SquidgeWorld Archive

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Same as every other IMan fanfic writer. Any new people are figments of my twisted psyche, all of the characters from the show unfortunately belong to the greedy fools that refuse to share. Don't bother suing me, 'cause I have less than no money.

Um... rating? Urf, I have no friggin' clue. Let's shoot for FRT-13. There is violence, swearing, many people getting shot, and lots of Darien getting the shit kicked out of him. There is a brief scene where Darien's horniness gets a little out of hand. But only just a little. ;-)

Author's Note: I started writing this immediately after the "Flash To Bang" episode in TV Season Two. It started out as a simple writing exercise, and then blossomed into an effort at screenwriting (hence all of the present tensing), until it became a full-blown obsessive-compulsive thing. A year later, after much editing and quite a few writing breaks, I'd finally finished the story. Lo and behold... it was a friggin book! Be forewarned, in MSWord the entire story is over 200 pages long.

Feedback is always appreciated, and all I ask is that you let me know if you're going to archive any of my fics; because then I can at least let you know if I've been tweaking the little suckers.

Oh, and one more thing: whenever I make reference to The Official in any way other than by his name or title, I use the Royal He/Him in order to differentiate between Him (The 'Fish) and him (any other male in the story). Just so's you don't get too confused...

Darien's opening words of wisdom:
"Hamlet once told his buddy Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than can be dreamt of in your philosophy.' You know, it's funny how I'd never really understood that until recently. But then, it's not all that surprising to see how your view of the world changes after a little brain surgery..."

Thursday, 8:30am
An impromptu meeting is being held inside The Official's office on an unusually hot and muggy morning. Luckily, Eberts was able to procure a rotating fan on a stand, and it was blasting full bore on the overheated occupants of the room.

"The..." whirrrrr "...information that..." whirrrrr "...secured has..." whirrrrr "...makes Him" The Official "nervous," Eberts helpfully clarifies.

The group he's addressing includes The Official, Monroe, Hobbes, and an Agency operative standing guard at the opposite end of the room from The Official's desk.

He shoots His assistant a nasty look, under which the reticent man blanches slightly as his gaze falls.

"That can't be good..." Hobbes mutters as Darien and Claire enter, she having just finished taking some of his blood for testing. They are closely followed/herded by another Agency guard, who shuts the door behind him as soon as they are in the room. The first Agency guard comes from the front of the room and joins the other at the doors to physically block them.

"What can't be good?" and "Couldn't you wait one freakin' minute for me to get a Band-Aid?" Claire and Darien ask simultaneously.

He's holding his right arm folded up against his chest. Two fingers of his left hand are pinched in the elbow's fold, holding a small gauze pad in place.

Monroe is perched on the edge of The Official's desk, quietly conferring with Him on some notes He had recently scribbled on a notepad. Hobbes is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk with his feet propped up on the other one. Eberts is at his customary position, behind and to the right of The Official.

"Heh-hey guys, wha's up?" Darien suddenly grins, offering his left hand to slap five with the one guard.

The man doesn't move, except to cock his head a little as if to say 'You must be shitting me'. The gangly man drops his arm as his forced cheerfulness withers.

Meanwhile, Claire moves to sit down in the chair beside Hobbes. When he looks quizzically at her, she unceremoniously shoves his feet off of the chair and sits down with a little "huff".

He looks innocently hurt, as if to say, 'Whaaaat? What'd I do?'

Darien swivel-turns around to face The Official, asking lightly, "So what's with the muscle, boss? We in a state of emergency or something?" He flexes his right arm a little, glancing to see if it's all right to take his fingers away, and then tosses the gauze into the wastebasket that Eberts quickly holds up for him.

Claire hands him a Band-Aid that she just found in her pocket.

"Something like that..." Hobbes mutters in reply to Darien's inquiry.

Claire looks at him questioningly, and he nods his head somberly towards Monroe and The Official.

Darien swings his head around to bestow a troubled glance at Hobbes. "What? What's going on?"

"I believe you should be telling me that," The Official snaps.

