When Upon Life's Billows Title: When Upon Life's Billows... Author: CimmerianWillow Rating: PG; gen; Category: Drama Content Warnings: moderate swearing. Status: Complete Disclaimer: I must regretfully borrow these fine folk without permission. Call me a sinner, call me a rebel, but either way, you know I'm your hero. Comments: This is a fic from my Chiaroscuro collection, a group of stories more or less centering on Hobbes. Although it takes place after A Mover and A Shaker, you do not have to have read that story to understand this one. References: The basic idea of this story came from an old Perry Mason episode called The Cowardly Lion. Summary: Hobbes finally gets a vacation, all expenses paid, but finds out the strings attached are more than he bargained for. Thanks and dedication: To my unswerving beta, Castalia, the left hand that knows what my right hand *should* be doing. Well done, my good and faithful servant. This, as with all my stories, is for you. One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important. --Bertrand Russell ~~~ Edward Abbey said that, "Life is too short for grief. Or regret. Or bullshit." I've got the grief and regret down pat. The bullshit part, however, leads me to one Robert Hobbes, a man who has, by the very nature of his work, been through more BS than any one man should ever have to take. A man needs his vacation time as a break from such a maddening lifestyle. Perhaps to lie around fishing, maybe swig beer and watch Nascar racing, or possibly stalk his ex-wife. Hobbes needs that kind of relaxation. He's bitched to The Official enough about it, God knows that. But I never really thought that Hobbes actually wanted a vacation. I just figured he griped about it for the sake of griping, like the way I do about the gland. It never occurred to me that he might actually *want* a vacation. * Bobby Hobbes sat down in his chair. He cast a sidelong glance at his partner, Darien Fawkes, sprawled out lazily in his own chair, legs sagging, arms akimbo, and head angled just so that it seemed disconnected. "'Bout damn time you got here." Darien rolled his head around to face his partner. "Where the hell have you been? I called you yesterday." Bobby looked at him quizzically. "We were supposed to go play golf this weekend," Darien reminded, making a swinging motion with his hands. "Ah, I completely forgot. Sorry, kid." Bobby made an apologetic face, and Darien shrugged to let him know it was no big deal. "Hey look, you know," Bobby said, "they opened up that new go-cart place on the boulevard. Next to where we always get takeout." "Oh yeah?" Darien perked. "Yeah, right there on the corner." The Official cleared the gravel in his throat. "While your off duty activities are vastly entertaining to Eberts, I have no such interest." Eberts himself appeared slightly confused by the comment, but he remained dutifully taciturn at his post behind his master. The Official turned to Bobby. "Agent Hobbes." Bobby crossed his legs, showing attention and that he was willing to get down to business. "Boss?" "You have two weeks of vacation…" The Official checked his watch. "Starting now." Darien and Bobby glanced at each other, turned to their boss, and in tandem blurted out, "What?" "Vacation, Hobbes," The Official repeated. Darien jerked to attention, boneless limbs calcifying back into working form. He gaped at his boss with incredulity. "Whoa, you mean you're giving Hobbes a vacation? Like for real?" The Official nodded grimly. "Now there's a real sign of the Apocalypse!" He turned to his older partner. "Just call me a believer." "You could use a little religion, kid," Bobby quipped. Then he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, somber again. "You serious boss? You aren't, like, playing a joke on me are you?" "You sick or something?" Darien asked. "Oh, I get it." Bobby eyed the man standing over The Official's shoulder. "Eberts put you up to this, didn't he?" "Will you two shut up?" The Official demanded, smacking his desk. "I'm about to retract my offer, and you can go another five years without a vacation. Would you like that?" Bobby cleared his throat and sat back, properly chastised. "Uh, no, sir. No, I wouldn't." "Good. Here." The boss threw an envelope onto the desk, which Bobby had to stand up to reach. The older agent opened it and looked inside. He pulled out a few small slips of paper. "What's this? A ticket?" Darien studied the first paper Hobbes was holding. It looked deceptively like a ticket for a trip of some kind. And there was only one. He looked to The Official. "Where's mine?" "You aren't going on vacation," The Official blandly answered. Darien jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at a suddenly smug Bobby. "But Hobbes