***

The soft rumble of contentment from his chest caused a responding vibration throughout Darien's body as he lay on the bed in that pleasant state between true sleep and annoying consciousness. He'd ended up sprawled on his back in the center of the bed with 'Chele curled atop him, and he could feel her head lying on his chest. His heart thumping slow and steady under her ear, her head rising and falling as he breathed, loose hairs tickling his chin every time he inhaled. He was comfortable and disinclined to wake up any further; he would gladly spend the entire day in this very position and take complete advantage of her nearness.

So the soft knock followed by the whispered brushing of the door across the rug was only vaguely acknowledged; he was aware of it, but for the moment was unconcerned. The likelihood that someone had gotten in here past a half dozen agents and Hobbes was slim to none.

Hobbes, whose hesitant voice could suddenly be heard, asked, "Uh, Miss?"

Darien felt a small shock run through him when 'Chele instantly replied, "Yes? Do you need to speak with Darien?"

Darien could hear the door swing open a bit further and the muffled sound of Hobbes stepping into the room. "Actually, I need to speak with you, if you don't mind." He sounded cautiously polite, as if still unsure how to handle her.

'Chele shifted, her chin coming to rest to the left of Darien's sternum and drawing him a step closer to truly waking. "Of course. Five minutes?"

"Sure." And with that the sound of the door swinging shut far faster that it had been opened was heard and was followed by a deep sigh from 'Chele.

Darien tried to force his eyes open, but they wanted no part of it and remained stubbornly closed, forcing him to settle on creating a mental image of how she looked based on past times they'd woken up in bed together in the pre-dawn hours. "Mmmmm," he tried, feeling the need to say something.

Her deep, rich chuckle echoed through his entire body. "Sleep, Dare," she whispered as she moved, slipping upwards along his body. He wanted to stop her, not wanting to lose the sense of peace that had fallen upon him with her lying at his side. Her lips brushing along his caused a soft groan to be drawn from deep within as his hand moved of its own free will to find its way up to cradle the back of her head. She deepened the kiss for one moment, his mouth opening in response as she took languorous advantage of his still mostly sleeping body. When she broke away Darien whimpered in reaction, ending this moment was not what he was interested in.

"Thank you," 'Chele said softly, even as her gratitude for being granted a much needed night's rest flowed across him. It was quickly followed by a sensation of calm, and a deep relaxation that drew him back towards the arms of Morpheus, whether or not he wanted to go there. Seconds later Michele was gone, physically, but, for some reason his dozing mind failed to understand; he could still feel her.

He listened as she entered the bathroom, the sound of running water having a white noise effect that pushed him even further towards true sleep... before voices some unknown time later drew him partway back.

"...van has suggested a change in plans," Hobbes was saying, his voice muffled.

There was quiet for several minutes before 'Chele spoke up. "I was afraid it would come to this, damn it." There was this shock of pain in her tone that struck Darien even as he still lay in the bed. "Can you pull this off?"

"Well, that depends..." Hobbes' disconcertment was plain to Darien after all this time. "How much of this is true?"

Darien guessed that Hobbes was referring to a file or something, and found his curiosity being roused along with his body. Sleep did suddenly not seem as necessary as knowing what was happening in the other room.

Eberts' voice broke in then, startling Darien. "This is highly classified information, Robert. Suffice it to say what's in this file is only the tip of a very large iceberg. She will be able to handle her end of things. Won't you, Miss MacTierney?" The question at the end held this hint of concern, which was at odds with the confidence expressed prior.

"I can do this, Agent Hobbes. Don't let the science geek cover fool you. I am perfectly capable of defending myself," Michele paused, and Darien could hear the irony in her voice when she spoke again. "I have a wide range of talents."

Hobbes grunted in acknowledgement, and Darien decided he probably should be out there for this discussion, especially since it sounded like they were planning how to get her someplace safe. He cracked his eyes open to stare about the still unfamiliar room, but his lids were pulled shut as a wave of peace and relaxation splashed across his senses, dragging him under the waves and into sleep. The instant before consciousness was completely wiped away he realized that he could still feel 'Chele... and that she was in the other room and out of direct contact with him. That realization, as shocking as it was to part of him, was still not enough to bring him back from the brink, and he sank into the deep water and dreams.

