DISCLAIMER: I don’t own them. Cade, Hobbes and Darien belong to Sci-Fi, Jarod and the Pretender cast belong to TNT and NBC, and Michael and Theodore belong to CBS, I think. Don’t sue me please!


The Gang's All Here
by Ice Queen1


"Gentlemen, we have a situation. As you know, yesterday a man that we believed to be dead and out of our way is now back at large. He’s public enemy number one and about as sane as Mr. Fawkes without his counteragent. Claims that ‘aliens’ killed his wife and are planning Armageddon for us. He has killed many people with out regard. It is very doubtful he would hesitate to either one of you," the Official said, pacing back and forth in his office, watching his agents, Darien Fawkes and Bobby Hobbes, review the information.

"Wait, so this guy was shot through the heart on national television and he’s still alive?" Darien protested. "Doesn’t that strike you as a little strange?"

"A trick of the cameras. They can make people die in movies all the time. Nothing special. Now, I want you to be extremely careful when you capture him. Mr. Foster is very resourceful," the Official cautioned. "Go get him."

Darien and Hobbes sighed as they headed for the door. "You’d at least think we could get a live criminal, wouldn’t you?" Fawkes muttered under his breath.

"I don’t know about you, but ghostbustin’ has always been an aspiration of mine, my friend," Hobbes clapped his taller partner on the back.

"It would be," Darien retorted.

The Official would’ve laughed at the usual banter if the gravity of the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious. He looked back at the projector screen into the gray eyes of the cold-minded killer of Cade Foster. His agents would need all the help they could get. Not that he doubted Fawkes and Hobbes, but there was strength in numbers.

"Eberts!" he barked. "Get Doctor Morris on the phone. We could use his project’s help."

Eberts obediently dialed the number and handed the receiver to the fat man. "Doctor Morris, sir."

"Theodore, this is Charlie…yes…long time no see. I need your project’s help for job. Cade Foster must be stopped. Yes…as soon as possible. This afternoon? Perfect. See you at the airstrip." The official hung up the telephone.

"Should we expect them soon, sir?" Eberts wondered.

"Around four. Be sure that Hobbes and Fawkes are back by then," the Official answered.




"Mr. Wiseman! I order you to get down now! We need to prepare you to take you to San Diego," Theodore Morris ordered his project.

Michael Wiseman was a synthetically engineered 32-year-old man, well, except for his brain. That was his own. He had the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, the grace of Fred Estaire, and the attitude of a sixteen-year-old. This, in all probability, was the reason why he was using the steel beam rafters as monkey bars. "Why are we going to San Diego? I thought my territory was the Big Apple," he replied, pausing in mid swing, one hand crunching a handhold into the steel.

"Mr. Wiseman, you will do as your told," Morris ordered.

Michael ignored him.

Theo re-thought his tactics. "You get to be outside for as long as it takes without myself or security guards."

Michael froze, his blue eyes lighting up. "Really?" he asked, dropping to the floor. "I get to go outside without you?"

Morris nodded. "You’ll be working with two other agents though. The man we’re going after is dangerous enough to require all three of you."

"Gee. And here I thought Superman could take out anyone all by his lonesome," Michael quipped, running his hand through his brown, military style cut hair. "We leave now?"

"As soon as you change. You didn’t expect me to show you off in your workout clothes, did you?" Theo smiled behind his thin, wire framed glasses.

"Inter-agency show-an-tell, huh? Why am I not surprised?" Michael shook his head as he snagged the bag of clothes Morris held out to him and headed for the showers.




Jarod flipped open his red notebook as he listened to the TV in the background. He’d just completed a pretend. He’d helped a family collect the insurance after an accident resulting in the paralysis of the husband. Jarod had uncovered the foreman had purposely caused the accident.

"For news today, America’s Most Wanted, Kincaide Foster is still on the loose. After killing his wife sent to a mental institution for delusions and acute paranoid schizophrenia, Foster began a killing spree across the United States. Efforts are now being doubled to re-capture him and this time, he is to be put on death row," the reporter announced, reading from a paper in her hand as she stood outside of the DC courthouse.

Jarod turned up the volume, but the report was almost over. They were showing a picture of Kincaide Foster. He was about five foot eleven with knife gray eyes that looked like someone’s Jarod had seen before. His hair was short and sandy brown. His look was of pure contempt. Of course, it was a mug shot, so Jarod assumed that he’d was frowning at the policeman behind the camera.

He glanced at his watch. The Centre would be catching up with him soon, along with the ever-beautiful Miss Parker. They weren’t that dumb not to have been able to figure out his clues that he repeatedly taunted them with. In the back of his mind, he wondered why.

He stared back at the picture of the convicted killer. Might as well help the government for once and he’d been meaning to check back into the California FBI. He grinned mischievously and grabbed his bag along with the DSA player and walked out the hotel door, mentally building up a new persona for the next pretend.




Cade Foster rubbed his eyes, staring at the TV screen inside the trailer.

"I’m a dead man as soon as I show my face in public," he muttered.

"That’s the way it’s been ever since you became subject 117, buddy. I could’ve told you that when we met," Eddie Nambulous quipped, lacing his fingers together as he propped his feet up on his computer desk.

