***
So many people have come into my life, only to be torn out of it again, that I was beginning to come to expect it. The one constant, the one person who had always been there was Michele, and now, willingly or not, it was looking like she was going to be leaving me behind as well.
Some smartass, with far more eloquence than I could ever manage, said, "It's weird... You know the end of something great is coming, but you want to hold on, just for one more second...just so it can hurt a little more... because that's all you have."
I hate good-byes.
Darien wasn't sure of the time, only that it must be after dawn based on the light oozing in around the curtains. Early, he suspected, given his reluctance to wake up any further, but he wasn't overly surprised when a soft knock on the bedroom door was followed by his partner poking his head into the room.
"Fawkes," Hobbes hissed at a stage whisper.
"Yeah?" Darien responded, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. Not that he minded the loss for one instant.
"We got word and need to get moving soon."
Darien couldn't decide if Hobbes sounded amused or regretful for having disturbed them. Evidence, in the form of pieces of clothing strewn all over the room, made it clear what he and 'Chele had spent the overnight hours doing. "Be out in a few, 'kay?" Darien mumbled around a yawn.
"Thirty minutes, my friend, can't afford no more," Hobbes insisted, followed by the door clicking shut a second later.
With a sigh, Darien wrapped his arms tighter about Michele, who was curled against him on her left side with her face pressed against his chest. He kissed her on the top of her head, breathing in the scent that was a mingling of both of them. His scent as heavy upon her as hers was sure to be upon him.
"Kitten, I hate to do this..." Hate was putting it mildly, if he had his way they'd be spending the next several weeks in bed, venturing out only when needs demanded it. He didn't want to let go, wanted to hold on now and forever, never mind the unfeasibility of it.
"I know," she stated, her breath warm across his skin. "Just... 15 minutes, please?"
"You got it, 'Chele." It was the easiest request to fill of any he'd received in recent memory. Their legs were tangled together, his arms wrapped about her tiny body while hers were tucked up under her chin, the fingers of one hand making slow circles on his skin. She heaved a single huge sigh, the only emotional sign that she seemed to be willing to allow herself right now.
He hated this, hated the fact that after everything, after finally getting it straight, finally knowing this was where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with, that she had to leave and that he would let her go. His mind caught on that one. Though he had promised to not wait for her while she was gone, that promise would be invalidated if they were still together. Admittedly, they couldn't be together here, but...
"'Chele, I could go with you," he suggested, the idea striking him as a reasonable compromise for the situation. "The 'Fish obviously has an interest in protecting you; he could assign me and Hobbes as your security or bodyguards temporarily."
Michele wiggled free of his arms and propped her head up to put them on a more even level. "Even if Charlie were willing to give you up for a while, it wouldn't work. D, you'd be a distraction at a time when I won't be able to afford any, and you'd be bored out of your mind."
Darien seriously thought about that, especially since he had no idea what her learning to control her abilities would entail. "I'm pretty sure I could handle the boredom, sweets. I do have more than a few hobbies that could keep me busy, y'know." He lifted a hand to play with the loose curls that framed her face; hobbies were something he'd become a master at collecting since becoming the not-so-proud owner of one 17 million-dollar invisibility gland.
"Darien... Would you be happy? Spending all day doing little more than waiting for something... anything to happen?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't be enough for you even with me as a consolation prize, and I would be far less worried about you knowing you were still here making the world a safer place for everyone and not just me." Her gaze became startlingly serious. "I wasn't kidding when I said what you were doing was important." She grasped his hand and kissed the palm.
"'Chele..." He was getting tired of her being all logical at him and so damnably correct. "I'm gonna miss you, kitten."
"Yeah, well, we're both used to that by now. It won't be forever, Dare." She gave his hand a squeeze.
"But what if... something happens to you? How will I know?" Darien couldn't stop himself from voicing the potential worse case scenario. He'd lost too many people in recent years to not consider it.
"In the event something were to happen to me, Agent Corvan will get in touch with you," 'Chele assured him.
"You trust this guy?" Darien didn't bother to hide the hint of uncertainty, after everything he'd been through reserving trust was a necessity.
"As much as I trust you, Darien," she said seriously. "That good enough for you?"
"It'll have to be."
