Summary: A new counteragent has some not completely expected side effects, and Hobbes has to deal with them.

Warnings: The usual -- m/m sex, nudity, language -- plus a special warning: this story involves SEXUAL HARASSMENT, which means non-consensual speeches, fondling and (possibly) attempted rape. If this upsets you, DELETE THIS AND ALL FUTURE PARTS UNREAD!!

SPECIAL NOTE: There are anti-Semitic remarks made by a secondary character. Please don't yell at me for them; they don't reflect my attitude!!

TRAPPED IN A COLD EMBRACE

By Loke

Goddamnit, I hate this.

There's not a damned thing I can do about it, either.

It's not HIM; I'm not even sure it's the gland. He only started this recently.

After Claire started giving him the new counteragent.

At first it was just whispers in my ear when we were alone. Then he'd "accidentally" brush against me, or leave a hand on my arm or leg just THAT much too long. He'd make comments that weren't so innocent and pretend they were just jokes: "Lighten up, Bobby! You're too serious!" Then he'd give me a nice, "comradely" hug that lasted just a touch too long and was a little too friendly.

Then he started with the invisible stuff.

He's COLD, even through several layers of fabric. You'd think he'd remember it shrinks in the cold. Maybe he does, and it gets him off to know how uncomfortable he's making me feel -- and more than just the physical discomfort. Do you have ANY idea how embarrassing it is to be standing in an elevator half-full of people who are looking at you funny because you just let out a yell for no apparent reason? He went see-through and GOOSED me with those ice-cold fingers of his.

I'm not even going to mention what he did to me at the urinal -- I can't even use them anymore. These days I'm afraid to go into a Men's Room with more than one stall -- he might be waiting. There are things to be said for gas station restrooms that have to be unlocked before you can go in.

I can't even talk to anyone about this. My therapist isn't cleared for the QS project, and the fat man would only think I'm having a meltdown. If he even cared; everyone knows which one of us is important and which is expendable. I pointed it out to Darien myself. If I make too much of a fuss I'm out of a job; the squeaky wheel in this case goes on the garbage heap.

Eberts? Don't make laugh.

I tried to talk to Claire, but she seemed distracted by something and unwilling to help.

I can't take much more of this; he's getting more insistent and harder to avoid. I lay awake nights thinking he's gong to break in while I'm asleep and --

I don't want to think about that.

I can't STOP thinking about it.

Before this started I used to fantasize about being with him; making love sweet and slow and then spooning against him while he wrapped those long limbs around me and held me all night.

The sweet dreams are now nightmares; I can see him coming for me, and either beating me half senseless or tying me down before he rapes me over and over. I can hear him sneering at me after he finishes; I wasn't all that good, and now I'm completely worthless. Then he turns and walks away.

Leaving me alone.

Bruised, bloodied, broken and desolate.

===================================================

Claire listened with half an ear to Hobbes' latest perceived problem with Darien until he started going into the sexual components.

Then she gave it her utmost attention, waiting until Hobbes had finished and giving him some soothing platitude while walking him to the elevator.

When she was certain he was gone, she let out a string of curses and went straight to her notes.

"Bloody Hell!" she said. "It worked perfectly, except he's fixated on the wrong person! What in the name of God could he possibly see in Bobby Hobbes?"

PART 2

Something's wrong with me.

Aside from the gland in my head which makes me violently insane on a regular basis.

I'm doing things to my partner I shouldn't, and I can't stop myself.

I'm scaring him, and hurting him, and making him feel ashamed, and part of me is enjoying the sense of power I have over him. I can see he's slowly going crazy because he can't stop me and he can't ask anyone for help. He's not the important one here -- I am, and knowing I can get away with a lot of crap I never could before just rubs the old ego the right way. I am the MAN!

Oh, crap -- this is just what I'm trying to talk about. Where do I get off thinking like this? Acting the way I do around Bobby? I treat him like he's there for my convenience, as if his feelings don't matter.

When what I want is to tell him how much his feelings DO matter to me. Every time I see that scared, hurt look in his eyes I just want to wrap him up and hold him until everything's all better.

Then I remember WHY he looks like that -- because I just did something to him.

Crap.

Would he believe me if I said I didn't want to act like this? That I wanted him, sure, but I didn't want to force myself on him? That I --

No, I can't tell him that. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

===================================================

Darien moved his arm after Claire gave him his shot, adjusting to the feel of the counteragent in his system. It felt different from the way it had recently; in fact, it felt like the old stuff. He must be imagining things; Claire wouldn't give him a shot of the old counteragent after saying he'd built up a tolerance to it.

He took the elevator to the floor where their office was, and smiled a hello to his partner. Darien's face fell when he saw the terror flash across Bobby's face, to be quickly replaced by his "macho" face which hid his feelings from everyone.

"So how'd it go?" Bobby attempted a smirk and nearly succeeded. "You make a pass at the Keeper?"

"Please," Darien groaned, "she thinks I'm a lab rat, remember?" There was a moment of silence between the two men, as if each was waiting for what the other would say next. Darien broke it by saying, "Bobby, I'm sorry -- I've treated you like crap for the past few weeks and you didn't deserve any of it."

