---
Darien felt the hand on his arm, but was only semi-conscious at best, and not even close to being truly aware of his surroundings, so he grumbled, "Five more minutes."
The hand shifted to his shoulder and gave him a good shake. "Fawkes, wake up."
The voice was one he didn't recognize, especially when he was expecting Hobbes, who was the one usually stuck with the onerous task of hauling Darien's lazy ass out of bed. He cracked open an eye to see a pair of unfamiliar green ones looking at him in the dim lighting of the... cave? "Why am I in a cave?"
"Bloody hell, Fawkes, would ye star 69 reality here?"
Darien blinked, recalling using a very similar phrase, in essentially that tone of voice, on his brother shortly after learning exactly how much of a guinea pig he'd become when he'd said, "yes." However, since Kevin had never had green eyes and was most certainly dead, Darien forced his mind to focus. "Fallon." He pushed himself upright, rubbing his face. "What time is it?" he asked, feeling like he'd shut his eyes mere seconds ago.
She gently grasped his wrist and turned it over to read his watch. "Almost 0200," she informed him around a yawn.
Damn. Not seconds, he'd been out almost six hours. He was still tired, but better, his headache all but gone. "Any luck?"
"I think so." She looked exhausted, which she had every right to be given the day they'd had.
"Sit." He waved at her, and after a moment she did so, groaning softly as she lowered herself to the crappy Naugahyde. "You all right?" he asked, pretty certain she wasn't.
"Fine. Just need some sleep." She withdrew the gun from the holster and handed it to him. "If ye have to use this, shoot to kill."
He nodded grimly, hoping it wouldn't come to that, but was as prepared as he could be to do what was necessary should the worst happen and they were discovered by the bad guys. "What's the weather like?"
"Still lashing mightily. Had some thunder for a while, but it passed. I've been checking every 20 minutes or so." She tugged at the blanket he was sitting on, so he stood, leaving the couch cum bed to her. She was shivering again, but nowhere near as bad as earlier, even though it was rather cozy in the cave.
"Lemme take a look at..."
"Nay," she snapped. "I jus' want to rest a bit."
"Fallon..."
"Wake me at 0530," she ordered as she shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. Clearly, she had no interest in having him do his Florence Nightingale impression unless absolutely necessary.
"Oh-five-thirty, got it." He made sure the safety was on and shoved the gun down the front of his pants. Her eyes drifted shut for a second, then popped back open.
"Ah, if ye need to hit the bog and don' want to get sopping, there's a room 'bout 15 feet down the tunnel that ye can use."
Well, that was interesting. He wished he could pull off statements like that without even the tiniest hint of embarrassment. Then again, she could have just left him fumbling in the dark, so he called this an attitude improvement on her part, made him think she was treating him as an equal and not some inconvenience she was stuck with. "Good to know," he replied, playing it just as cool as she had. He hadn't been looking forward to getting soaking wet just to take a leak. "Anything else?"
She shook her head.
"Then get some sleep." He gave her a wry smile. "I can handle this, y'know."
"I know," she agreed, then, very gingerly lay down on her right side, pulling the blanket closer about her. Within minutes her breathing slowed and her body visibly relaxed.
Darien turned away, looking over the room, but other than their shed clothes having been piled neatly, nothing had been moved, which meant there were still some containers to investigate. First things first, though, nature was calling... loudly.
---
Darien turned the page, caught up in the heroic goings on of the Avengers. Thor was doing battle with some giant beast, his hammer Mjolnir returning to his hand after every throw. Darien had found the stash of comic books and magazines (mostly Playboy and Penthouse) in one of the other coolers, along with an ancient dime bag of marijuana. Based on the dates on the covers, no one had been out here since June of 1998. Personally, he would have preferred some soda or junk food, but aside from an open bag of petrified Doritos, there'd been nothing. He had found an old tin cup that had once been part of a Boy Scout mess kit, the fleur de lis still visible on the bottom; and, after determining that it probably didn't contain anything that would kill him, stuck his arm out into the rain while holding it and used it to drink his fill. He only wished he'd found something larger, 'cause Fallon was certain to be thirsty when she woke up, but it was better than nothing. Of course, the near constant growls from his abdomen were an annoying reminder that he hadn't eaten since noon yesterday. Not that missing a meal or two would cause him any undue harm, by any means, so he did his best not to think about it.
