The route had been simple enough - a short stopover in Helsinki, Finland, before the steamer docked itself in St. Petersburg - and had given Chase sufficient time to finish a bit of reading for research in the two days of travel. She had pored over the museum's layout and studied the location of the Faberge Egg in question; it was an Imperial design, particularly lustrous, and was on loan from the Kremlin Armoury in Moscow. Muggle security had made particular efforts to secure the egg, with advanced muggle inventions ('lasers' kept cropping up in muggle newspapers that she had picked up on board), though she knew that Asimov would have no trouble at all in bypassing all such measures.

For her part, Chase calmed her buzzing mind. Sleep had been difficult to come by, not only as a product of the rocking but also because her brain seemed unable to shut off completely, running scenarios again and again. At least she had managed to block off the memory of their last encounter. As a method of self-preservation, perhaps, she had also been reluctant to consider Auri and Hugh's union, and of course the prospect of seeing Trevor, Preston, Damian, and Darren...

Forget it, you'll see them soon enough, she brushed those thought from her mind, which had been blissfully focused on a singular task since she had taken flight from the zeppelin. Chase no longer had an appropriate or even remotely rational reason for breaking from her affiliation - she cared no longer about how McKlellan might retaliate to this latest antic. Her goal was daunting, yes, but simple.

A million thoughts cropped up as she found herself within the dark grand hallway of the Museum of Political History. It was Thursday, the establishment's rest day, and the sun had sank beyond the horizon more than a few hours ago. The moonlight was clear now, shining through the stained glass windows and casting eerie shadows everywhere, flitting to and fro across the chambers, catching anything with a shiny surface with a glimmer. Portraits of Lenin, Gorbachev, Nicholas II, and Yuri Gagarin decorated the entrance hall. Lenin peered at her curiously as she passed.

She had dressed simply, with a thought to efficiency in movement, in muggle garbs of a simple black sweater, drainpipe jeans, and well-worn flat boots. Quieting her breath, wand withdrawn, she chose a position behind a wooden enclave that museum staff undoubtedly used to examine tickets and waited. This had been the second night now, and whenever Asimov decided to make his move, she'd be there.

Darren had been in a fit of movement since he arrived in London, starting with a hurried trip to pick up as much information on Asimov as he could manage. He had it all available to him, as did anyone working on the case, so he just had to put Asimov and St. Petersburg together and figure out what it could possibly mean. With that in mind, it wasn't actually that hard to pin the museum. He had to be after that damn egg, which meant that was where Chase had gone. If she really thought that he was going to go to the debriefing, tell everyone that she'd gone after it alone, and then leave her to it, she was insane. He knew how it was done in the bureaucratic world, and it'd take ages to make it all work. For that very reason, he'd skipped the debriefing in favor of making his preparations for leaving. He grabbed any information that he could take with him (knowledge was power, and jumping in blind was never a good idea), and stopped just long enough to leave a small package for Preston.

In it was the luggage tag, the lighter he'd pulled out of the man's pocket, and a note.

QUOTE

Pres,
I know you want a crack at this, saw it on your face. Go for it, and I'll be back to get it. If you don't hear from me, check this note again for further instructions. If I'm worth anything in my field, you won't have to worry about that. See you soon.

-Darren

There was no guarantee that Preston wouldn't put all of the information together, hand over the luggage tag and actually get people out to the museum in time to interfere, but Darren wasn't counting on them getting permission from the Russian authorities in time. It wasn't like they were going to let the Russians risk botching it, either. He just hoped that his little note didn't end up updating, honestly. He'd charmed it to pass along specific messages, based on his own health. If he was bloodied or broken, there was one, and if he died, another. He wasn't stupid, nor was he arrogant enough to think it impossible for him to lose. Actually, he was thinking the opposite, but he wasn't risking Chase being alone.

As soon as he had the information he sought, he was out in muggle London, on a cell phone to people that owed him favors, starting with a guy who was hooking him up with a private plane. He had to make up for all of his lost time, and he knew he couldn't take the plane all the way to St. Petersburg, just in case it was tailed. He stopped in Stockholm to change out his transportation, calling in another favor, this time from a wizard he'd helped years before. It all still took too long, too many hours spent trying to absorb important information when all he could imagine was arriving at the museum to find Chase already dead. He trusted her abilities, he trusted her, but he didn't trust Asimov. The man was too dangerous, and there was a history. Chase hadn't bested him last time with help, and Darren wasn't going to trust her life to a hope. All he could think, the entire trip, was that he was calling in his last favors. Honestly, it was why the Ministry had been stressing a team, stressing not approaching Asimov. It was why Darren had been so adamant about Preston not initiating contact. He didn't think he was ever going back to London, nor back to New York, but he knew that if he didn't go to St. Petersburg, Chase truly wasn't leaving the city.

He thought he was going to his death, hoping to ensure that she hadn't.

Funny, after seven years with no contact with her whatsoever, how just a few days working together could bring back all of the things that they'd never said to each other. The hours that he was supposed to spend examining files and studying Asimov's every move were largely devoted to thinking about that kiss, about the smiles and her weary acceptance of the darkness of their job. She didn't deserve to die on this one. Maybe someday, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, that was the nature of their work, but not this one. She'd survived Asimov once, and she was going to survive again.

He didn't waste time when he hit St. Petersburg, finding the museum and looking for any traces of either Chase or Asimov, of which he found none. Whatever was going to happen, it hadn't occurred, yet. The museum was busy and in use, which made him think that the most logical time to return was as it was closing, which was exactly what he did. He slipped inside shortly before the last of the tourists left, taking up a hiding spot with a whispered, "I mean no harm" to the watching portraits. There, he rested, waiting for some sign of life other than him in the museum, and he wasn't disappointed. Lenin's portrait had watched Chase's entrance curiously because she was just another piece of whatever puzzle was falling into place. Darren looked up to see a man in another portrait gesturing toward what looked like a ticket booth, and he cautiously glanced over, trying to determine who it could be. He didn't see anyone, which actually made him think it had to be Chase. Asimov was too big to hide there. In case he was wrong, however, he raised his wand, made sure the way was clear, and slowly approached. He seemed to have gained something from his other form, since the movements were quiet in the dark. He peeked around and nearly fell right there with relief. He couldn't stop the slightest smile.

"Psst," he shot quietly, not wanting to startle her too badly. "Good, you're alive. Stay quiet, he's not here, yet." He only said it because he knew she was going to want to yell at him. He didn't care.

From her temporary vantage point within the wooden enclave, she kept a close eye on the surroundings. The air was musty, indicative of too many wooden antiques and careful restoration, but she sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Chase had considered using some sort of concealment spell, perhaps Disillusionment, but why bother? Nobody else would be present save for herself and Asimov. It was with a great shock, then, that she picked up the faintest of footsteps, prompted by Gorbachev's bushy eyebrows, and removed her wand. It appeared she wouldn't have time to transition properly to the spiraled staircase to her left before he approached.

She steadied her hand, but before she could even think of mustering some sort of attack, a presence fell over her and she choked back a yell. The sight of Darren sent her heart thudding, but once she had recovered from the initial surprise, irritation set in and she sputtered a response, dragging him by the arm about ten feet to the right, where she had initially planned to set up her stakeout; the mini spiraled staircase didn't fit more than the two of them and also didn't lead anywhere, as it was a purely decorative piece very reminiscent of ones that abbots used in churches to access the upper levels without distraction. The wood paneling extended from the steps upwards, providing them a cover. She rested atop the steps and peered through the cracks in between the banisters.

"What on- damnit, Darren!" she intoned, barely above a whisper, "I'm alive, of course - one more nasty shock like that from you and I wouldn't be so sure."

The moonlight caught her gaze, which softened as she set her eyes on him. Seven years had changed the pair, yes, but their interaction still resonated somewhere deep inside her; his presence had a way of worming itself into her brain and sending her heart thudding too quickly for her liking. She turned back to observing the corridor. From a long distance away, the egg shone behind a mirrored box.

"Please, Darren. You have to leave right now. Please trust me on this one," gaze flickered his way once more, the touch of dreaded urgency in her voice too strong to be ignored. They huddled in close proximity to each other, given the confines of their hiding place, and that cinnamon-y musk was extraordinarily comforting, she had to admit. Still, if she had any inkling that he'd put the pieces together and follow her...

I never would've thought it. But if it had been me, would I have followed? It was a rhetorical question.

If he were being honest with himself, which he wasn't sure he wanted to do when the truth in his thoughts was so consistently unpleasant the past few days, he'd have been a little insulted that she was so surprised by his appearance there. Why wouldn't he have come? Why would she think he wouldn't? Why would he leave?

"Chase, if you honestly think I wouldn't have come for you or that I'd leave you to that madman, then McKlellan's right and you have taken leave of your senses," he shot back, any smiles and humor gone.