Bobby just stared at him, opened-mouthed with shock and disbelief.

===================================================

From the Keeper's Private Notes:

The new formula worked almost as I thought it would; Darien was far less aggressive, even when near QSM, than he'd been on the old formula. Chemically adjusting his hormone levels to channel his impulsive behavior into his libido has not had all the desired effects, however, and I've given him a shot of the old formula while I modify the new formula for better results.

A single dose of the old formula shouldn't be a problem; I exaggerated about his tolerance to it.

The modified formula should be ready before he needs another shot.

I'm going to bloody well HAVE Darien, one way or the other.

PART 3

It was OK for the next few days, like having the old Darien back.

Then he went for a shot, and we had a case outside of town, tracking down a fugitive in the woods.

The fugitive was caught and everybody went home happy.

Except us.

===================================================

"I'm getting close, Claire," Darien said as he came into the lab. "The headaches are starting." 'Now that's odd,' he said to himself, 'I haven't had a headache since I started the new counteragent.'

"Let's see." He held out his arm and Claire checked his wrist -- one green section left. "Yes, you're ready all right." 'Now I can try the modified formula,' she thought. 'He should be all over me in short order.'

Claire prepared the shot and administered it, holding Darien's hand and watching as his tattoo faded from red to green. She looked into his face, hoping for some sign the modified formula was working. There was none.

She heard the door open and released Darien's hand.

"Hey, Fawkes, you in here?" Hobbes called. "We got a case."

She nearly missed Darien's gasp, but not the flush of arousal on his cheeks or the shift of his hips. He quickly slid off the chair and turned his back to both of them, trying to regain some composure.

"Let's get a move on, Fawkes," Hobbes said. "I'll tell you about it on the way."

"I'm right behind you," Darien replied as they left.

Leaving behind them a severely frustrated Keeper.

===================================================

Why the hell is Claire looking at me like that? It's like she was expecting something to happen.

Oh, crap.

Just hearing Bobby's voice gave me a raging hard-on. Does he HAVE to make my name sound like a come-on?

Jesus, Darien, pull yourself together! He didn't do anything; it's all in your stupid head.

Both of them.

We're in the van, driving out of town, and Bobby's giving me the details of the case. I'm only hearing every other word 'cause I'm watching his mouth and wondering how it would feel against my skin. I can see the pulse beating in his throat and I want to put my lips right there and feel it beating against them.

Crap! He caught me looking at him, and now he's got that scared look in his eyes again. God, Bobby, you shouldn't do that; it makes me want to hold you. If I hold you, I'll want to kiss you. If I kiss you, we'll end up making love.

I'm so hard it hurts. I need looser pants. Who am I kidding? I need Bobby, and soon.

===================================================

I'm trying to tell him I need air.

He's got me pinned against the side of the van, kissing me like there's no tomorrow. When the hell did he grow those six extra arms? They're everywhere.

I manage to free my lips long enough to gasp out we should get inside the van. He reaches out with one arm and opens the side door, shoving me inside and falling on top of me. Somehow he gets the door shut with his foot.

Which leaves his arms free to undress me.

But being in the van gives me some things I can use to subdue him.

I just have to wait for my moment.

PART 4

Hobbes finished straightening his clothes and pulled out his cell phone. He punched in the Agency's number and waited for an answer.

"This is Bobby Hobbes. I'm gonna need some help with partner . . . "

===================================================

They wheeled Fawkes into the lab on a stretcher, and strapped his unconscious body down in the chair.

"What happened?" asked Claire as if she had no idea.

"He attacked me," Hobbes said without going into details, "and I knocked him out. He may have a concussion; the trank dart didn't seem to be working. I think you need to work on that new counteragent."

Claire looked up from her examination of Fawkes' eyes -- he definitely had a concussion -- at her accuser. "Do you think you could do a better job?"

"All I'm sayin' is neither of us can do our jobs if he's all over me and I'm fightin' him off," Hobbes replied.

Whatever argument she might have made was never voiced as the man in the chair groaned and whispered, "Bobby?"

Hobbes stepped over to the chair. "I'm here," he said softly, placing one hand on Fawkes' shoulder and sliding the other into the bound man's hand.

"What happened? I can't remember; everything's fuzzy."

"Never mind that now," Hobbes said, "you're in the lab and they're gonna make it all better."

"Wanted to make it better," Fawkes murmured sleepily as his eyes drifted shut. "Didn't want you to be scared anymore. Wanted to hold you." He relaxed as he lost awareness, oblivious to the impact of his words.

"What did he mean?" the Official asked, turning on Hobbes.

"I don't know, sir," Hobbes replied, "he's concussed and not making much sense."

"How did he come to be injured," the Official demanded, "and a head injury at that? The fugitive you caught was booked into custody an hour ago." His eyes narrowed. "Where have you two been?"

"There was a problem after the fugitive was captured," Hobbes temporized. "Fawkes started acting in an unstable manner and when a tranquilizer dart proved ineffective I had to resort to physical methods to subdue him. I was careful not to hit him near the gland, sir." 'Suck it up and kiss ass before he decides he made a mistake hiring you.'

It worked; mollified on one front, the head of the Agency turned to confront Claire. "How long will it take you to fix the counteragent?"

