Drabbles: 4 M/R (CM), 1 Sherlock, 1 White Collar
for: shelby
warnings: self-injury, sexual abuse
rating: FRT
word count: 91
***
The thin, straight scars that line Morgan's hips and thighs tell a story. The story of his abuse, laid out in such a physical fashion, is not one easy to think about and even with it out there, plain and bare for Reid to see, he assumes it's not an easy one to tell either. What will horrify Reid for days to come goes beyond just the abuse and its effects - it's the thought that Buford could see the cuts and feel them scaring over as he continued his abuse.
*****
for: shelby
warning: while most sex pollen fic is dub con, I'd label this one as closer to non-graphic non-con
rating: FRM
WC: 292
***
They were going to be quarantined for the next 48 hours to let the chemical run its course, the man said over the intercom as Derek rushed into an empty office, quickly locking the door and using the last of his energy to move a file cabinet in front of it. Relieved that he was safe from doing anything he’d regret, he let himself collapse with exhaustion.
“Morgan?”
Derek startled violently at the realization that he wasn’t alone and that realization was made far worse by the fact that he was trapped in a room with Reid. They’d only broken up less than a month ago and he was still struggling to deal with that while still working with his former lover.
“No, no, no,” Derek whispered, pulling ineffectively at the cabinet as everything started to get hot and hazy. “This is…you have to help me get out man…I can’t be here, gotta be alone…”
Reid crawled out from behind the desk, half nude and panting. “I think I’m too far gone. Oh god, I’m going to…I don’t have much control left. I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me.”
Derek knew he was losing his own control too, given how quickly he’d stripped down. It won’t matter that they’re both drugged, at least not for him. The knowledge of what was coming had him swallowing down the bile rising in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry too.”
***
The first 40 hours are a blur of skin and saliva and cum.
The last 8 are a slow crawl of humiliation and shame and guilt.
As Morgan was scrubbed down in a decontamination tent, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing Reid again without feeling the urge to puke.
*****
for: anon
prompt: Morgan and Reid were happy and scared about the close call with their baby. But they were right to be scared. She has cystic fibrosis.
rating: FRT
WC: 305
***
They were extremely stressed when Morgan started having contractions at 35 weeks, but thankfully, they'd made it to the hospital in time for an emergency C-section rather than a much more risky natural birth. It took their precious baby girl a few heart-stopping moments to cry out. Although she was immediately put into a ventilator and taken out of the room for testing, she looked healthy and Spencer felt they'd been extremely lucky.
Morgan was still recuperating from the anesthesia when their obstetrician asked if she could speak to Spencer in the hallway.
“How's Sam doing?”
“Unfortunately her lungs are underdeveloped. I know we discussed the fact that this is typical in babies born before thirty-seven weeks, but it's more problematic in her case. Dr. Reid, do you or your husband have a family history of cystic fibrosis?”
Spencer's mind raced; he'd read up on multiple genetic conditions early in Morgan's pregnancy and CF was one of them. It was supposed to calm his nerves about schizophrenia, but now it just made him all the more jittery.
“Not that we knew of. How bad is it?”
“We don't know yet. She's clearly having difficulty breathing, but we're unsure how much of it is CF and how much is her underdeveloped lungs. Still, it doesn't look good. Premature birth and cystic fibrosis can affect similar organs and even a milder case of cystic fibrosis could keep her from catching up to her peers as quickly as a typical preemie. Between the premature birth and CF, a simple infection within the next month could potentially be deadly.”
The obstetrician's pager went off and her face contorted with panic. Spencer knew she was going to rush off before she even excused herself; he just hoped it wasn't his daughter who she was rushing to.
*****
for: jasper
prompt: During Omnivore, when the Reaper tackles Morgan he doesn't knock him out, so he is awake like he wants. Reid is one of the first on scene, but he's too late.
warnings: character death
rating: FRT
WC: 314
***
There's glass and rocks digging into anywhere his body touches the ground and a man is on top of him. Morgan instinctively struggles against the weight, causing Foyet to lean forward and stab him in the gut.