"What’s your plan Foster?" Jordan Radcliffe asked, pacing up and down the short length of the silver trailer.

"I don’t know, but I didn’t let the Gua get me and I’ll be damned if my species is the one to take me down. Besides, I’m the twice-blessed man, remember? I have to survive," Cade answered. He was worried about the renewed effort to capture him, but for some reason, it seemed to be at a distance. It was almost as though it didn’t concern him.

Jordan looked at him worriedly, but a smile crept across her lips. "You don’t care, do you? You’re gonna go out there and get yourself killed, aren’t you?"

"You have a better idea?" Cade looked at her.

"Sounds like a plan," she answered.

Eddie shook his head. He firmly believed in the words, ‘there are two types of people in this world. Those who will fight like they have nothing to lose and those who will fight when loved ones are threatened.’ Eddie sometimes had a hard time deciding which one the two veterans were. Maybe they were both and if that was the case, he had no doubt that they’d survive anything. Including apocalypse.

"Are going to check out the lead in San Diego?" Eddie spoke up.

"Yeah. I’m not going to let a little set back like my country trying to kill me along with the Gua get me. I’ll see you in a little while guys," Cade hopped out of the trailer and swung the door shut behind him.

"He seems to be in good humor," Jordan remarked. "What’s up with him?"

"Beats me. Maybe he found a new reason to fight," Eddie shrugged, going back to the computer, jotting down some more things for the Paranoid Times web page.

The red head considered it for a moment. "Or he got laid."

Eddie laughed along with her until he heard Cade’s voice practically shout, "I heard that!"

The two sobered up long enough for Cade to drive away before cracking up again.




"Gentlemen, you’re all here for a simple task. Track down and capture the fugitive Kincaide Foster. Sounds simple enough for several billion dollars of Uncle Sam’s money, right?" the Official explained, glancing at the three men sitting in front of him. A knock at the door interrupted him before he continued. A tall, black haired man in casual street clothes, save for the FBI special task force tag on his jacket lapel, entered the office looking mildly sheepish.

"Sorry," he apologized. "This is my first time here."

"Ah, special agent Spence, nice of you to join us. Allow me to introduce the men you’ll be working with. This is Agents Fawkes and Hobbes, and Mr. Wiseman," the Official indicated the three men sitting in chairs in front of the desk.

Fawkes, a tall, lean, brown haired, brown-eyed man about twenty-five stood and shook hands. "Please, call me Darien. Nobody else will," he grinned.

"Only if you call me Jarod," Jarod replied.

Darien nodded. "Deal."

Hobbes stood and greeted him, though not nearly as friendly as Darien. He was much shorter than his partner with thinning black hair and beady brown eyes. "Robert Hobbes. Call me Hobbes," he said tightly, briefly shaking Jarod’s hand. Jarod wasn’t sure if the man was plain paranoid or just didn’t like him.

He turned to greet the third man. He was about five-foot-eleven with short, brown hair and vibrant blue eyes.

"I’m Michael Wiseman. Pleased to meet you," he grinned, giving Jarod a bone-crushing handshake.

"Now that we’re through with the pleasantries, please sit down Mr. Spence," the Official ordered, pointing to a chair next to Michael.

"The objective for you four men is to track down and capture this man," a black man with wire-framed glasses and goatee explained, gesturing towards a projector screen. It showed the picture of Foster that was on the news last night. "Kincaide, or Cade, Foster is an extremely dangerous man. He is prone to wild delusions of aliens and paranoia. He is to be captured unharmed if possible, but shoot to kill if you have the shot. Mr. Foster is a walking dead man anyway."

Michael coughed. "I know how he feels."

Jarod stared at him peculiarly.

Michael shrugged. "I’ll explain later. Or he will," he nodded at the black man still briefing the others on the situation.

"All of you have been brought here because each of you bring in a certain quality that will make you an unbeatable team as long as you work together. Now, it’s time for…show-and-tell, if you will. Who wants to go first?" the Official asked, looking around at the four, very individual men before him.

No one made a move.

"Fine. Then I’ll just pick one of you to go at a time," the Official grumbled. "Mr. Fawkes, you first."

Darien shot a mutinous glare at his boss, but sat up a little straighter. "Call me the invisible man," he said simply.

Jarod was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one a little mystified by the statement. Michael looked just as confused.

Darien sighed. "Time for the ‘show’ part." He closed his eyes and was almost immediately covered in a liquid, metallic silver liquid and faded from view. "I am the Invisible Man," he repeated, a bemused tone in his voice. Hobbes also had a smug grin on his face.

"History?" the Official prompted.

Darien sighed and shed his invisible coating in the form of thousands of silver flakes. "Ex-thief sentenced to life imprisonment until dear brother of mine used me as a human guinea pig. Put a gland in my head and that’s why I’m here today instead of Leavenworth of Sing-Sing."

"Hobbes?"

"I’m his partner," he nodded in the direction of Darien.

"That’s it?" Michael asked.

"No, he’s also paranoid, which makes him great at thinking like Foster," Darien smirked. Hobbes attempted to hit him, but his arm was too short and Darien stuck out his tongue.

"That’s enough!" the Official barked, and the two agents desisted.

"Mr. Wiseman?" the black man encouraged.

