Hi all. Yes, to answer your question, I am insane for starting another story. But I am enthusiastic about Flack and Angell's relationship. I am so mad at the writers for killing her off. This is what I think should've happened. It's not just going to be a oneshot :)
Disclaimer:
Jess: I own Don!
Me: No, I do!
CBS: Neither of you own him! We do!
Me: Fine! Be that way...
Jess: Not fine.
Me: I own none of the other charecters, CBS does... But the plot and some characters related to the plot are mine.
The steady pound of my feet on the treadmill mocked me as my heart pounded in my chest. Sweat coated my skin, making my running shorts and sport bra stick to my skin annoyingly. The thick bandage held on with uncomfortable medical tape still stuck to the healing bullet wound and surgical incision on my flat stomach. The doctors told me not to excercise, but what else was I supposed to to? Sit around in my apartment all day while I healed? Glancing down, I saw a patch of blood beginning to soak through the bandage. Whenever my blood got pumping, it sort of seeped. Some people were built for a life of indolence, but I was not.
What bothered me the most was that I couldn't see Don. I couldn't call him or have any sort of contact with him whatsoever. No one from my past life. Even my family, because as far as they were concerned, the plant ashes they'd been given were me. It all started when I awoke from surgery...
The haziness of the anesthetic began to lift, and I was gradually getting more and more aware of my surroundings. I heard a slow consistent beep somewhere nearby. Beep... Beep... Beep... I realized it was my heartbeat. An itchiness eminated from my arm, and a plastic tube was wrapped uncomfortably around my face. A hospital, I realized with a start. Why am I in a hospital? The question puzzled me for a few moments. You were shot, my brain reminded me.
I mentally shuddered at the memory of emptying my clip, and the sickening feeling of the bullet entering my midsection. It was a lot like someone (a REALLY strong someone, by the way) hitting you with an icepick, piercing and hitting at the same time. I remember keeling over backwards, I remember Don's voice over me, as he begged me to hang on, yelling for an ambulance. I'd heard the panic in his voice, which had scared me. Don had always been a source of bottomless courage, and never once had I seen him flater. The panic in his voice made me want to wrap my arms around his shoulders and say, 'It's okay, Don. I'm okay.' But somehow, my brain's command of telling my mouth to move got lost somewhere. I hadn't been able to move or speak. I must've blacked out, because I don't remember much else.
My eyes now flickered open, examining my surroundings. I was in an impersonal hospital room, outfitted it white. There were no windows, which I was painfully aware of. The wall I faced, which also held the door, was almost entirely glass. At least this gave me something to watch, as there was no TV in my room. Outside was a regular, industrial looking hallway, occasionally, a doctor or nurse would go bustling by, but other than that, I was alone. Beside my bed was an empty, ominous looking one. I hoped that the former tenant of that bed had left it under happy circumstances.
Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, a doctor held up outside my room, and coming inside. She had to be in her late thirties, with short blonde hair tied in a ponytail and a smattering of freckles across her face. Her eyes were greener than Ireland, and her face showed kindness. "Jessica Angell?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Dr. Diane Florek. I was the one who performed your surgery." she explained kindly.
"Oh, yeah. Um, thank you. For saving my life, I mean." I said.
"No need to thank me, Jessica. It's what I do," she said, laughing. But soon, her laughing mood vanished, being replaced with a cool professionalism. "But we need to talk about the reprocussions of your injury, Jessica."
"Wait, reprocussions?" I asked confused. "You mean there's lasting damage?" I dug my fingers into the sheets, clenching the sheets in my palms until my knuckles turned white. I quickly wiggled my toes to make sure my legs worked. They did. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes. When the bullet entered your stomach, it dinged around a little bit. It tore a hole in your stomach, and some of the stomach acid damaged your intestines. Do you have children, Jessica?"
I was a bit thrown off by her abrupt segway in topic. "Oh, um, no. I don't have any children. Why?"
