AN:

So this is my first Hobbit fanfic, and basically my first published fanfic. Technically it's my second, but I would prefer to just erase that first one from my memory. So go easy on me, but feel free to give feedback. I have the first twenty or so chapters written up already, because I generally like to finish the entire story before I post. Unfortunately, I'm terrible at meeting the deadlines I set for myself, so the story is not yet complete. I had also wanted to post at least one chapter before the last movie came out, but that didn't happen either. So here it is, one day late. I guess we'll just see how this goes.

Chapter 1: Shatter

No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected.

–Julius Caesar

The radio was blasting at full volume, and Gemma could have sworn the windows of their armoured SUV were shaking. In the driver's seat beside her, her partner and best friend, Special Agent Patrick Chang, sang along, horribly out of tune. Gemma had let her out of its professional-looking bun and was shaking her head to the music.

She shouldn't have been that cheerful, after all, they were on a particularly nasty case, but she couldn't help it. When you were an F.B.I. agent you had to be professional and serious constantly— or at least be really good at pretending you were. Gemma wasn't so good at it, but she scrapped by well enough. These rare moments, when it was just the two of them, were the only time they could rebel against the agency, and it had become something of a habit for the two. Patrick, in his uniform blue suit, was the image of professionalism from the neck down, but his face told a different story. With short and spiky black hair, upturned eyes, and quirking eyebrows, he seemed to constantly look like he was up to no good. Not your average stuffy agent in a suit, but then, neither was she.

They were driving down an old highway somewhere in rural Pennsylvania. They were returning to Pittsburgh, where their team was currently based, after interviewing the manager of a small bank branch in the middle of nowhere. One of their technical analysts had followed the money trail to the bank, to an accountant under the name of Bruce Wayne. Apparently even terrorists had a goddamn sense of humour.

Yes, this was a first for Gemma and her team. The FBI Counterterrorism team didn't often find themselves working in rural areas, surrounded by farming communities, but that's where a group of homegrown terrorists had decided to set up shop. Generally, Gemma worked in large cities that had significant possible attack targets. It was the reason they had based themselves in Pittsburgh, the only large city close to their area of interest. Surely the terrorists' target was in the city— after all, blowing up a wheat field wouldn't make much of a statement, unless the terrorists really didn't like bread.

They had made absolutely no progress with their interview. The bank manager didn't remember the owner of the account, and there hadn't been any transactions to or from the account in years. The bank didn't even have proper security footage, and they got rid of all their tapes each year. It added to the load of nothing they had turned up in the past week. The occasional chatter, always in code that they had yet to break, was the only proof that the terrorists were even in the area. That, and the break in at a mining supply factory that involved the theft of massive amounts of explosives. Their lack of progress was frustrating, and Gemma was not a patient person. This was why she and Agent Chang were relieving their frustrations through the power of rock and roll as they drove along the bending highway.

The whole team was beyond frustration. They were quickly running out of time to track down the sleeper cell that supposedly had been dormant in Pennsylvania for over ten years. The terrorist chatter, and of course the theft of explosives, suggested that the cell was now active and planning an attack. So the Counter-Terrorism Unit had only a short window of opportunity to find the cell's base of operations. Now that the terrorists were active, they would probably start cleaning up after themselves. If that happened, her team's mission was screwed. She really didn't want anything to go wrong. Of course, no one would, but she especially prayed that nothing bad would happen. Six months and twelve days back on the job, but it was still too soon. Unfortunately, Gemma had absolutely terrible luck.

Chang's out-of-tune singing interrupted Gemma's worrying as he belted out an exceptionally sour high note, his voice cracking halfway through. Laughing, she resumed dancing in the passenger seat, even joining Patrick's singing at the end out the song. It was those little care-free moments that prevented the stress of her job from driving her completely insane. The song came to an end, leaving a gaping void of silence as the track switched to the next, and all her worries came rushing back in. Gemma knew at that moment that she would never truly relax, never stop worrying. She could only pretend.

A buzzing in her pocket interrupted her brooding. She pulled out her phone and checked the caller ID. It was her team leader, Agent Scott Parker. She quickly shut off the music and mouthed his name to Patrick, before answering the call. Parker certainly wouldn't approve of their little rock and roll session. He was incredibly serious, all the time, and expected everyone else to follow suit. Like a goddamn robot. He was also the type of person who could stop your heart with a single glare.

"LaRoche speaking" Gemma answered with her last name.

"Where are you? Still on highway 28?" Parker asked hurriedly. Gemma sat up ramrod straight in her seat. She knew that tone of voice from working with Parker for years. They had found something.

"Yes. We're just about to merge onto the 422. We're less than an hour away. What is it Parker?"

"We think we found it. Their base. It's right in your area. We're on our way, but you need to get there now. One of our TAs cracked the chatter code and deciphered a street name. The only place on that street that makes sense is an old warehouse. It's perfect. I'm sending you the GPS coordinates now."

Gemma turned on their navigating systems. "Got 'em. We're fifteen minutes away."

"Okay. We're right behind you with back up from the local police station. Secure the perimeter and make sure they haven't already scrubbed the place. We need to get these bastards now." He hung up.