"What makes you think the counteragent's the problem?" she countered.

"Occam's Razor," he replied. "The simplest answer is there's a problem with the new counteragent, so how long until you can analyze it and find a solution?"

"Analysis will take some time," Claire replied thoughtfully, "as will producing the new formula. It's impossible to tell at this time."

"Fine," the Official said. "How soon can we move him to the padded room?"

"I'll need some blood samples, but you should be able to move him after that."

"Shouldn't somebody be with him?" Hobbes asked. "I mean, with the concussion and all."

"You volunteering?" the Official asked.

"He should be safe enough if he's in a straightjacket," Claire added.

"Hey, I got reports to write," Hobbes said, "and besides, shouldn't whoever's watching have some sort of medical training?" He started sidestepping towards the door.

"I want your report on my desk before you leave today," the Official said, and Hobbes turned and fled.

Not to his office, but to the Men's Room near it.

===================================================

They don't know.

Hopefully I hit Darien hard enough he won't remember.

It wasn't his fault.

She's up to something.

Now all I have to do is prove it to the Official.

And hope he can replace her.

PART 5

An hour and a half later Hobbes entered the Official's office with his report. The Official was out, but Eberts was present, shuffling and filing papers.

"Here's the report," Hobbes said, "and I need a favor."

Eberts took the report, glanced through it, and told the other man, "I'm really not -- "

Hobbes silenced him with a look. "Don't give me that; I know as well as you do you're in charge of internal security. I need access to whatever you have on file from Lab 1. I think something unauthorized is going on there, and it involves the fat man's 17 million dollar investment."

===================================================

I think I hurt Bobby.

Claire says he's fine, and didn't say anything about being injured.

So why isn't he here when I need him?

Why can't I remember what happened?

What aren't they telling me THIS time?

===================================================

"He keeps asking about Hobbes," the Official said. "Why is that?"

"He's still disoriented from the concussion and the tranquilizer," Claire replied. "His memory's still fuzzy about what happened, and he may never remember. He thinks he did something to Bobby, and it's frustrating to him to be unable to recall events."

They were watching Fawkes from the observation room next to the padded room. He was looking toward the glass, knowing there was probably someone behind it, with a heartbreakingly sad expression.

"Bobby, please," he said to the glass, "I need to see you -- just for a minute, just to know you're OK. Please."

The head of the Agency turned away from the glass, unable to look at those pleading eyes one more second. "How's your analysis coming?" he asked. "Any progress?"

"I'm still waiting for a detailed analysis of Darien's blood chemistry, to determine exactly how the new formula interacted with the quicksilver, the gland, and his own systems," Claire said. "As soon as we determine what went wrong we can attempt to correct it. We'll have to get the present formula out of his system, however, before we can introduce anything new."

"You mean waiting nearly a week?"

"Not necessarily -- we can make him use up what's in his system by having him go invisible for a prolonged period, assuming of course we find the problem and the solution before the counteragent runs out naturally."

"Damnit, Claire, I promised I'd keep him sane if he worked for us. He depends on us to hold up our end of that bargain, and if you can't do the job I'll find someone else who will."

"Where?"

"I have contacts. You aren't my only option." He strode over to the phone and punched in a number. "Eberts? Find Hobbes and tell him I want him to visit his partner. Did he turn in his report yet?" A pause while the other man answered. "All right then; I'll be right up to read it." He hung up the phone and turned to Claire. "Remember what I said." He left, returning to his office.

"I'll keep it in mind," she sarcastically told the door he'd gone through.

===================================================

Eberts heard the click signaling his boss had hung up, and quickly clicked the receiver for a new dialtone. He rapidly punched in the number for Lab 1. "Did you find anything?" he asked.

"Not yet," answered Hobbes. "Why are you calling me here?"

"The Official wants you to visit Fawkes, and he's on his way up here, which might mean SHE'S on her way to the lab."

"Got it; I'm out of here, and on my way to the padded room." He hung up and quickly left, though he wasn't looking forward to his next stop. 'How bad can it be?' he thought. 'He's gonna be in a straightjacket, right? I'll be perfectly safe. I can stop shaking right now.'

He stopped by the observation room to double-check Darien was still in the straightjacket, then gathered his nerve and entered the padded room. "Hey, Fawkes," he said with a smile, "heard you were asking for me."

"Bobby!" Darien shouted, jumping to his feet and moving toward him. "I needed to see you, to be sure you were OK!"

"You're seeing me," Bobby said moving toward the door, "and I'm OK. You need anything else?"

"Don't go," the other man pleaded as he saw Bobby reaching the door and signaling to be let out. "You're the only other person who knows what happened out there. What did I do? Please tell me."

"I can't," Bobby gasped out as the door opened and he fled.

PART 6

"Are you sure this new counteragent won't have any nasty side effects?" the Official asked as they were walking toward the padded room. Three days had passed since they'd been forced to put Darien Fawkes into it after he'd attacked his partner Bobby Hobbes.

"As certain as I can be under the circumstances," Claire, Fawkes' Keeper and the person responsible for his well-being, replied, "but computer models and animal tests aren't 100% accurate -- there may be factors we don't know about yet." She wanted to keep an option open for later attempts at modifying the formula to suit her own agenda.