Michael smiled. "You’re the Doc, Doc. Michael Wiseman, artificial Superman grown in his lab, except for my charming personality."

"He’s can run faster, jump higher than any man, with the speed of Michael Jordan, the strength of Superman, and the grace of Fred Estaire," ‘Doc’ explained.

"We’re still working on the whole ‘grace’ concept, but other than that…he just takes credit for taking my brain and putting it in this body. Though, it sure as hell beats dieting," Michael muttered.

"What about you, Agent Spence?" Hobbes interrupted.

Jarod glanced up. "Oh, I’m nothing special. Just your run of the mill genius," he answered casually.

"Is that so?" Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "What does E=MC squared mean?"

"Actually, that is not a correct formula because MC cannot be squared because it is not physically or scientifically possible to square something that is not a solid matter, only an idea," Jarod replied.

Hobbes nodded. "I knew that." He caught the looks sent his way. "What, you don’t think I could do that? I could do that. I could do it blindfolded an one hand behind my back.

"What is the relevance of being tied and blindfolded if all you’re doing is saying something?" Jarod asked, puzzled.

"Got ya there Hobbes," Darien laughed.

"Shut up," Hobbes growled.

Before Darien or the others could make up a comeback, a man with thin brown hair in a pressed black suit came in and cleared his throat for attention.

"What is it Eberts?" the Official asked.

"Security has found Mr. Foster, sir. They suggest that you move quickly if you do not want to lose him," the man answered.

"All right men, don’t’ disappoint our Uncle Sam," the Official smiled. "Go get ‘em."

Darien and Michael rolled their eyes simultaneously and all four headed for the door.

"Who is Uncle Sam?" Jarod asked before shutting it behind him.


"Miss Parker! Miss Parker! We found Jarod! He’s in San Diego as an FBI agent!" Broots gasped, skidding to a stop in front of a tall, dark haired woman wearing a designer outfit complete with stilettos. He shoved the file under her nose in an effort to prove his point.

Miss Parker snapped it and glanced over it. "Well Sydney, your Boy Wonder just became Boy Blunder. Get the jet ready," she snapped, handing the folder to an elderly man in a sweater and newspaper cap.

"Where do you think you’re going?" a voice sounded behind them.

"None of your business, Lyle," Miss Parker growled irritably.

"Oh, come on sis. There’s supposed to be no secrets between twins," Lyle tsked as he followed her down the Centre’s main corridor. "Though, I could here your little computer freak just fine when he was shouting about how you found Jarod," the brown haired man said. "I’m supposed to come with you, direct orders from Dad and Mr. Raines."

Miss Parker was too busy to really care. "Fine Lyle. But I warn you, if you let Jarod get away, you’ll lose more than your thumb," she hissed, indicating the leather glove hiding the stump of Lyle’s left thumb.

Lyle glared, but followed her anyway.


Cade walked along the edge of the sidewalk down shopping district next to the ocean. He’d been feeling caged for some reason and needed to get away from Jordan and Eddie for at least a little while as he thought about things. Mostly his past. Lately, it seemed it was coming back to bite him in the ass. He pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes, just to be sure no one could see his face. Surprisingly enough, very few recognized a convicted murderer wanted across an entire country. But that wasn’t going to make him take down his guard.

Cade turned to look over his shoulder, pretending to look at a beautiful roller skater as she went by, but really checking for tails. He’d had a feeling of being watched. Cade jumped off the sidewalk and back up without missing a beat and continued walking with his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket.

One thing that he thought about is what he’d be doing if it weren’t for the Gua. Cade had been working for a security salesman when he’d become subject 117. The more he thought about, the more he realized that the Gua had created him, and that though his life was a living hell, the only thing he’d change about it was Hannah. His beloved wife, gone forever but never forgotten, his sole purpose for being the twice-blessed man. The reason for fighting. He kicked a stone absently and it bounced off something. He stopped walking. Cade kicked another stone and watched it bounce off an invisible surface. What the hell? Cade watched as a branch of a nearby plant moved without a breeze or anyone else near it. Crap.

He turned and dodged expertly through the crowd, making sure to avoid all suspicious people as he headed toward the edge of the crowd and the alleyways.

Cade craned his neck to see if he was being followed. Sure enough, he was, by a tall, young man with brown hair that seemed to have lost track of him in the hoards of people. He smiled to himself, but mentally kicked himself when he walked straight into the point of a gun.

"Federal agents, freeze Foster! You’re under arrest!" the man behind the gun growled. He was shorter than Cade with thinning black hair.

"Not by you, I’m not," Cade shook his head, taking a step backwards.

"I said freeze, Foster! I have orders to shoot if necessary," the man ordered, stepping closer like Cade had intended. The man did not see the edge of the sidewalk and stumbled a little, and Cade kicked the gun out of his hand and grabbed it.

"Like I said, I’m not about to be arrested," Cade smiled grimly, and kicked the shorter man’s shin so he could get a running start in the opposite direction.

"Spence, Wiseman, there he goes!" Cade could hear the man shout to two others.

He risked a glance behind him and saw a tall, dark haired man chasing after him.

Damn, his legs are longer, Cade thought to himself as he saw the man beginning to catch up. He detoured down an alleyway and continued sprinting.


