Wednesday 8:30am
Everyone, with the exception of The Official and Eberts, gathers around Claire's computer in her lab. Darien and Hobbes enter the lab, and notice that Monroe is already sitting next to the doctor in an armchair brought down from her office. She's holding up a film of MacKenna's head to the light, and another is lying on top of a manila x-ray folder on the desk beside her. The look on her face is of mild interest, since the one film shows extra vascular pathways, and the other heightened neurological activity in certain areas of MacKenna's brain.
Darien sits down on Claire's left, with his arms resting in front of him on the back of a rolling office chair. Hobbes stands on Claire's right and squints at the x-ray in Monroe's hand.
"What's up?" Darien inquires of the doctor.
"I thought you'd like to hear how Amanda became involved in all this," she replies.
"How long've you been here, Monroe?" Hobbes asks her as Claire directs Darien to the beginning of the file.
"About an hour." She sips a viscous orange-colored liquid from a tall clear water glass as she lowers the film to the desk in front of her.
He screws up his face in distaste at the sight of her healthy morning drink. "Yeeuch! That's, just nasty," he mutters, and averts his gaze towards the computer screen.
She raises her eyebrows and smiles impishly. She takes another sip from her glass as Claire begins speaking again.
"In February of 1993 she had a husband and two children; twins. They were returning to their home in Virginia from a family visit in Massachusetts, when they were involved in an accident with a tractor-trailer. Amanda was the only survivor."
Hobbes whistles almost silently through his front teeth. "Ouch. Bet that was messy."
Darien's face hardens. "How old were the kids?"
"Five months," she replies softly to him before continuing. "She was critically injured, and was transferred to Johns Hopkins Medical Center's neurological unit a month later, listed as a Jane Doe. On March 24th, she was discharged into military care, but there's no mention of whom it was, or where she was taken. She must have been at The Shop ever since, for over eight years." She shakes her head in empathy at what the woman must have gone through.
"Eight years!" Darien exclaims in disbelief.
Monroe pipes in. "Makes sense. It would take a long time to come up with the kinds of modifications to get her, doing... what she, does..." She trails off, uncomfortable with the memory of MacKenna's burning hands grasping her head.
"Kev..."
Hobbes' head snaps around at the voice whispering through the intercom on the far wall. "What's that?"
Darien tilts his head to listen. Hearing nothing, he asks, "What's what?"
"Thought I heard something."
"Kev? ..."
"There it is again."
Claire and Monroe glance up at the guys. "What's the matter?" Claire asks.
"I think she's awake," Hobbes replies as he steps towards the intercom. "You got this thing set up in the other lab, don't you?"
"Yes," the doctor draws out the affirmative as she rises from her chair. "But she shouldn't be rousing yet. Tomorrow at the earliest..." She trails off as MacKenna's voice rises sharply from the other room.
"Kevin, where are you? KEV!" She coughs harshly, and then the sounds of struggling are heard. Something crashes.
Hobbes and Claire dash through the lab door. Darien follows cautiously, unwilling to get too close to the woman. His curiosity overcomes his reticence, and he stops at the doorway of the other lab. He's greeted with the sight of Claire and Hobbes struggling to restrain MacKenna, who's thrashing underneath them in an effort to escape.
"Get off... Get the hell off!" she shrieks in panic. "Kev!"
Hobbes manages to look up and notice Darien hesitating in the doorway. "Fawkes, get over here!" He curses under his breath as one of MacKenna's fists crashes into his shoulder. He grabs both of her arms and slams them down on the hospital bed. Claire takes the woman's wrists and clasps them down at her sides, so that he can pin down her shoulders.
Darien hesitates for another moment before quickly striding over to the other side of the bed to face Claire. His face betrays the anxiety he feels at touching MacKenna's bare skin and repeating the events from a few days before.
Claire notices his faltering, and snaps, "Gloves. Behind you... on the counter!"
He spins around, grabs a pair of exam gloves and quickly pulls them on. He swings back to the bed and takes MacKenna's wrists from Claire. She snags a hypo and fills it with a sedative.
MacKenna hasn't stopped screaming. "Get off of me, God-Dammit! Kev-vin!" Her back arches up off of the bed in an effort to twist free, but Darien throws himself over her torso and forces her back down onto the bed.
She tries to bite anything in her reach, and he yells as she grazes his ear, "Anytime now, Claire!"
The doctor grabs MacKenna's left elbow with one hand, steadies it, and plunges the needle into a bulging vein. Within seconds of the dispensing of the powerful sedative, she suddenly collapses back onto the bed. Although her body has gone slack, her eyes remain frantic and uncomprehending. The two agents and the doctor heave sighs of relief, and Darien cautiously lifts himself off of the bed. He keeps a firm grip on her forearms as Hobbes releases her shoulders to wipe at his brow. Claire drops the syringe down on the counter behind her, and finger-combs wisps of sweat-soaked hair back from her face.