Still, this new counteragent should be good for a year, possibly two, before Darien developed too much of a tolerance to it. Claire wondered if Darien remembered her telling him his quicksilver use increased his tolerance to the counteragent. Did he realize working for the Agency actually shortened the time his body learned to tolerate new counteragents, and eventually they'd run out of effective ones?

They arrived at the room and looked through the port: no sign of Fawkes. They walked around to the observation room and checked with the agent stationed there to watch him. "He went invisible 10 minutes ago, and hasn't come out of it yet."

"He should be fairly close to QSM, if he isn't there already," Claire noted.

"Are we ready?" the Official asked.

"Everything's in place," the agent confirmed.

"Do it."

The agent spoke into his mike, and they all heard the sound of the padded room door unlocking. It was flung open, bouncing off the padded wall, and nothing ran out, being quickly caught in the net hung just outside. A shimmer of falling crystals revealed Darien Fawkes, eyes blood red with madness.

"BOBBY!!!!!!" he howled, struggling against the netting until the counteragent was shot into the back of his neck and he mercifully passed out.

"Right," said Claire, "let's get him to the lab and strapped down, just in case."

===================================================

Hobbes heard the order to unlock the padded room door just as he was replacing the notes he'd copied of Claire's secret agenda in their hidey-hole. They were the final nail in the Keeper's coffin, added to the video and audio evidence he and Eberts had gathered from the security records of Lab 1. He finished replacing the notes, closed the secret drawer, and waited for Claire, the Official, and his partner to arrive.

Claire gave him a hard look when she arrived, quickly erased, and he was secretly glad, understanding now what it meant. He fervently hoped she had reason to be jealous, and meant to determine if it was so at the first opportunity. Right now, however, protecting Darien was his top priority. He moved to the side of the lab to watch things as they carried his partner in and strapped him down.

A few minutes later Fawkes moaned softly and opened his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Fawkes?" the Official asked in a soft, gentle voice.

"I'm feeling OK, I think," he replied, trying to remember what he'd done which would elicit such a guarded response.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Claire asked in her best professional voice.

He frowned in concentration and suddenly blushed to the roots of his hair. 'I didn't!' he thought, 'and even if I DID I'm not telling THEM!' "I --ah -- I was -- ah -- with Bobby -- I mean Hobbes -- and we were chasing this guy hiding in the woods outside of town. We got the guy, and -- " 'Oh, crap! Don't go there!' "What happened? How'd I get here?"

"Long story, Fawkes," Hobbes said from where he'd parked himself to watch, "and I'll tell you later." 'Yeah, when I'm about ninety, if I live that long.'

"Let's everybody clear out and let the Keeper finish her examination of Fawkes in private," the Official suggested. "Hobbes, I want to see you in my office immediately."

Hobbes nodded and followed him out with everyone else, leaving Fawkes alone with his Keeper.

Claire checked his vital signs, his tattoo, his reflexes, and asked him how much he remembered, ignoring his own questions on the subject. "You don't appear to be suffering any lasting effects from your recent experience," she told him, turning away to write something in her notes, indicating he could leave.

===================================================

Hobbes closed the door after following the Official into his office. The Agency head rounded his desk and sat down, fixing both his field agent and his aide with a stern glare.

"The two of you have been up to something, and I want to know what it is right now." he growled.

PART 7

"You really didn't think I WASN'T going to notice something going on right under my nose, did you?" the Official inquired.

The pair exchanged a glance before Hobbes said, "Do you have the tapes?"

Eberts replied, "Yes -- did you get the documents?"

"Right here," Hobbes said as he placed them on the desk. "Even before Fawkes attacked me I began to suspect there was something wrong with the new counteragent. Eberts and I have gathered enough evidence to call the actions of Fawkes' Keeper Claire into question, and we'd like you to review it, sir." He looked toward Eberts, who took up the tale by placing his own evidence on the desk.

"Video and audio recordings from Lab 1 supporting Agent Hobbes' allegations, sir," he said.

"This is what you've been doing?" the Official asked.

"Yes sir," Hobbes answered. "It was my idea, and I managed to convince Eberts it was in the best interests of preserving the Agency's $17 million investment."

"I see," the Official said. "Eberts, could you wait outside for a few minutes? I wish to speak to Agent Hobbes alone."

'This is it,' thought Hobbes as Eberts left the room. 'Now he's gonna give me the boot 'cause I stepped over the line.'

"Sit down, Bobby," the Agency head said after the door closed on his second-in-command. "You were right to bring this to my attention. What I'm asking you now is strictly off the record and will never leave this office." He paused to gather his most intimidating look before asking, "Did Fawkes rape you?"

"He -- attempted to, sir," Hobbes admitted, not meeting his boss' eyes, "but I nailed him with a spare tranquilizer dart -- one of several I keep hidden in the rear area of the van for just that sort of emergency. You never know when you're gonna need to overpower someone who has a physical advantage over you. I gave him the concussion after he was out, hoping to make sure he wouldn't remember what he'd done. I didn't then and don't now consider what occurred to be his fault, and believe the evidence presented to you will bear me out." 'That's all you're ever getting on the subject, even if it costs me my job.'