“It's time to die Derek,” Foyet taunts, stabbing him higher.
He can feel his lung deflate as he struggles to breathe. As much as he tries to be brave, Morgan can't seem to hold on to anything; his blood is pouring out, his air is escaping, so it can't be that surprising that he keep his calm as well.
“When I know where to cut to keep someone alive, what does that tell you about what I know when I want someone to die?”
For some reason, he tries to reply “bastard,” but it comes out as an unintelligible gurgle. Foyet laughs and stabs down near his groin, twisting the blade.
“Maybe I should just slit your thigh, let you bleed out. I don't know, sounds too merciful for someone like me, don't you think?”
Morgan opens his eyes - gotta stay conscious - and he must be hallucinating because Reid is standing behind Foyet, his gun pressed to the back of Foyet's head.
“Drop the knife and stand up. You're under arrest for so many fucking things I can't even list them all.”
Shuffling noises, must be standing and cuffs click. A sick thud, Reid's gasp, so headbutted? Curiosity makes Morgan open his eyes again, just in time to see a dazed Reid shoot...someone. Something. A monster.
Hands, warmth. Eyes open. When did he shut them?
Mouth moving, anxious noises. But calm now, so not him.
Red stains, pressure. Wavy hair, cheek, soft. Love.
Wheezing. Oh, that's him. High pitched squealing? Hurts, head, body. Shadows, noises, the ocean.
Gurgle, copper, slick, choke. Blood.
Soft, warm, sad. Reid.
Love, love, love.
Sorry.
*****
for: amy
prompt: Sherlock returns and John is beyond himself with happiness only for Sherlock to be killed for real an hour later.
warning: character death
rating: FRT
WC: 180
***
John can’t believe his luck; he’d hoped it’d all been a trick, a dream, anything other than reality because a reality without Sherlock was unbearable.
His first instinct is to punch the bloody git in the face and that’s what John does.
His second instinct is to hug Sherlock. He does that too and Sherlock squeezes him tightly.
There’s so much to say and not just discussing what happened in the past ten months. There’s things John held back before Sherlock “died,” important things, things that could change their relationship; he won’t be making that mistake again.
***
John’s trying to work out just how he wants to bring things up as they’re walking to lunch a hour later when there’s a loud pop. He ducks, readying himself for a fight and turns towards Sherlock, wondering if he knows what’s happening. His mind can’t comprehend the scene before him.
Limp body. Blood. Headshot.
It isn’t until Donovan is gently attempting to pry him from Sherlock’s body that he realizes that he’s squander his second, and ultimately his last, chance.
*****
for: shelby
prompt: Peter tries to deal with the aftermath of participating in a hostage situation where both victims were killed. Guess who the hostages were.
warning: character death, depression, suicide
rating: FRM
WC: 270
***
They should have never allowed Peter to sit in and help with the negotiations. At the same time, he knows just how desperate they were to even ask him for his help. But Peter couldn’t do what they needed him to, not well enough with emotions clouding his judgement.
And now? The two most important people in his life are gone.
***
Satchamo spends half his time looking for them and whining. The other half is spent laying around, dejected and refusing food.
It’s not surprising really; it’s pretty much all Peter does, so why wouldn’t Satchamo follow suit?
***
Mozzie stops by early on, but it’s possibly the most awkward visit ever. The strange thing is that Peter appreciates it possibly more than any normal person would because why would any grieving soul wish to hear about his faults interspersed in between the usual “I’m so sorry for your loss” sentiments?
Unfortunately, he doesn’t express that and last he heard, Mozzie’s left New York.
***
Diana and Jones come by often during the three months mandatory leave, on different days. Both are good at just sitting next to him quietly, undemanding and unassuming, and Jones often takes Satchamo on walks. Christie makes more than enough food to feed Peter until Diana’s next visit, though she doesn’t take into account that he’s hardly eating and he throws away far too much.
***
Going back to work turns out to be the worst idea, but Peter doesn’t know what else to do.