MacKenna scrutinizes them for a few moments. "Who are you people?" Her voice is rough from screaming, as well as from days of disuse. "Where am I? Where's my husband?"
Hobbes blinks down at her in bafflement, while Claire and Darien exchange perplexed gazes.
She looks back and forth between the three with absolutely no glimmer of recognition as to who they are.
"What? What's happened? Where're my babies? Where's Kevin?"
Darien's head rears back at the mention of his brother's name. "'Kevin'?"
Her eyes fasten onto his in entreaty. "Yes, my husband? Kevin Daniels. How is he?"
"Amanda, do you know what day it is?" Claire asks her as she glances over at the monitors.
The woman frowns as she probes her muddled thoughts for the answer. "... Saturday?" she replies hesitantly as her eyes refocus on the doctor's troubled expression.
Claire shakes her head, and shoots the two men a quelling look to make sure that they don't interrupt. "It's Wednesday. Do you know what year this is?"
"W-What do you mean? How, how long have I been out?" MacKenna's voice rises in agitation as she senses their troubled thoughts. The men look to Claire, and she again shakes her head at their unspoken questions.
"Would you please just tell me what the hell is going on here!" MacKenna tries to tug her arms out from Darien's grasp, but she's too weak to do so. She glares at him, obviously searching for anything to latch onto to keep her panic from spiraling out of control. "You're hurting me."
He swallows nervously, hesitates for a moment, and then carefully eases his grip before releasing her arms and stepping back from the bed. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, he glances up towards the door and notes Monroe solemnly watching them as she leans on her crutches.
MacKenna follows his gaze, and frowns as a memory dances at the edges of her mind. "Do I, know you?" she asks the woman in the doorway.
Monroe's eyebrows crease as she glances questioningly at Claire. The doctor raises a hand in negation, at the same time regaining MacKenna's attention. "Amanda, I'm Dr. Keepley. You've sustained a brutal shock to your system, and have been in a coma for almost a week now."
"What? Why... I, don't remember."
"Your memory should return gradually over the next few days, but right now you just need to stay calm... and rest."
"But, w-what about my husband? And the kids?" She raises a shaking hand to her throbbing head and rubs around her temple. The combination of the sedative and the aftereffects of the waning adrenaline rush overwhelm her, and her eyelids begin to droop against her will.
Claire waves the others out of the room, and gently takes and lowers the woman's hand down to her side. "This isn't the time. We'll talk more later, but right now you need to get some more rest."
She manages to mumble "But haven't I slept enough?" just before she drifts into unconsciousness.
Claire checks that all of the monitoring equipment is still attached and functioning, and then picks up the fallen IV stand and reinserts the IV needle into MacKenna's hand. She then gently tugs the tangled covers into some semblance of order over the oblivious woman before turning to follow the others out of the lab.
As she walks out into the hall, she comes upon Darien leaning on the doorsill. He's been there watching her the whole time while the others were entering the main lab. As the door clicks shut behind her, he asks, "You really think her memories'll come back, too?"
Claire shrugs. "It might take a bit longer than it did for you, but yes, I think she has a sporting chance."
His face betrays the dark emotions roiling inside him, and she reaches out and almost touches his arm. "What's the matter?"
He shakes his head and backs away a step. "I almost wish she'd never remember what they'd done to her. She'll sleep a helluva lot better at night, then."
She grimaces in empathy. "It wouldn't be much of a blessing though. She'd have to learn all over again that her family was killed in that car accident; and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
His face clouds over and becomes unreadable, and he shoves his hands deep into his pants pockets. "I need some air."
He starts off towards the stairs, and she calls after him, "Darien, you shouldn't leave the building..."
He stops and turns slowly to face her again. "I'm not," he states in a flat tone as he spins around on his heel. The stairwell door is roughly thrust open as the brooding man climbs the stairs towards the roof.
She watches him leave with eyes full of uneasiness, and ponders his unusual behavior as she reenters her lab.
Upstairs (about 3:25pm, Wednesday):
Monroe's office door opens a little, and Eberts peeks around the edge. "Agent Monroe, may I come in?"
She looks up from her book and waves him in. "Of course, Eberts. What's up?"
He glances uneasily over his shoulder to see if he was followed, then eases himself quickly into the room and shuts the door behind him. "We seem to have a situation downstairs."
Her brows crease. "What?" She inserts a marker in the pages and shuts her book. "Is MacKenna..."
He shakes his head. "No. It's The Official. I just came from His office, and... " He hesitates, and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his brow.
"Well? Out with it," she interjects impatiently.
He carefully folds up the cloth and returns it to his lapel pocket. "The Director of The Shop is here..."
