Quick author's note: OK, I know it's been forever since I updated, and I would like to offer my most sincere apologies for that.... Real Life and the bunnies (or lack thereof) are to blame. However, believe it or not, we are nearing the end of this little story. Just two more chapters to go, after this (I think) and the story will be complete. So hang in there!

Part 5

Bobby couldn't contain the smirk that crossed his features as he stood in a corner of the Keeper's lab. It was Darien's turn to sit in the uncomfortable chair. Claire had insisted on checking Darien out completely to make sure that Bobby's quick thinking had properly neutralized the effects of the poison. She also wanted to treat his frostbitten arm.

"Darien, hold still," Claire insisted, attempting to get a good look at Darien's injured hand.

Darien pulled away irritably. "Look, you had your fun with Hobbes, so just leave me alone, OK?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "C'mon Fawkes, you know it's for your own good."

Darien grumbled petulantly, "If this were the other way around, you'd see things differently."

Claire crossed her arms, her voice taking on a parental tone as she said, "Darien, this won't take long if you will just sit still. And it will help you feel better in the long run. Now, are you going to behave, or do I have to sedate you?"

Darien rolled his eyes and held out his arm, muttering something about doctors and how they were always eager to stick people with needles. Claire's eyes narrowed; apparently, she had heard what Darien said much better than Bobby had. She poked Darien roughly in the ribs with one elbow and then began her ministrations.

Bobby crossed his arms, watching Claire and Darien interact. They had obviously known each other for more than a few days, or even a few weeks. They had a familiar rapport that usually only developed after having known someone for several years. Then again, Bobby mused, they did both work at the Agency. Darien had been working here for quite a while. Why shouldn't he know some of the staff?

Still, Bobby couldn't shake off the thought that there was more here than what met the eye. The sheer level of comfortable familiarity bespoke of them being something more than coworkers. Not a romantic involvement; there were a whole different set of signs for that, and Bobby saw no trace of them here. This was more like the bond one noticed between siblings, or close family. But obviously, the two weren't related.... Bobby shook his head, deciding to cut off his line of thinking before he gave himself a migraine.

The door to the lab swished open and the Official walked in, Eberts following close on his tail. Bobby ran a hand across his face as he realized he might very well get a migraine after all.

"Status report," the Official snapped, his gaze automatically fixating on Darien.

"I'm a little busy right now--oww!" Darien yelped as Claire began to bandage his injured hand.

The Official turned his icy gaze on Bobby. "Don't look at me!" Bobby protested.

Eberts peeked out from behind the Official, "Well, Agent Fawkes is preoccupied at the moment, and you were apparently the only other person accompanying him, since Miss MacCleary came into the Official's office ten minutes ago demanding to know where you had gone...." The Official turned and gave Eberts a harsh look. Eberts gave a nervous cough. "Shutting up, sir."

Bobby groaned and absently rubbed the back of his neck. After a moment he decided that the only way to get Eberts to shut up was to start talking, and besides, everything would be discovered sooner or later anyway. "Fawkes and I came up with a list of people Blaque might go after. We headed over to the first guy's house, but he was..." Bobby blanched at the memory, "he was dead. Blaque was still there, but when Fawkes tried to cuff her she bit him."

"And?" the Official asked. "Where is she?"

"She got away," Bobby said, giving a half-shrug.

The Official's face darkened with anger. "You let her escape?"

"No, he saved my life," Darien called from his position on the chair, but the Official blatantly ignored him.

"I am very disappointed in your conduct," the Official snapped, glaring at Bobby.

Bobby returned the glare all too willingly. "Yeah, well, if you were the one who'd almost gotten killed, I think your point of view woulda been a little different."

The Official's lip curled upward in distaste. "I don't have time for this. Eberts!" He walked out of the lab, obviously expecting Eberts to follow.
Eberts turned, but stopped for a moment and looked at Bobby. "You did the right thing," he said quietly. Then he walked out of the room.

Bobby frowned, considering Eberts' comment. Normally, he would have appreciated the sentiment wholeheartedly, but coming from the Official's yes-man.... Oh well, no matter. It was the thought that counted, and it felt good to have someone supporting his decisions, even if it was that pencil-pushing Charlie Brown.

Claire finished her ministrations and then gave Darien a firm pat on the shoulder. "All done."

"It's about time," Darien grumbled, albeit in a good-natured fashion. He stood up and moved his bandaged hand around for a moment experimentally, then nodded his approval.

"Be very careful with it," Claire cautioned.

Darien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't use it too much over the next few days, and don't get the bandages wet."

Bobby grinned. "I see you've made a few trips to the doctor's office before."

