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Too Close For Comfort-Part One

by: R2

Disclaimer: The Invisible Man (2000 series) and its characters are copyrighted to the Sci-Fi channel and USA Cable Entertainment. All rights reserved.

**********

"You know, Fawkes, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look good."

Darien Fawkes glanced over at his partner as the duo made their way down an indescript corridor on their way to the Official's office. From what Darien had heard circulating in the rumor mill, the Justice Department was calling in a favor from the Agency. Something to do with the D.E.A.

Darien rubbed absently at a spot on his forearm; "You're not exactly at the height of fashion yourself, Hobbes."

Bobby Hobbes threw a glare at Fawkes as they arrived at the glass-front door, "I told you not to take it the wrong way, funny man," he replied as he practically threw open the door. The Official was seated behind his desk, a folder open in front of him, waiting.

"I'm just saying that it looks like you're not feeling so well," Hobbes continued, "and seeing as how the only time I see you out of sorts is when you're goin' wacko ..." he trailed off as they came to stand in front of the desk.

"Is there a problem?" The Official asked nonchalantly as the two men proceeded to make themselves comfortable in the seats available.

Darien shook his head and rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm again, "No, think I have a bit of a cold or something."

"Have the Keeper take a look at you before you and Hobbes head out today."

Fawkes nodded as his partner leaned forward in his chair, hungry for action, "So what have you got for us, boss man?"

The Official picked up the manila folder and began flipping through it. "We've gotten a tip that a major drug shipment is coming ashore at the end of this week," he glanced over the folder at the two men, "it would be a very bright star next to our name if we were able to intercept it."

Hobbes leaned back in his chair, "Why not send in the D.E.A. or the local boys? Why us?".

The Official closed the folder, "Let's just say that my sources tell me that someone in the D.E.A. may be helping to make sure that shipment arrives safely."

Hobbes and Darien exchanged knowing glances. "So why not take it to the boys over at the FBI?" the smaller agent asked, steepling his hands in front of him.

The Official smiled, "Because of the way you two performed with that whole Price situation, there are those that are finally beginning to take us seriously."

"It's about freakin' time," Hobbes stated with an affirmative nod of his head, "when do we start?"

Darien looked over at him with a small smirk, "Wait a minute, what do you mean 'we'? I have to do all the dirty work."

"Hey," Hobbes retorted, leaning over and pointing a finger at Fawkes, "who's out there covering your butt? Making sure you don't get in over your head or get yourself in trouble?" He paused to turn the finger at himself, "Bobby Hobbes, that's who my friend. Don't you forget it."

"You start immediately," the Official interrupted, tossing the file to the edge of his desk, "your job is to uncover the rat, or rats, in the D.E.A. and stop the shipment. Make me proud."

Hobbes jumped out of the chair and scooped up the file, Darien was a bit slower making it to his feet, wincing a bit as he put pressure on his sore right arm. "Alright chief," Hobbes said as he turned and headed for the door, "we'll nab us a bad guy and be home in time for dinner."

* * *

The Keeper looked up from the clipboard she was scribbling on as the lab door slid aside to admit Hobbes and then Darien. She smiled warmly, something she had only recently begun to do, and placed the clipboard on the desk behind her.

"Hi guys," she greeted them, as they walked over to stand in front of her. Hobbes went over to annoy her caged animals, and she noticed that Darien seemed tired, his dark eyes dull and red-rimmed. "Darien," she said with a hint of concern, "are you alright?"

"I asked him the same thing," Hobbes threw over his shoulder.

Fawkes nodded at her and ignored his partner. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he said, "just fighting off a cold or something. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"It shows," she said with a scowl, crossing her arms in front of her."Yeah and good morning to you too," Darien replied, his head cocked half-jokingly to the side.

The Keeper sighed and rolled her eyes, "What brings you here?" she asked.

"Well it sure isn't your charming personality," Darien quipped as he held out his right arm, "I'm here for a quick fix, Hobbes and I have a job from the fat man."