***
A gun killed his hopes and dreams; it shouldn’t be surprising that one takes his life too.
warnings: self-injury, sexual abuse
rating: FRT
word count: 91
***
The thin, straight scars that line Morgan's hips and thighs tell a story. The story of his abuse, laid out in such a physical fashion, is not one easy to think about and even with it out there, plain and bare for Reid to see, he assumes it's not an easy one to tell either. What will horrify Reid for days to come goes beyond just the abuse and its effects - it's the thought that Buford could see the cuts and feel them scaring over as he continued his abuse.
*****
for: shelby
warning: while most sex pollen fic is dub con, I'd label this one as closer to non-graphic non-con
rating: FRM
WC: 292
***
They were going to be quarantined for the next 48 hours to let the chemical run its course, the man said over the intercom as Derek rushed into an empty office, quickly locking the door and using the last of his energy to move a file cabinet in front of it. Relieved that he was safe from doing anything he’d regret, he let himself collapse with exhaustion.
“Morgan?”
Derek startled violently at the realization that he wasn’t alone and that realization was made far worse by the fact that he was trapped in a room with Reid. They’d only broken up less than a month ago and he was still struggling to deal with that while still working with his former lover.
“No, no, no,” Derek whispered, pulling ineffectively at the cabinet as everything started to get hot and hazy. “This is…you have to help me get out man…I can’t be here, gotta be alone…”
Reid crawled out from behind the desk, half nude and panting. “I think I’m too far gone. Oh god, I’m going to…I don’t have much control left. I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me.”
Derek knew he was losing his own control too, given how quickly he’d stripped down. It won’t matter that they’re both drugged, at least not for him. The knowledge of what was coming had him swallowing down the bile rising in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry too.”
***
The first 40 hours are a blur of skin and saliva and cum.
The last 8 are a slow crawl of humiliation and shame and guilt.
As Morgan was scrubbed down in a decontamination tent, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing Reid again without feeling the urge to puke.
*****
for: anon
prompt: Morgan and Reid were happy and scared about the close call with their baby. But they were right to be scared. She has cystic fibrosis.
rating: FRT
WC: 305
***
They were extremely stressed when Morgan started having contractions at 35 weeks, but thankfully, they'd made it to the hospital in time for an emergency C-section rather than a much more risky natural birth. It took their precious baby girl a few heart-stopping moments to cry out. Although she was immediately put into a ventilator and taken out of the room for testing, she looked healthy and Spencer felt they'd been extremely lucky.
Morgan was still recuperating from the anesthesia when their obstetrician asked if she could speak to Spencer in the hallway.
“How's Sam doing?”
“Unfortunately her lungs are underdeveloped. I know we discussed the fact that this is typical in babies born before thirty-seven weeks, but it's more problematic in her case. Dr. Reid, do you or your husband have a family history of cystic fibrosis?”
Spencer's mind raced; he'd read up on multiple genetic conditions early in Morgan's pregnancy and CF was one of them. It was supposed to calm his nerves about schizophrenia, but now it just made him all the more jittery.
“Not that we knew of. How bad is it?”
“We don't know yet. She's clearly having difficulty breathing, but we're unsure how much of it is CF and how much is her underdeveloped lungs. Still, it doesn't look good. Premature birth and cystic fibrosis can affect similar organs and even a milder case of cystic fibrosis could keep her from catching up to her peers as quickly as a typical preemie. Between the premature birth and CF, a simple infection within the next month could potentially be deadly.”
The obstetrician's pager went off and her face contorted with panic. Spencer knew she was going to rush off before she even excused herself; he just hoped it wasn't his daughter who she was rushing to.
*****
for: jasper
prompt: During Omnivore, when the Reaper tackles Morgan he doesn't knock him out, so he is awake like he wants. Reid is one of the first on scene, but he's too late.
warnings: character death
rating: FRT
WC: 314
***
There's glass and rocks digging into anywhere his body touches the ground and a man is on top of him. Morgan instinctively struggles against the weight, causing Foyet to lean forward and stab him in the gut.