"No, he's been treated by me a few times before," Claire returned, shaking her head. "More than a few times, as a matter of fact." She turned to Darien, raising an eyebrow. "You just don't know how to keep out of trouble, do you?"

Darien shrugged. "It's a gift."

"One I'm proud not to share," Bobby snickered.

Darien balled his uninjured hand into a fist and shook it a few inches away from Bobby's nose. "I could change that, ya know."

Bobby held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Alright, alright, point taken."

Darien turned toward Claire and gave her a quick nod. "See ya later."

Claire nodded in reply. "Later."

Darien walked out of the room. Hobbes gave Claire a gentle wave and an uncharacteristically shy smile. Then followed Darien out of the room, having to walk at a faster pace than was comfortable to keep up with Darien's long strides. "So... what's our next move?"

Darien sighed, his shoulders slumping and his brow knitting as he made a visible transition into his working persona. "We check out Sampson and Minosa to make sure they're still alive, and if they are we get some sort of protection for them."

"Protection being you, me, and Sophie," Bobby muttered. He was starting to get a very clear picture of the way the Agency operated. Minimum personnel, minimum funding, minimum security, minimum everything. And yet the Official still expected results, and good ones at that. No wonder Darien looked depressed half of the time when he was on the job.

"Yeah, except I wouldn't consider Sophie an asset."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, "I can see why she didn't like bein' your partner. You're not exactly givin' her much chance to prove herself, here."

"There's nothing to prove," Darien hissed in exasperation, "I've learned first-hand how badly she does her job."

Bobby shook his head. "You forget, I saw her playin' Eberts in the archives. She wasn't THAT bad. Kinda blunt, but not bad."

Darien heaved an irritated sigh. "You saw her at the lab Alli escaped from, too."

Bobby started to form a retort, but only got as far as opening his mouth before he realized that he couldn't think of any way to defend Sophie's words and actions. "Yeah," he finally acquiesced, "I see your point."

Darien grinned triumphantly. "I thought you might."

Eager to change the subject since it had become obvious that this was one argument he wasn't going to win no matter how hard he tried, Bobby brought up a hand to scratch his scalp and asked, "How long do you think it'll take to convince Minosa and Sampson to let us spy on them for the next few days?"

Darien smirked. "You're changing the subject."

Bobby bristled, as much because Darien had read him like a book as anything. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

The sounds of the childish argument echoed off the walls as they finished the trek to their janitorial-closet-turned-office.

***********

Darien heaved a deep sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his uninjured hand. He was frustrated and bored, not to mention the fact that he was desperately in need of painkillers.

Because Minosa seemed to be in greater danger of Allianora's revenge, Darien and Bobby had decided to watch his house first. However, Minosa had flat-out refused any kind of protection until Darien and Bobby had fully explained the situation, including the fact that Fulton had already met an untimely demise. And even then he had insisted that the security be kept minimal. So, Darien had ended up guarding the front door while Bobby and Sophie guarded the back, with nothing more to keep them in contact than a crackly radio set that sounded like it had been bought second-hand from a McDonalds.

Minosa had obviously placed a great deal more trust in his own personal security systems than he did in the Agency's choice of bodyguards, but Darien couldn't really blame him. After all, he and Bobby looked more like street-thugs than legitimate agents because of their mutual disregard of the usual dress codes, and Sophie acted more like a fashion model than a fed. And then there was Darien's hair, which always caused a great deal of skepticism until he flashed his badge.

Still, Darien was far from happy to be stuck staring at the front door of a house that was undoubtedly much warmer than the interior of his car, which had neither a heater nor air conditioning and was uncomfortable in just about any weather. He had a jacket, so his arms were warm, but his un-bandaged hand was beginning to feel suspiciously like an ice-cube, and the bandaged one was still sensitive from its recent exposure to the icy cold of the Quicksilver.

After fumbling a bit Darien managed to locate the radio, which had fallen to the floor between his feet. He raised it to his lips and pressed the talk button, saying through clenched teeth, "Calvin to Hobbes, Calvin to Hobbes. Give me your sit-rep."

"What the hell is a sit-rep?" Bobby snapped irritably. Before Darien could reply, however, he heard Sophie's voice crackling faintly and incoherently over the speaker. After she finished her explanation Bobby's voice echoed out of the radio again, rather sheepish this time. "Uhhh, everything's quiet back here. No sign of the red-eyed drama queen."

Darien made a face, both pleased and displeased by the news. Pleased because it meant there was no danger as of yet, and displeased because it meant they would have to sit out here in the cold that much longer. "Same here, Hobbes." He debated on commenting on Bobby's having to discover what a sit-rep meant from, of all people, Sophie, but finally decided not to. Bobby had seemed embarrassed enough as it was. "Calvin out."

