Alaska: Chapter 6
Title: Alaska
Author: ficdirectory
Characters: Morgan, Team
Word Count: 10K - Chapter 6/7
Warnings/Spoilers/Rating: Disaster/Episode 5x21, "Exit Wounds"/FRT.
Summary/Prompt: The floatplane crashes on the way back from Alaska.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the CBS-owned characters mentioned. Not written for profit.
Notes: Written for nannerz2cool for her donation to ontd_ai's Dollar Drive for Japan.
I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have…
- Abraham Lincoln
Derek never really fell asleep. Noises kept him up - scratching at the back of his consciousness until he inevitably would rise to check on the state of various things. The fire. Garcia's survival pack. Emily. When he did, Derek made plenty of noise, to scare off potential prey out here.
He is up and it is early. The sky is a misty gray, and the stench of fuel is still too close at hand. Instead of focusing on that, Derek makes himself concentrate on other things. What is necessary. He checks on Emily and JJ and finds them sleeping fitfully, both cold. Glancing around, Derek locates the clothes Garcia passed along to them, and rearranges them over the ladies. The last thing they need is hypothermia. Hotch is moving in the woods, and Derek doesn't have a clue what he's even doing walking around. Next he finds Garcia asleep by the dying fire. Reid, curled up near her. Rossi's got the pitiful rations from Garcia's pack and is busy dividing them, poking the fire to life with kindling and a stick.
"Breakfast?" Rossi offers humorlessly.
The truth is, Derek doesn't want to eat, even though he's starving. Instinct has him holding back. Save the food for those who need it the most. The smallest - that would be Reid - or the sickest - Emily.
"I'm good," he lies. "I'm gonna go see about water."
"Stay in shouting distance," Rossi advises, and then thinks better of it. "It's better if we stay together anyway. I found a stream last night when I was scouting."
Derek wants to ask when the hell Rossi had time to go scouting, but doesn't. There's a lot about Rossi that Derek doesn't get. Like, how they can be in this godforsaken place, and Dave can possibly still have a spring in his step? How he can look like he's actually enjoying the sights out here? Derek just wants to get the hell out. He just wants them all to be safe.
--
Derek's moving through the trees quietly. At the last second, he decides to take the poncho Garcia offered last night. He feels ridiculous in it, but only a little. Fact of the matter is, they need to stay alive, and that means staying warm.
"Bugs," Rossi observes. "Bugs mean we're close"
But Derek doesn't respond. He just wants to do what they came to do and get back. He doesn't feel great about being out here. His entire body is sore from being jarred during the crash, and, he suspects, from sleeping on the cold ground.
Turns out, they are close, and Rossi has some weird hunter's sixth sense about things like this. After more walking than he cares to do, Derek's staring at a stream.
"Too bad we didn't bring a rod…we could probably catch something nice out here," Rossi observes.
Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't fish."
"You don't fish, or you don't eat fish?" Rossi presses, bending down with Garcia's empty containers. They wont drink from them, but they need something to carry the water back in.
"Both," Derek answers shortly.
--
It's too quiet on the way back. Quiet enough for every single one of Derek's doubts to surface. All the what ifs that he dare not say aloud. He is pretty sure that everyone else has wrestled with them by now, but Derek's a champion at stuffing things down that he is not ready to face. He hates it out here. Hates that it's freaking his friends out, hates that there is no way to signal for help except for a tiny mirror.
If he were a praying man, he would pray for a clear day, so that search planes could find them. But he knows all too well that praying doesn't get you anywhere.
"I feel it, too," Rossi says. No other explanation. Just this.
Derek sends him a look. One eyebrow's cocked for a good measure.
"Being out in nature opens you up. We're used to being busy. To having a schedule. To grasping the illusion that we're somehow in control of our own destiny. But the truth is, we're not."
"Don't you talk about God to me," Derek warns, his tone light, but seriousness deep in his gaze.
"Look, all I'm saying is, I understand. And I'm here if you need anything."
