---

Fallon had made her way about the huge room until hidden as optimally as she could manage in a short span of time. It was near an unguarded tunnel entrance that she knew linked up with the main route out of the mine. She also knew Fawkes had been told to start some trouble and provide a bit of a distraction, but somehow missed his move. All she knew was the conversation between Papadopoulos and Westgaard went from the over-polite end of meet normalcy to shouts of anger. Westgaard and his gurriers accusing Papadopoulos of reneging on the deal and him arguing, half in Greek, that he'd done nothing of the sort and then throw the same accusation right back.

'Bloody hell.' That voice. She would never forget that voice, but it wasn't enough. Her opportunity came when the table was shoved violently by Aristid, and conveniently cleared her line of sight. She snapped off a half dozen shots with the camera, at least one of which would be usable she was certain of that; the flash revealing the face still hidden in the darkness manufactured by the creatively angled lighting.

Pretty much as she expected, the camera flash was misinterpreted as a muzzle flash, thus making it a bleedin' near perfect distraction. With a snarl, Westgaard pulled his gun and fired point blank at Aristid, placing the bullet neatly between his eyes. He was dead before he even realized that the tide had turned against him. One of his men managed to get off a shot, putting down the man to Westgaard's left. That was quickly followed by a shout from above.

"Federal agents, freeze!"

The response was, not so surprisingly, gunfire.

Fallon pulled her Glock and took out two of the guards. "Murphy, go," she said into the mike, breaking the radio silence she'd maintained the last few minutes.

"Understood," he confirmed, and she could be confident in the knowledge that he would get the Agency men out of here, dragging them by force, if necessary.

She lay down some cover fire, drawing attention to herself. And it worked. Maybe a bit too well as Tor... Oh, it was definitely him, those eyes were unmistakable, stepped out into the light, giving her a clear view of his face, and caused her to do the very last thing she expected: she froze.

---

Darien got to his feet, both items in his possession, and booked it for the stairs, hoping to not get shot by a stray bullet when they started flying about like angry bees. "Hobbes," he whispered, "I got the stuff."

"Good. Now get the hell out of Dodge," Hobbes barked as the situation on the floor went from bad to downright ugly.

Darien charged up the stairs just as the exchange of deadly bits of lead began in earnest. "Fallon," he called out, shedding the Quicksilver as he reached the top of the stairs. He was just in time to see Westgaard put a bullet into Aristid.

That's when Hobbes shouted, "Federal agents, freeze," which was effective in doing nothing more than have gunfire ringing off the walls around them. Darien dropped to the floor to avoid being hit. He caught sight of Fallon standing out in the open and doing a marvelous impression of a target. All that was missing was the giant bull's eye and a sign reading 'shoot me.'

"Fawkes, move it," Murphy ordered between shots.

Darien balked, not wanting to leave Fallon behind, even though he knew he should, knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Of course, that's when Westgaard stepped into the light, raised his gun, and shot her.

"Crap," Darien hissed. "Hobbes, heads up."

Hobbes' head snapped about and Darien shoved the pair of items at him, then got to his feet and ran for the stairs with his partner's "Fawkes," ringing in his ears.

He slid down the railing just like before, only faster if that was possible, Quicksilvering as soon as he hit the floor and ran for where Fallon was struggling to sit up. Westgaard was pacing towards her; his gun at the ready and an oddly disconcerted look on his face. Fallon ripped the mask off, looking decidedly angry.

"Gonna try to finish the job this time?" she growled, pushing herself up to her knees. She was probably in pain; vests might stop the bullets from penetrating, but it still hurt like hell. Darien remembered all too well.

Westgaard stopped cold, his arm lowering as he stared at her. This gave Darien more than enough time to get to her.

Memory clicked and Westgaard hissed, "You."

Darien let the Quicksilver flow across Fallon and tugged her towards the stairs. Instead of the expected, 'what the hell' or the equivalent, she grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him in the opposite direction. "This way."

---

Charles Darwin in his famous, or infamous, if you prefer, book The Origin of Species wrote, "In the struggle for survival, the fittest win out at the expense of their rivals because they succeed in adapting themselves best to their environment."

In this day and age, the phrase 'survival of the fittest' was usually reserved for the boardroom or political arenas. Usually. I was about to become reacquainted with its original and far more threatening meaning in a big way.