He followed her gaze to the egg, unsurprised that it was where she'd set up her stake-out, nor that she'd dragged him up that set of false stairs to keep them out of sight. It was a good position, if only a little cramped. He hoped Asimov didn't think they were there until they'd had time to get free of their hiding spot, or it might not go too well for them. How likely was Asimov to think that he'd been tracked here, though? After losing them all at the spa like he had, he must have been building an even bigger ego than they all knew he had. Even worse, it was an old geezer ego, which meant that he thought he was totally justified in thinking he was better than all of them. They hadn't exactly given him reason to doubt it.

"If you want me to leave, then you have to come with me," he told her, knowing even before he'd opened his mouth that she wasn't going to. She was set on this, and so was he. "Since we both know that's not happening, you should try trusting me on this one. At the very least, I can be enough of a distraction to give you a shot at him. You can't take him alone."

Whether she'd admit it, or not, he didn't care. She had to know how unlikely it was that she'd walk away triumphant on her own, so why come? Did she want him to kill her? She obviously didn't think that Darren was going to do too well against him.

No longer able to feign ignorance at his reason for appearing or the nagging thought that if she had been in his position, she would've arrived at the same conclusion, Chase sighed thinly, remaining mute. Thoughts, each other sillier than the former, whirled themselves around and around and wedged themselves into her cranium. She was sure of a few facts - that she needed to stay here and thwart Asimov, lest he did anything on the same level of devastation that she knew he was capable of. That she wanted Darren to leave, of course; his presence had set off multiple alarms in her head. She was well aware, walking into this, from the moment she dropped off the balcony of the Black Swan, that she had little desire to see Asimov simply pick up and walk off, on his merry way to wherever he was headed for next; that he had a calculated plan of attack only fueled this goal.

Darren, however, was another story. She wanted him gone, but an overwhelming part of her was surprised and touched that he was here. It wasn't exactly the right time to dwell on fairytale romances and teenaged sentiments like the ones they once shared, but she couldn't help the surge of affection she felt for this man, who had ceased to feel like a stranger the moment they had left the Leaky Cauldron. His arrival felt like a declaration of sorts, and though Chase wasn't naive enough to believe that she was his main motivation, she was quite secretly thrilled, even if just a little.

Shadowing all of that, naturally, was the dread she felt at the pit of her stomach. Once Asimov showed up to make his move, both their lives on the line. She hadn't prepared for that; frankly, Chase had only prepared for her own death, not the death of another.

Especially not him, she swallowed the dread calmly, peering sidelong at his handsome profile, a mere foot away from herself.

"I'm not leaving," she replied flatly, exactly the reponse he had anticipated, "And I'm touched that you're here, but I can't let you offer yourself up just so I can take a shot. It's not that I don't trust your abilities, I do - with my life," she emphasized quite seriously, before softening.

"I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you because I foolishly went rogue. I didn't best him years ago, and I may not now, but I have to now. You don't have to be here, Darren. You shouldn't risk your life like this."

She might have thought that it was naive to believe that she was his main motivation in being there, but that was actually the truth. If she hadn't gone alone, he'd have been a good soldier and turned the luggage tag in, prepared with the rest of the team, and showed up more prepared. She had been the catalyst that made him choose between 'good' and 'law', that thing that emphasized the fact that he followed the rules right up until he thought that the law wasn't the right way to go. Nobody would be surprised, of course. There was a reason he'd been labeled 'maverick', and his saving grace was still that he was just that good. He'd found her, and he'd made it on time, so there was some truth to it. Just how good he was would determine if he made it out of there alive, but he wasn't betting on it. Frankly, his level of skill was, in his mind, being graded based on a few factors, in order of importance: Chase surviving, catching Asimov and finally, himself surviving. He had goals here, and he could prioritize, but he was here for her. He wasn't known to go into a battle that he knew he was going to lose, or he'd have been dead by now. He'd gone into situations that he thought had a low chance of survival, but he'd still seen a chance and had a plan. Here, the plan was just to take as much damage as he could while Chase either killed or captured Asimov.

He'd spent the entire trip deciding that and then mentally preparing himself. He was going to put everything he was to the test here, and he was prepared. It was why he'd left the enchanted note for Preston, so that someone would know what was happening when he went down.

It was touching, her concern, probably as touching as his own just for showing up, but all he did was take her hand and squeeze it before he gave her the most confident smile that he possibly could. He wanted to lie to her, to tell her that they were both going to make it out of there and that he knew this was going to be cake, but he couldn't muster those words up.

"Good, because I'm going to trust you with mine," he told her quietly, and he meant it. "You don't have to let me do anything, because I'm here and it's what's going to happen. When he gets here, we have to have a plan; you have to take him down. I'll distract him, and you do it. I can take anything he throws at me, I promise. Just make sure that you stop him."

He'd promised anyway, the confidence still there in the set of his jaw and the way his lips quirked, even in his body language. The only part of him that might have ever given him away were his eyes, but since when was that different? His eyes had always given him away with anyone who knew how to read them, and what was that saying? The eyes were windows to the soul? If anyone could have read his eyes, it would have been her. He was set on his own path, accepting of it and whatever happened, utterly determined to die if he had to.

"You better save me a dance at the wedding after all this," he hissed, trying to offset anything she might see that would make her worry about his expectations. He might make himself tell her that they were both going to get out, anyway.

The loudspeaker at the Tsarflot zeppelin docking area blared out a string of arrivals and departures and the various gates, and the big purple and black airships with their large eagle motif on the nose were lined up as magical signes flashed the names of ports-of-call: Omsk; Vladivostock; Tokyo; Tientsin; San Francisco; New York; Verona/Rome; and Vienna. Travelers, huddled in their winter gear, boots and furred caps made their way through the old Tsarist palace that served as an airdrome on the outskirts of St. Petersburg; and were ushered into floos, and multi-person broom cabs, and more mundane types of transportation. A branch of Gringotts Bank beckoned attractive eexchange rates from its location in the airdrome. Goblins worked to move thousands of bags and luggage on strange, steam-powered carts, that puffed and left the interior of the airdrome a little smoky.

One man heeded none of the activity, but bundled his tall, lanky frame into a catamaran broomcab and the vehicle was soon lost amidst the streams of others heading towards the center of the city. The route was via a series of old sewage lines converted by the Russian Ministry into thoroughfares for magical travelers that didn’t wish to take their chances with the sometimes cranky floo network, or the even more unreliable portkey stations. He carried a single piece of luggage with him; a steel briefcase with strange runes on the handle.

Now the work will be complete. All of them have fallen by the wayside in the search. Even Voldemort himself realized too late how he could have used the Egg. How many many followers he could have had, and the story might have been different. But none of that mattered now; his great legacy lived on in dozens of Dark Wizards that had eluded capture, and Asimov he didn’t plan to be caught either. He would return for revenge, especially for Chase Lang. She was an especially tasty target. She truly thought that he could be taken unawares? Though he hadn’t counted on the other man being clever; but he knew him by reputation. He regretted not creating a bigger mess at the spa for them to clean up, but that wasn’t a scene of pain and horror he could enjoy: He’d had to escape. Once the Egg was his, the world would change. Yes.

“Hotel Metropole, quickly,” he said in Russian to the driver. It was close to the Museum, and he could observe, before he used the potion. There was always a chance they might have tracked him, or guessed. If they had, it didn’t matter, he could make use of these pawns. These Ministry fools and mercenaries. He was one of the last and greatest of Voldemort’s disciples. The forest is lovely dark and deep, was that how it went?[/i]

--------------------------

The evening at Stanhope was a quiet one after a long day of wedding preparations, sudden Ministry meetings, and a walk together in nearby Hyde Park. Hugh and Aurelia had managed some down time, even in the midst of all the preparations, he’d made sure of that. Now they sat, side by side, snuggled up on the couch in the living room, and enjoyed a fire, and each other’s company.

They had just allowed their lips some freedom to enjoy the hot – or lukewarm now – cocoa on the table when the silvery figure of of a lion padded into their living room and sat down. The only patronuses ever seen at Stanhope were Hugh and Aurelia’s, so they knew immediately it was important. It spoke with Preston Rostron’s voice, which was even more surprising, for Hugh had expected to see him tomorrow when he and Aurelia would go into the IMMF office for a short time to work on some research from some ancient Greek amphorae that Kent’s team had brought back from a dive off the coast of Crete.

Hugh, Aurelia, normally I wouldn’t disurb you, but this is urgent, and I don’t know anyone else that can help,” said Preston’s patronus. He spoke quickly about the note that Darren had left after the failed mission in Italy to capture Asimov, and the eagle’s head lighter, and the failure of Chase and Darren to turn up at the debriefing. He offered his theory on exactly where they were going. He was pretty certain.

”I think they’re going to St. Petersburg, to the Magical portion of the Museum, Hugh – to go after Asimov on their own, without telling anyone else. Asimov is almost certainly going there. The bosses are maybe one or two steps from figuring that out, too, but they won’t be able to get there fast enough with all the red tape. I’d go myself, but it would be bad for my father if the Minister of Magic’s son suddenly was insubordinate. You two are friends of theirs.”

