SHATTERED

First 14 pages by R2 (with permission to edit and post), edited & extended by Heart's a Mess

A/N: I can't tell you how much I love writing these characters. I sliced/edited a tiny story from a wonderful gal (with her approval), R2. I choose to leave Alex Monroe out of the picture because this story was complex enough for my skills, and I don't really have a feel for her character yet. Looking at this piece now, I think that I've evolved somewhat as a writer, hopefully for the better. And if you give them time, (and a few episodes) you'll fall in love with Inviso Boy, Lithium Bob, Fat Man, Eberts and the Keep; the Underfunded 5, just like I did.

Like all authors, please let me know what you think and leave a review. It helps me to become a better writer, and you want to read better stories, don't you? ;)

The pain was intense, both horrible and incredible. He had never experienced such a terrible magnitude of agony before, not even in the firmest grip of quicksilver madness. It felt like thousands of fiery knives piercing his flesh and setting his nerves aflame. The air had grown solid and thick, clogging his nose and mouth, restricting his ability to breathe. He coughed to clear his airway and nearly passed out as a searing blast of white-hot pain lanced through him. He drew in a breath to scream and tasted the coppery bitterness of his blood in the back of his throat.

He decided to lie as still as humanly possible, focusing all of his attention on the simple task of breathing; it was almost impossible since each time he inhaled his shattered ribs screamed at him. As he lay there, Darien decided that he was on top of a mound of loose dirt and small rocks. They bit and dug into his back and shoulders, adding to his misery.

He gingerly moved his right leg around and he could feel the small pebbles rolling with his movement. His leg did not go far before it encountered resistance. He gently pushed on whatever it was, but when it showed absolutely no signs of moving, he stopped. Repeating the procedure with his left leg, simply because it took his mind off the raw, throbbing nerve his entire body had become. It also did not get very far before encountering the same resistance.

Darien sighed painfully to himself and realized that there was a heavy object lying just a few feet above him, dangerously low and throwing his breath back at him. It appeared that he was surrounded, trapped…but by what?

In the pitch black, Darien grimaced at a nauseating attack of vertigo; the events of what had happened slowly began to come back to him in blurred fragments. The Official had sent him and Hobbes to the scene of a terrorist takeover; the militant group had taken several hostages and was threatening to detonate an innocent stack of C4 unless their demands had been met. The plan had been for him to go invisible and neutralize the situation from within. Things had not gone according to the plan and the bomb had been detonated.

Everything after that was blurred beyond all recognition. Darien closed his eyes as his head began to beat a rhythm in time with his heart. He hoped that someone found him soon; the mass above him was beginning to shift and groan dangerously.

"An explosion?!" Claire's blue eyes widened in disbelief then concern.

Standing calmly near the desk she was sitting at, the Official looked coolly at the Keeper, the ever-present Eberts directly behind him.

"The terrorist group detonated the bomb at the downtown museum a few moments ago."

"The downtown museum?!"

The Official frowned and cocked his head to the side as he gazed down at her, "Why are you finding it necessary to repeat the information I'm telling you?"

Instead of answering, Claire shook her head and got to her feet, folding her arms in front of her. Eberts was fiddling with a small stack of papers, doing his best to try and ignore both of them. " Darien was in that building."

"I am quite aware of Agent Fawkes' whereabouts," the Official replied neutrally.

Anger flashed like lightning in her blue eyes again, "Then what are you going to do?"

The Official studied the Keeper for a moment, "I have initiated an emergency response," he said in a tone that one would normally use on a child. "I have sent over several agents to assist in the recovery of Darien Fawkes and I want you down there as well so you can bring him back here."

Claire sputtered and gaped at the man, "What? What do you mean 'bring him back here'? If Darien was trapped by that explosion, then he may have injuries that I am ill equipped to deal with!"

The Official's gaze was hard, "I cannot risk the knowledge of the gland being uncovered in a local hospital."

Stunned fury began to burn on her face as she understood the meaning behind his words. "To hell with the gland! We're talking about a man's life here!"

"We're also talking about 17-million-dollars worth of research and development not to mention several years of planning and funding in order to give this Agency an edge. It took countless manpower and even more effort to get this project off the ground and," he pointed a stubby finger, "I will not risk jeopardizing the future of the entire I-Man project."

