Abyss (R) (Smash) PART 6
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)
Strip?
Derek's eyes widened in sheer horror. He involuntarily clenched his fists, instinctively moved backwards -- but was stopped by the night stick the officer who brought him here pressed into his back.
"I said strip," the other officer repeated in a harsh tone, and glared at Derek. "Whatever you think you are outside doesn't matter here! We have rules and you have to submit to them. Understood?"
There was absolutely no comparison to how Derek felt in this moment. He was not only completely helpless, but reduced to an object of ruling forces with no right to privacy or dignity. His muscles tensed, he clenched his jaw so hard his cheeks hurt -- but he nevertheless gave in and finally started to remove his clothes and put them onto the table until he wore nothing but his pants. But after an impatient gesture of the officer, Derek pressed his lips together and stripped completely.
One of the men searched every item of clothing, then folded them in a careless manner, crammed them into a plastic bag and sealed it with some kind of adhesive label. He scribbled Derek's name on it, along with the date and time, and then dropped the bag on the floor. Afterwards he fetched a wristband out of a box in front of him and filled the same data in.
"Your wrist," he ordered and again, Derek obeyed, though every fibre of his body was ready to jump at the next person who so much as looked at him. The band was sealed and then the officer who had accompanied him here took his arm and led him out of the room. Before Derek got a chance to protest at being marched like this, barefoot and naked, he found himself next door, in front of a kind of counter. The officer standing there looked him up and down from head to toe, and then turned to the backspace where Derek could see storage racks filled with white and orange-coloured clothes. A few moments later the man put a bundle on the counter: clothes, socks and a pair of sneakers.
"Get dressed."
Nothing else, just this short command and the fact that the attending guard granted him at least two steps space for dressing. Derek swallowed hard, and even a few times again during the process. To his astonishment, the jail's uniform actually fitted well, even the shoes. Seemed the clerk officer had long experience in measuring sizes; but to be honest, Derek didn't really care. All he could think of was that every step, every item of the whole procedure took him inexorably nearer to the prison cell he would occupy for weeks, if not months -- however long it would take to appoint a jury, prepare charges and defence and whatever else had to be arranged.
***
Derek was led on through another safety lock entrance, another door and then they reached a long hallway, lined with cells built of three masoned sides and a barred front. Nearly all of them were occupied; strange faces stared out at him. Most of the men seemed to be just curious, glad for any kind of diversion to their boring routine, but a few of the prisoners looked at Derek as if they would like to do unfriendly things to him -- and probably to anyone they could get their dirty hands on. Despite his experiences of dealing with nearly every kind of character, Derek was terrified at the thought of getting involved with serious criminals.
The guard stopped, released his arm, and unlocked the door to an empty cell. The moment the officer grabbed for his arm again Derek finally reached the end of patience and rationality. The tension he'd suppressed for almost twenty-four hours now erupted -- and he pushed the officer hard against the bars.
"Enough! I will not be treated this way, do you hear me?" he barked and fended off the guard's attempt to grab him again -- even tried to punch the man, but failed and instead started to run back the way they just came. He heard the other prisoners shout and rattle, some of them cheering, but he didn't care. All Derek could think of was getting away from this horrible nightmare.
Just before he reached the main door, it opened and two other officers lunged at him. He felt a blow to his chest, then another into the hollows of his knees and, with a scream of rage, he crashed to the ground face-down. Seconds later, his hands were cuffed behind his back and a night stick was pressed into his neck.
"Seems you need a lesson of discipline, jackass," hissed one of the guards. "Well then, let's show you how you deserve to be treated!"
***
Darkness, just darkness. And no light at the end of the tunnel...
With a sigh Derek rested his head back against the cold wall. He was sitting on the cement floor of the cell. No cot, no toilet -- nothing but walls around him. He couldn't see them, because the officers switched off the light after they shut the metal door; but he had seen it when they pushed him in. His hands were still cuffed behind his back so he wasn't able to hurt himself by crashing his fists into the wall, which was exactly what he longed to do right now.