Jarod followed after Foster and turned the corner that he’d just seen the fugitive enter when he ram smack into someone he did not want to see.

"Hello, Jarod," Mr. Lyle grinned, holding a gun at the Pretender’s chest. "Let’s go home."

"I’m never going back there," Jarod hissed.

Lyle shook his head. "You don’t have a choice, lab rat. Now get moving."

Jarod didn’t move.

"I’ll give you to the count of three. My sister isn’t near enough to come to your rescue, so I can shoot you without any interference. One…" Lyle pulled back the trigger. "Two…"

Jarod wasn’t sure what happened. One minute he was about to be shot, the next, a figure hurtled from out of nowhere and knocked Lyle to the ground with surprising force. However, that wasn’t the most surprising part. The object was a human, and none other than convicted murderer Cade Foster.

"RUN!" Cade shouted, rolling to his feet.

Jarod was frozen, he couldn’t move and he didn’t until Cade pushed him around and shoved Jarod out of the alleyway as he followed.


Lyle shook his head and saw just in time as Jarod and his accomplice made their way into the crowded street. He managed to pull off a shot before they disappeared.


Cade stumbled next to Jarod, crying out in pain. Lyle’s bullet had found its mark, and had embedded itself in Cade’s right leg. He would’ve fallen except for the hand that grabbed his arm and helped him back up. Cade looked up in surprise to find that it was the dark haired agent that the man in the alley had called ‘Jarod’. "Thanks," he gasped.

"Hey, I owed you," Jarod replied, smiling.

Cade’s return smile was cut short by a grimace as he put his weight down on his wounded leg and a stabbing pain shot up through his leg.

"Here, sit down. You might’ve hit an artery. I mean, Lyle could’ve," Jarod corrected as he gently pushed the bleeding man down onto a bench.

"Why would you want to help me?" Cade asked suspiciously.

"Like I said, I owe you one. That man would’ve shot me if you hadn’t stopped him. Thank you, by the way. Why did you help me?" Jarod replied.

"I don’t like violence. Maybe it’s a character flaw," Cade shrugged, looking at the bullet wound. It was bleeding pretty badly and was beginning to soak into his jeans. "Perfect," he grumbled.

"Wait here. I’ll go see if I can find something to stop the bleeding," Jarod said, walking towards the men’s room across the boardwalk.

Cade muttered to himself, "Like I can go anywhere."

"Except for the electric chair," a voice said behind him, just before an incredible pain flared up in the back of his head. Lights flashed and Cade fell into oblivion.


Hobbes smiled at the slumped form of Cade Foster. Let’s see the Agency say I’m worthless now, he thought smugly.

The Gang's All Here
by Ice Queen1


Jarod had just come back from the men’s room with several paper towels in his hand when he saw the slumped form of Cade with Hobbes standing over him. "What the hell did you do?" Jarod demanded angrily, cautiously inspecting the deep gash across Foster’s temple.

"Oh, gee, I’m sorry. I just stopped a killer from getting loose again," Hobbes said sarcastically as he dialed up the Agency to come retrieve them.

Jarod ignored Darien and Michael as the wandered up from behind. "The man surrendered! And besides that, he was already wounded…because he saved me!" he shouted.

"Yeah, right. From who?" Hobbes scoffed.

"Loan shark from a while back. Has a grudge against me," Jarod replied quickly.

The black van belonging to the Agency pulled up behind the five-some and out jumped four others dressed in black, who put Cade in the backseat.

"Come on. We need to get back and with any luck, we’ll never have to see each other again," Darien put in, as he and Michael jumped inside.

Hobbes and Jarod glared at each other for a second, but they grudgingly complied with Darien’s suggestion and climbed into the back.




Claire, also known as Darien’s Keeper, sighed as she looked down at the unconscious Cade Foster lying on the large chair in the middle of her lab. The chair was usually reserved for Darien when he needed a dose of the counteragent. For now Claire was using it as sort of an operating table so she could remove the bullet from Foster’ s leg and stitch both the bullet hole and the gash across his forehead closed. She thought briefly about what she was going to do with him when he woke up, but realized that the only holding cell they had at the Agency was the padded white room. Well, he is crazy, Claire thought to herself, though not without regret. He was actually quite good-looking for a killer. She had already taken the precaution of restraining him with the leather straps that hooked across his chest, legs, and wrists that were originally installed to hold Darien when he went QSM.

Claire cautiously leaned over to check the straps on Foster’s opposite hand. When she straightened, she saw that his eyes were open, though they looked slightly foggy and dim.

"Mr. Foster? Can you hear me?" Claire asked patiently.

Foster stared back at her through calm, gray eyes. Eyes that couldn’t have been a killer’s, not matter what the press said.

"Can you please say something?" Claire urged.

Cade turned his head away and stared at the door with disinterest in his surroundings.

"You seem awfully calm for someone who is about to be sent to DC for a death sentence," Claire tried a different approach.


Cade was ignoring the woman that was asking the questions. His leg and his head throbbed painfully and he didn’t have a clue where he was. Cade was also aware of the fact that he was fastened to whatever surface he was lying on. He was soon to remedy that particular problem. Cade reached into his pocket, trying hard not to let the blonde see what he was up to. He almost smiled when he felt the pen in his fingers and waited for the woman to turn her back before going to work. He slipped the pen underneath the buckle and pulled it out so he could simply slide his wrist out from the strap.

