Shattered

Quietly Eric moved around the kitchen, making himself a slice of toast. The sound of footsteps behind him alerted him to the fact that he hadn't been quiet enough. For a second, he tensed.

"It's seven o'clock and a Saturday," Kimberly mumbled.

Eric relaxed. It wasn't the person he was hoping to avoid. "Sorry -- I didn't mean to wake you."

"Felt you get up," Kimberly answered. "Always wakes me." He heard her start to cross the kitchen towards him. "What're you doing?"

"I'm..." He sighed and turned to face her. "I thought I'd get out of here before..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Kimberly frowned for a moment trying to work out what he meant, but as his meaning filtered through her sleep-fogged mind, Eric watched her expression mutate into annoyance. "Alice is the one in the wrong -- you did everything you could."

Eric sighed. Did I? He shrugged. "I guess."

Kimberly shook her head vehemently. "No 'guess' about it. Wes and Jen were clear about what happened. You did all you could. It was not. your. fault."

Eric turned back in time to catch the carbonised slice of toast as it popped out of the toaster. "I know."

"And still you're the one giving ground." Kimberly sounded angry.

Eric winced. "Kim -- she's right," he said.

"No she's not!"

Slowly, Eric turned back to face his wife. "Kim -- she is right. I promised I would never hurt either of you and regardless of the circumstances yesterday afternoon, I broke that promise."

Kimberly stared at him, incredulous. "Eric, yesterday was an accident!"

Eric shook his head. "I know that here," and he tapped the side of his head, "but that doesn't make me feel any better. I need to deal with it myself before I can face Alice."

"She'll have calmed down by now..."

"Kim, I came within a hair's breadth of killing her yesterday," Eric found himself snapping. "I still don't know how I didn't. How can I face Alice when I can't face myself?" Eric winced as Kimberly took an involuntary step backwards. "I'm sorry. I..." But he trailed off because there was nothing else he could say.

It was Kimberly's turn to shake her head -- but she had no words either.

Eric sighed and headed towards the door into the garage, pausing to collect his keys from the bowl on the counter.

"Where are you going?" Kimberly asked, her voice neutral.

Eric winced again. Two for two. "Work," he replied, not looking at Kimberly.

"Is that your answer?" Kimberly yelled. "Something bad happens to me, I must therefore spend more time at work?"

Eric spun round to face her once more. "No!" he retorted.

"You're running. Again."

Before he could quite control the impulse, he took a step towards Kimberly. "I am not running and I stopped burying myself in my work the day I met you and Alice."

"Well that's sure what it looks like," Kimberly shot back, anger written large on her face.

"Kim, I am not running. I..." Eric pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rein in his temper before he did something else he'd regret. Quieter, he continued, "I'm going into work to use the gym and to see if Zaskin has anything to report on what we cleared up yesterday."

She stared at him.

"Kim, I want to know what is going on. I want to know who it is that tried to abduct my daughter and put her through yesterday afternoon, and I want to know where that piece of scum is hiding so that I can go and pound whoever it is into the dust." His shoulders sagged. "Because at least that way I'll be doing some good."

Without offering Kimberly the chance to reply to that, Eric swiftly headed into the garage and made his escape.

~*~

Kimberly folded her arms around herself as Eric departed, half wishing Alice could see how bad he felt -- and being totally glad that neither Alice nor her brother John had witnessed the fight.

She knew that Eric had not slept well -- point of fact, nor had she -- but she hadn't truly realised just how badly he was hurting. Hadn't realised, she noted, because even after ten years of marriage, he still found it hard to let her in.

It was something that Kimberly knew and accepted as part of Eric. He'd spent a lot longer almost completely alone, with no-one he could talk to, than he had knowing he had people he could trust. She grimaced -- understanding it didn't make it any easier to live with at times like this.

It didn't make it hurt any less.

She couldn't help but hope she would hear the sound of the SUV returning. Couldn't help but hope to see Eric return in the same kind of hurry that he'd departed in, to apologise to her and to...

No -- that wasn't Eric.

Spontaneity was not something he did well. When he was ready, they would talk this all through and he would apologise...and the next time would be easier. Kimberly smiled faintly to herself. Eric was nothing if not stubborn. When he set his mind to do something -- like changing the habits of a lifetime -- he did his best to do it. There were backslides -- this one perhaps being the biggest -- but he had improved.

And the only reason he'd improved was for her.

Which was why she owed it him to be patient.

Kimberly sighed. In the meantime, she had to talk to Alice -- and that was not something she was looking forward to.

~*~

"That's mine!"

"Lexia go away!"

"Give it back!"

"Lexia go away!"

"But that's mine!"

Wes rolled over and looked at Jen, who was apparently still asleep. "Guess it's up to me to go adjudicate on this particular outbreak of World War Three?"

Jen cracked an eye open. "Would you?"

She sounded tired. "Are you OK?" Wes asked, tuning out the continuing arguments, judging no-one was in imminent danger of dying.

"Just..." Jen sighed. "Exhausted," she admitted. Her eye slid shut once more. "Deal with the kids...I'll be OK."

Wes studied her for a few moments. "Sure?"

