Late Thursday night, roughly 12:45am
Hobbes and Monroe wearily enter The Official's office. Eberts is rapidly typing on his laptop, which is set up on the circular table on the other side of the room from the desk. The Official is standing behind him, scrutinizing what he's bringing up on the screen.
His eyes flick up as first Hobbes and then Monroe enters.
"So? How was the trip?" He asks smoothly.
Hobbes affects a fatigued pose, with the back of his hand on his forehead. "We have traveled far, and suffered much..."
Monroe pinches his shoulder with a wee grin on her face.
He flinches with an utterance of "ouch!", while The Official rolls His eyes in irritation at the two agents' behavior.
"I don't have time for your shenanigans," He almost barks.
They drop all pretense of joking around and get serious.
"Did you find anything useful for us?" He finishes, with a minor emphasis on 'use' as He peremptorily gestures at them.
Hobbes nods, replying, "Yeah, you could say that..." as Monroe tugs her shoulder satchel around to dig out the contents.
"Explain."
Monroe carefully pulls out an evidence bag (the one that she filled at the helioport), and carefully deposits it on the table beside Eberts.
The assistant's gaze has, until this moment, been focused on his computer screen. As Monroe places the evidence bag beside him, he smiles and exclaims, "Got it!"
Then he glances at the evidence bag.
It contains a set of four interconnected shackles with what appears to be blood on parts of them. They look like they've been severed in the middle by a bolt cutter.
"What, in the world, is that?" he asks with a note of mild repulsion in his voice.
"That, my friend Eberts, is a set of shackles that're used on convicts," replies Hobbes matter-of-factly. He seems to derive some humor from the man's nauseated response to the sight of blood.
Monroe comes around the table to look at the computer screen, adding, "We spoke with the interim Director and one of the agents there. They couldn't tell us very much..."
"You mean they wouldn't tell us," interrupts Hobbes sarcastically.
She shoots him a quelling glare while continuing. "… And they were very... insistent about us not divulging details of the case... with anyone."
The Official blinks. "'Anyone'?"
She stops behind Eberts' right shoulder, and looks over him at the computer screen.
"It means, sir, that they don't want us talking to even you about this," Hobbes replies, looking slightly indignant at the thought. "They want this kept very much on the Q-T, you see."
The Official grimaces. "Hogwash. As if I couldn't be trusted."
Eberts glances up at Him. "I would think that you, sir, would understand their position on this, more than anyone else."
"Shut up, Eberts," He snaps, and the assistant's head drops down to his computer.
"About those shackles..." He brings the other's attention back to the bag on the table. "What are they from?"
Monroe bestows upon Hobbes a particularly pointed glare, as if to say 'Don't even think about telling him... we're under orders,' but he blatantly ignores her.
"From what was left in that lab; of which there was very little, I might add; looks to me like they had someone in there."
"Like, a prisoner?" Eberts asks lowly.
He glances down at the assistant. "Yeah, sort of; and it didn't look like it was under friendly circumstances either, if you know what I mean."
"Explain," The Official grunts.
Monroe gives up glaring at Hobbes, figuring she might as well contribute to the discussion now that he's let the cat out of the proverbial bag.
"There was the remains of an old hospital bed, with remnants of restraints on it. With all the smashed equipment being hauled from the building, Hobbes and I figure they're performing human testing for at least one project."
"I think it's got something to do with Arnaud's little problem with his gland," Hobbes adds.
"Maybe, but I wouldn't rule out other possibilities," she returns levelly.
He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, and then closes it. He's forgotten what he was going to say. In a vain effort to cover his verbal trip-up, he looks around for his partner.
"Eberts, what are you doing?" Monroe asks, tapping the monitor's casing to get his attention.
At the same time, Hobbes asks, "Where's Fawkes?"
Eberts swings his head back to the computer at Monroe's question and taps at a point on the screen. "I've been attempting to triangulate Agent Fawkes' location through the signal to his phone. It took a little more time than I thought..."
"Why? What's up with Fawkesy?" Hobbes interrupts, frowning.
No one answers. Eberts and The Official unobtrusively find something else to look at other than Hobbes.
"What is it, Eberts?" Hobbes demands, this time with an edge to his voice.
The Official's face is grim. "He hasn't checked in since he left this morning."
"What's he been doing?" he asks earnestly.
"What else? Looking for de Fehrn," He replies matter-of-factly.
Monroe shrugs, still gazing at the computer screen. "So what? He probably took a long lunch. I'm sure we'll hear from him by tomorrow morning."