is!" "Agent Hobbes has accrued significantly more hours than you," the corpulent man rationalized. "That’s right junior," Bobby chirped. "You may cost more, but I still have seniority." "So what are these for?" Darien demanded. "The first one is a ticket for the Bonita Señora, the cruise ship Hobbes will be taking. The others are merely brochures." "So what's the catch?" The Official didn't even bother looking affronted. "No catch." "No way." Darien shook his head. "No way this skinflint agency is gonna just send Hobbes on some fancy cruise. There's no way." Bobby had no problem looking offended. "What, you don't think I'm worth it?" he asked, standing up. The two partners stared each other down for a few seconds until Hobbes caved. He looked to the boss. "He's right," he conceded, tossing down the papers. "Okay, what's the real story here?" "Consider this a bonus, Hobbes," The Official explained. "The Agency received, shall we say, a significant reward for rounding up Taylor and his cohorts, even if he did meet an untimely demise before the FBI could question him. I'm simply funneling down some of the dividends." "Taylor was wanted by the FBI?" "I still don't believe it." Darien demurred. "And what about me?" "You want the gland out, don't you?" The Official asked. "Yes." "So there you go." "Damn it," Darien swore, and had to restrain himself from kicking the desk. Somehow, someway he'd get a break one day. Bobby Hobbes just grinned. "So get out of here, Hobbes," The Official ordered, flicking the envelope with his finger. Bobby took the ticket and patted Darien on the shoulder. "See ya later, kid." Darien swatted the mocking hand away and turned his back to his gloating partner. "Will you just shut up and leave?" Bobby actually looked slightly repentant then and paused. He waited for his partner to turn around and see. "Well, go on," Darien insisted with a nod and a wave of his hand. They exchanged a small smile and all was better. At least until Hobbes was out the door. "Man, I don't like working without Hobbes," Darien complained. "I mean, Hobbes is aggravating as hell, but all your other guys just suck." The Official held up a hand. "Eberts." The pasty-faced right-hand man pulled a second envelope from his dress coat and handed it to his boss. The Official in turn handed it to Darien. "Fawkes. Here ya go." Darien opened it and then looked with confusion at the contents. "What? This is a ticket just like Bobby's." The Official smirked. "I know." * Darien swaggered into the keep, jacket thrown over one shoulder, whistling merrily. The Keeper look up at his entrance, regarded his blithesome aura for a moment, and then went to the cooler assuming it was time for a shot. "Hey, Keepy, guess what?" Darien asked, flopping down into the dentist chair. "Hobbesy got a vacation." "Did he?" The Keeper replied, her expression one of bemused disinterest. She flipped down his watch to check the tattoo. Only half filled. She looked up for an explanation. "I'll be gone for the next six days, and the boss wants me on a full tank before I go." "I see," came the simple answer, and she filled the syringe with blue counteragent. "Well, you don't look surprised," Darien decided, as she swabbed his arm. Claire glanced up with raised eyebrows and knowing smile, just before poking the needle into a swollen vein. "Did you…" Darien tilted his head, all of it making sudden sense. "Did you put this idea into the fat man's head?" She threw away the needle and dabbed the puncture area with a cotton ball. "What idea?" He swung his legs over the side of the chair and sat upright. "Having Hobbes go on vacation as a cover for a mission." She stopped, a confused look dampening her previously neutral countenance, lips curling back in their usual manner. "A cover? What cover?" "You don't know?" She hesitated, unwilling to admit any ignorance. "I asked him to give Hobbes a vacation, yes, but…" "Well, he gave Bobby a loaded ticket." "Loaded ticket?" "Yep." Darien bounced off the chair and flexed his arm. "The boss got a tip that the Bonita Señora—that's the ship we're going on—is smuggling in animals. So even though Bobby is going on vacation, I'm going on assignment." The Keeper sat in front of her computer and crossed her arms. "You know perfectly well that once Hobbes finds out, he'll have to work the case with you." Darien grinned. "He doesn't have to do anything while he's on vacation." "But he will," she countered. A broader grin. "Well, that's his choice of course." Claire shook her head and set to work at the keyboard. "Poor Hobbes," she said almost as an afterthought, while she inserted a floppy disk into the A drive. "I can't believe you'd take part in this." "'Poor Hobbes?'" Darien parroted, while craning around to meet her