists', which combined with the rounded-collar white blouse and scarf, made her look like she was about 10 years old and in catholic school. Kinda reminded me of the maturity level of Eberts, plus the fact that she was cradling a stack of paperwork in her arms hit that connection on home.

I guess I've picked up this habit from Hobbes, 'cause we were doing the exact same appraisal from a distance of our new cohorts -- heck, we were even standing there in the same pose with the same sort of calculating looks on our faces. The man is infectious... When I realized what I was doing, I nervously crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. I noticed that Hobbes had a bit of a grin on his paranoid little face as he was looking Agent Cross over. Figures that he would go for the ultra-clean-innocent looking ones -- he can have 'em.

The Agents made their way over to the desk to shake hands with our Fat Man, Dunn remaining business-like but pleasant, and Cross smiled widely and warmly shook hands with the Official. Aww, she even had pink nail polish on...

"Thank you, sir, I'm sure working with Project I-Man will achieve great results," Dunn told the Official rather loudly. Kiss ass.

"Yes, yes. Well, please meet my staff," Charlie said, more politely than he has said anything to me in the two years that I've worked here. "This is Alex Monroe, our five-star Special Agent," he turned to a crossed-armed Alex.

"Oh, they know me already," Alex muttered in one of her more forced neutral tones.

"Yes, we do," Dunn said lowly, and then added, "Alex."

Do I smell a past here?

The two of them exchanged smoldering gazes for a long moment before Agent Cross flashed another extra-wide smile and held up a hand to wave a bit at Alex. Wow, that was the first time I've seen a woman greet Alex nicely instead of being merely civil and thinking catty soap-opera worthy insults at her all the while. And then what surprised me even more was that Alex smiled back.

"Hey, Alma."

You just start to think you know someone and then they go and throw you a curve...

"Ahem..." the Official coughed out lightly, bringing us back into the scene at hand, "This," he gestured to the Keeper, "is Claire, the resident physician on the I-man project."

"Ah -- it's a pleasure," Claire said, nodding to the both of them. And then, I could have sworn that I heard rusty joints squeaking from misuse; Agent Dunn smiled at her. It was unnatural, like when Al Gore made out with Tipper on national TV; I didn't think they even did that in private!

"Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine," he said to her, showing off obviously bleached-white teeth.

Now, it wouldn't have been so bad if Claire hadn't've blushed, but she did, and smirked in one of those, 'I've just been complimented by a man and I'm not sure what to do about it' ways. I saw Bobby blushing too, but in a completely different manner. Think I could'a fried an egg on his skull, he turned so red, and his hands were clenched to whiteness. 'Restraint,' I chanted internally as if I could convey it onto him, 'restraint...'

"Agent Robert Hobbes," Charlie gestured towards my partner, who was trying his best to look normal again. He regarded Dunn with a nod, and then turned to Cross with his hand extended. She grasped firmly and shook lightly and smiled brightly. Hobbes' face had gone from Hell to Heaven in under 30 seconds.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Hobbes," she said enthusiastically, looking straight into Hobbes' eyes. He was stunned for a few seconds, and then suddenly remembered that he was not dreaming this and needed to respond.

"Oh, um.. yeah, you too, nice... Call me Bobby."

"All right, Bobby," she said back, smiling even wider, mirth in her words. I snorted back laughter of my own all the while, and Hobbes turned bright red yet again.

"Back there is Eberts, whom you've already met," Charlie continued, mercifully taking the attention of the room off of Bobby.

"Ah, hello," Eberts said, looking like he wanted to run away to get the eyes off of him.

"Oh! Do you take care of the paperwork here?" Alma squeaked up, her eyes wide with some sort of anticipation.

"Uh.. yes, I suppose I am," Eberts replied uneasily.

"Great! I usually would take care of this, but I don't know your filing system here..." she handed him the stack of papers she had been holding, "I have more, but I'll wait until you've shown me your filing room and database so I can do it myself."

Mr. Paper Rat, meet Ms. Paper Mouse.

"S-Sure thing, Agent Cross," he stammered.

