With ten seconds to spare on the five minute time limit Jarod triggered the garage door to rumble upwards. The driveway had been swept clean of snow, which meant no footprints for the five-some trying to escape. Invisibility had its uses, but also drawbacks. They might not be seen, but footprints in the snow would be, though Alyx had assured him that she would make every effort to remove all traces as they went. He did not look, did not turn to make certain that they had already, as per the plan, headed off towards the impressive woodpile. Thankfully, the majority of the snow in the area had been trampled down, leaving few unmarred places to reveal the location of the group. Confident all was going as planned, he stepped out into the sunlight, both hands up where they could easily be seen. He'd stripped out of the heavy coat and sweater, leaving him in the snug long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He was cold, but not horribly so. Anyone could tell he was completely unarmed.

Thanks to Alyx he wasn't.

The gun was quite cold, thanks to the Quicksilver, but dangling from the fingers of his right hand. He knew he only had a couple minutes before it became visible, but that was all the time he needed to buy.

"I'm here, now let the Hursts go."

"In good time," Goodrowe stated with false joviality. "First, I want to know where your partner is. I have a score to settle with her."

"Partner? I don't have a partner." Jarod knew he wouldn't believe that for an instant, but the purpose was to prevaricate and drag this out as long as possible. Once Alyx had moved into her secondary position, she'd signal him, till then he needed to keep the attention of everyone here.

"Search the house," Goodrowe ordered in bored tone. "The place is surrounded, so unless there's a safe room we haven't yet discovered, we will find them."

"And I'm telling you I don't have a partner," Jarod said, feigning utter bewilderment. He was always amazed at how easily he could fake such emotions. His fingers were going numb and he'd need move soon if he wanted to be able to shoot straight. Though he could switch to his left, he supposed, his skills were just as good with that hand. Ah, a plan.

*Jarod, we're in position.*

He wasn't quite certain who the 'we' encompassed, but he ignored it for now. *On with the show.*

"How about just dropping your weapons and surrendering."

Laughter erupted from all those within earshot. When the mirth faded a bit Goodrowe said, "Okay, I'll bite. Why would I even consider that?"

Jarod felt the Quicksilver flake away from the gun and lowered his arms, aiming the weapon at Goodrowe's head. "Because you're surrounded," Jarod told him straight-faced. Still Goodrowe didn't believe it. Not till shots from behind began taking down his men with surprising efficiency.

Goodrowe's reaction was to fire three shots at Jarod, none of which struck home, all deflecting off some unseen barrier a fair three feet in front of him, for which Jarod was very thankful, as the man's aim appeared to be quite accurate. He fired one shot at Goodrowe that only missed because the man dropped flat to the ground to avoid it. Jarod walked forward, straight towards him firing off a round each step, to keep him in place, which it effectively did, his hands trying to protect his head, until Jarod stood over him and the gun clicked on empty, the slide shifting backwards to signal an empty clip.

"Now," Goodrowe shouted, actual fear audible in his voice, "use it now."

Jarod had no idea what that meant, but the echoingly loud bang behind him told him all the bad news he didn't really want to know. Goodrowe had kept at least one Navshot for himself and had decided to use it for eliminating Jarod, even if it meant getting bits of person blown all over his thousand dollar suit. Mere milliseconds passed as Jarod made the decision to drop to the ground in what would surely be a vain attempt to avoid the heat-seeking projectile. He felt as if he were moving in slow motion, the oversized bullet compensating for his movement, as its targeting system had already locked on him. Just as it dove straight down at him, the projectile seeming to grow in his vision until reaching gigantic proportions as it closed in, a bright yellow fireball appeared out of thin air; a glowing spot of intense heat that flew between the bullet and Jarod, drawing it away and luring it to impact a tree a good thirty yards away. The tree did not survive the experience, the trunk shattering and the upper half falling into those behind it with a tremendous crash.

A very visible Alyx stepped into view then, anger coloring her visage, and making her look like nothing less than an avenging angel. "Enough," she roared, and every man standing suddenly found themselves flattened to the ground, unable to move. Their weapons flung themselves into a pile just inside the garage, the door rumbling shut of its own volition to seal them within. She whistled then, and the three dogs came running around the corner of the house. She pointed at the house, a scary smile on her face and ordered, "Hunt." All three barked in response and took off.