crystalline blue eyes. "You're getting soft on him!" he exclaimed. "I am not!" she protested, color rising to her cheeks. "I just think it's a cruel joke, that's all. Honestly, I can't say anything without someone twisting it." Darien chuckled on his way out of the Keep. With a backward wave he added, "I'll be sure to let him know how concerned for his feelings you are." The Keeper banged furiously on her keyboard. * Bobby Hobbes popped the locks on his suitcase and started unpacking his things, getting settled in his cabin. He took out his toothbrush, deodorant, and other toiletry items, arranging them on the twin bed in his room before moving them into the tiny bathroom. Then he counted his pills, made sure he had enough of each kind, and lined them up next to the sink. His was a small cabin, obviously one of the cheapest, but he couldn't complain. The kid was probably right. There was probably some steel cable attached to this fancy little trip, but he would worry about that later. For now, he was going to enjoy himself, flirt with some pretty sun-ripened bikini babes, and maybe lounge in a deck chair sipping margaritas. The ship wasn't top of the line, but it was nice enough. A fairly large craft as far as cruisers went, maybe a little old and in need of a good outer scrubbing, but from what he could tell it had good food and decent entertainment. What else could a man ask for? It wasn't like Bobby had been on all that many cruises to know the difference. Damn, he thought. He couldn't help but think of Vivian as he pictured himself all alone on what would otherwise have been a romantic weeklong trip. Almost a week—six days. How long ago had he shared a dinner with someone he cared about? How long since he'd gazed at the stars next to a face that smiled back with genuine love? Oh, there were the Chinatown girls, but they were just flirtations to feed his ego, nothing serious. He chatted them up at the bar and then went home to his empty apartment…while Viv went home to Brock. Oh, well. What was the point of moping over it? Darien was right. It was time to move on. Life after love and all that. So that's what Hobbes would do. Enjoy himself. Speaking of Darien, the kid had been out when Hobbes had called him to make sure everything was cool before he left that night for the cruise. Oh, well. Darien was getting a handle on the agent thing and he'd survive a week without Bobby guarding his back. Okay, probably not. "Damn it," Bobby swore. He'd be plagued with worry the entire trip. Any one of a plethora of things could go wrong. The kid didn't carry a gun. Bobby usually provided any fire power needed. Darien could take a bullet, could get infected with some weirdo new disease. Hell, the kid could even get mixed up with Allianora and get into all kinds of hot water. And who would bail him out?? Not Bobby, because he'd be relaxing on some damned ship's deck out in the Atlantic ocean while his partner got mowed down in the line of duty! "Damn it all!" Bobby took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. He needed a new job. Yeah, what you know and what you do, he scolded himself. But it was time for some diverting amusement. Hobbes decided to go topside and take a stroll around the ship. He glanced over his attire. The usual brown suit with a slightly lighter undershirt that matched the pinstripe of the coat. That would never do. He sifted through the clothing he'd packed and decided on something light and airy, much like what he'd worn on the stakeout at the beach. Lots of white and silk. Yeah, that was one thing Bobby could say for himself. He looked good in white while a lot of guys couldn't pull it off. But then Viv had always liked him in black, too. Hobbes laughed at the extremes. Black and white. That was his life, a bi-polar world full of shadows, like an old Rembrandt painting. Splotches of light while the rest of him blended darkly into the background. His less than phenomenal career, a failed romance, a dependence on medication. But it wasn't all bad—not even the dark parts were necessarily bad. Just sections of his portrait, of what made him Bobby Hobbes. But there'd been a lot more color in his life of late. And most of it came in a brightly garbed package called Darien Fawkes. And that was good. It was good to have a friend. It had been a long time since Bobby Hobbes could say that. This man is my friend. He said it out loud just to try it on. "Darien Fawkes is my friend." Hm. It was a nice fit. He smiled and shook his head, and decided he was thirsty. Hobbes shrugged out of his suit and into the clothing he'd selected. After a glance in the mirror he decided he looked as good as he could get and left his cabin for some fresh air. The sea breeze was invigorating. It