IDK IDK IDK
I don't know where the gumption for this even came from. Just hella glad that I could churn it out.
Title: Tim Curry is an Asshole
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: slight hints of Morgan/Prentiss
Rated: 14+
Genre: General, Angst
Santa Monica police arrived fifteen minutes after the unsub had fled with Ellie Spicer as his hostage. Morgan had been working through the pain of broken ribs and a hard blow to the head in order to free at least his feet from the duct tape binding. He’d called out to Kristen and urged her to try to crawl forward to reach the foot of the bed. With her help he could get the key to his cuffs. He could get them both free. He could get her out of that house and to safety. He could try to call backup and to report an officer down.
Fifteen minutes of fighting to free himself, begging a reeling victim to put aside her anguish and crawl to him, and watching the scene unfold over and over in his mind. He couldn’t get the image of the gun to Detective Spicer’s chest. Over and over he heard the bang of the unsub firing the gun and the screams from behind him of an orphan and a devastated sister. He hoped throughout that any second SM PD officers would come through the door and set him free.
When they did arrive the police extracted Spicer’s sister first. Her hysterics had not ceased since watching her brother’s murder and the abduction of her niece. However, in taking her from the room she only gained fervor in her screams and two officers had to take her feet while the third carried her out as she kicked and screamed. Then the EMTs rushed in, to make a futile attempt at saving Matt Spicer’s life.
Morgan’s stomach turned at the sight and the knowing that he could have stopped all of it from happening. Spicer was the second cop to lose his life working a case with Derek. The first cop, killed by a scared citizen who had mistaken him for the unsub in a case they were working, had gone so quickly. Matt Spicer had gone slow. In fact the more it replayed in Derek’s head the slower it all went. Every opportunity to stop the unsub and every mistake he’d made become more and more clear.
After Derek had briefed another pair of uniforms and had them put out an APB, now for a suspect and missing child, a cop’s child, he arranged his own release. The cop followed Derek’s directions to the second set of keys tucked inside the cuff of his sock just below the ankle of his boot. The cuffs came off Derek’s wrists and he reached down for his feet to take off the tape. The cop stood back and surveyed the scene. He looked overwhelmed. Derek had no time for slack jaw shock.
“Hey,” Morgan shouted bringing the cop to attention, “Go outside and start working the neighbors. They may have seen the unsub escape.”
With the tape ripped from around his ankles, Morgan rose to his feet using the mattress to help him to his feet. His mind spun, vision blurring and twisting out of control, and the wave of nausea. The unsub had hit him hard and he’d gone down, unconscious for maybe minutes while he was cuffed and bound with the tape.
Morgan swallowed back bile mixed with blood from his broken lip and stumbled forward toward the door. With a little extra effort he made his way out of the house trailing behind the uniform he’d sent ahead to do the grunt work. Stepping from the house into the barrage of blue and red flashing lights, his head pounded furiously. He had to pause, had to clutch his head, had to make the vertigo stop and make himself keep going.
Two sets of hands, both gripping his strong biceps, surprised him. He realized he’d hit his knees. He realized he’d just crumbled down in the front yard. His head throbbed and his legs wobbled beneath him. He’d taken a hit before, but never had it felt so awful and wrong.
Something’s really wrong. Morgan thought.
“You’re going to be fine. Let’s take you to the bus and get a look at you,” a voice to his right encouraged.
Struggling to walk and having to rely on help to struggle forward the short distance to the ambulance only worsened the pain of broken ribs. He knew they’d been broken. He’d heard them crack and felt them pop within his chest.
“Agent Morgan,”
Oh shit, what now. Morgan tried to focus as the two EMTs eased him down to sitting. Another detective? Had to be. Look for a badge.
“We’re trying to get in contact with the rest of your team. The cell networks have gone down with the blackout. We got word to Agent Jereau at the station that you’re okay and the unsub is on the move.”
“Good,” Derek managed, “They’re on their way to Kristen Spicer’s. They think that’s where we were headed.”
“Like I said, we’re down to radios and if they’re not listening than there’s no getting through.”
His vision had sharpened to near normal and he didn’t feel as lightheaded. He wanted to brush off the paramedics and stand up. He wanted to get back to the SUV and get back to hunting down the sick sonofabitch. A penlight shined in his eyes and he tipped backward in response.
“We’re getting you to the hospital. It looks like more than just a concussion.”
“Slap a bandaid on the cut and I’m fine,” Derek argued.
