Part IV

Darien had drifted off into sleep after Alyx and Bobby left. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on is his head, but he couldn't seem to help himself. For the first time since they had met, really, Alyx was ignoring him completely. As close as they had become, he could sense that she was angry and upset and mad as hell at him, but he saw no recourse. There was no way he could allow her to become his...his baby-sitter, his caregiver, his...he forced the thoughts away. It wouldn't happen, he would not let it.

He had come back to consciousness, knowing he'd been dreaming, with the remains of a sharp, shooting pain through his legs just fading. He whimpered, wanting to curl in on himself to ease what felt like the worse muscle spasm in the world. For a second he felt hope that this meant things were actually returning to normal, but when the pain completely passed he found his legs just as unresponsive as before.

A small part of his mind tried to remind him that this might not be permanent, that a month from now he might be laughing at his current foolishness and that, if he kept this up, he'd be doing that laughing without Alyx.

He ignored the voice, certain that the worst would happen, that there was no point in hoping, or even trying. His back had stiffened up while he'd been lying on his side, but he was afraid to even try and move. He could have pressed the call button that lay within easy reach, but instead he chose to simply lie there and suffer. To wallow in the despair he had sunk into, to debate the worth of trying to survive the next few hours, never mind days.

He wanted to know why he was going through this. What the point of all this suffering was. It hadn't been that long ago that Claire had told him the solution had been found, that she could remove the damn gland without killing him. He could be free of the Agency, free from his addiction to counteragent, able to walk away from this life and into whatever one he chose to find for himself. And he'd found he couldn't do it. He'd just told her he'd have to think about it, and all because of a stupid dream -- a quicksilver dream -- that started weeks before the incident with Rachel and Jase. It had come more and more often as the weeks passed, becoming increasingly insistent until he could not help but remember every detail. It didn't go away until he finally told Claire 'no.'

That decision had surprised even him, but after nearly losing Alyx, he found he couldn't walk away from her. He didn't want to live a life without her, didn't want to go back to being alone.

Then this happened.

What the hell was the point of it all?

He was still staring off at the wall, thinking about the ultimate uselessness of his gesture, when the voice of the Keeper intruded.

"Well, Darien, how are you feeling today?" She came into his line of sight, wearing a standard Keeper outfit and smiling at him. It irritated him to no end that she seemed so relaxed and happy while he was so miserable.

"Go away." His voice was flat, lifeless. He couldn't even drum up enough energy to yell at her.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." She made a hand motion and an orderly appeared -- Carlton, he vaguely remembered-- pushing a standard-issue wheelchair. Darien closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the hated thing, but snapped them open at Claire's next words.

"Up and at 'em. You have things to do. Places to be."

Darien didn't move. "Right, like I'm just gonna climb right on out of bed and into that...that rolling tomb."

Claire's smile faded. "Yes, you are. By some miracle, the damage to your spine was minimal and you should fully recover with a little work."

Darien was so intent on his attitude of disbelief and denial that he didn't even pause to comprehend her words, dismissing them automatically without even really hearing them. "Just go away and leave me alone." He sounded almost plaintive now.

"Carlton," Claire said, stepping back.

The next thing Darien knew, he was being lifted bodily by the rather hulking form of orderly Carlton and placed in the wheelchair, his protests and struggles going completely unheeded. His back complained loudly, but no worse than on other occasions when he'd strained the muscles. He glared at Claire while his legs were positioned carefully and he was strapped into place.

"Good," she said. "Now, do you think you can move yourself, or should I have Carlton do it for you?" She had kept her tone neutral, but he could see the anger flashing in those eyes of hers.

"Oh, you mean I get to choose?" he sneered, making it plain he had no intention of helping in any way, shape, or form.

"Darien, you always have choices, you just may not like them very much." Claire actually sounded sympathetic, but it didn't last for long. "In this case, you've chosen to behave like a petulant five-year-old."

Carlton took up position behind the chair and started them moving. Darien sank into himself, doing his best to ignore everything that was going on about him. Even so, he couldn't help noticing the Agency suits that followed along, eyeing everyone with suspicion.

"What's with the security goons?" Darien tried to make it sound like he didn't really care, but wasn't sure if he succeeded. When it became obvious Claire was debating exactly how much to tell him, he added, "It's my ass, what's left of it anyway, so don't give me the need-to-know crap."

Claire gave him a long, slow look and then nodded slightly. She opened the door to a room filled with annoying monitors and other equipment. He was rolled over to the bed in the middle of the room. He noticed the goons had remained outside to play guard dog.

"We now believe you were intentionally hurt so that you would end up here," Claire said, moving to ready the equipment she wanted to use.

