Part XIV

The red numbers counting down towards zero made Darien groan in dismay. He still had two minutes before the preprogrammed routine would let him slow back down to a walk. After that, he still had another fifteen minutes of this torture before he'd finally be done for the day. He was glad Claire had had him do the weight sets first this morning, since there was no way in hell he'd be able to do it afterwards. He was going to feel like warm Jell-O by the time this was all over. But it was worth it, he reminded himself again. Anything was worth being able to walk.

With an annoying double beep, the treadmill began to slow down, allowing Darien to drop from the light jog to a brisk walk, which felt wonderful in comparison. He wondered how Alyx managed to do this three or four days a week, along with all of her other workouts. The fact that she only slept four or five hours a night had something to do with it, he knew -- gave her plenty of time to fit in an extra hour of sweating and causing pain to herself. Not that he didn't exercise on a regular basis -- he didn't keep in this good of shape without working at it -- but running had never really become part of his routine. Until now.

He still hadn't decided if he liked it, but he had to admit it was working. In the last three days, he'd gone from staggering about on crutches to walking with the aid of a cane. Apparently, getting zapped into unconsciousness had done something useful besides just giving him a hangover. He wouldn't be participating in any marathons, nor running after -- or away from -- the bad guys in the near future, but he no longer needed to collapse into the wheel chair halfway through the day. The Keep had even declared him well enough to drive again. No more having Bobby chauffeuring him around or baby-sitting him in the evenings. Not that he'd been going home all that much.

Alyx had been confined to the Agency building for the time being. It had taken three agents and a tranq dart to stop her from tearing the place apart to find the counter from the SWRB. As it turned out, there wasn't any left anyway. Claire had used it up testing it, trying and break it down and maybe come up with a version that would actually fix Alyx on a permanent basis, or at least relieve some of the stress she was suffering through without making her dependent on it. Alyx still hadn't managed to get through an entire cycle of the original drug without going into a full panic attack and being sedated.

Darien hadn't yet been able to convince Claire that his idea should work and that sedating Alyx was more likely to prolong the problem than really help. Alyx's time when coherent and with her powers was getting longer -- a good sign. Her time spent in a hallucinatory sleep was getting shorter and less nerve-wracking; instead of sleepwalking and acting out memories, she would simply dream vividly. Much easier for everyone to deal with. But the amount of time she spent being super sensitive and blocked hadn't really changed. She was panicking sooner each time, too, though the heightened sensitivity was getting to be less bothersome. She no longer bruised at the slightest touch and had control for the most part.

When she was able, Alyx helped out with the research into the SWRB. Drake, it turned out, was a former hacker for the CIA. He was actually pretty good at what he did, but he did not have Alyx's advantage; she'd been helping him get into places he could never have managed on his own. She didn't trust him, but was willing to work with him to get through this crisis. They had yet to find the dirt they needed. Alyx had suggested wiping one of the SWRB's computer storage systems and blackmailing a stalemate with the data. The Official was considering it, but hadn't yet decided.

The timer beeped, telling Darien he was done. He backed off the treadmill and headed to the mats spread out on the floor. Wiping his face with a towel, he began his stretches. He knew he needed to keep the muscles as flexible as possible, so he made sure to take the time and do it correctly. He watched Claire working over at one of the benches that had been set up in this basement room they'd taken over for his therapy. It wasn't that Claire was ignoring him, but as he had progressed and been able to do more on his own, she'd brought work with her. Today she was working with one of those huge freestanding magnifying glasses and some small tools.

Once he finished stretching, he lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. "Claire, you in there?"

"Yes, Darien. What do you need?" She sounded more than a little distracted.

"Just thought you'd like to know I was done." Darien levered himself up, knowing exactly what she was going to say next.

"Hit the showers, then."

Yup, he was right again. As he got to his feet, he tried to peek at what she was doing, but the little he saw told him nothing. Grabbing his bag, he headed to the communal showers buried down the dark hall from where they were. He had to admit it was quiet down here and no one had yet disturbed them during these sessions. It was weird, almost as if this portion of the building had been forgotten. Well, except by Alyx, who occasionally used these showers herself. She said she found it peaceful, being so far underground and away from people.