The Official shakes his head. "It might be too late then. We need to find him, now."
Eberts helpfully expands. "The Keeper was running some tests on Darien's blood, and came up with abnormally high hormonal levels. She asked him to check in with her every couple of hours, but he has yet to call once."
Hobbes looks concerned. "He must've run into some trouble. I know my partner; he wouldn't forget to call Claire if she asked him to."
"So what kind of problem would these 'abnormal' hormone levels create?" Monroe asks, straightening up.
The Official replies dourly, "What we're talking about is Fawkes going Quicksilver mad much earlier than expected."
Hobbes looks slightly alarmed. "We'd better hurry then." He looks at Eberts' computer. "You said you got a lock on his twenty?"
The assistant nods. He types a few commands, and then hits enter. A printer spits out a piece of paper. He tears it off and hands it to Monroe (since she's closest). "Here's the address."
"Then let's get a move on, Monroe," Hobbes urges, already halfway out the door.
"Wait!" The Official stops them before they've gone. "Check in with The Keeper first. She said she might have something to help you out.";
"Thanks," Monroe replies, since Hobbes is already down the hall at the elevator doors. She closes The Official's office door behind her and follows.
The laboratory door slides open. Claire is at her workstation, filling a hypodermic with some sort of liquid. She looks up as first Hobbes and then Monroe enters. She looks harried.
"Good, you're back," she utters wearily. "We don't have much time left."
She palms the hypo she just filled, and then adds a second from the counter to her right. She holds them up for the others to see. The contents of the hypos are of two different colors.
"I've color-coded them so you can tell which one to use," she starts. "This one," she indicates the green colored liquid, "is a sedative, in case Darien goes Quicksilver mad before you get to him. The other," she then indicates the clear colored liquid, "is a hormone blocker so the counteragent can work effectively."
Monroe takes the green hypo while Hobbes carefully pockets the clear one.
Claire strides to the refrigerator, and opens it to grab another hypo with a tiny amount of the familiar blue counteragent inside. "The rest of the batch isn't ready yet, but hopefully this will suffice long enough for you to bring Darien in. I'll be ready by the time you all return."
Hobbes takes the counteragent and puts it in a separate pocket. "We'll bring him home safe and sound," he confidently assures her.
"What exactly is wrong with him anyway?" Monroe requests.
Claire turns to her and quickly responds, "Since we're pressed for time, I'll give you the short and quick version."
Monroe nods, indicating that the doctor should continue.
"The gland is causing the production of abnormally high levels of estrogen, which are impeding the effects of the counteragent. Until we can get those levels under control, it'll be as if Darien never got his shot three days ago."
Monroe's eyes widen slightly as the impact of the doctor's words sink in.
Hobbes quickly treads to the door, catching the other agent's arm as he passes.
She's pivoted around as he declares, "Let's get moving, Monroe. Time's a wastin'."
She pulls her arm free with an irritated grimace. "All right, Hobbes. You don't have to herd me," she mutters as the door slides shut behind her.
They pull up behind Darien's car at roughly 2:00am. Hobbes parks the van, and he and Monroe get out to check the car. Before he closes his door, he pulls out from behind his seat the headgear he uses to see his partner when he's Quicksilvered. He settles it comfortably on top of his head as he joins Monroe at the car.
He shines a small flashlight over the interior of the car as she feels the hood.
He straightens up with a shake of his head, indicating there's no sign of Darien inside, and she comments lowly, "Hood's cold."
He replies just as quietly as he jerks his head in the direction of the apartment, "You wouldn't know this place, but one of Chrysalis' agents used to live here."
"Which one?" she asks.
"The Lady of The Lake,"; he replies thoughtfully.
She looks quizzically at him, not recognizing the reference.
He expands. "Alianora."
"Ah," she nods. "We should see if he's inside."
They quietly head down the block towards the apartment, splitting up with Monroe circling the front of the house, and Hobbes taking the rear.
The apartment is dark, except for a soft light left on in the living room.
Coincidentally, Hobbes is peeking through the same window that Darien had stood at just a few hours before.
He peers inside the living room, and spies the sleeping form of MacKenna curled up in a loose fetal position on the couch. She is lying partially on her left side with her right arm cradled against her chest. Her left arm is bent at the elbow, with the back of her hand resting lightly on the cushion next to her left cheek. There's a light blanket draped across her legs, and her clean hair is spread out on the couch pillow, as well as partially obscuring part of her face. Her worn features look almost peaceful, as if this was the first real bit of rest she's gotten in a very long time.