Derek wants to deny it. Deny him. Tell Rossi that he doesn't understand at all. But the woods suddenly seem as sacred as the confessional that Derek never visits. "Too many memories…" he admits, his voice soft. "The only time I did anything outside was when that son-of-a-bitch wanted to… Fishing. Swimming. It's all messed up in my brain now, and I can't look at it the same."
Rossi, thank God, is quiet, just listening.
Derek stops. Looks at him. Dares him to say one thing. Just one that will make Derek feel worse than he does already.
"Makes sense," Rossi offers gently. And then, his hand is on Derek's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's all right," Derek reassures, even though it's not and they both know it. He shrugs off Rossi's hand, but stays beside him. Derek can't pass him up. Can't leave a man behind. It's not in him.
--
They get back to the others in time to see most gathered around the fire, warming up. JJ, Garcia and Spencer sit close together - Hotch across from them - all speaking in low tones. Emily makes pitiful sounds when she thinks no one is listening. He doesn't poke his head in, because he doesn't want to embarrass her. But he hurts for her. Wishes they could have gotten to her sooner.
Derek makes a decision and gets the hot chocolate package out of one of Garcia's MREs. That's going to Miss Emily, who is too stubborn to admit she might need more than a few layers of clothing to keep warm. He knows water is necessary, but right now, so is warmth, and Emily's greatest risk right now is her temperature. If he could remedy both at once, by God, he was gonna do it.
He pours the water in a tiny pot and holds it carefully over the fire. He sees Spencer pick up the mirror. It will be daylight soon, and not for long either. So, Derek hopes like hell they are found in the next four hours.
He brings the hot chocolate to Emily, who props herself up on her elbows, looking terrible as he's ever seen her. Derek offers her a sip and for once, she accepts, no tough girl act.
"Thank you," she says, trying to smile.
"How's the leg?" he asks, risking a look at it, grateful that the worst of the damage is covered up.
"Hurts," she admits, and for Emily, that's a lot.
"Well, I got a good feeling about today. We're gonna get out of here, all right? Reid's out there flashin' bat signals to the planes already."
"Derek?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Don't make promises you cant keep."
Author: ficdirectory
Characters: Morgan, Team
Word Count: 10K - Chapter 6/7
Warnings/Spoilers/Rating: Disaster/Episode 5x21, "Exit Wounds"/FRT.
Summary/Prompt: The floatplane crashes on the way back from Alaska.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the CBS-owned characters mentioned. Not written for profit.
Notes: Written for nannerz2cool for her donation to ontd_ai's Dollar Drive for Japan.
I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have…
- Abraham Lincoln
Derek never really fell asleep. Noises kept him up - scratching at the back of his consciousness until he inevitably would rise to check on the state of various things. The fire. Garcia's survival pack. Emily. When he did, Derek made plenty of noise, to scare off potential prey out here.
He is up and it is early. The sky is a misty gray, and the stench of fuel is still too close at hand. Instead of focusing on that, Derek makes himself concentrate on other things. What is necessary. He checks on Emily and JJ and finds them sleeping fitfully, both cold. Glancing around, Derek locates the clothes Garcia passed along to them, and rearranges them over the ladies. The last thing they need is hypothermia. Hotch is moving in the woods, and Derek doesn't have a clue what he's even doing walking around. Next he finds Garcia asleep by the dying fire. Reid, curled up near her. Rossi's got the pitiful rations from Garcia's pack and is busy dividing them, poking the fire to life with kindling and a stick.
"Breakfast?" Rossi offers humorlessly.
The truth is, Derek doesn't want to eat, even though he's starving. Instinct has him holding back. Save the food for those who need it the most. The smallest - that would be Reid - or the sickest - Emily.
"I'm good," he lies. "I'm gonna go see about water."
"Stay in shouting distance," Rossi advises, and then thinks better of it. "It's better if we stay together anyway. I found a stream last night when I was scouting."
Derek wants to ask when the hell Rossi had time to go scouting, but doesn't. There's a lot about Rossi that Derek doesn't get. Like, how they can be in this godforsaken place, and Dave can possibly still have a spring in his step? How he can look like he's actually enjoying the sights out here? Derek just wants to get the hell out. He just wants them all to be safe.