Tossing the bag on one of the benches and setting the cane down, Darien stripped out of the sweat-soaked shorts and T-shirt he'd chosen to be abused in today. Digging through the bag, he pulled out the towel, soap, and shampoo he'd brought from home. Padding softly around the tiled wall that separated the changing area from the showers, he failed to repress a shudder of discomfort. There were just too many unpleasant memories associated with showers like this one.

Choosing one at random, he set the various items down on a nearby shelf that was out spray range and then spun the faucet until it was set where he wanted it. He listened to the pipes rattle and groan as the water made its slow way there. The one good thing about this place was the reliability of the hot water, which came in a seemingly endless supply. If it wasn't for the atmosphere of the place he could happily spend hours on here enjoying the steaming water that flowed from the half dozen shower heads.

Once the water had warmed to his preferred temperature, he stepped under the flow and allowed the hot water to pound into his back, attempting to counteract the tension that was quickly building there. Once again, he appreciated the fact that the showerheads were actually set high enough for him to stand under. None of this bending over crap he'd had to deal with in prison. Like that was the intelligent thing to do in that place when buck naked and wet.

He'd swear he could still hear the harsh voices and mocking laughter ringing off the cracked tiles. "Not real," he muttered to himself, wanting to hear a real live voice and not those from his memory. "It's just the past. The forgotten past."

Reaching out, he picked up the bar of soap and forced his shaking hands to produce lather. As he washed the sweat from his body, other memories intruded, more recent ones. These of the shower at the secret lab, the lab where Kevin had put his science fair entry into the back of his brother's head. The lab where he'd gone quicksilver mad for the first time and tried to attack and rape one of the project nurses. Where he'd learned, for the very first time in his life, exactly what lay inside himself.

He looked down at the floor and watched the suds swirl about the drain before being swallowed by the inevitable pull of gravity, an unbreakable force of nature. He could almost feel himself being pulled along with it.

"Idiot," he snapped at himself. "That way lies madness and despair," he intentionally misquoted.

Picking up the bottle of shampoo, he noticed he'd grabbed Alyx's by mistake. Not that big a deal -- he liked the way it smelled on Alyx, liked burying his face in her hair and inhaling the combined scent of the shampoo and her -- though he thought it might be a bit odd for him to be walking about smelling like peach sorbet.

Thoughts of Alyx inspired a hint of a smile and allowed some of the tension to ease from his body. Damn if he didn't miss her. Last night he'd been sitting on his sofa, listening to some music and reading his newest issue of Scientific American, when he'd come across an article he knew she would appreciate. Without thinking, he'd called to her, only to be met by silence. She was still at the Agency, hopefully sleeping, trying to fight off another panic attack at the worst, working feverishly while she could at the best. His evening had gone downhill from there.

He couldn't even call Bobby for company, as he was off tracking down any and every lead or tiny bit of intel he could find. It wasn't easy -- the SWRB were well practiced at cleaning up after themselves and leaving behind not much more than dust.

Realizing he had finished with his hair while musing over things, Darien shut off the water and wrapped the towel hanging nearby about his waist. Not wanting to hang about in here, he rushed through his routine and tossed his stuff back into the bag, picked up the cane and made his way back to the torture chamber. He knew the Keep would still be there, probably not having even really noticed he was gone.

Dropping the bag by the door, he moved over to Claire and stared at the item she was examining over her shoulder. "Whatcha got there, Keepy?"

Claire jumped slightly as if startled, then held up the small, thin, round piece of metal with a pair of forceps, for him to see. He hoped like hell it wasn't what he thought it was. "It's a monitor for Alyx, so I can better monitor her cycle and administer the sedatives at the optimum time. It should reduce the stress of the panic attacks." She failed to notice the look of absolute horror and disgust on Darien's face. "It will be a little different than yours, maybe a flower, a rose perhaps, and it would fade through colors instead of going from one to the other..."

Darien, gently tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. "What?" she said.