Jarod got to his feet, brushing off the snow and slush that had stuck to him, bent down to take Goodrowe's obvious weapon as well as search for any others – he found two – and then joined Alyx. Based on the unhappy echoing of her mind into his, he understood that she'd pushed the envelope too far and at least one of those other personalities of hers had decided to come out and play. He wasn't Darien, not what she needed to bring her mind back under her own control, but he hoped he could help, provide the support she required to put that genie back in its ever so fragile bottle.

Prepared for the worst, he set his bare hand over hers. She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with all of the immense power she controlled, but didn't pull away. He focused his mind, picturing the strong, brave, caring woman he'd spent the night with just a day and a half ago and simply said her name, "Michele."

She shuddered, the light sputtering and going out. "Jarod?" she questioned, blinking up at him as she came back to herself. Then, much to his disconcertment, her nose began to bleed. "Ow," she groused, free hand going to her forehead.

Sirens were heard in the distance and Goodrowe struggled to get to his feet. Jarod prepared to run over and stop him, but Alyx's grip about his hand tightened and he felt her do… something and the arms dealer grunted, flattening back onto the frozen ground, no longer able to move.

"Alyx—"

"I'm not risking any of them getting away."

"But," he waved at her face and she used her free hand to swipe at her nose, the fingers coming away bloody, "you're hurt."

"You think a little nose bleed is gonna stop me?" He hated that her words were slurred, but knew she would not back down, not until certain everything had been dealt with.

Mr. Hurst poked his head around the woodpile, gun still in hand. "We may be able to assist with that."

Jarod nodded and waved for them to come out of hiding. They would be safe enough until the police had everyone rounded up and accounted for. He whistled and after a couple minutes the dogs came running up and sat at their feet; he didn't want the police to shoot them by accident. Based on the bits of cloth between their teeth, their hunt had been successful.

Mr. Hurst looked astonished. Clearly, he knew the dogs and what they could be capable of. "What did you do to them?" he asked and then shook his head. "No, don't tell me." He met Alyx's eyes, honest admiration in his. "Thank you. Your secret is safe with us."

Alyx managed a broken and bloody smile. "I know."

Two police cruisers appeared then, and within moments of exiting the vehicle one was on the radio asking for as much backup as he could get.

"The truck," Alyx mumbled, her strength waning. "They'll need backup as well."

"Shit, you're right." Jarod pulled out his phone as he walked over to an officer to explain the full situation, texting Fawkes that the family was safe and that it was time to make their play.

…..

Northern Montana

Near the Canadian Border

…

"We have a go," Darien informed Hobbes, still trailing a few miles behind the convoy to keep from being spotted. They'd gotten off 93 a while ago, but this secondary road, while only two lanes, had been plowed and driving had been fairly easy. "How we gonna do this? Stopping just the truck was pretty straightforward, but now we got two escort vehicles and only two of us."

Good frickin' question. Bobby thought, not wanting to encourage more dissention in the ranks. If it wasn't for the lack of red eyes he would have bet that his partner had boarded that train to nutsoville a while ago. Fawkes' phone did that text message bleep again. "What now?"

"Jarod has the police coming to back us up, but they're not going to get here for probably thirty minutes or better."

"And we're less than that from the border," Hobbes groused, knowing help being on the way was more than they'd had a few minutes ago. "All right, how about the ol' divide and conquer?" he suggested.

"How so?" Darien turned slightly, the look on his face confused.

"Uh, maybe just pretend we're passing and take out the truck on the way by." Not the greatest plan, but not bad either.

"Force him off the road as pass," Dairen mused. "Could work, though we risk getting shot at by the follow car."

"And the lead car once they realize what's going on, but the truck'll be stopped, which is the goal here."

Darien held up his hands in surrender. "Not arguing, just pointing out the potentially deadly flaws in this plan. Though I think I should be driving for this."

"Umm, why?" Fawkes had greatly improved on his offensive and defensive driving skills, both Alyx and Hobbes working with him to fill the gaps between thief and spy. Driving a getaway car was not the same as pulling off stunt like this. Running someone off the road was damn dangerous even for those skilled in the various techniques, then add in potential gunfire and things could get very deadly very quickly.

"Umm, 'cause you have the gun," Fawkes mocked. "What, you think I can't maneuver this crate up next to a semi and encourage him to pull over? Besides, if he fights back you can just shoot out the tires."

