The room was tiny, little more than an oversized closet that was made smaller still by the built-in desk and cabinets along two of the walls. The over-sized state of the art computer screen was mounted into the wall and the desk itself was empty except for the keyboard and trackball. The cabinets beneath were filled with a variety of input devices: disk drives, including ancient 3.5 inch floppy; jump drives, DVD and CD drives, zip drives, super drives and a half dozen other formats, each more obscure than the one before. There were very few forms of media the machine could not read.
The actual computer, a huge block of a beast, was several stories beneath them in the most secure room in the entire building, with its own back-up power and ventilation. If the temperature rose above 80 degrees, the computer would overheat and crash. The system was the one thing Eberts had demanded be maintained to as close as current technology as possible, for without the computer the Agency would be, in this day and age, nothing. Yes, there were the archives, dry, dusty bureaucratic papers that the government as of yet did not know how to run without. But the computer gathered and stored millions of bytes of data every day, handled schedules, accounting, research, and a plethora of other necessities. And, thanks to the Internet, gave them access to a variety of databases; local, national, and international. CODIS and AFIS were used regularly by agents in the course of their investigations.
Today the room was more crowded that usual, with Darien hovering behind Eberts, as the latter looked over the data on the disk the former had brought him.
"So, the computer I recommended is satisfactory?" Eberts asked as he scrolled through the files.
"Yep. Though I still haven't a clue how to work most of the stuff." Darien was just beginning his discovery of the World Wide Web and had been shocked at the amount of porn that was so readily available. He had quickly come to the conclusion that he preferred the good old fashioned version that arrived in his mailbox in a non-descript brown wrapper.
Eberts snorted delicately, almost, but not quite, mocking. "Fully understandable. The offer of lessons still available, if you wish."
Given Darien's utter confusion when clicking on what he'd thought was a link only to have something called Adobe Reader open, he'd been seriously considering accepting the offer. No time like the present. "I'll take 'em. Next weekend? Barring the end of the world, of course."
"Of course." Eberts chuckled. "I believe I can arrange a few hours of free time on Sunday."
"Perfect." Darien waved vaguely at the computer screen. "Is it of any use?"
"Yes, actually." Eberts' fingers flew over the keyboard, opening other files. "Some of this we already have, but nowhere near as detailed." He highlighted a section of a document from Darien's disk. "Like this on the Faraganni brothers. We were aware that they had expanded their territory, but were not certain how far. In fact, we were unaware that they had started selling black market technology along with weapons." The rapacious glee was evident in the man's voice. "May I make copies of this?"
Darien shrugged. "Sure." The information wasn't of much use by itself and was little more than stray tidbits sprinkled in among the data on Arnaud. What Eberts was drooling over was extraordinarily and heavily edited and lacking all the juicy and important parts. Like the fact that the Faraganni's had sold Arnaud some of that very illegal tech, probably for some nefarious plan or other.
Eberts swiveled about in his seat to look up at Darien. "I have to ask: how did you come by this intelligence? It is not something you'd be able to gather via your... usual contacts."
Meaning thieves, and fences, and such. "Does it really matter?" Darien asked. "The info's useful, right?"
"Very. The quality suggests it was procured by a specialist. Say, perhaps, someone at the fourth monkey?" Eberts tried to remain nonchalant, as if it were no more than honest curiosity on his part, but Darien recognized a fishing expedition when he saw one. And in this place, all the expeditions were organized by the Official.
"Do I have moron stenciled on my forehead? I reveal my sources and suddenly poof they're not sources any more."
"Darien, that's not..."
Whatever Eberts had been about to say was interrupted by the bellow of the 'Fish, "Eberts."
Eberts hopped up and swung open the door. "Here, sir."
The Official slowed and swung ponderously about. "Find Hobbes and call his lay-about partner..."
Darien stepped into view.
"Never mind. Fawkes, find Hobbes and be in my office in five minutes."
"What about?" Darien asked, not having a clue where Bobby might be hiding this morning, though the Keeper's bed was always a fair possibility.
The Official huffed indignantly. "You'll find out when you get there." He picked up forward movement and walked down the corridor, pausing as he turned the corner. "I'm certain it will be of interest to you. Eberts."
"Coming, sir." Eberts handed Darien back his disk and all but shoved him from the room. He took just enough time to lock the door before scuttling after his imperious master.