"Oh, no need for formalities -- just Alma," she smiled back.

Eberts smittenly stumbled out of the office and Bobby Hobbes' jaw was hanging down to the floor. If there ever was a day I needed cheering up, I sure picked the right one. And this was Eberts' lucky-lucky day -- never thought I'd see a girl that would match him so perfectly.

"And," the Official once again spoke gruffly to bring everyone back into what had become a drawn-out introduction, "This," he nodded towards me, "is Darien Fawkes, focal member of the I-Man project."

Focal member? That's an interesting way to put it.

"Hey, 'sup?" I said in my best native-Californian too-causal-for-the-situation manner.

"Ah, so you're the fabled Invisible Man," Agent Dunn said, extending his hand, "I'm looking forward to seeing you in action -- or not seeing, as the case would be, eh?"

He just tried to make a joke. Come on, at least give him some pity points for even trying.

"Heh... yeah..." I forced out of myself. Dunn released his grip and moved aside to let Agent Cross step forward.

She looked up at me through her slightly rectangular plastic-rimmed glasses and grabbed my still extended hand with both of hers.

Wow, she's got warm hands.

"It's so great to finally meet you! After working with the Le Pur project I had been wondering what other interesting people are involved in other projects of national security, and I have to say, that everything that they've let me read about Quicksilver and the gland and you and the Agency have impressed me so much!" she said all in one breath, her almond-shaped brown eyes lit up the way mine might if I were looking at a huge diamond that I was just about to steal.

"Alma," Agent Dunn put his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, Martin?"

"I think that Agent Fawkes would like his hand back."

"Oh--" she looked down at her hands which were still grasping and shaking mine and let go as if she had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She smiled at me, this time with embarrassment, and ran a nervous hand through her long brown hair.

Wow, she's got the nicest hair... has to be using products. She must spend all morning getting it so shiny and perfectly...

I blinked -- I had been having hair thoughts again. I usually don't share them with other people, mainly because most people think that guys who are a little obsessed with hair are, um, gay. Well, I'm not, but I spend enough of my time with one guy that I don't want to encourage others to be sprouting ideas that I might be more than friends with Bobby Hobbes. And then, accusing Hobbes of being a little light in his boots is 'opening up a whole new can of worms', as he would put it.

But wow, did her hair just turn me on.

I'm pathetic.

"Agent Dunn, would you mind if I had you explain why we are making this joint venture?" the 'Fish said, sitting back at his desk in the chair which I am dead sure must have a true-to-life imprint of his butt permanently imprinted in it.

"Not at all," he whispered something to Agent Cross, who nodded and headed off out the door.

"Project le Pur exists for much the same reason that the Agency and project I-Man. We are an ultra-secret government taskforce that utilizes the special abilities of one of our members to solve special cases that other, larger agencies, such as the CIA or the FBI cannot get to for reasons of being under too high scrutiny, too public, or there is too great a security risk. The PLP for some time now has had an adversary that I think you will all recognize here at the Agency: Chrysalis.
"We have both clashed with this clandestine Organization for different reasons and under different circumstances, and we have both made some progress in infiltrating their operations and bringing their intentions to light. However, some of my superiors and those who oversee you, the Agency, have come to agree that put together as one team, we may form a force formidable enough to take down Chrysalis for good."

"Um, okay," Bobby muttered, "so, which one of you's got the special abilities that'll compliment my buddy Fawkes' disappearing act? You a robot underneath that suit?"

I grinned at Hobbes comment. "Yeah, I was kinda wondering the same thing." I didn't think that Agent Cross' impeccable hair counted as a special ability that would help take down Chrysalis.

"I think she is coming through the door with Agent Cross right now," Dunn said with a cocky smirk to one side of his angular face. All eyes were to the door. Alma came in first, and behind her was a female form dressed in a formfitting black-and-grey bodysuit, gray hood, facemask and reflective specs over her eyes; kinda resembled a ninja in one'a those martial arts movies. Except a ninja with a really hot body, and two really big guns strapped to her thighs a-la Lara Croft.

"This is le Pur, our secret agent, and secret weapon."

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