NOTES:
After writing The Paths We Carve, I wasn't quite ready to let go of Anna, who is my version of the Cellist. Thus, I started this series. I'll update after each episode to see if I can carve out a place for Anna with Phil and the team. this, of course, might mean bending things that happen in the show a bit, but I'll try to leave canon as in tact as possible.
Naturally, I start this when the show decides to go on a month-long hiatus. This first scene coincides with the episode T.R.A.C.K.S.
Thanks to the_wordbutler for the beta and encouragement.
It's just after four-thirty in the morning when her phone rings. Anna opens one eye to read Unknown on the caller ID. She's had too many years as a soldier's wife to ignore that. "Hello," she answers, but it comes out gravelly. She clears her throat and repeats the greeting.
"It's me," Phil replies. "Sorry to wake you."
"What's wrong?" she asks while sitting up in bed and turning on the light. Felix, her cat, hisses at her from waking him; she flips him off. "And why aren't you calling me from your regular number?"
There's a slight hesitation before he says, "Please tell me you don't have my actual name in your phone."
She's not awake enough to contain her annoyed sigh. "You're listed under Thomas Fowler. How many times do I have to say I've played this game before until you start believing me?"
"Sorry," he mutters.
They sit in silence for a full twenty seconds before she prods, "You going to tell me what's going on or—"
"Skye was hurt."
She feels her stomach drop and her hair stand on end at his words. "How hurt?"
"It's really bad. We're en route to a medical facility now, and hopefully we can get there soon enough."
Anna'd been around the girl—no, she's not an actual child, but she may as well be in Phil's mind, Anna knows—for all of maybe ten hours. But in that time, it was hard to miss the light in Skye's smile and how well she ties together the individual members of Phil's motley crew. Even though Anna's only known Skye for a little over a week, her heart breaks at the news.
"What do you need from me?" she asks.
That's when he sighs, and Anna's sadness boils into the first few flickers of anger. "The people we're after," Phil answers, "they want to make this personal. They're doing things to get to me."
Her free hand fists in the sheet, and she briefly wonders if she set the security system before bed. Not that it would stop the level of people Phil deals with. "Am I in danger?"
"No," he tells her quickly. "Not at all. At least, I don't think so. There's someone in their organization that can… They know things and I don't know how, but…" He pauses to sigh, and Anna can clearly picture him holed up in his office, shoulders slumped, and face drawn with worry. "If something were to happen to you, it would kill me."
"That's sweet, but still too soon." Silence fills the line again, so she tacks on, "That was supposed to be a joke. Well, not the too soon part, but you know—joke."
"Yeah," he whispers.
Her foot starts to bounce against the mattress as she tries to fight of nerves of impending doom. "Phil, you have to use your words. I can't read minds."
He sighs before telling her, "I think it might be best if I stay away for a bit—no contact, no visits, nothing."
"But I just got you back." Anna wants to kick herself for not only saying the words but for sounding like a sixteen-year-old when she does. She hasn't had a high school sweetheart in twenty years; she should know better.
"I know," he replies, and she can at least take comfort in the fact that he sounds broken, too. "But I can't let anything happen to you. It's just until we take care of—"
"Please," Anna huffs, and what little control she has over her temper snaps. "I know these things don't get taken care of quickly or cleanly. This could take a while—years, even. And for that whole time we're supposed to, what, forget we said we'd try this again?" She sighs and runs a hand over her face.
"Please," he asks quietly. "Please don't give up on me."
"You know you can only say that so many times and before it stops working."
The line is quiet again before he says, "Give me two weeks."
"One," Anna argues. "One week or I'm done."
"Okay," he agrees. "I should probably get off of here."
"Phil, you'll call me if something happens to her, won't you?"
"Of course," he promises. "I'm sorry. I hate having to do this, but I can't handle one more thing to worry about right now."
"Yeah," she says for lack of a better response.
"Call me if at all you think someone might be after you." There's a break before he asks, "You still have your gun?"
"Yes," she answers reluctantly, the knot in her stomach only increasing in size. "Do I really need to start carrying it?"
"It would make me feel better about things. When was the last time you went to the range?"
"A few days ago. We have a Czech conductor in town, and you know how I feel about Czech conductors." The line falls silent again. "Another joke, Phil. You're supposed to laugh; that's what normal people do."
"Sorry," he apologizes again, and there's so much exhaustion in his voice that she wonders how he's not drowning in it. "I really need to go check in on the team. I'll call you when I can." She can hear him take in a breath before he softly says, "I love you."
Her eyes fall shut at that. This is the kind of thing she's exhausted with—I can't talk to you but I still love you. I can't come and see you but I still need you around.
But then Anna remembers the brokenness and desperation in his face.
"Love you, too," she says and three seconds later the line goes dead.
She scoots back into bed and largely ignores when Felix tries to snuggle up against her thigh. After an hour of tossing and turning, she gets out of bed with a string of curses, slaps the practice mute onto her cello, and decides that five-thirty in the morning is as good a time as any to rehearse Dvorak.
