Fic: I Tear My Heart Open, I Sew Myself Shut (1/?)
Title: I Tear My Heart Open, I Sew Myself Shut (1/?)
Pairings: Eventual Mark/Eduardo, Chris/Dustin, and possibly others
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1063
Summary: Criminal Minds AU. The BAU team (consisting of FBI Unit Chief!Erica, Media Liaison!Chris, Technical Analyst!Dustin, SSA!Mark, SSA!Eduardo, and SSA!Christy) as Big Damn Heroes. (Basically, the TSN cast as FBI agents. No Criminal Minds knowledge necessary.)
A/N: I own neither The Social Network nor Criminal Minds. Title from "Scars" by Papa Roach. I'm constantly re-writing, so constructive criticism greatly appreciated! Written for the tsn-a-thon. Go Team Pride!
///
Quantico, Virginia
Erica steps lightly past the shelves for New Releases, ignoring the blur of unfamiliar faces, of Hollywood's new rising stars. She browses at a leisurely pace, one hand absently trailing along the shelf of DVDs. "Gilmore Girls marathon?"
"Blech." This is said in a tone of intense disgust, but the sparkle in Christy's eyes suggests that she is more interested in trolling than passing judgment on the show in question.
"It's a brilliant show. And it has Lauren Graham; your argument is invalid."
"Nostalgia for all things high school hitting you particularly hard tonight, Albright?"
In perfect deadpan Erica replies, "You started it."
"I just think we should get something a little more...exotic than Stars Hollow for Movie Night." Christy reveals the DVD she had picked out with a lazy flourish. Erica tilts her head back and appraises the display in front of her. She is genuinely having difficulty deciding which looks more ridiculous: the cover art on the DVD case or her friend's exaggerated leer. But before she can comment, her cell phone rings
"Albright."
"It's Chris. We have a case..."
Recognizing the faint Southern twang of their Media Liaison even through the cell phone's tinny speakers, Christy slips away to re-shelve her DVD. Her heels click sharply on the linoleum floor. Every sound is amplified, the store lights overhead seem to shine brighter, rendering everything in vivid colors and crisp detail. It's almost like she can feel a coil of energy unspooling inside of her, it burns in her blood and crawls, crackling, over her skin. It's the adrenaline-rush of preparing for battle, of hunting down the monsters that prey on the innocent, and throwing the scumbags behind bars.
///
"Fuck off."
"Hello? Dustin, it's me. We have a new case. Meeting in the conference room in 30."
"Mmgjklljgffunnn."
"Are you...? Are you asleep? This early on a Saturday night?"
Chris shifts the phone closer to his ear and hears what sound suspiciously like snuffling noises.
"Dustin, I explicitly remember explaining to you why not to go on that coding binge. I can't, Dustin, come on, you really need to wake up." No response. Chris breathes through his nose. I harbor infinite patience and affection for this man-child. I amZen.Iamaflawlesshumanbe- "DUSTIN. GET. UP. NOW."
Dustin grunts into the phone. "I have a lot of love for you Chris," and now he has the gall to sound reproachful, "but I don't think our relationship will last if I start associating your voice with nagging and other such traumatic experiences."
Satisfied that the sentence was of reasonable complexity and not the result of sleep-talking (although you could never tell with programmers; Chris had seen Dustin do some truly amazing coding uhm-thing on his computer even while half-asleep and practically drooling Red Bull on the keyboard), Chris retorts, "The existence, never mind the duration, of our relationship is still doubtful. Now get a move on it. You have 28 minutes."
Then, reconsidering the wisdom of such a parting line, he hurriedly adds, "And drive safe."
"I knew it! Your words speak louder than- Your true words speak louder than words! You loooooo-"
Click.
///
"Still here Mark?"
Mark shrugs, a watered down version of his normally scathing response to stupid questions. His eyes remain focused on the evidence board in front of him. In this little make-shift office, fondly nicknamed by the team as the Fishbowl (Mark's position as Supervisory Special Agent doesn't technically come with an office but never let it be said that Chief Albright's team is not resourceful when it comes to taking care of their own), with just an evidence board, the case files, and his laptop, Mark Zuckerberg goes through twice as many case files as the average BAU agent on a daily basis.
"New case. We're gathering in the conference room in 20."
Mark finally turns around. His skin has the sallow tint of someone who hasn't seen sunlight in a while, and the shadows under his eyes are a hideous black-purple. Chris determinedly resists the impulse to lay a comforting (but no doubt unwelcome) hand on the other man's shoulder. Instead he holds out a battered mug of -- "Coffee?"
Mark nods, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he accepts the offering. If Chris squints, it almost looks like a thank-you. "I need to finish up here first. I'll be there in a little bit."
Normally, Chris would never be so rude as to leave without offering to help clean up, but the first (and last) time he tried to assist Mark, he'd almost had his head bitten off for putting something in the wrong order. "Alright. See you in the conference room."
Surveying his work with grim satisfaction, Mark downs half of the coffee in one go, wrinkles his nose petulantly, mutters "No sugar," and finishes off the rest in three large gulps.
///
Erica makes her way across the bullpen and up the stairs. A thousand and one details to consider (par the course for emergency recalls of the team like tonight) jostle in her mind for space rather than settling in schedules and lists like they typically do. She's not sure what's set her teeth on edge. Having her social life (or what little is left of it) upturned by work is pretty much routine by now. The barebones details of the case that Chris had relayed over the phone were gruesome but not unusually so.
...Of course, an Unsub (1) doesn't need to be particularly creative or sadistic to get lucky. The ever constant weight of responsibility for her team's wellbeing, digs a little deeper into her shoulder, tilting her world on its axis. The multitude of concerns already scrabbling for purchase inside her skull --
We might have to bring Dustin --
--but if Counter Terrorism issued their...
Goddamnit I'm going to have to cancel on Cameron again --
-- along for this. I hope he has his go bag packed
Hold up is that a light in the Fishbowl?!? Tell me Mark didn't spend the weekend here. If he collapses from exhaustion, I'm going to haul him off to the emergency room and then strangle him wi--
-- topple over one another like some freak show juggling routine.
Pull it together, Albright. You're a big girl.
With a deep breath, Erica shoves open the door to her office, and...stops short.
There's somebody curled up on her couch, reading by the lamp light from a little end table. He looks up, startled, and scrambles to his feet, all gangly limbs and poofy hair.
Erica stares. You've gotta be kidding me.
Part 2 here