Darien pocketed the disk, curious what the bossman thought might be of interest to him. It was probably nothing more than some Fish and Game schlep work. Saving the endangered abalone from ravening hordes of sea otters so they could, instead, be eaten by ravening hordes of humans.
Darien sighed. You just had to love the hypocrisy.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Bobby's number, deciding a quick call would be easier than a game of hide and seek.
-----
The lines didn't match up. For the first time in many months, the series of peaks and valleys on the graph were different. It was a miniscule difference, but several key points, including one that had been nonexistent for nearly a year, were off. The electrolytes being low was probably due to Darien imbibing in far too much alcohol the day prior to the blood being drawn. A mild cold or minor infection could account for the minimally elevated white count, but the last... Though she found it highly unlikely, it was possible that Darien had been partaking of something stronger than beer or whiskey. She seriously doubted it given his abhorrence of 'recreational' drug use, but she had to consider it. He could have been unaware he was taking them, or had been affected passively. Just being in a room where someone else was smoking marijuana, for example, would allow one to absorb enough THC to register on a standard drug test. Of course, he could also be being adversely influenced by whomever he was spending time with outside of work.
Though he denied it, vehemently, she was certain that Darien had found a lady friend and was discovering the joy of falling in love, or at least into bed. All the little signs were there - improved mood, a spring in his step, bypassing certain of her questions adroitly. She would spy on him if she dared, but was concerned she'd cause him to become reluctant about seeing the lady again, and return to his solitary ways. Plus, she'd been outrageously busy on a number of projects - such as an improved Beta-Chatazine - to pester him about it. She fully intended to ask Bobby, who was certain to know, the next time she saw him. Over the holidays, they had made time to be together, but spent little of it talking. Sleeping had become a favorite and necessary past-time after a long series of 12-plus hour days. Too bad those who wished to do evil didn't take time off for Christmas.
Claire looked over the numbers again without any real concern. She'd rerun the test just to be certain it wasn't a system error or a contaminated sample, which occasionally occurred. Only if the results came back the same a second time would she begin to worry, then beard Darien in her lair for some more blood and tough questions.
The Keep door slid open, admitting Booby who was shaking his cell phone. "Damn it."
"Good morning to you too," Claire greeted sweetly even though she'd left his condo little more than an hour ago. She'd needed to stop at home and take care of Pavlov before heading into work. Her pet had greeted her most enthusiastically before demanding a brisk walk and breakfast served on the terrace.
"What? Sorry. It's like a black hole for cell reception down here." He tucked the phone away with a look of disgust on his face. "I'll just have to call him back later." He strode over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Ever since the Official had revealed that he knew about their relationship, Bobby had been more expressive at work. During downtime, at least. When the work was serious so was his focus, which Claire understood. This was a dangerous business and allowing one's mind to wander when attention was needed would only succeed in causing injury or death. She knew he loved her and that was what was important.
She rotated her chair about to meet his gaze. He had this slight smile upon his lips and a look of quite happiness in his eyes that made her heart melt. "I have a question for you."
"If it's the one I'm hoping, I can guarantee a 'yes' for an answer." The grin became a knowing one and very nearly made her blush.
"It's about Darien," she clarified.
"Oh." He walked over to the other chair and sat down. "What did he do now?"
She chuckled at his dry tone. Clearly, Darien had been getting into mischief again. Or so she hoped. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me."
"I was otherwise occupied last night, Keep, and Fawkes was not at home when I dropped by this a.m." There was decidedly sour look on his features at that last bit of information, making it obvious that whatever Darien had been doing, Bobby did not approve.
"So he wasn't home all night?" she questioned.
Bobby shrugged. "Why else wouldn't he be in bed at 0700?"
"I can think of a dozen reasons," Claire stated, "none of which suggest Darien was out doing something nefarious. I wasn't home last night," she gave him a wry smile. "Perhaps I was out delivering the QS-9300 Project data to my Russian contact."
Bobby snorted. "Keep, you were in my bed. With me."
"Beside the point." Claire waved off the reality as if it were nothing, since, in this case, it was. "You shouldn't assume he's out causing trouble. He's grown up quite an astonishing amount since he came here."
That fact sobered Booby; she could see it in his eyes. "You're right, but he's distant, kinda. Secretive."
Claire brightened at that bit of data. "Who is she?"
Bobby stared at her blankly. "Who's who?"