The woman still hadn’t turned around and Cade was able to undo his other arm and chest and was working on his last foot when she turned.

Surprisingly, she didn’t do anything, which struck Cade as odd. That is, until the woman hit a red button on the desk beside her. A sudden, loud blare of an alarm rang through out the compound and Cade swore under his breath. He immediately dodged out of the metal doors and sprinted, well, as well as one could with a limp. Cade made it to the end of the hallway and when he turned the corner, he ran smack into a short, brown haired man with brilliant blue eyes.

"Michael! Stop him!" the woman shouted from behind them. Cade glanced behind him to see her loading a gun.

"No, Michael, don’t stop me!" he exclaimed as he faked to his left and dodged past Michael on the right.

Unfortunately, Michael was considerably faster than Cade was and he was snagged from behind in a bear hug, his arms pinned to his sides. "Let go!" he shouted.

"Sorry, mister, but you’re going to jail," Michael said confidently.

"Better er…men than you have said that and they still haven’t gotten me," Cade pointed out, trying to twist out of the man’s vice-like grip.

"I doubt that," Michael replied.

Cade coughed as Michael gripped harder. "I can’t breath…" he gasped, watching the black dots swim before his eyes.

"Michael! Stop! You could kill him!" Cade heard the woman’s voice ring out.

Michael immediately loosened his grip and Cade dropped like stone to the ground.

"Sorry!" Michael apologized, sounding truly sorry.

Cade coughed again. It felt like every single one of his ribs had been driven into his lungs. He accepted the hand that Michael offered to stand, but immediately swung his left fist at the other man’s head, connecting with his cheek. A large red cut appeared on Michael’s visage from Cade’s wedding band. The cut quickly healed and Cade recoiled in horror.

"GUA!" he shouted, and lunged at Michael, wrapping his hands across Michael’s throat.

Cade was so overcome with anger that he didn’t notice that the woman had come up behind him until a sharp pain hit him in the back of the neck. Cade vaguely realized it was a tranquilizer as he sunk into oblivion.


Michael pushed the unconscious form off him and sat up from the floor. A tasseled metal dart protruded from Foster’s neck.

"Nice shot," Michael complimented Claire.

"Thank you. Come on, I need you to help me get him to the rubber room," Claire replied, grabbing hold of one of Foster’s arms.

"Let me get him," Michael offered, easily lifting Cade into a fireman’s carry. "Where to?"


"How long has he been awake?" Jarod asked, sipping at a cup of coffee.

"About three hours. It was a light sedative," Claire answered.

The two along with Michael, Hobbes, Darien, and the Official were crowded into the observation room watching Foster. Apparently, he a rather violent temper which prevented anyone from going into the cell with him to put on a straight jacket to conduct an interrogation. For now, he had resigned to sitting in the corner farthest away from the door with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on his arms folded across them.

"You know, he doesn’t look that dangerous," Darien observed. "And he definitely does not look like a wife killer."

"Looks can be deceiving," the Official said.

"So can the press," Jarod put in.

"Are you saying he didn’t commit those crimes?" Hobbes countered.

"I’m saying there’s a possibility that’s being overlooked. First, why would he fabricate such a bizarre and outrageous story if he was guilty when he could’ve easily just have pleaded insanity? Further more, why would he keep it up after he had escaped? Or purposely come into the public eye time and time again if it was a charade?" Jarod asked stubbornly.

"He’s crazy," Hobbes returned.

"Well, so is he ever six days," Jarod indicated Darien with a nod.

"That’s a medical condition," Claire returned.

"So is mental illness. He just needs the right treatment," Michael took up Jarod’s side.

"Why are you defending him? He tried to strangle you while trying to escape," Hobbes snapped.

"Wouldn’t you try to escape if you were being held prisoner against your will? Besides, Foster was pretty lucid until he saw me heal," Michael protested.

"Whoa, what do you mean by that?" Darien asked.

Michael sighed. "It comes with the territory. When the Doc grew this body, he made sure that it could do anything and nothing could slow it down. I was shot at point blank range six times and I barely felt a thing. A day later, there was no evidence of it at all, no scars, nothing. Foster called me ‘Gua’, whatever that is."

"I’ll go ask him," Jarod offered and disappeared out of the room before anyone could protest.


Jarod opened the door slowly and took a cautious step inside the rubber room. Except for the two-way mirror, the entire cell was covered in white padding.

"Good afternoon," Jarod said.

Foster stared ahead.

Jarod cleared his throat. "Um, mind if I sit down?" he gestured towards a chair nearby.

Cade shrugged, staying in his position.

"You don’t talk much, do you?" Jarod muttered more to himself than to Cade.

"Why should I talk to you? You all think I’m crazy anyway," Cade murmured, raising his head to look directly at Jarod.

"Not all of us," Jarod answered, pleased to see that Foster was speaking to him.

"Sure. And who doesn’t? That creepy bald guy? If you ask me, he’s the crazy one," Cade snapped.

Jarod smothered a laugh. "I’m not very fond of him either."

"I bet that he didn’t hit you when you weren’t looking," Cade replied.

