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Story Notes:
Disclaimer: I don't own the Pretender. (Who would have guessed?)
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a quick piece I did about, what (in my opinion) is one of the many reasons for the late night phonecalls.
I do believe this falls into the catgory of angst so...yeah.
Enjoy
He closes the DSA case shut, and slides it off the side of the bed with a tired push. Sighing deeply he lets his head sink into the lumpy pillow. The sound of a passing siren lulls him into relaxation, and if he's lucky, sleep.
He shoots up from the bed. With his hands over his mouth he strangles a scream, while the adrenalin continues to rush through his body.
They're coming for him, he knows it.
Jumping out of the bed he throws on a sweater and a pair of pants. He frantically begins putting things into his backpack.
They're coming, he knows it,
He repeats it internally like a mantra, as he does his best to remove all trace of him ever having been in run down apartment. But as his mind begins to regain full consciousness, rational thought silently overpowers the panic.
He takes a seat on the bed, forcing his tired body to relax. With his head in his hands, he focuses on his breathing, while doing his best to convince himself the sound he's hearing is his heartbeat, nothing else.
Still shivering slightly, he pulls out his cell phone, dialing the all too familiar number.
"What?" She answers tiredly, her voice rusty from sleep.
He exhales deeply, she's home, sleeping. She isn't going to catch him, not tonight.
As he thinks of a response, he allows the relief to sink in. Letting his tired body fall back on the bed he answers her, one of his famous grins playing in his voice.
Not tonight.
He shoots up from the bed. With his hands over his mouth he strangles a scream, while the adrenalin continues to rush through his body.
They're coming for him, he knows it.
Jumping out of the bed he throws on a sweater and a pair of pants. He frantically begins putting things into his backpack.
They're coming, he knows it,
He repeats it internally like a mantra, as he does his best to remove all trace of him ever having been in run down apartment. But as his mind begins to regain full consciousness, rational thought silently overpowers the panic.
He takes a seat on the bed, forcing his tired body to relax. With his head in his hands, he focuses on his breathing, while doing his best to convince himself the sound he's hearing is his heartbeat, nothing else.
Still shivering slightly, he pulls out his cell phone, dialing the all too familiar number.
"What?" She answers tiredly, her voice rusty from sleep.
He exhales deeply, she's home, sleeping. She isn't going to catch him, not tonight.
As he thinks of a response, he allows the relief to sink in. Letting his tired body fall back on the bed he answers her, one of his famous grins playing in his voice.
Not tonight.
