-Chapter 24, Specialist: It's Not Cheating (It's Skill)-
Plink.
Plink. Plink.
I had never given much thought to how I would die, but a triple bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg, lathered in ranch dressing and some curly fries — not the thick curl mass they cut from the center of the potato that never gets cooked all the way through; the crispy, maybe-it's-burned-but-maybe-it's-still-good kind — with a root beer float…
That was a slice of sweet heaven I could have a heart attack for.
Why was I thinking about food? I wasn't pregnant, was I? Oh! Wait, no… I had only given Carl a blowjob. I'm 90% sure you can't get pregnant like that unless you're in a pool or something.
Plink.
"Normally when I'm doing this, my patients are out cold or crying like a bitch," the man who had been pulling shrapnel out of my shoulder mused out loud. "How's a pert little thing like you manage without painkillers?"
Blowjobs.
"Mind over matter."
"Well," he wiped his hands on a bloody towel draped over the tool bench he had all his shiny medical tools arranged on and eased out of his sitting position, casting a quick look toward the door, where a soldier was peering impatiently in from, cradling his hand. "You're good to go. Careful with that hamburger meat you have for an arm; it'll open up if you move it too much."
"You sound so concerned for my well-being," I rolled my eyes and limped past the side table, strapping my jacket back on and wincing as the rough texture of the bullet holes rubbed against the bandaged skin. I thumbed the ravaged material and frowned; I would need new gear.
"I'm thrilled," he chuckled and motioned for the pansy-soldier who had been waiting to come in. I moved around him and walked through the doorway. The doc called after me: "Seeing you freaks almost die makes me feel better about myself."
The facility wasn't quite the size of the labyrinth in Phoenix, but it was easy enough to get lost in the monotone, damp concrete hallways and stark white work areas and labs. I was currently three stories underground, stirring a cup of much-too-hot coffee with the end of a plastic spork as I leaned against the counter of the make-shift relaxation area for this level. It was a measly refrigerator, counter, and sink, depressed into a cove they had carved out of the hallway.
I was delaying the meeting and debriefing I was supposed to go to, I knew, but as far as I was concerned, they could fuck off and die until I finished my coffee. I had been through a mildly-traumatic ordeal, having my eardrums almost explode and then getting team-shot by the soldiers responding to my distress beacon.
No. Fuck that. Coffee first; hoop jumping later.
"Good coffee?"
"Fff!" I hissed as the hot coffee splashed down my shirt and across my jacket, searing deep into the few scrapes and bruises across my chest. The now-empty coffee cup rolled in a circle on the floor in a shallow puddle of caffeine. "Who's the dick th…" I trailed off as I turned and found myself looking into two deep dark empty pits for eyes; the wild, curly blond wisps of hair framing them ominously.
"Whitlock," I took a step back out of instinctual fear. Vampires were nothing to scoff at; even domesticated ones like him could be completely savage if exposed to free flowing blood. His wide-eyed stare slowly morphed into an amused sneer and I gritted my teeth as my heart slowed down. "Fuck you!" I bit back at him. "Stupid fucking prick — you spilled my coffee!"
He raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "I didn't exactly make it jump out of yer' hand with my mind. It's not my fault you're a butterfingers; but...maybe your motor functions are goin' in your old age. How old are you now? Forty?"
"Thirty," I snarked back. "You'd remember that if you weren't a blood-crazed hillbilly; why don't you get out of my face before I go get my grenade launcher and unload a few rounds of 'Southern Comfort' up your inbred ass!"
"Oooh," he laughed condescendingly. "Feeling brave today, huh? Wanna take a swing?"
I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, deciding that a stupid debriefing was better than being salivated on by the pet vampire. He didn't move out of the way and my shoulder scraped by his bicep as I brushed past, him silently snickering all the while. I had made it fewer than five paces before he called out after me.