Never in his life had he felt this way. Never, not even when he learned about his father's real nature. Though he'd been furious, too -- back then he could at least deal with his rage; vent his wrath on the subject responsible. But now he was condemned to react, rather than act; to endure everything other people deemed fit to impose on him.
He would have given almost everything to remember what really happened; if he actually was responsible for Tracy's death. Still, Derek could not feel any guilt when he thought of her, at least not referring to anything worse than sleeping with her. The simple fact that he regretted to have her involved in his emotional turmoil at all didn't count that way, because he was truly sorry for the girl. If she'd never met him she probably would still be alive.
Closing his eyes, he bit his lower lip and sighed. There was no escape from whatever fate he was facing. He didn't have any power to pull strings or ask for other support than that of his attorney or investigation results. Not in this matter. This was a kind of reality he never had to deal with; therefore he couldn't rely on experience. And thinking of his reputation, he wasn't even sure if anyone would show him at least some moral support. Quite the contrary; too many people who envied or loathed him would be only too happy to watch his ruin with glee.
Perhaps Karen would at least be a little sorry, for she owed him everything. And he couldn't imagine Julia prejudging him, she was not that kind of person -- way too nice in most matters. She wouldn't jump to condemn someone without certainty of guilt. Tom on the other hand...
No, Tom was a professional and wouldn't publicly voice his opinion if he thought him guilty; but Derek wasn't sure if their rickety truce for the show was still in force. After all those years avoiding each other and the negative feelings Levitt had for him, he saw no basis for any kind of further support there. About what the rest of the cast or even Ivy might think, Derek didn't bother to waste his leftover energy wondering about. They all had been appalled by Ivy's overdose and his non-reaction to it. They probably thought that he deserved whatever he would get. So, his only friend left who might help him was Eileen...
A strange lopsided and bitter smile grew on Derek's lips. This room was meant to teach him a lesson, to punish him for fighting the rules. Instead, he finally got the privacy and silence he longed for to clear his mind -- and to come to terms with his current situation. The longer he sat here in the dark, the more he calmed down. Eventually, he dozed off.
Continued in Part 7.
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)
Strip?
Derek's eyes widened in sheer horror. He involuntarily clenched his fists, instinctively moved backwards -- but was stopped by the night stick the officer who brought him here pressed into his back.
"I said strip," the other officer repeated in a harsh tone, and glared at Derek. "Whatever you think you are outside doesn't matter here! We have rules and you have to submit to them. Understood?"
There was absolutely no comparison to how Derek felt in this moment. He was not only completely helpless, but reduced to an object of ruling forces with no right to privacy or dignity. His muscles tensed, he clenched his jaw so hard his cheeks hurt -- but he nevertheless gave in and finally started to remove his clothes and put them onto the table until he wore nothing but his pants. But after an impatient gesture of the officer, Derek pressed his lips together and stripped completely.
One of the men searched every item of clothing, then folded them in a careless manner, crammed them into a plastic bag and sealed it with some kind of adhesive label. He scribbled Derek's name on it, along with the date and time, and then dropped the bag on the floor. Afterwards he fetched a wristband out of a box in front of him and filled the same data in.
"Your wrist," he ordered and again, Derek obeyed, though every fibre of his body was ready to jump at the next person who so much as looked at him. The band was sealed and then the officer who had accompanied him here took his arm and led him out of the room. Before Derek got a chance to protest at being marched like this, barefoot and naked, he found himself next door, in front of a kind of counter. The officer standing there looked him up and down from head to toe, and then turned to the backspace where Derek could see storage racks filled with white and orange-coloured clothes. A few moments later the man put a bundle on the counter: clothes, socks and a pair of sneakers.
"Get dressed."
Nothing else, just this short command and the fact that the attending guard granted him at least two steps space for dressing. Derek swallowed hard, and even a few times again during the process. To his astonishment, the jail's uniform actually fitted well, even the shoes. Seemed the clerk officer had long experience in measuring sizes; but to be honest, Derek didn't really care. All he could think of was that every step, every item of the whole procedure took him inexorably nearer to the prison cell he would occupy for weeks, if not months -- however long it would take to appoint a jury, prepare charges and defence and whatever else had to be arranged.
