Title:                Shattered Image

Author:            The Dreamy One

Feedback:            sdjolly@bellsouth.net

Type:               Action/Adventure/Romance

Rating:            R (Some Violence and Sexual Situations)

Summary:            A weekend evaluation reveals a haunted past that left several lives shattered. 

Disclaimer:            UC:Undercover and its characters belong to Shane Salerno, NBC, et al.  All original characters are the creation of the author.  No infringements intended. 

~*~

"We're going where?" Cody questioned loudly, tossing the folder containing their orders onto the table. 

Donovan issued him a formidable look causing the gangly agent to quickly retrieve his orders.  "The final destination is classified."

"What's this all about Donovan?" Alex asked, flipping through the few pages the file held.  Her ice blue eyes locked onto his stern brown eyes.  She read immediately that no answers would be forthcoming.  If they weren't inside the file, they would not get them from him.

"It's about survival, Cross.  Plain and simple," he supplied enigmatically.  His hand went reflexively to his hair, his fingers sliding through it and then massaging the nape of his neck.  He was just as irritated as they were, but orders were orders.  From time to time every agent was required to show they still had what it took to be a government agent, especially those sent to special operations.  His team was no exception.

"We survive every day," Jake complained.  "This seems a bit redundant."

Donovan shook his head.  The only silent one in the bunch was Monica.  He watched as she studied the assignment without uttering one single sound.  In his estimation, this endeavor would be most difficult on her and yet she took it in, processed it, and set it aside until the necessary time for reaction.  He just hoped for her sake, it was a level headed one.

He looked over his team.  Cody Forrester – computer hacker extraordinaire; his goofy sense of humor matched his nerdy looks.  Alex Cross – her beautiful doe eyes belied the dangerous activities she was capable of performing.  Jake Shaw – Hispanic tough kid from the streets summed him up quite well.  Although he was learning, he still had a long way to go.  Monica Davis – intelligent, African-American woman from the wrong side of the tracks.  People were an open book to her; she could read them so well.  She was a strong asset to his team.  They all were.

Each of his team contributed in a way that all bases were covered exceptionally well.  He would settle for no less.  If any one of them had not measured up to his standard, he would not have hesitated in having them replaced. 

This weekend had been planned to test their ability to work as a team as well as their survival instincts.  Not just theirs, but his.  He would be taking them out of their element and into situations that, although monitored, would still likely be dangerous. 

"We'll be flying out of Midway for Florida Thursday morning.  Friday morning we will be transported to an undisclosed site where the exercise will commence," Donovan informed them.  He gave them one last look before turning toward his office.  "You have the remainder of this week off, people."

"So, there's nothing you can tell us?" Jake asked expectantly.  "No intel as to what we can expect upon arrival?"

Donovan shook his head as he made his way up the stairs.  "None," he lied.  There was plenty he could tell them, but he was under orders not to disclose any information he had from previous exercises.  He had been through many over the years, whether it be CIA or FBI training.  One thing he could tell them, it was no picnic.

"Donovan," Alex called to his retreating back.

"See you Thursday morning," he answered coldly, closing his office door behind him.

~*~

The flight was uneventful and the team was diverted from the jetway to a side stairwell that took them from the terminal directly to the ground where a military vehicle awaited them.  As soon as they stepped through the terminal's doorway, the thick, heavy Florida heat and humidity hit them like a brick wall.  Every lungful of air was a battle all its own. 

The silence in the vehicle was deafening.  Donovan knew each of his team wanted to ply him with questions.  They were going into a situation blind, something no agent welcomed.  He imagined the nauseating fear of the unknown that undoubtedly started to build in the pit of their stomachs.  It was a feeling he was well acquainted with, yet he was compelled not to allay their worries.

When they finally reached their destination, they were taken to the military base's command headquarters.  They were met by commanding officer Captain Benjamin Wainwright. 

Wainwright rose from his comfy executive chair and rounded his desk to greet his visitors.  He knew the lead agent immediately, having gone over each of the new arrival's profiles.  "Agent Donovan," he greeted, extending a hand.  "If you and your people will come this way," he insisted, motioning back toward the door they had just entered.

Donovan shook Wainwright's hand firmly.  The 6'0", slightly bald, Base Commander looked intimidating his dress uniform, and Donovan assumed he had worn it just to impress his government visitors.  These sorts of exercises were probably not new to the commander, but as they say "one must dress to impress".  By the look on Cody's face alone, Donovan would say that Wainwright had succeeded. 