"The young lady he's seeing, who else?" Claire explained with a grin. "He's been much happier this last week, whistling when he doesn't realize it, smiling and generally quite pleasant to be around. You must have noticed?" There was no way he could have missed it given they spent at least eight hours a day in each other's presence.
The frown returned, deeper than ever, those distinctive lines forming across his brow. "Shit," he grumbled.
"So he hasn't told you?" Claire felt oddly disappointed. "You two aren't having problems again, are you?"
That got a vehement shake of his head. "No. Everything's copacetic. I just... we haven't been talking much about him, y'know? He made it clear that what he does off the clock is his business and none of mine."
"Oh." Claire hadn't realized that Darien had taken things quite that far. Considering he had lived under a virtual microscope for the first two years of his... employment with the Agency, it wasn't too surprising that, now that he had some control over his life, he also requested some measure of privacy. "You should spend more time with him. Go to the movies, or that water park you like."
Bobby chuckled. "Keep, it's January. I'd freeze parts you like to play with."
Claire felt herself blushing but refused to allow the change in topic. "I will still be here." Her voice was soft yet serious. She knew Bobby could be obsessive and over-protective, but so far, the manifestations had been minor. He seemed to save that facet of his personality for Darien. But, every now and then, Bobby needed some reassurance that she had no intention of leaving him. That, unlike his ex-wife, she could handle his mood swings, paranoid delusions and obsessive needs. Though, in point of fact, many of his symptoms had greatly improved and not just due to proper drug maintenance. Being able to truly trust those about him had made a considerable difference. His lithium dosage had been reduced to the lowest possible and another medication had been eliminated completely.
"Keep, I..." Bobby began, but stopped when she shook her head.
"You love him as much as you do me. Maybe more. Avoiding him will only make both of you unhappy." Claire crossed her arms over her chest and planted a stubborn look on her face just to be certain she understood she wasn't going to back down on this point. She fully intended to win this one.
"Look who's talking. Do you do anything besides poke him with needles?" It was a valiant attempt by Bobby to turn the situation about, but Claire parried easily.
"He took me to lunch just yesterday, followed by a quiet stroll on the beach. Why?" She tried to avoid the smug smile, but some of it must have crept out as Bobby snorted.
"You two-timing me?"
If Claire hadn't known Bobby so well, she might have been worried he was serious, but she did so she continued down the same path. "Well, I have seen him with his shirt off more times than you." True, but it wouldn't be long before the numbers would shift in favor of Bobby.
"And he did get to have you first," Bobby pointed out, doing his best to look hurt.
"Bobby," Claire blurted. "There were mitigating circumstances."
"Claire, the two of you didn't go apeshit and suddenly decide to have sex. There was interest before that." He actually pouted at her. "I ain't so stupid I can't figure that out."
Claire was forced to concede that point. "You are correct: I do care about Darien, but under normal circumstances..."
"It woulda never happened," Bobby finished in a snide tone. "You so sure 'bout that?"
Claire found herself wanting to gape at him, wanting to refute his words, argue that she would never, ever, ever have crossed that doctor/patient line like that had she not been under the influence of Beta-Chatazine and Darien Quicksilvermad.
'Liar,' a little voice in her head shouted and presented her with a flashback of her kissing Darien when Kevin was in control of his body. She had wanted him then. Wanted both men. Her emotions ragged and jumbled as she had stood before a man she had loved wearing the body of a man she had sworn to protect and that she had come to care for very much. She had walked away from that encounter in utter confusion, not certain which of the two men she had truly been kissing. To this day, she still wondered if she had taken advantage of the situation, and her Kept, to fulfill a longing she was having more and more difficulty denying.
It could be concluded that the later events proved which of the two men she had wanted, however, she still remained uncertain. The dry facts had little impact upon the emotions.
"Bobby, I..."
The lab door slid open, cutting off Claire's words; she gave Bobby a pleading look, hoping he'd forgive her for not answering.
Darien stepped in. "Claire, have you seen... Oh, there you are," he said to Bobby. "Don't you ever answer your phone?"
"And waste minutes? You're kidding, right?" Bobby got to his feet. "What's up?"
"The 'Fish wants us in his office," Darien glanced at his watch, "ten minutes ago."
"Then we better get to it." Bobby headed for the door, pausing only to say, "See you later," to Claire.
Then the door slid shut, leaving Claire once again alone with her anomalous readings.