"I’m too tall for him to be able to reach my head," Jarod quipped.

"Lucky bastard," Foster answered. A small grin was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jarod laughed out right this time. "Speaking of luck, it was very lucky for me that you tackled that man in the alleyway. I still don’t understand why a killer would save the life of someone trying to take his."

Cade’s face became stone. "I’ll tell you right now, along with that bunch behind the glass, that I have never taken the life of a human being that wasn’t trying to take my own. I didn’t kill my wife. I loved Hannah too much. I couldn’t take a splinter out of her finger if I saw that it hurt her. I’ll bet the reports didn’t say that, did they? They also probably didn’t say that when they found me with her…body…that I was crying so hard that I could barely move away from her."

Jarod remained silent, hoping he would continue, but he seemed to shrink farther back into the wall. "Do you still miss her?"

"Whenever I see a flower blooming, or the sun come from behind the clouds. And every time I look in the mirror, I realize that if I had been someone else, that she would still be alive," Cade replied, almost inaudibly.

Jarod got up from the chair. "I’ll leave you alone, but if you need anyone to talk to, just ask for me."

Cade had his forehead down against his knees again and Jarod decided that it was best to leave him be.


"A poet," Darien mused.

"A penitent man," Michael added.

"That was beautiful," Claire whispered.

"A liar," Hobbes grumbled.

"You’re just mad that he was making fun of you," Darien replied.

"No, that’s why I’m mad at Spence. I still think Foster’s a killer, and a delusional, pathological liar," Hobbes answered.

"I disagree," Jarod said, entering the observatory.

"You would. What are you, some kind of criminal lawyer?" Hobbes retorted.

"Once. Nevertheless, that’s not the point. For a man that loves his wife like that, he couldn’t have possibly killed her. In addition, I know that psychotics can believe that what they have done is for the greater good, but that also means that they do not regret what they have done. Foster, on the other hand, obviously regrets it every day, like he said. I don’t believe he’s acting or lying and is firmly telling the truth," Jarod explained. He didn’t bother to tell them about his pretender skills and how he’d already witnessed the fugitive’s grief.

"Did you ask him what the Gua were?" Michael asked.

"No, I thought it was best to leave him alone for now. Sorry," Jarod apologized.

"No problem. I just like to know what people are calling me while they try to choke my second life out of me," Michael shrugged. He turned back towards the viewing window and noticed that Cade was standing and walking towards the chair that Jarod had left behind. "He’s moving," he announced.

The group huddled around the two-way mirror and watched as Cade flipped the chair upside down, as if looking for something. He picked it up and shook it as one might do to test its sturdiness. Cade nodded to himself and turned his head towards the window. In one fluid movement, Foster had grabbed the bottom of the chair, taken two steps towards the window, and heaved the chair at the glass. The reinforced plastic shuddered and several cracks spider-webbed outwards but did not break.

"LET ME GO, BASTARDS!" Cade shouted at reflector. He turned to walk away but attacked the mirror once again with his fists.

"Guards, secure him!" the Official ordered three men in suits standing behind him.

Foster’s fist had broken a sizeable hole in the glass, much to pain it must have caused him.


Cade didn’t care that his knuckles had deep cuts across them from the shattered glass and kept pounding at it. He didn’t even pay attention to the guards until he was slammed from behind like a hockey player. The guards had finally opened the door and one of them had just knocked him to the ground. Cade heard and audible snap and a shooting pain lanced up his left arm. He cried out in pain.

The woman doctor was back, this time with a hypodermic. Cade hated needles. He kicked out with his foot and caught her in the shin, sending her to the padded floor. Foster was rewarded with an elbow in the ribs. He grunted and attempted to reach around with his good hand and yanked the guard’s tie tight enough to choke him and refused to release his grip. The man pinning him must’ve outweighed Cade by almost a hundred pounds and he was not giving up, even though he couldn’t breathe. The man grabbed Cade’s broken wrist and twisted it around, pleased to hear the grinding of bones together.

Cade screamed, and in a surge of adrenaline yanked the man off of him by using his tie. The man landed heavily, and wasn’t recovering very quickly. Cade rolled away and glanced down at his wrist. The guard had exposed the bone and muscle when he twisted it around and the white bone was poking out of the skin. Blood was pouring down his arm in torrents and soaked into his shirt.

"Damn" Foster muttered, cradling his shattered wrist against his chest. He squinched back into the corner farthest from the door and sat with his back against it.

"Mr. Foster, I can help you…just let me look at your wrist," the woman said with a heavily accented voice. Cade couldn’t tell if it was British or Australian.

"No," he growled. He pushed himself back farther into the cushioned wall.

"Please, Mr. Foster. That wrist needs attention," she insisted.

"Then I’ll wait for a real doctor. Not some quack that shot me in the back with a tranquilizer dart," Cade snapped back. He eyed the hypodermic still in her hand.

The woman looked hurt. "If I bring Jarod in here, would you talk to him?"

Cade tried to remember who Jarod was. "Who’s that?"

The woman looked quickly at the mirrored glass. A few moments later, a tall, black haired man with brown eye in a leather jacket and a FBI special task force name tag attached to the lapel appeared in the doorway.