***
Derek was led on through another safety lock entrance, another door and then they reached a long hallway, lined with cells built of three masoned sides and a barred front. Nearly all of them were occupied; strange faces stared out at him. Most of the men seemed to be just curious, glad for any kind of diversion to their boring routine, but a few of the prisoners looked at Derek as if they would like to do unfriendly things to him -- and probably to anyone they could get their dirty hands on. Despite his experiences of dealing with nearly every kind of character, Derek was terrified at the thought of getting involved with serious criminals.
The guard stopped, released his arm, and unlocked the door to an empty cell. The moment the officer grabbed for his arm again Derek finally reached the end of patience and rationality. The tension he'd suppressed for almost twenty-four hours now erupted -- and he pushed the officer hard against the bars.
"Enough! I will not be treated this way, do you hear me?" he barked and fended off the guard's attempt to grab him again -- even tried to punch the man, but failed and instead started to run back the way they just came. He heard the other prisoners shout and rattle, some of them cheering, but he didn't care. All Derek could think of was getting away from this horrible nightmare.
Just before he reached the main door, it opened and two other officers lunged at him. He felt a blow to his chest, then another into the hollows of his knees and, with a scream of rage, he crashed to the ground face-down. Seconds later, his hands were cuffed behind his back and a night stick was pressed into his neck.
"Seems you need a lesson of discipline, jackass," hissed one of the guards. "Well then, let's show you how you deserve to be treated!"
***
Darkness, just darkness. And no light at the end of the tunnel...
With a sigh Derek rested his head back against the cold wall. He was sitting on the cement floor of the cell. No cot, no toilet -- nothing but walls around him. He couldn't see them, because the officers switched off the light after they shut the metal door; but he had seen it when they pushed him in. His hands were still cuffed behind his back so he wasn't able to hurt himself by crashing his fists into the wall, which was exactly what he longed to do right now.
Never in his life had he felt this way. Never, not even when he learned about his father's real nature. Though he'd been furious, too -- back then he could at least deal with his rage; vent his wrath on the subject responsible. But now he was condemned to react, rather than act; to endure everything other people deemed fit to impose on him.
He would have given almost everything to remember what really happened; if he actually was responsible for Tracy's death. Still, Derek could not feel any guilt when he thought of her, at least not referring to anything worse than sleeping with her. The simple fact that he regretted to have her involved in his emotional turmoil at all didn't count that way, because he was truly sorry for the girl. If she'd never met him she probably would still be alive.
Closing his eyes, he bit his lower lip and sighed. There was no escape from whatever fate he was facing. He didn't have any power to pull strings or ask for other support than that of his attorney or investigation results. Not in this matter. This was a kind of reality he never had to deal with; therefore he couldn't rely on experience. And thinking of his reputation, he wasn't even sure if anyone would show him at least some moral support. Quite the contrary; too many people who envied or loathed him would be only too happy to watch his ruin with glee.
Perhaps Karen would at least be a little sorry, for she owed him everything. And he couldn't imagine Julia prejudging him, she was not that kind of person -- way too nice in most matters. She wouldn't jump to condemn someone without certainty of guilt. Tom on the other hand...
No, Tom was a professional and wouldn't publicly voice his opinion if he thought him guilty; but Derek wasn't sure if their rickety truce for the show was still in force. After all those years avoiding each other and the negative feelings Levitt had for him, he saw no basis for any kind of further support there. About what the rest of the cast or even Ivy might think, Derek didn't bother to waste his leftover energy wondering about. They all had been appalled by Ivy's overdose and his non-reaction to it. They probably thought that he deserved whatever he would get. So, his only friend left who might help him was Eileen...
A strange lopsided and bitter smile grew on Derek's lips. This room was meant to teach him a lesson, to punish him for fighting the rules. Instead, he finally got the privacy and silence he longed for to clear his mind -- and to come to terms with his current situation. The longer he sat here in the dark, the more he calmed down. Eventually, he dozed off.
Continued in Part 7.