Donovan and his team followed solemnly behind Wainwright.  They entered a small conference room just a few feet away from the commander's office.  He had prepared himself for this meeting and yet as soon as his eyes beheld the two well-dressed occupants of the room, he felt his breath catch in his throat.  How long had it been since he had seen them last?  Four, five years?  His mind screamed to release long forgotten memories, but he struggled inwardly to block them from resurfacing.  No, not now.  Not ever.  I will do this.  I will get through this.  And then, I will never think of it again.

He strode purposefully into the room and indicated his team should be seated at the conference table.  He felt all their eyes upon him, boring holes into various parts of his body while he stood at the front of the room with his back to them.  Especially the two people who had occupied the room before he and his team entered.  Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face them. 

5'11, Samuel Adair, CIA agent and undercover operative, glared unwaveringly at Donovan.  The color of his hate filled eyes nearly matched his dark skin.  Donovan took in the sight of his shaven head.  Sam always had liked to keep his hair short, and Donovan nearly laughed out loud in amusement.  Sam now wore it as short as it could be – bald.

A throat clearing from the end of the table drew his eyes in that direction.  Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a severe twist.  He blinked quickly thinking it looked almost painful.  Her piercing green eyes stared intently into his and he saw that familiar accusatory glint in them.  Still harbor that resentment, Quinn?  He sighed inwardly as he watched her cross her long, shapely legs and fold her arms over her chest.  Quinn Ronan Doyle possessed every ounce of fire her hair and ancestry indicated.  She was also one hell of an intelligence officer for the CIA.    

"Agent Donovan," Wainwright spoke, obviously interrupting the lead agent's thoughts.  "If you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.  When you are finished here, my assistant will show you to the empty barracks located in bachelor's quarters.  Until oh-five hundred tomorrow."

Donovan nodded.  Once the commander had exited the room, he focused on introducing the players to one another.  "Let's get this party started, shall we?" he began, standing directly behind Alex.  He looked slowly from Sam to Quinn.  "Agents Shaw, Cross, Davis and Forrester...meet CIA operatives Agents Adair and Doyle."

He ran his fingers over his mouth before stroking the hair on his chin.  He wasn't all that surprised when the reaction between the two sides of the table was one of silence.  Sadly, they would have to lose that apprehension if they were to make it through the weekend. 

The real objective of the weekend was to see if two factions of the government could work together for one common goal – survival.  They had no mission other than to survive, and working together would be their only way of achieving it.  His mission, on the other hand, was to evaluate the two CIA agents; to gauge their mental stability and their response to accepting orders from someone they held little regard for.

He sighed inwardly.  As much as he hated it, his history with the two CIA agents was well documented in his file as well as theirs.  If the higher-ups were looking for someone to command them that they would love to see dead, he was their man. 

"This party's a little dull, Agent Donovan," Quinn smarted off soundly.  "I think you might get down to it, so we can all go about our merry little ways.  I, for one, am starving...and being this close to the ocean?"  She uncrossed her arms and legs and leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table.  "I've got a thong bikini just screaming to be strapped on."

Donovan closed his eyes momentarily at the image of her in a bikini.  He did not need her deliberate distraction.  Goddamn him, but he was still attracted to her after all these years; and even after she had hurled such insulting accusations his way.  She thought he was lower than pond scum, but he knew her mindset at the time and considered her attitude understandable.  

To him, the saddest thing was that their relationship had been developing into something that could have been amazing if it had been given the chance.    For six months they had worked closely together, guarding their developing feelings.  The reason behind his actions was to save the disruption that a romantic involvement could cause while planning and carrying out a mission.  He had assumed her reasons were the same.  Neither of them had voiced their interest in the other, but it wasn't difficult to detect.   

Things had soured quickly between them when all hell broke loose during that ill-fated mission.  He had hoped both Quinn and Sam would look past their personal feelings and see the truth, but that was not to be the case.  The outsider was blamed and rejected.  The two of them turned toward each other, pushing away the rest of the world and allowing their distrust of others to grow with each passing day.

"I seriously doubt you will have time for sunbathing," Donovan snapped harshly.  "However, you will have plenty of time in the sun over the weekend."  He moved around Alex and placed the palms of his hands on the table, leaning toward Quinn menacingly.  "You may want to stock up on sunscreen for that lilywhite complexion of yours.  Wouldn't want you coming down with a bad case of sun poisoning, now would we?"

Quinn glowered as she sat back in her chair.  Still the arrogant bastard, aren't you, Donovan?  "Whatever you say, Commander." 

She still could not believe her superiors were subjecting her to this; or Sam, for that matter.  Negative reports had trickled down that the two longtime partners were becoming more difficult to work with as the years passed.  Sure, they were obstinate, but with just cause.  Strangers who would swoop in on a case and demand unconditional loyalty chapped their hides immediately.  They had done that once – had put their faith in a relative stranger because his manner demanded their allegiance.  And for that one time, they had paid dearly.  Never again would they just trust in an agent or commander because he or she outranked them.  That was a rookie mistake they would never make again.