almost made his whole stint in the Agency worthwhile. Bobby walked over to the ship's railing and watched the rhythmic rolling of the waves. Up and down, the emerald pool billowed against the ship as it steamed its way to the little island in the Caribbean where they would eventually dock for a few hours before starting back. But that would be some two days still. It was supper time, and people were passing by on their way to the inside dining room. Bobby stood a few more minutes watching the sea, and then finally turned to join his shipmates. It was a buffet setup, so Bobby took his place in line. He looked over the selections, taking a sample of most everything, being the adventurous type that he was. He took a little calamari and a generous helping of shrimp, some cottage cheese and pineapple, two different vegetable medleys, and fancy bow-tie strawberries for dessert. Not too shabby. He found a seat at a corner table near the back of the dining room, where he could observe the rest of the passengers and watch the entertainment from afar. A pretty, slim woman stepped onto the stage and everyone clapped. She smiled and took the microphone, then cued the seven man band. They commenced with a moody blues piece and the lights dimmed. The singer went through a few pieces, ended with Come Rain or Come Shine, and left the stage to rousing applause. Bobby nibbled the last of his shrimp, watching the proceedings with remarkable enjoyment. Only, there was something nagging at this brain. A feeling of being watched. Granted, he admitted, he always felt that way. It came from being paranoid, but still, he was a guy who played hunches, and he had a hunch he was definitely being watched. Hobbes scanned the passengers once more, this time in agent mode. No one was paying him any attention. Hmm. He prepared to go back to his cabin when his eyes caught sight of a person hiding casually behind a large activities schedule. Darien almost jumped out of his skin as the paper he was hiding behind crumpled down. "I thought I recognized that mop of hair." "Hobbesy! What a coincidence!" "Okay, spill it, kid." Bobby ordered, throwing the schedule in the floor. "What the hell are you doing here?" Darien smiled amiably and waved toward the back door. "Why don't we take this outside?" Hobbes stormed out of the dining room, Darien following leisurely behind. They met at the railing where Hobbes had been moments before. "Like I said," Hobbes repeated, "what the hell are you doing here?" Darien shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'm on assignment." "What?" "Just what I said. I'm on assignment for The Agency." The younger agent nodded to some pretty girls that passed. "This ship doubles as a minor cargo ship. The fat man wanted me check out a report that animals were being smuggled into the country onboard it." "Oh yeah?" Darien could see the gears turning in Bobby's head. A few seconds passed and Bobby eyed him suspiciously. "That doesn't add up," he decided. "No way he'd send us on the entire cruise when he could just bust the ship after it docks." Darien shrugged. "You know the boss. He probably has some hidden agenda. Anyway, he'll just demand his money back after we bust the smugglers. So it isn't like he'll be out anything." "That fat bastard. Well, have fun, Junior," Bobby declared as he patted Darien on the shoulder and turned to go. "I'll be at the bar if you need me, watching the dancers." "Wha…what?" Darien stuttered, grabbing his partner's arm. "I'll be at the bar," Bobby coolly replied, shrugging off the hand only to be grabbed again. "You can't just let me do this alone!" Darien insisted. "Sure I can," was his clipped reply. "I'm on vacation, remember?" "Hobbes! This…this isn't fair!" "Sure it is," Bobby answered, jabbing Darien in the chest. "You and the boss thought you'd get a big giggle off sending me on vacation, knowing full well I'd feel obligated to help your sorry ass, and therefore screw up my vacation. Well, the joke's on you this time." And Bobby walked off, leaving behind a dumbfounded Darien. * Darien Fawkes flopped down onto his bed, back in the privacy of his own little cabin. It really sucked to be him at the moment. Just when he thought he had Hobbes nailed down to the last paranoid particle, the man up and throws a hell of a curve ball at him. That just wasn't fair! Someone knocked at the door, and Darien glared at it, figuring it was just some dopey room service man who got the wrong cabin. Another knock and he got up. He opened to door to find Hobbes standing there, grinning stupidly. "Guess I *am* just a sucker," he said. Darien smiled. Just when you think you know a guy… He ushered Hobbes inside. Darien sat back down on the bed, and Hobbes took the lone wicker chair. "So