Author: AkaiHato

"...What is _this_?"

The Keeper looked up, and took a moment to recognize what Darien had pulled out from beneath her stack of paperwork on a desk. She suddenly grew alarmed. "Nothing! Put it down! That's... That's nothing, Darien," she told him, maintaining her composure far too late.

Darien knew he had struck gold. He looked at the book he held in his right hand again, and stifled a laugh.

The Keeper glared at him, and continued in a frost-bitten voice. "Nothing that.. concerns..." But she hesitated and faltered in her statement, turning her face to the side, her features suddenly growing more human, more tired, more . . . sorrowful.

Because, the fact was, the book _did_ concern him...

* * *

A step into the past...

...."Fawkes! Get'out the way!-- Oh god- No!..."

Darien blinked. He was... in the Keeper's lab? The most familiar place for him, in this chaotic world he had been shoved into. Though hardly an oasis, considering how many dire events originated, revolved, and took place in it. But since when had he been in here? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere else.. on a case with Hobbes, or something? How had he gotten here anyway?

In the line of puzzlement, Darien would have asked himself _why_ he was in the lab- except he already knew. Sort of.

The Keeper. He had come to see... no, to be with Claire. And there was something so insisting about that one objective, that Darien brushed aside the other little things nagging him, including that faint smell of something.

The Keeper nearly dropped her clipboard and notes, when she turned around and found Darien nearby. Must've really been into her work; she hadn't even heard the lab door open. But no matter. "Darien! What are you doing here?" she asked curiously.

"Um... Yeah, I'm not real sure on that. I... just felt like seeing you," he answered. There was something out of place; not really in his character, but something in general.

"How nice of you," replied Claire in her polite-business-voice, her attention already drifting back to her notes. "Well, now you've seen me-"

"Claire."

There was something about Darien's tone, in which he said her name so soft-spoken but an underlining urgency and yearning, that the Keeper was forced to look up from the files she was comparing to her notes. She wasn't too pleased at this, and her voice showed it. "What?"

"I..." Darien looked to speak, but closed his mouth again. He.. he just didn't know how to say it, or even what to say. If only the Keeper could realize that there was something wrong, that there was something he needed to tell her.

He suddenly felt like telling the Keeper to- to quit that, to pay attention to him, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere. It wasn't worth it, he wasn't here to argue. But he glared at the Keeper anyway, who had crossed her arms and was looking less patient with each passing moment.

The Keeper was itching to get back to her studies. After what seemed like an eternity, she had finally been making progress in the last few days, and now had almost made a connection, had nearly tasted the sweet victory of gaining knowledge, understanding. This yearning for knowledge is what had separated her from the slackers back in her schooldays. But she had learned that not everyone understood or shared the same enthusiasm. So, though her thoughts were beginning to drift away to her research, she patiently put up with Darien as best she could.

Darien had long since realized that people like his brother and the Keeper, they knew something he would never really understand, something about knowledge for the sake of knowledge. He had also learned to have a certain patience set aside for dealing with them, though how much he drew from the store of patience was a different story.

A wave of fatigue seemed to pass over him, and abruptly Darien sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He wasn't here for that, he was here for something else, and he just felt too tired to be angry with her.

The faint odor was beginning to get to him too. Distracted, he opened his eyes again and sniffed a little, trying to pinpoint the source. "What's that smell?" he muttered.

The Keeper, whose eyes had been wandering back to her notes, suddenly looked at him in surprise. "Smell? What sort of smell?" she asked worriedly, forgetting her notes and involuntarily sniffing the air herself. She might have not noticed such a smell, having been in the lab for a while.

"Um... kind of a nasty... maybe burning, kinda coppery now," replied Darien absently, rubbing his left arm. He seemed distracted, as if he was trying to ignore all his senses and instead concentrate on something. But, having noted that, the Keeper brushed it away and frowned, as she tried to recall wether there was any potentially harmful chemical or material that released that kind of odor.

"But never mind that," said Darien, trying to ignore the mild ache in that had been prickling on the left side of his body. There was something he was nearly grasping, nearly understanding, but he couldn't figure it out. And it seemed like the closer he was to reaching it, the further it slipped from his hands. Every step closer lashed another chain around him, straining to hold him back.

Aware of frustration in Darien's words but disregarding them, the Keeper quickly began checking her equipment and materials. She briefly wondered what was bothering his left arm. "No, Darien, you shouldn't go around ignoring foreign odors, they could mean anything," Claire chastised mildly.

She turned around as she spoke this, meaning she didn't see the jolt Darien gave at her words.

Darien felt like a thousand chains had suddenly been lashed to him. Those words...

"Here, could you hand me that electronic gauge? It should on the table to your right," continued Claire.

Glancing at the object for a fleeting second, Darien absently grappled for it while looking back at the Keeper, who had her back turned to him. "Look, there's something.. something I need to--"

He trailed off abruptly, as he came up empty handed. "What..?" He turned to look at the gauge questioningly, and reached for it.

His hand moved though, and never touched, the instrument or the table.

Claire heard Darien gasp. Frowning a little, she turned around, an empty test tube poised in hand. "Darien- what..."