“You’re going to the hospital.” Came the firm reply.
Derek gave up trying and allowed himself to be hauled back to standing and then deposited on a gurney.
“I’ll contact Agent Jereau.” The detective called to Morgan, before focusing on the paramedics, “What hospital are you taking him to?”
“UCLA,” grunted the EMT, before adding, “Sorry,”
“Great,” Morgan groaned shutting his eyes.
Emily Prentiss’ mind ran at full speed fueled by adrenaline. Unsub not withstanding; her mind juggled the case and the welfare of Derek Morgan. Reid and Rossi had been dispatched to profile the crime scene at the former Spicer residence. Hotch and she would still go to the sister’s home in hopes that the unsub had some plan of using it. It seemed unlikely, but they’d almost reached it in the sluggish traffic nightmare. JJ had made haste to contact Penelope and let her know Morgan had been injured and not killed. The reports would hit the wire soon and she’d be all over it.
“We need to get out of this traffic,” Hotch muttered, grim frown in place.
“Someone’s going to need to talk to Kristen Spicer. We need to find out how he transported them, find out if she saw anything while they were being taken to the house in Santa Monica that could tell us where he came from; where he’s going.”
Hotch lifted the handset to the police band radio, requesting vehicle information on the APB on the unsub.
“Tan commercial style van older model,” Hotch repeated.
“Perfect. As if he’s not creepy enough,”
“She said tan, but we could be looking for white that’s in need of a wash,”
“This state is held up by service workers. There’s bound to be a lot of van’s fitting the description of tan and older model. We don’t have a lot to work with.”
“Registration records.”
“Assuming he’s street legal,”
“He’d be a fool to not be.”
“Most arrests are the result of routine traffic stops.”
Hotch allowed for a smirk. Prentiss smiled out the corner of her mouth.
“Morgan’s going to be a mess,” she said somberly.
Hotch made no remark. He gritted his teeth and laid on the horn of the SUV.
Derek Morgan had argued the entire ambulance ride to the hospital with the EMTs. He wanted out and back on the case more than he cared to put an end to the splitting headache and nausea threatening to mortify him at any moment. In the end he’d been admitted and “rushed” for a head CT. By rush he’d waited what felt like forever, but amounted to an hour. During the wait he’d been taken for chest xrays and that had been the highlight of the monotony.
Afterward finally having the head CT he’d been taken to a curtained “room” in the ER to wait for the results. While in his “room” listening to the sounds of a busy ER filled with machine beeps, people shouting and the occasional wail of children throwing fits, his headache had only gotten worse. He’d been attended to by a very nervous female intern who tied his chest tightly in bandages to stabilize his broken ribs. Every ten or so minutes a nurse broke his concentration to verify that he had not gone unconscious or tried napping.
The noise exacerbated his migraine, but provided some distraction from the replay in his mind. Anxious waiting for a call from anyone on the team distracted him from the noise. He just repeated the cycle over and over, until the phone he’d kept on against hospital policy buzzed in his hand.
“Garcia,” he sighed, “It is so good to hear your voice, babygirl,”
“You scared the hell out of me,” she scolded, “again,”
“I have a headache the size of Montana, but I’m okay,” he assured her, shutting his eyes to focus just on her voice and a little less on the overhead fluorescent lights, “What do we have on the unsub, anything?”
Garcia sighed. “We’ve got about a thousand vans like the one Kristen Spicer described. Unfortunately, lots of people drive ’89 Rapists,”
Garcia paused, realizing her wording had maybe been a little too much. Derek now sighed.
“Go on,”
“Sorry,” she threw in quickly, “Anyway, Hotch and Prentiss found the sister’s house empty which was no surprise. Reid and Rossi didn’t get too much from the crime scene. CSU tried lifting some prints, the results are forthcoming, and the APB so far has not gotten any hits. However, an Amber Alert has been issued and God willing the power will be restored so someone in the actual area may get the information and spot them.”
“You never fail to disappoint, Garcia,”
“I never fail to anything,” she said, and Morgan could envision a smirk of satisfaction on her lips.
“I’m waiting on some test results so I can get discharged and get back on this,”
“Follow the doctor’s orders and call me if you need anything,”
“Yeah, a transfer to a better hospital would be nice,”
“This is not technically out of the question if you’d like me -“
“It’s not worth the trouble. I can wait a little longer.”
“Suit yourself,”
And with that she disconnected leaving Derek back to bored and alone.