***

The fork stabbed down far more violently than necessary, the tines squealing across the plate to punctuate Darien's unhappiness with the plan as it currently stood. Admittedly, the simple fact 'Chele was going to be whisked away to places unknown didn't make him very happy. He'd finally gotten to see her for the first time in nearly three years and she was leaving, running away to hide from Jess and whomever he worked for. It reminded him eerily of when Alex had given up James, allowing the boy and his biological mother to vanish to parts unknown in hopes of keeping him safe from Stark and Chrysalis. Darien damn well knew how that one had turned out, though he was hoping to rectify that in the near future with yet another of his late night escapades.

Darien wanted Michele to stay, even though he knew as long as Jess was after her it would be impossible. Part of it was selfishness; he missed her, damn it, and even though they had stayed in contact, it just wasn't he same as having her by his side. Besides, 'Chele deserved better than living like a cornered fox, hounds nipping at her heels at every turn, but he wasn't sure how to keep her safe without sequestering her in the Agency's pitiful version of The Community. As usual, there seemed to be no easy answers or simple solutions.

"Hobbes, I don't like this plan. Its too much like..." Darien ducked his head, suddenly finding the food that he'd lost his appetite for far more interesting. "You know, Monroe."

"Fawkes," Hobbes warned. "Some things are still need to know, y'know."

"Is that the wonder agent who had to give up her baby, and it backfired?" 'Chele asked as she sipped the cup of coffee in her hands. At Hobbes' glare at Darien she added, "Darien was rather upset over the incident, but I promise you there were no details. He has a bit of a soft spot for kids, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed," Hobbes agreed with a shake of his head. "Look, we do it this way 'cause it works. What happened with Monroe was the exception. We all got played on that one." He picked up a doughnut and dunked it into his cup of coffee. "This'll go off without a hitch if you just follow the plan." He bit into his cruller for emphasis.

Darien poked listlessly at the French toast, and then let the fork drop with a clatter. "I think I should ride with her. I'll sit in back..."

Hobbes hurriedly swallowed. "No can do, Fawkes. I need you on point watching for trouble. You see stuff no one else does half the time, and I need you there for that reason."

Darien wasn't buying it, certain Hobbes was just trying to get him out of the way so the Official could pull some switcheroo where 'Chele was concerned. "Hobbes..."

"Darien," 'Chele interceded, one hand coming to rest atop his. "Do you trust Hobbes?"

There was no hesitation in Darien's answer, "With my life."

"Then trust him with mine," 'Chele stated softly, a certainty in her voice and eyes that he could not dismiss out of hand.

He noticed the way her other hand kept playing with the ruby hanging off the chain; the one he'd given to her. He knew that she wore it pretty much all the time, especially since their enforced separation, but today her toying with it seemed almost wistful instead of her usual habit. "You sure about this?" Darien asked her, shifting his hand to hold hers.

"I'm sure," she told him, giving him one of her brilliant smiles. "With the two of you to protect me, what could possibly go wrong?" her tone was facetious and Darien grinned.

Hobbes snorted. "To borrow a phrase, the mind boggles."

"Jeeze, Hobbes, great confidence builder there," Darien sniped, reaching out to swipe the remains of the doughnut from his partner's grasp.

"Hey," Hobbes complained, but then pulled another one out of the box. He offered it to Michele, who politely shook her head and released the jewel about her neck to pick up her coffee again. Darien noticed when Hobbes' eyes fell upon their still clasped hands and was relieved when the no-fishing nazi didn't comment. Right now, Darien didn't want to let go.

***

The blades on the helicopter slowly rotated about, the pilot keeping the engine warmed up for the arrival of the lone vehicle that was bringing Michele in for her rendezvous. There were seven agents secreted about this nearly abandoned airfield lying in the valley between dusty foothills southeast of the city. It might have been an El Nino winter, but you'd never know it by the dun-colored land that lay all about them. The only real color was the silver and rust brown hanger that Darien leaned back against, his eyes squinting even behind the dark lenses of the sunglasses he wore.