what's our first move?" Darien asked, getting down to business. He noticed that Hobbes rubbed the area where his shoulder strap normally held his gun pressed against his side. It was strange for Bobby to be without it. "I say we first check the cargo hold to see where we stand," Bobby suggested. "Okay," Darien said, and they left together. As they ambled down the hallway, Darien nudged Bobby's shoulder. "Admit it. You just don't want me hogging all the glory." Bobby grinned back with a shrug. "Yeah," he replied, "that too." They worked their way into the ship's interior, sneaked past the steam room, and were nearing the cargo area when a crewman emerged from one of the rooms and blocked their way. "I'm sorry, sir, no passengers are allowed past this point," he said to Bobby. Hobbes eyed the young, frail looking seaman for a moment, deciding his course of action. "Oh, I'm sorry," he began. "My assistant and I got turned around trying to find the captain. He said he would meet us in the cargo hold but I can't seem to find it." "The cargo hold? That's odd." The crewman looked confused. "Well, you see, he's transporting some medical supplies for me—I'm a doctor, you see—to that little island you people always stop at. They've had a horrible outbreak of…um, Rumerial Epelictasy, and I'm supposed to stay behind and help treat them. We were supposed to check over my medical equipment. I have to prepare some things." "We'll only be a moment," Darien joined in, muscling his way casually past the seaman and into the cargo area. The man protested a bit more just out of formality and then disappeared. "We'd better work fast. Chances are he's gonna go see the captain to verify our story. I'd rather not be around to explain, just in case." They snooped around the damp cargo area for several minutes, working their way past rows of crates and boxes marked "fragile". The hold was larger than Hobbes had anticipated—longer anyway. The roof was only a few feet taller than Darien's head. They walked back some thirty or so feet before stumbling onto several empty animal cages. "Guess they pick up the animals when they stop at the island." "That makes sense. Boy, talk about your primitive cages." Hobbes looked over the steel bar boxes, smaller versions of the kind he was used to seeing at zoos and circuses. "Well at least we know they *are* smuggling animals. We'll just have to come back later and make sure," Darien concluded, only it didn't look like Hobbes was paying him attention. He was kneeling down by one of the cages, inspecting a white powder that dusted the floor. "What is it, Hobbes?" Darien asked, kneeling beside him. Bobby swept up a bit of the powder onto his finger, sniffed it, and then licked his finger. "Cocaine," he pronounced. "Cocaine? Are you sure?" Bobby glared at him. "Of course I'm sure," he said. "Give me a hand." They pulled on one corner of the cage roof until it gave and popped up. Then they removed the top completely. Each metal bar was capped with a black top that latched onto the roof, so Bobby unscrewed one of the black caps. "Wow," Darien said. "It's hollow." "And used to be filled with cocaine," Bobby said, running his finger along the inside to test for powder. "My guess is we'll find out that the animal shipping is legit." "You mean…" "Yep, just a cover for smuggling in cocaine in the animal cages. Who would ever suspect?" "Yeah, people would be too busy checking out the animals. I guess they get both the animals and the cocaine when they stop off at the island. You think the boss already knew?" Bobby screwed back on the cap. "Maybe. Maybe not. That could explain why he wanted us onboard at the start, but who knows." They pushed the top back on. Darien asked, "So who do we tell about this?" "The captain could be in on it, or he might not be," Bobby replied. "If he isn't, we can bust them right after they pick up the cocaine, assuming they do. If he is in on it we wait until we dock." "How do we find out?" "We'll just sit tight until after we find out whether or not they actually get the coke and my guess is right. Then we can decide. We'd better get the hell out of here before the captain or Popeye shows back up and starts asking questions we can't answer. Get some sleep. Early morning." Darien nodded. * He lay on his bed for several minutes, but found he couldn't sleep. He was unaccustomed to the gentle rolling of the ship, and it made him a tad queasy when he focused on it. So he got up and opted for a walk around the deck to let the crisp sea air clear out his head. Most of the passengers were in bed, but a few stragglers and honeymooners—those that weren't locked in their cabins—were enjoying the quixotic view of the blue-green brine waltzing in its endless dance with the midnight