INTO THE DARK || SPENCER

[anastasia elizabeth kilbourne]

LOVE OF MINE, SOMEDAY YOU WILL DIE BUT I'LL BE CLOSE BEHIND

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i'll follow you into the dark[/font]
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APPROX. 450 WORDS, TAGGED FOR SPENCER, OUTFIT IS AS DESCRIBED,
STATUS IS FINISHED, NO EXTRA NOTES[/font]
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the phone call had always been one of anastasia's largest fears. every loved one of a police officer knew the anxiety of an unexpected phone call. at any minute, the ring of a telephone could be life-altering news. it could be the news that your knight in shining l.a.p.d armor was hurt, or worse, dead. she knew it was inevitable, a part of her always knew spencer would one day be hurt on the job, but she assumed it would be a far off day when he was older, they were married, and kids were in the picture. she had imagined herself at their home with the children when the dreaded phone call occurred; she did not, however, imagine the phone call to be two years after they broke off their engagement, while she was scrambling to pull her life back together. annie was surprised and terrified to find out that she was spencer's next of kin, that he had suffered from a gun shot wound, and that he was in critical condition at the ucla medical center. his superior officer droned on and on about how the wounds were not as bad as they seemed, how spence was destined to be okay, how he was a fighter, but all annie heard were sirens. she tried to imagine what spencer had going through, how alone he must have felt. spencer, getting shot in the field, alone. spencer, in the ambulance, alone. spencer, in the hospital, alone. without hesitating, annie slamming the phone down on the receiver, hanging up on the officer. she grabbed her purse off the nightstand and stormed off towards her hotel door. annie needed to get to the hospital, she needed to make sure spence was alright, and more than anything, she needed to make sure he didn't wake up alone, that her face was the first one he saw.

running like a mad woman around shangri-la, it only took annie a matter of minutes before she was outside the hotel waving down a taxi. she knew she must look as frazzled and manic as she felt. the cold three a.m air hit her skin like a thousand pin-pricks. it was at this moment that she realized she was still in her night gown and slippers. she sighed as she looked up and down the road, praying for a taxi to arrive. as if god heard her prayers, a yellow cab drove into sight. annie opened the door and slid in as she stated "the ucla medical center, as fast as possible." a silence hung in the air as the taxi drove towards the hospital. those few minutes felt like an eternity to anastasia. time was moving in slow-motion, while her mind was moving in fast-foward. after an indefinite period of time, annie found the yellow cab to be parked outside the entrance of the hospital. she rummaged through her purse, grabbed a fifty, and handed it to the driver, not even looking at the cab fare. she exited the cab and entered the hospital. the information desk was the first thing she saw.

annie tapped a bell on the edge of the information desk and almost instantly a receptionist found her way to the counter. before the receptionist could get a word out, anastasia began to ramble on and on. "i dunno if i'm in the right place, i'm sure i'm not, but you have to help me, you just have to. i'm looking for a spencer belikov," annie gasped for air before continuing on, "he's twenty-six, a police officer; he is in critical condition. you have to help me find him." the receptionist did not even change her expression. she looked at annie, giving her the once over, analyzing her sanity, before stating in a monotone voice, "visiting hours are clearly over," she said as she pointed to a sign on the opposite wall, "you can only see him now if you are family, i don't suppose you're family, are you?" a wave of panic washed over anastasia. she could not go home, not after her journey to get here. the receptionist was about to turn and walk away before annie blurted out, "i'm his wife." the lie was her only chance to see him, she had no other option. the receptionist pursed her lips, furrowed her brow, and thought about it for a minute. suddenly, she looked down to her clipboard and stated "belikov - room 716." not taking the time to thank the receptionist, anastasia darted towards the elevator.

with the help of orderlies and hospital signs, it only took annie a matter of minutes to find spencer's room. she found out he was in a single room, paid for by the police unit. she tiptoed into the room, careful not to wake him. the first sight of spencer was enough to make her stop in her tracks. he was hooked up to a large number of machines, many of which she couldn't name or recognize. the sight shocked her. the man who she had always relied on for being strong if not anything else, never looked so weak and disabled. tears welled up in ana's eyes as she looked over the only man who had ever had her heart. she blinked her eyes several times, trying to push away the tears, trying to stay strong for him. seeing a chair placed next to the bed, annie knew that was her spot. that was were she was meant to be. she continued to tiptoe over to the chair and then she took a seat. without thinking, anastasia grabbed spencer's hand and whispered to herself, "it's going to be okay, spence, it's has to be okay."

