fic: Speed
Title: Speed
Characters: Annie Walker, Auggie Anderson
Pairing: Annie/Auggie
Rating: PG-13, for non-explicit violence, non-explicit sex, and one naughty word.
Word Count: 990
Summary: They hurry. They waste time. Boom.
Author's note: I wrote this for the usanetwork_las in about two days because I'm rubbish at deadlines. Despite this, I think it came out rather well. If I wasn't busy writing for the next round (not to mention writing essays for my homework, and for my college apps), I'd make a lovely H/C sequel.
Disclaimer: You will know when I own Covert Affairs. The first episode under me will be entitled "A-Squared 2: Electric Bugaloo", and shall have a complicated plot involving Auggie whumping, Annie angsting, and hordes and hordes of ninjas.
---
Boom.
---
It takes an average of eight minutes for a D.C. cop to respond to a Priority 1 call. It takes about a minute for a bystander, pale and trembling, to reach for a cell phone, dial three numbers with shaking hands, and relay all-important information.
The victim is blond, about five foot seven. There's a gunshot wound to her left leg. No identification, except for a Smithsonian security pass and a cell phone. Her name is Annie Walker.
Auggie already knows this, because she has a mic in her ear masquerading as a hearing aid.
He spends two precious minutes in silence, unable to hear anything but that earth-shattering boom, and his first thought is not gun but bomb.
---
"We're going to be late!" says Annie, and Auggie can hear her frantic scuffling as she retrieves her shoes from under the couch and her pencil skirt from the kitchen floor.
He laughs into his coffee cup. "Annie, relax. I called a cab and it'll be here in fifteen minutes. We have plenty of time." He puts it down and puts his hands on her waist. "In fact..."
"Auggie, we can't," murmurs Annie, but she's smiling into his lips as she drops her skirt on the floor again.
---
Seven minutes.
He hears the voice of the woman who called 911 say she’s running to get help, but it’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. There are very few people in this park.
He's always been her port in the storm, and despite his panic, he forces himself to remain calm. She needs him to be calm for her. He will be.
"Annie, talk to me."
A long thirty seconds passes, punctuated by gasps of pain. "Hey, Aug."
“Annie? What was it? What happened?”
“Guess... we were wrong on the intel. I have a hole in my leg.”
He has a brief moment of Thank God, not Tikrit before the rest of her sentence seeps in.
"Annie, listen to me, okay? You're going to be fine. You're going to be absolutely fine, do you understand me?" He's not sure who he's reassuring here.
"Okay."
"Annie, I need you to stay there. Don't move."
"Can't... really move... right now."
He feels a nervous laugh bubble out of him unexpectedly. "Even so, don't even try."
"Wasn't planning... on it."
---
"We can't do this," Annie whispers. "If Chloe and Katia come in, they'll see-"
"They're asleep," he reminds her. "Michael and Danielle won't be back for another hour. We have plenty of time."
"And if they come back early?"
"Well, then, I guess we'll give them a show, won't we?"
Her laugh is hidden behind her hand, to muffle the sound.
---
Five minutes.
Auggie is dimly aware of someone calling his name, and as he becomes more aware, he recognizes the powdery scent mixed with the metallic scent of heavy jewelry.
"Joan."
Joan is in full power mode. She touches his shoulder briefly, and then asks him the specs. What went wrong. Where their agents need to go. Who needs to be in the ambulance to pick up Annie.
He answers robotically, and doesn't make even one comment when Jai volunteers to ride in the ambulance. He feels a sudden surge of anger. He should have been out in the field with her. He should be with her right now. Instead, he’s stuck here with his stupid Braille keyboard and his stupid voice-recognition software and absolutely nothing to let him know what’s going on beyond that one earpiece. He slams his hands on his desk in frustration.
He hates his blindness now more than ever, and takes little comfort in the fact that he can't see Annie bleeding out on the sidewalk.
---
"Do you have some sort of speed fetish?" she asks, laughing as his lips trace the line of her jaw down her throat to her collarbone.
"When I was sighted," he says, "I loved fast cars. And roller coasters. So... yes? It’s more the danger than the speed." He finds the buttons of her blouse and undoes them one by one, and to her mind it seems like each one takes a century, and even though they're both working late, Joan or Stu - or Jai, God forbid - could walk in at any moment but that doesn't really matter right now because Auggie... wow.
She leans back against the desk and deliberately turns the clock away.
---
Two minutes.
"Auggie, there's a lot of blood."
He's clutching his stress reliever with both hands, eyes futilely closed, and he might be praying, he isn’t sure. When he speaks again, his voice is only slightly shaky.
“Annie, you have to stay awake until the ambulance comes. Can you do that?”
A whine. “Auggie, I don’t think I c...c...”
“Annie?!”
Joan’s hand is on his shoulder but he’s shouting into the microphone, pressing the receiver into his ear, but all he hears is breathing and his own heartbeat pounding and where is that godamn ambulance?
And then another voice crackles over the line. “Joan, it’s Jai. We got her.”
There is a swirl of sound, sirens and shouting and stampeding feet, but Auggie is slumped in his seat. She’s safe.
---
"Auggie, I'm bored."
"Calm down, Annie," Auggie chuckles. "It's a simple brush pass. He's probably late. You know the FBI: so disinterested in inter-departmental communication."
Annie laughs, and drinks more coffee.
"Can you see him at all?"
"No," she says, scanning the park again. "I am at the right park bench?"
"Of course you are."
"Auggie, he isn't here."
"Don't tell me," he groans. "This is another 'simple' brush pass that has mutated into 'exploding briefcase' brush pass or 'complete decoy' brush pass or 'roof sniper' brush-"
---
Boom.