He was gone.

She frowned even more, as the idea of him quicksilvering, here of all places and times, crossed her mind.

But then, suddenly her eyes widened, and her mouth opened a little.

It had suddenly clicked. All of it. That Darien was supposed to have been on a case. Why she hadn't heard him coming in. The odor she could trace no smell of; Darien rubbing his left arm; his attitude, his words, all the little things . . . they had all come together.

No. It couldn't be.

She was one of reason, not fleeting fancy. What was she thinking?

Doubt immediately sprang forth, shielding her for a brief moment.

But- then... why, how......

The phone rang in the background, breaking the silence almost painfully. She welcomed it anyway. It was a link to reality.

But where was the relief she should have felt? What was this, this feeling, this shivering, dreading, black sensation that was beginning to seep in to her instead?

As Claire took the phone off the hook, she realized that her hands were chilled, and they were trembling, uncontrollably. And as she put the phone to her ear, the blackness seemed to trickle in faster and faster, rising more and more.

It was with distant ears, that she heard how Hobbes and Darien's mission had gone horribly wrong and had resulted in an explosion... that Hobbes was unconscious, but wether Darien was even alive was still unsure.

And it was with an equally distant voice, that she replied, "I know."

Claire slowly hung up, and time suddenly seemed to thaw, as if it had slowed down and even stopped at one point. The feeling that had been surging up now roared to its fullest, flooding her, swallowing her, drowning any doubt, any suspicion left.

Her irked features had turned to that of shock, then disbelief. Whatever they were then, they had now melted into horror. From her pale, limp hand, the test tube fell and shattered on the gray concrete floor.

The pieces of glass sprinkled the grey floor like a glittering constellation of stars. As she lowered herself onto a stool with what seemed to be the last of her strength, teardrops followed and fell among them. But for whom the Keeper wept, she was not sure.

* * *

To Hobbes, Fawkes managing to survive the incident was strange enough.

Meeting at the rendevous point of the so-called illegal poachers-- which were bad enough, but were also suspected to be more then the label slapped on, which is why he and Fawkes had been specially sent to transact a deal --they had been greeted with a burst of chaos as well as an explosion.

He would learn later, but there had been a third party involved, which the poachers were having trust issues with. Because of some complication with the third party informing the poachers about an 'unknown and unsure being' and miscommunication between the three groups involving the arrival of police, as well as certain actions by Fawkes, the poachers had shown their tail, so to speak, when they panicked and revealed the existence of the third party...

Sometime before, Hobbes had realized he had underestimated the enemy. He wasn't proud of that slip, he should have known better. Wasn't one of the Agency's tops for nothing. But, having swallowed his pride or not, he wasn't expecting the place to blow up.

Fawkes had been absently complaining about a smell.

"Look, mica-boy-" Hobbes had began, talking low into his hidden mike and making sure no one was around.

"Mica-- what did you call me?"

"What, you throw quotes left and right 24/7 and you don't even know enough geology to know about mica?"

"I know mica. And I know how lame that just was."

"That, my friend, is where you're wrong. For the all-unseeing

all-unnoticed oh-so-useful human-saranwrap invisible-man you are, you don't always act like it. Can you even smell enough to gripe with, while you're quick-silv--"

Hobbes had hesitated. Suddenly, he began speaking tersely, urgency becoming more definite with each passing word. "Wait... where did you say you were? And what is it you smell?"

"...I thought it didn't matter." Darien's voice lost its mirth.

"I take back what I said. You don't go around ignoring weird smells, they could mean anything." Hobbes added, "In fact, get out of there, wherever you are."

Appearing hidden behind a the shadow of a wall, but close to Hobbes, Fawkes began in a light but worry-woven tone, "Can we say, 'paranoid in the membrane'- " when he was cut off by an odd sound from nearby.

Oh. Crap. Something told Darien that things were going to end ugly.

"Wha-" Hobbes had barely formed the syllable, as Fawkes came hurling out of the safety of the wall and threw himself at Hobbes, shoving him away and shielding him...

...For a moment, everything hung in the air....

...Then, almost in slow motion..

...A burst of light from somewhere, followed by a shaking roar in the ground and then in the air...

...Unbelievable force, hitting them, Darien then Hobbes... thrown against wall...

...A glimpse of Darien, unable to move, something collapsing onto him from the left...

...Even as yell warning, and move... strikes Darien, his body jerking in pain, then crumpling onto the ground....more debris raining, falling onto unmoving body...oh god...

...More explosions...The whole world turned insane, as it collapsed and burned...

....Where... where to run... no...

...If to run...

....How to stay...

...Blessed darkness.

Hobbes had gotten away with minor injuries, including some burns and (another) hit on the head. Darien... Fawkes was not quite as fortunate, with a broken left arm, bad shoulder, and general injuries mainly on the left side of his body where part of the building has collapsed on. But he was alive. Barely alive, critical condition, keeping everyone pacing until his condition was confirmed as ok, hooked up to machines and medical unites, variously swathed with bandages, and unconscious seemingly forever. But... alive.

"Stubborn as a roach," Hobbes had put it, muttering the comment while visiting Fawkes.