"Hello Mr. Foster. Remember me? The guy who’s life you saved in the alley?"

Cade nodded slowly. The pain in his leg and now his hand was beginning to increase. The lacerations caused by the bone were still bleeding heavily and he vaguely wondered if he should be concerned about slicing an artery.

"Will you let me help you?" Jarod asked, taking a step towards the con.

Cade shook his head defiantly.

"Why not?" Jarod questioned, genuinely puzzled.

"Last time I trusted you, I was bashed over the head and kidnapped. Forgive me for not wanting to repeat that experience," Cade hissed.

Jarod sighed. "I didn’t want that to happen. That was another…slightly over eager agent. The man has been dealt with."

Cade gave a short laugh. "And why would the FBI want to help me? You want me dead…just like the rest of the world."

Jarod waved for the woman doctor and the guards to leave. They exited and Jarod closed the door behind them.

Cade eyed him wearily.

"You won’t believe me, because that’s your instinct. But I don’t want you dead. I don’t believe you did what they say you did. You showed too much sadness when I asked you about Hannah…and a true killer can’t show that compassion, even if it is their alibi. You have to listen to me. It’s not your fault Hannah died," Jarod said quietly, sitting down a few feet from Cade.

Cade turned away.

"It’s not your fault," Jarod repeated.

"Shut up," Cade growled.

"Only if you say it. It’s not your fault," Jarod replied.

"Then how could she be dead when I was only a hallway away?" Cade snapped. "I was there, and I didn’t even hear her scream…"

"It’s not your fault…" Jarod reiterated. "It’s not your fault."

Cade covered his ears, despite the pain that flared up in his wrist. "Shut up!"

"It’s not your fault…" Jarod said again.

Cade couldn’t take it. He was losing blood faster than he could take in breath, his concussion was blurring his vision and his leg where he’d been shot was bleeding again. To top it off, he could no longer block the images of Hannah’s body in his arms from running through his mind. He jumped up and wrapped his good hand around Jarod’s neck.

"Never, ever, speak her name again!" Cade shouted. "NEVER! DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Jarod gasped for breath as Cade’s grip tightened around his throat. He grabbed the hypo that he had taken from Claire and jabbed it into Cade’s lower arm.

Almost immediately Foster’s grip loosened and he collapsed, unconscious, against Jarod.

"Jeez, the guy has a grip," he muttered to himself as he rubbed the bruise forming around his throat.

Disclaimer: Don’t own them.

Author’s Note: Oh, wow…it’s been a while since I updated this one! Well…let’s see. First off, I no longer hate Hobbes. In fact, he’s my third favorite character. J Secondly, this is dedicated to my good friend Whitefire because she has been harping on me to write another chapter to this for what seems like years. Third, someone e-mailed me and suggested a sequel with these characters but maybe some new ones too like Scully and Mulder…though I’d probably just dump in Krycek because I love him. Let me know what you guys think, and if you have any suggestions for characters. And lastly…if anyone who reads this wants a beta reader or someone to bounce ideas off, I’d be happy to help! So…on with the much anticipated ::snicker:: chapter to “Gang’s All Here”.


The Gang's All Here
by Ice Queen1



“He gonna be okay?” Darien asked, leaning back against the metal casing supporting several of Claire’s specimens.

“Well Darien, I’m not sure. He should be able to make a full recovery, but it’s going to be awhile,” Claire replied, finishing wrapping the white plaster around Cade’s left wrist.

“Well…what’s the problem then? If he can make a recovery, then shouldn’t your answer be, ‘Why of course Darien, he’ll be just peachy after we get him out of this hell hole we call home’?” Darien pressed, uncrossing his arms as he stood up straight.

Jarod answered before the Keeper could. “She means he’ll probably be executed before he gets a chance to fully heal.”

“Wait a minute…didn’t you guys see him back there? Can you actually give someone the death penalty if you have one: no proof he killed anyone, and two: he seems to be a mental case?” Michael asked from the chair next to Foster’s head. The unconscious man had yet to show any signs of waking from the sedative.

Jarod thought for a moment. “They have no proof of any murders?”

“They did find him with his wife’s body…” Michael said uncomfortably.

“Did the fingerprints on her body match his?” Jarod asked, his eyes lighting up as he began to work the facts over in his mind.

“They never said,” Hobbes spoke up for the first time in the conversation.

“If we can dig up the files and prove that his fingerprints don’t match up with the one’s around his wife’s neck, then we should be able to get a reexamination of the case file. If we do that, then the files would be open to the public and we can see just how many people he’s supposedly killed. If the numbers don’t match, we can get him of the death sentence. He’ll probably still have to go to jail, but it’ll probably just be the psychiatric ward,” Jarod explained in a rush, talk animatedly with his hands as he paced back and forth in the small basement laboratory.

“Just the psychiatric ward?” Darien repeated. “That anything like the white room?”

“Only the isolation and as long as Mr. Foster behaves and accepts treatment,” Jarod answered absently.

“And we have reason to believe I’ll do this because…?” a raspy voice interrupted.

The three men jumped at the roughness of the voice and glanced down at Cade who was blearily blinking his gray eyes open.

“Mr. Foster, it’s nice to see you awake. You should be aware that you are restrained, so please, be careful of your left hand. You broke it and the cast has just finished drying. You also have a mild concussion. How do you feel?” Claire explained gently.