Chase had never done anything like this, but Aurelia knew she’d been under a strain with the whole Asimov caper, and the man had nearly killed her once, she might be on a personal vendetta. They looked at each other in perfect subconscious agreement.

“Thanks, Preston, we think you’re right. Stay in London, and we’ll send messengers to you. We’re on our way.”

Less than an hour later Hugh and Aurelia were sitting in the car, as Hugh gunned the engine and it lifted above the lights of London below. They’d taken little but their own wands, a few clothes, and a full field Healing kit that Aurelia kept for emergencies. It was for their friends, they were going, not any kind of cause.

“How long to St. Petersburg?” said Aurelia as she looked out the windscreen at the darkness of the North Sea. Outside, it was cold, but clear, and the big gold wings cut through the winter air with barely a whistle.

“About six hours at top speed,” said Hugh, looking at the speedometer on the wood-paneled dashboard. “We don’t know how many days they’ve been there, either.”

The car seemed to sense the urgency, too, and a moment later, a gold knob that Hugh had never noticed before appeared, and started blinking. It read:

PUSH

Aurelia looked puzzled, but Hugh pushed the button. Immediately the car accelerated rapidly, and they leaned back in the leather bucket seats of the front as the speedometer climbed to the top of the scale and hung there.

“Well, maybe we’ll get there sooner,” said Hugh over the engine noise.

“I hope so,” said his pretty companion. “Oh, God, I hope so.”

The absurdity of his justification for staying must have struck some kind of chord in her, because Chase wondered for the briefest fraction of a second if they could just Apparate away - not back to London and not back to the States, but to some alternate universe type of plane where their lives weren't dependent on whether or not evildoers existed and committed the atrocities that they did. She allowed herself to relish the fantasy for a few seconds before she returned to reality again, tucked into a false staircase in the middle of an Russian museum after hours, stalking an enchanted jewel-encrusted egg.

Something squeezed her free hand and she turned to meet Darren's smile, that reassuringly easy turn of his lips that made her simultaneously weak at the knees and annoyed at his bravado - not that he didn't have every right to be, naturally. She had been trodden on too harshly by Asimov to think of the mission as anything but potential suicide, but it was her duty, and it was terribly unfair to have dragged Darren along.

"I'm sorry," she murmured with a start, "It would have been easier to simply wait for Ministry reinforcements, but you know how long that would've taken. McKlellan has it out for me anyway, and any little casualty he would've taken to be my fault and dismissed me. I had to come, Darren - I'm just sorry that you did too. You can't bear the brunt of his attacks; it wouldn't be fair."

And I couldn't live with myself if you died for this.

She felt very acutely the dread that had her stomach twisted up in knots, and recognized - quite suddenly and with a bit of a shock - that it was fear that had wedged itself in her. Chase was no stranger to adrenaline, but this was a shockingly uncommon realization; she walked into situations with a cool head and a steady wand, because what was the worst that could happen? She could die, yes, but if she did so in the line of duty and even half-accomplished what she set out to do, she was more than fine with it. She could control that, to some extent. But Darren's safety she couldn't control, and it scared her more than anything at the moment. She saw now why so many Aurors became jaded and reclusive, unable to open themselves and share intimately with others in the same line of work - because loss was inevitable. Having someone whose loss is impossible to fathom makes accepting one of the basis tenets that governed her existence difficult.

She had to smile at the irony of her realization, that after seven years of being essentially strangers she shuddered at losing him again after being reacquainted for what? Two weeks? His mention of the wedding lifted a dreaded weight from her mind, if only for the moment. At the moment, seeing everyone again and her best friends united in matrimony at last was just about the only motivation she had left to avoid recklessness. That, and the man right next to her.

She had little time to muse about the future, however, as a sudden noise resonated through the air.

2:27 AM, St. Petersburg Museum of Magical History (Annex to Muggle Museum)

The thud that echoed through the empty gallery came from a solitary figure who dropped a heavy flashlight as he descended the stairs, and the jingle of keys against his belt was also loud. The night security guard passed from one gallery to the next, shining his flashlight on the gloomy cases filled with strange wooden objects, an statues that sent bizarre shadows across the walls; and finally to the gallery where some of the more precious objects were kept. The display cases were new, special things, put together by the fiendish minds of the Russian Ministry of Magic, but with a lot of help from their own Auror unit; the Okhrana; and Special gendarmes units. The perimeter alarms on the cases were completely the work of the national security unit, and had triple strength spells that were designed in isolation from each other. The museum itself had a combination of spells and muggle alarms, even for the Magical section that was only accessible to magical world residents. The guard had his wand twirling in his other hand, and he would follow a random route through the upper galleries. There had been an alert recently because a well-known magical weaponry dealer had been killed, and his known accomplices had ties to some of the magical devices in the museum.

They'd also recently added one item to the collection, and the guard paused by the case now. It was the gold and jeweled Firebird's Egg; a Faberge production from his magical device branch but lost for more than a century until the British Ministry of Magic's special unit had found it and returned it. The guard looked at the egg. It was a beautiful thing. He remembered the ceremony when it had been returned. Their was a series of photos under glass surrounding the case. It showed the origins of the Eggs, their owners (including Rasputin - the guard shuddered to read), and each had died a horrible death, including the last one to possess it. But now it was back. The photos also showed the two Ministers shaking hands, and some other people the guard didn't know. There was a very pretty redhead in one of the pictures smiling and waving at the cameras.

But everything was normal here, so he paused only a moment more, and then passed onto the next gallery, which had a similar case with another Egg in it: A blue-green one: Same workmanship, but completely different looking. It had a clock embedded in its face, and as long as the guard had worked the museum, the hands had never moved. He checked carefully around the perimeter of this room, too, and pointed his wand at the skylight. It was a heavily trapped, but very pretty skylight that gave a lot of natural light for the museum goers. The area was normal, he reported, and he passed on.

2:29 AM

A solitary figure stood at the end of the street from the Museum, whose exterior was a blaze of lights, although the interior was dim. The muggle portion of the museum had guards with rifles all night long, but these were easy to evade. The Magical portion, however, was different, and of course invisible. The man set down the briefcase he was carrying, extracted two bottles from it, and poured the contents from one into the other. He shook it a little, and then drank the contents. He had just ten minutes of full effect for the potion, and then he would only be able to blast his way out.

He held his hand out in front of him and walked through the wall with its iron spiked top and across the grounds, and then went through the side of the Museum nearest the Magical Annex. It was utterly silent, and the Dimension Door worked perfectly. Not a sound was to be heard, and no alarm was tripped, magical or muggle. He swiftly walked in soft slippers up a staircase, and through another set of magical wards that he could see glowing on a wall behind a large painting of the Battle of Borodino. His eyes were covered by special lenses, because of the strange distortions caused by the potion. If any of the guards did happen to look straight at him, they'd see only a sort of wavy distortion, like a mirage, which would vanish when he moved. He was almost there.

The gallery with the Egg of Atlantis was the target. One minute gone, and nine left.

Knowing her as he did, it was hard to imagine that she was truly apologizing, but he knew her reasons. Her reasons were the same that he didn't wait; because working around red tape took too long. It always did. "Why do you think I didn't wait for reinforcements?" he whispered, nudging her with his elbow, grin only widening. Why hadn't he? Because if he had, and they'd taken as long as he knew they would, he wouldn't have been here in time to help her.

Because he'd have lost her.

It really was crazy that it had only been two weeks since they'd gotten back in touch, but sitting there in the dark of the museum with her, it didn't feel like time mattered at all. It had left its mark on them both, changing them in very serious ways, but at the very end, it didn't matter. His only regret if this really was the very end was that he hadn't come back sooner. Of course, that would have changed things, and you weren't really living if you didn't have regrets. He had more than his fair share.

They were out of time for regrets, for baring their hearts, for any of it. Now, it was all down to the present, no past or future, and certainly no room for new words. It didn't matter what she said or what he said, because they were both going to do what they felt needed to be done, and when the dust settled, the points could be tallied. This was just a far more dangerous game than they'd ever played together, with much higher stakes, and it was starting now.

Darren's head shot in the direction of the sound that resonated through the otherwise quiet museum, eyes searching for some sign of what had caused it. He liked to think that his night vision was rather good, between his tie to the leopard and his habit of working in low-light conditions, but he still found himself wishing for cat eyes. If it wouldn't cripple his abilities in a duel, he'd have shed his human form for the ability to see and hear what was coming, and it wasn't the first time that he'd wished he'd finished the spellwork he'd been working on that would blur the lines between an animagus' two forms. Maybe if he survived this evening, it would motivate him to finish.

The problem with the sound was that he didn't think Asimov was that stupid. He wouldn't have made any unnecessary noises, not knowing what a high-risk item this was to steal. Darren wouldn't have been surprised if the guy didn't even have proper shoes on, if only to keep the sound down. Actually, when he thought about it, he wouldn't have put it past Asimov's intelligence and skill to have taken quite a few precautions in trying to get at the damn blue egg. How many, and which? Would they even see him coming?