Now, that made sense, lots of it. "Good thinking, my friend." Even though the road was empty, he flipped the signal, pulled over onto the poor excuse for a breakdown lane, and put the SUV into park. "The Chinese Fire Drill may now commence."

Darien snorted and stepped out in the freezing cold air, all the heat inside vanishing in an instant.

They were back on the road in a few minutes, after some amused bitching about having to adjust the seat five ways to Sunday in order for his majesty's longer legs to fit. Admittedly, he had slid the seat back to its limit so he could drive without whacking his knees into the underside of the dash. "They haven't changed course, so put the pedal to the metal."

"Yeah, let's get this over and done with," Darien said, voice low and rough, his mood having swung to the other end of the pendulum yet again.

Hobbes had no idea what was going on in his partner's head, but so long as he held it together and allowed them to get this job done successfully, he didn't care. Fawkes floored it, pushing the SUV up past seventy, which was pretty much the limit, given the road conditions. It wouldn't take them much time to catch up, so Hobbes pulled out his weapon, popped out the clip, made certain it was full and slid it back home with a solid metallic thunk. There were as prepared as they were going to get.

He looked down at the screen, noting they were closing in on the convoy fairly quickly, they would need to slow down and make it look as if they wanted no more than pass the trio; charging up on them like a bat out of hell would just make them suspicious. According to the GPS they were coming up on a long wide curve with the bad guys just completing it, while they were just beginning, which made it a perfect time to slow down and play normal. "Fawkes, time to slow it down."

Fawkes visibly ground his teeth for several seconds, but with an audible sigh did as requested. "I know what to do, Hobbes."

"Not saying you don't, Fawkes, just letting you know it's time to do it is all." Hobbes glanced at the speedometer to see they'd slowed down to a comparatively sedate sixty, which was still well above the posted limit of fifty. The convoy appeared in the distance, probably a mile or less ahead, but the gap closed rapidly. Fawkes slowed a bit more, bringing it down to that five mile an hour overage most drivers assumed cops permitted. He rolled up on the follow car, staying four or so car lengths behind to check the situation out. The pick-up in front, SUV behind, both off the lot models from the look of it. The truck was not an articulated semi with separate cab and trailers, but the back was still twenty feet long and currently holding several crates of very dangerous weapons. They needed to try to get them to pull over without damaging the contents, though he would be willing to bet the government would rather lose a few than have them fall into the hands of a terrorist group.

Fawkes checked the mirrors and glanced at the computer. "Long straightaway coming up, you ready?"

Hobbes nodded. "Yeah. Nice and easy, don't want the follow car to freak out."

"Will do." Fawkes flipped on the blinker, slid the car to the left just enough to see down the long stretch of road before pulling out completely and speeding up. The follow car did nothing untoward, and the driver did little more than glance over at them as they passed. They moved forward until parallel with the cab of the truck, where Fawkes matched the speed and slowly began to drift to the right.

The driver let fly with his air horn, but Fawkes ignored it, a look of insane pleasure on his face as he continued to creep the SUV closer and closer to the wheels of the truck. The driver shifted to the right, far tires throwing up gravel and dirty snow as he hit the rougher surface of the breakdown lane. That's when the follow car made his move, pulling in behind them and running into the back of their vehicle. Just a love tap to let them know their interference was not appreciated.

Fawkes snarled softly, but held steady, tapping the accelerator slightly to get ahead of the truck then, jerked the wheel hard to the right, putting his nose in front of the semi, who responded by following suit and damn near tipping over as it accelerated in an attempt to get past their SUV.

Hobbes glanced in the side mirror, the angle now offset thanks to the bump from behind, which allowed him to see an arm come out of the passenger window of the SUV holding a fair sized handgun and fire off three quick shots. Fawkes had already pulled to the left this time, the bullets flying by harmlessly.

The lead vehicle had finally figured out something was going on and shifted to the left, directly in front of them, again the passenger window opened and a gun appeared, this time a shotgun. The first blast went wild, the second turned the right side of the windshield into a spiderweb of cracks, but it held together.

"Hobbes, shoot the damn tires."

"Yeah," Hobbes agreed, powering down his window as Fawkes slid the SUV right back next to the truck. Hobbes aimed and hit the front tire of the truck on the first try.