There were stacks of old crates, the remains of an ancient plane and assorted 50 gallon drums that the other agents were hiding behind, making this place look just as deserted as it had been before they'd arrived in the convoy of Agency POS vehicles. The cars were hidden behind some taller than normal brush and covered in desert camouflage netting that Hobbes had scrounged from somewhere, with the tracks efficiently brushed away.

He glanced down to check his watch, and chuckled as he realized it was gone: a silver-eyed redhead having swiped it the night before and had failed to return it. Her own style of pick-pocketing; blatant and obvious and yet somehow he still failed to call her on it even after all these years.

He knew for a fact 'Chele could lift things as well as he when she wanted to, he'd spent one entire summer teaching her the skill and helping her perfect her technique. He tipped his head up to find the sun and attempt to estimate the time based on its location in the sky, like he was some super boy-scout or something, when he knew that it was Hobbes' job in this partnership.

"Fawkes, the package has arrived," crackled in Darien's ear and he recognized the voice of Franklin, who had the joyous task of watching the road from the unenviable position in the brush on the hillside.

"Got it," Darien responded, then switched frequencies to speak directly to Kingsly, the pilot of the whirly-bird on the sand-covered tarmac. "Gentlemen, start your engines."

"Roger," was the reply, followed by the sound of the engine rumbling to life, the blades beginning to speed up rotation in preparation of a hasty exit.

Darien made his way to the far end of the hangar and peeked around the corner. He spotted the dust cloud that had to be from the transport vehicle; a quarter mile behind it was another heavier dust cloud that could only mean one thing. "Uh, Franklin, what's that coming up behind the transport vehicle?"

There was a soft curse and then the sound of movement before there was a rushed response. "Two more vehicles. They are not ours. Repeat , they are not ours."

"Shit," Darien swore softly.

"Should I warn the transport vehicle?" Franklin asked.

Darien took a couple of seconds to think about it, as he was in charge of the team here, much to his surprise. "No, maintain radio silence," Darien ordered. Hobbes was in the car with 'Chele and Henderson so it wasn't very likely that the followers hadn't been noticed or planned for. "Pull in closer as rearguard, but stay out of sight."

"Roger," Franklin replied, and Darien had to fight the sudden urge to ask who 'Roger' was.

The sleek black sedan the Official had managed to borrow for this came into view and Darien moved back into his position where he could see the helicopter. The engines' roar covered the sound of the car as it came around the far side of the building to a stop in the foreground and a good twenty feet away from the helicopter. He had a perfect view of the car and watched as Hobbes climbed out of the passenger seat to look about warily before leaning back into the vehicle for a second.

Henderson exited his side a moment later, moved to the rear door and swung it open just as one of the unknown cars came flying right past Darien, having circled about the building, to slide to a stop sideways in front of the transport car. The second car pulled the same stunt, only blocking any possible retreat.

Nearly every single agent he was in direct contact with barked "Fawkes," in Darien's ear.

"Move up, but stay outta sight," Darien ordered. "Do not move in until Hobbes says to." Hobbes had been insistent about this part. Darien and the other agents were to stay out of sight and let things play out. They were only to intervene if gunplay began.

Not that Darien was carrying a gun in this adventure; he could count the number of occasions he'd actually carried a gun on a mission since successfully passing his agent's exam on one hand. So he was, of course, not surprised when black suited men boiled out of both cars with guns in hand. He recognized one of the men standing by the car blocking the Agency car's retreat, even with the dark glasses that shock of blond hair and superior smile on his face was a dead give away. Jess Stevenson.

The men in the other car began firing, hitting the Agency sedan and instantly flattening both front tires, hitting the radiator, which sent a burst of superheated steam into the air and puncturing the front windshield in three places.

"Move in. Return fire," Hobbes shouted, breaking the silence even as he ducked behind the open door and fired back.

The Agency personnel came out of their hiding places, the gunshots loud even over the roar of the helicopter engine and sent Jess' goons scrambling for cover. Darien watched all this in growing dismay and concern, stray bullets pinging into the metal structure near him and into the assorted wooden crates and pallets. A few even hit the helicopter, but without any obvious effect.