No. No way Asimov would make that mistake.

"Shit. Chase, we're not going to see him until he's on top of that egg," he hissed, glancing her way. If it was him, he'd have an invisibility cloak, a spell of some kind, or a potion. He'd have done his homework and made sure there was no way that anyone would see him coming. It was the best way to go about it that he could see. No pun intended. This hadn't been easy to begin with, but the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. Suicidal.

Never a dull moment.

As soon as the loud echo reverberated through the enormous chamber, Chase had narrowed her bright gaze to focus in the direction of the aqua-hued display that encased Asimov's target in question, all girlish thoughts escaped her immediately and she fell quite abruptly to reality. She squinted slightly harder, wishing that she had honed in the spare hours between research and training specific charms that took her vision - quite ordinary in human terms - much closer to the microscope lens-like sharpness of her animagus form.

She missed her eagle eyes, quite literally.

Darren's warning in her ear resonated quietly, but she already knew that Asimov would have his entrance - and exit, most likely - well plotted out, from experience. From her vantage point, however, she cared little for the egg (in fact, she secretly hoped that Asimov would try his hand at cracking the Firebird's Egg, just to be greedy - that had worked well for Kronos); it was merely bait, collateral they'd be able to use, a bargaining chip for Asimov's capture. Whatever he desired to do with the Egg of Atlantis didn't matter because in Chase's eyes, she would stop him before he got close or die trying.

Her heart thudded steadily in her ears, and she and Darren waited with bated breath, wands withdrawn, growing tenser and tenser as the minutes passed; that security guard had only served to grate her nerves a tad, but her breath remained rhythmic and silent.

"Whatever he plans to do with the egg doesn't matter; he won't get a chance to," she said in reply, gaze never faltering from the case for even a second.

Suddenly, a flicker of magic showed itself near the display case. Without warning, Asimov's figure, scarred and ever so slightly stooped, appeared out of thin air. It was impossible to see what he was doing, but Chase, already, lept into action, noiselessly catapulting herself lightly over Darren's lap without signaling him. After all, she reasoned, the last thing she wanted was for Darren to throw himself in the path of danger like she was doing.

A second later, a sleek, ghastly polar bear patronus galloped and glided towards the figure at a breakneck speed; by the time Asimov realized this, Chase had already disappeared, darting at great speed across the corridor.

At least they were on the same page where their eyes were concerned, even if Chase didn't realize it (Darren was almost jealous, knowing her eyes were infinitely better as an eagle). Perhaps when they were finished with this, in the event they both survived, they could figure out the magic required for a partial form together. It'd be like the old days, only hopefully with less bickering and more friendly banter. He could dream.

She had a point about the egg and Asimov's intentions with it, as long as the guy couldn't accomplish anything from within the museum. Darren wasn't really interested in seeing what Asimov could manage on the fly with a potentially nasty magical artifact. As far as he was concerned, he didn't even want the criminal near it. He wanted to surround him, keep him busy, and hopefully give Chase the chance to take him down. If he were to flirt with the idea of survival, then they also wouldn't want to destroy that priceless egg while on a rogue mission outside of government approval. The Russians weren't likely to approve, even if the crazy aurors happened to stop a criminal and mass murderer from stealing it. Scapegoats.

He saw the flicker of Asimov's spell in the same instant that Chase did, and frankly, he was pretty impressed with her quick thinking in the way of the Patronus. He couldn't deny being surprised that hers was a polar bear, either. Also impressive, and a little intimidating. He liked it.

Whereas she'd thrown her Patronus out there, Darren had fled their hiding spot in favor of the shadows at the corner of the room, hoping that he hung onto as much as his feline grace as possible where movement was concerned, since he was very much trying to avoid detection while moving pretty damn fast. He wanted to be far enough away from Chase that he wouldn't draw Asimov's attention to her when he struck, which was why he'd chosen a different direction from her as soon as he could.

Here goes nothing.

The very second that he was confident he was far enough away from her that he wouldn't compromise her position, he fired off his first attack in a sleek red bolt headed right for the criminal. Game on.

The gallery was quiet when he first entered it and approached the case, and the guard wasn’t due back for at least ten minutes, not that he would pose any serious threat. The case with the Egg of Atlantis was closer, but he opted to go upstairs first to observe the gallery, and then downstairs at the far end to reach the Firebird’s Egg. The jewels sparkled and glistened as he observed it. He appeared solid just long enough to disable the alarms on the case, and then, he used an extraction spell on the Egg itself. It went into the bag at his hip, and he proceeded back along the main floor to the Egg of Atlantis. However, before he could prepare for the same operation, he heard something, very slight.

Then, the patronus came out of nowhere. Startled, he shifted to one side of the gallery. The Egg was very close, he could just smash and grab, but someone was here with skill. He threw up a shield spell between the case and the direction that the polar bear had come; and before he could react to that, an expelliarmus missed him by inches and shattered a case with gilded helmets in it. They rolled noisily on the floor, and he jumped straight up and landed on the upper gallery in an instant, his wand seeking a target. There was more than one wizard here. The alarms had all been silenced, so the destroyed case made noise, but nothing more happened. If the guards were alert, it would still take them a couple of minutes to get back to this wing. He was so close, but the final piece of the puzzle was now impossible to get.

He shifted position again behind the arch of the next gallery on the upper floor, so he had a view of the main floor, and tried to figure out where the second bolt had come from. Possibly the stair area. The odds were that they were a team of Aurors, but who? He put a prismatic wall between the stairs and his position. He only needed 30 seconds. The wall of dazzling bright colors would blind anyone coming from the dark side of the gallery, and serve to dissapate some offensive spells that used light. He scanned for the targets, and saw someone outlined for a second in the light. He fired a blasting spell in the figures’ direction, but the aim was poor. Then he moved again, back to the gallery that had contained the Firebird's Egg.

Chaos reigned everywhere, it seemed, as the case Darren had hit exploded with helmets and other clattering sounds, and Chase quickly threw up a shield amidst the clatter. She spotted Asimov's figure gaining height, peering about, for a millisecond before she had to shield her gaze from the blinding orb of the prismatic wall. A blasting spell ricocheted off her shield, penetrating it at the edge, and she quickly replenished it while seeking cover behind a massive display case of famous wardrobes and mirrors that had decorated the chamber of Nicholas II's mistress.

Without waiting for the noise to quiet, Chase fired off a few Stunning spells in the general direction of the prismatic wall, noting that the Egg of Atlantis still rested quietly in its case. The gears in her head turned; so long as he couldn't reach the egg, Asimov would stay to keep trying. Better yet...

Mobilius Ovoid, she tapped, and at once the Egg rattled free of its position in the case, reined in somewhat by the enchantments that had ensured its security to a less capable bunch, and rolled noisily under the shattered display that had once held the helmets. She was initially surprised at the lack of alarms and traps that surrounded the Egg before realizing that he must've silenced them all, or disabled them.

A sudden noise alerted her to movement again, but she couldn't be sure if it was Darren or Asimov - where had Darren gone, anyhow. Alarmed with the sudden thought that he might've made his presence known to Asimov, she stepped out from behind the wardrobes, wand outstretched and eyes scanning the upper galleries, ears pricked for any sign of motion.

Darren's night-vision was pretty damn good, which was a great skill to have when you were fighting in the dark, but he was still on the move when that prismatic wall went up. His spell striking the case of helmets hadn't been a total loss; he hadn't really expected to take Asimov with a simple disarming spell from the get-go, and the clatter was a good distraction to keep Asimov looking for them. It masked footsteps on the marble floors, especially when he nearly plowed through that prismatic wall, effectively offering the criminal a chance at his position. He slid to a halt, fingers brushing the cool stone beneath him as he changed directions without much use of his sight to guide him, and the instant he was on the move again, he muttered a quick incantation with a sweeping motion of his wand that had the effect of wrapping his form in darkness once again.

Darkness was his talent in battle, always had been. It was ironic, in a way, but even the black of his leopard's coat reflected it.

He felt the heat of the blasting spell zip past him, and he rolled his eyes at himself and the idea that he'd nearly walked right into the thing with that little maneuver. At least Asimov wasn't likely to pick him out again in the next second, and he could get his eyes back in order. The shadows around him were serving him much like sunglasses, easing the pain of the prismatic shield on eyes that had definitely accustomed to the darkness, but he'd adapt. He'd also be night-blind by the time the shield went down, but they all would. At least the playing field had evened a little.

Damn it. He'd liked that advantage.

He wasn't quite ready to go all 'human punching bag', not when Asimov didn't seem to realize who exactly was there and how to deal with them. This approach seemed more cautious than anything, throwing up a distraction and backing off to see what happened, and Darren was pretty sure that if the criminal had recognized Chase, he'd be reacting differently. They still had time to get at him before the game turned nastier. He threw a glance towards the egg in time to see it moving, and could only hope it was Chase's doing. It didn't look like the egg was headed for Asimov, however, since Darren was aware that the man had gone up. A quick dispel later, the corridor was once again lit only by the case that had formerly held the egg, and a small movement from the upper galleries drew his attention. Where had Chase gone? Not after Asimov? No. More movement, and he saw her step away from a set of wardrobes, searching the upper galleries just as he had been. Same page. It was a good sign.

