Hey readers! This is our first attempt at a fanfiction about one of our favorite shows: Covert Affairs! Reviews are definitely appreciated! Enjoy!
Our story takes place five years into the future. Auggie Anderson has retired from the CIA and is now undergoing recovery from an eye operation. An old friend has been sent to protect him from a threat that has been made against his life. Their connection could make or break this mission-how deep will their relationship get, and how far will this pair be willing to go to protect it?
3 months in, and my companions have been the smell of iodine, the ticking on the wall, and the breathing machine of the man next to me. I assume he's a man, he isn't much of a talker. The nurses on the other hand are definitely women, those damn kitten heels waking me every morning.
Click, click click.
Here she comes. A new nurse, not very experienced, but she was eager to do her job, and do it well. Her exuberance tended to blindside the patients-if you'll excuse the joke-but her charm would dispel the frustration or impatience of anyone she worked with. For me, it was simple: all she needed to do was bring me my coffee. Which is good for her, because she wasn't much of a talker. The sudden hiss of the shades being pulled, and the warmth of the sun on my face-not that I'd be able to experience the clear, nice day-let me know that she was there. I put a hand over my eyes as if to shield myself from the sun's rays.
"You're lucky I don't have a hangover," I grumbled with mock irritation. With my other hand, I reached for the coffee that was placed before me, the smell of it waking me further. I took a sip, hearing the creak of the wheels of my tray, the nurse busying herself with arranging it in front of me-something that she usually got wrong. I've lost count of how many meals she's had to catch from slipping off the side. She'd only laugh to herself, apologizing quickly, offering to feed me. This morning, surprisingly, she managed to get my tray into place. "So, what's on this five star menu today?" I asked her, with confidence that it will be the daily slop that I've had to endure for weeks. She pulled out the menu book from her pocket with a tiny rustle of fabric. My options were various forms of cooked discs, and seeing my grimace with each one, the nurse let out a little chuckle. "Cheery today, aren't we Piper?" I teased. Her joyous laugh was the only uplifting thing in this melancholy world that I seemed to inhabit. Her answer came with the tap of plastic on my tray. Reaching out, I felt the foil covering of a cup of jello-apple flavored. "I wonder if the old saying works retroactively?" I mused, reaching for the silverware. I got a surprise when I felt a sharp prick on my fingertips. "We were having such a good day," I said, to no one in particular as she left the room to get the rest of my meal. Piper had switched the order of my silverware on my tray.
By now, Auggie was probably finishing his "appetizer" as he liked to call it. It had been difficult not to respond to his playful demeanor, my only reprieve from the monotonous duties I needed to perform during the day. I again felt the need to thank Joan for assigning me to this candy striper status. Making my way back to Auggie's room, I rearrange his plate, the cafeteria workers having put his packets of butter in the space for his drink, his carton of milk threatening to topple over. This sort of thing summed up the extent of my duties: making sure that patients were fed, alerting doctors and nurses in emergency cases, basically, the gopher of this wing. The rest of my day was spent doing my real job. The job that I was sent here to perform. To protect Auggie from an attacker that only he could recognize.
"So...you're sending me to Charleston, to pose as a nurse, to protect a member of the special forces?" I demanded, unable to hide my skepticism. Joan didn't look up from the file she was browsing, lips pursed.
"How do you look in riding boots?" she asked. I rolled my eyes. Now she decided to have a sense of humor. It wasn't lost on me that we were having this conversation while wearing 200-dollar heels. Joan looked up, her eyebrows rising as she thrust the folder in my face. "I think you may have an invested interest on this assignment," she replied dismissively. Biting back a retort, I turned on my heel, wondering what such a statement could mean. I tucked the folder under my arm as I made my way over to the vending machine, having forgone breakfast. As the machine groaned to life, matching my mood, I opened the folder, expecting to see someone who had been in this line of work for much longer than I had been-a bearded, balding man perhaps. Someone with a body and mind that has been worn down by countless missions. The man in the photo did not-and would never-fit that description.
I held back a gasp as Auggie Anderson's face loomed before my eyes, with his confident grin and unusually expressive eyes. Scanning the summary of his case, my training took over. A faceless traitor had been inside his last mission, and felt that Auggie was a loose end. My mind started to race, the words blurring as I read. These basic facts, I already knew. What scared me more was the fact that this person, this "friend" was chasing after a man who didn't know that he should be running. Friends are impulsive, which makes for misguided and sloppy judgment. Judgment that I hope, would give me a target.
I pressed the call button in rapid, annoyed succession-in no way tied to my own present boredom. Where was nurse Piper?
The door slammed open, the flurry of clicking heels stopping short in the doorway.
"Mr. Anderson, are you alright?" There, in her distraction, her southern roots began to show. Her practiced twang was even more pronounced than normal. She was at my side in a moment, and after having put my plate on my window seat, she began a quick inspection. "Are you in any pain?" she asked urgently. Her hand brushed my forehead and cheek, and I caught it with my own.
"Just hunger pains. I was beginning to think that you'd forgotten me." Without thinking, I had pulled her hand to my chest.
My fingers now slipped to her wrist, puzzled by the still quickened pace of her pulse. Pipers fingers tightened for a brief second in surprise. I turned my head, my chin now resting on the tops of her knuckles. I realized my mistake.
"You, Mr. Anderson, need to shave." she said simply, as I set my hand on the tray, my thumb brushing the plate. For once, I was happy to be too occupied to speak. I heard the light popping sound of my straw tearing the foil of my milk carton. Piper placed it on my tray, leaning forward as she did so. "Remember Auggie, we don't use the call button just because you miss me." This time, it was her turn to be playful. In lieu of giving her a reaction, I sat quietly eating my meal. The door closed, and she was gone.