“Like shit, what do you think? Back to my original question: what makes you think I will cooperate to get a life sentence in a wacko shack?” Cade demanded.

Darien took note that the convict immediately stiffened when he realized that he was strapped down to the examination chair.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Hobbes countered.

“Because I’m not crazy, I have things to do, and in general, I don’t like being medicated twenty-four seven, that’s why,” Cade snapped irritably.

“You wouldn’t be sedated all the time, it’s only if you’re violent,” Michael protested.

“You know, you don’t catch on very quick do you? What in the HELL would you call me? Trust me when I say that if I’m put in a white room I will bash my way out and take down anyone that stops me!” Cade shouted, jerking his upper half forwards until he was within a hair’s breath of Michael’s face. “Get the picture?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied quickly before scooting backwards on his chair.

“Good,” Cade snapped, and sat back against the chair again.

“Did you kill those people?” Darien demanded suddenly.

“No.”

“None of them?”

“None of them.”

“Would you ever kill anyone?”

“If they threatened my friends, yes. If they stood in my way, no.”

“What way?”

“Never mind,” Cade grumbled. “I’m not explaining it to you.”

“Why not?” Jarod asked, intrigued by Foster’ s answers.

“Because I don’t trust you, and if you ask why, I’m going to scream…” Cade replied.

Hobbes snickered at that.

“And you! You, I just might attack when I get out of this mess,” Cade threatened, though he seemed to be smiling around his words.

“But why would the press say you killed all those people if you didn’t?” Claire asked, puzzled.

“Why does the press do anything? For publicity. They figured since I was a wife killer, supposedly psychotic and on the run, they could blame any unsolved murder cases on me and it wouldn’t matter,” Cade muttered, flexing his fingers on his left hand, checking to see that they still worked.

“I can understand that…sort of,” Darien replied sympathetically. “When I was put in prison, it was for saving some old guy’s life.”

“Ah, so you’re that guy that was accused of molesting an elderly guy after breaking into his house. The net had a field day with that,” Cade replied, smirking as he recalled the find memory.

“Yeah, yeah…a good time was had by all. Kiss my ass,” Darien grumbled.

“I’d rather not.”

“You too good to kiss my ass?” Darien joked.

“No, I’m afraid I could not do your ass justice if I kissed it…and oh God, does that sound wrong!” Cade muttered, scrunching up his face in disgust. “Bleck…I’ll be having nightmare for years.”

The room erupted into nervous laughter before finally dying down.

“Nervous tension,” Jarod supplied, grinning.

“Nervous? Who says I’m nervous? I mean, I’m only about to packaged off to prison to die, what’s so big about that?” Cade snapped irritably, back to his cantankerous mood.

Darien snapped his fingers. “I have got just the thing for you…one sec while I get it Okayed…” Darien took his arm and steered Claire away from the group and muttered something so quietly the others couldn’t hear him. Claire seemed somewhat distraught at whatever Darien was saying, but seemed to calm a few moments later. She smiled and quickly hurried out of the room, the doors making a soft whoosh when they opened and closed behind her.

“What was that about, partner?” Hobbes asked curiously.

“That, my friend, was a diversion in its finest form.” Darien looked somberly at Cade. “You realize that if you pull something on me, I will be forced to kill you, right?”

Cade raised on eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you out. Not exactly setting you loose, just giving you one last shot at being outside…should you accidentally slip my field of vision, well…that can’t be helped, can it?” Darien replied, undoing the straps around Cade’s arms and legs.

Cade immediately rolled off the chair in case the lanky federal agent changed his mind. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously, spacing himself away from the others.

“Come on, we’re getting out of here, give me your arm,” Darien said, reaching out with two fingers. Cade immediately stepped back.

“Why should I trust you?” Cade demanded.

“Because you haven’t got a choice. The Fat man isn’t going to listen to anything you’ve got to say, and you’ll go to the electric chair without a second thought if you stay here. On the other hand, you could give me your arm and we can walk out of here.”

“Why do you believe me when no one else will?”

“Because I’m stupid that way, all right? Now hurry up, or Claire’s gonna figure out what I’m doing and come back before we’ve left,” Darien replied. “Now give me your arm.”

Cautiously, Cade stuck his good arm out, ready to snatch it back if it was a trick. Darien clamped onto his wrist and immediately the frigid Quicksilver began to coat Foster’s arm, sliding across his skin in a shimmering sheet of liquid before disappearing entirely.

“What do you think?” Darien said proudly, before quicksilvering himself.

There was a pause, and then “Oh God, it’s freezing! But so cool…”

“We have places to go, things to do…” the invisible man said, and the doors whooshed open again and the four remaining men could hear footsteps heading in separate directions and Darien’s voice echoing, “No, not that way…”

The steps soon faded in the distance as Darien and Cade made their way to the nearest exit.

“Does anyone know what just happened there?” Hobbes asked.

“No,” Jarod replied.

“Nope.” Michael shrugged.

“This can’t be good,” Hobbes muttered, though he smirked when he said it.

“No,” Jarod replied.

“Nope,” said Michael.

“Loads of help you guys are.”

“Yep,” they chorused.