From his vantage point in the upper floor of the adjoining gallery to the Egg of Atlantis, he had a clear view of the floor, and nothing had headed his way except a few stray spells. But they were forming a familiar pattern to his mind, and the patronus had clearly been a bear of some kind. He used the further staircase to return to the main floor of the Firebird’s Egg gallery, and see if he could come at one of them from a flank. He wasn’t sure if there were two, but it was impossible to maintain a patronus and launch a spell at the same time – or at least most people couldn’t. He moved from pillar to pillar, and then he saw a slight figure in the light from a case in the center of the floor.

Chase Lang

“Just like old times, isn’t it Chase?” he said, using a mobilius vox spell to make his voice and his laughter echo from the ceiling area, so it would be difficult to discern where he was. Then, a second later, he sent a sizzling orange bolt in her general direction, and reverse course back behind the next pillar, and then shifted behind a large case with a series of mannekins in Imperial Army uniforms in it. The orange bolt changed into a series of short bronze spears that whistled in a staggered line towards her last position. All he had to do was get a slight rip of flesh, and the rest would home in. Once he was behind the manikins, he set them all laughing, and dove to the cover of a pillar on the far side of the gallery, but he moved closer to her last position. Now he knew.

”They’re using you to get the Eggs. How does it feel to be a pawn?!”

If she hadn't been so concerned about her position, her partner's whereabouts, and maintaining composure, Chase would have faltered at that piercing tone that echoed eerily throughout the chamber, rendering her pinpointing much less accurate than if she had set his sights on him. Fortunately for her, the orange bolts signaled the rough location of his whereabout, and she reacted quickly enough to avoid the brunt of the bronze bolts, many of which dissipated through the large wardrobe where she had been situated. He may have had her hairs standing on end, but she didn't allow the barrier of composure to dissolve completely. Diving for the nearest set of decorative pews, she waved her hand in a wide arc and instantly, the wooden spears and remnants of the broken wardrobe shot for the uniform case like a horde of swarming hornets.

Four years had given her plenty of time to hone her skill, but as she rose again from the pews, she winced - a stray bolt had grazed her ankle, though luckily much too late for the rest of them to take effect. The adrenaline coursed through her now, rapidly driving her attention towards the figure whose presence slid effortlessly in the shadows, until his voice rang out from another direction.

Darren's too close to him, she realized with a sinking feeling, and - casting a 'sonic boom' charm - silenced the army of the Imperial uniforms and their maniacal laughter, replacing it with one of her own.

It was a completely foreign, reckless, even slightly crazed sound that escaped her, but now the anger had found a well-matched pair in the adrenaline and combined to drive her retort, steady and clear.

"Exactly like old times, except this time you're not getting away."

With that, she darted towards the opposite direction, down a long stretch of hallway that extended to their left, away from the display cases and the openness of the grand entrance, knowing that he'd give chase. She kept a safe distance from him for now, though her mind snagged slightly on what he had said last - using them as a pawn?

Being 'too close' to Asimov had been his intention from the start, trying to circle around all of the crashing and maniacal laughter under the cover of dark to get his own flanking position, and then Chase was trying to protect him. It was touching, but he didn't like the recklessness in her movements and voice. She was going to get herself killed if he let her, and that wasn't the goal here. Pawn or no, he had his priorities.

Asimov's words didn't strike his pride nearly as badly as the criminal probably intended. Darren was used to everyone having different agendas, and he'd found that as long as he was satisfied with his own, it didn't matter much to him. He didn't brag about it, but he'd been contracted out for mercenary work in the past, and he knew better than to overthink every mission. All he could do was try his best, try to do good, and if someone else benefited, oh well. Getting Asimov away from the people he wanted to hurt, thwarting his plans, that was important. Trying to fathom every possible motive that any potential player might have would drive a man mad.

He froze, letting the shadows settle around him as Chase fled to draw Asimov after her. Darren knew that the light from his wand would give away his position as soon as he struck, but he could be patient. He had to make the blow count, or it was useless. If Asimov made his move to follow her, Darren could potentially have his back. Even if not, he and Chase would be on opposite ends, and all they needed was Asimov pinned between them to rain some punishment of their own.

Patience.

Yeah, because that was totally his strong point. He wanted to move, to put himself between Chase and the madman who would take whatever chance he was presented with to hurt her, but he had to remain still. At least, for this instance. Once his position was revealed, he was going to push with everything he had. Thus, he waited, the spell ready on his lips and mind.

They never operate alone. So where's her friend?

The silence fell once more as the remnants of his spells faded or were knocked out by the sonic boom sent by his opponent. Asimov sent a time-release set of faerie lights to hover overhead in both galleries, and then retreated to a cross corridor to wait for Chase Lang to pass by. Let her come to him, no need to expose himself with an unknown number of Aurors present. As soon as she stepped into the lights, he could capture or kill her. Capture would be so much more fun, she had such a nice scream. That would draw ouot her partner, especially if it was one of the men. She always used them as shields. On the other hand, maybe she could still be of some use. She had skills, and he was short on allies at present with Kronos gone. Once she knew what they'd done, would she turn? Unlikely, but it was worth a try. It would also buy him time to locate her partner. It would be Cavanaugh, perhaps. She always liked the handsome ones, with bravado or guts or special abilities.

He saw a bit of a shadow in the gallery, and footsteps came from the rotunda area. The Museum guards were headed this way. Ah, fun.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent a series of rolling black objects in the direction of the rotunda, which bounced, and clanged on the marble floor. The first guard into the rotunda tried a shield charm, but too late. The cannon ball exuded a purple vapor, and the guard was enmeshed in a web of strangling vines. He moved behind a pair of marble statues and threw his voice once more. This time into the ventilation system.

"I don't want to leave. I need you, and you need me. We're very much alike, although our goals are different. I admit. You don't know how close you are to being really impressed by me. But I suppose your partner is more a Ministry man. It is a man, isn't it this time?"

There was no signature of anyone else, so if someone was there, he was cloaking himself pretty well. An experienced agent. So refreshing.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/Dou...pg?t=1267470860
[ That's the layout Mark and I are using; Asimov is by now around Area 2, while Chase is near Area 3 and heading towards Area 4; Darren would be right behind him in Area 2! ]

Pausing in her hurtle towards the leftmost gallery, she ducked into the small enclave of a fireplace-like construct, part of some display on ancient furnitire. Her smallness offered her many more hiding opportunities than usual, but she threw up a translucent shield about her anyway, and peered out towards the gallery rotunda. She spotted the guard go down and winced, but couldn't compromise her own position to free his strangulation in time.

Enchanting her own voice, she barked a laugh that echoed throughout the chamber.

"I'm nothing like you. You assume too much. Four years is a long time to be wasting away, isn't it?" Her voice betrayed nothing about her 'partner'.

Suddenly, she spotted him, the moonlight striking his wand as he waved it in the subtlelest of movements, and her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Already pondering his next move, she considered the options. The Egg was nowhere to be seen at this point, hidding by the shroud of chaos and debris, so why would he stay? What tricks did he have up his sleeve? There was little time to mull this over - his next move was well underway in his mind, and she had precious little to lose before Darren was sure to make his presence known.

She cursed their location; the magical wing itself was well-accustomed to disturbances and the like, but she couldn't very well send a fissure down the main path unless she wanted the Kremlin up in arms about it. Hissing a well-practiced charm, she sent a doppleganger of herself darting across the hallway, then fired off a few curses in rapid succession. Streaks of red and white arched in a jagged trajectory across the rotunda.

If Darren had known that Asimov thought that he might be Cavanaugh, he'd have been insulted. Not that he didn't think the guy was capable and all that, nor did he dislike James, but he certainly liked to think that he was a little more impressive than all that. For all that he'd been up to these past years, all that he'd survived and learned, he would hope that he could hold out just a little better than a typical Auror. He also wasn't quite so easily predicted as one of Chase's other men, which was what Asimov seemed to expect. At least, he hoped. He could be trusted to be stupid today, but it wouldn't be accidental.

He saw the same movement that Asimov did, though from further away, as the museum guards appeared on the scene. It sucked, seeing them taken off-guard by the madman's attacks, and his first instinct was that he had to do something to help them, but this wouldn't be the first time he had to fight that instinct off. He couldn't betray his position, or they might all end up dead. If he could get past them and do something, he would, but Asimov had to be his priority.

Damn priorities.

Frankly, when he saw the strangling vines, he was glad that he hadn't rushed to try to save them. He'd have been screwed if he got caught in those, trapped for too long even if he managed to fight the things off. He'd have been an easy target, and that wasn't acceptable, not unless it was part of the plan. He was okay being a target or a distraction, as long as it was planned. Like this.