Baffled, Darien begins to stride towards the others, and stops when he senses the two guards swiftly stepping towards him. "What the hell are you talking about?" he brusquely demands as he scowls over his shoulder at the two men... each with cautious hands on their guns.

They resume their original positions with a jerk of The Official's head.

Darien tensely looks around for a place to sit, but of course, there isn't. So, he hops onto the table behind Claire and Hobbes and sits cross-legged (Indian style).

Just as irritated, The Official snaps, "Where were you the other night?"

Insulted, his head rears back a little. "Out. With Bobby. What's it to you?"

The Official's eyes dart to Hobbes. "Is this true, Hobbes?"

Put on the spot, he hesitates. "Yyyees."

"Where?" He growls with increasing impatience.

"Like I said, out," Darien retorts as he glares at his partner to back him up.

He tilts his head back in Darien's direction. "Yeah... shopping."

"What for?" Eberts pipes in matter-of-factly.

Darien scowls first at The Official and then Eberts, just a bit insulted that they were treating him like they had when he first arrived at The Agency.

Hobbes answers reluctantly, "Gear."

"What kind of gear?" The Official demands.

"The kind I use for deep sea fishing," Darien quips sarcastically. At the boss's gimlet glare, he expands belligerently. "I was getting stuff for work. Y'know, a lock pick set, climbing cables..." he waves his hands, illustrating what he felt was obvious.

Hobbes nods slightly, and adds in a low voice to Claire, "Yeah, stuff he thinks he needs so he can 'keep in practice'." He sounds as if he's dryly paraphrasing his friend from a previous conversation.

Darien jerks his head back a little. "'Keep? In... practice'?"

He bobs his head to the side quickly. "Ya know, so you don't lose those amazing skills of yours..."

Darien thumps his partner on the shoulder, not really taking the jibe seriously. "Hey, I was a helluva good thief..."

"You would've been a lot better if you'd lost the conscience..." comes the rejoinder in a low and sarcastic tone.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" The Official barks, smacking His palms down on the desk to break off the lighthearted bantering before Darien can retort. "Now. Hobbes. You and Fawkes were together for how long the other night?"

He absently picks at his fingers as he thoughtfully tries to remember. "Well, went out for dinner, then the Outfitter's; after that, hung out at Fawkes', watched some movies..."

"What was the timeframe, Robert?" Eberts prods.

Hobbes shoots him an irritated glance at the interruption. "I was just getting to that, Eberts." He returns to his tallying, eyes thoughtfully concentrating on a spot in the air. "...Supper around seven, at Fawkes' 'til about... when? Two?" He glances at Darien, who nods a terse affirmation. "Two..." he mutters, continuing to tick off the mental list on his fingers, "I'd say, around seven... seven and a half hours," he finishes, looking back up evenly at The Official.

"You're sure," He contends in an unrelenting tone.

"Of course he's sure," Darien replies in a snide tone. "What else would he say?"

"Anything to cover your ass," Monroe comments dryly.

"Not if it means his ass," he shoots back.

Hobbes looks confusedly thoughtful as he tries to figure out whether or not he should be insulted or complimented by what's being said about him.

The Official's momentarily stalled (but still looks belligerent), so Claire is finally able to get a word in. "Would someone please tell us what this is all about?"

Eberts opens his mouth and takes a breath to speak, but is silenced by the sharp cutting gesture of The Official's hand. He waves the guards out of the room with the same hand, dismissing them. As the door shuts behind them, He then curtly nods to Monroe, indicating that she can begin speaking.

Eberts has a slightly pained expression on his face.

Monroe starts, unaware of his reaction to being cut off... again. "There was a break-in at a research facility in Virginia the other day. The place was firebombed, but they managed to salvage some of the security footage. Eberts?" She glances at the man questioningly, tilting her head in a voiceless request for his assistance.

Having smoothed away the outward expression of his feelings, he swings a TV/VCR cart around and starts shutting the shades.

She stands, walks over and places a tape in the VCR. She picks up the remote, returns to the far side of The Official's desk and pushes play just as Eberts finishes closing the blinds. He then retires to his spot behind Him.