***
The Official had come through yet again, even after having the last borrowed vehicle blow up unexpectedly, which had made Hobbes comment that keeping the Doc around might not be a bad idea if the Chief were willing to keep providing nifty toys for her. Darien pointed out the fact that the first three cars they'd been forced to endure while driving all over the damn county to throw off any possibility of being followed had all been heaps that had made Golda look like a prize thoroughbred in comparison. All of this had simply caused Michele to laugh, which may have been Hobbes' ultimate intent, as the tension had been thick enough to slice at that point.
So, they were currently ensconced in the back of a classy black limousine that they'd picked up down in Chula Vista. Hobbes sat facing the rear of the car; watching out the rear window on the off chance anyone had managed to tail them this far. Timmens was behind the wheel with a heavily armed Kingsly sitting beside him; both men had volunteered for driving duty, which was usually considered one of the more boring jobs at the Agency, right up there with stake-outs. Michele, without ever intending to, had earned the respect of the men assigned to protect her, and she didn't even seem to realize it.
Bobby checked his weapon, and then adjusted the dark sunglasses he wore yet again, a habit Darien knew signaled his partner's paranoid wariness. Not necessarily a bad thing in this situation. They'd lost the tail sometime after the second car change and, of course, that had Hobbes worried though he'd made a point of saying nothing aloud, but Darien could see it. Bobby would not relax until 'Chele had been safely delivered to this Agent Corvan, and even then he might very well annoy Eberts to discover that confirmation of them arriving at the secret location had been received.
Darien watched as Hobbes went through his routine of glancing out the windows and then once again settled his gaze upon the clasped hands of Darien and 'Chele where they lay atop his thigh, but the expected commentary still failed to occur. In fact, conversation had been sadly lacking for the last 90 minutes, ratcheting the tension right back up to a nearly intolerable level in the close confines of the limo.
'Chele sat quietly next to Darien, their arms just barely touching, seemingly confident that his plan would work without the intrusion of Murphy this time.
Hobbes cleared his throat. "So, Fawkes, you ever meet this Corvan?" He tried to sound casual, but after all the surprises of the last few days there was a definite hint of... something behind the words.
It was, however, Michele who answered, "No, Darien has never met Agent Corvan."
The emphasis on the man's name was unmistakable, but Darien had no idea what it meant and turned to look at her. It was good thing he held her hand, for the blank look on her face gave nothing away, while at the same time he got a feeling of 'go with it' prodding at the back of his mind. He ran his thumb along the side of her hand to acknowledge that he'd received her unspoken request.
"She's right, never met him. Never even heard of him 'til three days ago. Must be a friend of her brother's." A reasonable supposition on his part, since he knew Michael worked for the government, CIA the last time he checked. Darien figured this Corvan was one of Mike's friends that 'Chele could contact when her twin wasn't available. "Why?"
Hobbes grunted softly. "Did some research on him. He's..." He paused, and though he didn't move, it was obvious that his focus had switched to Michele.
"He's what?" Darien prompted. "French?" He was trying to add some levity to the situation and, thankfully, it worked.
"No," Hobbes said around a chuckle. "Most of his file is sealed and what isn't, is some of the most impressive work I've seen in my career and that includes Monroe's," he explained. "Makes a person wonder how you," The word was aimed at 'Chele, "know the guy."
She shrugged. "I've made my share of contacts over the years." It was clear she was not going to give up anything else.
Hobbes eyed Darien over the top of his glasses. "Taught her more than just cracking safes, did you?"
"Years of mutual corruption, my friend," Darien confirmed with a grin.
'Chele nudged him with her shoulder. "Which I expect to continue, bub," she commented in all seriousness. "I hope to pick your brain in order to improve my Quicksilvering skill. My fine control isn't anywhere near as good as yours," she told Darien directly, ignoring the way Hobbes shook his head in obvious dismay.
"Hobbes, she knows," Darien informed his disbelieving partner. 'Chele tipped her head up to gaze calmly at him with a sad smile. "And so do I." With the voicing of those words, he finally allowed the reality of the situation to fully sink in. Part of him had been denying the truth all along, the faint hope that there was some sort of way out of this insisting on making itself heard even when presented with all the facts, all the evidence.
'Chele was leaving, going into hiding; they'd even 'killed' her in hopes of muddying the trail for just long enough to allow her to get somewhere safer. She was being forced into the very situation she had pointedly said she wouldn't wish on anyone and yet, here she was walking into it without a complaint. He knew she would never be safe until Jess and his employers were dealt with, and even then she wouldn't really be safe. Darien could just imagine what Stark and his looney toons friends would do with Michele, or the MSS or even worse... Arnaud.