horizon. At least, that's how it seemed to Darien Fawkes—fanciful and unrealistic, this search for a person's one true love and the romantic hoopla that it was to ride on a ship like this. He'd not fared too well for himself since his enlistment with The Agency. Hadn't done too well before, actually. He'd been cheated on and not even known it, and now the gland prevented any sort of normal relationship. Of course, there was Allianora, but that was marred by sheer weirdness, besides the glaring trust factor. So Darien walked along the boat, mourning his unluckiness. And somehow, in that wonderfully coincidental way, it didn't surprise Darien Fawkes much to see a familiar silhouette, short and stocky, leaning against the railing in the distance, dimly back-lit by the yellow night lights of the ship. A figure lamenting his own solitude. "Couldn't sleep?" Bobby jumped like a spooked rabbit. "Jesus, kid!" Darien smirked. "Sorry." "Sure you are. Why aren't you asleep?" "I could ask you the same question." "I don't need as much sleep," Bobby replied. "It's been proven the older you get the less sleep you need. Besides, I asked first." "A little seasick." "Oh," was Bobby's only reply. Darien leaned back on the railing, crossing his arms, and studied Hobbes' profile for a few minutes. If Bobby noticed he didn't seem to mind. His chocolate eyes remained fixed on the sea, the breeze teasing his hair, whisking the loose strands on the top of his head. Darien blew out a long breath. "Bobby," he began, and by the tone Hobbes could tell they were in for one of their rare moments of sober conversation, "you ever feel like working in the government sabotaged your chances for a normal, happy marriage." Instead of answering the question, it was Bobby's turn to contemplate Darien for several seconds. His eyebrows went up and he started to say something, thought better of it, and turned back to the hyaline depths. "You're feeling lonely aren't you? Getting that martyr complex again." "Well, damn it, Bobby!" Darien replied. "Look at me! I'm in my thirties and the closest thing to a romance I have going is with some water-spitting assassin who might just blow my lungs out if I leave the seat up!" Bobby chuckled, rubbing his tired eyes. "Yeah, you got a right to feel cheated, I guess. A little. But me…yeah, I screwed my life up pretty good in the romance department. But I take pleasure from other parts of my job. Saving lives, country, and all that. You may not buy it, but what we do is damned important, Junior." Darien shook his head, still dubious. "Is it really, Hobbes? Is saving some rich bozo's life, or preventing the assassination of the Grand Pooba of Afghanistan really worth being alone?" Bobby took his time answering. A whole minute must have passed before he looked at Darien with a deadly serious expression. "Well, I guess that depends on who's answering the question. I would say…yeah, it's worth it. I can look in the mirror when I get up in the morning and know that what I'm gonna do that day is worth all the nights I ever went home alone." It still wasn't enough, that was obvious from Darien's expression, but Bobby didn't let that bother him. The kid just didn't want to be convinced, and that was all there was to it. He'd get over that hurdle with time. "I don’t know, Hobbes," was the predictable reply. "Hey, you aren't that alone," Bobby offered, nudging Darien's arm with his elbow. If getting sappy helped, he'd try it, foreign as it might be to a person of Bobby's Machiavellian mindset when it came to dealing with other men. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. I've got you," came the sardonic retort. "That's right, kid," Bobby assured. "You've always got Bobby Hobbes on your side." Darien softened and nodded then, apparently sated. "Thanks, buddy." And they turned in tandem to watch the hypnotic briny surging like steady breathing. And it was enough. * "Hey, Hobbesy, what's the name of this place?" "I don't know," Bobby replied. The passengers weren't allowed to leave the ship, so most of them were on the deck watching the small Caribbean port bustling below while the crew scurried around loading and unloading the cargo they had transported to the tiny island. "What did you do with that brochure you were spying on me with over dinner?" "I wasn't actually reading that," Darien retorted. "I was just hiding behind it." "Poorly, I might add." "It isn't like it mattered," the younger agent quipped. "I was gonna go see you after dinner anyhow. It was just more fun tailing you for awhile." "Yeah, well, you just watch that you don't have to go see-through anytime while we're out in the middle of the ocean. No way I wanna be locked up in a cabin with you frothing at the mouth." "Okay