"Because when that bullet hit you, it basically shredded one of your ovaries. We tried to repair it, but in the end, it was best to just remove it. You still have one left, so you can still have children, it's just a lot less likely you can get pregnant." she paused. "I imagine that's something you'd like to keep private, so in the official report, I just said you had 'extensive internal damage.'"
I stared blankly at her absorbing her words. I hadn't really thought about children before. I mean, I'd thought I'd end up marrying Don, having a few kids, and getting a dog kind of thing, but I'd never really considered not being able to get pregnant.
"Can I see Don?" I asked her quietly. "I need to talk to him. Just him."
Dr. Florek glanced behind her, worry crossing her features. "I'm so sorry honey, but there are these two men outside from the FBI who say they have to talk to you right away."
I started getting paranoid when she said that, afraid it was those people who'd driven the truck into the bar and shot me. "Send them in," I said, looking around for my gun or some other form of self-defense.
Moments after Dr. Florek scurried off, I heard, "Miss Angell?"
I looked up to see two men standing in front of my bed. The one who spoke was a burly, black guy who was bald and clean-shaven. "Yes?" I said, my voice guarded, still wary of these guys.
"My name is Dan Spieka, Director of Homeland Security,"
The guy next to Mr. Spieka spoke up. He had auburn hair and freaky yellow-green eyes, "And I'm Special Agent Thomas Reed, head of the FBI's drug task force."
"We have a special assignment for you."
And so, Witness Protection had given me a new identity, Sarah Anne Barnes, born April 18, 1983, parents Jennifer Mary Sands Barnes and Robert David Barnes. I was from New Ulm, Minnesota and I'd lost my husband, Don Allen Flocks, in the war. Just the fact that they'd used a name so close to my real Don's name was adding insult to injury. Today, I was supposed to get my hair cut, dyed, and styled, I'd get temporary tatoos so I'd fit in with my new 'assignment'. As vain as it was, I really did not want to get my hair cut. I happened to like my brunette locks.
My assignment was to go undercover with a Russian drug-dealing gang. I could literally bust hundreds of drug-dealing scumbags and make the city a whole lot safer. As honorable and important this assignment was, part of me wasn't sure it was worth giving up Don for. They said that I might be able to go back to my old life in a couple of years. Key word might. They wanted to keep my identity intact.
I got off the treadmill, switching the power off as I went. I slipped off my running shoes, and walked somewhat lethargically into the bathroom. I stripped out of my clothes, tossing them in a heap on the tiled floor of the bathroom. I stared at my stomach intently in the mirror. Gritting my teeth, I gingerly ripped the bandage off my wound, and a thin stream of blood dripped from it, running down my stomach like a miniature creek. The stitches that held the wound closed grabbed at the cottony gauze bandage and I winced.
The would was starting to heal, slowly but surely. The hole the bullet had ripped into my flash was starting to close, and the bruising around it was fading from black to purple. The surgical incision was almost healed- a sure sign of Dr. Florek's careful cutting. I would be able to go and get those stitches removed within the week.
Trying my best to forget about reality for a while, a turned on the shower and stepped in. I hardly noticed the scalding water as it ran over my body. I honestly didn't care if all my skin got burned away, and I probably wouldn't have noticed. I thought a lot about Don, and my old job at the NYPD. Silent tears flowed freely down my cheeks when I thought about Don's and my first time together, how we flowed together so perfectly, as thought our bodies had been crafted just for each other. I replayed every single detail in mind mind over and over again, like a sickening broken record of my best memories. Best memories that would have no repeats in the foreseeable future.
I suddenly became conscious of how many minutes I'd spent in the shower. After quickly washing my hair, I jumped out, wrapping a white, fluffy towel around my midsection, and another around my hair. I got dressed quickly, and I went to the kitchen to redress the stitched up surgical incision and bullet wound, carefully apply the medicated ointment, bandage, and medical tape.