"I wouldn't normally agree with you, but under the circumstances it was probably the best thing you could've done. He doesn't need that on top of everything else he has to handle." The Official picked up the documents Hobbes had put on his desk and began to read through them. "I'll let you know what I decide about the Keeper. Go find your partner and take him home."

"Yes, sir," Hobbes said, standing and walking out.

The Agency head leafed through the evidence, noting Eberts had returned when Hobbes left and was puttering about. He finished with the last document and picked up the phone, punching in a number. "This is Charlie Borden. How'd you like a job?"

===================================================

Hobbes walked into the office he shared with his partner to find the man trying to break into his computer. "Fawkes, what are you doing?"

"I wanted to see what you told the Official about what happened," he answered. "I overheard somebody say you told Claire I attacked you."

Hobbes closed the door, locked it, and told his paranoid brain to shut the fuck up -- Darien needed to be reassured, and he couldn't do that if he had to chase him through the halls. Now all he had to do was figure out what to say.

He leaned against the door, gathered his thoughts, and spoke. "Yeah, I told Claire you attacked me -- but I know you weren't responsible for what happened, and I just dropped the last bit of evidence Claire did something unauthorized to the counteragent on the fat man's desk." He moved toward his partner. "I don't know how much you remember about it, but it wasn't your fault."

"I remember this," Darien said, taking Bobby's head in his hands and covering his lips with his own. It was a gentle kiss, not the savage attack he'd made on the smaller man in the woods. When he broke off a moment later he said, "That part was most certainly my fault, and I'm only sorry I was so forceful about it." He let go and turned away. "I shouldn't have brought it up, and if you want to go to the fat man and tell him to find someone else to guard his 'receptacle' I'll understand."

"He's kinda busy right now," Bobby replied, moving closer and turning Darien's head so he could look into his eyes, "and I don't think I should disturb him." He slid his hand behind Darien's head and pulled him down to return the kiss he'd been given, with interest. "In fact, he told me to find you and take you home, which I'm thinking is an excellent idea."

"Sounds good to me," Darien agreed. "Wanna stop somewhere and pick up some beer and maybe a pizza or something?"

"Sounds like a plan," Bobby said as he unlocked the door.

PART 8

They picked up a 12-pack of long-neck bottles and a frozen pizza on the way back to Darien's apartment. Bobby unwrapped the pizza and put it in the oven while Darien hit the shower and rid himself of the last three days. He shaved and pulled on briefs, walking shorts, and a tee shirt -- casual clothes for a casual setting.

He walked into the kitchen and caught the smell of crust, tomato sauce, cheese, and toppings baking. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring a small piece of normality in his all-too-often abnormal world. He heard the top being popped from a bottle, and opened his eyes to see Bobby holding an open bottle of beer next to the fridge. "You want a glass, or do you drink like a man?"

He took the bottle, wrapped his lips around the mouth, and upended it, sucking down about a third of the contents. "That answer your question? How soon is that pizza gonna be done?"

Bobby checked his watch, then checked the oven. Warm, pizza-scented air filled the kitchen, along with the sound of cheese and toppings sizzling. He grabbed a dishtowel -- Darien had apparently never heard of potholders or oven mitts -- and pulled the pizza out of the oven, setting it on the stovetop to await slicing.

Soon they were munching pizza and washing it down with beer. Bobby noticed Darien watching him intently and asked, "What?"

"You've got pizza sauce on the corner of your mouth. Here, let me," he said as Bobby reached to remove it. He leaned over and licked it off, following that with a kiss. This led to pizza smearing, licks, more kisses, and they eventually ended up in bed naked eating pizza toppings and drinking beer off each other while laughing like idiots.

The laughter died down as they ran out of toppings and started nibbling on each other. Explorations were conducted slowly and with care, as neither man had more than a passing acquaintance with homosexual sex. Darien's experiences in prison and Bobby's few brushes on isolated field ops weren't suited to an extended relationship; they were both covering new territory.

Suddenly Bobby's skin went cold and clammy, and he began shaking uncontrollably. "What's wrong?" Darien asked.

"I'll be OK; just hold me for a little bit," Bobby replied through chattering teeth as he fought down an unwelcome memory.

Darien complied, pulling him close and trying to cover as much of his skin as he could manage. He wrapped one leg over Bobby's, pushing their groins together. While Darien had softened a little due to concern for his partner, Bobby' erection was completely gone; his penis was lying soft and small against Darien's thigh. It triggered a memory . . .

Darien was suddenly off the bed, into the bathroom and vomiting as if he was trying to bring up his toenails. He didn't know how long he knelt over the toilet retching, trying to stop the twisting in his guts. He heard noises his mind refused to identify, and a cool, wet, cloth was placed on the back of his neck. A cup was placed to his lips and he heard a voice say "Rinse." He rinsed out his mouth, spat into the toilet, and the cup returned, the voice urging him to take small sips as the toilet was flushed.

His mind started working well enough to remember the voice as being Bobby's, and he looked up at the naked man standing over him in the bathroom. "I remembered something," he said, "and you remembered something too, didn't you?"