He watched, holding back and keeping still, for any signs of the criminal as his voice rang through the museum. The sounds came from the ventilation, making them sound like they came from everywhere, but that didn't mean jack. Darren had seen movement, and that was really all he had to go on, over by some statues. Was it him? Darren could only hope.

A Ministry man? Ha! This dude had no idea.

Darren threw his own blasting spell at the pair of statues at about the same time that he saw Chase's form streaking across the hallway, spitting spells from that direction. That was all the encouragement he needed, though he was on the move, rushing to a new flanking position in the event his curse missed. He didn't want his position compromised over the spell. With any luck, it hadn't just been a trick of the light that had drawn his eyes there, or the Russians were going to hate him more than he already expected them to.

Asimov watched closely as a small figure flitted across the dimly lit rotunda in the direction he was, but it didn’t trip any of the proximity spells from the Stranglevines. It couldn’t be the real Chase Lang. Instead of waiting for them to target his position, he did a featherjump up to the balcony that led to gallery Three. Unfortunately, he had the heel of his boot taken off by a stray spell that came arcing up through the domed rotunda at the same moment, undoubtedly the work of Miss Lang. This caused him to lose his footing a little on landing and he had to fall into a crouch. It probably saved him, as a blasting spell took apart the statues he’d just left behind and sent chunks of marble upward. It came from a different angle completely, and that indicated the long dormant partner was finally in the fight.

Had he not landed awkwardly, one of the heads might have struck him in the back. As it was, he took a moment to recover, and then the fairie lights came on full force as the timer expired. This lit the rotunda area, and the hallways leading to it with bright white light, and they hung like flares near the dormant lighting fixtures.

Ahah, there he is! Interesting, it’s not Cavanaugh! This fellow's much more of a man. Obviously a Chase Lang favorite. Let's have a blast!

Asimov’s lips curled in a crazed smile as he ducked behind the balcony rail, and sent a reducto spatior blasting spell moved by itself in a zig zag path near the figure that had blasted the statue. The male figure was now darting away in another direction, but too late swerved into the path of the walking blast spell. Floor tiles flew up as the multiple coned explosions rocked the rotunda, and debris flew at savage speed through the air in all directions. Then he backpedaled into Gallery 3, and ran cautiously to the railing of the main corridor, seeking any sign of Chase Lang below. He needed to get back to the Egg of Atlantis, and he was almost there, but he had to keep them at bay for a few seconds to use accio

"Chase Lang Chase Lang! Mustn’t Run, Mustn’t Play! Or she will have a very bad –" his voice died in his throat.

As the exploding marble and shrapnel flew over the enclave she had been ducking behind, spewing debris everywhere over the rotunda, her doppleganger disappeared into the dust clouds; when the air finally cleared, she was nowhere to be seen. Having seized the opportunity to melt away in the chaos of Darren's blasting spell, she had charmed the floor above her to disappear momentarily before leaping upwards, hoping to ambush Asimov as he moved his way towards the Egg of Atlantis. Chase had only moments to set the Geminio curse on the egg itself (which rapidly began duplicating itself) before Asimov's spine-chilling words rang out. Before he could get too far from the banisters, she met him with the tip of her wand.

She wasted no time in sending out her Patronus once more, as it barreled towards Asimov under the blinding faerie lights. She caught Darren's figure below, hoping to catch a glimpse of life under the rubble, but it was too close to tell, and her heart sank even as she readied herself for another round.

"Your fight is with me, Asimov. He's no Ministry man, worth nothing to me or you," came her voice, before her form was obfuscated by the charging form of the polar bear.

Where is he?

Alright, so this guy was seriously playing havoc on his eyes with the back and forth motion from light to dark. He could handle working in bright conditions, as the desert definitely required that in daylight, and he was more than accustomed to darkness, but jumping between the two so swiftly was enough to drive anyone nuts. Darren was no different, except that he couldn't stop and get accustomed to the shift before moving again. Asimov was probably situated somewhere that had protected him somewhat from the sudden brightness. Damn him.

Having moved for a new location immediately after firing, he'd still seen the near miss with the debris from the statue. It had been close, and he'd been right about the criminal's location. He just had to keep up with that, and Asimov couldn't stay that lucky. Of course, Darren had to maintain some luck, too. He saw the curse that Asimov flung his way from the corner of his eye, decided immediately that there was no way in hell he wanted to be involved with that one, and jerked to his right, away from its intended location. The problem was that it was zigging around like it was on crack, and when it connected with the floor (and thankfully not his body, since that would have been like attaching a land mind to himself and playing dodgeball), the tiles exploded everywhere, practically in his face. He had a split second to throw up a shield spell in the hopes of protecting himself from some of the debris, but his body was still rocked backwards with more than its share of abuse from the flying marble.

Ouch was a good word for it.

He hit mostly unbroken marble hard, his body sliding from the momentum and being pelted with more rubble before stopping, and as he struggled to maintain the shield and try to use his arms to protect important areas, he was essentially buried in dust and rock. For a moment, anyway, during which he took a quick inventory of injuries. There was a warmth on his face, on his cheek, that felt suspiciously like blood, and some over his eyebrow, but he didn't think either of the injuries were extreme enough to damage his abilities. There were bruises, cuts, even a good, sharp sting in his back where something might have been cracked in the explosion or landing, but nothing that should hold him up. Good. Moment passed, time to drag his sorry ass out from under the rocks.

He heard Chase yelling back to Asimov, telling the man that Darren wasn't worth anything to either of them, and he knew exactly what she was doing. Another man might have been insulted or hurt by the comment, but he saw it for what it was; her trying to keep Asimov from caring about hurting him. Not cool. He pulled himself out of the pile of rubble with a cough over the dust it kicked up, and there was an instant as he was getting up that he looked down and took in his suddenly extremely disheveled appearance. Dusty, a little bloody, bruised and looking a little worse for wear, he actually barked out a laugh. It'd been a long time since he had a fight like this.

"Oh, come on, Chase, that'd be no fun! That's the best hit I've taken in a long time!" he called out, grinning and laughing and just hoping that it irked Old Man Asimov's ego to have a young auror laughing at his efforts. He was already on the move again, just in case the man tried another attempt at blowing him up, and this time his cover was a little more solid than statues or shadows. He went for a thick marble pillar, which was probably the most secure he was getting. He was still guessing that he was at Asimov's back, or at least, Asimov was between them, so when he saw Chase's bear charging a certain direction, he followed its line of sight before firing a gouging charm at the floor above him. He was seriously going to have to get up to those upper galleries if he was going to be anything other than a target down here. Asimov had the height advantage, at least for now.

Yeah, that settled it. With the gouging charm and the polar bear Patronus to contend with, Darren took a chance on a featherweight charm to jump up to the upper gallery and truly join the brawl. He didn't have any illusions that Asimov wouldn't see him, just that maybe if he could push harder, the man would have to focus on him. Fingers crossed it didn't end in a blasting charm to the face, though he was certain to throw a severing charm of his own in front of him before he landed. No sense in being wide open.

His laugh died as quickly as it had begun when the patronus reappeared coming up from below through the balustrade, and behind it was its owner, who had come up through the flooring.

I ought to practice that spell more often

He snapped a stunning spell at Chase Lang, who wasn’t more than a few yards away, but his aim was poor because of the charging bear. Asimov had just enough time to get out of its way and he managed to keep it from striking him full force. As it was, it caught him a glancing blow and he reeled against a display case. Before he had fully recovered, he heard the voice of the other man, and his metal-wheeled brain recorded that voice, and the inflection. But he had to keep dodging the bear and its owner. He moved aside, and angled a shield spell between the bear and Chase Lang and himself, while he headed for Gallery Five and the archway there. He hadn’t gone far when Chase’s partner suddenly appeared in front of him on the balcony level, preceded by a purple bolt that was a particularly nasty curse that Asimov liked. It neatly sheared the head off Catherine the Great ‘s manikin next to the arch between Gallery Three and Gallery Five. But he was boxed in for the moment.

“Ah, well met, sir, but for shame, killing royalty!” he said, and snapped off an expelliarmus at him as the man landed with the agility of a cat.

There were the windows of the museum behind him, but they offered no easy escape, and his two antagonists were moving to box him in further, he was running out of options except to keep dodging behind things, and duel them. Hopefully he could disable one of them, and get through the arch to his right. At the same time, he thought about these two: The man was different. Not from the Ministry. His voice was British, but he had some kind of dialect mixed into it as if he’d been out of the country for a long time.

“Which one of you is willing to die for the other?” he yelled. There was always one partner that was dominant, now he’d see which one it was.

Coughs racked her figure as she knelt on the carpeted floor of the gallery, the severed marble head of Catherine the Great mere feet away from her. Having been thrown backwards into the empty far wall of the gallery, she cursed silently at her inability to have dodged the Stunner; ironically, she had by now grown to dodging and diving in zigzagging patterns that the straightforward and ill-aimed Stunning Spell hit her quite squarely, leaving her winded and even a tad embarrassed. Darren's appearance gladdened and aggravated her, but before she could shake off the Stunning Spell completely, she heard them exchange spells and spied the flash of scarlet.

