Steve grunts, hand trailing along the wall of the alley as he walks to keep from slipping in the rain. He's left a good dozen bodies in his wake so far, and there's at least another dozen that have a good idea where he is right now. He doesn't know how this happened, how his cover was broken, but he's well and truly fucked. Doesn't help that the comms went down, that even if they're back up again his ear piece was crushed by a thug some hundred yards behind him.
Winchester isn't going to be able to find him, not tonight. And Steve isn't going to make it to the safe house, let alone their secondary rendezvous point. He's bleeding too much, head spinning from what is probably a concussion. His only chance is maybe, maybe reaching his asset.
If he's really fucking lucky, Chris has been working late again. He pauses at the end of the alley, peeks around the corner at the entrance to the office building and waits. If Chris was working late, he'd be headed out in the next five minutes. As if on cue, the door creaks open, and Steve leans back to wait. He can hear Chris talking to someone, a coworker, but they part ways and Chris' footsteps come toward him.
"Christian," Steve hisses when he's close enough, and leans back into the light. "Christian, wait..."
Chris stops and turns. "Spencer, what are you... are you hurt?" Chris rushes toward him, worry clear on his face as he helps Steve away from the wall.
"Don't call me that," he says, wincing at the pain that rushes through him.
"What?" Chris is pulling him along toward his car. "Spencer, we've got to get you to the hospital..."
"No, no hospitals. They'll look there. And stop calling me Spencer." Steve sighs as they stop by the car. Getting in is going to be a bitch, and for some reason he feels a rush of guilt that the seat will probably be soaked in blood. "It isn't my name."
Chris stares at him, confused and maybe a little hurt with a healthy dose of fear. Or suspicion. Steven deserves it, really, had expected it. But that doesn't stop the new twist of guilt in his gut. "The fuck," he spits the words. Steve's pretty sure that if he weren't so badly hurt already, Chris would be beating the shit out of him.
"Please Christian... I haven't got anyone else right now..."
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Date: 2009-04-11 08:04 pm (UTC)Winchester isn't going to be able to find him, not tonight. And Steve isn't going to make it to the safe house, let alone their secondary rendezvous point. He's bleeding too much, head spinning from what is probably a concussion. His only chance is maybe, maybe reaching his asset.
If he's really fucking lucky, Chris has been working late again. He pauses at the end of the alley, peeks around the corner at the entrance to the office building and waits. If Chris was working late, he'd be headed out in the next five minutes. As if on cue, the door creaks open, and Steve leans back to wait. He can hear Chris talking to someone, a coworker, but they part ways and Chris' footsteps come toward him.
"Christian," Steve hisses when he's close enough, and leans back into the light. "Christian, wait..."
Chris stops and turns. "Spencer, what are you... are you hurt?" Chris rushes toward him, worry clear on his face as he helps Steve away from the wall.
"Don't call me that," he says, wincing at the pain that rushes through him.
"What?" Chris is pulling him along toward his car. "Spencer, we've got to get you to the hospital..."
"No, no hospitals. They'll look there. And stop calling me Spencer." Steve sighs as they stop by the car. Getting in is going to be a bitch, and for some reason he feels a rush of guilt that the seat will probably be soaked in blood. "It isn't my name."
Chris stares at him, confused and maybe a little hurt with a healthy dose of fear. Or suspicion. Steven deserves it, really, had expected it. But that doesn't stop the new twist of guilt in his gut. "The fuck," he spits the words. Steve's pretty sure that if he weren't so badly hurt already, Chris would be beating the shit out of him.
"Please Christian... I haven't got anyone else right now..."