After scanning the rest of the room visible to him, Hobbes notices the broken screen. On a hunch, he pulls out and turns on his penlight to scan the ground surrounding him. A yard or so away, he comes across a scuffled and torn up patch of grass and dirt. He bends and lightly examines the area.
At a barely noticeable scuff on the ground behind him, he whirls around with his gun drawn.
It was Monroe, quickly putting up her own gun as she recognized him.
He holsters his own gun as she nods towards the back door of the apartment. He nods in agreement, and they open the screen to check the door.
It's locked. He raises a hand in frustration, and she shakes her head. She pulls out a lock-pick set from her jacket, and starts to silently work at the lock.
Hobbes dips his head, again impressed with her versatility.
Monroe finishes picking the lock, and she gestures for him to cover her as she opens the door. He pulls out his gun as he enters the apartment behind her.
MacKenna hasn't moved. The two agents scan the room, and seeing that it was empty except for the three of them, they again split up.
Monroe stays in the living room to keep an eye on the sleeping woman and the door, and Hobbes silently makes his way through the rest of the apartment. As he leaves the living room, he pulls the eyepiece of his headgear down and activates the thermal vision goggles.
A few moments go by, and he re-enters the living room. He deactivates the goggles, lifts the eyepiece from his face, and shakes his head. No Darien. Or anyone else, for that matter.
Monroe indicates the sleeping woman, and he nods. He comes to the foot of the couch, and she crouches down a few inches from MacKenna's head.
She reaches out a hand to wake her, but suddenly MacKenna's hands shoot out to seize her face. "You can't move," she commands, her green eyes intensely focusing on the female agent's.
Monroe twitches, paralyzed. Her eyes are wide, not understanding why she can't make her limbs move.
"Freeze!" Hobbes shouts, aiming his gun between MacKenna's eyes. "Don't make another move, girlie, or I'll...!"
"What?" she replies harshly. "Shoot me? Go ahead." She slowly turns her eyes towards him with a feral smile. He sees the panicked determination in them, and fights the urge to ease back a step. She looks like a woman with nothing to lose, and he knew that made her especially dangerous right now.
The air was fairly bristling with tension, and the seconds ticked away like hours.
Thinking furiously, he finally comes to a decision.
He slowly aims the barrel of his gun at the floor.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously at first, but when she recognizes that he's backing down, she (also slowly) pulls her hands away from the other woman's face.
MacKenna sits up in a lotus-like position, and rests her hands, palms up, on her knees. So now Hobbes is able to see them, but they're also not far from the other woman's head.
"Now what?" she asks evenly.
"What'd you do to Monroe?" he demands.
"Gave her an order she couldn't refuse."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you'd better tell me what the hell you're doing here, before we do something you'll both regret."
She winces in sudden pain and sways momentarily before straightening herself. Her whole body shudders convulsively. She touches her nostrils with trembling fingers and pulls them away, suddenly covered in blood.
Hobbes starts in surprise.
"I've been doing this way too much the past few days," she thinks out loud. "If Arnaud wasn't such a dick, I'd've been in better shape for this." She lightly pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'd appreciate it if you threw me that box beside you," she finishes dryly to Hobbes.
He glances over to his left, and spies a Kleenex box on the end table. He reaches over and lightly tosses it towards her.
She snags it out of the air and pulls out a wad of tissues. She presses it up to her nose, but unfortunately some blood had already flowed down to her chin and dripped onto her black sleeveless tank top.
"Well, then, it seems we're at an impasse," she comments mildly.
"Guess so," he replies, unsure of how exactly he should proceed.
A moment of silence passes before he eases down into the chair behind him with his gun resting on his knee. "I'd say this calls for a little exchange of information. Agreed?"
MacKenna nods slightly. "Okay."
"Ladies first."
She snorts in amusement at the politeness. She touches her nose again, wondering if the bleeding's stopped. Satisfied that it momentarily has, she lowers the soiled tissues to her lap. "Name's Amanda MacKenna."
"Bobby Hobbes. And Agent Alex Monroe." He indicates Monroe with a nod of his head.
Her eyes narrow in suspicion at the mention of 'Agent'. "Who sent you?" she asks sharply.
"We work at The Agency."
She frowns and cocks her head slightly to the side. "Wasn't expecting that. What're you doing here?"
"Looking for my partner. Name's Fawkes," he replies, wondering what answer she had expected.
Her eyes widen in surprised recognition. "That's it?"
