Darien lay quietly in his chair, savoring the peace within his skull. One last injection of counteragent. They'd held off as long as possible, until the madness had almost overwhelmed him. But now, he was free again.

Part of him wondered if it was for the last time, but he ignored that part, loathe to spoil the moment.

"Is that it?" Hobbes's voice cut into his reverie. He became aware, again, of the lingering sting at his elbow when his Keeper had given the injection. Of the weight of her fingers holding a gauze square over the site to apply pressure so he wouldn't bruise. Sighing, he opened his eyes.

"How do you feel, partner?"

"I feel fine, Hobbes," Darien reassured him. "No different than any other time Claire's given me a shot. C'mon, this week won't be any different from usual, until I hit seven segments and can't get a shot." He shrugged. "*Then*, you might not want to ask me. But until then, I've got at least five days of being just another guy. Footloose and quicksilver-free, right?"

"Absolutely," Claire replied, fixing him with a stern gaze. "And that means *no* quicksilver, no matter how tempting the situation."

"Hey, trust me, I don't want to end up in that straightjacket of yours a minute sooner than I have to."

"So, uh, what do you want to do, partner?"

"Well, today I think I just want to go hang out at the beach. You know, where Leila showed me. I know you're gonna want to stick by me like glue later on, so I think I'll enjoy being alone while I still can. While I can still trust myself."

Hobbes looked like he'd aged ten years in the last day. "Sure, partner. Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Darien waved over his shoulder as he strolled out the door.

After the door was safely closed, Hobbes turned to the Keeper. "So, Keep. Level with me."

"About what, specifically?" she asked warily.

"About where he's headed. He's six days away from the red-eye. It sucks, but we've seen it before, we know how to handle him. But he's not gonna stay like that, is he?"

"Not if I can get more counteragent synthesized...."

"Ten days from now?"

"Nine, now...."

His gaze would brook no prevarication. She knew exactly what he was asking.

"We only have the one example of how long it takes Darien to reach stage five. He was using quicksilver pretty heavily, which would tend to speed up its onset considerably. *If* we could find a way to keep Darien from quicksilvering once he's reached the point of quicksilver madness, there is a *chance* he might make it long enough before he enters stage 5, for me to get together enough counteragent to keep him from crossing that line."

"That's an awful lot of ifs and chances."

"You think I don't know that?" There were tears lurking in her voice, tears she didn't dare let loose. She had to stay focussed, efficient and effective, for Darien's sake. She was afraid sympathy from Bobby would shatter her control, but he followed her lead, perhaps to help keep his own emotions in check.

"So what happens if we *can't* keep him from hitting stage five? That stage five counteragent I got from Arnaud, is that still any good?"

"No idea. The regular counteragent has a short shelf life, but it doesn't necessarily follow that the stage five version's chemistry would be at all similar."

"Did you figure out how to make it?"

"From one sample? No. I didn't want to destroy it, in case it is still good, and there's only so much testing I can do *without* destroying it."

"So what do we do, if he goes over the edge? Give it to him and hope?"

"We may have to. But it would be a huge risk. Some components of counteragent become toxic as they decay. If the stage five version has gone bad, using it could kill him."

Hobbes fixed her with a piercing gaze. "You know what Fawkes would choose. He'd rather take a chance on sanity or death, than risk getting loose and hurting someone." Claire hesitated, then nodded. "And you and I both know that if it comes down to the gland versus Fawkes, the fat man's gonna choose the gland. That's his job."

"If he knows that the stage five counteragent could backfire, he might forbid me to try it," Claire acknowledged.

Hobbes nodded, then caught her choice of words. "'If?'" He almost smiled. "You mean you'd...you'd neglect to mention that?"

"I'll keep my options open as much as possible. That's all I can promise." She returned his hesitant smile with a tentative one of her own. "Hopefully, it will never come down to that choice."

"Yeah," Hobbes replied. "Hopefully." There wasn't much hope in his voice, however.