"What did you remember?" Bobby asked, despair creeping into his voice.

"I had you pinned to the floor in the back of the van with your ass bared," Darien said, his eyes losing focus as they looked on a memory. "I was holding your dick and balls in one hand because you were soft, trying to make you aroused. Your skin is so soft there, like -- I don't know what -- something really soft, like the softest thing you can imagine." He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember the rest. "Two of the fingers on my other hand were shoved up your ass trying to find your prostate, and you were making noises. I think you were crying." Tears pushed their way between Darien's closed lids and slid down his face.

He opened them to glare at Bobby. "If you don't fucking tell me what I did to you in the van -- and I mean EVERYTHING, damnit -- you can just get dressed and leave right now, and you can forget about being partners, in any sense of the word."

PART 9

Bobby knelt down on the floor across from Darien and began to speak: "You didn't rape me, Dare. Right after you started in on me with your fingers I managed to grab one of the trank darts I keep hidden in the van for situations like that and stick it in your thigh. You howled like a wild thing and I thought for a moment you were gonna rip off my family jewels --if you look closely you can still see a little bruising -- but you dropped off without too much of a fight." Might as well come completely clean while he was at it. "You were unconscious when I gave you that concussion, hoping you wouldn't remember. That's all that happened, as God is my witness."

"Then why did you start shaking when we were making out on the bed?"

"A long story that has nothing to do with you. Speaking of shaking, have you noticed how cold this tile is? If you're done in here, maybe we could find someplace warmer to sit?"

They stood up and returned to the bedroom, sitting next to each other on the bed. Darien made a few tentative moves to invoke the earlier mood before giving up and offering Bobby a beer. They pulled on shorts and slacks respectively and repaired to the kitchen, sitting at the table and sucking down a few before Bobby broke the silence.

"I joined the Marines right out of high school; a few weeks after I finished Basic we were ordered back into Lebanon after Gemayel was assassinated. There wasn't a whole lot to do at night so I started taking some college courses, and discovered I had a real talent for criminology. By the time I finished my hitch I had a Bachelor's Degree and a job offer from the FBI. I turned 22 two weeks before I graduated from Quantico."

He took another drink of beer. "After I graduated they partnered me with a senior agent and sent us into the field -- literally in our case. It was an actual field someplace in Montana, near some little town with an animal in its name -- Horse Grunt or something like that. We were supposed to be watching for a pair of guys who'd knocked over an armored car and made off with millions; it was rumored they were meeting with their inside man here to give him his cut."

"I was wet behind the ears and eager as a puppy at dinnertime," Bobby continued, "with no idea what was about to happen. My own partner -- one of the Bureau's finest, most senior agents, with a file full of commendations from a bunch of presidents and J. Edgar Hoover himself -- coldcocked me while we supposed to be waiting. I woke up wearing my own handcuffs with my pants down and my partner raping my ass and remarking on how tight I was for a pretty little queer Jew boy."

"He said he knew I was queer the first time he saw me," he said before pausing for another drink of beer, "and he'd asked for me as a partner for this op specially; he didn't want any queer Jew boys in HIS FBI. It turned out he was opting for an early retirement; he was the inside man we were supposed to be waiting for. Getting rid of me was just something he wanted to do before he and his partners crossed into Canada as FBI agents, split up the money, and disappeared."

Another pause, this one to try controlling the shaking that suddenly gripped him. "When I said I wasn't queer he replied I must be because I was enjoying it -- I'd come a couple times while he'd been up my ass, hadn't I? He hadn't even touched me the first time -- I'd come from him rubbing my prostate. The bastard must've been reading my medical records or overheard one of the doctors mentioning my extra sensitivity. The first time a doctor gave me a rectal exam I about went through the ceiling and completely embarrassed myself by coming all over the exam table. The doc was nice enough to assure me it didn't necessarily mean I liked guys; I just had an unusually sensitive prostate. I think there's footnote or something in some medical journal or other about it."

"You're in a medical journal?" Darien interrupted.

"I was never identified by name," Bobby replied. "You wanna hear the rest of this or not?" He finished his beer and stood. "It'll have to wait a minute; I need to use the can."

"I could use a bathroom break myself -- after you, of course." Darien gestured that Bobby should precede him to the facilities.

PART 10

Bobby finished in the bathroom and waited in the hall while Darien took his turn. He didn't notice when the tears started; when Darien came out he was leaning against the wall sobbing.

"Damn," Bobby said through the tears, "I must be really drunk to let loose like this. It still hurts after all this time, but usually I just let it slide or push it down into the bottom of my psyche. Maybe I should lie down for a bit."

"Mind if join you?"

"Suit yourself."

They returned to the bedroom and lay down together, Bobby on his back staring at the ceiling and Darien on his side watching Bobby. "I'm a little confused here; didn't you say you were in Desert Storm? If you got out after one hitch and joined the FBI, how'd you end up in the Gulf War?"

"I was getting to that -- eventually," Bobby replied. "Do you still want to hear about the rest of my first case?"

"Only if you still want to tell me," Darien said softly. "You said it still hurts -- why?"