"What? Arnaud again?" Darien was being uncomfortably manhandled onto the bed by Carlton.

"No, not Arnaud. We're not sure who yet. Bobby and Alyx are working on it as we speak." She rolled a monitor over towards the bed and directed Carlton to help Darien to lie on his stomach. Then she began attaching electrodes along his back. When she was leaning over near his head, she whispered, "You were set up, and the Official suspects it came down through F&G." Standing up, she returned to her Keeper voice. "This shouldn't take very long."

"Claire...what aren't you telling me?" Darien hated being vulnerable, and right now he couldn't run. Hell, he couldn't even crawl away if he had to.

"You'll know more when the rest of us do. Right now you need to flex you're left foot for me." She was looking at the monitor.

Darien gave a harsh bark of laughter. "And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" The momentary distraction caused by the news that he'd been set up for this was gone, replaced once more by the cloud of gloom his situation had left him in.

"The same way you always do." Claire turned to him. "Move your left hand, then your left foot." She watched as he balled his left hand into a fist, flipped her the bird, and then 'moved' his left foot. She looked at the monitor. "Perfect. Now you're left knee, bend it please."

With a look of exasperation never leaving his face, Darien spent the next hour 'moving' whatever she told him to. By the end he was tired and his back had started to ache again. Claire was just about to remove the electrodes on his back when he grunted in pain. "Ah, crap, that hurts," he groaned as that shock of pain shot down both legs again. It wasn't like the spasms that had shot up his back when the bullet was still stuck in there. This was like that annoying tingling feeling you got when a foot that had fallen asleep began to finally wake up, only magnified a thousand times.

"Easy," Claire said, trying to keep him calm. "It'll pass in a moment." She was watching the monitor, and Darien tried to focus on it as the pain finally began to ease. The flowing waves and numbers on the screen meant nothing to him, giving him no clue as to what was going on.

"What the hell is that, besides damn uncomfortable?" He sounded just as unthrilled as he felt about the experience. Claire, however, was apparently not in the mood to answer and ignored his question in favor of disconnecting him from the machines. "C'mon, Keepy, talk to me," he pleaded.

Instead, she spoke to Carlton. "If you would, tell Sergeant Thomas that we're ready for him."

"Of course, Miss Keeply." Darien heard the door open and then swing shut, and wondered just what was going to happen next. It was few minutes before he heard the door open and then a new voice, deeper and definitely military. At this point he just wanted to go back to his room and sleep, or try to anyway. His back was one huge ache that the smallest movement hurt. He ignored the quiet discussion going on around him as he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

When he felt hands on his back, unfamiliar hands, his first instinct was to flinch away, but instead he nearly cried in relief as a pair of expert hands began to massage the cramps out of his lower back. He let out a long sigh and tried to keep from moaning in relief.

Claire must have seen the look on his face. "You could have mentioned you were in pain. There is no reason for you to suffer needlessly."

"Claire, it might have hurt, but it was something I could feel." Darien said as he opened his eyes to look at her.

Claire shook her head. "Darien, it'll get better. Trust me."

Those two words were a mistake, and she knew it immediately. His look darkened and he turned away from her. He ignored her for the rest of the massage, and said not another word to her even after he was back in his room. Once she was gone, doing whatever Keepers do when their Kept is broken, he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He so wanted to believe her, that things would get better, that he could trust her. He wanted to trust her, but old distrusts and hurts conspired with the new and kept him from believing a word she said. He wished things were different; he missed being able to trust her, missed being able to trade jokes when he was down in the Keep getting his shot, missed just being able to smile at her.

He knew she was still mad at Alyx, though he was not entirely sure why. Thinking about Alyx was the wrong thing to do. With a little effort, he managed to get up on his side and, using his arms, moved his legs into a seemingly comfortable position. Pulling down one of the pillows, he hugged it to his chest and shut his eyes. He'd done the right thing, he repeated over and over to himself. Now, if he could just find it in his heart to believe that he could live without her. That an existence, without being able to walk and without her, was one he wanted.

He failed.

* * *

Bobby pressed the buzzer a second time and waited a couple more minutes before the door finally opened. He had to resist the temptation to laugh at her. She was wearing a T-shirt that was way too big for her -- he realized it was one of Fawkes' -- and a pair of beat-up jeans, looking like she had just woken up and wasn't all that thrilled by the fact. He couldn't help but notice she was barefoot, given the iridescent orange nail polish she had on her toes. All in all, she looked nothing like the Alyx he was used to seeing on an average day, and in a weird way he kind of liked it. It wasn't often she was this relaxed and unreserved around him.