He read a couple more pages, the monster not being vanquished without some serious damage to the good guys, then set it aside to do another security check. Other than the rain, there'd been nothing, no sign of life other than themselves. Even the usual desert critters had taken cover in this deluge. He could imagine the local newscast doing live reports about some hillside that had decided that the view from the top was no longer interesting, and that was now at the bottom, taking homes, and possibly lives with it. Between the quakes, fires and mudslides, it was a wonder anyone wanted to live in California.
The mine entrance was slightly recessed into the hillside, sturdy, if old, 12x12 inch posts framing the doorway. He opened the door just wide enough for his skinny frame to slip through and froze. A trio of glowing eyes could be seen through the rain spattered darkness. Two stared straight ahead, while the third roved about wildly. He watched them for several minutes, as they slowly grew larger. Finally, a low rumble of sound caused reality to snap back into place. 'Too many comic books. Sheesh.' The mystery creature suddenly resolved itself into nothing more than a truck, with a spotlight scanning the hillside. It was a no-brainer who it had to be and who they were looking for. He had mere minutes before they spotted the entrance, and there was little chance they wouldn't stop and investigate.
He noted the discarded lock and scooped it up. No point in making it even more obvious they were here, right? He pulled the door snugly shut and dashed back to the room, praying they wouldn't open the door, since his big ol' size twelves were leaving nice clear imprints that were a dead give away that someone was here.
If he had time, he'd figure out a way to erase them, but there wasn't any. He grabbed a blanket, tossed it haphazardly over their pile of belongings to hide them, and looked about for any other blatant signs of their habitation. Aside from tracks... not really. Thankfully both he and Fallon tended towards neat and meticulous - one of the more useful side-effects of Liz's mentoring - so, with the exception of the comic book he had been reading, and the blankets they were using, everything else had remained in their containers. He blew out the lamp; wincing at the fact he could do nothing about the lingering scent of burning oil in the air and, by the light of his flash, made his way over to Fallon.
He focused the light on her face, away from her eyes, and set his free hand over her mouth. As he expected, she jerked awake, one hand snapping up to grasp his wrist in reaction, and attempted to sit up. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "We have company."
Her eyes widened and she nodded, her hand still curled about his as he let the Quicksilver flow over the both of them with only a slight twinge of pain to remind him that'd he'd majorly overdone it earlier. He lowered himself next to her, helped her sit upright, and pulled her close, her back pressed firmly against his chest, his arm shifting to wrap about her shoulders to create the smallest surface area possible to cover and hold her steady. She was shaking, a vibration running from crown to feet, but from fear or cold he couldn't be sure. As if they'd worked together a hundred times before, they curled their legs in close to the seat to reduce the likelihood of the unwelcome visitors tripping over them. Darien traded the flashlight for the gun and held it at the ready... just in case. He was truly hoping he wouldn't need to use it.
They were barely in time, as he could hear voices, accented voices, German, he was pretty certain, talking - almost arguing - in the tunnel right outside.
"... was unlocked," voice one said.
"And how many others were as well?" voice two pointed out.
It was a fair bet these guys, and others, had been checking every mine, cave, nook and cranny looking for Fallon.
"These prints are fresh," voice one countered, sounding irritated.
"These prints could have been here for decades, just like the last two places we checked," voice two snarled, clearly past irritation and on his way to well and truly pissed. "Do you smell that?"
"Yah. See? Someone is here," voice one crowed as they appeared in the doorway sporting hand-held spotlights and automatic weapons, AK-47s at a wild guess.
Fallon twitched, apparently not enjoying this hide in plain sight thing, but it wasn't as if they had much choice. Darien seriously considered shooting them and dragging the bodies deeper into the mine, but he couldn't be certain if they were alone in the truck or if someone would come looking for the mooks should they stay out of contact for too long, which would then lead others to the canyon and the mine. So, he held perfectly still, tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, and waited.
They shined the light about the room, illuminating every inch and washing across Darien and Fallon three times before one of them swore. "She's not here."
"But she was. Which means she can't be too far away," the second replied, a dangerous smile crossing his features.
Number one shook his head. "Far, near, does not matter. We have only an hour to find her. Tor will not risk being caught when her friends come looking for her, and it will be our hides he takes his displeasure out on if we don't have a body for him." They backed towards the doorway.