"What he said about my enjoying it wasn't true -- it was physically painful, 'cause he was pounding into me pretty hard and hadn't bothered with niceties like lube or preparation. It got easier after the first time, since the blood and semen provided some lubrication, but it hurt every one of the four times he raped me before his confederates showed up. When I heard their voices I was certain I was moments from dying -- not that I cared too much since I was in a lot of pain and freezing my ass off; he hadn't bothered with covering me and the temperature was dropping."

He paused because he'd started shaking again. Darien pulled the covers over them and wrapped the shivering man in his arms until his shaking lessened and he could continue. "I heard them laughing, then I heard them walking over to where I was lying on the ground. I thought, 'This is it; say goodbye to Bobby Hobbes,' but they had other plans first."

"The three of them took turns raping and beating me until they got bored, then my partner pulls out a gun -- MY gun -- and cocks it. He'd have blown my brains out without batting an eye if one of his buddies hadn't shot him first. They didn't need him after they'd gotten the fake IDs he'd brought with him, so they decided to kill him and keep his share. They took me along as insurance, tossing me in the back seat of the car my partner and I had brought and leaving their own on a side road several miles away."

"They almost made it to the border, but we were stopped at a checkpoint when I heard a voice I recognized as one of my classmates from Quantico. Not caring about anything but making sure they didn't get away, I yelled out his name and for him to stop these guys. They panicked, and everybody started shooting. I was hit three times, none serious. They weren't so lucky; both were killed."

"I woke up in a hospital in Great Falls the day before my partner's funeral. When they asked me why I'd let them get the drop on me and kill my partner I tried to explain MY PARTNER had gotten the drop on me and he was the inside man on the heist, but they didn't want to hear it. He'd died in the line of duty and was going to get a hero's funeral with all the ruffles and flourishes, while I'd screwed up and let a fine agent get killed, earning me a black mark on my record right off the bat."

Bobby blinked away tears. "That hurt more than everything else I'd been through, and I was determined to clear my name. It took me six months of backtracking along cold leads and paper trails, but I finally found enough evidence to prove my story. I took it to my boss, and do you know what he did with it? He shredded every scrap, and told me to forget anything but the official version -- that was the story the Bureau wanted the public to believe; it was therefore the 'truth', and nothing else was ever going to be put on record about it. Case closed, and I never trusted anyone in the Bureau again."

"I stuck it out for a few years until we invaded Iraq, then handed in my resignation and rejoined the Marines -- as a reservist. I still do the drills, but the fat man pulls strings when my unit deploys overseas; I get transferred just before the orders come in. It wasn't something I asked for; it was something he insisted on when he hired me. He wants me here working for him, not running around getting my ass shot off for somebody else." He grinned impishly at Darien -- a rare expression for him. "Getting my ass shot off for the Agency is perfectly acceptable of Course."

They laughed together a moment before meeting each other's eyes -- then it wasn't eyes but lips which were meeting.

PART 11

Tongues danced as fingers traced patterns on skin.

A kiss was broken for air, and for lips to follow where fingers had gone.

Darien's lips covered Bobby's face with kisses, giving special attention to his ears, nipping, licking, and sucking the lobes. He moved down across his throat, nibbling and licking his Adam's apple and collar bones. Each arm was kissed, each finger sucked, each palm laved by a gentle tongue. Down to his chest, where he briefly considered remarking his partner had more hair there than on his head, to tease his nipples to near-painful hardness.

Further down to sweetly French kiss Bobby's navel and nibble his hip bones. Down and up each leg, repeating what he'd done to his arms, but Darien was stopped before he could taste the soft skin of Bobby's cock.

"Wait," his partner croaked, barely able to get the words out, "I want to taste you, too."

Darien swung himself around so Bobby had access to his cock, and soon each man was enjoying a mouthful of the other. Despite all he'd done to Bobby before the man started on him, Darien was the one to come first due to Bobby unexpectedly deep throating him clear to the balls. He shrieked around the cock in his mouth and shot hot seed down his lover's throat, the vibration of his shout triggering Bobby to explode inside his mouth. He swallowed as best he could while feeling his lover doing the same.

After he'd recovered sufficient strength to move Darien turned himself around and pulled a sated, sleepy Bobby into his arms. "Love you, Dare," he heard the man whisper as he slipped into slumber.

===================================================

They awoke an hour later, took turns in the bathroom, debated eating something, and vetoed it in favor of making love. Bobby was shocked to discover the amount and variety of condoms and lube Darien had on hand until he remembered the length of time he'd been under the influence of the new counteragent. They decided to leave the fancy stuff for later in favor of the basic latex condom with extra-large reservoir and clear unflavored water-based lube. A short debate over who would top first was settled by a coin toss won by Bobby.

He took his time about it, kissing, fondling, and learning Darien's body before carefully and gently stretching his opening, using plenty of lubrication. Bobby located and gently teased Darien's prostate, making his lover shiver and moan with need. He slipped on the condom and added more lube, then placed Darien's ankles behind his shoulders. Bobby entered his lover slowly, gently breaching his opening and carefully adding an inch at a time until he was completely enveloped in that tight, hot passage.