"No."

Claire looked up at him. "What? What did you say?"

"No, Keep. You are not sticking that... thing in her." Darien hooked a nearby chair with one foot, dragged it over and sat down.

"Darien, she is not getting any better and her panic attacks are getting worse. At least with this, we will know where she is in the cycle." Claire sounded resigned, as if this was it, this was as good Alyx was going to get. That either her adaptation ability was nowhere near as good as they had hoped or could not cope with the current problem.

"Claire, listen to me for one minute, okay?" She rolled her eyes, but nodded. "I know Alyx doesn't talk much about what happened at the lab she was originally at, but I seem to recall her saying they kept her on inhibitors to weaken her abilities and sedatives to keep her cooperative."

"Yes, Darien, I know this. I could even give you the list of drugs they used." All right, so her patience with him was low at this point.

"And what they did there basically created this phobia, right?" Darien was hoping he was getting through to her, but she just sat there looking at him. Admittedly, she looked wiped, but she was supposed to be the end-all and be-all of this Agency. She was the one who was supposed to fix things, and yet all she wanted to do was put a band-aid on the boo-boo and hope it went away. "Claire, isn't what you're doing the same thing? Her powers stop, she panics, and you drug her."

Claire got to her feet and turned away from him, one hand going to her forehead. "Bloody hell. I've been treating the symptoms and not the actual problem." She spun around to face him. "I've screwed the whole thing up."

"Claire, stop it. No, you haven't." He got to his feet and walked over to her. "We can still fix this."

"Desensitize her? I'm not sure how well that would work." She was thinking again, her mind running through all the possibilities. "I don't want to lock her in the padded room."

Darien shook his head. "Uh, no. That would not be a good idea." He paced past her to lean against the frame of the treadmill. "I was thinking we'd send her home, like you guys did with me."

"Darien, that's....." Whatever she was going to say vanished as she seriously considered what he'd said. "Not alone -- she's going to need a distraction. Can I assume you'll volunteer?"

Darien chuckled. "Yeah, I think I can return the favor."

"This will not be easy, Darien. She is going to completely lose it at some point and you cannot give her any drugs. Not even alcohol. We need her to cycle through without any chemical support." Claire moved to the desk and began scribbling on a piece of paper. "She should be just ending her normal phase. You should have a couple hours before it gets really bad." She tipped her head to look up at him. "Do you have a plan?"

"Always," Darien answered. "Always."

* * *

Bobby settled into the chair before the Official's desk with a sigh. The last few days had been an exercise in futility. He'd dug into every corner, nook, and cranny he could find, called in several favors, gone snooping -- both physically and electronically -- into places he knew he shouldn't have gone, and in the end had no more than before. He'd been told time and time again to stay out of it, that sticking his nose into this situation would get him in so deep he'd need a blowhole in the top of his head and one very long straw to be able to breathe.

He figured he'd pissed off one too many people, since the Fat Man had called him back from today's attempt at getting something useful against the SWRB. It was amazing how fast his contacts' mouths sealed shut when he mentioned those four letters. This was one of those 'everybody for himself' situations.

It was the only thing he could think of to do. Fawkes was still working his ass off to get well. The kid was either drugged unconscious or working with Drake on the computer, and since no one knew exactly when she'd crash, the boss didn't want her in the field. In fact, she hadn't left the building in days -- he and Fawkes had gone to her place to get clothes and such for her -- and the SWRB mooks were still watching the place. No amount of encouragement or outright scare tactics had worked to make them leave; they didn't even bother hiding, just parked their guys in plain sight so that the Official couldn't help but know they were being watched.

"Chief, why'd you call me in? I still have leads to check into."

The Official shook his head. "Don't bother. They've pulled rank and given us an ultimatum. We have forty-eight hours to turn her over, or they come in and take her." That he was completely dissatisfied with the situation was obvious. That he saw no way out, as yet, was also painfully obvious, though he did try to hide it. "They have also intimated that they might be better able to control Fawkes, as well as better handle the Quicksilver Project."