"Uh-huh."

Wes sighed and rolled out of bed. Maybe Jen was just tired -- after all, the previous day had been anything but restful. Whatever the robots had been, Cyclobots or whatever, they had not been easy opponents. Particularly given the ten-year break between ranger outings, a couple of search-and-rescue operations not withstanding. But then again, he mused slipping on his robe and heading towards the source of the squabbles, Jen had been tired a lot recently. A fact that he was well aware of, and something that was quietly giving him cause for concern.

Then he entered the living room and all other worries evaporated in the face of the scene his eyes fell on.

His seven-year-old daughter, Lexia, was sitting in the middle of the floor in floods of tears. Rick, his ten-year-old son, and John, Eric and Kimberly's nine-year-old, were sitting either side of her. Rick was holding Lexia's Barbie. Both he and John looked a little nonplussed at the tears.

"He took my doll!" Lexia howled.

"Just wanted to..." Rick began.

Wes sighed. Time to be daddy...

~*~

The punching bag bore witness to Eric's state of mind.

It had been a long time since Ben had seen the bag so abused. More than ten years, that was certain, even allowing for Alice's more recent temper tantrums. He sighed.

"It's not what you're thinking, Ben," Eric stated without even looking round.

Ben blinked. "How'd you know it was me?"

Eric stilled. "Fifty-fifty choice between you and Jen. Figured, since it's a Saturday and you're on shift, it would be you." Slowly he turned around. "But this isn't what you're thinking."

Ben just met Eric's gaze. "So we're not standing in the gym and you haven't just been beating the hell out of a poor, defenceless punching bag because you're frustrated as hell over what happened yesterday." Eric had the grace to look faintly sheepish. "So how is Alice today?"

Tiredly, Eric moved towards a convenient bench and sat down. "I don't know. Haven't seen her today to ask."

Ben winced. "Is this 'I'm not prepared to face her yet and explain to her how she got hurt' or is this 'she found out and she's pissed at me'?"

"Neither." Ben just looked at Eric. "Both." Ben's eyebrows shot up. "I don't know." Eric picked up a towel and buried his face in it. "It's complicated."

"What did she do last night?" Ben asked. "Compare you to that scuzz-bucket, no-good, lazy-ass son-of-a-bitch Dirk Cunningham?" From the way Eric's shoulders tensed at the question, Ben knew he was on target. "It's not true, man, and you know that."

"But I could have been."

Ben froze. "What?"

"I said I could have been. There but for the Grace of God and all that -- Dirk Cunningham is how I could have ended up." Eric dropped the towel and met Ben's gaze. "I was half way there already when I met Kim."

For a long second, Ben stared, incredulously, at Eric. "Man -- you have more issues than Oprah!" Eric opened his mouth but Ben shook his head. "Nu-uh. No way are you gonna justify that one to me. You're gonna hear me out. For a change." Eric's mouth closed with a snap. "You are not, nor have you ever been, in the entire time I've known you, a low down, low class, white trash, wife beating, welfare grabbing, beer swilling, porn watching asshole. And if you can't tell the difference, I'll spell it out: You seriously think if you were like that sack o'shit Cunningham you'd be sitting here worrying about something you had no control over?

"He meant to hit Kim when he hit her; he meant to hit Alice when he hit her. You? You got used by whoever's runnin' them damn robots. I know what I saw," Ben added, "and that goddamn lame-ass robot moved Alice right into your path. If you'd really been like Cunningham, you think that woulda made a difference? You think he'da pulled his punch? Not fuckin' likely. And," he continued, as Eric opened his mouth again, "what's more, Alice knows that. So does Kim." He paused. "And so do you, somewhere in that thick skull o' yours."

"So you're saying I'm being an idiot and I shouldn't feel like the worst kind of shit?"

"Oh man are you so full of shit!" Ben groaned. "That is not what I'm saying." Eric stared at him. "If you didn't feel guilty about it, you wouldn't be any better than Cunningham. But you do, and that's good. Now set it aside." Eric's stare turned incredulous. "I mean it. Yesterday was a goddamned accident. It was not your fault. It doesn't suddenly mean you've turned into..."

"I get it!" Eric cut in.

"Do you?" Ben retorted.

"Yes."

"Or, when I walk outta here to go see if Zaskin's got news, are you just gonna get up and start pounding the hell outta that bag again?" The faintly sheepish vaguely mulish set to Eric's expression told Ben everything he needed to know. "I see."

"You see what?" Anger now flashing through Eric's eyes.

"I see that you're too busy beating up on yourself to actually think about this."

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious." Ben crossed his arms. "Those robots were sent to nab Alice, right?" Angry but puzzled, Eric nodded. "So what's to be gained by risking her getting killed? You wanna kidnap someone; you don't wanna kill 'em. You want 'em for something." Eric made a winding motion with his hand. Ben growled. "Oh for fuck sake, Eric, you're not dumb. It's not Alice they want to hurt, it's you. And you are goddamn letting them win!"