---

"Fawkes," Hobbes shouted as his partner bolted for the staircase. "Why you stupid frickin' punk. Get your scrawny ass back here so's I can kick it into next week." Fawkes, not surprisingly, failed to respond. Oh, Bobby was so gonna kill him once they were back home.

"Agent Hobbes," Murphy bellowed as he lay down some covering fire. "Grab the swag and let's go."

Hobbes holstered his weapon and did so almost without a thought. Staying low, they backed away, needing to put a solid wall between them and the deadly projectiles flying about. A last glance below showed O'Neill getting slowly to her feet, the vest she'd been wearing having done its job to keep her alive. However, Westgaard was right there; his gun trained on her head this time.

"Move," Murphy growled. "Need t'get you outta here."

Hobbes dug in his heels; getting under cover so they wouldn't get shot was one thing, leaving his partner was another. "We need to wait for Fawkes and O'Neill," he shouted, not caring who heard. "Cover 'em when they..."

"No," Murphy interrupted. "They ain't coming." He grabbed Hobbes' jacket collar and physically dragged him down the tunnel, back the way they had come.

Hobbes dropped the briefcase and pulled his Colt, stuffing it right up under Murphy's left ear. He wisely held perfectly still, but that was it. "Spill," Hobbes ordered; his tone as cold and threatening as he could manage.

"I'm following the plan and getting you outta here," Murphy explained, turning slowly around to meet Hobbes' wary gaze.

"This wasn't part of the plan," Hobbes asserted, the gun now tucked up under the larger man's chin.

Murphy smiled. "Not your plan, no. Fallon's."

Hobbes felt a murderous rage rise up like a tsunami seeking a shore to crash upon. "I knew it. You can't trust a merc. Double-crossing little bi..."

Murphy moved, his hands a blur as they snapped up, one to grasp Hobbes' gun hand and the other coming down on his elbow. In an instant Hobbes was disarmed. "If we were going to double-cross you, why would it be my job to get you out of here?"

Okay, a valid point. "So, then what? What does she want with Fawkes?" As if he didn't know.

Murphy shook his head in obvious dismay. "You don't get it, I'm s'posed to get both you and Fawkes out."

Hobbes blanked. The sentence repeating over and over in his mind as tried to make sense of it.

Murphy sighed, picked up the briefcase, and gestured for Hobbes to get moving with the gun. "Look," Murphy began as they moved deeper into the tunnel, "Fallon knew the odds were stacked against us going into this, so she decided to make sure you'd get out if things went to shite. Not her fault Fawkes went and played hero." He handed Hobbes back the gun, somehow knowing that there'd be no more argument on the matter.

"Crap," Hobbes muttered, pissed that Murphy had gotten the jump on him. Pissed at Fawkes for thinking with his heart instead of his head. Pissed at O'Neill for not telling them her plan. And most of all pissed at himself for failing his partner. "How good is she?" He had to ask, had to find that spark of hope, for Fawkes' sake as much as his own.

Murphy chuckled, the sound low and rough in the darkness. "You'd be surprised."

---

'Damn, she's fast.' Darien skidded around another corner in the underground maze they were in, cursing every step that took them further away from the staging area and their escape route. While he hadn't a clue where they were, it was quite obvious that Fallon did, as her steps never faltered even when he shouted at her to hold up for just a second. She had no clue that at any moment... There, the Quicksilver fell away from her, leaving her very visible to anyone who might be around the next corner. With a burst of speed, he surged forward, got a hold of her shoulder holster, and dragged her into the first open doorway.

He shoved her against the wall of the darkened room, the only light that which bled in from the hall and let the Quicksilver flake away.

"So, I'm guessing there be more than a bit'a truth to those rumors," she said, her eyes alight with greed. He could practically hear the cha-ching of cash registers as she mentally counted up the cash she was gonna make off this tidbit of info.

'Shit.'

"Looks like," he growled, wanting to berate her for being so... mercenary, but knowing her, she'd probably just take it as a compliment. "It can't be worth that much."

She gave him this drowsy look of pleasure. "I know two... no, three clients that would gladly bankrupt themselves for the info," she informed him, sounding like the Official crowing about Alex being a 'freebie' when she had first come to the Agency.