"Sorry, Bobby. I overslept." She slid the door open fully and waved for him to come in while rubbing one hand over her eyes. "Guess I was a bit tired." She pushed the door shut as he walked past her and put the box of take-out food on her table.

She shuffled over and took a deep breath. "Bobby, you are a god. Lamb curry. I think I can die happy now."

Bobby chuckled. "You're learning." He began unloading the Styrofoam containers while she got both dishes and drinks for them. Then she wandered over to her big computer and gave it the voice command to power up. "I talked to Claire," he said quietly. "She says everything is going just fine."

Alyx came back over to the table and began loading up a plate with rice and lamb curry. "Thanks, Bobby."

He grabbed a plate of food himself and then dragged a chair over to her computer to sit next to her. "Did the ice queen send you the info?"

She nodded and opened the file. He read it over her shoulder, though he didn't understand much of it. The chemical breakdown was very detailed, couched in geek-ese that only a few could speak, though it was looking like the kid was one of them. "Nice try," she mumbled around a mouthful of food. She scrolled down some more, either reading or skimming through the info, he couldn't be sure, when she stopped. "Damn, I've read about this stuff before." She opened another window and, after a quick search, a report appeared on the screen. A classified DOD document.

"Kid, would you care to fill me in?"

Alyx turned to him with a grin. "A few months ago, I was cruising the DOD mainframe and downloaded this report. Seems some scientist geek created this weird chemical that, when added to some metals, created a near-frictionless effect. Called it Dubrimium. Stupid name."

"Huh?" Bobby was feeling a bit lost.

Alyx grinned. "For some odd reason, the addition of this stuff alters the friction that effects, say, airplane wings or submarine hulls, allowing them to move faster with lower energy requirements. So the DOD started doing some testing, thinking it might be useful in fighter jets. They thought they might actually be able to build a hypersonic fighter that could go extra-atmospheric."

"I'm guessing all did not go as planned." Bobby scooped up some more rice and looked at her over the plate.

She nodded. "Once the air temp drops below fifty degrees, it adversely effects the metal, causing friction to affect it more rather than less. So planes would consume more fuel, subs slow, cars become gas hogs, bullets fall short...." She stopped. "Damn, he is the luckiest son of a bitch alive."

"Kid?" Bobby wasn't too sure what set her off, but at least she was smiling.

"Bobby, the colder the temp, the more adversely it affects an item with this Dubrimium." Alyx turned to him.

"And Fawkes was quicksilvered. The sucker must have almost stopped dead when it got near him." Alyx was nodding in agreement. "But that means they wanted him out of commission permanently, and the gland intact."

"Yeah, I know. We need to get the security tapes for that dock. I have the feeling they had a boat nearby, to whisk him away if they had the chance." Alyx looked over the information from the DOD for another minute before closing the window. "We also need to review the security at Leavitt. If they were expecting him to come in hurt and go straight to the OR for surgery, they might have had someone in place to harvest."

"Jeez, kid, slow down. We'll cover it all." He gestured with his fork. "How about that list of requests?"

"Give me five to set up the search parameters and access the Agency mainframe. Then it'll take care of it itself." She began typing, and Bobby moved back over to the table to get seconds and another drink. "I'll even have it compare against the list of those who have access to the Dubrimium."

She joined him at the table a few minutes later. "We're looking at a six hour run time at least."

"No problem. It's gonna take at least a day to track down all those videos, and then we still have to review them. It'll take a while." He looked over at her. "It's not too late to head out to Leavitt," he suggested quietly.

Alyx nodded. "After I finish grazing. I haven't eaten in a couple of days." She raised her glass in salute. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby returned the salute and looked at her carefully. She did look better now than she had earlier. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her staggering about on little sleep and less food. He knew when she got loaned out they worked her as hard as they dared, and she tended to put all the effort she could into an outside job. Mainly to get it over with. He knew she would much rather be here working for the Fat Man than off doing something for another agency. "Any time, kid."

Claire met them in the lab at Fort Leavitt to exchange information. Claire's news was good, for the most part, and Bobby and Alyx didn't really have anything new to add from their end. The work needed was being done; they would just have to be patient and do whatever it took to protect Fawkes until the culprit was found. Bobby arranged to get access to the hospital's security logs on the day in question. Since Arnaud's circumvention of the security, the protocols had been changed to prevent another incident of that type. So if there had been a breach, a different method must have been used. Once the information was collected, one of the Agency suits left to deliver it to the Official. It would join the dozens of other video and security tapes that were being collected from all over the area where Fawkes had been shot.

"So he's gonna be okay?" Bobby asked again.