Instead of pulling back the metallic strap on Darien's watch to check the tattoo, the Keeper instead gently touched at a small rash that was forming between his elbow and wrist. "What's this?" she asked.

Darien hissed slightly at her touch and involuntarily jerked his arm away; the woman looked up at him in surprise. He rubbed the back of his head in muted embarrassment at the looks both Hobbes and the Keeper were giving him. "Sorry about that," he said, "it's a bit sore to the touch."

"How did you get that?" The Keeper asked, reaching up to pull on the offended arm. Hobbes walked away from the animals and came to stand beside her.

Darien allowed her to gently inspect the area, provided she didn't try to touch it again, "I really don't know," he replied honestly, "I think I may have cut myself or something during one of our previous assignments."

"Yeah?" Hobbes pried, "Which one Mighty Mouse?"

They both ignored the comment and the Keeper looked up at him, a doubtful expression on her face, "I don't think so," she said, "I would have noticed something like that."

"Can't keep your eyes off me, eh?" Darien teased with a small smile.

She gave him a glare in return and quickly checked the monitor, nodding at what she saw. "Alright," she replied, "I'll give you a shot and then put a little something on that rash that should help clear it up."

Darien seated himself in the chair and rested his head back as his doctor began rubbing some alcohol on his skin. Hobbes had once again busied himself with annoying the lab animals. He turned his head away as the Keeper brought the large hypodermic up to his skin; he wondered if the Agency would ever put out some money to buy smaller needles. He grimaced as it broke his skin. Almost done, he told himself, then you don't have to do this for another week.

As the Keeper pushed the plunger down on the hypodermic, Darien felt as if liquid fire had been released into his arm. He yelped in pain and jumped out of the chair, causing the doctor to jump back in shock. Hobbes once again came scurrying from across the room.

"Dammit," he hissed, gripping his throbbing arm and glaring accusingly at the Keeper, "What did you dilute that stuff with? Battery acid?"

The woman looked at him in stunned silence; the hypodermic still extended in one hand.

"What are you talking about, Darien?" she finally managed, "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" he repeated. "What's the matter is that I think my damn arm is gonna fall off!"

The Keeper put the needle down on a metallic tray and walked over to him, leaving Hobbes to watch them in confused silence.

"Here," she said, holding out her hand, "let me see."

Darien turned away, still holding his now numb arm, "No thanks. You've done enough damage, don't you think?"

He paused to look down at the affected area and he could see a dark red bruise beginning to form. He realized that it really was only a matter of time before his right arm began to protest at the constant injections. He pushed angrily past the still shocked Keeper, "Next time we use the left arm," he said, tossing the remark over his shoulder as he stormed out the lab, making it necessary for Hobbes to scurry after him.

* * *

The duo rode in the van in silence; Hobbes was at the wheel actively not looking over at Darien, and Darien was hunching as close as humanly possible to the passenger side door. He continued to open and close his tingling right hand, watching the red bruise grow with each passing moment. A dull headache had even begun behind his eyes. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had secretly checked the tattoo to make sure it was completely green; he was still having a difficult time getting over Lawson's deception.

"You okay over there or did the counteragent get your tongue?"

Darien glanced over at Hobbes before looking back out his window, "No, I'm fine," he answered at last, "just got one too many shots in the same arm, ya know?"

Hobbes nodded as he turned the decrepit van down a street, it groaned at the effort. "You up for this assignment?"

Darien sighed and rubbed his left hand through his hair, "Yeah, I can do it." He made the effort to throw his partner a small grin, "Wouldn't want you taking all the credit."

Hobbes snorted, "Not that it would do me any good, I'm gonna have to get myself killed before I get validated parking."

Darien laughed a bit at the comment, but they both knew that it was the truth; the Agency, and more importantly the Official, seemed to be having fun toying with the temperamental agent. .