At first, there's static and broken footage, but then the picture calms and clears to show various camera angles of people being knocked down, shot, and then of a limp, sheet-covered figure being carried out of a smoking building and laid into a waiting helicopter by...

Claire's reaction is a sharp intake of breath, her brief expression of shock smoothing to one of concerned yet piqued curiosity, while Hobbes lets out a long, low and almost silent whistle.

Darien stiffens, his eyes widening a little in realization.

"Arnaud..." Hobbes breathes in disgust.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Darien mutters, rolling up his eyes as he tilts back his head.

Thursday, 9:15am
Darien and Hobbes are arguing in Claire's lab. The door slides open, and Monroe enters with a carry-on bag slung over her shoulder. She looks increasingly impatient. "Hobbes, let's go. We don't want to miss the plane."

Darien continues to argue with Hobbes, pausing only to shoot a cryptic glare at her before glancing pleadingly at Claire for support. "Tell me again why you two get to go, and I've gotta stay here?"

Hobbes looks guiltily at Claire, who shakes her head and turns her back on the whole scene, pretending to work on some of her research on her computer.

"Like I said, partner, I want you to stay here and check out what spots you think your ol' buddy Arnaud would hang at..."

"He's not my 'buddy' Hobbes," Darien snaps. "And what if he's still there in Virginia? You might need me to help find him..."

He puts up both hands in an effort to mollify his friend. "He's not in Virginia anymore," he answers confidently.

Monroe breaks in with some added warmth in her voice. "All the evidence we have points to de Fehrn moving the stolen research somewhere on the West Coast; possibly Nevada, New Mexico or even here."

"So?" Darien breaks in, exasperated.

"So, it makes sense for you to stay here and look for him," she finishes.

Hobbes nods. "Right! And all we're doing is a little information recon so we have a better idea of what our not-so-good Doctor is up to this time."

Monroe breaks in again. "It's not worth wasting your..." she pauses, thinking of the right PC words to say, "...special skills ... on."

Claire comments from her chair without taking her eyes off of the computer screen. "Plus, I'd feel more comfortable with you staying close to the lab for now. Your blood work from this morning has me a little concerned."

His head swings around at the mention of 'concerned'.

"... aaand I want to monitor you more closely over the next few hours..." she continues.

"'Concerned'? What's that supposed to mean?" He backs up a step and raises a hand to the back of his head, rubbing it absently. "Please don't tell me there's something wrong with this thing again."

Claire swivels her chair around, quickly stands up and walks over to him. "No, no ..." she lets out a quick, sharp sigh, "...well, not... exactly." Looking him straight in the eyes, she continues. "I'm concerned about these abnormal hormonal levels. This is simply precautionary, Darien. I just want to be sure you're all right."

Meanwhile, Hobbes has been surreptitiously inching towards the door where Monroe awaits, tapping her fingers on the doorsill. "Yeah, so, there you go. Look, I'll see you in a couple days, Fawkes. Hey, Keep," he nods at Claire, "you take good care of my partner now, okay?" And with that, he practically shoots through the door.

Monroe follows after she rolls her eyes at his seemingly cowardly behavior.

Darien opens his mouth to protest, but the door slides shut behind the other two agents.

Thursday, 2:30pm
Monroe and Hobbes are getting off of a small airplane on a little used runway at the edge of the Newport News/Williamsburg International Airport in Virginia.

She swiftly walks over to a car with government plates sitting on the runway. There are two soldiers waiting/standing guard near the car, who snap to attention when they see her. Hobbes follows a little more sedately as he takes in his surroundings. He looks as if he's searching for something specific, other than the two guards.

She opens the trunk of the car and tosses her bag inside. She pushes the lid down until it's shut (but not latched), and notices his behavior as she opens the driver's side door. She leans on it and asks with a note of resigned-to-suffering patience in her voice, "What are you looking for?"

He absently turns his head towards her and responds, "I thought we were meeting someone here."