"Eventually. According to the tests, he should regain full mobility. It'll just take some time and work." Claire sighed and looked over at Alyx who was reviewing the results from today's tests. "He still isn't dealing well emotionally."

"Send him home," Alyx said quietly. "Let him deal with it himself."

Claire rounded on Alyx, her look sharp. "Just like that, turn him loose. Are you really that cold?"

Alyx sighed. "You know I'm not, but he has to get past thinking he's helpless, and he won't do that here or in the Keep. His place is small. Get him what he needs, a few bits of advice, and send him home."

Bobby watched this exchange with a bit of trepidation. While Alyx was seemingly calm, it looked like Claire was about to explode. "Is he...you know...stable?" he asked.

"Technically yes, but..." Claire shook her head, not liking this. "What about security?"

"A couple of agents outside his place should do it." Alyx said as she set the report back down. "It's not like he'll be alone."

"How do you figure that?" Claire practically shouted.

"Keep, I think the kid means she'll be there." Bobby was watching Alyx. She could be pretty darn sneaky when she wanted to be, and he had to agree that Fawkes needed to be drawn -- or shocked -- out of this funk he'd fallen into, and soon.

"But he doesn't want to see you.... oh." Claire caught on then. "Are you sure you want to do this? It won't be an enjoyable experience. He may have to bottom out completely before things improve."

"Claire, is he likely to get better being waited on hand and foot here? He knows if he pouts and does nothing, it will eventually be done for him. Send him home, let him stew, let him wallow in self-pity. When he finally gets hungry enough, or angry enough, or upset enough, he'll do what's necessary." Alyx didn't sound all that happy about her idea, but it made sense in a way. Put him back into his 'normal' routine and force him to face the situation head-on. Sometimes it was the only method that would work.

"Claire, I think she's right. I can do without her for a day or two. We're still gathering the intel we need." Bobby looked uncomfortable. He wasn't a doctor, but he did know something about depression; he knew Fawkes was falling, and hard. They couldn't save him; he had to do it himself.

"But he still has some medical needs. Changing his bandages..." Claire trailed off, thinking. "All right. I'll make sure he's comfortable, and then stop back in the evening unless you call."

Alyx nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Claire, I wouldn't suggest this if I thought there was another way. It might be weeks before he fully recovers; he has to learn to manage. He needs to realize we don't care any less, don't think of him as less than he is, just because he can't walk."

"I know, but I was hoping he'd come out of it on his own." She raised a hand to forestall any commentary. "He's not, and he refuses to believe a thing I say. But if he doesn't improve in three days, or if there is a problem, I'm moving him to Lab Three. He needs to start therapy."

"Impulse stimulation?" Alyx asked and Claire nodded.

Bobby smiled and just listened as they went into an involved discussion of various techniques that had been helpful in aiding recovery, including some experimental ones that had been successful in cases similar to Fawkes'. He was simply relieved to see them working together and, for the moment that the wall standing between the two of them had fallen. This was the team that had come up with the inhibitor for Fawkes, that was constantly pushing the envelope down in the Keep, that could confuse both himself and Fawkes in three words or less. He hoped this would last, and that the Keeper would see that Alyx was no longer fighting against her.

"I'm gonna go visit Fawkes for a while. You two just keep talking about...whatever it is you're talking about." Claire smiled at him and Alyx chuckled, but by the time he was at the door of the room they were back at it.

"Oh, Bobby, don't mention his going home," Claire said softly.

"Sure. I've plenty of other news for him." He slipped out into the hallway and made his way to Fawkes' room. Two Agency suits stood on either side of the door, and they actually made him flash his badge before letting him in. Annoying, but the correct thing to do in these circumstances.

The room had been rearranged so that the bed was no longer directly in line with the door like it had been. The room never had any windows, so there was no concern about a sniper going after Fawkes that way. They'd added a camera as a precaution -- not to watch Fawkes, per se, but to make sure no one unauthorized got in. Darien was lying on his side, facing away from the door again, with a meal sitting neglected and ignored on the rolling table. At least he was drinking anyway. There were several empty cans of soda and a couple bottles of water that were floating around. At a guess, he'd been chasing away the orderlies as well as his friends this afternoon.

"Well, Fawkes. Still in a mood, are you?" He came around the bed and sank into the chair, which had also been moved, and looked at his friend.

It took Darien a moment to focus on the person sitting in the chair, since the lighting was still dim. When he realized it was indeed Bobby, he wanted to both reach out for help and ignore him completely. His mouth preempted whatever decision he might have made. "Go away, Hobbes. I'm no longer your partner, and I have no interest in 'friends' who visit out of pity."