I was smoothing out the tape when I heard a knock at the door that told me my undercover partner was here. Detective Andy Anderson was a tough-as-nails, no nonsense cop who came from the Bronx, and whose name I loved to tease him about. He was freakishly tall-almost seven feet-and had dark brown hair with emerald colored eyes. He even went as far as to slick his hair back with the kind hair gel that made his hair have a highly glossy look and remind me of Ace Ventura. Although it would've been nice if he's actually been as funny as Ace Ventura, but I take what I can get. He also reminded me a lot of Elvis, but I never really brought this up. I had enough material for my jokes on him without bringing the king of rock into the equation. Opening the door, I saw Andy wore his same stoic, but slightly angry expression. "Morning, sunshine," I said sarcastically opening the door wider.
As usual, Andy didn't crack a smile or send back a teasing reply as Don would've done. "Good morning, Detective Angell." he said, his voice tight and controlled. His dark green eyes shot daggers at me whenever I insisted he call me Jess or Jessica, or something not so formal, so I mostly kept my mouth shut. "Are you ready to leave?"
"As I'll ever be," I admitted reluctantly. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder at my old apartment. Witness Protection and the FBI allowed me to keep it, but I wouldn't be allowed to live anywhere near it.
We exited the building and we climbed into Andy's FBI standard issue armored sedan. The engine roared to life and we were off to the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building a few hours away in Washington, D.C.
I'd never assumed there'd be a beauty salon of sorts in the basement of the building, but with a fully functioning undercover unit, everything was necessary. They clipped, dyed, styled, and tortured my hair into submission. I'd closed my eyes at the beginning, not wanting to see the atrocities they were committing against my hair.
"Jessie," my stylist cooed, "open your eyes and see the miracle I have worked here!" This woman was one who enjoyed her work way more than was healthy. I gingerly opened my eyes, my pupils adjusting to the light. I took in the sight before me while trying to keep Andy's expression, which was hard. My once long hair was now cropped into a tight bob at my chin, and was dyed an almost white blonde. I had sidesweep bangs that covered one of my eyes. I looked like a totally different Jessica. Or Sarah, rather. Almost invisible white streaks ran down my hair, giving it an almost ghostly glow. "Now you get to move on to tattoos, darlin'." I stood from the chair, but my stylist pushed a small white box into my hand. Glancing at the label, I read: Colored Eye Contacts: Midnight Blue Waters. I almost scoffed out loud at the ridiculous name. "Don't forget to put these in, hon." She then scooted me off with a flourish of her large hands to do with her next assignment,
I walked through the room, and across to a freaky looking chick with a nose piercing and a huge hole in her ear lobe. She proceeded to tattoo nearly every inch of my body, with flowers, thorns, dragons, and just about everything else imaginable. She even added an intricate heart design on the small of my back with the name 'Don' in the middle. That was the only tattoo I liked. "Don't worry," she said with a weird smile, showing off her huge lip ring which hadn't really been noticeable before, "These aren't permanent. You'll have to come in in another six months to get them redone."
Afterwards, I was given a whole new wardrobe, which basically consisted of clothes that would have immediately set off my red light as a cop. And stuff that was ugly as hell. First, I was dressed in a super tight, white tank top, that did not leave much to the imagination, and my black lacy bra was clearly visible. I also wore baggy jeans with more pockets than could ever be used by someone who was not in the military, and those shoes with the poofy tongues that no one wore right.
I finally met back up with Andy. He was wearing similar clothes, his face still stoic. "Hey there, Eyore." I said, joking halfheartedly.
He all but ignored my quip and said, "Special Agent Reed would like a word with us."
Sorry about this sloppily written chapter. I hate exposition, especially when a lot of boring stuff (Jess's undercover makeover) have to happen. Let me know if I should continue. I guess even if you don't want me to, I will anyway :P haha. Five Roses Thorns Buds reviews to next chapters. (Roses= what you liked. Thorns=what you didn't like. Buds= what you hope to see next chapter) I don't like being picky, but I won't count the ones that just say, ' good keep going' or 'i love it'. Elaboration helps me be a better writer. Sorry for the loong footnote :P -SB
