In lieu of Darien's opening words are Amanda's:
"A tortured soul named Henry Fink once said: 'You made me what I am to-day, I hope you're satisfied... And though you're not true, May God bless you, That's the curse of an aching heart.' hm... I wonder if he came up with that in therapy."
Sunday, 2:25pm
Darien snaps awake from his coma. Hobbes, who's been keeping vigil since they all returned from the warehouse, starts from his chair and is by his partner's side before his eyes have even focused. "Whuh... what?" Darien coughs as he tries to remember where he is.
Hobbes hovers over his friend, the relief radiating from his weary face. "Take it easy, partner. You've been out for a couple'a days."
Eyes full of confusion finally focus on him. "What happened?"
"We're in the lab," Hobbes replies. "We brought you and Amy here from the warehouse the other day. You gave us a helluva scare, my friend," he lightly chastises.
Darien frowns, not immediately recognizing the woman's name, and turns his head at the flutter of fabric to his right. Having just finished checking MacKenna's stats, Claire emerges from behind one of those huge tri-fold privacy screens that she had erected to split the room in half. The sudden relief she feels at seeing Darien awake overshadows the look of apprehensive concern on her face. She steps over to his side and begins to check his vital signs, and searches his face for any signs of Quicksilver madness as she asks, "How are you feeling?"
He blinks as he considers her question before replying. "Like some psycho mashed my brain through a sieve." Abruptly, he tenses and glances down at his body. "And why am I in restraints? ...Again?"
Claire and Hobbes exchange meaningful looks before he responds. "What do you remember?"
Darien's eyes unfocus as he searches his memory. His brows rise as the fog slowly lifts from his mind, then plunge as first frustration and then fury swells. He grits out one word: "Arnaud."
Claire glances at the monitor as his blood pressure sharply rises with his surging pulse and emotions. "What else?"
He frowns at her. "The bastard was going to carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, Claire. What, there's more?"
Hobbes nods dourly. "Oh, yeah. Lots."
"Like..."
Hobbes shoots the doctor an inquiring look, asking with his eyes if she thought it was okay to continue. She shrugs, not seeing any reason to wait, so he explains. "You remember meeting a girl? At Alianora's old place?" As he's talking, he begins to undo the straps restraining his friend's arms above the bandages around his wrists.
Darien scowls, and he continues. "Arnaud was with her. He knocked you out and took you to Stark. Any of this ringing a bell?"
"No." The battered ex-burglar jiggles his head in an attempt to clear the loud humming from his ears. He stops immediately as he realizes that it's only making his head throb even more in agony. Claire notices his pain and lightly places her fingers on his forehead. She gently pushes his head back and shines a penlight up his nostrils. Seeing no fresh blood, she carefully turns his head from side to side as she checks his ears for any telltale signs of hemorrhaging.
He grabs her hands, irritated with the manhandling. "Claire, what the hell're you doing?"
She stills, and looks him straight in the eyes. "What's the last thing you remember happening?"
"Like I said, Arnaud was going to slice and dice me for the gland." Once again his eyes unfocus as a memory dances at the fringes of his mind. "Waitaminute. Hobbes, I didn't try to, choke you, did I?" His eyes refocus on his partner's face, suddenly unnerved with the violent memory.
Hobbes flexes his bruised neck self-consciously. "Well, yeah, but you were all red-eye at the time."
"Son-of-a-bitch..."
He waves off the apology. "Don't worry about it, partner. I'm okay. Thing is, you remember what happened next?"
"Yeah?" Darien draws out the word a little as his mind continues to clear. "Some jackass stuck a needle in my neck. Then..." his voice fades off as he vainly tries to unravel the rest of his memories. "I dunno, the rest is kinda fuzzy..." he rubs at the back of his neck in an effort to ease the tension in his muscles.
"That was Amy," Hobbes interjects. "She got you with a sedative. When you turned around, she grabbed your head, and the both a ya spazzed like you licked a light socket. Monroe called Claire, and we got you two back here asap. That was two days ago."
"Oookay... so where's this Amy chick now?" Darien muses.
Claire motions towards the screen, and he notices the quiet sound of another heart monitor for the first time. He carefully tilts his head to the side as she pulls part of the screen aside so that he can see MacKenna's head. Her auburn hair is unbound, and the waves softly frame her pallid face. The fading bruise on her cheekbone is livid against her skin, and she still has electrodes attached all over her head. The wires from them lead into a machine monitoring her brain waves; it shows a bare minimum of activity.