"Hobbes," Darien radioed, hoping to get some clue for how to end this standoff with none of their people getting hurt.

"Stay put, Fawkes," was the shouted order followed by another volley of gunfire and Hobbes nailing two of Jess' men before him. "Henderson, are we clear."

"Negative. The package has not been delivered," Henderson responded as he too took a few shots, firing at those who were boxing them in from the rear.

"Crap," Darien muttered, knowing the package was Michele and that this meant she had not left the car and gotten into the helicopter as planned. She was currently trapped with no easy way out unless Jess and his men backed off.

Dread settled into his belly like an indelible piece of granite as he looked over the area, trying to see a way to force a resolution and found his eyes settling upon the gathering of metal drums. Raising his glasses and squinting against the glare he could just make out the faded remains of a red triangle surrounding a flame painted upon several and somehow knew with a certainty that bordered on precognition that the drums weren't empty. Weren't filled with something as innocuous as potable water, that they were most certainly filled with jet fuel of one type or another, as he could remember Hobbes mentioning that drug runners used this airstrip. It made sense that they'd kept a fuel supply nearby and that they maintained it so poorly, for it would attract little or no attention in this state.

As he stood there the distinctive plink of several of the drums being hit could be heard and he could only watch as the liquid contained within began to pour out over the dust-coated tarmac. It dampened the ground, pooled and then, as if Murphy himself had stepped in and directed it, it began to flow in the direction of the car and helicopter.

"Hobbes, you got trouble," Darien hissed into the mic.

"No shit, Fawkes," Hobbes snapped, then swore quite creatively when the window of the door he'd been shielding himself with shattered, the shot having come from behind. "Henderson, Kingsly, fall back,"

"Hobbes?" Darien shouted in confusion.

"The package..." Henderson began.

"Fall back," Hobbes repeated, cutting off the other man's words.

Darien listened, stunned, not willing to believe that Hobbes was just going to abandon 'Chele to Jess even as it seemed that was exactly what was happening. But as Darien watched, Hobbes ducked into a crouch and raced away from the car, with not one shot fired in his direction. The copter came under heavy fire then; the pilot staying until the engine itself was hit, adding smoke and flames to the chaos that was in control at the moment. Running for his life, the pilot took off for the decrepit plane that lay on the far side of the airfield and away from the battle going on. Henderson, however, held his position, not willing or perhaps not able to get away.

The feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong increased suddenly and somehow Darien knew 'Chele was in trouble, that whatever had been planned had gone horribly fubar. More shots were fired, and as if it was ordained from above, the ultimate movie cliche played itself out before his eyes. One of the stray bullets twanged off the concrete and created a spark, which then had the audacity to land in the vicinity of the slowly flowing liquid and igniting the fumes that hovered about it with a soft whoosh.

"Hobbes," Darien pleaded at a shout as the flames raced in two directions at once: back towards the drums and towards the car that Michele was still in.

"Hold your ground," Hobbes ordered, yet again, much to Darien's total disbelief.

Could Hobbes be so angry over the whole not knowing about 'Chele thing that he'd let her die? Darien refused to believe it, yet he was watching the scene play out before his eyes. A few more gunshots and Henderson went down, injured, but not dead based on the string of imprecations coming across the headset from the man.

A wave a total fear raced across Darien's senses then, and he felt the Quicksilver flow across him in reaction. Before he realized he'd even moved he found himself halfway across the tarmac with Hobbes shouting in his ear.

"I said hold position, you idiot." From the sound of it Hobbes was completely pissed, but Darien didn't care. He yanked the earpiece out and let it dangle down his back, intentionally ignoring the tinny voice of his partner who continued to shout at him.

Jess' men were cautiously moving in to secure the car; the flaming gasoline had reached the front end of the sedan, and the helicopter was going nowhere without some major repairs. Completing the mad dash across the open expanse, thankful the gunfire had essentially stopped, Darien raced around the rear end of the car and got Henderson to his feet. "Go," Darien's ghostly voice hissed. "Drop your gun and go. They won't fire on you."