"Pity, huh? You really think that's the only reason I'm here?" Hobbes shifted to rest one elbow on the arm of the chair and set is his chin on his palm. "I'm guessing my partner is still off somewhere else, so I'll just talk to you instead." He didn't bother getting angry. There was no point, and the pitiful heap that used to be Darien Fawkes wouldn't be impressed. "We were set up, buddy. Someone wanted you out of the game, and maybe that gland you still carry around."

"Tell me something I don't know. The fat bastard was here earlier to 'reassure me of his continuing support' and that you were working on finding who did this." Darien levered himself up slightly. "When you find the shooter, tell him to aim for the head next time. It would solve lots of problems." He lowered himself back down and glared at Bobby through half-closed eyes.

"I'll pass that along," Bobby said at a soft growl. "Did the boss also tell you that the kid might be the real target? That the quicksilver may very well have saved you're sorry ass from a gland-harvesting party? That you could still be a target?" When Darien's eyes flew open, he knew he'd hit a nerve, though he had no way of knowing which comment had gotten through. He suspected it was the one about Alyx, though. "Yeah, Fawkes, the whole damn meet was to get you out of the way and in here. We're working on finding out who did this...We'll get them, don't worry about it." His tone turned serious. "You need to work on getting better."

Darien snorted. "Right. Even I know this isn't something that 'gets better'." He looked away, not willing to meet Bobby's eyes any longer.

"Darien, you may not believe me -- hell, you may not even trust me right now -- but I'm telling you; you will get better." Bobby got to his feet. "I know you want to be alone, to mope and think about nothing but how awful your life is, so I'll go." Bobby began to walk away, but stopped at the foot of the bed. "I still believe in you, Fawkes, and I don't bail on my friends. You seem to have forgotten that."

Darien didn't move, and when he heard the door shut just seconds later he wasn't sure how he felt. So they'd been set up -- he'd figured that out before he'd walked into that warehouse and found himself in the middle of a trap. The fact that they had tried to capture him most likely meant they were after the gland. Shooting him must have been the back-up plan. These guys worked like Arnaud, apparently. Injure him badly enough that the Keep wouldn't do, but not badly enough to kill him instantly. Since he couldn't go to a regular hospital, that left very few choices and, of them, Leavitt was the closest. Have some guy in the ER and -- voila! -- he'd be dead and glandless.

Something had gone wrong, obviously, since he was still alive and still had the gland. He held up his hand, letting the quicksilver flow across it until it vanished from sight. He held it for a minute and then stopped the flow and watched as it flaked away. The gland even still worked, though the irony of a wheelchair-bound invisible man was almost enough to bring a smile to his face. Invisible ironside? Yeah, he could hold out for the Fat Man's job and run the Agency from his chair. Or wait, he could go back to his old ways. No one would suspect a paraplegic of robbing a museum, or a jewelry store, especially when he could quicksilver the goods.

His mood sobered. Like they would allow him to keep the gland. Any day now he expected the requests and then the demands to begin. Eventually they would just drug him and yank it out. Shove it into the head of some other schmuck and watch him suffer as Darien had. Maybe the new guy would even win the fair maiden, the prize, and have Alyx gracing his bed much as she used to Darien's.

Shifting, he rolled onto his back, supported partially by a cushion to keep pressure off the bullet wound, and stared at the ceiling. He'd had so many plans, so many dreams, even with working at the Agency, and now they were so much dust to be blown away by the slightest breeze. There had been a time, only a few days ago, when he'd wondered what tomorrow would bring and actually looked forward to a new day. No longer. Now he hoped that tomorrow would never arrive.

Bobby found Alyx in an overstuffed chair that she must have appropriated from one of the doctors' lounges, sitting just outside the door to Fawkes' room. With a sigh he leaned against the wall next to her. "I'd tell you to go in there, but he ain't the Fawkes we knew. I hope this works, 'cause I'm really starting to miss my smartassed partner."

"I'm just going to hang out here for a while. I'll run home later and see what the search has found. Download the info to mainframe or your personal inbox?" She had a resigned look on her face. He knew she wanted to be in there, in that room with Fawkes, her friend and partner, but she'd abide by his wishes. To the letter, anyway.

"My inbox. And get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for you." He set a hand on her shoulder and she patted it absentmindedly.

"You sure you won't need me tomorrow?"

"I'm sure. A long boring day tracking down videos?" he chuckled. "I think I can manage. You take care of him."

"For as long as he lets me, Bobby." She turned to look up at him. "Now go take Claire out for some coffee or something. She needs to sleep. If he needs her, she'll be called."

"Kid, she's more stubborn than you some days." He gave her shoulder one last squeeze. "G'night, kid."

"Night, Bobby."