Though Darien had never mentioned it, Bobby figured his first time had been in prison, and not some mutually agreed upon gentle encounter. He wanted nothing of pain to mar their first time together, so he waited until he felt his lover relax around him slightly before beginning to rock a little, then gently thrusting. He gradually increased the speed and length of his thrusts, adjusting the angle until the sounds coming from his lover told him he was hitting his prostate.

Darien was at first frustrated with Bobby's slow and gentle approach until he realized it was for his own benefit. He was touched to the core at his lover's thoughtfulness, and began to respond in kind. His hands gently ran over Bobby's chest, toying with his nipples and making patterns in his hair. Down his sides to the small of his back and lower, caressing the globes of his backside as they flexed. Meeting those thrusts with movements of his own. He could feel his climax building as Bobby speeded up and shifted his weight to one arm, reaching down for Darien's weeping erection and stroking it firmly.

"God, Dare, I'm so close," Bobby breathed. "Come for me, love, and let me know you're feeling this too." As if his words were the signal he needed, Darien arched his back and howled, firing semen over both their bodies and faces. He felt Bobby stiffen just before he cried out and filled his lover with hot seed.

Darien felt bereft as Bobby pulled out of him before he softened, but he was comforted by his quick return after he'd disposed of the used condom, as well as the way he pulled Darien close and covered him with kisses and cuddling.

He knew it wouldn't be long until he would be ready to show Bobby how slow and gentle he could be with a lover, and he looked forward to it with a joyful heart.

PART 12

Bobby left early the next morning -- sore, sated, and having a little difficulty walking -- to stop by his apartment and change clothes before reporting to work. Darien had been reluctant to let him leave -- to the point of ambushing him in the shower and giving him a blowjob that knocked him to his knees, literally. When he came out to say goodbye, he discovered his lover had made a breakfast of toast, juice, eggs, and coffee, which he insisted Bobby eat. It nearly made him late to work, and warmed the corners of his heart. He promised himself he would find a way to repay Darien for it.

When he arrived at the Agency, Hobbes was told to report to the Official. He entered his boss' office to find Fawkes, Eberts, the Keeper, and a tall black man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a goatee. The Keeper was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Nice of you to join us," the Official said, "since it was your efforts which resulted in this meeting being called."

Hobbes tried not to let the panic screaming through brain show on his face. 'It was a nice career while it lasted,' he thought. 'I hope Dare gets a partner who'll watch his back as well as I did.'

"I've reviewed the evidence you and Eberts presented," the Agency's head continued. "I find there was good cause to believe Fawkes' Keeper Claire acted in a less than professional manner by making unauthorized modifications to the counteragent, resulting in the near loss of both Agents Fawkes and Hobbes."

A small seed of hope blossomed in the bottom of Hobbes psyche, but he didn't allow it any room for growth just yet.

"In view of Claire's expertise and experience with the QS9300 Project," the Official went on, "and her promise to have all her work from now on carefully reviewed, I've decided not to terminate her affiliation with this Agency. I am, however, suspending her for two weeks without pay while our new head of R & D reviews her records to date."

"What about my, ah, situation?" Fawkes asked, not wishing to be too detailed in front of a stranger.

"Who's going to be doing all this reviewing?" Hobbes wanted to know, since it concerned Fawkes. He didn't want anything happening to his lover, especially as it appeared he might not be around to do anything about it.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet our new head of R & D," the Official gestured to the tall black man, "Dr. Theo Morris." The tall black man nodded. "Dr. Morris has a great deal of experience with artificial body parts, and happens to be at loose ends at the moment. He's already been briefed on all aspects of the I-Man Project and knows the formula for the new counteragent. Which reminds me to ask -- Fawkes, are you having any problems? Any sort of abnormal symptoms?"

"No, sir," Fawkes replied. 'Aside from being fucked half silly by my partner, who I'm madly in love with.'

"All right then, gentlemen," he concluded, "you're dismissed. Don't leave the building, however -- we're gathering details on your next case, and may be briefing you as soon as this afternoon."

Claire left the office, escorted by Eberts, and the two agents followed a few moments later, leaving the Official alone with his newest employee.

"A most unusual pairing," observed Morris. "A diagnosed paranoid and a man who can render himself invisible at will. I'm not the least bit sure they can retrieve my prototype successfully."

"Where will you go if they can't?" his boss asked. "No one else will touch you after the debacle of having a multi-million dollar investment just run out on you. Even if you do get it back, what are you planning to do with it?"

"You just bring it back and let me handle that."

===================================================

Hobbes finally let the hope at the bottom of his psyche have free rein to spread through his brain, and breathed a sigh of relief once he and Fawkes were safely out in the hall. That is, until he found himself on the receiving end of a bear hug and big sloppy kiss from his partner.

"You went after Claire? For me?"

"Fawkes, take it easy," Hobbes warned, "and don't hug me at work -- it's unprofessional. There are security cameras everywhere in the building; Eberts takes his job seriously. I should know -- I've spent the past few days going through his tape files."

Fawkes released his partner and stepped back. "I'm sorry; it won't happen again."

"It's OK." Bobby's impish grin returned. "I also know where all the blind spots are."


FINIS
Extra brownie points to anyone who recognizes the new head of R & D!!