He reclined back in his seat and tucked his hands under his armpits, wishing that his car were just five degrees warmer. The only good thing about it being so chilled was that it kept him alert. Of course, he would have much preferred to have a mug of coffee in his hands; that would have kept him both attentive and warm.

And, naturally, thoughts of warmth led him to think of Sophie, her apparent crush on Bobby, and the many ways she might be trying to keep him warm. His hand immediately lunged for the radio. "Hobbes?"

"What, Calvin?" Bobby snapped.

Darien faltered, unsure of what to say. "Umm... you sure everything's OK over there?"

"Everything's fine. But it's freakin' cold out here!" Bobby grumbled incoherently for a moment and then asked, "How much longer before we can go home?"
Darien sighed. "Word of advice, Hobbesy -- do not ask questions to which you already know the answers."

A loud sigh echoed over the radio. "Damnit, Faw-- err, Calvin...."

Hey, you're not the only one who's unhappy about this," Darien snarled, his temper rising. "Just sit tight. Either she shows, or she doesn't. 'Till then, keep your eyes open. Calvin out." He dropped the radio in his lap and huffed in frustration. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into bed. After he took some painkillers, of course. Painkillers were absolutely mandatory.

**********

Bobby didn't know how much more torment he could take. Ever since he and Sophie had been sent to the backyard to make sure Allianora didn't slip in through the back door, Sophie had alternated between hitting on him, snipping at him when he turned down her advances, and shivering from the pervading chill in the air. In regard to the latter Bobby had offered her his jacket purely out of habit, but as this had only persuaded her to renew her seduction attempts he eventually took it back and moved as far away from her as was humanly possible.

"Stupid sex-crazed freak," he muttered, very happy that Sophie had decided to go and sulk in the opposite corner of the yard.

"Jerk!" Sophie yelled; whether in response to Bobby's comment or not, he couldn't be sure. He hadn't thought he had spoken loud enough for her to hear, but it was entirely possible that he had underestimated her sense of hearing. He was certainly angry enough.

Bobby decided that a verbal response would not be as effective as a physical one and sent a very rude gesture Sophie's way, quickly turning to look in the opposite direction before she had the chance to reciprocate. Darien was immeasurably lucky; after all, he had gotten to stay in the car! Bobby would have given his right arm to be in that warm, enclosed space instead of out here braving the elements and doing his best to ignore a woman who was not only ditzy but completely insane....

He was about to break the tense silence that had fallen upon the yard with another lewd comment when a rustling sound reached his ears. It was definitely not the wind, and as he turned around it became quite obvious that it was not being caused by Sophie either. It was coming from the ivy-covered fence on the far end of the yard.

He lifted the radio to his lips, hitting the talk button and whispering, "Fawkes, we've got company." Then he crouched low in the shadows, hoping that Sophie had the sense to do the same, at least until the moonlit figure that he could now see swinging its legs over the top of the fence had climbed the rest of the way down and moved close enough that it would not have the chance to escape when they tried to take it down.

As soon as the figure's feet touched the ground, Sophie drew her gun and rushed forward. "Freeze!"

Bobby tensed, ready to Quicksilver and leap forward if their quarry attempted to escape. But that proved unnecessary as the person turned around, revealing not Allianora but a pasty-faced teenage boy. He looked from Allianora to Bobby, an astonished expression on his face.

Sophie blinked in confusion. "What the hell?"

Not willing to dismiss the possibility of Allianora's presence just yet, Bobby scrambled for a look over the fence, then glanced back over at Sophie. "Nothing."

By now the boy had begun to recover his nerve. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and aiming a gun at my head? You've got no right to be here!"

Bobby frowned. "You've got no right to be here, either, you little thief." His mind had instantly leapt upon the most obvious conclusion.

The boy laughed derisively. "I'm no thief. Now tell Scully over there to stop aiming her gun at my head and beat it, before I call the cops."

"We are the cops," Sophie snapped, flashing her badge so quickly that all Bobby saw was a blur.

The teenager flinched, but didn't back down. "Yeah, well, I haven't done anything, so you might as well--"

The boy was interrupted as Darien flung open the back door of the house and stepped out into the yard, brandishing his gun in his free hand.

Bobby sighed; in all the craziness, he had forgotten to radio Darien about the false alarm. "Chill, Fawkes, it ain't her. We caught some wannabe punk instead." He frowned, looking at the boy's face more closely. "Looks kinda familiar."

Darien took one look at the boy, then holstered his gun, looking completely exhausted and frustrated. "He should. He's Minosa's son."