Abyss (R) (Smash) PART 7
Title: Abyss
Author: blackpoetcat
Rating: R
Character: Derek Wills
Disclaimer: NBC owns all, just playing drama with
Summary: Everyone knows he doesn't give a shit about anything but the show. So when Derek's life capsizes, will anyone give a shit about him?
( Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)
A noise made Derek wake with a start. The door was open; the hall's fluorescent lights cast some light into the room and caused him to blink several times until his eyes adjusted to it. Then he recognized the officer he had attacked, leaning against the frame, arms crossed before his chest, and looking at him with an unreadable expression.
They held eye contact for a while without any word, and then Derek lowered his head and pressed his lips together. He was well aware what was expected of him -- and he had to admit the man had every right to expect it. Well, it was something Derek was not generally used to, but he had managed twice to offer an excuse to Karen by choice recently, albeit for far lesser offenses. But here and now, he had to accept the fact that it was inevitable. So, after a last short bite at his lower lip, Derek raised his head and looked at the officer.
"I apologize," he said quietly.
"Fine. So you finally accept your current status and will follow instructions without a fuss?" the officer inquired.
As hard as it was for Derek to submit to anything but his projects, he was no fool. It was either obedience or nothing but further trouble or, worse, legal punishment for him. Therefore he had no choice.
"I will. You have my word," he acknowledged, still holding eye contact to confirm that he was absolutely serious.
A small, but obviously genuine smile grew on the officer's face.
"I thought so. You must know we have microphones installed in this room, to stalk our ‘guests' here. Officially, it's for safety, but you have no idea how much fun we can have listening to cursing and ranting prisoners."
"I can imagine," Derek remarked dryly and, to his astonishment, began to smile himself.
"Of course -- you're a theatre man," the officer replied and started to grin before he went on explaining. "Well, sometimes we are regrettably forced to release the inmates early to prevent psychological complications. Mostly when they start to sob."
"Seems a wise decision to me," Derek agreed. "How long do you typically keep people locked up in here? How long have I been...?"
"Three hours. Standard for the first event. Second try would be six, third twelve; but that we've got only once during the nine years I've worked here," the officer said. "It's almost as rare as what we experienced today -- total silence. And I'm pretty sure you weren't so quiet just because you slept, were you?"
The man's expression betrayed not only curiosity, but honest interest; so Derek saw no reason to refuse an equally sincere answer.
"No, I had to think things over," he confessed, "and to tell the truth, this kind of privacy was exactly what I needed even more than..."
He stopped, looked aside and bit his lower lip again. There was still something eating at him and even if this officer seemed not so smug anymore, Derek wasn't certain if he could dare to inquire.
"What? Come on, spill it out; I won't bite," the man teased him and raised a smirk on Derek's lips, eased him up enough to speak his mind.
"I still wonder if it would be possible to treat remand prisoners with at least some respect instead of visible scorn," he finally got out.
Now it was the officer who smirked back.
"Tell me, Mr. Wills -- would you respect an arrogant asshole who radiates with every fibre that he is far above the rules?"
Oh...
For one second Derek was dumbfounded at the guard's bluntness, but then he started to smile.
"No, I wouldn't," he confessed. "And therefore I can't blame you. Though I have to admit that I was not aware of acting like that."
"No surprise here. We know very well that you are notorious for being an arrogant bastard and I can well imagine that you are so used to it that you don't notice anymore." The officer's grin became even broader. "But I think we'll get along fine now, isn't that right?"
Derek couldn't help but chuckle, and nodded.
"We will indeed," he affirmed. "Though I fear I commit arrogance again when I confess that I didn't suppose anyone here would know a damn thing about me or the theatre world."
Now it was the officer's turn to chuckle; then he finally left his position at the door frame, bent down to grab Derek's arms and help him back on his feet.
"I think we can live with that. Now I will accompany you back to your cell, if you're ready."
Derek let out a sigh of relief, shook his legs in turn and agreed.
"As ready as you like, Officer..." For the first time he bothered to look at the man's name badge. "O'Shaugn. Can't wait to get rid of those damn cuffs!"
"Well, I believe every word of that." O'Shaugn laughed and led his prisoner back to the cell area. For the second time Derek felt quite uncomfortable to be stared at and shouted at by the other inmates. But to his astonishment, O'Shaugn barked a short "Silence!" and -- they obeyed. They only kept staring.