[SPENCER MATTHEW BELIKOV]

Despite the pain, the madness during those few moments before he lost consciousness, the feeling of disappointment in himself for not being smarter, there was something much, much worse about when Spencer got shot - the fact that he knew it was coming. More often than not, when there was an officer casualty, it came at them out of nowhere, there was nothing they could do about it, wasn't really their fault, so they didn't really have any thoughts regarding it until the bullet was already lodged in their flesh. But not him. No, he'd known several seconds before the gun was fired that it was about to happen, and they were some of the worst seconds of his entire life; he was facing the knowledge that he had possibly just gotten himself killed, and there was no way to fix it. For the first time since he could walk on his own, he was truly helpless. He hadn't intended for it to be that way, had thought he was doing a good job, but he'd made the one mistake that could get anyone in the business killed: he got cocky.

"Think the punk'll put on a show?" Jones asked, a grin showing teeth that were good enough to have avoided braces but naturally flawed. Spencer rolled his eyes, retorting, "Hardly." It was the same today as it was every day - it was a normal 'mission,' a stereotypical drug dealer. They'd just gotten confirmation that there was a teenage boy trying to break into a local grocery store. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he couldn't handle with his eyes closed if it came down to it; the same drill. He was driving the car, sirens blaring as he weaved around traffic on the way, and they were there within minutes. The kid had been estimated to be around fifteen years old - nothing a little psychology couldn't break. He didn't bother putting on the bullet-proof vest, only tucked a single gun in his belt to threaten with if need be. Spencer stepped out of the car, looking around for the kid, sticking his arm out in front of Jones when he moved ahead of him; it was common protocol by now, Spencer went first, Jones held up the back. Sometimes on an off-shift, Cooper was there and they'd take flanks instead. He pulled out his gun but held it at his side as he walked forward, using the side wall of the store as cover, listening closely for any sign of the kid. When there wasn't one, he figured he'd left, and stepped around and into the back parking lot used for storage trucks. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to detect the teen's presence, even with the flashlight - but then it was there, the unmistakable sound of a gun's safety being released. He turned the flashlight towards the noise just in time to see the kid take aim, and the sensation was like nothing he'd ever felt before; his stomach went cold, the air rushed from his lungs before the gun was even fired. There was a brief hope that the kid didn't know how to use the thing, couldn't aim - and then he noticed how it was holding it, the position of it in relation to his face... No, he knew, and he'd get several shots in before anyone could do anything about it. Spencer raised his own gun in one last-minute attempt to get out of it, but it wasn't even halfway up by the time the shot rang, loud and clear as it cut the night air seemingly in half, and then there was pain everywhere, his body was on fire, someone was yelling his last name and there were several more shots, this time coming from behind him. He knew enough about bullets to ascertain that he'd been shot just above his stomach on the right side, and his mind was numbingly clear for a single moment as if to taunt him for his failure before his vision blacked out, and his mind joined it.

The first thing he noticed was an insufferable, obnoxious, somehow familiar beeping sound - one he couldn't place. It registered in his mind before he was even awake, but by the time he did wake up, any thought of it was gone - he felt like shit, absolute shit. His thoughts felt slower than usual, his limbs felt less usable; drugs, then. And despite whatever they had him on, the sharp ache in his abdomen was definitely there; just manageable. With this knowledge came the realization, without even opening his eyes, that he was in a hospital; he felt the tug of the IV in his arm, the hum of the machines. The beeping must be the heart monitor, at the moment an incredibly reassuring fact. Even the air smelled too clean to be anywhere but a hospital, the bed too uncomfortable and the clothing too stiff. He'd been in hospitals before, even as patients (though more often as a visitor), but this was the first time he'd ever woken up in one of the beds, as usually he was being treated for minor injuries, like a few stitches or a reset bone. It was disorienting to say the least.

The memory came flooding back to him like so much acid, and internally, he winced, hating himself for his own stupidity, for not knowing better. He couldn't even remember what the pain had felt like, though he supposed that was a good thing; all he remembered was that it hurt, a lot. But before he could even brood over this any further, he noticed the odd sensation of a hand, a much too familiar hand, one that fit in his somehow too well, holding his own. He knew it instantly, would know it anywhere, but as if some god out there was trying to prove it to him anyway, he heard her voice - his favorite and least favorite in the world, the only one that could invoke such a passionate response from him, positive or otherwise. "It's going to be okay, Spence. It has to be okay. Spencer didn't like that, didn't like the tone of voice she was using, loathed the fact that she even needed to state that - as if he'd let himself not be okay, especially in front of her? He opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light that was a bit too bright for his tastes.

His voice was raspier than he wanted it to be, but the fact that it worked at all was good enough for him. "Of course it will be," he muttered, his gaze shifting from the ceiling over to her. He gave her hand a small squeeze. "Hey, Annie."


tag, anastasia kilbourne.
words, 1145.
notes, none.