He straightens in his chair. "So he was here. How long ago?"
She shakes her head. "Huh-uh. My turn. That's the, only, reason you're here?"
Now it's his turn to frown. "Pretty much... yeah."
"And you weren't sent to take me back."
"Back? Back where?" he asks in momentary bewilderment, until something nibbles at the back of his mind. "Where are you from?"
She blinks as she regards him. Her eyes unfocus for a moment before she gives herself a small shake. "Never mind. Look, I don't have much patience for games. If I let your friend here go, will you put that freakin' gun away and tell me what the hell is going on?"
He regards her thoughtfully for a moment, and then curtly nods. "As long as you're straight with me, and don't be trying any funny stuff."
"Deal." She raises her hands to show him that she's going to have to touch Monroe in order to free her.
His eyes narrow and his hand tenses, but he releases/leaves his gun on his knee and nods for her to continue.
She shifts her weight slightly, and gently cups Monroe's face between her hands. Her eyes once again bore intensely into the other woman's, and she asserts quietly, "You may move now."
Abruptly, Monroe's muscles relax, and she plops down on the floor.
MacKenna shoots Hobbes a challenge with her eyes. He nods and holsters his gun as he rises and strides over to help Monroe up.
Her legs asleep from being immobile so long, she leans heavily on his arm for support as he guides her towards the chair he'd just vacated. She glares at MacKenna. "What the hell did you do to me?"
"Ever read Stephen King?" is the weary reply. She rubs the tight muscles on the back of her neck with her left hand as she leans her head back. "It's similar to what the little girl's dad could do in Firestarter."
"That doesn't explain very much," Monroe snaps.
"I know," MacKenna replies quietly, her eyes shut.
"Alright," Hobbes breaks in, "When was Fawkes here?"
She cracks open one eye to look at the two agents. "I made his acquaintance around three thirty this afternoon."
"And where is he now?"
She shuts her eye. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" demands Monroe, lightly shaking the feeling back into her legs.
"Exactly that," MacKenna replies evenly. "They took him about an hour later, and didn't feel I needed to know much more."
"They," Hobbes probes.
She sighs heavily before sitting up straight as she opens her eyes to look at the two agents. "Look, this guy Stark and his two bodyguards took your friend somewhere around four thirty or so. They didn't tell me where; and frankly, I didn't want to know. Okay?"
Monroe stands up, having finally gotten most of the feeling back in her legs. She begins to pace in a tight circle. "No, it's not 'okay'," she snaps. "Do you realize that they're going to kill him, if they haven't already?"
Hobbes, having plunged deep into thought when MacKenna mentions Stark's name, suddenly snaps his fingers. Both women start in surprise. He looks up at first MacKenna, then Monroe. "Makes sense. Chrysalis owns this apartment; Mandy here's working for 'em..."
"Amy," MacKenna interrupts coldly.
"What?" Hobbes asks, distracted by the sudden interruption.
"Not Mandy. Don't ever... call me... Mandy. Amy, or Amanda." she asserts vehemently. "But never 'Mandy'," she adds with a shiver.
Hobbes assesses her physical state with a piercing eye. "So what happened to you?"
Her expression becomes guarded. "What else? I tangled with some nasty people."
"This just isn't as important as finding Fawkes is right now," Monroe impatiently interrupts. "So, if you were Stark," she addresses Hobbes, "where would you take him?"
"HQ," is the thoughtful reply.
"Or, they'd shoot him and dump the body in an alley somewhere," MacKenna adds with a tiny note of sarcasm.
"Will you shut up," Monroe snaps menacingly. She places her hand on the butt of her gun, indicating that she's perfectly ready to shoot the other woman right here and now.
MacKenna tenses on the couch, her eyes narrowing. "I've been threatened by people a helluva lot nastier than you," she growls, her eyes glittering. "And you don't even come close to scaring me."
"Cut it out," Hobbes steps in between the women's glowering. In doing so, he momentarily turns his back on MacKenna. "Look, maybe we can work something out with this," he confides in a low voice to Monroe.
"What do you mean?"
"Like us calling Stark and suggesting an exchange of 'prisoners'. Hm?"
Monroe nods, her face brightening. "Not bad, Bobby," she compliments.
Hobbes dips his head slightly in acknowledgement, then turns around to face MacKenna.
Only she's no longer on the couch.