Hobbes, okay. I won't use it unless I have to." "You won't use it period," Bobby reiterated. Darien threw up his hands, signifying his surrender. * Bobby deemed to just relax on the rim of the pool and work on his tan, fully clothed, while Darien thought a few laps in the water would do him good. It was the closest to working out available on board the boat. So he stripped off his shirt and dove in, clad only in bright red swim trunks. Bobby shook his head. The girls were certainly taking notice. It was almost depressing. Oh well, that was life. Hobbes made up for it in his love of life and his spontaneity. To know Hobbes, really know him like the way Viv did, was to love him. She still loved him, just couldn't handle the all the ramifications of that love. She couldn't handle the Bobby Hobbes that smothered her with concern and paranoia. But that was all right. Bobby had come to terms with all that. Darien surfaced for a breath of air. He hoisted himself up over the side of the pool and grabbed Bobby's foot. "Hey, Hobbesy, come on in!" "No thanks, kid," Bobby said, and poked at Darien with his foot to shoo him away. "You sure? The water's real good," Darien pressed, and dunked his head one time for emphasis. "Well…" The older agent thought about it. He *was* wearing his swim trunks under his baggy gray sweat pants. Bobby was never one to miss an opportunity for fun, and it did look important to Darien for some reason. "Alright. But you pull any of your practical joke crap on me, and I'm getting out." Bobby shrugged out of his extra clothing. Darien grinned and nodded, then was off to retrieve a beach ball floating in the center of the pool. They knocked it around a few times, before that became tiresome and they opted to have a cannonball contest to see who could make the biggest splash. It was against ship rules, but only getting reprimanded by the pool guard stopped them from completing their third turn. Darien decided he was thirsty, so they climbed out for a refreshing mixed drink, and then it was time to get down to business. They'd screwed around for a day and a half waiting to dock. "So, what are we gonna do?" "Well, we saw them loading up the animals, so I think we should check out the paperwork on that end before we go back down to check the cocaine." "Okay, how do we do that?" "You're gonna do it." "Me?" "Yep." "But you said I can't go invisible!" "So don’t. You used to be a thief for God's sakes. Improvise!" They found the captain's quarters by asking, and Bobby sent Darien off to do his thing. Ransacking the room gave Darien unsettling déjà vu feelings, and flashbacks of his previous misadventures as a thief. But if Hobbes told him to do it… The captain's quarters were nice. The chairs were all red velvet, including a small couch and curtains. The desk was mahogany wood, and a small slatted wooden door led to his bed chamber. Darien rifled through a stack of papers on the bureau. At the bottom he found what looked like legitimate documents for the transport and importation of several different birds, and a few larger animals like a chimpanzee—pan troglodyte to Hobbes. "Ah crap." Like reflex, the quicksilver seeped from Darien's pores and covered him with its chrome sheen, and he was invisible. The door to the captain's cabin opened, and in walked the man himself with his first mate. Darien sneaked into a far corner to eavesdrop. The captain asked if the cargo was all loaded successfully, if there'd been any problem. They talked about what was going to be served for dinner and about the entertainment. It was at least fifteen minutes before the first mate left, and Darien got a chance to escape. "What the hell took so long?" Bobby demanded when Darien finally made it down to the cargo hold to meet him. Bobby had already ripped open one of the cages, revealing the powder filled bars. He'd unscrewed all the caps, and every third bar was filled with cocaine. The chimpanzee that used to be in the cage was curled around his neck. "Did you see the papers?" "Yeah, the papers are legit," Darien said. "You were right." "Shit, what's that?" Hobbes asked. Voices and several sets of footsteps came thumping across the metal floor, getting closer. Hobbes sprang into action, pulling Darien by the sleeve. "Get in there," he ordered, shoving his partner into the only empty wooden crate around. "Ow!" "Quiet!" Bobby said as he crammed himself inside, monkey and all, and pulled the crate's lid down over top of them. A few seconds later the voices were right on top of them, swearing and cursing in true sailor fashion. "Holy shit!" one of them said. "D'you think the captain found out?" asked another frantically. "What do we do?" The three voices talked some more, eventually deciding that flight was the best