"Crap," he grumbled. "Won't do you no good if you're dead." And dead was looking to be a real possibility this time. "We need to get out of here."

"Aye, we do," she agreed. She reached up and adjusted the headset. "Murphy." She paused, waiting for a response.

Darien tapped his earpiece, wondering why he wasn't receiving her. Looked like there were a few more tricks besides an off switch to the headsets. Maybe he should have been paying attention when she was going over how they worked? Too late to worry about that now, by far.

"Give me 15 and ye'll be clear to go." And with that cryptic statement, she removed her headset, grabbed Darien's off his ear, tossed both to the ground, and proceeded to smash them with a booted foot.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?" Darien began at a shout, but quickly lowered his voice.

Fallon made a valiant attempt to ignore the question and slip away from him, but he was having none of it. Hadn't he risked his life to save hers back there? He shoved her against the wall with one hand and held her there.

She yelped, paled and growled, "Get off, ya git," shoving his hand away violently.

His hand came away wet and it took a moment for him to realize it was blood. "You're bleeding," he informed her in bemused surprise.

She took advantage of his confusion to move to the doorway and take a cautious look into the tunnel. "That's what usually 'appens when one gets shot." She removed her gun awkwardly, ejected the clip, checked it, and then shoved it back into place. "C'mon."

Darien didn't argue, her calm acceptance of her injury bothering him for some reason, but she didn't give him an opportunity question her about it. This time he made sure to stay close, practically on her heels, in case he - they - needed to go see-through again. "Thought you were wearing a vest?" Hell, he'd watched her put it on and zip the black jacket over it.

"I am," she confirmed, cautiously checking everything before crossing an intersection or turning a corner. "Can ye do your trick again?" she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah." Then he heard the voices that must have alerted her. He closed the distance between them and let the Quicksilver flow. "I need to stay in contact or you'll become visible," he warned; his head near hers.

"Oh. Aye." She did the only thing that made sense in this situation and fumbled for his hand. Once she had a good grip, she led the way, moving at a swift walk that built up into a light jog. Fast, but allowing them time to make note of anyone that could cause them trouble.

It wasn't long before they encountered armed men who were obviously searching for something, or someone, but they didn't stick around long enough to verify what. Darien could only hope Hobbes was all right, that he'd done the smart thing and headed back to the ventilation shaft and the escape route they'd set up. 'Cause, without the Quicksilver, there was no chance he'd get out the front door. Which made Darien wonder exactly why Fallon appeared to be attempting to do that very thing.

"Fallon...," he swallowed the remainder of the words as the tunnel they were jogging down opened up onto a much larger one. A glance to the left revealed them to be all of 10 yards from the main door, which currently had a half dozen well-armed guards watching it. She dragged him across the open expanse - the tunnel had to be 25 feet wide at least - into another side tunnel and then into a room.

"Christ, they're everywhere." He backed further from the door, to better hide the sound of their voices from those outside. "You'd think we frickin' stole the Hope Diamond or somethin'." The Quicksilver fell away and he ran his hands nervously through his hair. "There ain't no chance Hobbes got away if they sent this many after us. There's a frickin' army in here."

Fallon laughed bitterly. "Ye don' get it, do ye?"

"Get what?" Darien snapped, not in the mood for games, especially 20 Questions.

"They t'ain't gonna bother with Hobbes an' Murphy. The money is nothing and 'e can make more product anytime 'e wants." Fallon winced, her right hand going to her upper left chest, just below the collarbone, and pressing firmly against it.

Darien stared at her, trying to understand, but failing. "Okay, why come after us, then?"

"Not us. Me." She unzipped the jacket and tried to undo the modified vest one-handed.

With a sigh, he stepped closer to help. "Why you?" he undid the buckle atop her shoulder, realizing unhappily that the bullet had gone through the vest and that it hadn't been a dumb luck shot that got her. He then adjusted the buckles along her side, the shoulder holster not allowing them to loosen completely.

"I saw 'is face," she stated with a fierce joy. "'E has to stop me."

"Great, just great," Darien muttered, noting the increased bleeding once the pressure of the vest was gone. "Why the hell would you deliberately draw his attention like that? You had to know it'd get you killed."

She looked him in the eye, not flinching when he gently probed at the wound. "To make sure you got away, a'course. 'Cept ye decided to be a bleedin' eejit and rescue me."