"I thought you said they couldn't touch Fawkes?" Bobby kept his voice steady, even though the Official's statement had sent a shock through him. The bastards were threatening to take both of his partners; he would not allow that to happen.

"Hobbes, who do I call to stop them? Their charter allows this, and they don't even have to justify it." The Official sounded almost jealous of the situation.

"Over my dead body," Bobby muttered.

The Official held up his hand, finger and thumb mere millimeters apart. "This close, Hobbes. I got two separate calls about you. That's why you're here. You've been in their sights for two days." He tried to keep his voice neutral, like he didn't give a damn about Hobbes' potential death. Bobby suspected the guy actually cared, though, if only because there would be no one to replace him as a partner for Fawkes, at least not at the lousy pay he put up with.

"So now what?" Bobby asked. Even he didn't want to push the SWRB so far as to be taken out of the game. He couldn't protect his partners if he was dead. Dying to save their lives was one thing, but getting killed just to be gotten out of the way was another thing entirely. If he was going to die, it was going to mean something.

"Miss Silver and Drake have been trying to infiltrate their computers and find something to use against them, without much success. Even if we spread proof through all the news agencies, they would just close up shop, change names, and start over. With their first target for destruction being us." The Official got to his feet and began to pace. "I'm considering the option of a computer virus to blackmail them to a stalemate. Miss Silver knows a few interesting ones."

Bobby considered it. It might work, but it was just as likely to piss them off so much that they'd grab the Agency itself and make them fix the problem before losing their body parts in some oubliette only the SWRB knew about. "There has to be something else."

"Aside from giving them Miss Silver? I'd welcome any suggestions." He had stopped near one of the windows and was peeking through the slats of the wooden blinds. He turned his head as the door opened and Drake walked in wearing a frown.

"Sir, we may have a problem." Drake was carrying a laptop that looked a lot like the kid's.

The Official slid his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "Well? I don't have all day."

"Oh, sorry." He hit a few keys and spun the laptop about on the conference table so that the Official could see the screen. "As you know, Miss Silver managed to break into one of the SWRB databases and pull up some info before they caught on. Most of it was encrypted, but I broke it after a couple of hours." Drake began to explain exactly how as both Bobby's and the Official's eyes began to glaze over at the tech-head language that flowed from him.

"Drake," Bobby barked, getting to his feet. "The point, if there is one."

"Uh, I think Miss Silver uploaded the formula for the SWRB counteragent, her counteragent."

That got the Official's attention. "I thought she agreed to leave that option alone."

Bobby thought about it. He hadn't been here at the time, but had talked to Fawkes about the incident. "Chief, unless she promised -- actually used the words 'I promise' -- then whatever she said ain't worth squat." That was putting it mildly; the kid was a better liar than Fawkes on most days, but if she used those words, said 'I promise' about something, she stuck by it, even if she later regretted it. Had to give her credit for that; when she made a commitment, she stuck by it no matter what.

"No, she didn't," Drake commented. "And she's been the one downloading the intel. She's been choosing what's useful and what's not, when she's working."

"Where did she store this information?" the Official asked in a resigned tone.

Drake thought for a moment. "Here, of course, and I believe she transferred a copy to her home computer. She's very good at hiding her tracks."

"Damn it." the Official swore and moved back to his desk. "Drake, get the Keeper up here; she needs to be apprised of the situation. Hobbes, find Miss Silver. She should still be in the building."

Drake got to his feet and moved to the phone on the Official's desk to dial the Keep, while Bobby headed to the door. His first stop was going to be Alyx's office. He didn't make it far -- when he opened the door Claire was standing on the other side holding several files.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, as the doorknob was jerked out of her hand and Bobby suddenly appeared before her.

"Keepy, we were just about to call you. Do you know where the kid is?" Bobby, ever the gentleman, moved out of her way and escorted her to the Official.

"Home," Claire answered.

Bobby could just make out some of the words the Official was saying under his breath. None of them were fit for polite company; the 'Fish could swear like a drunken sailor when he wanted to. After a couple minutes of venting, the Official got control of himself and was able to calmly ask, "On whose authority?"

