Profiler-- Come Undone
Profiler- Come Undone
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex, violence, and drugs.
Pairing: VCTF friendship.
A/N: Takes place Season 4 when the whole entire team is in a tailspin. Takes place during the episode "Mea Culpa."
Summary: John reflects on the state of the VCTF as everything seems to be falling apart.
This is a disaster. I’m the only one in the VCTF who’s even remotely sane right at the moment. Between Grace’s complicated pregnancy; George’s recovery; Rachel’s run-ins with Joel Marke; and Bailey’s disastrous performance on the Hill, we’re barely functioning. Even when Jack was hunting us down three years ago things were never this bad.
This kidnapping case in North Carolina that should be foremost on all of our minds is really the least of our worries. We’re doing the best we can- there’s never a question of that- but I’m starting to think that our best isn’t going to be good enough, not for this case, not by a long shot. We’re spinning out wheels on this one and not just because the case is so damn perplexing.
Bailey’s completely out to lunch with the appropriation hearings and whatever it is he’s got going on with Karen Archer. It’s not exactly been hard to notice all the long afternoon meetings he’s been taking or the way he comes back to the office smelling of perfume.
“You seeing the Congresswoman tonight?” I’d asked him last week when I’d caught him splashing on cologne in his office.
“We’ve got numbers to go over,” he replied. “Always about the bottom dollar.”
“It usually is with women.”
He’d grinned at me in the mirror and I could tell from that grin he was planning on crunching more than numbers.
“Some women are better at it than others. Karen’s pretty good about getting it all to line up.”
If that wasn’t a double entendre, I don’t know what is.
The VCTF is Bailey’s baby, always has been. I’m honestly not sure that he’s doing the right thing by putting our fate in Karen Archer’s manicured hands. The Congresswoman may look sweet but she’s got an attitude honed to a sharpness that cuts like carbon-steel. Managing to out-fox Bailey at the appropriation hearings today proves it. He’d never have let himself fall so hard or trust her so much if he didn’t think he’d ultimately end up calling the shots- after all, Bailey would never subordinate himself to any woman unless he knew he’d eventually end up on top. Karen Archer proved today that he hasn’t.
Then there’s Rachel, who is twitchier than I’ve ever seen her because of Joel Markes breathing down her neck. She keeps insisting to Bailey that she’s fine, that she doesn’t need guards, protection, or anything else, but I can tell she’s not entirely certain of that by the way her hand keeps straying to her gun. She’s pacing more than usual and her coffee drinking habits have shot into the stratosphere. Between her and George, nervous coffee consumption has tripled in the last week.
“Rachel?” She was out in the parking lot, taking a break from the noise of the café, and I made sure I said her name as I walked up behind her. Even so, I got a gun in my face for my trouble and a horrified look from Rachel when she realized what she’d almost done.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She holstered her gun and resumed pacing. “Scared the hell out of me!”
“Food’s here. Come on and eat.”
“I’m okay.” She rolled her shoulders forward, then backward, trying to ease the tension that I could see lodged there. “I’ll just have some coffee.”
“Any more coffee and you’re going to need a Juan Valdez seal plastered to your forehead. Come on inside.”
She thinks she can best Markes and normally I wouldn’t doubt her, but a man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous enemy you could have, and Rachel’s just gotten herself tangled up with a man who feels that he’s got absolutely nothing left to live for but to make her life hell. It worries me that she’s being as cavalier as she is about Markes, and it frustrates me that she won’t lean on me when she so obviously needs to.
Grace is probably having the hardest time of any of us, having to deal with the emotional blow of her marriage ending and the physical complications of her pregnancy. She’s been putting on the tough-as-nails front, maybe because she’s a woman in a male dominated field, more likely because she’s Grace and she’s been that way as long as I’ve known her. Whatever the reason, she’s trying not to let anyone see how much pain she’s actually in, emotional or physical.
I walked in to her make-shift morgue today and found her leaning heavily on the table, trying to ride out the muscle spasms that have been getting progressively worse over the last few weeks. I couldn’t sneak out fast enough and our eyes caught.
“I’m okay,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” For all the teasing we do, I really do like Grace. Seeing her in pain isn’t okay with me. “You need a doctor?”
“I am a doctor.” She was hanging on to the table so hard her knuckles were turning white. “Just give me a minute, okay, John? I’ll meet you out there.”
I should have stayed, should have made sure she was okay. But Grace is not a woman you want mad at you, even when- especially when- she’s in pain, so I walked back out to where George was sitting with his twentieth cup of coffee and tried not to think about the fact that there were fresh tears on her cheeks.
George is trying to hold it together and he’s doing a better job than the rest of them. Getting over a drug addiction is an absolute bitch and Oxycotin will ride your ass like a two-ton bull. He’s looking better-- more rested, less manic- but the fact that he’s rivaling Rachel in coffee consumption gives away the fact that all is not well in the land of George.
“You and Rich want to hit the Braves game next weekend?” I’d offered a few days earlier. “I’ve got seats right behind home plate.”
George’s face froze in a painful grimace before he shook his head. “Rich and I- we’re not- he, uh, he won’t be able to make it. But I’ll go if the offer’s still good.”
I could have kicked myself for not realizing what was going on under that glib exterior of George’s. The sudden turn to Oxycotin wasn’t about relieving pain from his car accident. If I’d taken the time to look closer I would have been able to see that. Part of it is that I just didn’t want to. George’s personal life- well, I’m not exactly ready to learn the ins and outs of it just yet.
Which leaves me, the only one not openly suffering a personal crisis. Losing Kate has hurt, of course, more than I thought anything ever could, but watching my friends in various stages of break-downs has made me realize that I have to step up to the plate. We’re never going to make it otherwise.