Donovan moved back, releasing an irritated sigh.  He took a moment to regain his composure before continuing.  "I suggest you all pack your sunscreen.  And, yes...I am Lead this weekend.  You will follow my orders and none other." 

He leaned his tall frame against the wall, appearing on the outside as though he had not a care in the world.  Inside was another matter all together.  He struggled to keep his thoughts under control.  He could not afford to let the past resurface and cause him problems over the weekend.  All his thoughts needed to stay focused on the present and the task at hand. 

"Any other orders, Sir?" Sam asked sarcastically. 

"Rest up tonight, you'll need it," he warned.  "When we get to the barracks, you'll each be issued a backpack.  Bring along only what you need.  Remember, you carry your own load...no one's going to do it for you."

Monica scanned the group with a watchful eye.  As much as the team was apprehensive, the two CIA agents were enraged.  Was that the word she was looking for?  It suited the looks in their eyes.  Both of them stared Donovan down as though he were a lowly dog in need of taking to the pound; or worse.  Putting him down may have been more to their liking.  In any case, Monica found herself on guard with these people from the get go.  Once alone, she would warn the team to keep their eyes open.  Someone had to watch Donovan's back.

"What're you staring at?" Sam spat, glaring at Monica.

"Not much," she retorted bitingly. 

"Monica's my team's profiler.  She's doing her job," Donovan informed them.  "Alex and Jake do ninety percent of the undercover work.  Cody handles computers and security."

Quinn's eyes locked with Donovan's suddenly.  "And what do you do?  Stand idly by while they risk their necks?"

Jake, Alex, and Cody, each rose from their chair in protest.  "Back off, Red," Alex growled. 

"Yeah," Cody added.

Quinn's brow rose in amusement.  He had his dogs well trained to protect him.  "Such witty repartee," she snapped, glancing at Cody.  "So, they're loyal to you, Commander.  I suppose that says something for you.  Or maybe you've just become a better actor over the years."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean," Jake demanded.  His gaze roamed from Quinn and Sam to Donovan and back again.

Quinn shrugged as she rose from her chair.  "Ask His Highness over there."  She smiled sweetly as she rounded the table and neared Donovan.  Stopping directly in front of him, she added, "I think it would make a lovely bedtime story, don't you, Commander?" 

Donovan glared down at her.  At that moment he could cheerfully choke the life from her.  He opened his mouth to respond, but she brushed past him and headed for the door.

"What's with this Commander, shit?" Alex asked, exasperated.  "What's going on here?"

Sam rose from his chair at that point.  "Nothing.  Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

Monica nodded at his levelheaded response.  If only his partner could keep her trap shut.  "Sometimes that is for the best."

"Sooner or later, that dog wakes up," Quinn snapped, her hand resting on the doorknob.  "And let me tell you, that dog is a bitch."

"Quinn!" Donovan bellowed harshly.  He noted that she jumped just a bit.  Skittish?  Were her nerves getting the best of her?  He had to wonder just how she had fared over these past years. 

"What?!" she responded just as roughly.

"We haven't gone over..."

Quinn sighed and her shoulders sagged slightly, but she did not turn to face him.  "I know the drill, Donovan.  Early to bed, early to rise.  Stick us in the middle of nowhere without a thing to survive on and tell us to find the needle in the haystack."  She turned her head slowly to face him.  "And pray that nature doesn't come calling."

Donovan shook his head and stood up away from the wall.  "Something like that."

She turned the knob and opened the door.  "Fine.  Let's go find our home away from home for the night so I can go eat already."

Cody couldn't help but laugh just a little.  His stomach was growling loudly and food was just about the only thing on his mind.  Sure, he noticed the obvious tension between his boss and the two CIA agents, but food first...old grievances second.  "Food sounds good to me, too."

"Goody, a date," Quinn quipped sarcastically, starting down the hallway to find the Commanding Officer's assistant.  "My dream come true."

Cody rolled his eyes as the group followed behind her.  "Has she always been such a..."

"Yes, she has," Sam answered, moving around them to catch up to Quinn.  "You okay?" he asked once along side her.

"Sure...just peachy," she lied.  "And hey, who knows, maybe we'll get lucky and something large and nasty will swallow him whole this weekend."

"Quinn..."

"I'm sorry, Sam.  Maybe I'm not as forgiving as you..."

"Forgiving?  I want to see the guy strung up by his short hairs more than anyone, but..."

"But you don't wish him dead?" she asked, her eyes demanding an honest response.

"Sometimes..." he admitted.

"So do I."

~*~

To be continued…