"Charlene, when are we going to cut to the chase and fuck? This sexual tension is killing me and I'm already dead." My shoulders tightened and I turned around, continuing down the hall haphazardly in reverse as I flipped him the bird.
Ryan Ambrose's salt-and-pepper hair bobbed a few feet in front of my face as he wrote notes, head down and eyes focused fully on the notepad in front of him. The meeting room we were in was empty, with the same cold concrete walls and eye-burning overhead lights that made it impossible to fall asleep in. On the wall to the left of me and to the right of Ryan, a makeshift "Happy Birthday, Meg" banner hung. The chair I was sitting in was cold metal and I had to constantly shift in my seat as different parts of my ass kept falling asleep.
The tick-tick-ticking of the gold pocketwatch that was on Ryan's desk was the only sound in the room besides the scribbling sound of pen on paper. I was essentially crawling up the walls being in this place.
"I couldn't hear much of what they were saying, but it was clear enough that they didn't see eye to eye," I shook my head. "I've never seen that with the infected; there are never any arguments to be had since they are of one mind. But these two…"
"Well, that's why we gave them the cool nicknames." Ryan joked, leaning back in his chair. "Shame about David; I'm sure he was one of our brightest."
"Doubt it," I mumbled. "He locked himself out of the building when we were jumped by hunters, so…" I trailed off and Ryan chuckled.
"All the same," he rolled his eyes and scooted his chair away from the table and rolled to his feet with a soft grunt. "I'll have one of the pencil-pushers organize some flowers or something." He turned to the mini-fridge in the corner of the meeting room and opened it up. He pulled out a couple Mountain Dews and tossed me one.
"Any news on Deacon?" I asked as I eyed the label of the can, turning it around in my hand nervously. Ryan sighed and sat back down — this time in the chair beside me — and cracked his soda open.
"No word," he murmured. "Sorry."
"S'okay," I shook my head and opened my own can, taking a big gulp and grimacing at the taste.
"Lawton's missing too," Ryan said. "Last seen a half mile off his post, fighting one of those tentacle things — God, I hate those fucking things." He shivered theatrically. "What's on the other end of those tentacles?"
"More tentacles, probably."
"Yeah."
A comfortable silence followed for several minutes, and neither of us seemed to want to break it with meaningless chatter. I was tired — past any anger or sadness. I just felt like sitting and staring at a wall for a few hours, doing nothing but letting my mind unwind. The tick-tick-ticking of his pocketwatch was mesmerizing, and I seriously wondered if it were possible for humans to fall asleep with their eyes open; then I started wondering about dicks again.
Then dicks lead to Whitlock, which made me think about murdering people with explosives. I let out a sigh and opened my mouth to ask if I could be dismissed, when the door opened and a nerdy guy came speed-walking in.
"Sir, excuse my interruption, but you did say that I was supposed to let you know first thing if—"
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan waved his hand and blinked at him. "Go ahead; we're finished here anyway." He glanced at me and I nodded, scooting back and getting out of the chair, popping my shoulders in relief as I went.
"Our satellites picked up Specialist Connolly in Forks, Washington about 5 minutes ago," he glanced over at me. "Uh, the other Specialist Connolly, I mean, sir. Facial recognition confirmed it at seventy-two point one oh eight percent."
I took in a quick breath and looked back to Ryan. He nodded.
"Let's go get our boy back."
End notes: This is a shorter one, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer (and this was more of an introduction to the Specialists). I had debated whether or not to bring the POV over to the OC military guys, since this I really didn't want to turn this into some mutated half-Twilight story, but since they're going to be playing a big part of the endgame of this story, I figured "why not?". And no, reviewer, that one guy last chapter was never meant to be Jasper. He was always with the Specialists (which you'll learn about later on).
I'm recycling a lot of old ideas from my previous fics in this one, so those of you who know the Ambrose siblings will know a little more about who Ryan is and where he comes from. They're not the stars this time around, but I'm attached to them, so yeah, they'll be back.