"Fawkes, where the hell have you been?" Bobby asked, glancing at his watch in obvious impatience.
Darien took a lazy sip from his mocha latte as he continued walking slowly down the hall. He hadn't gotten home until after three a.m. and had zero interest in answering the phone when it rang before nine. "You know me, Hobbes, when the boss calls I roll over and go back to sleep."
Bobby shook his head and led the way to the Official's office. "He's got a bee in his bonnet, Fawkes, and you pulling crap like this..."
"Don't start up again. I will once again do my invisible agent schtick for the fatman, saving the world from evil. What more do ya want?" Darien had a hard time keeping the irritation from his voice. This had become a well-worn issue between them. Darien was just not dedicated enough to the whole greater-good thing for his partner, but, then again, he never had been.
Bobby sighed, the anger, if that had been what it was, evaporating. "What I want ... ain't important," he muttered in a low voice.
Darien was caught off guard with those words, suddenly wanting to pull his friend aside and talk it out instead of ignoring it and waiting for the next round of bickering and sniping. Even Claire had noticed, likening them to couple riding that fine edge of love and hate, unable to decide whether they should fall into bed or throttle each other. The fact that they were both male didn't seem to be an issue for her, never mind the whole she was already sleeping with Bobby thing.
Their arrival at the Official's office prevented Darien from probing the situation between them in more detail, but it was clear it would need to be dealt with soon.
Bobby swung the door open and waved for Darien to precede him. Claire was already seated just to the left of the Official, who sat at the head of the conference table. Eberts, as always, stood behind his boss, hands clasped before him in some odd imitation of parade rest. Bobby and Darien took seats opposite Claire, who gave both of them a brilliant smile. Clearly, she wasn't concerned about his tardiness.
Idly, Darien wondered if the 'Fish had figured out that the enigmatic Keeper was knocking boots with his top agent. If he was a betting man, and he often was, he'd place good money on it. Thing was, it had never been openly acknowledged, which meant if he asked even Eberts he risked spilling the proverbial beans. And that was something he had no intention of doing. Oh no, his little tiger had been living in a world of bliss and had therefore been completely distracted for months now. That fact had allowed Darien a certain amount of freedom he otherwise would not have enjoyed, and he'd spent many an evening reacquainting himself with his larcenous past and keeping his end of the deal at his second job.
"Nice of you to finally join us," the Official remarked in a less than pleasant tone.
Darien shrugged and set his coffee on the scarred, wooden surface. "The world didn't end, did it?" The rhetorical question caused the 'Fish's eyes to narrow dangerously.
"Not this time, no," Eberts admonished, in the driest tone he could manage.
Darien stretched to cover the urge to wince. Ebes did have a point, after all. "What's up?"
"Have any of you heard from Agent Monroe?" Eberts asked, his look carefully neutral.
Darien and Bobby glanced at each other in confusion.
"Thought she was on assignment with the ATF in Boston? The Garibaldi case," Bobby said.
Darien nodded in agreement. Alex had even asked his opinion on some aspects of the case and he'd been happy to assist. "She left a couple days ago, didn't she?"
"So we thought. She never made contact with Agent Ivanova," Eberts explained. "In fact, we're not entirely certain she even got on the plane."
Darien produced a heartfelt, "Oh crap," for everyone in the room.
"So she's been missing almost three days and we're only now being told?" Bobby sounded indignant and had every right to be as far as Darien was concerned. Hell, he felt more than a touch indignant himself. Alex might not have been the perfect addition to their little group of underfunded spies, but things had a way of working out for the best. Even things like arrogant, smug and talented super agents.
"Bobby," the Official grunted, none too thrilled with the sudden lack of obsequiousness.
"There was some uncertainty at first, since her luggage made it to Logan airport intact," Eberts stated, a hint of worry creeping into those watery blue eyes of his. Everyone knew he had a soft spot for the exceedingly beautiful and dangerous she-spy, though whether it was for the woman or the money she brought to the eternally cash-poor Agency was debatable.
"Did she board the plane?" Claire asked, the concern for her friend was unmistakable.