Hobbes had awoken and been released not long ago, too early for Fawkes to have regained consciousness, too late to have see the poachers and the third party been arrested with his own eyes. But he had heard enough to know how the Agency personnel, the police, and all them had arrived, caught and arrested -or ambulanced, depending on how badly-off they were- the surviving members of the poachers. The third party had been identified and there was an attempt going on to track them down.

But, for once, Hobbes didn't really have his mind on wether he had gotten enough recognition from the case.

The police and the med people had found Fawkes and him quickly enough, the Keeper contacted and informed of what had happened.

It was strange enough that Darien had survived, but what was stranger was when the Keeper had replied, with a strange, hollow voice, and hung up with only two words and nothing more. "I know."

Hobbes looked down at the unmoving form of Darien, making himself not eye away from, but instead, be burdened by the sight of the bandages and injuries, as well as the guilt, shame, anger and all the rest of the emotions that were threatening to not be in check any longer, the ones that had been fighting for a position that relief had briefly taken up.

"Should start calling you Roach-man, you come with all the

un-stompable-ness of 'em," Hobbes continued; forcefully, too, an anger -as if for Darien- beginning to tint the edge of his voice. "But... without the survival instincts," he added more softly.

* * *

The present....

-Epilogue-

Darien's smile haltered. While replying to his inquiry about the book, the Keeper had suddenly gone quiet, and when he looked at her, her shoulders seemed to have sagged, and one hand was unconsciously raised and fingers half-touching her lips. A shadow had settled on to her face, which was angled down, but probably not to study the grey concrete floor, since her eyes seemed unfocused.

Something was wrong. "...Claire...?" he asked tentatively.

For a moment, the Keeper did nothing. Them, still turned to the side and looking at the floor, she slowly closed her eyes. Opening them, she was looking directly at Darien, and her face soon followed. Her eyes... her sorrow-filled, yearning eyes.

"You... don't remember... anything, anything that happened.. do you?" she spoke, her hushed, pain-woven voice seeming to echo in Darien's mind.

He blinked, and forced himself out of his trace. Had those eyes, that voice, kept him...? Never mind. "No.. No, I don't.. remember anything," he replied, confusion beginning to seep in. He added, "And... I'm... not even sure what you're talking about."

"Well, on the last case, after the explosion-" began the Keeper cautiously, but saw that no recognition flickered across Darien's patient but puzzled face. "...Never mind." It was best that Darien not remember, or, if it could be helped, even know about his.. visit... to her lab. Claire considered telling Darien to report to her any strange dreams, or something that could lead to being a serious side affect of any suppressed memories, but decided it was too risky.

Darien looked at the Keeper oddly. "After the explosion, I was hanging out in good ol' lala land. For a while." It wasn't the first time she had been acting out of character. For instance... "Hey, you know, ever since the last mission, you've been kind of... well, paying attention to me more," noted Darien in a mild voice, idly shifting the Keeper's book back and forth between his hands despite the relative clumsiness of the cast on his left arm. "Stopped ignoring me less."

"Yes.. well..that's because... Look, may I have my book back now?"

"Hm. Well, at least you acknowledged what I said. See what I mean?"

"Darien, give me the book."

"I'll ignore that exception. But really, did my near-death condition finally make you, oh, see my worth?"

The stool crashed into the desk. "Something like that."

Darien paused shuffling the book. "What was that little jolt for?" he asked curiously. "Because I saw that."

"Nothing. Now are you going to give me that book or not?"

The doors had opened with a swish. "What's... going on?" Hobbes asked, distracted as he paused to watch Darien use his good arm to flit the book away from the Keeper, who -in addition to look less and less patient with each passing moment- was making a forceful, deliberate jab at the book that Darien held, as if she was trying retain possession of it with as much dignity as possible. "Hey, Keep, what's Cucaracha got there?"

"Nothing. A book. Darien's just being irritable."

"Because the Keeper won't explain why she has such a book. And stop calling me Cucaracha." As Darien turned towards Hobbes, the Keeper took advantage of the distraction to snatch the book out of his hands. "Hey!"

"What is that... _A Guide to Understanding.._.. the.._..the Spiritual Realm.._..?" read Hobbes, intrigue beginning to show as he spoke, as the Keeper hastily tried to stuff the book into a file cabinet nearby. "What...?"

Darien smirked. "My sentiments exactly." Just then, he glanced at and hoisted up another book. "Hm. _Ghosts and Spirits: a Parapsychological Study_'."

"Hey Cucaracha, what do you think-" began Hobbes, strolling over to take a look at the book.

"I told you to quit calling me-"

Her somber mood completely messed up, the Keeper stormed over. "What I investigate-- what I read is none of your business!" She paused, and began to look annoyed. "...What are you two doing here, anyway? Out, out!"

Darien tossed the book back on a desk. "You two ever going to tell me what's up with the book and my new name?" he muttered, looking up at the other two.

He said it innocently enough, but both Claire and Hobbes hesitated. A shaded wind might have silently swept the room, as the usual lighthearted air seemed to shift.

Avoiding Darien's eyes, the two quietly said together, "One day."

--The End--