"Is it true she got away from him before?"
Number one shrugged. "That's what they're saying, but I find it hard to believe. Tor doesn't make that kind of mistake." The voices faded as they made their way back towards the entrance.
"Still," number two argued, "if she did it once..." The sound trailed away as the pair moved out of range.
Neither Darien nor Fallon moved; they didn't even breathe sighs of relief, knowing that the slightest noise would bring the pair back to investigate, probably in more detail. Darien counted off five minutes in his head before shifting to speak directly into her ear, "Stay here."
Not waiting for a response, he slipped from beneath her and made his way quickly and quietly to the entrance while still invisible. Fact was, his heart was still pounding with a hefty dose of fear-induced adrenaline, which was doing a damn fine job of keeping the Quicksilver flowing, thank you very much. First, he listened at the door, but between the muffling effects of the Quicksilver and the pounding of his heart, there was nothing to hear. Almost timidly, he eased the door open, half expecting to suddenly be awash in light and then sprayed with bullets, but there was nothing, just darkness, and the rain. He released that sigh of relief, dropped the Quicksilver, and risked stepping out to survey the area. Off to the right, heading deeper into the canyon was the truck, the lights barely visible as they continued their search.
'Crap, that was close.' They were safe, for now. He made his way back to their little haven by flashlight and relit the lantern. Fallon hadn't moved; the Quicksilver flakes picking up the light in the few places a heavier dusting of them had been caught in the folds of the blanket.
"They're heading deeper into the canyon. We'll just have to hope they don't decide to check this place again."
"Doubt they'll 'ave time," she said. "You 'eard 'em, they'll be packin' it in soon." She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair and licked her lips.
"Nice to know we're popular," Darien grumbled as he adjusted the light level on the lantern down a notch.
"Me, ye mean. Prob'ly don' give a damn 'bout ye. Oh, they'll kill ye just because, but..." She trailed off, voice going momentarily faint.
Darien gave her the once over, noting the flushed cheeks that weren't a by-product of the golden-toned light source and the beads of sweat on her brow even as she huddled under the comforter. "Fallon?" He crouched in front of her and set a hand on her forehead. Just the fact that she hadn't stopped him was a bad sign. She wasn't warm, she was frickin' hot to the touch. "You're burning up."
"Aye. I am. What time is it?" she asked, as if being sick was of no importance whatsoever.
"Uh," he checked his watch, "about 4:30."
"And dawn's at 0615. This is doable." She must have caught the confusion written on his face. "I'm fine," she assured him, without the slightest hope of convincing him of that.
Before she could stop him, he pulled the collar of her shirt aside to get a look at the bullet wound. She wasn't bleeding, but the area around it was red and swollen, and, he was willing to bet, hot to the touch. "Shit. How'd you manage to get an infection so fast?"
She just shrugged. "I've dealt with worse."
Darien shook his head in annoyance and released her, unable to see how she could be so calm. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"An' we will," she stated, "but for now we 'ave to wait." Darien was preparing to argue, but she rolled right over the top of him, "'As the weather cleared?"
"No," he admitted, "but..."
"But nothin'. We stick to the plan."
"Screw the plan," Darien shouted, fear, and worry coupled with incipient exhaustion over-riding any politeness.
Fallon remained perfectly cool, not allowing his little tantrum to affect her in the least. "We stick to the plan," she repeated. "Gettin' shot may not have been part of it..."
"Exactly my point," he interrupted. "You can't want to... to suffer, maybe risk dying just 'cause it ain't part of the plan. C'mon," he wheedled. "I'll send the signal while you stay here. It shouldn't take them that long to find us, right?"
She laughed softly. "Fawkes, do ye want lead your partner into an ambush? Tor's plonkers'll be sure to 'ear the chopper. Can ye really tell me that they'll do nothing?"
She was right and he hated that fact. Even more, he hated the calm pragmatism that seemed to roll of her so naturally; he wished he could be half as cool and confident when dealing with the unexpected. Hell, part of him wanted to stomp his feet and whine piteously, 'but I wanna go home!' until she caved and did it his way. Thing is, that trick stopped working all of six months after going to live with his aunt and uncle. Oh, they'd had sympathy for the orphaned younger sibling, but only for so long. He was pretty certain it wouldn't work on Fallon at all.