alternative. Let the captain figure out who did what after they were safely ashore. For now they would act normal, and pretend to know nothing. Darien sat wedged into the packing crate, over six feet of angles crammed into the barely adequate box. Hobbes wasn't faring much better, because, although he was smaller, Darien's pointy joints were poking him in all kinds of places. "I'm gonna cut off your arms at the elbows once this is over," Hobbes whispered. The monkey cuddled his neck and poked its fingers into his mouth as he spoke. "So the captain isn't in on it," Darien said. "Looks that way." "Hey Hobbes." Darien sounded worried. "I think I'll be needing a shot before we make it back to the docks. Isn't it another two days off?" "Don't worry, kid," Bobby assured, lifting off the crate lid when he was positive the three men had left. "Bobby Hobbes'll make sure you get your shot." "How?" Bobby smiled. * "I still can't believe it," the captain of the Bonita Señora had repeated upon finding out some of his crew had been smuggling drugs. "I knew all about the animals of course, but cocaine…" The Official had assured the good captain, a jocund man with a neatly trimmed beard and easy eyes, that only a professional would have made such a connection. It was hardly the captain's fault. But of course the captain wanted to recompense the two exemplary agents by refunding the money spent on their tickets. Which the Official accepted without ado. The Coast Guard had come to take over the investigation after the captain sent them a message asking for help. And they'd taken Darien and Bobby inland, getting Darien to the Keep in plenty of time for a shot. "So in the end," Fawkes said to The Keeper, "it worked out beneficial for everyone—except of course the drug smugglers. Hobbes finally got a decent vacation—" "Which I'm still on, by the way." "And I got to have most of a good cruise. The Official got his money back, and The Agency busted some major drug dealers. Did you know The Official said there was a hundred thousand dollars of coke crammed into all those hollow bars?" "So, Bobby, what are your plans for the rest of your vacation?" Claire asked. "Plans?" Hobbes repeated from his seat next to Fawkes on the dentist chair. "I don't know." He grinned at The Keeper. "What are *you* doing?" The Keeper frowned. "Just checking!" Bobby said, throwing up his hands. Then he thumped Darien's shoulder. "Come on, kid, and I'll buy you dinner. Your legs aren't quite as good, but I guess you'll do." Darien waved goodbye to The Keeper, who gave him a long-suffering smile. They made their way outside to find it overcast, but not necessarily gloomy. The van was still parked where Darien had left it before following Hobbes on his "vacation". "So, Hobbes, what *are* you doing for the rest of your time off?" Darien pressed, as they climbed into the rusty cream van. Hobbes stopped to really think about it then, as he turned the ignition. "I dunno. Go visit my sister maybe." "Oh yeah?" Darien was interested then. "Yeah," Bobby decided. He looked pointedly at his partner. "You wanna come?" "Meet the family, huh?" Darien grinned. "I didn't know we were getting that serious." "Smart ass," Bobby replied. They started down the road, driving by restaurants that neither of them could agree upon. A light drizzle started, muddying up the dirty windshield. Hobbes ran the windshield wipers and it eventually came semi-clean. "You know," Darien said wistfully after a few moments of silence, "The Official always has something going. He's always got an angle." "One day it might all blow up on him." "I hope I'm still around to see that," Darien said. The rain pelted the hood steadily now, and the sky darkened another shade of gray. "So," Bobby began, bringing them back to the subject of food, "what do you want for supper?" "Anything that isn't seafood-related." Hobbes laughed. "Sure thing. How about a good old large pizza with the works?" Darien nodded. "Sounds good to me." And the van sped down the road, tires spinning water and wipers repeating. * A really important guy named Buddha once said, "When a finger points at the moon, the imbecile examines the finger." So Hobbes got his vacation, and in the end it all turned out pretty good, right? Yeah, that's what the part of me that looks at the moon says. The rest of me, the imbecile, is looking at the finger of a certain fat man other than Buddha. A certain fat man who always seems to have something in the works that nobody else really knows about, with the exception of maybe Eberts. But I'm not gonna worry about that right now. Right now there's a partner and a pizza waiting on me, and a week more of vacation with lots of good times to be had…and that fat finger be damned. ~Denouement~ ~~CW