Fawkes slammed on the brakes as the truck slewed drunkenly in their direction. Somehow he managed to dodge the car right behind them, executing and impressive 360-degree spin that ended with them having a front row seat to the disaster that ensued. The SUV that had been on their ass, surged past directly into the left side of the truck as it slewed drunkenly and unavoidably in front of them. The two vehicles then hit the rough surface on the edge of the road, as well as the piled snow and the truck overbalanced, tipping to, luckily for the men inside the SUV, the opposite direction and onto its right side with a tremendous crash and snow flying up into the air.

Darien threw the SUV into park, knowing that it was time to make that stand, even as the two bruised and bloodied men boiled out of the damaged SUV. The lead truck managed a neck-whipping U-turn and came roaring back, weapons at the ready. They were two against seven at Hobbes' best estimate, though the guys in the truck, especially the one that had been in the back, probably weren't going to be of much use in the upcoming battle.

Hobbes didn't bother to hesitate, wanting to intimidate these mooks before they realized they still had the advantage, gun drawn and at the ready he slipped out into the frigid air and shouted, "Federal Agents, drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads."

One of the men from the lead car, exited, shotgun aimed at Hobbes. "And why should we do that?"

"Delivery, ain't gonna happen, pal, might as well come in all quiet like," Hobbes pointed out, knowing they weren't going to buy it for a hot second. Still, it was worth a shot.

He shouldered the weapon, appearing ready to fire, when it jerked itself sideways with a solid crack into the side of his head. He dropped like a stone. The shotgun targeted the follow car and fired just once, shattering the rear window. The two men who had climbed out, ready to join their co-worker in resisting arrest, hastily dropped their guns into the snow, eyes wide at the shotgun floating in the air. Hobbes moved towards them trying not to laugh, he'd never even heard Fawkes leave the SUV. Smartass.

"Get the passenger," Hobbes reminded, encouraging the twosome to plant their hands on the trunk of the car, regardless of the safety glass sprinkled across the surface.

"Sure," Fawkes answered, poking the shotgun in the window, making the man scramble across the driver's seat to get out. He took up a prone position on the ground next to his downed comrade.

Hobbes glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Quicksilver flake off his partner's body. Fawkes was rubbing the back of his head and when he met Hobbes' eyes they were streaked with bloody veins. Clearly, the toxin had finally started registering on his body, if not on the monitor. And here they were miles from Counteragent. "Fawkes?"

The first real sign things were not going well occurred then, the seizure driving Fawkes to his knees with a grunt of pain. "Fuck," he swore, knuckles white on the barrel of the shotgun.

"Get in the car, Fawkes, I got this covered."

The conscious trio exchanged a look, clearly thinking about how to take advantage of the sudden shift in power.

Fawkes snarled. "Don't even think about," he barked at the one closest to him, "or I'll give you a taste of what your friend got and you can just nap till the locals show up to haul your asses in."

As if he had channeled the kid's psychic powers, sirens could be heard in the distance, and within minutes the cops, state police in this case, arrived on scene, more than a touch shocked at the weapons they found in the back of the truck, completely floored at the heist via blackmail that had been happening right under their noses. Not that the Eureka locals had done any better, but still.

"Fawkes, just keep it together till we get back, okay?" Hobbes was shocked to see that his friend's eyes were clear again, not even a hint that the toxin had built up enough to show any outwards signs. "What the hell?"

Fawkes looked scared. "Not a clue, Hobbesy. Best I stay in the car unless you need me. Tell 'em I hit my head or something, but…" He trailed off, his concerns not needing to be stated out loud.

Hobbes nodded. "I got this. I'll get you your shot ASAP, but it might be a while. Play Sudoko or something."

Fawkes managed a shaky laugh, but nodded. "I'll do that." He climbed into the SUV without any more argument; he pulled out his phone and stared at it for a few seconds before putting it down without dialing.

Hobbes knew things were wonky, but wasn't certain how much was real and how much was just Fawkes' brain screwing with him and right now he didn't have time to figure it out. With a sigh he joined the officers as they dealt with the lovely mess the feds had dropped in their backyard. They thought this was bad; wait till Hobbes explained about the Hursts and the ATF involvement.

…..