~*~

Wes quietly put the finishing touches to the breakfast tray. The children had been easily pacified -- the disputed doll had been returned to its owner, which settled Lexia, while Rick had been instantly contrite -- although Wes knew peace wouldn't last. And if Jen was tired, the last thing she'd want to deal with was a trio of almost hyperactive children. Besides which, John needed to go home -- assuming the coast was clear, of course.

So Wes planned to take the children out to the park for a couple of hours so that they could run off their excess energy, then he would take John home and in the peace and quiet their absence generated, Jen would be able to get some rest.

Casting his eye over the tray of toast, jelly and orange juice, he decided it was done. He picked it up and carried it through to the bedroom. Jen was lying in bed, although the second he walked into the room she opened her eyes.

"What's this?" she enquired.

"Breakfast," Wes replied.

Jen wriggled into a sitting position, allowing Wes to put the tray down in her lap. "Why?"

Wes smiled as he started to get dressed. "Aren't I allowed to spoil my wife from time to time?"

"I'm all right," Jen promised, lavishly spreading jelly over a slice of toast. And that was when Wes realised what the 'problem' was. The jelly he'd absently put on the tray -- and the jelly that Jen was now eating with great appetite -- was gooseberry. It was a substance that under 'normal' circumstances neither he nor Jen liked. Except when she had been pregnant. And now, so it seemed.

"Uh-huh." Wes pulled on his jeans and tested his theory. "And do you want me to lay in a stock of anchovy paste and gherkins?" he asked, naming the other two things she'd had major cravings for.

Jen blushed and grimaced at the same time. "You know."

Wes sat down on the bed beside her. "I guessed. Is it certain?"

Jen shook her head. "I've got a doctor's appointment on Monday -- I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. Particularly after yesterday."

Wes sighed and snagged one of her hands, giving it a squeeze. "I wish you'd have told me -- how long have you suspected?"

Jen looked vaguely guilty. "A couple of days."

"If you'd have told me, we could have done something different yesterday. Taylor or Ben..."

"Can't hold my morpher," Jen cut in. "And if it is Cyclobots..."

"We'll find a way around it," Wes finished, firmly. Jen opened her mouth to protest. "Don't argue. You know as well as I do that morphing and pregnancy do not go well together." That had been a lesson they had learned during her pregnancy with Rick.

Jen glared. "I was all right for the first six weeks." Wes just gave her 'The Look'. "OK, four weeks," she admitted sheepishly.

Wes dropped a kiss on her cheek. "It's OK," he said gently. "We will find a way around it."

"Is this going to involve me doing all the paperwork for the next nine months?" Jen asked in resignation.

Wes grinned. "Well that's always an option, but I think we'd both prefer not to take it."

"Damn straight."

"We'll talk about it on Monday -- once we know for sure," Wes promised, standing up. "Meantime, I'll take the kids to the park and you can have a nice, lazy Saturday morning."

Jen offered him a smile. "Thank you."

~*~

Kimberly paced the kitchen. She was dressed now and ready for the day. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself.

In truth, she was far from ready. The prospect of talking to Alice was unpalatable to say the least. In her, Kimberly could see so much of her ex-husband, and not just in terms of looks, either. Kimberly knew that her own temper tended to be explosive when provoked but Alice's was far worse -- and if anything, it was getting worse as she got older.

Kimberly could see where Alice was heading. Could see it clearly. Could see the trouble heading their way if she didn't learn to curb her temper better...and felt powerless to stop the onslaught. When Alice was calm, she was perfectly rational -- she even knew that her temper was a problem. It didn't seem to help. She'd promise to try harder or do better...and the next outburst would be worse than the previous one.

Kimberly closed her eyes and groaned.

She couldn't do this.

But not doing this was akin to giving up, and that wasn't an option either.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes again and glanced at her watch. Coming up to eleven o'clock. She couldn't put this off any longer.

But as she headed towards Alice's bedroom door, the doorbell rang. Kimberly smiled wryly. Saved by the bell?

She reached the front door and opened it, only to find herself looking up at a lanky man with an over-prominent Adam's apple and glasses, wearing a decidedly grungy looking raincoat and an outlandish fedora hat. Kimberly stared.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The man smiled. "Mrs Myers?" he enquired, Adam's apple bobbing rapidly.

"Ye-es."

He pulled a canister from his coat pocket. "Nighty-night." Before Kimberly could question the odd remark, he sprayed the canister's contents into her face and everything faded to black.

~*~

Wes watched with a smile as John, Rick and Lexia bounded into the park.

It was early and they had the play area to themselves, which was just how the trio liked it, and for a second it was like any other visit to the park.

In the next second, everything changed.

Cyclobots materialised all around them and everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion.

Wes started forwards, yelling at the children to run, but a whole pack of the bronze robots grabbed him, wrestling him to the ground.

Lexia screamed.

One of the other 'bots grabbed her. Another grabbed a completely petrified Rick.

John tried to run, amply demonstrating that he'd inherited his father's innate ability to function even under tightest pressure, but the wiles of a nine-year-old were no match for the artificial intelligence that the Cyclobots now seemed to be wielding, and he too was captured.

"Targets acquired."

The Cyclobots vanished in a haze of teleportation sparkles, leaving Wes alone...

TO BE CONTINUED...