Claire replaces the screen with a bleak expression on her face.
"She's not doing too well, is she?" Darien quietly asks.
Hobbes shakes his head as the doctor responds. "It's touch and go since she's still having seizures. I doubt she'll last the week if I don't get the information on what precisely was done to her in Virginia."
"What do you mean?"
She sighs in fatigue as Hobbes answers. "She's an experimental. Kinda like you."
"I think... I remember, something about that," Darien rubs at his eyes with his palms, feeling suddenly drained.
She notices the change in his demeanor, and lightly shoves Hobbes away from the bed. "Bobby, would you please tell the others that he's awake? Darien, you really need to rest. You're going to be weak for a while yet, and I'm keeping you here for observation." She elaborates when she notices her patient's unsettled expression. "I still haven't figured out what exactly happened when Amanda touched you; as well as what effect, if any, this has had on the gland."
Hobbes quietly leaves the lab as Darien asks, "What about that number it was doing on my... y'know... hormones?"
"It appears like that's been resolved, but that's another reason I want you to stay put for now," she sinks down into the chair that Hobbes had recently vacated.
"Anything else I should know about?" he yawns.
She shakes her head as she echoes the yawn. "No. Right now I want you to get some rest. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."
Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he relaxes back into the soft pillow under him and immediately drops into a deep slumber. Telling herself that she'll only rest for a minute, the doctor soon follows.
Meanwhile, Hobbes has entered The Official's office long enough to tell those gathered there that Darien's finally roused. The Official asks when He can come down and see His "star agent", to which Hobbes simply replies "Later," before ducking back out of the office and returning to the lab.
Monday, approximately 7:25am
Darien awakes to Claire's soft touch on his shoulder. His eyelids crack open to observe her carefully removing the electrode patches from his head.
She notices his stirring. "Try to keep still, or this might pull out a few hairs," she quietly warns.
His brows furrow as the sleep-fog clears from his mind. "Man, did I have some freaky dreams last night..." he begins, but then he realizes that they were more than just dreams. He abruptly sits up, forgetting her warning. "Ouch!"
She backs up a step, holding a patch with a small clump of hairs clinging to it. "I told you to lie still," she scolds.
He distractedly rubs at the sore spot near the back of his head as he gazes at the privacy screen in the middle of the room. "How is she?" he asks, indicating MacKenna with a small upwards jerk of his chin.
The doctor's face firms. "No better." She turns and places the last electrode down on a rolling tray at the head of his cot, and then begins to remove the other monitoring paraphernalia from his arms and chest.
The lab door opens, and Hobbes and The Official enter. Darien cautiously swings his legs over the edge of the bed as they approach. The Official nods at Claire, who is wheeling Darien's monitors and tray out of the way to the back wall. She returns the gesture as she hands Darien a shirt, and then disappears behind the screen to check on MacKenna.
"How you doing, partner?" Hobbes asks heartily, encouraged with the sight of his friend sitting up.
He shrugs ambiguously as he gingerly pulls the shirt on. "I've felt better."
"It's good to see you up, Fawkes," The Official greets him.
Claire mutters to herself as she finishes with MacKenna.
"What was that?" He queries.
She emerges from the privacy screen with a pensive look on her face. "I still can't figure out why she and Darien had had such extreme reactions to each other," she muses.
Darien perks up at the memory her comment rouses in his mind. "You mean from when she grabbed my head?"
Claire tilts her head to the side in query. "Your memories; are they coming back?"
"Well, kinda. I know that after Arnaud knocked me out, they tied me up and dumped me on her couch. She freaked out 'cause she thought I was working for this place called the Shop..."
The Official's face clouds at the mention of The Shop.
"... and then he grabbed her bad arm. There was this, like," he hesitates, at a loss for a better word. "flash, when he touched her. They didn't seem to notice it that time; but then she grabbed his head and yelled at him, and one helluva spark shot between her hands and his head." He frowns, deep in thought. "I thought I was seeing stuff since he'd kicked me in the head earlier. Think that might have something to do with it?"
Claire runs her fingers through her hair as she thinks furiously. "I'm sure it does, but without more information there's nothing I can do." She sighs in extreme frustration. "If I don't find out more about her medical background, she could very well die in the next day or so."
Hobbes joins the conversation with a preoccupied look on his face. "She told Monroe and I that Stark thought that sparky-stuff had something to do with her and Arnie's... oh, what did she call it? 'Modifications'? That his gland and that thing she does weren't really... compatible."