"Barnes?"
He nods. "With two agents, and an assistant. They're demanding to know where Miss MacKenna is."
"We'd better warn the others." She carefully hoists herself up from her chair and reaches for her crutches. He moves quickly to her side in case she requires assistance, but she waves him away. "Thank you, Eberts, but I'm getting the hang of this." She hobbles over to the intercom by her door and pushes one of the buttons. "Don't acknowledge; we have company. Stay put until I contact you."
Suddenly the door is thrust open, and one of the Shop agents appears in the doorway. "Agent Monroe, please come with me." He reaches out to grasp her elbow, but realizes that she's on crutches, and instead backs up a step and waves for her to leave the office. "You're needed for immediate debriefing."
"Ah, yes, Agent Eberts has just informed me of your arrival. Let me get my report..." She looks at the assistant in inquiry, and he steps over to her desk to picks up a thin folder. He raises it in question, and she nods an affirmation. He tucks it under his arm and returns to her side as the Shop agent begins to step inside the office in mild alarm.
Eberts glances at the man in innocent bemused query, and waits as the Shop agent stops, turns, and again waves for the two to precede him down the hall to the elevator.
As the doors open on the floor below, Eberts remains inside while the other two are stepping out. The Shop agent shoots him an imperious look, practically ordering him to get out and precede the man to The Official's office.
He surreptitiously pushes a button. "I'm so sorry, but there's one more person I need to fetch for the debriefing," he explains as the elevator doors suddenly slide shut.
Monroe lurches into the Shop agent's way as he lunges for the elevator door in an effort to prevent Eberts' 'escape'. "Oh, sorry," she apologizes facetiously as he automatically steadies her. "I just can't seem to get used to these stupid things." She straightens up with an engaging smile. "Agent Eberts is just fetching our resident doctor so she can give her report to the Director as well. They'll be here in a few minutes. Shall we?" She indicates The Official's office down the hall. At a momentary loss as to what to do, the man shadows her to the door.
Wednesday afternoon, 3:30pm
MacKenna stirs fretfully; in the next room, Claire recognizes the agitation of a woman in the midst of a nightmare. She sets down a can of fish food and shuts the top of the tank over the swarming marine life inside. She walks over to the other lab, and enters just as MacKenna snaps awake.
"Wh-wha?" she stammers as she attempts to sit up. Claire catches her arm just as it slips out from under her.
"Don't try to get up just yet: you're still too weak," the doctor warns gently. She helps the woman lie back down on the bed, and then rearranges the sheets and pillow. She then goes to the back of the room to fetch a cloth, wets it down at the sink, and then returns to her patient's side to carefully clean the sweat from her face.
"What time is it?"
Claire checks her watch. "It's three-thirty. Do you know who I am?"
She blinks as she searches her mind. "Dr. ... Keepley?"
The doctor smiles, encouraged with her patient's progress. "That's right. How are you feeling?" She places a supportive hand on the woman's back as she raises the head of the bed to more of a sitting position.
The invalid rubs the back of her neck with a grimace. "Well, better than last time. What day is it?"
"Wednesday."
"What happened?"
Claire hesitates before she answers. "What do you remember?"
She frowns. "I-I dunno. It's all muddled." She falls silent as she wracks her battered brain for answers. "I remember, what was it? Yesterday?"
"You came out of your coma this morning," Claire corrects her.
"Oh. You were here. And two guys. Was there a woman, at the door? On crutches?"
The doctor nods.
"She's, so familiar. The short guy, too." She yawns and scrubs the sleepies from her eyes with both fists, and then winces as the torn muscles in her right arm protest. "Ow." She looks down at her arm as she gingerly touches the bandage. "I was shot, wasn't I?"
Claire's eyebrows knit as she regards her patient. She nods.
MacKenna continues as she stares at the bandage without noticing the doctor's reaction. "There was this... room. A lot like this one, but... bigger." Her eyes narrow as a jumbled knot of emotions swells within her. "I, I didn't want to be there." She falls silent, her unfocused eyes darting back and forth, as she tries to process the memory fragments writhing through her mind.
Her fingers worry at a frayed edge of the blanket covering her legs.
The lab door slides open, and Darien enters. Hobbes is behind him, but he leans on the doorsill after his partner enters the room. MacKenna doesn't seem to notice them, but Claire looks up as they come in. She raises a finger to her lips in supplication for them to remain silent.
Hobbes nods, and motions to her if she wants them to leave. She shakes her head as she indicates that he's fine where he is. Darien strides over to the other side of the bed from Claire and leans up against the table behind him.
"Dammit!" MacKenna strikes the side of the bed with her fist in frustration. "It's all there, I know it... hhhaaaaahh..." she growls as she hunches her legs up to her chest. She wraps her arms tightly around her knees and drops her forehead down onto them.