Gemma was a bit surprised. Normally Parker would order her to wait for back up, an order she often ignored. Now he wanted her to jump right in. Not that there would be much need for back up. Chances were good that no one would be there when they arrived. The terrorists had probably already moved, paranoid as their event grew closer and closer. Relaying the events of the phone call to Agent Chang, she reached into the back seat for their bulletproof vests. As she donned her own, she felt a familiar tingling in her nerves. It was fear, but the good kind of fear. Fear mixed with excitement, the thrill of a bust. It awakened her, put her senses into overdrive. She had felt it less and less lately, since she got back, but she loved the sensation.

Following the GPS directions, Patrick soon pulled onto a dirt road that cut through an empty field surrounded by forest. As they drove down it, a blue-grey metal warehouse came into view at the end. Parker was correct; it was the perfect place. Isolated, open, easy to defend if necessary. There didn't seem to be any cars parked by the building, but that didn't mean there weren't people inside. If there were, they would certainly know that she and Patrick were coming. Their massive vehicle wasn't exactly hidden as it came up the road. She double checked that her gun was loaded as Patrick pulled the car up to the front of the warehouse, swivelling it 180 degrees in case they needed to make a quick exit. She grabbed the keys as he pulled on his vest and loaded his gun; she was a reckless driver, and only ever allowed to drive when they were in dire situations, like car chases or get-away driving. At any other time she was banned from driving, as her colleagues all agreed that she was a mad woman on wheel. In her defence though, she had only ever crashed the car once... while at work.

Patrick gave her a nod and they exited the vehicle together, raising their guns and slowly creeping forward. They moved as one unit towards the large garage door of the warehouse. It was partially open, so, after checking the perimeter quickly, they ducked under it. They cleared the building and found that the inside was just as empty as outside. Gemma was relieved that there would be no fire fight with the terrorists, but a small part of her was disappointed. She loved catching them, just to feel the adrenaline in her veins as she cuffed them, and to see the looks on the bastards' faces. Plus, an arrest or two would certainly help the case.

The warehouse was relatively empty. An old truck sat in one corner, several wooden tables stood in the middle of the room, and hundreds of storage boxes lined the walls. On the far wall, however, they found what they were looking for. A huge map was spread across the wall, covered in circles and arrows drawn in red pen. The work bench below it was covered in a bomber's tools of the trade: copper wire, pliers, switches, times, nails for projectiles, as well as pile upon pile of blueprints. The agents approached the workbench slowly. Chang took out his camera and began snapping pictures of everything as Gemma pulled on latex gloves to inspect the blueprints. The one on top appeared to be the design of a bomb vest. This was weird. Why had they left all of their plans?

"Hey Pat, could you hand me an evidence bag? These boys have been pretty busy," she said, pointing to the blueprint.

Patrick took out a plastic bag from his jacket pocket and came up behind her, looking at the papers over her shoulder. Gemma stiffened. He was too close, but she couldn't move away without backing into him. She turned to him, and their noses nearly touch. Grabbing the bag from his hand, she raised an eyebrow at him and leaned away slightly. He got the message and took a step back. She faced the workbench again and picked up the blueprints of the bomb vest to put in the evidence bag.

"Oh God, Gemma!" Chang exclaimed from beside her, and for a moment she thought he was mad about her asking him to back off. Seriously, she just needed her personal space. But no, it had something to do with the piece of paper he held in his hand. Gemma was about to ask what it was, but a glance down at the work bench made her forget her question.

Time stopped. The blueprint and the bag she held dropped to the floor as if in slow motion.

It had been covered by the large papers, hidden from view; a device of wires and metal tubes. A bomb. The terrorists weren't just moving their base, they were obliterating it.

Gemma noticed all this in the back of her mind, but her main focus was on the little red numbers flicking down on the device's screen. The timer read fifteen seconds.
Everything unfroze, as if someone had pressed play on a remote.

"Run!"

She wasn't sure who screamed it.

Fourteen seconds.

Gemma and Patrick sprinted towards the exit. There was no time to grab any evidence or attempt to disarm the bomb.

Ten seconds.

They were out the garage door, but not out of range. A bomb that size would completely destroy the warehouse and fling debris far.

Eight seconds.

They were at the SUV. It might protect their bodies from flames and debris, if they managed to get far enough away.

Six.

Gemma was in the driver's seat. This was one of those situations that called for her daredevil driving

She fumbled the goddamn keys.

Four.

The car started.

Three.

They wouldn't make it. She knew that when they first saw the timer. But they had to at least try. It was almost ironic that she would go out in flames. Just the thought made her tremble.

Two.

Gemma smashed her foot into the gas pedal and the SUV lurched forward, away from the warehouse.

One.

The explosion was deafening. She felt weightless. She felt nothing. A blinding white light spread before her while monstrous orange flames swelled up to meet her from behind. She didn't know what the white light was. The afterlife? She didn't believe in that kind of thing, not really. At that moment she felt something, an all too familiar feeling she desperately wanted to forget. True fear. Not the excited fear from before, but a fear that tore at her insides and destroyed her.

She closed her eyes and the white light swallowed her whole.