Darien highly doubted Fallon wanted to be here in this musty, dusty mine any more than he did; she'd probably just, as Monroe would put it, 'suck it up and take it like a man.' Fallon was making it quite clear that she was used to dealing with whatever crap life tossed in her path. The only time she'd gotten upset was when he'd screwed up, and, to give credit where credit was due, he'd done so rather spectacularly this time around.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers wandering through the collection of small items he found there. None of which were any use in this situation. The bad guys would be gone within the hour, with sunrise to follow shortly thereafter, chasing, he hoped, the rain away as it did so. Given she was not going to change her mind, there was little he could do but make sure they continued to stay secure until they could get the hell out of here. That, and make her as comfortable as possible whether or not she wanted him to.
"You are incredibly stubborn," he informed her with a glower.
"And?" She blinked up at him all doe-eyed and innocent.
He wagged a finger at her. "Forget stubborn, you're just plain trouble."
She flashed him a dangerous smile. "You're learning." She shifted, sitting up a bit more. "I'll..."
"You will rest," he told her in a tone that brooked no argument, then picked up the cup of water, and handed it to her.
She sniffed it warily, took a sip as if unsure it would stay down, then, once confident it was not going to make a return trip, drank the rest down quickly. "No way I'm gonna fall back to sleep."
"Sleep?" He snatched up the comic book and plopped down next to her. "I gotta see if the good guys save the day." He knew that would hit a nerve after her pronouncement of earlier.
She huffed softly. "A'course ye do."
There was silence except for the rustling of paper as he turned a page, and, when a few minutes had passed, she allowed herself to lean against him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Darien made certain not to react, as he was unsure if it was intentional or if gravity was simply acting upon her, like strangers on a long plane flight, and he continued to read as if nothing had happened. If she was doing it knowingly, then it was probably no more than practicality; he had sat down to her right and he seriously doubted leaning against her left shoulder would be a fun or restful experience by any stretch of the imagination. He could feel the heat radiating off her and would have basked in the warmth had it not been for the fun fact he knew it was 'cause she was fighting an infection of monstrous proportions. Yet, for all her protestations of being 'fine' and not likely to sleep, he felt her body relax one slow step at a time until he was quite certain she was out.
He turned his head, that shock of black hair the only thing he could see, and found himself admiring her. Here she was, strong, competent, used to relying on herself and yet able to trust a stranger when the situation called for it. That took a lot of guts, or utter foolishness, he supposed. Especially knowing what she did about him. If the situation had been reversed, he couldn't say that he'd be able to do the same.
---
Darien stared out the door in amazement; somehow in the last 20 minutes the weather had shifted, the rain that had been letting up the last check was now gone, the clouds overhead beginning to break up and even reveal the occasional star glimmering brightly in the night... well, pre-dawn sky.
The only sounds were that of dripping water and desert birds starting their morning routines, and while there was no sign of Westgaard's mooks, there was no sense in pushing their luck. If Fallon had remembered correctly, true dawn was about 45 minutes away and they'd probably need all of that time to climb to the top of this ridge. She wanted high ground to send off the signal, just in case. Made sense to him. He took another moment to stretch, wishing he had 20 ounces of caffeine laden goodness and an extra-large breakfast burrito before hiking up the hillside. Not that he was complaining, he was alive and healthy, if tired from overdoing the Quicksilver, so that counted for something.
He shut the door and jogged back down the tunnel. He found Fallon struggling to pull on her boots. While she had indeed rested, she'd never fallen back to sleep as he'd thought. He'd discovered that when he'd tried to figure out how to slide out from under her to do a security check; she'd simply sat up and ended his waffling. He'd made sure to bring her water every time, chilled down via Quicksilver, however, this time was gonna be a bust.
"Weather clearing?" she asked as she finished tying boot one.
"Yep. Wish the local weathermen were half as accurate as you." He scooped up the blankets and dumped them back into their storage container, figuring there was no reason to leave items to the local fauna on the off chance some other lost souls found their way to the place in need of a temporary haven. It wasn't much, but sometimes one didn't need much to get by for a few hours.
While Fallon pulled on her second boot, Darien picked up their remaining items; the climbing harnesses, jackets - hers still noticeably damp - and the Kevlar vest.
Although he still had the Glock, she wore the holster. "Ye always this neat?" she asked in simple curiosity.