Prentiss dialed Morgan’s speed dial on her cell. It rang once and she heard his voice, expectant yet nervous. She knew he’d been waiting for the call.
“Spicer’s daughter is safe,” she told Morgan, glad to give him good news upon return of cell reception.
Morgan heaved a sigh of relief and press his lips together tight before his bottom lip had a chance to quiver.
“And the unsub?”
“In custody,”
“What?” Morgan balked, “You’re kidding? That guy would rather be dead than admit defeat.”
“Black and white pulled him over. Spicer’s daughter had kicked out the tail light and waved through the hole. Someone else on the road saw her and called 911. The highway patrol responded and we got there about 5 minutes after the black and white.”
“Smart kid,” Morgan interrupted, saying a thousand thank you’s to a god he didn’t necessarily trust or believe in.
“When we showed up he tried to take the patrolman hostage, but it didn’t take so well. An overweight crack addict in need of a fix doesn’t match a 6’4 cop,”
Morgan broke a smile at the thought.
“That sonofabitch gets to be a legend,”
“Hey, Ellie’s safe. That’s what matters,” she reminded.
Morgan didn’t reply.
“Anyway, what about you? Are they letting you out yet?”
“Waiting on an MRI, now,” Morgan complained, “They won’t release me. The CT wasn’t conclusive.”
“Maybe you should take Garcia up on that offer to transfer you.”
“I’m tempted.” He agreed, wondering just when he’d be able to get something for the headache to end all headaches.
“If you want some company, we’re about twenty minutes out,”
“That and a whole bottle of Excedrin for this migraine,”
“First one I can do; second not so much,”
He could hear the sideways smile in her voice. Morgan wanted to kiss that very smile.
“It’s good just to hear your voice,” he added.
“It’s good to hear yours, too.” Emily said in a hushed tone, then clearing her throat, “But we’re on our way and we’ll see you when we get there. ETA still about twenty minutes,”
“Alright, alright. Back to Morgan and Prentiss, but sometime tonight I better get in at least a second of Emily and Derek or I’m going to go off,”
“Don’t go getting all fierce. You’re already a terrible patient,”
“I assume that’s code for ‘I’m getting my way’?” he grinned.
“Absolutely,” she returned. “See ya,”
He shut his phone and reclined a little easier on the bed.
Title: Tim Curry is an Asshole
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: slight hints of Morgan/Prentiss
Rated: 14+
Genre: General, Angst
Santa Monica police arrived fifteen minutes after the unsub had fled with Ellie Spicer as his hostage. Morgan had been working through the pain of broken ribs and a hard blow to the head in order to free at least his feet from the duct tape binding. He’d called out to Kristen and urged her to try to crawl forward to reach the foot of the bed. With her help he could get the key to his cuffs. He could get them both free. He could get her out of that house and to safety. He could try to call backup and to report an officer down.
Fifteen minutes of fighting to free himself, begging a reeling victim to put aside her anguish and crawl to him, and watching the scene unfold over and over in his mind. He couldn’t get the image of the gun to Detective Spicer’s chest. Over and over he heard the bang of the unsub firing the gun and the screams from behind him of an orphan and a devastated sister. He hoped throughout that any second SM PD officers would come through the door and set him free.
When they did arrive the police extracted Spicer’s sister first. Her hysterics had not ceased since watching her brother’s murder and the abduction of her niece. However, in taking her from the room she only gained fervor in her screams and two officers had to take her feet while the third carried her out as she kicked and screamed. Then the EMTs rushed in, to make a futile attempt at saving Matt Spicer’s life.
Morgan’s stomach turned at the sight and the knowing that he could have stopped all of it from happening. Spicer was the second cop to lose his life working a case with Derek. The first cop, killed by a scared citizen who had mistaken him for the unsub in a case they were working, had gone so quickly. Matt Spicer had gone slow. In fact the more it replayed in Derek’s head the slower it all went. Every opportunity to stop the unsub and every mistake he’d made become more and more clear.
After Derek had briefed another pair of uniforms and had them put out an APB, now for a suspect and missing child, a cop’s child, he arranged his own release. The cop followed Derek’s directions to the second set of keys tucked inside the cuff of his sock just below the ankle of his boot. The cuffs came off Derek’s wrists and he reached down for his feet to take off the tape. The cop stood back and surveyed the scene. He looked overwhelmed. Derek had no time for slack jaw shock.
“Hey,” Morgan shouted bringing the cop to attention, “Go outside and start working the neighbors. They may have seen the unsub escape.”