"We don't know," The Official answered. "She checked in and was seen in the boarding area, but..."
"But no one saw her actually get on the plane," Bobby summed up, probably assuming, as Darien did, that everything that could be verified on video, had been. "So, either she bailed - for reasons unknown - or someone grabbed her. Question is who?"
Bobby proceeded to answer his own question with, "Chrysalis," at the same time Darien said, "Stark."
"If Alex had discovered something involving Chrysalis, I do believe that she would have informed the rest of us," Claire pointed out matter-of-factly.
The Official harrumphed, "True enough."
"That still leaves Stark, and I know Alex has been riding his ass ever since she found out about him taking James. She hasn't stopped looking for her son." Of course, he didn't mention the fact that he'd been helping her in that search, in his own small way.
"While Mr. Stark is not the only enemy Ms. Monroe has accrued over her career, I must agree that he would be on the top of the list of suspects," Eberts piped up.
"So where do you want us to start, Chief?" Bobby was at his attentive best.
"At the beginning, where else? See if you can reconstruct her last day here. Check her house, her office, dry cleaners... whatever you need to do, but find her." The Official was surprisingly insistent. Alex was a major bonus for the Agency, if only on paper, and the fatman would hate to lose so valuable a pawn.
Darien poked a finger into the air to gain his boss' attention. "Uh, does that 'whatever' include going to... an outside consultant?"
The Official removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment, obviously thinking.
It was Eberts who spoiled the mood with a sprightly, "Oh! You mean Miss O'Neill."
Darien rolled his eyes. "Still haven't mastered the art of subtlety, have ya, Ebes?"
Eberts looked properly chastised, his pale cheeks tingeing pink, which caused Bobby to chuckle softly.
The Official cleared his throat to pull their attention back to its proper place - him. "I do not want Miss O'Neill or her business involved in this matter."
The decision stunned Darien. "But why not? Fallon'd be able to get the info we want in hours and..."
"No, damn it," the Official barked, cutting off Darien's somewhat reasoned argument.
"But..." he tried again, only to be silenced with a glare.
"Darien, the Official is fully aware of Miss O'Neill's capabilities. There is no need for you to detail them," Eberts stated, once again cool, composed, and sure of himself.
Bobby surprised Darien by asking, "Then why not use her?"
He had to wonder for a second just how Bobby was interpreting the word 'use.'
The Official spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. "She is far to... resourceful to waste." When his words produced nothing but blank looks from the partners he sighed. "Come now, do you really think Chrysalis would hesitate to wipe the fourth monkey off the face of the planet if they were caught poking around where they shouldn't be?"
Darien swallowed the coffee with some difficulty, having to fight the urge to do an impressive spit-take across the table. He wished he'd thought of that before passing Fallon's name to Alex. The last thing he wanted was to get Fallon killed over some info that Alex might have very well found on her own. Yet, beside him, Bobby tapped his chin thoughtfully, a hint of a smile crossing his face, as if thinking, 'would that be such a bad thing?' Which, for all Darien knew, was exactly what was wandering through Bobby's mind. He still had a deep-seated dislike for Fallon that Darien simply could not comprehend. Now, however, was not the time to chastise his friend on his personal opinions.
"I want this matter handled swiftly. Agent Monroe is a valuable member of this Agency, and we take care of our own." The Official's gaze boded ill for anyone who suggested otherwise.
Not that Darien was going to argue, but he still couldn't resist a jibe that took copious liberties with the phrase 'take care of.' "Like you planned to take care of me when the counteragent failed? I'm bettin' she'd rather fend for herself."
Eberts sucked in a breath at the same time Bobby let fly with a low whistle. Claire paled and said, "Darien," in an appropriately shocked voice.
The Official waved it off. "No need, Doctor, Darien is quite right. If 'take care of' means removing a problem permanently, then I will not hesitate to do so." He aimed his beady eyes on Darien, who met the steely gaze without flinching. "And he would do well to remember that."
Darien stood and gave a mocking straight-armed salute and said, "Sieg heil," which made Claire shake her head in obvious dismay. He picked up his cup and turned to Bobby, "Duty calls."
