"Easy there, partner."

"Yeah yeah…"

"I mean it. Claire said you needed to take it real slow."

"Any slower and I'd be back in that coma, Hobbes."

Bobby snorted from his place beside his best friend, who was carefully making his way down the hallway. Darien was comfortably dressed in sweats, penny-loafer style slippers and a T-shirt with "Obey" boldly printed on the front. "Believe me when I say this, but all things considered, you're running a frickin' marathon there, buckwheat."

Darien rolled his eyes as he leaned on the modified walker. Modified because it was rare that a 6'3" man with a straight spine required the use of one; so Claire had to special order one that accommodated his height, since she couldn't find the last one he'd needed to use when he'd been unnaturally aged by the virus Gloria had carried. "Yeah, Gimpy McFeeb's breakin' all the records here," he groused.

"Hey Fawkes, nice to see you up and about," commented Agent Heyes as he passed them on the way to the stairs with a covered tray.

"Who's that?" Darien's face creased in his all-too-familiar these days thoughtful frown.

"Agent Hayes," Bobby told him for what felt like the umpteen millionth time. "No, he's not new; he's been here longer'n you have."

"Hobbes, ya don't hafta get all snarky on me," Darien snapped. "It's not like I enjoy having a shitty memory here."

Bobby sighed deeply as they continued their snail's pace down the hall. "I know, partner, I know."

It had taken them 5 long months for Darien to be rehabilitated even this much. He had to learn everything all over again: standing, walking, talking, fine motor skills, you name it. It was as if there was a giant skinny baby living in the sublevel basement of the Agency… one highly über- classified giant skinny baby.

Darien only made it another 10 feet before his legs began to wobble noticeably. He tried to force his resisting limbs to carry him further, but they revolted, and he stumbled sideways into Hobbes.

"Whoa there!" Bobby caught his friend and eased him down to the floor. "Ya gotta stop pushing yourself so hard there, partner."

"Step off, man! You're not the fucking cripple here!" Darien gritted out as his calf muscles painfully spasmed. He gasped a little as he tried to rub the cramps out, but Hobbes gently shoved his hands aside and took up the effort.

"Look, partner," the shorter man spoke softly. "No one ever said this was gonna be easy. But you've come so much farther than any of us thought. You're lucky to even be alive, considering."

"You call this lucky?" Darien growled deep in his chest. He waved a hand limply at his legs. "My whole life's been one disaster after another, Hobbes. And each one is worse than before. I go through all this, only to have what happen? Bullet to the spine? Permanent paralysis? Why should I even fucking bother?" He slumped down, his pervasive depression returning at full strength.

Hobbes backed away, frowning. He suddenly stood, pulling out his gun smoothly. He didn't answer for a moment as he stared at the weapon. Then he spun it in his hand and extended it towards his despondent friend. "Here, you don't think it's worth it, then ya might as well finish what Arnaud started," he barked. "I'm sick'a ya bellyachin' 'bout this, after all the work Claire and us did to keep your scrawny ass alive. You don't wanna live, then I can't stop ya from givin' up. Here… here!" he brandished the gun under Darien's astonished nose, and when the other man didn't reach for it, dropped it in his lap.

Bobby stood there, almost quivering with suppressed emotion, before spinning on his heel and stalking towards the lab.

"Hobbes?" Darien finally found his voice, but his friend didn't stop.

He wasn't actually expecting Darien to go through with it, so Bobby's heart literally stopped dead in his chest when he heard the safety clicked off. 'Oh my g…'

BAM

Hobbes froze, his eyes wide as saucers and his body quivering. He heard the gun clatter to the floor, and he was terrified to turn around and verify that his best friend had actually gone through with it.

"Bobby?"

The sound of Darien's soft plea finally broke through Hobbes' internal panic. He turned a little to lock eyes with his friend, outwardly showing no traces of his extreme relief to hear the other man's voice. There was a softly smoking hole in the wall a few inches to the left of Darien's head. "What?"

Darien watched him with the oldest chestnut eyes Hobbes had ever seen. "I – I'm sorry. I'm just so… tired, man," he finally murmured, and Hobbes had to strain his ears to hear.

The elder agent closed his eyes briefly, and the tension seemed to flow away from his posture. He returned to his friend's side and sat down beside him, throwing a comforting arm across Darien's shoulders. "I know," he whispered in return.

Bobby didn't know what else to say, so the two just sat there for a while, not talking.

+

Hobbes pelted down the hall at full steam, his lungs heaving for air as he rushed for the door. His keys were already in one hand, and a prepped syringe in the other. He skidded to a halt, shoving the key in the lock and turning it in one smooth, practiced motion. He yanked the door open, calling out, "Fawkes! Fawkes, where the hell are ya!"

