Claire looked up from the notes she was entering in the medical chart as the lab door swung open. Agent Zimmer stood in the doorway with a small suitcase in his hand.
Her weary eyes lit up with hope. "Did you find it?" She shakily stood and set the chart on the chair behind her.
Zimmer nodded as he glanced over at Darien's too-still form lying on the hospital bed. He stepped further into the room. "How is he, doctor?"
"His condition is deteriorating rapidly. Please tell me that the gland is all right?" She rushed over to the agent and motioned for him to hand over the case. He turned a little and set it on the counter running along the wall inside the door.
"No damage from what I can tell, but who knows what de Fœhn did to it before we got there."
Claire paused from opening the case and looked at Zimmer with concern. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged slightly. "He had some sort of lab set up, and it looked like he was getting ready to inject the gland with something. There was a needle right beside the container, and some stuff that was dropped on the floor when we got there."
Claire finished opening the case, gingerly pulled the glass jar out and crouched down to visually inspect it at eye level. "Hmmm. I'll have to run some tests to make sure Arnaud didn't do anything adverse to the gland. But there's so little time," she murmured to herself. "I'd better get Jacob back in here." Suddenly she straightened, moved over to the intercom and pressed down the call button. "I'm sorry Jacob, but please come back to the lab. They got it back safely."
As soon as she released the button, her assistant's weary voice crackled over the speaker. "I'll be right there."
She turned back to the questioning glance of Zimmer. "I had sent him to the other lab to rest for a couple of hours. He's been going non-stop since he arrived," she explained as she began to gather various testing instruments from drawers around the room.
She bustled about the room for a few moments, and then suddenly paused as she was struck with a thought. Claire turned slightly to look at Agent Zimmer. "Where's Bobby?"
The agent stared steadfastly back at her. "He's taking care of the prisoner."
Her eyes widened at the tone in his voice. "What do you mean?"
"Doctor, no offense intended, but worry about your patient. Let us worry about de Fœhn," Zimmer replied a bit brusquely.
Jacob entered then, and with one last worried look shot over her shoulder at Zimmer, she joined her assistant in examining the gland.
Claire scrubbed her face with shaking hands as she leaned against the wall. In the middle of the room laid the unnaturally still figure of her Kept… her friend. The only movement indicating that he was alive was the regular rise and fall of his chest as the ventilator forced air in and out of his lungs.
The door opened, and Hobbes limped into the room.
Her mouth dropped open as she noticed his bruised and scraped hands, and then her expression changed to confusion as she took in his smug appearance.
"Bobby?"
He sobered as he took in the sight of his partner lying so still on the bed before he turned his attention to the doctor.
"How is he?"
In answer, she shook her head sadly.
His face crumpled. "The gland?"
She crossed the room and rested her hand on his forearm. "Jacob is finishing some tests to make sure that it's okay. Then we'll be attempting re-implantation within the hour."
"Is he strong enough for you to do that?"
She met his eyes bleakly. "Do we have a choice?"
"Yeah, you're right." He rested his other hand over hers, and her gaze dropped to survey his injuries.
She lightly ran her fingers over the deep scrapes on his knuckles, noting the bruising already apparent. "Is he…"
He grinned for a moment. "Naw. But I'm sure he's wishing he were right now. Got him stashed in Gaither's old room."
"I should check him for…" she began as she turned away towards the door. But Hobbes' hand came down on her shoulder, holding her in place. She glanced in confusion at him. "What?"
"You take care'a Fawkesy. One of the guys on my team is a trained medic. He's patching de Freak up right now."
She warily eyed Hobbes. "What did you do to him, Bobby?"
His look turned steely. "Made sure he wouldn't be able to escape this time." He shook his head sharply. "Anyway, he's only had a taste of what he's got coming to him."
The door swung open, and Jacob entered carrying the jar with the gland. "It looks like he was modifying the gland for re-implantation, but I'll be damned if I knew…" he trailed off as he realized there was someone else in the room. "Agent Hobbes," he nodded to the senior agent soberly. "Good to see you again." He crossed over to the counters across the room and carefully set the jar down in a space beside some equipment obviously used in surgery.
Hobbes and Claire stepped away from each other, and the doctor came over to her assistant's side. "What were you saying, Jacob?"
"That he was beginning to genetically modify the gland for implantation into another host, but I'd say that he didn't get very far. Looks like he'd definitely tried to flush Agent Fawkes' memory RNA from it with an anti-peptide shot, according to the residue."
"Yes, I'm sure he wouldn't want a repeat performance of what Darien went through," Claire murmured thoughtfully before refocusing her attention on her assistant. "So, what do you think?"
He nodded. "I'd say you were right. Let's get this show on the road."
Claire turned, and noticed that Hobbes had quietly moved to stand beside the bed. He stood there and stared at his partner with hooded eyes. His expression was almost haunted, and he looked so despondent that her heart ached with sympathy. If she had the energy and the time to cry, she would have, but she roughly shoved her emotions aside as she snapped back into doctor mode.
"Bobby, this is going to take some time, and I'm expecting an associate of mine to arrive any minute now," she informed the ruggedly handsome man as she came to his side.
Hobbes continued to watch Darien's face as he answered. "Associate? You sure this guy's cleared for this?"
She nodded, even though he didn't see her. "Dr. Randle is one of the best neurologists in the country, and has the necessary clearances. I've worked with him in the past, and I trust his skills." She paused for a moment, and then continued in a lower tone of voice. "I could never forgive myself if I made a mistake, and at this point I'm just so bloody tired, Bobby."
He turned and wrapped his arms around her. "Everything'll be fine, Claire," he murmured into her hair. "I know you'll do everything you can for Fawkes. If you trust this guy, then I'll trust him too."