In an instant, she was on her feet, trying to ignore the shaking in her thighs. As she stood, she thrust her wand forward with some effort and with a sound like scraping marble, the severed head of Catherine the Great hurtled towards Asimov at great speed. At the same time, Darren's wand snapped out of his hand and flung itself obliquely towards her off the balcony, and she made a grab for it with an extending charm.

The move was oddly reminiscent of her old Seeker days as her fingers closed triumphantly around Darren's wand.

He didn't quite appreciate his landing as much as Asimov seemed to, mostly because he was irritated that the severing charm had missed its intended target, because he was used to his own abilities, and because of the disarming charm that hit him a second after. He'd tried to move the instant he realized Asimov was there, but that attempt at movement did nothing to help him. Why? Because he'd actually tried to tackle the other wizard. At this range, a physical attack was less expected than a magical one, but the disarming charm was enough to throw him off that path.

"Nice shot, old man!" he crowed, not quite as light-hearted as the comment might suggest, but he had to if he wanted the man's attention. He saw his wand cartwheel off across the gallery towards Chase, but didn't move to follow it as he grimaced. He sure as hell didn't like fighting badasses without it, but he wasn't the typical duelist. Instead of making any attempts at getting to Chase, he grabbed the nearest object, a decent-sized chunk of marble that had fallen away from Catherine's statue and pitched it almost like a large baseball towards the dark wizard. He'd been a chaser, and it was a hell of a lot harder to throw a quaffle while sitting on a broomstick and dodging bludgers. He could do THIS.

He moved again, not waiting to see if the marble made contact before he snatched something else up. He didn't even look at it before letting his eyes follow the wizard's movements and throwing that, too. "Who said anything about dying?" he called back to the man, still on the move. Yes, his voice would show Asimov where to attack, but that was part of the point, wasn't it? Chase was quiet, and with any luck, she had two wands in the event that Asimov got hers from her.

As he passed another point of cover, he grabbed up something else, wanting to at least have something in hand. This was a good reminded that he needed to start carrying muggle weapons, too. He always had a knife on him, but distance would have done him a load of good. He'd have to talk to Preston and Deckard if he wasn't utterly exiled from the country after this. If he survived, of course.

Now Asimov was beginning to be annoyed by the whole thing. This was supposed to be a quick grab, and she'd ruined it. It also meant that there were probably reinforcements already on the way, but the potion had worn off, so there was no escape out through the walls in the regular fashion.

He also didn’t have time to gloat over Chase Lang’s apparent disablement when a large chunk of marble struck Asimov’s shoulder, and jarred his wand hand so that another stunning spell went wide of the other Auror. At the same moment, the head of Catherine the Great hurtled for him, and smashed against the windows behind. Chase Lang was back in action, but out of his route for the moment.

His adversary to the right was hurling things, but since he was disarmed by the earlier spell, that gave him a couple of second to move freely. They were too close for comfort.

With one flank open, he did a dodging run straight for the railing of the balcony and leaped off in a feather fall flight to get to the main floor and the Egg of Atlantis. As soon as he landed, however, he was aware that Lang was already back at the railing, and the floor was patterned with bright sparks from some kind of spell she hurled after him. They would be back in action in seconds, but at least he had some distance. He saw a small object glittering in the broken glass of a case on the lower level and grabbed it up, just as his opponents came howling after him.

Flinging herself at the balcony after him, she hesitated two seconds to hurl more shards of debris after him before feather-falling herself, landing on her feet lightly and facing him with two wands. By now the glittering copies of the eggs littered the floor left and right to the gallery beyond the corridor, and she knew that he may as well have given up his pursuit on the egg. He'd be lucky if he left with his liberty intact.

With both wands pointed at him, she crouched low, constructing a shield of marble and glass tiles that decorated the ground around them. Pillars left and right gleamed in the darkness, but a few faerie lights still lingered. Her molasses gaze skimmed over his contorted features, hardened and aged since she had seen him last. Many things had changed since she saw him last, but this time was different - she was older, more experienced, and more bloodthirsty. There would be no Crucio this time around. With strength that she hadn't realized she still had remaining in her reserves, Chase muttered something silently. Two dual bolts of energy, one purple and one red, shot straight for Asimov's figure.

Okay, enough of this. Asimov was on the move, leaping off of the balcony and obviously trying to consider his escape, and that wasn't happening. Besides the failure to capture him, Darren had no intention of explaining this mess (not to mention the guards) to the Russians without a successful capture. At least the marble he'd thrown seemed to have done its job and stopped Asimov from causing more damage. Frankly, Darren was pretty damn pleased with how well they'd fared, so far, since neither of them had been utterly destroyed, yet. He counted that as a win.

Of course, Asimov wasn't out of the picture, either. That meant there was plenty of time to mess up. Damn.

Whatever. He saw the wizard's move and his leap, knew the man was going to use a charm to ease his landing, but Darren didn't personally have that luxury this time. He streaked right past the railing Chase had stopped at to fling more debris at Asimov and over the balcony right after them both, completely lacking in hesitation considering the drop. What was that about landing like a cat? How about landing as a cat?

He shifted mid-leap, hitting the floor on paws and pushing all of that momentum through his body for a new leap - right at the dark wizard. He was right on the tails of Chase's spells, too late to risk being struck with either of them if Asimov were to dodge them, but definitely too quick to give the man much time to react. Besides, how the hell do you react to a massive black cat jumping at you in the dark? Sure, some of those lights were still bouncing around in the air, but at this point, they were merely allowing for atmosphere rather than truly lighting the area. That was fine, since he finally had his feline eyes to tell him everything he needed, including that Chase did have his wand, and that she'd put it to good use.

Good.

He wanted Asimov in that instant, his claws and teeth wanted him, and on the off-chance the wizard escaped initially, Darren had his scent. He'd have him.

Things were disintegrating rapidly, and Asimov knew it, although he would never admit defeat. The Egg was clearly not going to be salvageable amidst the welter of copies rolling about from the nearby gallery, and these two wizards he was fighting were obviously not going to give up or give in; in fact, they seemed to feed off one another. However, as far he he knew, the male partner had only been at the spa, but not before that time. All of this had flashed through his mind as he clawed his way towards cover, but there was little nearby, and the Lang woman was right behind his leap. In fact, she used a double wand attack that forced him to go completely on defense for a moment.

His shield went up just in time to deflect the purple bolt, but he was only able to fire a lightning blast back at her, but all that did was deflect her expelliarmus; and then he had other problems. Out of the darkness of the hall leapt a monstrous form that dived under the lightning blast, and went straight for him. Asimov had no time for another spell, all he could do was apparate back a few yeards. This he did, but in the process he ended up in the only gallery that had no exits other than the way he had come in. Now there was a panther, and the girl facing him. He exchanged a fiew shield and snapshots with her, but he was cornered now, and as soon as her partner changed back from his animagus form, he knew it was over. There was just a chance - one chance.

"The world is going to change whether you kill me or capture me," he said, as he deflected another spell from Lang. "Don't you want to know why they let me out of Azkaban? Don't you want to know why they've been using you to track me? Atlantis awaits, Chase!Don't throw your life away on revenge, be part of something bigger, become something more than they'll let you!"

As he deflected one curse after another, she made her way steadily forward, frequently using only her instrument to hurl the various curses and spells at him - Darren's was used to maintain her Protego shield, and though his lightning blast had singed her shoulder quite badly, she merely flinched and continued. She knew him better than to think that this was over before it was truly over and his wand was in her hand.

Having nearly dropped Darren's wand at his sudden leonine form, she couldn't help the smirk that played at her lips - turned out he had a secret as well, and Chase expected no less than that majestic arc that had landed in a blur and charged for their target. They came upon him in an enclose space, and she glanced sidelong at her 'partner'. Truly, if he hadn't been here tonight, their second encounter may very well have ended quite differently.

She took in his words, initially confused, then skeptical, reminding herself to investigate the matter later. Her jaw remained set as she inched closer. Her wand tip never left its target.

"It's a ruse," she hissed, "I don't care who let you out of Azkaban; you will rue the day you underestimated me and let me escape."

It had been years since she revisited that dark place in her mind, but the flashbacks that had been plaguing her ever since the Verona stakeout suddenly burst forth from their dam and engulfed her in a fit of rage. Without hesitating, Chase steadied her wand and pointed it at him blankly, now merely two feet from him.

A few seconds' pause ensued. The words were there! The Killing Curse was at the tip of her tongue now, just awaiting its hellish release, but each time she resolved to utter them her resolve faded. Asimov was by now cornered, and she was no murderer. Time had healed more than she had realized, and in their triumph, she quite suddenly had no interest in destroying this man's life.

"Expelliarmus!" A brilliant flash of red, and his wand flew from his grasp with a violent crack.