“It's time to die Derek,” Foyet taunts, stabbing him higher.
He can feel his lung deflate as he struggles to breathe. As much as he tries to be brave, Morgan can't seem to hold on to anything; his blood is pouring out, his air is escaping, so it can't be that surprising that he keep his calm as well.
“When I know where to cut to keep someone alive, what does that tell you about what I know when I want someone to die?”
For some reason, he tries to reply “bastard,” but it comes out as an unintelligible gurgle. Foyet laughs and stabs down near his groin, twisting the blade.
“Maybe I should just slit your thigh, let you bleed out. I don't know, sounds too merciful for someone like me, don't you think?”
Morgan opens his eyes - gotta stay conscious - and he must be hallucinating because Reid is standing behind Foyet, his gun pressed to the back of Foyet's head.
“Drop the knife and stand up. You're under arrest for so many fucking things I can't even list them all.”
Shuffling noises, must be standing and cuffs click. A sick thud, Reid's gasp, so headbutted? Curiosity makes Morgan open his eyes again, just in time to see a dazed Reid shoot...someone. Something. A monster.
Hands, warmth. Eyes open. When did he shut them?
Mouth moving, anxious noises. But calm now, so not him.
Red stains, pressure. Wavy hair, cheek, soft. Love.
Wheezing. Oh, that's him. High pitched squealing? Hurts, head, body. Shadows, noises, the ocean.
Gurgle, copper, slick, choke. Blood.
Soft, warm, sad. Reid.
Love, love, love.
Sorry.
*****
for: amy
prompt: Sherlock returns and John is beyond himself with happiness only for Sherlock to be killed for real an hour later.
warning: character death
rating: FRT
WC: 180
***
John can’t believe his luck; he’d hoped it’d all been a trick, a dream, anything other than reality because a reality without Sherlock was unbearable.
His first instinct is to punch the bloody git in the face and that’s what John does.
His second instinct is to hug Sherlock. He does that too and Sherlock squeezes him tightly.
There’s so much to say and not just discussing what happened in the past ten months. There’s things John held back before Sherlock “died,” important things, things that could change their relationship; he won’t be making that mistake again.
***
John’s trying to work out just how he wants to bring things up as they’re walking to lunch a hour later when there’s a loud pop. He ducks, readying himself for a fight and turns towards Sherlock, wondering if he knows what’s happening. His mind can’t comprehend the scene before him.
Limp body. Blood. Headshot.
It isn’t until Donovan is gently attempting to pry him from Sherlock’s body that he realizes that he’s squander his second, and ultimately his last, chance.
*****
for: shelby
prompt: Peter tries to deal with the aftermath of participating in a hostage situation where both victims were killed. Guess who the hostages were.
warning: character death, depression, suicide
rating: FRM
WC: 270
***
They should have never allowed Peter to sit in and help with the negotiations. At the same time, he knows just how desperate they were to even ask him for his help. But Peter couldn’t do what they needed him to, not well enough with emotions clouding his judgement.
And now? The two most important people in his life are gone.
***
Satchamo spends half his time looking for them and whining. The other half is spent laying around, dejected and refusing food.
It’s not surprising really; it’s pretty much all Peter does, so why wouldn’t Satchamo follow suit?
***
Mozzie stops by early on, but it’s possibly the most awkward visit ever. The strange thing is that Peter appreciates it possibly more than any normal person would because why would any grieving soul wish to hear about his faults interspersed in between the usual “I’m so sorry for your loss” sentiments?
Unfortunately, he doesn’t express that and last he heard, Mozzie’s left New York.
***
Diana and Jones come by often during the three months mandatory leave, on different days. Both are good at just sitting next to him quietly, undemanding and unassuming, and Jones often takes Satchamo on walks. Christie makes more than enough food to feed Peter until Diana’s next visit, though she doesn’t take into account that he’s hardly eating and he throws away far too much.
***
Going back to work turns out to be the worst idea, but Peter doesn’t know what else to do.
***
A gun killed his hopes and dreams; it shouldn’t be surprising that one takes his life too.