Hurst Estate

Near Eureka Montana

…

Alyx's head hurt. She sat in the passenger seat of the jeep, which Jarod had scampered off to collect once things had been reasonably settled at the Hurst estate, the three dogs sat on the ground near her, warily, yet calmly watching everything that went on about them. The EMTs had tried to treat her three times, until she'd explained there was little they could do unless they had some damn strong pain meds on them, which she wouldn't take because she needed to remain conscious for the time being. She had texted Drake to let him know they had reached the mop up stage and reports would be forthcoming once the needed recovery time had been completed.

She and Hobbes had been texting back and forth once they'd succeeded in their task of stopping the truck, apparently by driving it off the road and onto its side, which, while messy, had still been effective. The state police that had been called to assist had arrived in the proverbial nick of time to wrangle the half dozen bad guys that had been there, so her boys were relatively unharmed. Some bumps and bruises from the rough driving. Minor cuts from shattering glass, nothing an ice pack and band-aid couldn't take care of. Those were the surface injuries. Darien, based on the colorful description from Bobby, was having some serious issues; madness symptoms presenting then disappearing within a short span of time. Why, not even she had an answer. Oh, she had best guesses based on the data she had in her head, but she could give him no answers that would be of any use out in the middle of nowhere. He needed to get back to the resort and the kit they now carried everywhere, just in case. Granted just in case didn't occur very often these days, which is probably why the one time they forgot it all hell decided to break loose.

Typical.

Jarod approached, a pair of steaming cups in his hands, the dogs lifted their heads, but otherwise did nothing, they had growled at anyone else who had tried to approach her. He held one out to her, which she took with shaking hands. "Chamomile tea," he told her. "Thought it might help some… or at least not cause any more harm."

She sipped at it, found it strong, but pleasantly sweet and scented, calming even; just what her abused senses needed. "Thank you," she said, meaning it and for more than just the tea. She had lost it earlier, too much pain, too much to do, and her evil twin, one of them anyway, had come out to play, deciding she could better deal with the situation. The other persona hadn't really been wrong, but given the callousness, hadn't been as gentle as Alyx might have been, leaving quite a few with bruised and broken noses and cheekbones that had connected forcefully, and unexpectedly, with the ground.

No one had asked, and no one had told. Well, except for Goodrowe who had gone into a spittle spewing rant that made it look like he'd be spending his incarceration time in a straightjacket instead of an orange jumpsuit, which was just fine with her, so long as he was finally off the streets and unable to hurt anyone ever again.

"No need, we're… we're family for better or worse and if I can help I will," he said softly and she met his eyes over the top of her mug, making the effort to smile, though it hurt. "Can you… feel anything right now?"

She shook her head, stopping quickly as the world failed to keep up with her sight, making her close her eyes until everything settled… she hoped. "Uh, no? I mean, I still have my senses, but don't even ask me to try and do anything beyond the norm. My head is killing me. This is a six hour one at the minimum."

Jarod blinked. "Six hour? What does that mean?"

She took in a slow deep breath as the pain upped a notch for an instant, a fine, thin needle sliding into her right temple. "Umm, minimum hours of sleep to recover from the overuse. Well, with pain meds that'll knock me out."

"Won't that leave you vulnerable?"

"Yep," she agreed, "but I think these boys will keep trouble at bay." She waved at the dogs at his feet, all three gazing upwards in seeming adoration at her. She'd done her work too well, once again, making her the center of their tiny universes and she couldn't take it back. How was she supposed to explain to her landlord that she now had three Rottweillers she wanted to keep in an apartment that didn't even allow fish. Oh, and that's before explaining to her boss what she had somehow managed to do, she didn't even what to contemplate what his greedy little heart would want to do with that news. Creating unwitting CIs, turning people into puppets, or even worse, maybe implant a personality or two, like one that gathered intel solely for the Agency, and when they needed it she would simply wake it up, get the data and then bury it again, the real human, good or bad, completely oblivious to what had occurred. A cuckoo in every nest.

She rubbed her forehead as the pain upped a notch. She could pull off Heilberg's programming all on her own. Little wonder they continually tried to sway her to the dark side. Hell, she might be safer there, as they clearly had a better understanding of her and her mind than even herself.

She wondered, in some amusement and irony, if they had cookies.

She chuckled aloud, regretted it instantly, then moaned in pain. "Shit," she groused at herself, she should know better.

"Alyx," Jarod asked with real concern in his voice and on his visage.