"Actually, yes," he answered as he tossed the various pieces of gear over one shoulder and held out her jacket.
She levered herself to an upright position, groaning softly, took her jacket and shrugged into it. "T'ain't ye jus' full of surprises." She fished out the LED flashlight and switched it on as Darien extinguished the lantern.
He couldn't be certain if she was being snarky or honest. "Hey, what you see is what you get."
She snorted, wincing a bit for her trouble. "This from an invisible man," she said, her eyebrows quirking upwards.
"Okay, maybe not the best turn of phrase," he admitted ruefully. He watched as she ran a hand through her sweat-damp hair and shivered. "You ready for this?"
"Aye. I'm always ready."
Darien tried, he really did, but the words, "That's the way I like my women," popped out before he could stop them and making him damn thankful he was still in possession of the gun.
Fallon, however, took it all in stride. "Boyo, I'm outta your league." Then she boldly stepped upped to him and reclaimed her weapon, grasping the butt firmly and removing it from the waistband of his pants. As she strode away, she slid it home in the holster, the bright LED leading the way.
Darien shook his head and slowly blew out the breath he'd been holding. He had the sinking feeling she was right. That even with being a thief for over half his life, two stints in prison, and the last couple of years playing spy he was still a hack. An eternal wannabe struggling to keep up with the other little leaguers while she was trashing the Yankees to win the pennant.
This led him to wonder, again, just why he bothered. Clearly, there was little point in playing the hero when so many others were profiting by doing the opposite, or, like Fallon, working both sides. A week ago all this made perfect sense, and now... well, now it didn't.
From the tunnel, Fallon's voice echoed back, "If ye be waiting for the complimentary breakfast, jus' let me know. I'll 'ave the concierge send the car 'round for ye in a wee bit."
His stomach growled at the mention of food, reminding him that input was required for proper functionality. "Nah, I think a brisk morning climb is just what I need," he snarked brightly as he followed after her.
---
The climb, while indeed brisk, was not nearly as much fun as the brochure had suggested. Fallon had gone quiet first, her seeming indomitable will swiftly succumbing to pain and the fever she was dealing with. As the sky lightened toward true dawn, they were more easily able to pick the best route upward, avoiding spots where the climb was near-vertical in favor of places where they could walk upright. Mad scrambles on all fours, Fallon wincing and cursing through them, happened twice when the hillside's deceptive topography led them astray. By the time they neared the top, Fallon was flagging noticeably. He caught her several times as her feet went out from under her; strength momentarily failing.
After the last one, she'd simply stood there, head hanging down and panting while Darien stood beside her, waiting to see if she was gonna pass out cold, but she eventually gathered herself and continued on.
He wondered if she was always this stubborn.
When they reached the summit, she staggered to a halt and visibly shivered in the cool morning air. She dug into a pocket, came up with the rebuilt GPS, and pressed a button on the side. That was it. Her next trick was to painfully lower herself to the ground with an audible whimper. Darien went to her and set the back of his hand against her forehead. She was exceedingly warm, though that was due in part to the vigorous climb they'd just enjoyed, yet she was... vibrating almost, a low key shaking throughout her body that he could feel. Without a word, he slipped his dry jacket off, set it over her shoulders and sat down beside her.
"So, we just wait?" She gave him this look that clearly translated to 'duh,' so he amended his question, "How long do we wait?"
She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "An hour." She stared off towards the west, the sun stretching her shadow out several yards along the ridge in front of her.
"And if no one shows?" He had to ask.
"Plan B. Ye 'ike into Dulzura and call for back-up." She glanced over at him. "Ye best make sure to find the damn mine."
It took him less than a second to realize she had no plans to make that hike with him. "Fallon... we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." For an instant, it looked like she was going to argue, but she just nodded, perhaps deciding it wouldn't make a whole lot of difference right now.
"So, are all your jobs this exciting?"
She shot him a completely confused look. "If this is what ye see as 'exciting' then ye be in the wrong line of work."
Considering how often he got the crap beat out of him on the job, the events of the last day were a mild inconvenience. And considering that he used to risk madness, or worse, every time he went invisible, the last day had been a walk in the park on a beautiful spring day with the loveliest woman imaginable - Mira Sorvino. Yet, here Fallon was, implying that the last day was not normal, was not what she was used to dealing with while on a job. Then, yeah, maybe he was in the wrong line of work.