Claire's scowl lightens a little. "That makes sense, but it's nowhere near enough for me to safely isolate the catalyzing influences." She fixes The Official with a level stare. "What I need are the files on that experiment."
He turns His eyes away, uneasy with what she was suggesting. He hesitates, but Hobbes jumps in before He can speak. "What about Arnaud?"
"What about him?" Darien asks irritably. His head is starting to pound again.
"When he kidnapped Amy from the lab, he'd also stolen all the research files. With any luck, he could still have 'em."
"Unless he'd already given them to Stark," Darien retorts.
"What are you suggesting, Hobbes?" The Official queries.
Hobbes turns to Him and replies with enthusiasm. "That I find our mercenary Doctor, and ... 'compel' him to give up the files." He cracks his knuckles, pleased with the idea of beating the crap out of Arnaud.
"Don't even think of going without me," Darien interjects firmly.
Claire glares at him, her expression changing from thoughtfulness to consternation. "There is no way you're leaving here for at least another day or so, Darien. You're in no condition to be running around chasing Arnaud of all people."
"I agree," The Official pipes in. "Fawkes, you're to stay here and rest." Darien opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off. "And that's an order! Hobbes," He turns to the other agent. "you find out where de Fehrn is hiding, but don't take him on alone! I want you to wait until Fawkes is well enough to back you up. Capiche?"
Hobbes nods, pleased that he can finally do something other than wait. "Got it Boss. Fawkesy, you worry about getting back on your feet. And once I've found Arnaud, we'll both kick his sorry ass all the way back to France."
"Switzerland, Hobbes. It's Switzerland," Darien acerbically corrects his partner. At the other mans' puzzled glance, he expands. "He's Swiss-French. Oh, forget it! Just find the bastard and get back here." He begins massaging his temples, suddenly aware of his pulse pounding in his head. He's beginning to feel a bit faint.
The Official notices that Darien's gotten paler, and gets Claire's attention with a nod of His head. She looks up from the chart she'd started on MacKenna and notes her patient's wan complexion. She strides over and takes his wrist in her hand to check his pulse. He starts to jerk his arm away, but then realizes that any extra movement just makes his head pound harder. He starts rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, and Hobbes pats him twice on the knee.
"Take it easy, partner. I won't do anything without you, okay? I'll check in later." And with that, he leaves the room.
The Official's moved to the foot of MacKenna's bed, and darkly regards her as Claire finishes checking Darien's vitals. She helps him swing his legs back on to the bed and covers him with a warm blanket. He allows his head to settle into the pillow, but his eyes remain open. He watches as she silently joins The Official at the other bed, and ponders the ramifications of MacKenna's possible survival. His eyes prove too heavy to keep open though, and within moments he falls into a light doze.
"What's going to happen to her?" Claire asks quietly.
He shakes His head. "Until Barnes finds her, or gives up looking, she won't be safe staying in one place for long."
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
He studies the comatose woman darkly for a few moments. "You know our financial situation," He replies in a bleak tone.
"But we can't just put her out on the street in the condition she's in," she reasons.
"No. But the sooner she's away from here, the safer we'll all be."
"How so?"
"Barnes has been breathing down my neck since Monroe and Hobbes got back from Virginia," He explains. "He's already suspicious of us. I don't want him thinking that we're hiding her."
"But, we are," she argues.
"He doesn't need to know that. The longer she's here, the more dangerous it becomes... for everyone. This man will stop at nothing to get her back."
"Well then, I hope Bobby finds those files quickly," she murmurs.
Monday, 8:00am
Monroe promptly hobbles into The Official's office on her crutches. He's seated at His desk, speaking with (who else?) Director Barnes on the phone. Eberts is busy dusting and organizing the office. The rotating fan is on low, barely moving the sodden air in the room.
"... They're still out in the field. No, they still haven't found anything more. I'm expecting to hear from Agent Hobbes any minute now." He notices Monroe entering the office and instructs with His hand for her to be silent. "No, Agent Monroe is still recuperating. I'll make sure she sends her report as soon as she's well enough. ... Yes, yes. Very well." He hangs up the phone as He dabs at a line of sweat on His upper brow. "What are you doing here, Monroe?" He barks at her as she limps over to one of the chairs in front of His desk. "You're under orders to stay home and rest."