She shakes her head and gestures impatiently for him to get into the car. "No, we're meeting the agent in charge at the facility. Would you get in the car Hobbes, we're running behind schedule."

He picks up his pace, and deposits his bag in the trunk before climbing into the passenger seat.

She's already seated, belted, and has turned on the car while he's closing the trunk. Once he's in and belted, she drives off of the small runway and down an unpaved access road towards the highway. The uniformed soldiers step back to the edge of the runway and blankly salute Monroe as she drives by. She smiles and politely waves an acknowledgement back to them.

Hobbes gives her a darkly inquisitive/pensive look that goes unnoticed. It's plain that he's thinking that she must have her fingers in quite a lot of pies.

As they enter the highway, the onramp shows the route number(s) - 143 [to 64 to 134], and they almost immediately pass under a set of the green signs stating the next few exit numbers and names. The sign in the middle says 'Langley A.F.B., 10 miles'.

Thursday, 10:30am
In the lab, Darien is sitting in one of The Keeper's chairs, with it tilted back and his feet propped on the left rear edge of the fish tank table. Her computer is almost parallel and to his right. He's deep in thought, tossing little pieces of scrap paper at the wastebasket at the end of the tank's table that he's facing.

Claire walks in, reading the top sheet from a sheaf of papers. She looks up briefly, then momentarily stops just inside of the door as it slides shut.

He's so deep in thought that he hasn't looked up.

"Darien, what are you doing here? I thought you went home over an hour ago."

He tosses another wad of paper at the basket. It circles the rim of the almost-full can before it falls in. He looks up at her as if wrenching his thoughts back from a thousand miles away and somberly replies, "I wanted to see if you had anything more on those tests you're doing."

She slowly shakes her head as she continues her way in to the room. She walks towards the fridge and places the test results on the exam chair. She opens the fridge and pulls out a small white container with a spoon. Turning back to the chair as the fridge door swings shut, she picks up the papers in her other hand and walks over to her computer.

"Not just yet. I won't have anything for another couple of hours. I told you I would call as soon as I had something," she gently chides.

She sits down by her computer, and sets the papers on the counter to her left. She then opens the small plastic container, and spoons some of the contents into her mouth.

He glances over at her, his face scrunching up in a moue of distaste. "Do I... want to know what that, stuff is?"

"Tuna salad." She waves the empty spoon at the computer. "I do have a little more on your blood work, but I was waiting for the latest results before talking to you."

He drops his feet to the floor and swivels the chair around to face the computer. "So, what's up?"

She sets the tuna salad on the top of the monitor and types a little, bringing up a chart on the screen. "You remember that the gland is chromosomally female...?"

He nods a little sheepishly, remembering the incident with the invisible 'Yeti'.

She continues. "The latest results show a significant increase of estrogen in your bloodstream, which makes me wonder about a few things."

He scrutinizes her from the corner of his eye. "Like, what kinds of things?"

She absently tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her right ear, quickly pops another spoonful of tuna salad in her mouth, and resumes typing on the keyboard. A word file opens on the computer screen: notes from the study of the gland before it was implanted in Darien.

She scrolls through some of the document before pausing at a specific paragraph, stopping, and turning her head to peer closely at his face.

He reads the paragraph, seemingly unaware that she's studying his face intently. He's looking a bit flushed. As a matter of fact, he's just to the point of breaking out in a fine sweat.

She tilts her head a little, and begins to raise the back of her right hand to his forehead.

He flicks his eyes to her and asks a little breathlessly, "Claire... what?"

She hesitates, and then finishes raising her hand to feel his temperature. "Have you been feeling... warmer than usual, lately?"

He blinks, thinking. "Yeah, a little bit. It's nothing; I figured it was a cold or something, with the weather changing like it's been."

Her eyebrows furrow slightly. She looks back at the computer screen and types a few commands, bringing up another window and document.

He cranes his head a little to see what she's looking at, since her head is blocking the screen.

She glances at him again with a pensive look. "As you know, there was some speculation as to what effects the gland would have on various areas of the brain... as we discovered when it reacted with your pineal gland..." she trails off, since she notices that he's starting to look worried.