Darien froze for a second, stunned. She'd planned, from the start, to play bait, to distract the bad guys just so he and Bobby could get away? Was she nuts? "What about Murphy?"

"'Is sole purpose was to get ye out. Agent Hobbes'll be fine. Murphy is very good at his job."

"You are insane, if you think I'm gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me," Darien informed her coldly. He wasn't about to let anyone die for him. No way, no how.

"Sacrifice myself..." She laughed, clearly amused by the absurdity of his proclamation. "I do 'ave a plan, y'know."

"Oh," he replied sheepishly. "Have I screwed it up?"

"Nay, though getting shot is proving to be a bit of an inconvenience."

"I bet. Look, I think I can stop the bleeding, for a while anyway." Darien fully realized she'd need to be as functional as possible if her plan, whatever it may be, was going to work.

"I was gonna cauterize it." She dug into one of the pockets and came up with the mini-welder.

"Ah, no way, and lemme just say... ouch." Certainly couldn't deny she had more than enough balls to follow through on that idea out of necessity and expediency. Thankfully, he had a very viable option to present her.

"Then 'ow?"

Darien Quicksilvered his hand. "The surface temp is below zero. It should freeze the wound shut," he explained. "It won't, uh, be very comfortable while I do it though."

"And it is now?" she snarked. "Jus' do it."

He nodded. Using his visible hand, he shifted the collar of the black shirt aside and took a moment to examine the neat little hole that was bleeding freely before setting his invisible fingers against it. She hissed in pain, biting her lip to keep what was surely a scream trapped inside her throat, her free hand coming up to rest on his chest. Not in an effort to push him away, but to brace herself and remain still while he did what was necessary.

He counted silently to 10, and then pulled his hand away to see if it had worked. Last time he'd done this had been to save the Official from a nasty neurotoxin. There were days he still wondered why he'd done it. This time was as successful as the last. There was no more bleeding, externally anyway, the skin a deep red of early frostbite from the cold, but that was it.

"Did the bullet go all the way through?"

She shook her head and dropped her hand to the side. "Nay. Need to remember to choose a better souvenir next time."

Darien choked on a laugh. "Did you just make a joke about being shot?"

"Me? Ye must be daft," she answered with a hint of a grin, then soberly, "Thank ye."

"No prob. What's our next move?" A good question, he thought, especially with the entire place after her... them.

"Answer me something..."

"Maybe, what?"

"How long can ye... do that?" She waved at him vaguely.

"Long as you need, why?" In for a penny, in for a pound, he figured. Not that he was going to give her the details on the QS-9300 Project or anything. Yeah, she now knew he could go invisible, but not how he did it. Semantics maybe, but a difference that might keep the 'Fish from physically hurting Darien.

"Can ye shoot through it?" she asked, and at his look of confusion she added, "If a gun is invisible will it still fire, or does the stuff affect the mechanism?"

"Oh. No, guns work just fine Quicksilvered." 'Crap.' He hadn't meant to give her that.

She smiled. "Perfect." Then, "Can ye shoot?"

Darien shook his head. "If you mean pull the trigger, yes. Hit something? No."

"Feck," she grumbled. She set about adjusting the vest, clearly pondering something.

"What's the problem? I assumed you were a pretty good shot."

"I am. When me arm ain't got a hole in it." She gave him a look that all but shouted, wake up, and pay attention.

Okay, so he'd missed something. The holster was under her right arm, which, unlike Bobby's hip holster, was designed to be cross-drawn.

'Cross-drawn.'

"Crap. You're left-handed."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, glad to know ye be Mister Observant." She lifted the arm in question to shoulder level and waited. Within seconds, it began to shake under the strain of supporting its own weight. That didn't bode very well for accuracy.

"Will we need the gun if we're invisible?" he asked, trying to get some idea of her plan.

"Depends. Do ye want them to follow us on foot or in vehicles?"

Put that way, being able to shoot seemed like a good idea. Assuming she wasn't as skilled right-handed, he came up with the only option that might work. "I have to stay close to keep us both see-through, so what if I support your arm? Think you could shoot well enough then?"

She thought about it, and after a few seconds nodded. "Worth a try anyway."

"Good. Now, how do we get out of here?"

"Simple. We walk out the front door."