The moment they reached the same cell as before his outburst, the officer unlocked the door and gestured to Derek to step in. Derek hesitated for a few seconds because he was still cuffed, and couldn't believe that O'Shaugn wanted to continue this part of the punishment. But he decided to trust the officer and stepped into the cell, but turned around as soon as the door was locked after him. O'Shaugn smiled and pointed at a square opening in the vertical bars of the lattice door.
"See this? It's not just for the food trays..."
Derek understood, nodded and turned around, presenting his wrists. He was then relieved of the cuffs, finally, and faced O'Shaugn again while starting to rub his sore wrists.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Oh, and one last thing -- try to come to terms with the food. It's not as bad as it may look; and you don't want to get sick and have to be force-feed, now do you?" the officer proposed, causing another sigh from Derek.
"I'll try," he answered with a sigh. "And may I ask you one more thing?"
"Go ahead."
"What am I supposed to do all day? I don't think I can stand this without some kind of occupation. Am I at least allowed to read and write and to get the necessary things for both?"
"Of course," O'Shaugn nodded. "We have our own library. Three days a week, next turn tomorrow, someone goes around with a trolley full of books and a borrower's list. You can ask him for whatever you'd like to read, and if it's available, you'll get it. Same for writing stuff; pads of paper, pens and envelopes. Stamps have to be bought."
"Thanks again, then," Derek said. "And what about personal items, toiletries...?"
"If someone brings them here, you'll get them after they've been searched."
"Okay. Thank you."
O'Shaugn nodded one last time and then left the cell's corridor. Derek sat back on his cot and practised some loosening-up exercises for his tensed arms and shoulders. The long hours he had been cuffed were clearly perceptible, but he wouldn't complain. He knew too well that he alone was responsible for the pain.
As he was for some other people's pain and trouble; but as it would change no one's situation to quarrel with those regrets now, Derek pushed every thought of sorrow aside. He needed to concentrate on discipline and whatever was necessary to help Bellamy with preparing his defence. He would fight for his freedom with everything he had -- but from now on, only in court.
Continued in Part 8
Author: blackpoetcat
Rating: R
Character: Derek Wills
Disclaimer: NBC owns all, just playing drama with
Summary: Everyone knows he doesn't give a shit about anything but the show. So when Derek's life capsizes, will anyone give a shit about him?
( Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)
A noise made Derek wake with a start. The door was open; the hall's fluorescent lights cast some light into the room and caused him to blink several times until his eyes adjusted to it. Then he recognized the officer he had attacked, leaning against the frame, arms crossed before his chest, and looking at him with an unreadable expression.
They held eye contact for a while without any word, and then Derek lowered his head and pressed his lips together. He was well aware what was expected of him -- and he had to admit the man had every right to expect it. Well, it was something Derek was not generally used to, but he had managed twice to offer an excuse to Karen by choice recently, albeit for far lesser offenses. But here and now, he had to accept the fact that it was inevitable. So, after a last short bite at his lower lip, Derek raised his head and looked at the officer.
"I apologize," he said quietly.
"Fine. So you finally accept your current status and will follow instructions without a fuss?" the officer inquired.
As hard as it was for Derek to submit to anything but his projects, he was no fool. It was either obedience or nothing but further trouble or, worse, legal punishment for him. Therefore he had no choice.
"I will. You have my word," he acknowledged, still holding eye contact to confirm that he was absolutely serious.
A small, but obviously genuine smile grew on the officer's face.
"I thought so. You must know we have microphones installed in this room, to stalk our ‘guests' here. Officially, it's for safety, but you have no idea how much fun we can have listening to cursing and ranting prisoners."
"I can imagine," Derek remarked dryly and, to his astonishment, began to smile himself.
"Of course -- you're a theatre man," the officer replied and started to grin before he went on explaining. "Well, sometimes we are regrettably forced to release the inmates early to prevent psychological complications. Mostly when they start to sob."
"Seems a wise decision to me," Derek agreed. "How long do you typically keep people locked up in here? How long have I been...?"
"Three hours. Standard for the first event. Second try would be six, third twelve; but that we've got only once during the nine years I've worked here," the officer said. "It's almost as rare as what we experienced today -- total silence. And I'm pretty sure you weren't so quiet just because you slept, were you?"