"Howdy Doody, maybe," Bobby grumbled as he slid the chair back to stand.
"I want regular updates, Bobby," the Official ordered, acting as if Darien's tweaking hadn't bothered him in the least, which was entirely possible.
"You'll get 'em, Chief," Bobby assured their boss and turned to glare at Darien, who was completely unrepentant.
Bobby waited until they were down the hall, heading towards the stairwell, before saying anything. "Sieg heil? That was low even for you."
Darien shrugged. "Not much in the mood for having my strings pulled these days, I guess."
Bobby snorted and swung open the stairwell door. "You never did, my friend. Just keep in mind that the Chief don't make idle threats."
"Tell me something I don't know," Darien snarked, taking the stairs two at a time up to the third floor where Alex's office was located. Might as well start there since it was closest.
"True, true," Bobby agreed, then in a sudden change of topic, "So, who've you been sowing your wild oats with?"
Darien paused mid-step, which nearly caused Bobby to run into him. "Sowing my wild oats?" he echoed, as he began to move again. "What are you talking about?"
Bobby grinned. "Oh nothing, really. Keepy just mentioned that you'd had a few late nights, is all. And you've been strutting around with this cat that ate the canary smirk on your face for weeks now, so..."
Darien ducked his head as he topped the stairs, making the effort to appear totally innocent. If only Bobby knew exactly why he'd had more than a few late nights recently. Actually, it was far better that he didn't; there was no way in hell he'd approve. For, while there was most definitely a woman involved, there were no 'wild oats' being sown. Oh no, Darien was putting his former skills as a thief and those he'd acquired from the Agency to very good use. He'd learned a few new tricks as well, which was all to the good considering how often Bobby let Darien fend for himself these days. What surprised him the most though was how little it bothered him. Yeah, there had been times he needed advice or assistance in a situation, but not often. For the first time since he'd been stuck with the neurotic, paranoid, pill-popping nutcase he felt like an equal, an actual partner and not some raw greenhorn who had to be led about by the nose and coddled all the time.
It was, at times, an exhilarating feeling. It was also, at times, terrifying. The lure, the temptation to simply fall, to forget all he had learned, all the good he'd done the last couple of years and join Fallon and her little group of mercenaries was always present, but so far he had resisted.
"So, Claire was right. You have been getting some." Bobby rubbed his hands in glee, obviously looking forward to hearing all the intimate details of the supposed tryst.
"Sorry to disappoint, my friend, but there's only one person sleeping in my bed." Just so it was clear, Darien poked himself in the sternum.
Bobby chuckled. "A bed ain't the only place to have sex, my friend. Kitchen tables are perfectly adequate." The sly grin on his face pretty much guaranteed that he'd verified that for himself. "Or so I've been told."
Darien snorted softly. "Hobbes, I barely have a kitchen, let alone a table."
Bobby frowned slightly. "So you been going to her place instead," he finally said, plainly not yet ready to surrender.
Darien stopped, the door to Alex's office in sight at the end of the hall, and turned and set his hands on Bobby's shoulders to make certain he had his full attention. Darien wanted Bobby's mind away from this little sexual fishing expedition before being forced to reveal things better left unsaid. "Hobbes, I am not seeing anyone. Got it?"
Bobby just shook his head, not buying it for a second.
"'Sides when would I have time to meet someone, huh?"
Bobby pondered that for a long moment. "Fine, don't tell me." He stepped away, leaving Darien's hands to sit in mid-air, the coffee sloshing and forcing him to shift to prevent spillage. He still needed the caffeine for functionality. "This is not over, pal. I'm gonna find out who she is," Bobby warned, a finger stabbing the towards the ceiling to emphasize his point.
Darien sighed and rolled his eyes, trailing after as they wended their way down the remainder of the hall. "Can't find what's not there," he pointed out as Bobby tried the door to find it, much as expected, locked.
Darien handed his cup over and dropped to his knees, lockpicks magically appearing in his hands. Within seconds, the tumblers clicked into place and he swung the door open.