She carefully lowers herself into the seat. Eberts is immediately by her side, taking the crutches after arranging a folding footstool and helping her to elevate the injured leg. She flashes a warmly grateful smile at him, and he blushes as he hastily returns to his cleaning.
"Well?" The Official grunts. He seems to be in a more cantankerous mood than usual this morning.
"Well what?" she returns crisply. "I was going stir-crazy at home. There must be something I can do around here."
She doesn't notice that the office door's opened to allow Hobbes' entry. He silently strides to the chair askance from her and replies, "Actually, you could help me find Arnaud."
She starts in surprise, and then flinches as the motion pulls at the stitches in her leg. "Dammit, Hobbes, a little warning!"
"Sorry," he apologizes, not looking the slightest bit contrite. "How's the leg?"
"What do you think?" she snaps as she gently massages the tight muscles above her knee. ";Now what'd you say about de Fehrn?"
"Claire needs the research files on Amy asap, and I could use some help in finding his fox-hole," he replies with a gleam in his eye.
"How're they doing?"
"Fawkes's awake, but MacKenna's still in a coma," The Official replies in a dour tone.
"Is he still...?" she inquires pointedly.
Hobbes shakes his head. "He's back to normal, more or less."
"Whatever that is," she mutters. Eberts purses his lips in amusement at her gibe as he finishes wiping off the last file cabinet in the room. He places his cleaning supplies in a tidy pile on top as The Official motions for him to come over. He steps over to His side and nods his readiness.
"Eberts, I want you to help Agent Monroe for the rest of the day. Starting now."
"That's not necessary..." she demurs, but is cut off by the sharp gesture of His hand.
"No. It's either this or being sent home." He fixes her with a gimlet glare. "Well?"
She dips her head in acquiescence before raising her eyes (filled with the irritation she can't express) to Hobbes. "What do you need?"
"We've gotta figure out where Arnaud's hiding," he answers. "Think any of your contacts could help out with that?"
"Maybe," she draws out the word a little as she thinks. "I'll have to make a few calls. Eberts?" She glances up at him in a tacit appeal for his assistance. He looks to The Official, who impatiently waves for him to continue on. He helps her to stand, folds up the footstool and hands her the crutches. As she hops towards the door, he deferentially opens and holds it for her. He looks back over his shoulder, checking if Hobbes was leaving the room with them. But The Official shakes His head, so he closes the door quietly behind himself and trails Monroe to the elevator.
"You want somethin' else, Chief?" Hobbes inquires from his chair.
"Barnes is demanding a field report from either you or Fawkes, as of yesterday. I told him about Monroe getting shot, but he doesn't yet know the three of you've had contact with MacKenna. Before you do anything else, I want you to report in to him..."
"Give a bogus sit-rep?" Hobbes winks knowingly. At The Official's nod, he continues. "Tell him we're getting close, but that we haven't secured either her or de Fehrn yet. Right?"
"Right. He can't in any way know that we have her here."
"No problem, Chief," Hobbes replies with confidence as he rises and strides towards the office door. He swivels around with his hand on the knob. "Hey, Amy said something a few days ago, about hearing stuff some of those Shop guys said about us and The Agency. Whatta ya think they were talking about?"
The Official's face closes up like a wall's slammed down over His thoughts. "Believe me, Bobby, you don't want to know."
He frowns thoughtfully, not quite liking the tone of the Boss's voice. He looks as if he wants to say something more, but decides against it and quietly leaves the office.
The Official sighs heavily and rubs His aching eyes before turning back to His paperwork.
Monday, around 5:00pm
Later that day, Monroe calls Hobbes up to her office. He knocks politely on her door as he peeks around the edge of it. He notices that Eberts has set her up comfortably on the couch, with a few pillows neatly arranged to raise and support her injured leg. There's a hardwood TV tray arranged beside her; with her phone, a note pad, pen, and Rolodex stacked neatly on top of it. She has a triumphant smile on her face, which is modestly echoed in the assistant's expression.
"Wha'? What is it?" he inquires in earnest as he shuts the door behind him.
"We found de Fehrn."
His eyes widen in excitement. "How did...? Who...?" he sputters before his face firms out. "Where?" he grins with a savage glint in his eye.
"Remember the man assisting him at the warehouse?" she hints. He nods, and she continues. "I planted a tracer on him when he was helping me to the operating theatre. Apparently he never discovered it, so Eberts was able to trace his whereabouts. I called in a couple of guys I know to track his location; they just called a few minutes ago."