Those simple words brought the tears back to Claire's eyes. She hugged him back fiercely, taking comfort in his confidence in her. Because at the moment it was a faith she didn't share. Darien's chances of surviving the night were lessening with every minute that passed, and that was without figuring in the surgery.
"Thank you, Bobby," she whispered before she stepped back to scrub away the tears from her face.
Throughout the exchange, Jacob studiously kept his attention elsewhere as he silently continued preparations for the operation.
"What can I do to help?" Hobbes asked.
Claire checked the various monitors as she answered. "If Arnaud is in any condition to talk, it would be very helpful to know what, if anything else, he's done to the gland." She spoke in a completely neutral tone, knowing that Hobbes was still too volatile when it came to the mercenary. "I don't want to have any nasty surprises if…" she paused as she caught the slip. "When Darien wakes up."
Hobbes didn't comment on her verbal blunder. Claire had only voiced the doubt foremost in everyone's mind. "I'll have a little 'talk' with him in a while. He's probably gonna need some rest after our previous 'conversation'."
Claire shot him one of her mother-hen looks. "Please refrain from damaging him too much, okay? If we could somehow gain his cooperation, it would make things so much easier for me."
Hobbes' face hardened. "No offense, Claire, but I won't let that son of a bitch get any ideas in his twisted head that he can bargain with us. No more deals. No more negotiations. You got everything you need to help Fawkes. And there's no way I'll ever trust anything that cocksucker says."
Claire blinked at the vehemence in his voice. "A-all right."
The door to the room opened, and an agent popped his head around it. "Doctor, the other doc is here."
"Thank you." She strode across the room and picked up Darien's medical chart. "Jacob, you'd better scrub in. I'll need your assistance as well."
Her assistant merely nodded and moved to the bathroom.
The agent reappeared in the doorway, escorting a rather diminutive man with thinning silver hair. Hobbes blinked; there was no way in hell that this guy cleared five feet.
Dr. Randle briskly strode to Claire and took her free hand in his. "My dear, you look dreadful," he commented with a heavily accented Italian accent. "Why didn't you call me sooner? I would have made myself available to assist so you could at least get some rest before the surgery." His bright blue eyes assessed his friend and colleague's worn and weary face before he swiveled his head to regard Hobbes. "And who might you be, sir?" he rumbled in a deep bass.
Hobbes blinked again. Such a little man, and yet he had the commanding presence of the Official… He winced at the thought of the boss, and came over to offer his hand. "Agent Robert Hobbes, sir."
"He's Darien's partner, Vincent," Claire elaborated. "He's also the senior agent here."
Randle firmly clasped Hobbes' hand with a courteous nod. "Not to seem rude, but I assume we are working under a tight window?"
Claire nodded as she dropped back into doctor mode. "The patient's condition is rapidly deteriorating. His only hope is to have the biosynthetic partition re-attached to his cerebral cortex." She walked over to the one wall as she spoke, which housed a large light screen holding a variety of x-rays. Dr. Randle ambled after, his much-shorter legs moving twice as fast as Claire's. The two discussed their options rapidly, and Hobbes quickly found himself completely lost from all of the medical-ese they were spouting.
He perched himself on the stool that had been sitting next to the hospital bed, with his hand resting lightly on his friend's shoulder. "Well, looks like it's about show time, partner," he murmured. "You'd better come out of this, or I'll have to come after you, you hear me? Don't you make me kick your scrawny ass in the afterlife." His mouth quirked at the thought of what kind of smart-ass remark Darien would make in retaliation. He looked over at the two doctors, who were still jabbering away at light speed while walking into the bathroom cum prep area to scrub in.
Hobbes leaned over to whisper in Darien's ear. "Just wanted you to know that I got him. Wish you could'a seen it, partner. I kicked his ass. Sonofabitch'll be lucky if he ever walks again." He grinned ruthlessly. "If nothing else, I'll make sure he's around for you to get in a few good shots, okay? Although it might be awhile, huh?"
Almost in response, the monitors shrieked as Darien began to convulse.
"CLAIRE!" Hobbes shouted needlessly, since she and the other two men had immediately bolted into the room.
He held on to Darien's shoulders as the others injected the contents of various needles into the IV's. Time seemed to crawl by as they were all forced to watch the lanky man's body twitch and jerk like an angry puppet.
Finally, Darien's body stilled, and the monitors ceased their shrill cries.
Claire and Dr. Randle both checked Darien's pulse, and then as one exchanged weighted glances.
"How often?" Dr. Randle queried.
"Almost every hour now," Claire replied heavily.
Her colleague merely nodded. "I think then that we had better get started."
She nodded, and raised sad gray eyes to Hobbes. "Bobby, I'm afraid I must ask you to wait outside. This will take quite some time, and I'm sure there are things you need to do."
"Like what?" he asked tonelessly.
"Like getting some rest. Please," she implored with her voice and eyes. "It took Kevin over 10 hours to properly implant the gland the first time, and now we're working under a much tighter deadline. I really have no idea how long this will take."
A moment passed before Hobbes nodded gravely. "I'll be keeping watch outside if you need me."
A wan smile passed across her face. "Thank you."
Without another word, Hobbes gently squeezed his partner's shoulder before rising and heavily treading out of the room.
Claire watched the door close, and then turned to the nurse. "Jacob, are all the necessary items ready?"
He nodded, and wheeled a tray over as the two doctors adjusted the bed before carefully rolling their patient over.
Jacob placed a lighted magnifying headset on Dr. Randle's head, and the older man took a deep breath. "This is one lucky man to have such friends as the two of you," he gently remarked to Claire before raising his gloved hand. "Scalpel, please."