--
Derek's moving through the trees quietly. At the last second, he decides to take the poncho Garcia offered last night. He feels ridiculous in it, but only a little. Fact of the matter is, they need to stay alive, and that means staying warm.
"Bugs," Rossi observes. "Bugs mean we're close"
But Derek doesn't respond. He just wants to do what they came to do and get back. He doesn't feel great about being out here. His entire body is sore from being jarred during the crash, and, he suspects, from sleeping on the cold ground.
Turns out, they are close, and Rossi has some weird hunter's sixth sense about things like this. After more walking than he cares to do, Derek's staring at a stream.
"Too bad we didn't bring a rod…we could probably catch something nice out here," Rossi observes.
Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't fish."
"You don't fish, or you don't eat fish?" Rossi presses, bending down with Garcia's empty containers. They wont drink from them, but they need something to carry the water back in.
"Both," Derek answers shortly.
--
It's too quiet on the way back. Quiet enough for every single one of Derek's doubts to surface. All the what ifs that he dare not say aloud. He is pretty sure that everyone else has wrestled with them by now, but Derek's a champion at stuffing things down that he is not ready to face. He hates it out here. Hates that it's freaking his friends out, hates that there is no way to signal for help except for a tiny mirror.
If he were a praying man, he would pray for a clear day, so that search planes could find them. But he knows all too well that praying doesn't get you anywhere.
"I feel it, too," Rossi says. No other explanation. Just this.
Derek sends him a look. One eyebrow's cocked for a good measure.
"Being out in nature opens you up. We're used to being busy. To having a schedule. To grasping the illusion that we're somehow in control of our own destiny. But the truth is, we're not."
"Don't you talk about God to me," Derek warns, his tone light, but seriousness deep in his gaze.
"Look, all I'm saying is, I understand. And I'm here if you need anything."
Derek wants to deny it. Deny him. Tell Rossi that he doesn't understand at all. But the woods suddenly seem as sacred as the confessional that Derek never visits. "Too many memories…" he admits, his voice soft. "The only time I did anything outside was when that son-of-a-bitch wanted to… Fishing. Swimming. It's all messed up in my brain now, and I can't look at it the same."
Rossi, thank God, is quiet, just listening.
Derek stops. Looks at him. Dares him to say one thing. Just one that will make Derek feel worse than he does already.
"Makes sense," Rossi offers gently. And then, his hand is on Derek's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's all right," Derek reassures, even though it's not and they both know it. He shrugs off Rossi's hand, but stays beside him. Derek can't pass him up. Can't leave a man behind. It's not in him.
--
They get back to the others in time to see most gathered around the fire, warming up. JJ, Garcia and Spencer sit close together - Hotch across from them - all speaking in low tones. Emily makes pitiful sounds when she thinks no one is listening. He doesn't poke his head in, because he doesn't want to embarrass her. But he hurts for her. Wishes they could have gotten to her sooner.
Derek makes a decision and gets the hot chocolate package out of one of Garcia's MREs. That's going to Miss Emily, who is too stubborn to admit she might need more than a few layers of clothing to keep warm. He knows water is necessary, but right now, so is warmth, and Emily's greatest risk right now is her temperature. If he could remedy both at once, by God, he was gonna do it.
He pours the water in a tiny pot and holds it carefully over the fire. He sees Spencer pick up the mirror. It will be daylight soon, and not for long either. So, Derek hopes like hell they are found in the next four hours.
He brings the hot chocolate to Emily, who props herself up on her elbows, looking terrible as he's ever seen her. Derek offers her a sip and for once, she accepts, no tough girl act.
"Thank you," she says, trying to smile.
"How's the leg?" he asks, risking a look at it, grateful that the worst of the damage is covered up.
"Hurts," she admits, and for Emily, that's a lot.
"Well, I got a good feeling about today. We're gonna get out of here, all right? Reid's out there flashin' bat signals to the planes already."
"Derek?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Don't make promises you cant keep."