It was obvious she had realized all of this long before she had requested help from the Official, while Darien was only just now getting it. A day late and a dollar short as usual. "Yeah, she knows," Darien repeated somberly.
Hobbes' gaze wandered from Darien to Michele, then he nodded slowly. "I can tell."
Kingsly spoke up then, half-turning to face the threesome in the rear of the car as the interior divider slid downward. "We've arrived at the rendezvous point."
Hobbes glanced at his watch. "Right on time," he observed. "Far end of the runway, like requested."
Less than five minutes later, the car was parked at the pre-arranged location with both Darien and Bobby leaning back against the passenger side of the car awaiting the arrival of the mysterious Agent Corvan. Darien was not liking the set-up at all, though it was the smaller Montgomery Field north of downtown, it was still surrounded on all sides by buildings - both residential and industrial. Hell, I-163 was spitting distance away and still heavy with traffic, even though it was well past the usual rush hour.
Darien turned slightly as the tinted front passenger window lowered to reveal Kingsly, one hand wrapped firmly about the barrel of the M-16 and the other pointing down the far end of the runway. "There she is. We got confirmation on the radio as well." The small speck in the pale blue sky was swiftly growing larger.
"Good." Hobbes' seemingly relaxed demeanor was all a front, Darien could tell. His partner was wound tighter than a drum, and ready to go off at the first hint of trouble.
The plane quickly resolved itself into a sleek private jet, like those used by the rich and powerful. Even to Darien's untrained ears, the machine sounded powerful as it landed smoothly and taxied towards their position. It was a slick-looking piece of machinery done in an uncharacteristic shade of black. He thought he could make out an emblem near the front of the plane, but it had been painted over, making it impossible to decipher.
The door popped open as soon as it came to a full stop and a set of stairs unfolded, followed by a matched pair of agents in the mandatory black suits and dark glasses.
"Agent Hobbes?" the one on the left queried in an authoritative tone.
"Maybe. Who wants to know?" Hobbes responded challengingly.
The man chose not to respond in the same manner, his inflection not changing in the slightest. "Agent Hobbes, it is our understanding that you have a package for us."
Darien was learning to seriously dislike the euphemism package in ways he never thought possible. Michele was not just some inanimate object, some generic bit of data they were here to collect. She was a person, a warm living, loving person who deserved far better than to be treated like a thing. Based on the undertone in Hobbes' reply, he was thinking along the same lines.
"We're to deliver... it to Agent Corvan and no one else," Hobbes insisted, one hand moving to rest atop the butt of his gun. Not precisely a threat, Darien knew, but definitely a warning.
"That you are," a new voice agreed from the doorway of the plane.
Darien's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the imposing man straightening at the top of the steps. He was wearing a near-identical suit and glasses to the other agents, but he radiated a presence that could not be denied. This, however, was not what left Darien momentarily frozen in surprise; it was the fact that he knew the man. His appearance had changed little since the last time they'd met in person; the same close-cropped near-black hair, same deceptively slim build that, though similar, was bulkier than Darien's own. The same youthful good looks that shared a subtle similarity to the woman sitting in the limousine that only those very familiar with the family would recognize.
Now, Darien understood why 'Chele had asserted that he didn't know Agent Corvan, as he knew the man as Michael MacTierney, Michele's twin brother. This Corvan must be an alias that he worked under in order to distance himself and his work from the family, a not too uncommon happenstance in the spook business.
As Corvan reached the bottom of the stairs, he removed the glasses to reveal the distinctive eye coloring that Darien remembered. One eye was hazel, with brilliant green and gold striations buried within it and the other half-blue and half-green divided vertically just left of center, a feature that made him as memorable as 'Chele's vivid red hair. One of the older agent's eyebrows quirked upwards, the only acknowledgment that he remembered exactly who Darien was.
"Agents Fawkes and Hobbes," Corvan intoned with a nod towards each. "Time is of the essence, so if you would..." He gestured at the car in an obvious request to hurry this along.
"Not so fast," Hobbes growled, not yet ready to let Michele go with this stranger without some more proof, or so Darien assumed.
"Hobbes..." Darien set a hand on his friend's shoulder, touched at his unwavering defense of 'Chele yet again. "He's legit."