"Making myself laugh at stupid things not recommended," she informed him, tone wry.

He smiled and sipped his drink. "I still don't understand why you get headaches. Given your powers are all energy based, you should just simply draw in more energy to compensate for extreme usage. Anything within your mental range should be doable with little or no discomfort to yourself." His look so serious she had no reason to doubt him. "And pain, unless you are somehow physically damaging the neurons and synapses, which shouldn't be possible given they work via the same energy you use for your abilities, should not be the result for something so simple as extending your reach a bit. All of this," he waved at the estate about them, "was well within your range, even if you did need to split your attention a dozen ways. I could, maybe, see pain caused by an overuse of the Quicksilver, but I would expect it to be more like muscle aches due to your body trying to generate more than you have in immediate storage."

Alyx blinked, his words stunning her. They made perfect sense and yet… and yet she couldn't seem to believe him. Going over it carefully, her head still pounding loud enough to wake the dead, she worked through it one step at a time until she came to the only logical conclusion. "More programming?"

"That would be my guess. When your alt took over your abilities increased dramatically, at least from one perspective. You told me they tried power experiments with a neurotransmitter enhancement drug."

She nodded. She could see where he was going with this crazy train of thought, but could not seem to get to the conclusion on her own, which suggested that they had blocked her ability to see, or perhaps believe if told, that the pain she currently felt was all in her head… literally. Psychosomatic programming. Hell, given her unwillingness to use her abilities at all, she had probably made it worse, the pain coming sooner and more forcefully if she personally thought she'd gone too far.

"The drug, while real, is probably the equivalent of a placebo, it triggers your alts to come out to play. Possibly different dosages cued to different personas. I'd need the full data set to know for certain, but I don't see any reason why the programming can't be broken and the personas blocked. You would be you and at full power. Imagine what you could do."

She admired his enthusiasm, which she could see under the serious expression, but failed utterly to agree with him. "But who am I?" she asked.

He opened his mouth on an instant, and probably incorrect response, then stopped to truly think about her question.

"I'm better off with the control in place." A stabbing pain thrust up the back of her skull, convincing her that knowledge of this control programming was a definite no-no. Well, she'd take the damn pain and the knowledge. There was no way in hell that this time around ignorance was bliss.

He shook his head. "No, you're not, but you are stuck in a Catch 22. I think the programming is part of why you have trouble holding on to you without the connection to Darien." He gave her a broad grin. "But we'll work on that… together."

She nodded carefully, agreeing with him. Not that she minded relying on Darien's perception of her, but it would be easier if she didn't have to. "How much longer?" Knowing about the programming did nothing to actually ease the pain, at least not until she had the chance to break it, so she still needed meds and sleep to be able to think clearly again.

"The local ATF has been contacted and once I detailed our adventure they, as you suspected, took a sudden interest in this case and are en route as we speak. The situation rated a helicopter, so we need to hang until they arrive and I brief them," a snort of amusement escaped from Alyx at the turn of phrase, which made Jarod smile, "but once done we can probably escape for a while. I already emailed them my initial report, I won't need to do much more than turn the scene over to them and fill in any blanks they might have."

She looked at the maps in her head. "Ugh, I may yet take that EMT up on his offer of phenol," she stated. Typical painkillers wouldn't do her much good, but they could get the pain to back off a bit, which was all she really wanted right now.

Jarod frowned. "That bad?"

"Yep. I'm afraid knowing it isn't real, doesn't make it hurt any less." Another warning shot across her bow made her visibly flinch. "Makes it worse in fact."

"Programmed to not know about it as well," he summed up. "I'll stop poking it with sticks until we have a chance to break it, I fear I'm doing more harm than good." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her, waving at her nose.

"Shit," she muttered as she took it, the taste of blood on her tongue again. He took the cup from her as she pressed the cloth to her upper lip. "Why would they do this too me?" she mumbled through the cloth. "I'm not that dangerous am I?"

Jarod laughed, but it was dark and scary. "Michele, in defense of those you wish to protect… yes, you can be very dangerous, but that is how it should be."

What kept her from being upset at his statement was the complete and total lack of fear in his mien. He had no problems with her being dangerous, in fact, probably preferred it, she'd be useless to him if she folded anytime things got serious. "Fair enough."

"Rest," he ordered. "If you get too cold I'll find you a place inside to crash. It may be a crime scene, but I doubt anyone will care at this point."