Characters: Annie Walker, Auggie Anderson
Pairing: Annie/Auggie
Rating: PG-13, for non-explicit violence, non-explicit sex, and one naughty word.
Word Count: 990
Summary: They hurry. They waste time. Boom.
Author's note: I wrote this for the usanetwork_las in about two days because I'm rubbish at deadlines. Despite this, I think it came out rather well. If I wasn't busy writing for the next round (not to mention writing essays for my homework, and for my college apps), I'd make a lovely H/C sequel.
Disclaimer: You will know when I own Covert Affairs. The first episode under me will be entitled "A-Squared 2: Electric Bugaloo", and shall have a complicated plot involving Auggie whumping, Annie angsting, and hordes and hordes of ninjas.
---
Boom.
---
It takes an average of eight minutes for a D.C. cop to respond to a Priority 1 call. It takes about a minute for a bystander, pale and trembling, to reach for a cell phone, dial three numbers with shaking hands, and relay all-important information.
The victim is blond, about five foot seven. There's a gunshot wound to her left leg. No identification, except for a Smithsonian security pass and a cell phone. Her name is Annie Walker.
Auggie already knows this, because she has a mic in her ear masquerading as a hearing aid.
He spends two precious minutes in silence, unable to hear anything but that earth-shattering boom, and his first thought is not gun but bomb.
---
"We're going to be late!" says Annie, and Auggie can hear her frantic scuffling as she retrieves her shoes from under the couch and her pencil skirt from the kitchen floor.
He laughs into his coffee cup. "Annie, relax. I called a cab and it'll be here in fifteen minutes. We have plenty of time." He puts it down and puts his hands on her waist. "In fact..."
"Auggie, we can't," murmurs Annie, but she's smiling into his lips as she drops her skirt on the floor again.
---
Seven minutes.
He hears the voice of the woman who called 911 say she’s running to get help, but it’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. There are very few people in this park.
He's always been her port in the storm, and despite his panic, he forces himself to remain calm. She needs him to be calm for her. He will be.
"Annie, talk to me."
A long thirty seconds passes, punctuated by gasps of pain. "Hey, Aug."
“Annie? What was it? What happened?”
“Guess... we were wrong on the intel. I have a hole in my leg.”
He has a brief moment of Thank God, not Tikrit before the rest of her sentence seeps in.
"Annie, listen to me, okay? You're going to be fine. You're going to be absolutely fine, do you understand me?" He's not sure who he's reassuring here.
"Okay."
"Annie, I need you to stay there. Don't move."
"Can't... really move... right now."
He feels a nervous laugh bubble out of him unexpectedly. "Even so, don't even try."
"Wasn't planning... on it."
---
"We can't do this," Annie whispers. "If Chloe and Katia come in, they'll see-"
"They're asleep," he reminds her. "Michael and Danielle won't be back for another hour. We have plenty of time."
"And if they come back early?"
"Well, then, I guess we'll give them a show, won't we?"
Her laugh is hidden behind her hand, to muffle the sound.
---
Five minutes.
Auggie is dimly aware of someone calling his name, and as he becomes more aware, he recognizes the powdery scent mixed with the metallic scent of heavy jewelry.
"Joan."
Joan is in full power mode. She touches his shoulder briefly, and then asks him the specs. What went wrong. Where their agents need to go. Who needs to be in the ambulance to pick up Annie.
He answers robotically, and doesn't make even one comment when Jai volunteers to ride in the ambulance. He feels a sudden surge of anger. He should have been out in the field with her. He should be with her right now. Instead, he’s stuck here with his stupid Braille keyboard and his stupid voice-recognition software and absolutely nothing to let him know what’s going on beyond that one earpiece. He slams his hands on his desk in frustration.
He hates his blindness now more than ever, and takes little comfort in the fact that he can't see Annie bleeding out on the sidewalk.
---
"Do you have some sort of speed fetish?" she asks, laughing as his lips trace the line of her jaw down her throat to her collarbone.
"When I was sighted," he says, "I loved fast cars. And roller coasters. So... yes? It’s more the danger than the speed." He finds the buttons of her blouse and undoes them one by one, and to her mind it seems like each one takes a century, and even though they're both working late, Joan or Stu - or Jai, God forbid - could walk in at any moment but that doesn't really matter right now because Auggie... wow.
She leans back against the desk and deliberately turns the clock away.
---
Two minutes.
"Auggie, there's a lot of blood."
He's clutching his stress reliever with both hands, eyes futilely closed, and he might be praying, he isn’t sure. When he speaks again, his voice is only slightly shaky.
“Annie, you have to stay awake until the ambulance comes. Can you do that?”
A whine. “Auggie, I don’t think I c...c...”
“Annie?!”
Joan’s hand is on his shoulder but he’s shouting into the microphone, pressing the receiver into his ear, but all he hears is breathing and his own heartbeat pounding and where is that godamn ambulance?
And then another voice crackles over the line. “Joan, it’s Jai. We got her.”
There is a swirl of sound, sirens and shouting and stampeding feet, but Auggie is slumped in his seat. She’s safe.
---
"Auggie, I'm bored."
"Calm down, Annie," Auggie chuckles. "It's a simple brush pass. He's probably late. You know the FBI: so disinterested in inter-departmental communication."
Annie laughs, and drinks more coffee.
"Can you see him at all?"
"No," she says, scanning the park again. "I am at the right park bench?"
"Of course you are."
"Auggie, he isn't here."
"Don't tell me," he groans. "This is another 'simple' brush pass that has mutated into 'exploding briefcase' brush pass or 'complete decoy' brush pass or 'roof sniper' brush-"
---
Boom.