"Listen, play it cool in there, okay?" Hobbes began as they came to a grinding halt outside the building where the Drug Enforcement Agency was housed. "Let's just introduce ourselves, make friendly and take a look around. If we see something we don't like, then you can do your disappearing act and --- are you listening to me?" he broke off, realizing that his partner was not paying any attention to him.

Darien shook off his momentary stupor to glance over at Hobbes; the bright glare of the sun caused him to squint. "Disappearing act," he repeated with a slight nod, "I got it, Hobbes."

The other agent studied Fawkes over his shades for a brief moment before shrugging aside any questions. "If you say so, now, let's go meet the rest of the kiddies in the sandbox."

* * *

The young brunette behind the desk looked up as the two men entered the reception area; she folded her hands on top of some paperwork and gave them a toothy grin. "Good morning, gentlemen," she greeted them merrily, "how can I help you?"

Still wearing his shades, Hobbes approached the desk first, reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a black wallet. He flipped it open with an easy gesture and held it so the woman could see, "I'm agent Hobbes, that's agent Fawkes, we need to speak with the director." He paused to lean forward conspiratorially, "We're here on important business."

Darien came to stand beside his partner, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The woman examined the badge in front of her, her grin fading only to be replaced by a frown. "You're from the Department of Fish and Game?" she inquired, glancing up at Hobbes, a small smirk on her youthful face. "Are you serious?"

Hobbes flipped the wallet closed and stuck it back in his pocket, "I'm always serious," he replied.

Darien cocked his head at his partner and nodded at the woman, "He really is," he added.

The brunette sat back in her chair, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, "And what are two ... agents," she put an emphasis on the word, "doing at the Drug Enforcement Agency? Did someone report a salmon with an overdose?" She smiled sardonically at her own joke.

Hobbes placed his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over, "I wouldn't know about that," he replied cooly. "As I said, we're here on very important business, and it is urgent we speak to the director immediately."

The young woman sat up in her chair and began to shuffle her paperwork, "I'm sure that it is," she replied huffily, "however I cannot let you in, the director is in a meeting."

Hobbes turned to look at Darien through his shades; his lips puckered, "A meeting," he repeated, "Can you believe that?"

Fawkes shook his head, "Looks like he started without us."

An unspoken understanding passed between the two men as the woman cleared her throat, "If there is nothing else?" she asked.

"Actually," Darien began, turning to give her his best smile, "could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

She frowned up at him for a moment before pointing behind him, "It's around that corner to your right."

He tapped the desk lightly with his left hand, "Around the corner, thanks." As he turned to walk away, he flashed a look at Hobbes who nodded imperceptibly.

As Darien walked around the indicated bend in the wall, he took a deep breath and began to increase his heart rate. Within seconds, he felt the familiar tickle of the quicksilver coating his body. As his world turned a monotone silver, Darien was suddenly struck by an intense wave of vertigo that nearly knocked his feet out from under him. He quickly placed a hand against the wall in order to steady himself. "Oh crap," he muttered, "what now?"

As the dizzy spell began to pass, Darien began to feel as if a million insects had suddenly crawled into his brain and were taking up residence. He shook the sensation off, making a mental note to mention the episode to the Keeper, and pushed away from the wall. As he walked back around, he saw Hobbes successfully distracting the brunette, who looked as if she wanted to toss the agent out the door herself.Darien eased past the desk and quietly opened the wooden door to the interior room; several cubicles were joined together almost maze-like within the small confine, and at the far end of the room was a large wooden door that was standing slightly ajar.

Within each of the cubicles men and women were working diligently; some were on phones, others were sorting through files or typing rapidly on computers. The gentle murmur of voices carried across the room and Darien could sense a feeling of muted excitement in the air, as if a storm were brewing and the people within knew it. He made his way cautiously toward the wooden door, stopping every so often to poke his head into a cubicle just to see what the person inside was up to. So far he had seen nothing out of the ordinary, everyone was hard at work on a case only they knew the particulars of. As Darien approached the door, the gold letters on the outside exclaimed that Jacob Mitchell was Director in Charge. He paused and gently pushed on the door, just enough so that he could slip his head inside.