"Be nice, the locals are helping; don't rub their noses in their sad case of obliviousness. It'll make them cranky."

Jarod chuckled. "Understood." He set her cup on the dash and then turned at the sound of his name being called. "I'll be back."

"Go, I'll survive."

"I know." Then as he walked away, "It's what we were designed to do."

…..

Mountain High Resort

Eureka, Montana

…

My favorite purveyor of quotes once wrote, "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." He's right, too. Those feelings, behaviors, things it brings out in me are always there, simmering just below the surface and waiting for its time to reach a full boil and spill over onto all those around me.

Guess that should teach me to not bottle those things up, huh?

Well, lesson learned.

…

He never got that cheeseburger.

In fact, the sun had set by the time they arrived back at the resort, far too many hours after the first real symptoms had made their dramatic appearance. Darien had remained on the sidelines as much as possible, leaving Hobbes to deal with the locals as they got all their ducks in a row and transport for the bad guys arranged. It turned out to be a complicated mess jurisdiction-wise, until a lone ATF agent arrived to take over in Agent Miner's name. The State Police hadn't minded too much given they'd been totally in the dark about what had been going on all but under their noses. Once Hobbes had given a verbal report of events, with a promise of full paperwork to be filled out later, they'd been permitted to leave.

Darien had been miserable by then, the madness symptoms coming and going with little rhyme or reason. He had no warning before a seizure would hit, the pain impressive and exceeding the levels had become accustomed to over the years. Whatever good the toxin inhibitor had done, erased by the unexpected complications. He knew he'd gone off the deep end into madness, but had no idea how far, the monitor still insisting he had only one segment red, which meant... He had no clue what that meant, but the sooner they got back to the resort and the supply of Counteragent the better.

Hobbes shut the door with a quiet click, stuffing his cell back into his pocket. "Fawkes, they're on the way back, should be here in an hour or so."

Sure they were. They'd finished their part long ago, no reason for it to take so damn long for them to make it back to the resort. Alyx was supposed to be here, damn it. Here for him. Not off playing with Miner.

He growled softly, the sound vibrating in his chest and throat. "And what till then?"

"Gonna get you squared away, my friend. The kit is in your bag, ain't it?" Hobbes strode off towards the cabin's bedroom, doing the worst thing possible and turning his back on Darien.

"Squared away? You mean more drugs."

Hobbes paused, turning slightly to look over at his partner. "Yeah, Fawkes, that's how it works. You go red-eye, we give you the Counteragent."

"But I'm not red-eye, am I?" He knew he wasn't, same as he knew he had slipped into the madness. Oh, if he could just remain like this with the heightened responses, but none of the overt signs visible... oh, the damage, the lovely, lovely damage he could do.

Hobbes froze, something in Darien's voice giving the game away. That was okay, it was always more fun when the prey knew you were coming and tried to run. "Fawkes?"

He smiled, though it felt far more like an animalistic baring of his teeth. "Yes?" he asked, feigning he gave a shit what Hobbes wanted now.

"You okay?"

"Oh yeah, Hobbesy, I'm just fine." And he was. This… this version of him was perfect; aware of everything and afraid of nothing. In two quick strides he stood behind his friend, though that term probably did not really apply now. Bobby Hobbes had always been little more than an unwilling babysitter, keeping Darien on the straight and narrow and preventing him from doing what he really wanted.

"No, you're not," Hobbes argued, sidestepping Darien's attempt to trap him in the bedroom. "Fawkes, I won't do nothing till the kid gets here," he tried in a blatant effort to placate him.

Darien wasn't about to fall for it.

"No," Darien growled, low and threatening, "you won't."

Hobbes' eyes widened, but he had no chance to do anything else. Darien's fisted hand shot upwards, catching him on the jaw, the blow more than enough to daze him and make him stumble. Darien encouraged him to continue his downward motion with a shove that knocked him even further off balance and towards the solid floor.

Hobbes turned to look up as he tried to gather himself, Darien looming dangerously over him. "Fawkes, what the hell?"

Darien's answer was to aim a kick at the prone man's head, but, while down, Hobbes was far from out. He managed to twist onto his back and grab Darien's foot as it sailed past his nose, missing by mere inches. He managed to catch it by the heel and encourage it to swing even higher. Too high.