"Claire, would you please just spit it out?"

She hesitates a moment before almost blurting, "I think... somehow, the gland may be sending you into something much like... 'heat'," she ventures cautiously.

There's a split second of silence. Then, Darien snorts in laughter, his head almost hitting hers with the force of his amusement.

She raises an eyebrow, understanding the humor he perceives in her words, but she's a little too concerned to join in just yet.

He calms down briefly. "Ya know, Hobbes is quite a dish. Do ya think he'd find me attractive?" he wistfully ponders as he twists a strand of his hair.

A 'Who farted?' expression washes across her face.

"Nah, he wouldn't even notice me." The thought sets him off again, and he futilely attempts to suppress his laughter.

Lips slightly pursed and one eyebrow raised, Claire stands and steps over to the examination area. Picking up an ear thermometer, she stands by the exam chair and pats it lightly, indicating that he should come over and sit down.

He shakes his head, wipes the one or two tears from his eyes, and rises. Still snorting softly, he strides over and plops down on the chair. With a huge shit-eating grin on his face, he asks her, "So, after telling me that, you think it's wise to start playing 'Doctor' with me? You think it's... safe?"

With an irritated grimace, she ever so un-gently sticks the thermometer in his ear.

He flinches a little, muttering "Hey..." as the lab door slides open.

Enter The Official, looking as He always does... constipated. "So, how's my star agent doing?" He asks with false boisterousness.

Claire shrugs slightly, craning her head to look at the read-out on the thermometer.

Darien gives up his lamentable effort at looking serious. "I dunno," he grins. "You'd better sit down for this one, Chief."

The Official glances at Claire, puzzled.

She answers with reluctance. "I'm not quite sure what to say. Darien's fine, for now, but the gland... Well, it seems to be stimulating his hormonal production in such a way..."

Darien involuntarily interrupts with a soft snort when she says 'stimulating'.

She shoots him an increasingly impatient glare. "That's not what I meant..."

"What didn't you mean?" The Official glowers.

Darien shakes his head a few times. "Go ahead, tell him." He notices her escalating annoyance at his juvenile behavior. "C'mon, Claire, you gotta admit, it does sound a bit silly..."

She rolls her eyes, turns, and coolly slaps the thermometer down on the rolling tray table holding her other testing instruments.

The Official shoots a quelling glare at Darien, who in turn meekly drops his head while raising his legs to leisurely wrap his hands around his knees. The Official can still see a smile peeking out, though.

"So, what's the problem?" He asks, ignoring Darien.

"The gland seems to be interfering with his hormonal production, and could be sending him into, well... heat, ...not unlike an animal," she responds.

He blinks. Now it looks like He might be trying to quell some amusement that's attempting to rise in Him. Either that, or some gas from that Chinese stuff He ate earlier... "And how will this affect him over the long run?"

She hesitates before venturing, "I'm not sure. That's why I want him to stay close to the lab for now. Hopefully, with a few more tests, I'll get a better picture of what's going on over the next few days."

"Do you foresee any difficulty with his use of the gland?"

She shakes her head thoughtfully. "Again, I can't be sure until I run some more tests."

"Will he be able to run his... 'errands'?"

She nods slowly. "Yyeess... As long as he checks in every few hours or so, and if he can manage to keep from going invisible."

Darien's amusement fades over the course of the discussion. He looks a bit vexed at being discussed as if he weren't even in the room, so he swings his legs over the side of the exam chair and slides off. He starts towards the door, but Claire stops him with a touch on his shoulder.

"What?" he asks a bit abruptly.

"Darien, please remember to call me later. I'll have more information on your blood work then, so..." she trails off, noting that his thoughts have drifted far away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill." He waves absently at his Keeper and meanders towards the lab door.

As it opens, The Official calls out, "Fawkes, where are you going?"

He turns and shrugs his shoulders slightly. "Where else? Gonna kick over some rocks and see if Arnaud's crawled under any of 'em."

The Official and the Keeper exchange cryptic looks as the door slides shut behind him.