Henderson forced himself to his feet, applying pressure to his shoulder with the opposite hand, blood flowing out between his fingers. He staggered away towards the helicopter and under the tail, heading to the same area where the pilot had taken cover.

Darien looked into the rear of the car and saw 'Chele struggling to sit up, her eyes more than a little wild, which was understandable given the situation. As usual, things had gone straight to hell in a major way. He reached out, set a hand on her shoulder and let the Quicksilver flow across her. By feel he got a good hold on her upper arm and helped her out of the car, then, knowing time was running out, he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the nearest solid structure they could hide behind. Turned out to be a stack of crates partially covered in a tattered tarp. It was too near to Jess by far, but his choices were currently limited. He headed about the pile, putting it between both the Agency sedan and Jess, that feeling of imminent doom making his skin crawl and causing him to hunch protectively over Michele.

They just made it behind the stack when the first explosion rocked the area. He went to a crouch, holding 'Chele close in hopes of protecting her from any flying debris, which began to pepper the area before them. Pieces smacked into the pile with solid thunks. Two more explosions followed, and flaming pieces of car began to rain down about them. Darien recognized one of the side mirrors from the car when it landed just three feet in front of them, the black paint bubbling and still smoking.

Seconds later shouts of pure frustration rang out from the rat-bastard himself - Jess - and shortly thereafter the squealing tires of two cars getting the hell away while the getting was good. Now that things were relatively safe, Darien uncurled and looked down at 'Chele who was still in his arms, glowing a gorgeous electric blue to his Quicksilvered eyes.

That stopped his brain for a long second. "Hey, how come you're blue?" he asked, certain his confusion was evident in his tone.

"Huh?" 'Chele responded, as she shifted in an attempt to sit up a bit more.

"Its just that when I usually Quicksilver stuff it gets this golden aura, not blue." Darien's mouth had apparently reasoned out that need to know was no longer an issue, especially not when 'Chele was covered in the biggest need to know the Agency and he had.

"Maybe 'cause it not your Quicksilver," 'Chele replied with a bit of a laugh. "And you are a very pretty shade of gold, by the way." The laughter died and became a whimper.

Darien could see the outline of one of her arms moving, the hand pressing against her side. He dropped the Quicksilver and she went from a glowing outline to nothing, a damn cold nothing lying sprawled across his thighs. "Come on, 'Chele, show yourself," he pleaded, his voice soft.

With a groan that was quite obviously pain, the Quicksilver cascaded off her body, her hand raised up for both of them to easily see. It was covered in blood.

"I think I've been shot," she stated, then her eyes rolled back and she went completely limp in his hold, her hand dropping to lie across her abdomen.

"Oh no," Darien said in a shockingly small voice. This couldn't be happening... he couldn't be losing her. He'd lost too damn many people recently to let her go that easily. "'Chele, baby, don't do this to me." A shaky hand lifted and set fingers to her throat to find a less than steady beat, but at least he knew she was still alive. He just had to keep her that way. Darien looked her over, he spotted the dark stain spreading across her gray t-shirt, and lifted the edge of her cardigan away to reveal the hole through her shirt; there was even a singe mark along the edge of the sweater from the bullet's high-speed passage.

Darien moved the shirt and gasped at the amount of blood flowing from the seemingly small hole, and for the first time he noticed that his shirt and slacks were covered with it. "Damn it, no." He did the first thing that came to mind, Quicksilvered his hand and set it against the open wound, the blood congealing and freezing in a matter of seconds. He shook it off as it flaked away and reached beneath her to see if there was an exit wound. He wasn't sure whether to be relived or worried that there wasn't one, which meant the bullet was still buried inside her. Hell, she could be bleeding internally, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

"Wake up for me, Michele. I need you here. With me. Please." The last was a plea that was torn from him, surprising even himself with exactly how deeply he cared about her, loved her. She didn't so much as even moan in pain, her body still limp and unresponsive in his arms. He needed to get her help and soon.

Completely forgetting about the headset he still wore, Darien shouted at the top of his lungs, "Hobbes!"