Bobby gave Darien the once over, as if wondering what he knew or saw that convinced him, but then the cautious agent relaxed ever so slightly in acquiescence. Hobbes shifted, opened the rear passenger door and held out a hand, which was taken by 'Chele who stood as he backed away.
Timmens had gotten out of the car and moved to the trunk to retrieve her assorted bags, which he carried over to the blank-faced agents, who marched them up the stairs and into the plane.
"Mikas," 'Chele said with a tip of her head.
"Doctor," Corvan returned, showing only minimal recognition of the fact that it was his twin sister standing before him.
Darien stared down at the dusty tarmac between his shoes, not wanting to watch 'Chele just walk out of his life, so he was surprised when her earnest features appeared in his line of sight. "Michele," he breathed, the syllables of her name catching in his throat. He wasn't sure he could do this, could actually face her and say 'good-bye.'
"No good-byes," 'Chele told him as she took both his hands into hers. He could feel the tightly rolled piece of paper that she pressed against his right palm. "I will be back, you got me?"
He closed his hands more tightly about hers and swallowed with some difficulty; this was turning out to be even harder than he'd thought. Saying good-by to Kate had been easy in comparison, watching Adam do the bravest thing in his young life was ranking as a near-tie, however. It was just that... letting go had never been something he'd been very good at, which was why for so many years he'd refrained from making any close friends. Never making attachments beyond those he'd already accumulated, fences, lifting buddies, contacts, people who had as much interest in remaining uninvolved as he did. The few real friendships he'd held onto he treasured, and the new ones he'd made were priceless. He was willing to give up none of them.
Instead of the half-dozen emotionally charged statements he wanted to say he simply said, "Take care, 'Chele."
"I will," she assured him as she went to her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss, then she whispered in his ear, "Safe, just like I promised you." She slid her hand away and closed his about the piece of paper and then stepped back from him, still holding his other hand.
She turned to Bobby. "Watch his back for him, would you?" she requested softly.
"I will, Doc. Now get moving before these mooks start getting cranky." He nodded at the plane and the agents waiting for her to finish her farewells.
She sighed dramatically. "I suppose." She gave Darien's hand a last squeeze, a wordless wave of love tinged with regret washing across his senses, only to be cut off when she let go. Her eyes glowed brightly when she met his, then she straightened her shoulders and turned away. With a calm assurance wrapped about her she walked to the plane, greeted her brother with a handshake and then mounted the steps without a backward glance.
Darien stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched as the stairs retracted and the door sealed shut, the engines already revving in preparation for take-off. He half-expected Hobbes to suggest they get moving now that their part in this drama was complete, but he just stood there with his arms folded across his chest as the jet began moving, turning about and taxiing into position for a swift leave-taking. Neither man said a word until the plane had launched itself into the sky and vanished in the distance.
Hobbes cleared his throat. "You settle things between the two of you?"
Darien shrugged. "Pretty much."
"Then why the Dear John letter?" Hobbes asked blandly.
"The what?" Darien was good and confused.
"The note she slipped you," Hobbes pointed out. "Shame though. I didn't think she was the type to do that."
Darien rolled his eyes, fished the paper out of his pocket where he'd shoved it and unfolded it. Bobby tried to sneak a peek, but Darien set a hand atop the shorter man's head and held him arm's length away as he read the little that was there. First was an emphatic and heavily underlined 'Call me!' followed by a phone number that he recognized as one of her secure lines that was under a different name, and she used when keeping her anonymity was of importance. The second was a long string of numbers and letters, a web address and what he guessed was a password. He stared at the information for several minutes, trying to puzzle out just what the hell it was. It was remembering her whispered words that gave him the clue he needed.
"Crap," he muttered softly as realization sank in. It had to be the money from that last job, she must have cashed the bonds, made a deposit into some offshore account and been watching it for him all this time. He had to wonder how many times she had sent the information to him over the years only to have it intercepted by the Official, which would explain Michele's confusion about his rainy day money to have dried up over the last few years. She'd kept her word... just like always.
"Fawkes?" Hobbes sounded concerned, as if ready to console a broken hearted friend.
"It's not a Dear John letter, Hobbes," Darien told him as he refolded the paper and stuffed it back into his pocket.
"No? Then what?" Hobbes asked in curiosity.
Darien lifted his head to gaze at the cloudless bold blue sky above them. "Oh, just... something for a rainy day."