"You always carry those?" Bobby asked as he drank the latte.
Darien grinned, "Never leave home without 'em," and rescued the remainder of the coffee. Bobby had managed to inhale most of it, leaving Darien with nothing but the dregs and foam. He debated bitching for an instant, but decided to let it pass considering how many times he'd snurched the last of Bobby's fries or nachos.
The interior was the usual over-stated elegance that was a marked contrast from the rest of the building. Darien moved towards the desk, and began to rifle through the contents of the drawer while Bobby moved to the computer station and turned on the impressive machine. Darien found little of value, just the usual pens, paperclips, and such. He'd been hoping to find a calendar or date book, but Alex's fondness for her PDA pretty much killed that hope.
"Fawkes, get over here," called Bobby distractedly. It looked like he'd been successful in accessing Alex's hard drive.
"Whatcha got?" Darien loomed over Bobby's shoulder, reading the names of the assorted files scrolling by in the Finder window.
"All sorts of crap. Any ideas on what's useful?" Bobby kept his eyes focused on the files moving down the screen.
"Nope," Darien admitted, "but I know where to start."
"Oh really?" Bobby swiveled in the chair, the slight sneer in his voice unmistakable. "Let's see what you got, hotshot."
Darien didn't take the disbelief to heart, since until recently he had been at a complete loss when it came to computers. He still wasn't up to Bobby's level, never mind geek-boy Eberts, but he was learning; both out of necessity and self-interest. Darien reached about Bobby to take control of the mouse, moving the cursor to the bitten apple in the upper left corner of the screen. With a click, the drop down menu appeared and he slid down the list to highlight 'Recent Items.' A secondary menu appeared, at the top of which was 'skeleton key.' Darien, of course, recognized the name for the custom cipher program the fourth monkey supplied to its clients. He had a copy of his own, specially tailored to the specific encryption pattern used to make the data secure. His version would not decrypt Alex's files and vice versa. Just another feature the fourth monkey provided.
Darien clicked on the program and waited for it to start.
"Fawkes..."
"Hobbes..."
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Startin' a program," Darien said, a grin attempting to curve his lips upwards.
"I can see that, ya mook. What I wanna know is why?" Bobby was losing his patience fast.
"'Cause it was the last thing Alex ran. Figured it might give us some clue as to what she was doing." In fact, Darien was certain of it, but he wasn't about to explain his inside track. He clicked on the 'open recent' option once the program was up and running and the decrypted file obligingly appeared on the desktop. It was a report, but it took less than a second to realize they were on the right track, what with Stark's name at the top of the page and all.
"Son of a bitch," Bobby muttered, as he reclaimed control of the mouse and scrolled through the report. He then opened the remaining recent documents and read them far too fast for Darien to keep up. But a single word caught his eye: Brandon.
"Alex's son?"
"Looks like," Bobby said, most of his attention still on the words before him. "Monroe, you idiot, it's gotta be a trap."
"What's a trap?" Darien asked even though he was pretty sure he knew.
Bobby sat back, bringing the initial report back to the front. "Well, according to this Mrs. Stark..."
"Eleanor."
"...is coming to town with the kid to meet with daddy-dearest..." he paused to double-check something, "...the day Alex was supposed to fly to Boston. Bets she ditched the flight to go after Stark?"
Darien shook his head. "Suckers bet. Of course she did, it's her son."
"Fawkes, it's a frickin' trap," Bobby complained.
"She knows that, Bobby." Darien turned away from the computer to look over the impersonal office, wondering why she hadn't asked for help.
"Why would she take such a stupid risk?" Bobby griped. "She knows better than to go into something like this alone. She's smarter than this."
"If it was your kid, what would you do?" Darien asked, glancing over his shoulder at his partner who suddenly sported a very serious look. "You'd take the chance it wasn't a trap, 'cause there's no choice."
Bobby rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, you're right. Damn it. The trail is two days cold now, ain't no way we're gonna find her."
"We gotta try." Darien stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the desk. "Where do we start?"
"La Playa, Townsend dock."