While Darien had worked hard to compete with Alyx in limberness, he hadn't been prepared or situated so that he could compensate for the additional momentum. His one leg high, setting him off balance, Hobbes managed a wild kick that connected with Darien's other leg, causing him to go over backwards and onto the floor with solid thwack. He managed to slap his hands down to absorb some of the force, but the back of his skull still bounced off the wood floor hard enough to fog his sight for several long moments.

By the time reality swung back into focus Hobbes had made it to his knees, one hand on the wall in support, lip bloody and a bruise already blossoming on his chin.

Darien rolled, quick as he could, but before he could get his feet under him and charge, Bobby simply drew his gun, hand steady as could be as he aimed it at his partner. "Fawkes, stand down," he ordered in no uncertain terms.

"What? You going to shoot me?" Darien sneered, shifting to get his feet under him, keeping the motion slow, steady and nonthreatening. "Make certain you aim for the head... it's the only way you'll be able to stop me." He held still, watching Bobby carefully, not really wanting to see if he would actually follow through with the threat. Darien needed to be able-bodied when Alyx returned, or his plans would be all for naught.

"Oh, I don't know, a bullet to the thigh might keep you busy long enough for me to get you taken care of," Hobbes growled as he cautiously levered himself to his feet, eyes and weapon never wavering from Darien.

"And risk me bleeding out, never mind the lecture from the 'Fish..." Darien shook his head. "You wouldn't."

"Don't bet on it, pal." He leaned back against the wall, plainly needing the support. "You once said you'd rather take a bullet than risk hurting anyone again, that change?"

Darien cocked his head slightly, the memory surging to the forefront of his mind. He'd told the Keeper that, not Hobbes. His partner hadn't been there at the time, which meant... "Keepy's been making with the pillow talk, huh?"

"Fawkes-"

"Don't bother, I'll deal with her... eventually." Darien felt his lips twist into a feral smile, enjoying the images flowing through his mind of what he would do to his precious Keeper next time he had her alone. "Now, Robert, I highly suggest you put the gun down or I may be forced to injure you far more seriously than I'd prefer."

Hobbes blinked. "Robert? Fawkes, since when do you..." He trailed off his expression hardening. "Damn," he muttered, "there ain't gonna be no reasoning with you."

Darien chuckled. "Nope," he agreed.

"Why? Why do this?" Hobbes questioned.

Darien shrugged, knowing there would be nothing Robert could do to stop him even if he did tell all; in fact, it would make it more fun. Poor Hobbes knowing what would be coming and unable to do anything to prevent it. His conscience torturing him more than Darien ever could. "Because I don't want you interfering."

"Interfering with what?"

Darien slowly shifted into a crouch, watching Hobbes' eyes carefully for any signs that he might actually be willing to pull the trigger. "With what I plan to do, of course," he answered, making certain to drag this out as long as possible, waiting for an opening.

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "Cut the bullshit, Fawkes, and just tell me."

"But where's the fun in that." Darien launched forward, the muscle he'd built and maintained over the years giving him more than enough thrust to close the distance in one leap. One hand curled about the wrist holding the gun, smashing it back into the wall, the other driving two stiffened fingers into Hobbes' diaphragm, causing all his air to leave in an audible whoosh, the gun dropping to the floor from fingers no longer able to hold onto the weapon. Hobbes doubled over gasping for air while Darien calmly bent down to pick up the gun. He hefted it, enjoying the feel of the solid metal in his hand.

He patted Hobbes on the cheek, his face a deep red and mouth gaping like a fish out of water, not yet capable of drawing in a breath of air. "Hobbesy, you should have just shot me." Darien placed his hand on his partner's face, reminiscent of palming a basketball and slammed the back of his skull into the wall, the body going instantly limp. He tipped his head, eyes narrowing as he watched the man on the floor, debating the merits of another blow to assure continued unconsciousness, but after a single whooping intake of air, there was no other response, assuring him that the single love tap had been more than hard enough.

Now, what to do with the body.

Though it wasn't really a body yet, was it?

He debated the merits of finishing the deed, which would assure Hobbes' non-interference in what he had planned, but decided it wouldn't be worth the effort. No, a judicious use of duct tape and shoving him in a corner would do for now.

Darien stuffed the gun into the back of his pants and headed for Alyx's bag where the supplies he needed would most certainly be.