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Entry tags:
[13-Aug-2021][Criminal Minds] Dynamic
Title: Dynamic
Day/Prompt: 13-Aug-2021
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Character/Pairing: Derek Morgan
Rating/Warning(s): Mature, Buford, SA
The fog choking him is thick, white mists painted in the dulled sky. It's cold enough to watch the fog smoking from his mouth like factory plume, cheeks cold and hands colder. The weather isn't what's choking him— the newest case burns his lungs. He's suffocating. he wants to breathe. Sexual assualt, sodomy, molestation, burns, contusions, and innocent, normal kids hurt. Call-out cases normally sucked.
They were never this bad, or at least to him. To JJ, a beautiful woman of blonde hair and blue eyes, it must've been hell on earth. Derek's known for a while. Guess he needs a reminder.
Black boys were strung up like dolls, dead-eyed and hoping for a superhero, their momma, their daddy, their somebody to come and rescue them from a living nightmare. The first boy died in a yellow polo, red logo, and loose jeans. The second would've died bare naked if not for the underwear and rosary around his neck. They died alone. No prayers. No words to carry them to whatever rested beyond life.
Kids.
He sees them.
Derek looks through them.
Carl's in jail, yet he's never gone away. Not truly, not for Derek, and not to better profilers—murders, rapists, abusers— who spot that fear beyond the rugged stoicism. They see through him and the facade he's spent fifteen years building.
He's doing life, Derek tells himself as he runs a hand over his head, inhaling, breathing.
That never really helps. When it's his team, when it's his coworkers and allies who make him paranoid and glancing, nothing helps.
Sometimes, it's Hotch who scares him. The man is an idol, a man who's assisted Derek through his career without asking, without so much as a single glance or the expectation of gratitude. He simply acknowledges skill, wit, and a man who deserves to advance, but most who say rarely do. He used to wait for Hotch to finally hurt him, only for the day never to come. The man was remarkably smart and completely normal.
The others weren't normal. It used to be Gideon and Reid. Long, long ago, he realized Gideon isn't the kind of man to pervert precious relationships, but Reid's young— predators like vulnerable waifs and pretty boys. It's a dynamic he knows: mentorship and gratitude.
He's doing life.
Derek feels him; the sensations have stayed since childhood. He feels Carl's calloused, wet hands, he feels the hot breathe ghosting his shoulder, and he still feels his own fear when another man gazes at him like he's a prime meal, ready for the taking.
He feels them in their dead eyes.
He shouldn't. He's over thirty. He was a kid then. He's an adult now.
But he sees past the kid's identity. Blinking, Derek finds himself on cold grey concrete grounds
Day/Prompt: 13-Aug-2021
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Character/Pairing: Derek Morgan
Rating/Warning(s): Mature, Buford, SA
The fog choking him is thick, white mists painted in the dulled sky. It's cold enough to watch the fog smoking from his mouth like factory plume, cheeks cold and hands colder. The weather isn't what's choking him— the newest case burns his lungs. He's suffocating. he wants to breathe. Sexual assualt, sodomy, molestation, burns, contusions, and innocent, normal kids hurt. Call-out cases normally sucked.
They were never this bad, or at least to him. To JJ, a beautiful woman of blonde hair and blue eyes, it must've been hell on earth. Derek's known for a while. Guess he needs a reminder.
Black boys were strung up like dolls, dead-eyed and hoping for a superhero, their momma, their daddy, their somebody to come and rescue them from a living nightmare. The first boy died in a yellow polo, red logo, and loose jeans. The second would've died bare naked if not for the underwear and rosary around his neck. They died alone. No prayers. No words to carry them to whatever rested beyond life.
Kids.
He sees them.
Derek looks through them.
Carl's in jail, yet he's never gone away. Not truly, not for Derek, and not to better profilers—murders, rapists, abusers— who spot that fear beyond the rugged stoicism. They see through him and the facade he's spent fifteen years building.
He's doing life, Derek tells himself as he runs a hand over his head, inhaling, breathing.
That never really helps. When it's his team, when it's his coworkers and allies who make him paranoid and glancing, nothing helps.
Sometimes, it's Hotch who scares him. The man is an idol, a man who's assisted Derek through his career without asking, without so much as a single glance or the expectation of gratitude. He simply acknowledges skill, wit, and a man who deserves to advance, but most who say rarely do. He used to wait for Hotch to finally hurt him, only for the day never to come. The man was remarkably smart and completely normal.
The others weren't normal. It used to be Gideon and Reid. Long, long ago, he realized Gideon isn't the kind of man to pervert precious relationships, but Reid's young— predators like vulnerable waifs and pretty boys. It's a dynamic he knows: mentorship and gratitude.
He's doing life.
Derek feels him; the sensations have stayed since childhood. He feels Carl's calloused, wet hands, he feels the hot breathe ghosting his shoulder, and he still feels his own fear when another man gazes at him like he's a prime meal, ready for the taking.
He feels them in their dead eyes.
He shouldn't. He's over thirty. He was a kid then. He's an adult now.
But he sees past the kid's identity. Blinking, Derek finds himself on cold grey concrete grounds