Claire rests a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "Don't push yourself so hard; it'll come back to you, in time."
She raises her head to gaze hopelessly into the doctor's eyes. "When? Tomorrow? Next year?" She sighs heavily. "I just, have this, horrible feeling that I'm, running out of time."
The doctor shoots an alarmed look at the men before returning her attention to her patient. She's at a momentary loss for words.
Suddenly, the intercom buzzes, and Monroe's voice murmurs over the speaker. "Don't acknowledge; we have company. Stay put until I contact you."
Hobbes and Claire exchange questioning glances as he steps into the room and allows the lab door to slide shut behind him. Darien continues staring darkly at MacKenna, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.
Her head whips around to him. "What, is your problem?" she snaps as she glares at him self-consciously.
He blinks himself out of his reverie, and looks directly into her eyes. "What?"
"You've had this weird look on your face since you came in."
"Didn't think you noticed."
The corner of her mouth twitches. "I notice everything."
Hobbes snorts softly. "Sounds familiar."
She glances questioningly at him. "What do you mean?"
He grins conspiratorially. "Enh, it's just something I do, too."
She searches his face with her eyes, frowning. "We've met before," she states in a detached tone.
Claire clears her throat to regain the woman's attention. "Amanda, how would you like to get out of bed for awhile?"
She blinks out of her rumination, turns her gaze to the doctor, and nods.
Hobbes comments, "Uh, hey, you think that's such a good idea?" The women look at him, and he continues. "You know, what with..." he nods towards the intercom with raised eyebrows.
MacKenna frowns, not understanding his reference, but Claire shakes her head. "Now's as good a time." She lowers the protective side bar on the bed, helps her patient pull off the blankets and carefully swing her legs over the edge. She turns around, snags her cardigan from the back of an office chair, and covers the other woman's shoulders with it. MacKenna smiles her thanks and holds on to the doctor's arm as she gingerly slides off of the bed.
"Lock your knees," Claire advises her as her feet touch the floor.
"Whoaa." Her legs shudder spasmically as they threaten to give out and pitch both women to the ground. Claire spreads her feet widely apart as the other woman strives to lock her knees.
Meanwhile, upstairs (approximately 3:15pm, Wednesday)...
The Official's office door bursts open to reveal Barnes, Noble, and two Shop agents. Barnes' expression is granite, with his eyes glittering in barely suppressed wrath. He stalks into the office with Noble barely a step behind and to the left of him.
The Official's gaze snaps upwards, and His face drains of all color as He recognizes the men entering. He hastily drops His pen onto the desk as He half-rises from His chair. One of The Shop agents positions himself at the other door, while the second closes and locks the office door behind him.
Barnes stalks over to the desk and slams his open hands down, startling the already jittery man behind it. "Where are they?" he demands coldly.
The Official blinks as He attempts to compose Himself. "Who?"
Barnes' eyes narrow. "I don't have the patience for your games, Mister Borden. You will tell me where Amanda Daniels is... now."
Over His momentary shock, He glances over at Eberts. His assistant is standing frozen in the corner with a stack of pink forms in his hands, looking very much like a deer caught in floodlights. He nods imperceptibly towards the door, and Eberts nods in affirmation, looking relieved at the dismissal.
Noble steps over and casually takes the pink forms from the other man's nerveless fingers. He glances at the open cabinet and casually comments, "Excellent system. I've found that color-coding is by far the most superior method."
"Thank you," Eberts replies, taken aback with the compliment. "There are other methods I employ as well..." he begins, but is interrupted by the Director and The Official.
"Noble..."
the men warn ominously, and the two assistants drop their eyes and part ways.
"Eberts..."
As Eberts cautiously eases towards the main door, The Official returns His gaze evenly to the incensed man in front of Him. "Have you heard of an organization known as Chrysalis?" He replies in a bland tone.
Barnes frowns, unsure if he was being led astray, but then nods cautiously. "Yes."
The Official grunts and averts His gaze to the taciturn scene transpiring at His office door. Eberts has been halted by the two Shop agents, who are menacingly gripping the butts of their guns. The assistant has his chin raised in defiance, but just can't seem to bring himself to graze past the two men.
Barnes' gaze follows His, and he curtly gestures for his men to allow Eberts to exit. They hesitate before slowly standing aside and leaving barely enough room for him to squeeze through to the door.
At The Official's encouraging nod, His nervous assistant steels himself and hastily brushes by and out the door. One of The Shop agents moves to follow him, and Barnes shakes his head. "Wait outside." The agent tilts his head to the side in inquiry, but follows orders and repositions himself outside the other office door.
Barnes returns his attention to The Official. "So?"
He raises His chin, and takes a breath to start spinning His web of truth, half-truths and lies like the master He is.