[anastasia elizabeth kilbourne]

LOVE OF MINE, SOMEDAY YOU WILL DIE BUT I'LL BE CLOSE BEHIND

[/font]
i'll follow you into the dark[/font]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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APPROX. 952 WORDS, TAGGED FOR SPENCER, OUTFIT IS AS DESCRIBED,
STATUS IS FINISHED, NO EXTRA NOTES[/font]
[/center]

“hey spence, i didn't know you were awake,” anastasia stammered out before moving her gaze from spencer to the machines behind him. she felt embarrassed and upset that he had heard her. those words of comfort were addressed to spencer but were meant for her benefit more than anybody else's. she needed him to be okay, she needed to say the words aloud; spencer was going to be okay. as anastasia watched the rise and fall of the heart monitor, she let her mind wander. she wanted to ask what happened, she wanted to yell for him letting this happen, she wanted to walk out now that she knew he was okay, instead of doing any of those things, she did something remarkable. anastasia stayed quiet. she was speechless. annie let the severity of the situation sink in and gave herself time to think about things.

after staring at the green and red lights of the heart monitor for a matter of minutes, annie couldn't take it any longer. she forced her gaze elsewhere, and soon enough it landed on her hand - or their hands rather. it seemed that annie has never separated her hand from spencer's after she intertwined them earlier. they had remained that way ever since. annie, so accustomed to the feeling of his hand in hers, must have forgotten it was there. the physical connection between the two of them felt natural, comfortable, right, but somehow distant and incorrect - deja vu or a faltered memory. anastasia made the hasty decision to sever the tie between the two of them. she pulled her hand away and placed it on her lap. as soon as she did so, she regretted it. her hand felt cold and alone. she consider reaching out once more for spencer's hand but she had far too much pride for that, it would make her look weak. an apology would also make her look weak. she decided against it. anastasia figured the best route to a more comfortable situation was to change subject - fast.

ever since annie hurt her knee and begin using painkillers, she lost her way with words, her ability to speak to people. in a situation when most people would bring up small talk, she would dive right into their problems, bring up the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. annie, a former social butterfly, had turned into anti-social narcissistic scrooge. "so, did you fuck up this time or was it one of your daredevil buddies?" as soon as the words left anastasia's lips, she knew she would regret them. ninety percent of the horrid things annie said would be regretted later. she wasn't the cold young woman she liked to make everyone think she was.

[SPENCER MATTHEW BELIKOV]

He watched her as she stammered, not really paying attention to what she was saying, and instead taking in her appearance. This was the first time he'd seen her in person since the end of their engagement, and he was noting every little difference, which wasn't hard to do at all; her face was practically engraved in his memory. Briefly, he wondered why she was there and how she'd even found out he was there, which instantly made him question how long he'd been out for. It didn't feel like it had been very long, maybe an hour or two, but if it had happened so recently, how had she known? Spencer had plenty of unanswered questions for her, but he held his tongue, not willing to ask them and ruin his chance to keep looking at her. He didn't tend to be one for over-the-top drama, and he certainly recognized when he was making a person uncomfortable and made every effort to amend the situation, but in this instance he was too drowsy, too dazed, too confused and too... hopeful? to even acknowledge that staring at her might not be the best plan of action.

Spence watched as her eyes darted about, eventually settling on their hands, and found himself curious as to what she would do, how she would react. He was far from surprised but unable to help but be stung - though it didn't show on his face, as his emotional connections were too fogged to represent themselves without his forcing them to - when she pulled her hand back away, and his own curled up at his side into a loose fist on the edge of the bed. This was all incredibly surreal to him, the entire situation as well as their current location. He'd been next to her after the surgery on her knee and all of the follow-ups with the infections, but never in his wildest dreams had he figured that they would reverse roles. Though police officers' family members knew that they would one day get wounded, the police themselves (or at least, in his case) had too much pride in their work to think the same.

Enough pride that when she asked the question, his reaction was strong enough that the connection was made, and his expression darkened considerably. There was shame there, the most dominant of the emotions that rose in response, but Spencer never failed to take responsibility for his actions, and he wasn't going to stop now. "I fucked up," he answered, his voice flat, low, but brutally honest. He was torturing himself with the truth, but at least in his mind, it would be an effective way to prevent it happening again. "He was just a kid, the grocery store was small and family-owned. Didn't think it was serious, thought I could handle it." He shrugged slightly, or as best as he could while laying down like that. "I couldn't hear him, assumed he wasn't there. Stepped out. He shot, it hit." Of course, it was all much more complicated than that in his mind, where every second was an entire new thought and new twist, but those were the basics; they answered what she would want to know, he figured. They were certainly enough ammo to use against himself at the very least.

tag, anastasia kilbourne.
words, 561.
notes, none.