If Darren had possessed human lips and vocal chords when Asimov started spitting his final defense, he'd have called him on it immediately. He'd kept up with the older wizard's backwards apparating, following and remaining on-guard for any spells the man might through his way, but he couldn't get in close enough with the spells being thrown back and forth between Chase and Asimov to take him down. He ended up pacing around the edges, trying to dive in to get a shot or two with claws before he was driven back. Chase still had his wand and was using it wisely to maintain a shield, so he wasn't shifting back. Then, he'd just be clumsier and slower, which wasn't acceptable. He'd taken a glancing blow or two because of his more daring attempts at Asimov's flesh, and he didn't even want to consider how badly those could have gone if he didn't have feline reflexes on his side.

They had him cornered when Asimov attempted a verbal tactic in getting out of this, and Darren's eyes found Chase's face, his tail flicking about in nervous anticipation of the end. Frankly, he was considering charging the wizard whether Chase made up her mind or not, considering the hesitation. Hesitation got people killed. He didn't like it, but he also didn't like the look on her face. He didn't know exactly what was going through her mind at the moment, but it looked bad, and if someone was going to have Asimov's death on their conscience, he didn't want it to be her. Revenge didn't sit well with most people. The muscles in his legs were already tightening, ready to spring and end it for her when she disarmed the bastard.

He jumped anyway, springing forward in a flash of black fur and white teeth. No, he wasn't going to kill the man or even hurt him badly, but whereas Chase thought the fight was over when the wand was in her hand, Darren preferred his opponent to be down. Hadn't he just proven himself that a wizard without a wand wasn't necessarily beaten? Better certain than finding out that Asimov had a surprise of his own in store for them.

The snow flurries limited visibility around the vast Museum, but Hugh didn't need visual sighting to find the place along the river, the car was doing most of the navigating at this point. It was early in the morning, and the weather didn't look to be getting any better. Aurelia was asleep in the passenger seat, partly covered by a blanket. He had no idea whether they'd even find Chase and Darren, but he knew the place well enough, and the grounds surrounding it. The glow of the city itself was just visible through the snowfall as they flew along the riverfront and the museum grew in the windscreen from a ghostly white outline to a more solid shape. The radio on the dashboard crackled suddenly to life with a babble of Russian verbal hysteria, that he couldn't make out.

"We're here," Hugh said. "Something's going on."

-------------------------

The call came into Okhrana Central about 3:00 AM that there'd been a break in at the Museum of Magical History, and none of the guards were responding. Six FSB Aurors were rousted out and were already on their way, with the veteran Anton Koniev leading them.


------------------------


With his wand gone, Asimov simply threw up his hands as Chase Lang’s wand hovered right in front of him. The panther had its paws within striking distance, too, and had a ferocious gleam to match his own. The girl was right, what did she care if the top bosses had set her up for this? It was a pity that so many talented people were in the Auror Department now, for Asimov, in his grandiose plans, could have made a lot of use of them. It wasn’t like the old days, was it? She was somewhat blocking the panther’s direct approach to him, and he could see her hesitating…hesitating to kill, perhaps? He dropped his voice to a whisper as she held him at wand point. She was very close.

“So this is how you want it to end? A quick trip back to Azkaban? Or you could simply kill me right here, right now. Not for revenge, perhaps, but satisfaction. We all have the light and dark in us, don’t we? You could find out where you really are. Atlantis awaits, and a new world order!”

Her face and eyes mirrored the hatred in his own, and his eyes changed, too. He slowly lowered his arms, and his voice took on a different pitch.

“I am sorry for you, Chase, you don’t have the nerve after all, do you? I’ll see you soon!”

Then the dagger in his sleeve shot forward, propelled by the full force of hate coursing through Asimov’s entire body.

Having decided that - despite her darkest wishes - she was no murderer, Chase had slipped Darren's wand into her back pocket, ready for handing off when he finally shifted back. She was much more comfortable with just her own wand, and made a mental note to free up more practice time with dual-casting; silent spells and wandless spells were much more taxing and she had grown tired of getting nosebleeds.

She merely ignored Asimov's warning of doom and shifted slightly to cast an eye on what Darren planned to do.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the flash of black fur and sharp teeth, but before she could protest, she felt a nastily sharp pain in her side. A shudder ran through her slight frame as the strength flowed from her, staining the carpet below crimson. She dared a peek downward, noting the embedded blade in her side before the maniacal laughter reverberated through the chamber once more.

The grip on her wand slackened and she wavered, suddenly unable to grasp the floor with her palms, and sank for what seemed like years towards the ground. There was a blissful sort of constant humming in her ears and though the searing pain had illicited an involuntary, guttural gasp from her, it seemed to have ebbed now. She noticed very dimly that she was slumped on her side, and, with her right hand anchored into the wet carpet, grasped for the blade's hilt as though to dislodge it from its position but thought better of it, returning her blood-streaked hand to the ground. The ring Preston had given her was still attached to it.

<Is this how muggles do it? It's so barbaric...>

Dimly aware that she was dying, Chase had half a mind to retrieve her wand, to get up and help Darren, and a multitude of other tasks, but the wave of exhaustion was impossible to resist and her legs felt terribly far away from her. Her molasses gaze, heretofore following the chaotic blur unfolding before her, flickered twice before she succumbed to the white fade that beckoned her.

Darren saw the flash of silver in the instant before he impacted Asimov's frame, and frankly, he was shocked when he didn't feel the tell-tale pressure of the blade in the seconds after. He knew the sensation, knew what a knife looked like in those instants of movement, and he had fantastic, triumphant moment of thinking that the criminal had missed his target before he hit the floor on top of Asimov's form, let his momentum carry him off of the man, and then twisted around to keep him still. He glanced Chase's way, a sudden weight in his gut like something was wrong, the scent of blood suddenly flooding his brain, and it all made sense.

Asimov hadn't missed.

One of the differences between he and Chase over the years was made clear in that next instant, when he took hold of the fallen wizard with claws, blood pooling from sudden tears against his paws, then sank his teeth into the man's throat. It was a taste that he wished he didn't relish, but a hunter can hardly help being satisfied by the blood of prey. The fear and anger at the prospect of losing Chase only fueled that desire more, enough that he went from being willing to merely hold the criminal captive until he could be transported back to Azkaban to deciding that Asimov wouldn't live. Obviously, he had it in him to kill, had done it before, and when someone said it got easier every time? They were right.

The jugular is messy, and Asimov didn't exactly sit still for the moments he had remaining, so Darren's black fur was very quickly matted with blood, but he didn't care. It was on his face, his chest, his paws, even as far as his shoulders from the man's frantic grabs, but he didn't let go until the movement stopped. It didn't take long at all. Mission accomplished, he tore himself away from the hot blood, stalking towards Chase as her consciousness wavered, and a single thought slipped through his mind.

Barbaric.

Barbaric. It was, wasn't it? Death was death, never kind or neat, but he'd certainly made a mess out of things in the absolute most literal sense, and so had Asimov. Her thought flit through his head like the flame on a candle, though, warming cold killer instincts and drawing the heat of rage and...something else. He shed the feline form in an instant, the slow prowl gone for a frantic, rushed step before he crashed to his knees beside her, oblivious of the painful contact with the marble floor. He was almost afraid to touch her when he really took in the sticky darkness of the blood already coating his skin and clothes, like he might contaminate her with what he'd done, but she was dying. He had to try to stop it.

Having missed seeing her put his wand in her back pocket, Darren scooped hers up, mumbling the best healing spell he knew as he tried to put pressure around the knife that was still stuck in her side. All he really ended up doing was cutting his own hands in the process, a completely unnoticeable addition to the blood already coating both of them, and frantically turning to other ideas. He had to release her some to pull his own shirt off, but since that was all he really had to try to hold back her valuable blood, that was what he was pressing against her body, as delicately around the knife as he could. She seemed to be completely gone, still breathing but lost to the waking world, but he couldn't help at least thinking his reassurances at her. Even if she couldn't hear it, he had to tell himself it was true.

I've got you, Chase, stay right here with me. You're going to be fine, just stay.

Some kind of an alarm must have been set off, so surely someone was on their way? Had Preston come through on the letter? It must have updated, he knew that he had to have charmed it properly, so Preston would have known as soon as Darren was nearly blown up that the fighting had started and that he'd been blooded. He'd left the luggage tag with it. Preston was smart, Darren had to believe that he'd pull through, or that someone was already on their way to see about the alarms. He had to believe it because he didn't want to leave Chase long enough to get help, and he didn't actually know where in this city a magical hospital was. He'd been there only a few hours, most of those had been spent casing the museum.

I only just got you back, you can't leave.

They had to move. He couldn't stand waiting here. It'd only been a few moments from the time he'd reached her side, and most of those had been used to deal with her injury, but already he couldn't wait. He had to find help, somewhere or how. If he had to break something in another wing to try to set off a different alarm, he'd do it. Consequences and Russians be damned. He used her wand once again to form a floating stretcher, trying harder to be careful than he thought he ever had in his life.

We'll get you through this. Just, trust me and hang on.