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Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex, violence, and drugs.
Pairing: VCTF friendship.
A/N: Takes place Season 4 when the whole entire team is in a tailspin. Takes place during the episode "Mea Culpa."
Summary: John reflects on the state of the VCTF as everything seems to be falling apart.
This is a disaster. I’m the only one in the VCTF who’s even remotely sane right at the moment. Between Grace’s complicated pregnancy; George’s recovery; Rachel’s run-ins with Joel Marke; and Bailey’s disastrous performance on the Hill, we’re barely functioning. Even when Jack was hunting us down three years ago things were never this bad.
This kidnapping case in North Carolina that should be foremost on all of our minds is really the least of our worries. We’re doing the best we can- there’s never a question of that- but I’m starting to think that our best isn’t going to be good enough, not for this case, not by a long shot. We’re spinning out wheels on this one and not just because the case is so damn perplexing.
Bailey’s completely out to lunch with the appropriation hearings and whatever it is he’s got going on with Karen Archer. It’s not exactly been hard to notice all the long afternoon meetings he’s been taking or the way he comes back to the office smelling of perfume.
“You seeing the Congresswoman tonight?” I’d asked him last week when I’d caught him splashing on cologne in his office.
“We’ve got numbers to go over,” he replied. “Always about the bottom dollar.”
“It usually is with women.”
He’d grinned at me in the mirror and I could tell from that grin he was planning on crunching more than numbers.
“Some women are better at it than others. Karen’s pretty good about getting it all to line up.”
If that wasn’t a double entendre, I don’t know what is.
The VCTF is Bailey’s baby, always has been. I’m honestly not sure that he’s doing the right thing by putting our fate in Karen Archer’s manicured hands. The Congresswoman may look sweet but she’s got an attitude honed to a sharpness that cuts like carbon-steel. Managing to out-fox Bailey at the appropriation hearings today proves it. He’d never have let himself fall so hard or trust her so much if he didn’t think he’d ultimately end up calling the shots- after all, Bailey would never subordinate himself to any woman unless he knew he’d eventually end up on top. Karen Archer proved today that he hasn’t.
Then there’s Rachel, who is twitchier than I’ve ever seen her because of Joel Markes breathing down her neck. She keeps insisting to Bailey that she’s fine, that she doesn’t need guards, protection, or anything else, but I can tell she’s not entirely certain of that by the way her hand keeps straying to her gun. She’s pacing more than usual and her coffee drinking habits have shot into the stratosphere. Between her and George, nervous coffee consumption has tripled in the last week.
“Rachel?” She was out in the parking lot, taking a break from the noise of the café, and I made sure I said her name as I walked up behind her. Even so, I got a gun in my face for my trouble and a horrified look from Rachel when she realized what she’d almost done.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She holstered her gun and resumed pacing. “Scared the hell out of me!”
“Food’s here. Come on and eat.”
“I’m okay.” She rolled her shoulders forward, then backward, trying to ease the tension that I could see lodged there. “I’ll just have some coffee.”
“Any more coffee and you’re going to need a Juan Valdez seal plastered to your forehead. Come on inside.”
She thinks she can best Markes and normally I wouldn’t doubt her, but a man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous enemy you could have, and Rachel’s just gotten herself tangled up with a man who feels that he’s got absolutely nothing left to live for but to make her life hell. It worries me that she’s being as cavalier as she is about Markes, and it frustrates me that she won’t lean on me when she so obviously needs to.
Grace is probably having the hardest time of any of us, having to deal with the emotional blow of her marriage ending and the physical complications of her pregnancy. She’s been putting on the tough-as-nails front, maybe because she’s a woman in a male dominated field, more likely because she’s Grace and she’s been that way as long as I’ve known her. Whatever the reason, she’s trying not to let anyone see how much pain she’s actually in, emotional or physical.
I walked in to her make-shift morgue today and found her leaning heavily on the table, trying to ride out the muscle spasms that have been getting progressively worse over the last few weeks. I couldn’t sneak out fast enough and our eyes caught.
“I’m okay,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” For all the teasing we do, I really do like Grace. Seeing her in pain isn’t okay with me. “You need a doctor?”
“I am a doctor.” She was hanging on to the table so hard her knuckles were turning white. “Just give me a minute, okay, John? I’ll meet you out there.”
I should have stayed, should have made sure she was okay. But Grace is not a woman you want mad at you, even when- especially when- she’s in pain, so I walked back out to where George was sitting with his twentieth cup of coffee and tried not to think about the fact that there were fresh tears on her cheeks.
George is trying to hold it together and he’s doing a better job than the rest of them. Getting over a drug addiction is an absolute bitch and Oxycotin will ride your ass like a two-ton bull. He’s looking better-- more rested, less manic- but the fact that he’s rivaling Rachel in coffee consumption gives away the fact that all is not well in the land of George.
“You and Rich want to hit the Braves game next weekend?” I’d offered a few days earlier. “I’ve got seats right behind home plate.”
George’s face froze in a painful grimace before he shook his head. “Rich and I- we’re not- he, uh, he won’t be able to make it. But I’ll go if the offer’s still good.”
I could have kicked myself for not realizing what was going on under that glib exterior of George’s. The sudden turn to Oxycotin wasn’t about relieving pain from his car accident. If I’d taken the time to look closer I would have been able to see that. Part of it is that I just didn’t want to. George’s personal life- well, I’m not exactly ready to learn the ins and outs of it just yet.
Which leaves me, the only one not openly suffering a personal crisis. Losing Kate has hurt, of course, more than I thought anything ever could, but watching my friends in various stages of break-downs has made me realize that I have to step up to the plate. We’re never going to make it otherwise.
Comments are LURVE. Thanks for reading!