Behind a desk that seemed too big for the room it was in sat a rather insignificant little man. Darien almost laughed at the sight; he had expected the man in charge of the Drug Enforcement Agency to be someone of stature, of a dominating persona, but this guy seemed to be almost swallowed up by the desk he sat behind. He wondered if it were another agent using his boss's office illicitly, but the little man did not seem uncomfortable about being there.

He was sitting hunched over in a faux-leather chair, back turned to the door. His voice was hushed as he spoke and his free arm was gesturing wildly in the air. Even though he was straining, Darien couldn't pick up what was being said. Risking suspicion, he pushed gently on the door again. As he readied himself to cautiously slip into the room, a searing burst of pain exploded behind his eyes, causing him to stumble backward and nearly lose his footing. Darien bit down on his lower lip to keep from screaming as he doubled over and grabbed his head in his hands. He could feel his heartbeat turning irregular and knew that if he couldn't regain some kind of control, he would soon be visible.

With a gasp, he turned and began making his way back toward the front door; it seemed to stretch for miles in front of him, getting farther away with each painful step. Another burst of white-hot agony seared through his skull and Darien collapsed inside a nearby cubicle, causing some paperwork to go flittering to the ground. The agent sitting at the desk looked up angrily and pointed across the room, "Will someone close that damn window!"

Groaning at the effort, Darien pushed himself up and stumbled toward his goal. He felt as though he was slogging through molasses, his heart attempting to claw its way out of his chest. He threw open the door, causing the receptionist to jump up and hurry to investigate. Through the haze of pain, he saw Hobbes. With his last ounce of strength, Darien stumbled over to his partner and collapsed into him. With a startled shout, the agent reached out and grabbed at the still invisible Fawkes.

"Something's wrong," Darien wheezed painfully, "get me outta here. Hurry."

A thousand questions sprung to mind, but Hobbes could hear the urgency in his partner's voice. He tightened his grip on the unseen figure and quickly turned to leave, "Consider it done."

***

Hobbes was attempting to push the gas pedal through the floor of the van, but the vehicle still struggled to top 50 miles an hour. "C'mon, c'mon you rusted out piece of crap!" He demanded.

Over in the passenger seat, Darien, who had once again become visible, began to take a turn for the worst. His face had become swollen and flushed and was covered in some areas in what looked like a rash. His red, swollen hands were gripping the armrests so tight that his knuckles had actually turned white. Darien made a strange, wet sound and when Hobbes glanced over at him he saw that his partner was struggling to breathe, his throat beginning to swell like the rest of his body.

"Fawkes!" Hobbes shouted, "Fawkes, dammit!"

Darien painfully turned his head to look at his partner as he continued to fight for breath, "Hobbes," he gasped, "what the Hell's happening to me?"

The agent glanced over at his partner, unaccustomed to the fear he saw in those dark eyes. Hobbes shook his head, "I dunno, man, but I'll get you to the Keeper ---" he broke off as Darien's eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he slumped, unconscious, to the side.

He reached out and grabbed his partner by a shirtsleeve and began to shake him as he whipped the van into a tight turn, tires screaming in protest. Several car horns blared at him, but he paid them no attention.

"Fawkes! C'mon, man, answer me!"

He was no doctor, but Hobbes knew that something was desperately wrong with Darien. He had only seen this kind of thing happen once before when he was very young, when he had taken a friend swimming.

Pushing the unwelcome memory aside, Hobbes continued to shake Fawkes, knowing that the gesture was futile, but feeling as if he had to do something. Anything.

He spared the road before him a glance and saw the Agency's building a few blocks away. He pushed harder on the pedal; the van groaned and shook. Beside him, even though unconscious, Darien began to choke and gasp, his throat no longer able to accept oxygen.