A tiny voice answered the half-panicked agent from across the room. "Here."

Hobbes quickly crossed the studio apartment and knelt down beside the bed. "Fawkes, you're still see-through. I need ya to calm down and let me stick ya."

"Can't," Darien's strained voice floated in midair. "Hurts… Bobby…" The lanky man grunted as a wave of pain assaulted his head, and one invisible hand slapped the floor.

Hobbes realized he was on the wrong side of the bed, and came around until his searching foot tapped his partner's leg. He reached inside the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his "special" sunglasses.

"So glad I swiped these from that Chrysalis mook," he murmured as he knelt beside Darien. "Here, man, hold on a sec…" he trailed off as he stuck the syringe in his teeth and pulled on an insulated glove from another coat pocket. Hobbes then gently took his friend's arm and gauged where the vein would be before carefully inserting the needle and dispensing its contents.

Darien groaned loudly in pain, and seconds later, the Quicksilver flaked off of his shivering body.

Hobbes blew out a relieved breath, and pulled the comforter off of Darien's bed. He tucked it in around his friend, murmuring soft reassurances as he also snagged one of the pillows and placed it under Darien's head.

It took almost 5 minutes before Darien could speak. "I… am so fucking… sick'a this," he grumbled, and Hobbes smiled.

"Better'n the madness," the elder man offered.

"No way," Darien grunted as he tried to sit up. "Definitely… a tie in my book." Hobbes helped Darien up and settled him on the bed before cocooning him in the down comforter.

"Nah, 'cause this time you're not trying to kill me."

"You keep giving shots like that, and I just might," Darien said quietly. Hobbes glanced at his face, and noticed the wan grin there before he chuckled.

"Never said I was good at that," he retorted. "You try givin' shots in invisible veins."

Darien's grin widened. "Did, remember? Why d'you think Claire won't let me keep that stuff around any more?" His eyelids drooped, and Hobbes gently pushed him to lie down.

"C'mon, my friend. You had a rough first day back on the job. Time for a little R&R, 'kay?"

"Mph. You call this a good day?" Darien snorted before relaxing into the super-soft mattress under him.

Hobbes raised an eyebrow at his friend as he picked up the pillow from the floor and returned it to its rightful place. "Hell yeah. For once you managed to not get your or my ass kicked. I'd say this is one for the calendar."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, partner." Darien gamely tried to stay awake, but the combination of fatigue, the muscle relaxants and the painkillers in the shot sucked him down. He managed to mumble out, "Stay?"

Hobbes nodded, even though Darien's eyes were no longer open. "'Course. That's what friends are for." He knew that the gangly man had some pretty vivid nightmares still, and they were exacerbated by the drug combo Claire had cooked up to help him through his attacks. Over time they were decreasing in severity and number, but they still threw Fawkes for a loop.

Hobbes sat on the bed for a while, watching his best friend drift off to sleep, musing on the past few years.

Fawkes certainly lived up to the cat part of his burglar nature. 'Damn kid's got a helluva lot more'n nine lives,' he thought with macabre humor. 'A'course, that helps in this business.'

It had been almost a year since Fawkes had woken from his coma. Although the kid had pulled off miracle after miracle in his recovery, Hobbes noticed that Fawkes had been changed from his latest near-death experience. He was darker, more prone to anger and bouts of almost debilitating depression. It relieved Hobbes to no end that his partner still refused to carry a piece, because it gave Fawkes one less obvious opportunity to kill himself. Anyway, protecting his partner was what Bobby Hobbes was all about.

Darien sighed deeply, falling into a deeper sleep, and Bobby rested the back of his hand on his partner's forehead to gauge his temperature. Pleased that Darien felt pretty much normal, he carefully stood and rearranged the rest of the blankets on the bed to cover the lanky man's legs.

Bobby settled himself on the couch across the room and flipped open his phone.

"Hey Claire," he spoke softly after a few moments. "Yeah, he's asleep now. I'm hangin' around for the rest of the night… make sure he's okay when he wakes up. … Naw, wasn't as bad as last time; but then again, the kid'd argue with me on that." He chuckled quietly at Claire's remark. "Temp came back down pretty quickly, yeah. Got him wrapped up in his comforter. … Yeah, the down one. … Glad we got him the new mattress. He told me this morning that t really helps his back. … Okay, see you tomorrow, Keepie."

Hobbes clicked his phone shut and grabbed the TV remote as he stood and made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and returned to the couch, turning on the TV and settling himself in for a quiet night watching a Twilight Zone marathon.