"Mine," the Keeper answered without hesitation. When it looked like the boss was building up to another explosion, she continued. "I screwed up her treatment and it took Darien to point it out to me."

"You, Keepy? Screw up? Didn't think that was possible," Bobby commented with a bit of a grin. His attempt at easing the tension quickly building in the room failed utterly.

"Darien reminded me of what caused her phobia," She looked the Official in the eye and he gave a small nod to acknowledge that he understood what she was not specifically saying. "My treatment choice was only reinforcing it. I realize now it was in some ways worse than just giving her the counter."

"But why let her leave? How can we protect her if she's not here?" Bobby asked the question mainly to keep her from being yelled at.

"Both she and Darien have a pair of discrete bodyguards. You know as well as I that if the SWRB wants to grab her, there's not much we could do." Claire had always been good about putting things in the proper perspective, good or bad.

"Will this work?" the Official asked of her.

"Let her get through at least two cycles and I'll know better." When the Official nodded, she relaxed marginally. "Now, you said you wanted to see me?"

"Drake," the Official barked.

The man started in surprise, not yet used to the way things worked here. "Um, yes. I think Miss Silver may have copied the SWRB counteragent to her hard drive."

Claire nodded, not the least bit surprised. "She wants this over, and all I've done is prolong it. Hopefully the situation will improve and she will no longer feel the need to resort to it. She'd need the ingredients and a lab to create it herself. I think we can manage to keep her from those for now."

"Agreed. Would those files still be of use to you, Keeper?" It was plain that the Official had an idea.

"Perhaps, for study purposes and to judge any potential problems Alyx might have. Why?" Claire appeared uneasy about the subject.

"And Fawkes, how is he doing?"

Claire pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. "About seventy, seventy-five percent recovered. I still have him using a cane as a precaution, but his strength is almost back. He still cannot run for any distance, but walking is not a problem."

"Good. Drake, can you find which facility Miss Silver accessed those files from?" The Official turned to look at the man who stood by the computer.

"Yes, sir. Give me fifteen minutes." Drake sat at the computer and got to work.

"Chief?" Bobby was getting curious, now. For what reason would he want to know the facility that the info was stored at? Unless.... "You're sending us in." It wasn't a question.

The Official nodded. "I want that data wiped from their system."

"Why?" Claire asked him, hugging the files to her chest tightly.

"Because if they do find out who she is and follow the trail, they will find Michael, as well as her children. And the drug 'will' work on him." That statement was enough to get all their attention.

"So you want the option to control them instead," Bobby snapped out without really thinking about it. "How is that better?"

"Hobbes...." The dangerous tone was back in his voice.

"Sorry, boss," Bobby apologized without even bothering to try and fake the sincerity. "When?"

"Tonight..." The Keeper shaking her head stopped him.

"Darien needs to be with Alyx tonight. However, if you wait until her next normal period, she may even be able to help, though I would not recommend sending her in." Claire made it quite clear in her tone that there would be no arguing over the matter.

"Fine. When is her next normal period?" The Official wanted this dealt with soon, at a guess.

"Roughly dawn tomorrow," Claire answered. When the Official frowned, she shrugged. "There is no way to be more accurate. It should last for several hours, though."

"All right. Hobbes, contact Fawkes and let him know what's going on. Meet here at oh four hundred and we'll go from there. Drake will keep you apprised of the situation." The decision made, they began roughing out a plan of attack, based on the little they did know. Once Drake told them which facility stored the information they were after -- coincidentally, it was the same facility the kid had broken into that first night of scouting out the SWRB with Bobby -- they were able to fine-tune it a bit more.

What had looked like an impossible task was starting to look like merely a very difficult one. Bobby wasn't sure what getting these files would do for them, but if the 'Fish thought it would do some good, he wasn't about to argue. Bobby would freely admit he had little or no idea of what went on behind the scenes, the bickering and infighting that happened between agencies in situations like this. He did know, however, that unless a miracle occurred the kid was going to end up in the possession of the SWRB and not for just one job. He truly did not want to see that happen.