Claire refused to back down, "And I will not put an innocent man's life at risk. Darien has already sacrificed–"

"Agent Fawkes knew the risks."

"Since when?" Claire countered with an angry toss of her head, " Darien's been tricked, manipulated and conned from the very start! He has no idea–"

"Enough!" he barked, his voice carrying like thunder across the lab. He took a step forward and came to stand directly in front of Claire.

"You will go to the downtown museum, you will take custody of Darien Fawkes and you will bring him back here for any necessary treatment."

Without another word, he turned and began stalking out of the lab; Eberts giving an apologetic glance before hurrying to keep up with his superior.

"What happens if Darien dies as a result?" Claire called out angrily after him, "What then?"

The Official paused as the lab doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. "The gland can survive for two days until it is harvested," he replied, then turned and was gone. The heavy door closed with a metallic groan, shutting in a horrified Claire.

Darien groaned and squeezed his swollen eyes shut, breathing was beginning to grow more difficult as the seconds ticked by. He felt as if the weight of the entire world was resting squarely in the middle of his chest and it was crushing his lungs. Left alone in the black, his eyes had slowly grown accustomed to the near-total darkness and he was able to make out small specs of light creeping in here and there. He was able to vaguely make out the silhouettes of large objects above and beside him; it felt like he was in a tomb and the sensation was very unnerving. Darien had considered quicksilvering his eyes for a better view of his surroundings, but he had no idea how long he would be trapped here and he didn't want to risk even the remotest possibility of quicksilver madness in his current condition.

Through the silence, the soft moans of the wounded began to waft in and swim around him. Darien wanted to call out to them, to let them hear the sound of another human voice, but it was taking all of his slowly ebbing strength to concentrate on his breathing and on the steadily increasing pain saturating his broken body.

A small, thin voice suddenly cut through the darkness and quiet, "Is anybody out there?"

Darien was surprised to hear the voice sounding so close. At first he thought that he had imagined it; that he was going into shock and his mind was beginning to play tricks on him. He slowly moved his head from side to side, but couldn't see much through the darkness or the objects that trapped him.

"Hello?" the voice called again and Darien realized that he was not imagining it; it sounded like that of a teenager. A very frightened girl, coming from the blackness somewhere above him.

"Hey there," his own voice was weak and the very act of speaking sent ripples of pain along his neck and shoulders.

He wasn't sure she had heard him when the voice called out, "Where are you?"

Through the haze of pain, Darien had to think about that one. "I don't know," he wheezed, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head. "Do you know where you are?"

He immediately realized the question was pointless, why would the girl have asked if she knew the answer. There was a brief moment of silence, "It's too dark," the voice said to him honestly, "I can't see."

"It's dark here too," Darien replied.

"I'm scared," she admitted in a small voice. He heard her shifting around slightly, her movement caused a light shower of dust to fall and coat Darien's hair.

Me too, Darien thought to himself, out loud he said, "Don't worry, someone is going to come and get us out of here very soon," I hope, he added silently. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Thera. What's your name?"

Ralph, he said to himself automatically. " Darien, my name is Darien."

As silence once again fell into the black, Darien closed his eyes and listened to the whimpers and cries of the injured. The pain in his head and along his body was almost a tangible thing now, and the crushing weight on his chest made it nearly impossible to catch his breath. As if things weren't bad enough already, Darien noticed that the air he was breathing was beginning to go stale; there was obviously no circulation.

Come on, Hobbes, he mused to himself, save my ass.

Bobby Hobbes decided that he was standing on the precipice of hell itself. There was now a very large crater where the marble steps leading up to the museum had once been. Equally large chunks of debris littered the surrounding area for hundreds of yards in every direction and smoke was drifting lazily up into the sky, emanating from within the open wound in the earth. The museum itself looked as if a giant hand had come by and taken a huge chunk out of it. The entire front hall of the building was now simply a mass of twisted metal and rubble on the ground and half the roof had been blown off and could be found lying halfway down the street.

Hobbes closed his eyes, but the terrible image was burned painfully into his memory along with the cold and horrible realization that Darien Fawkes was in there somewhere.