The man's expression betrayed not only curiosity, but honest interest; so Derek saw no reason to refuse an equally sincere answer.
"No, I had to think things over," he confessed, "and to tell the truth, this kind of privacy was exactly what I needed even more than..."
He stopped, looked aside and bit his lower lip again. There was still something eating at him and even if this officer seemed not so smug anymore, Derek wasn't certain if he could dare to inquire.
"What? Come on, spill it out; I won't bite," the man teased him and raised a smirk on Derek's lips, eased him up enough to speak his mind.
"I still wonder if it would be possible to treat remand prisoners with at least some respect instead of visible scorn," he finally got out.
Now it was the officer who smirked back.
"Tell me, Mr. Wills -- would you respect an arrogant asshole who radiates with every fibre that he is far above the rules?"
Oh...
For one second Derek was dumbfounded at the guard's bluntness, but then he started to smile.
"No, I wouldn't," he confessed. "And therefore I can't blame you. Though I have to admit that I was not aware of acting like that."
"No surprise here. We know very well that you are notorious for being an arrogant bastard and I can well imagine that you are so used to it that you don't notice anymore." The officer's grin became even broader. "But I think we'll get along fine now, isn't that right?"
Derek couldn't help but chuckle, and nodded.
"We will indeed," he affirmed. "Though I fear I commit arrogance again when I confess that I didn't suppose anyone here would know a damn thing about me or the theatre world."
Now it was the officer's turn to chuckle; then he finally left his position at the door frame, bent down to grab Derek's arms and help him back on his feet.
"I think we can live with that. Now I will accompany you back to your cell, if you're ready."
Derek let out a sigh of relief, shook his legs in turn and agreed.
"As ready as you like, Officer..." For the first time he bothered to look at the man's name badge. "O'Shaugn. Can't wait to get rid of those damn cuffs!"
"Well, I believe every word of that." O'Shaugn laughed and led his prisoner back to the cell area. For the second time Derek felt quite uncomfortable to be stared at and shouted at by the other inmates. But to his astonishment, O'Shaugn barked a short "Silence!" and -- they obeyed. They only kept staring.
The moment they reached the same cell as before his outburst, the officer unlocked the door and gestured to Derek to step in. Derek hesitated for a few seconds because he was still cuffed, and couldn't believe that O'Shaugn wanted to continue this part of the punishment. But he decided to trust the officer and stepped into the cell, but turned around as soon as the door was locked after him. O'Shaugn smiled and pointed at a square opening in the vertical bars of the lattice door.
"See this? It's not just for the food trays..."
Derek understood, nodded and turned around, presenting his wrists. He was then relieved of the cuffs, finally, and faced O'Shaugn again while starting to rub his sore wrists.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Oh, and one last thing -- try to come to terms with the food. It's not as bad as it may look; and you don't want to get sick and have to be force-feed, now do you?" the officer proposed, causing another sigh from Derek.
"I'll try," he answered with a sigh. "And may I ask you one more thing?"
"Go ahead."
"What am I supposed to do all day? I don't think I can stand this without some kind of occupation. Am I at least allowed to read and write and to get the necessary things for both?"
"Of course," O'Shaugn nodded. "We have our own library. Three days a week, next turn tomorrow, someone goes around with a trolley full of books and a borrower's list. You can ask him for whatever you'd like to read, and if it's available, you'll get it. Same for writing stuff; pads of paper, pens and envelopes. Stamps have to be bought."
"Thanks again, then," Derek said. "And what about personal items, toiletries...?"
"If someone brings them here, you'll get them after they've been searched."
"Okay. Thank you."
O'Shaugn nodded one last time and then left the cell's corridor. Derek sat back on his cot and practised some loosening-up exercises for his tensed arms and shoulders. The long hours he had been cuffed were clearly perceptible, but he wouldn't complain. He knew too well that he alone was responsible for the pain.
As he was for some other people's pain and trouble; but as it would change no one's situation to quarrel with those regrets now, Derek pushed every thought of sorrow aside. He needed to concentrate on discipline and whatever was necessary to help Bellamy with preparing his defence. He would fight for his freedom with everything he had -- but from now on, only in court.
Continued in Part 8