"And..." he prompts impatiently.
"And they found him with de Fehrn and Stark at what looks like Stark's house," she finishes, unperturbed with the interruption.
He breaks out in an ecstatic grin. "Your boys say how the detestable duo's doing?"
She chuckles at his facile remark, and Eberts smiles faintly from his spot at the bar. "Stark's pretty pissed at you for shooting him," she pouts in mock-sympathy.
"Tit for tat as far as I'm concerned," he returns, pleased with the off-handed compliment. "Got an address?"
She nods and glances expectantly at Eberts as he steps to her side and hands her a piece of paper. "Thank you, Eberts." He nods and returns to his post. She holds it up to Hobbes, who accepts it with a grateful nod.
"Thanks for the help, Monroe. ...Eberts." He heads for the door, eager to go kick some ass. "Take it easy on the leg."
As he closes the door she replies dourly, "As if I had a choice," with a mildly baleful glance at the assistant.
A few minutes later the lab door slides open, and Hobbes enters with a lively step. Claire is in her comfy chair by her computer, writing notes in her new case folder on MacKenna. Darien's sitting up in his bed, considering whether or not he should try out his legs yet. He looks a million times better than he did just the day before.
The two look up at Hobbes expectantly, and he proudly displays the paper Monroe and Eberts gave him a few minutes before. "Get out of bed Fawkesy, we've got us some ass-kickin' to do!"
Darien grins, glad for the excuse to get out of the lab. He's really craving fresh air and sunshine on his face, what with all the little sounds of the life support equipment's beeping, it just felt more and more like living in a morgue to him. He slides off the edge of the bed, and then suddenly clutches at it to steady himself. His knees wobble like they're made of silly putty.
Claire hastens from her chair to help him, but Hobbes beats her to the bed and firmly catches his friends' arm. "Whoa, take it easy partner! We don't have to leave right this second! We got plenty of time to get to Stark's place. I clipped him good in the shoulder, so he won't be up for too much anytime soon. Not to mention that lovely hole you stuck in Arnaud's gut."
Darien locks his knees and shrugs off his partner's solicitous hand. He seems pretty irritated and anxious to leave the lab. "But I need to get out of here... now, Hobbes. If I stay in this room one more second, I think my head's gonna explode!"
Claire searches his face with great concern for any signs of Quicksilver madness. "Darien..."
He lurches away from her, smacking at her extended hand in irritation. "I'm fine, Claire. Just sick of being stuck in here." He glares down at his legs, which are threatening to give out on him again. Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step away from the bed. Amazingly enough, he doesn't fall on his face, but he keeps a hand out in case he needs to grab on to something quickly.
Her face betrays the severity of her anxiety. "You can't go out like this; it's too dangerous, and..."
"Look, do you need that information or not?" he snaps.
Her lips press into a thin line. "Yes I do, but not at the expense of your and Bobbys' safety. If you're going to be of any help to him, you must allow yourself some more time to recover."
"Claire..."
"No, not another word! Don't make me put you in restraints, Darien." Her eyes glitter with emotion.
Hobbes has taken a step back from the two, taken aback at the intensity of their emotions. "Whoa, whoaaa. Let's just take a moment and calm down here, okay? Look, buddy," he turns to Darien. "Monroe's contact said that Stark and the others weren't going anywhere for a while. They're also keeping an eye on things until you and I get there, so we have some time to get your land-legs back." He gesticulates with his open palms facing the floor in a downward calming motion as he glances back and forth between the doctor and the former thief. "So let's go for a walk down the hall, partner; see how you're feeling in a bit. Okay?"
Claire nods: "Fine." while Darien shrugs: "Whatever."
"Great, now let's get you something for the feet." Hobbes searches for, and then pulls out a pair of slippers from under Darien's cot. He hands them to his friend, and stands within arm's reach as they're pulled on.
While Hobbes is looking for the slippers, Claire steps over to a closet and pulls out a combination walking stick/cane. She returns to Darien's side and holds it out in silent instruction for him to employ it.
He finishes sliding on his left slipper, glances up as he senses her approaching from the corner of his eye, and soberly regards the proffered item.
After a brief pause, he accepts it and cautiously turns to leave. Hobbes shadows him to the door, and as it slides open, the shorter man glances at Claire over his shoulder and notices that she's turned her back. She's returned to MacKenna's chart, and is scrawling some final notes in it. Her back is hunched, betraying her concern and irritation at Darien's being such a pain in her ass.