"Oh jeez, oh man," Hobbes muttered to himself. With one hand, he guided the nearly out of control van to a screeching halt in front of the Agency's building and bolted out the door almost before he had put the vehicle in 'park'.

He hurried to the passenger side and threw open the door, catching Darien as he came tumbling out. He grabbed the unconscious man tightly about the waist and began to half-carry half-drag his partner inside."Medical emergency!" he shouted as he lunged down the corridor, "Get the Hell outta my way! Medical emergency, move!" In his arms, Darien began convulse a little, testing the limits of his strength.

Several startled agents in black suits jumped aside as Hobbes came barreling through; some attempted to help, but the agent never slowed down enough to give them a chance.

He bolted down the corridor toward the steel lab door, barely giving it enough time to slide apart before he pushed his way through, nearly running the Keeper over. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Hobbes replied as Claire helped him carry the convulsing, choking Darien over to the lab chair. "We were over at the D.E.A., he did his quicksilver thing and the next thing I know ... " he gestured at the helpless figure before them.

"He's not getting any air," the Keeper said, her fingers examining his swollen throat, "I have to try and help him breath."

"How are you gonna do that?" Hobbes asked as he lowered the back of the chair, allowing Darien to lie flat.

"By inserting a tube down his throat," she replied, hurrying into the adjoining room.

"What?" Hobbes shouted after her, "You're gonna do what?"

She returned with a metallic tray, there was some kind of medical instrument along with a clear tube and some kind of pump apparatus situated on it. "It's the only way," she replied, quickly picking up the metallic instrument, "If I don't do this, Darien will die."

Hobbes looked over at Darien who was struggling helplessly at something that should have come effortlessly. His face was flushed a deep crimson and veins were standing out on his forehead and neck with his effort to simply breathe..

"Hobbes," the Keeper called, shattering his reverie, "I'm going to need your help here." She was bending over Darien's face, one hand under his chin and the other holding the medical instrument was poised over his mouth.

The agent went to stand next to her, absently wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. "Whaddaya need me to do?"

The Keeper pointed at the tray, "When I tell you too, pass me the tube there."

Hobbes nodded as Claire opened Darien's mouth and inserted the medical instrument, pushing his swollen tongue back and exposing his equally swollen throat. She hissed under her breath and held out a hand, the agent quickly slapped the tube into her waiting palm and grimaced as she slid it expertly down Darien's throat.

After a moment, she pulled the metallic instrument out and hurriedly exchanged it for the breathing pump. She attached it to the end of the tube and began to methodically squeeze and release, sending the air Darien so desperately needed into his starving lungs.

She looked over at Hobbes, "He's suffering from anaphylaxis," she explained breathlessly, "come here and do this, I have to give him a shot."

Hobbes took the pump from her, "But you gave him one this morning," he replied with a frown.

The Keeper shook her head as she hurried over to a set of metal cabinets, "No, no not a counteragent shot, he needs epinephrine." She quickly found what she was looking for, loaded it into a hypodermic and raced back to where Darien was still suffering; his lean face had swelled considerably and the tops of his arms had broken out into painful looking hives.

She quickly dabbed one of his arms with alcohol before stabbing him with the needle and sending the contents into his system. "There," she said with a toss of her head, "that should begin to help. Continue breathing for him," she instructed Hobbes, who was staring at his partner with a mixture of horror and sympathy.

On the lab chair, Darien shuddered and groaned, his body straining, his muscles like cords along his neck. He collapsed back onto the chair, his dark and unruly hair plastered to his forehead.The Keeper conducted a quick exam, her expert hands moving over every inch of Darien's body, trying to uncover the mystery that had begun this strange attack. As she picked up his right hand, her breath left her in a horrified gasp.

Hobbes glanced up at her, a questioning look in his dark and worried eyes. "What?" he asked, "What is it?"

The Keeper showed Hobbes the ugly purple bruise that was covering most of Darien's arm, near the area of his last injection, her face scrunched in disbelief. "He's having an allergic reaction to the counteragent!"