With the tape ripped from around his ankles, Morgan rose to his feet using the mattress to help him to his feet. His mind spun, vision blurring and twisting out of control, and the wave of nausea. The unsub had hit him hard and he’d gone down, unconscious for maybe minutes while he was cuffed and bound with the tape.
Morgan swallowed back bile mixed with blood from his broken lip and stumbled forward toward the door. With a little extra effort he made his way out of the house trailing behind the uniform he’d sent ahead to do the grunt work. Stepping from the house into the barrage of blue and red flashing lights, his head pounded furiously. He had to pause, had to clutch his head, had to make the vertigo stop and make himself keep going.
Two sets of hands, both gripping his strong biceps, surprised him. He realized he’d hit his knees. He realized he’d just crumbled down in the front yard. His head throbbed and his legs wobbled beneath him. He’d taken a hit before, but never had it felt so awful and wrong.
Something’s really wrong. Morgan thought.
“You’re going to be fine. Let’s take you to the bus and get a look at you,” a voice to his right encouraged.
Struggling to walk and having to rely on help to struggle forward the short distance to the ambulance only worsened the pain of broken ribs. He knew they’d been broken. He’d heard them crack and felt them pop within his chest.
“Agent Morgan,”
Oh shit, what now. Morgan tried to focus as the two EMTs eased him down to sitting. Another detective? Had to be. Look for a badge.
“We’re trying to get in contact with the rest of your team. The cell networks have gone down with the blackout. We got word to Agent Jereau at the station that you’re okay and the unsub is on the move.”
“Good,” Derek managed, “They’re on their way to Kristen Spicer’s. They think that’s where we were headed.”
“Like I said, we’re down to radios and if they’re not listening than there’s no getting through.”
His vision had sharpened to near normal and he didn’t feel as lightheaded. He wanted to brush off the paramedics and stand up. He wanted to get back to the SUV and get back to hunting down the sick sonofabitch. A penlight shined in his eyes and he tipped backward in response.
“We’re getting you to the hospital. It looks like more than just a concussion.”
“Slap a bandaid on the cut and I’m fine,” Derek argued.
“You’re going to the hospital.” Came the firm reply.
Derek gave up trying and allowed himself to be hauled back to standing and then deposited on a gurney.
“I’ll contact Agent Jereau.” The detective called to Morgan, before focusing on the paramedics, “What hospital are you taking him to?”
“UCLA,” grunted the EMT, before adding, “Sorry,”
“Great,” Morgan groaned shutting his eyes.
Emily Prentiss’ mind ran at full speed fueled by adrenaline. Unsub not withstanding; her mind juggled the case and the welfare of Derek Morgan. Reid and Rossi had been dispatched to profile the crime scene at the former Spicer residence. Hotch and she would still go to the sister’s home in hopes that the unsub had some plan of using it. It seemed unlikely, but they’d almost reached it in the sluggish traffic nightmare. JJ had made haste to contact Penelope and let her know Morgan had been injured and not killed. The reports would hit the wire soon and she’d be all over it.
“We need to get out of this traffic,” Hotch muttered, grim frown in place.
“Someone’s going to need to talk to Kristen Spicer. We need to find out how he transported them, find out if she saw anything while they were being taken to the house in Santa Monica that could tell us where he came from; where he’s going.”
Hotch lifted the handset to the police band radio, requesting vehicle information on the APB on the unsub.
“Tan commercial style van older model,” Hotch repeated.
“Perfect. As if he’s not creepy enough,”
“She said tan, but we could be looking for white that’s in need of a wash,”
“This state is held up by service workers. There’s bound to be a lot of van’s fitting the description of tan and older model. We don’t have a lot to work with.”
“Registration records.”
“Assuming he’s street legal,”
“He’d be a fool to not be.”
“Most arrests are the result of routine traffic stops.”
Hotch allowed for a smirk. Prentiss smiled out the corner of her mouth.
“Morgan’s going to be a mess,” she said somberly.
Hotch made no remark. He gritted his teeth and laid on the horn of the SUV.
Derek Morgan had argued the entire ambulance ride to the hospital with the EMTs. He wanted out and back on the case more than he cared to put an end to the splitting headache and nausea threatening to mortify him at any moment. In the end he’d been admitted and “rushed” for a head CT. By rush he’d waited what felt like forever, but amounted to an hour. During the wait he’d been taken for chest xrays and that had been the highlight of the monotony.