He freezes as the point of a very sharp and wicked knife pricks his Adams' apple. She carefully spins him around to shield herself from Monroe, who whips out her gun and aims it between MacKenna's eyes. The other woman carefully removes Hobbes' primary gun from its holster, and then lightly pats down the parts of him she can easily reach. She removes another gun, and tosses it across the room.
"You'd better drop that gun," she orders Monroe as she slowly backs him away... towards the door.
"And you'd better stand still; unless you'd like another nosebleed," Monroe replies evenly, the barrel still unwaveringly aimed between the other woman's eyes.
They narrow into blazing slits. "You're not taking me back there, so go ahead... shoot me. Please."
"'There'?" Hobbes grunts. "Where's... there?"
The knife presses deeper into his throat until a small bead of blood forms. His gun is firmly planted in his lower back.
"The Shop," MacKenna hisses into his ear. "I'd rather die than return to that hole!"
The agent's eyes widen in sudden realization. Monroe's gun wavers ever so slightly as she blinks her surprise. They weren't expecting this.
In that split moment, MacKenna cocks and levels Hobbes' gun at Monroe's head. The safety is off. "Drop it! Now!" she barks.
Monroe hesitates, torn between action and acquiescence.
She slowly bends down and stiffly places her gun on the floor at her feet. Without prompting, she kicks it away from her while uttering softly, "We're not here to capture you. Right now we just want to get Agent Fawkes back."
"Yeah, right," MacKenna growls.
"Fine, but it's the truth," she returns evenly.
MacKenna swallows hard as an invisible lightbulb goes off in the back of her mind, and then slowly removes the knife from Hobbes' throat. She secures it in a hidden sheath at the small of her back, and gently places her now free hand on his temple. She closes her eyes briefly, concentrating.
Monroe shoots Hobbes a questioning look, which he returns with a facially expressive negative.
MacKenna reopens her eyes, and speaks softly in his ear. "You can't lie to me."
He blinks suddenly unfocused eyes, momentarily entranced.
Her body sways as she removes her hand. Her nose begins to bleed again.
Hobbes lightly shivers off the remnants of fog from his mind. His eyes refocus on Monroe, who asks knowingly, "Bobby?"
He nods once, "Yah, I'm fine," and turns his head to look askance at MacKenna.
Her eyes are closed again, and he can see her desperately trying to quell the uncontrollable twitching of her muscles. The gun somehow remains fairly steady and is still aimed at Monroe, with only slight twitching coinciding with the worst of the seizures. As they fade, she reopens eyes mirroring the pain and exhaustion she feels. She clenches her teeth, and asks Hobbes, "Were you sent to bring me back?"
"No. We're supposed to find out where you are, and then call in a report," he replies.
"To whom?" she grits out.
"Agent Barnes," Monroe answers quietly.
She shoots a quelling glare at the other agent. "I wasn't asking you."
Hobbes nods once. "It's true."
She sprouts an ironic little smile. "So the little bastard's in charge now. Hunh... figures."
"He said the guy before him died the night you broke out."
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to make sure that that freakin' sadist went out with a bang," she growls with a feral grin.
Something clicks in his mind, and he thinks out loud, "So, if you're the one Arnaud busted out, and you're with Chrysalis now, that means..."
Monroe blinks, coming to the same conclusion. "Means," she interrupts, "that de Fehrn and Stark are working together."
"Oh, this sucks," he mutters woefully.
MacKenna lightly shoves him away from her. He spins around to face her, and takes a couple of steps backward until he's beside Monroe.
The gun is still pointed at the two agents. "Is there any way I can convince you to not tell Barnes where I am?" she asks desperately.
Hobbes nods/shrugs noncommittally, and Monroe looks at him as if saying, 'You can't do that.'
A moment passes, and MacKenna suddenly lowers the gun. It clatters to the floor, and she sways wildly as her knees buckle.
Being closer to the woman, Monroe catches her before she can hit the floor.
Hobbes hesitates as she begins to fall, then moves to help Monroe guide the exhausted woman to a chair. They gently set her limp body down, and Monroe checks her pulse. He fetches some paper towels from the kitchen for MacKenna to clean the blood from her face and shirt.
She studies them, being conscious the whole time. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, now," she comments weakly.
Hobbes regards her thoughtfully for a moment, and then taps Monroe lightly on the shoulder. She glances up at him, then rises and follows him a few steps away from the chair. She cocks her head questioningly, and he quietly comments, "She needs a doctor. We'd better check in with the Fat Man."
Monroe nods. "You do it; I'll see if she can remember anything else that'll help us find Fawkes."
Hobbes returns the nod, and walks out the door to make the call.