Afterward finally having the head CT he’d been taken to a curtained “room” in the ER to wait for the results. While in his “room” listening to the sounds of a busy ER filled with machine beeps, people shouting and the occasional wail of children throwing fits, his headache had only gotten worse. He’d been attended to by a very nervous female intern who tied his chest tightly in bandages to stabilize his broken ribs. Every ten or so minutes a nurse broke his concentration to verify that he had not gone unconscious or tried napping.
The noise exacerbated his migraine, but provided some distraction from the replay in his mind. Anxious waiting for a call from anyone on the team distracted him from the noise. He just repeated the cycle over and over, until the phone he’d kept on against hospital policy buzzed in his hand.
“Garcia,” he sighed, “It is so good to hear your voice, babygirl,”
“You scared the hell out of me,” she scolded, “again,”
“I have a headache the size of Montana, but I’m okay,” he assured her, shutting his eyes to focus just on her voice and a little less on the overhead fluorescent lights, “What do we have on the unsub, anything?”
Garcia sighed. “We’ve got about a thousand vans like the one Kristen Spicer described. Unfortunately, lots of people drive ’89 Rapists,”
Garcia paused, realizing her wording had maybe been a little too much. Derek now sighed.
“Go on,”
“Sorry,” she threw in quickly, “Anyway, Hotch and Prentiss found the sister’s house empty which was no surprise. Reid and Rossi didn’t get too much from the crime scene. CSU tried lifting some prints, the results are forthcoming, and the APB so far has not gotten any hits. However, an Amber Alert has been issued and God willing the power will be restored so someone in the actual area may get the information and spot them.”
“You never fail to disappoint, Garcia,”
“I never fail to anything,” she said, and Morgan could envision a smirk of satisfaction on her lips.
“I’m waiting on some test results so I can get discharged and get back on this,”
“Follow the doctor’s orders and call me if you need anything,”
“Yeah, a transfer to a better hospital would be nice,”
“This is not technically out of the question if you’d like me -“
“It’s not worth the trouble. I can wait a little longer.”
“Suit yourself,”
And with that she disconnected leaving Derek back to bored and alone.
Prentiss dialed Morgan’s speed dial on her cell. It rang once and she heard his voice, expectant yet nervous. She knew he’d been waiting for the call.
“Spicer’s daughter is safe,” she told Morgan, glad to give him good news upon return of cell reception.
Morgan heaved a sigh of relief and press his lips together tight before his bottom lip had a chance to quiver.
“And the unsub?”
“In custody,”
“What?” Morgan balked, “You’re kidding? That guy would rather be dead than admit defeat.”
“Black and white pulled him over. Spicer’s daughter had kicked out the tail light and waved through the hole. Someone else on the road saw her and called 911. The highway patrol responded and we got there about 5 minutes after the black and white.”
“Smart kid,” Morgan interrupted, saying a thousand thank you’s to a god he didn’t necessarily trust or believe in.
“When we showed up he tried to take the patrolman hostage, but it didn’t take so well. An overweight crack addict in need of a fix doesn’t match a 6’4 cop,”
Morgan broke a smile at the thought.
“That sonofabitch gets to be a legend,”
“Hey, Ellie’s safe. That’s what matters,” she reminded.
Morgan didn’t reply.
“Anyway, what about you? Are they letting you out yet?”
“Waiting on an MRI, now,” Morgan complained, “They won’t release me. The CT wasn’t conclusive.”
“Maybe you should take Garcia up on that offer to transfer you.”
“I’m tempted.” He agreed, wondering just when he’d be able to get something for the headache to end all headaches.
“If you want some company, we’re about twenty minutes out,”
“That and a whole bottle of Excedrin for this migraine,”
“First one I can do; second not so much,”
He could hear the sideways smile in her voice. Morgan wanted to kiss that very smile.
“It’s good just to hear your voice,” he added.
“It’s good to hear yours, too.” Emily said in a hushed tone, then clearing her throat, “But we’re on our way and we’ll see you when we get there. ETA still about twenty minutes,”
“Alright, alright. Back to Morgan and Prentiss, but sometime tonight I better get in at least a second of Emily and Derek or I’m going to go off,”
“Don’t go getting all fierce. You’re already a terrible patient,”
“I assume that’s code for ‘I’m getting my way’?” he grinned.
“Absolutely,” she returned. “See ya,”
He shut his phone and reclined a little easier on the bed.