Criminal Minds/Primeval fic: Just Blow
Title: Just Blow
Rating: PG-13/Teen/FRT
Word Count: 1,290
Pairing: none (gen)
Summary: “Profilers aren’t required to carry,” Hotch snaps. “Yeah, but it makes a hell of a difference when facing a Spinosaurus aegyptiacus.” AKA the one where the BAU hunts dinosaurs. A Criminal Minds/Primeval fusion fic, crack!fic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds nor Primeval, Ed Bernero and Adrian Hodges/Time Haines do.
Note: Thanks to
underspell102 for the transcript of L.D.S.K, which I pilfered through and completely crack!ified for this fic. Also, thank you to Wikipedia for the dinosaur info-my own studies never included the Latin family names (but they did have multiple viewings of Jurassic Park).
Reid lowers his gun disgustedly, “They’re going to take away my gun.”
“Profilers aren’t required to carry,” Hotch snaps.
“Yeah, but it makes a hell of a difference when facing a Spinosaurus aegyptiacus,” Reid replies sullenly. “Besides, you carry two.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Reid failed his qualifying exam,” Prentiss informed Hotch as he walks into the bullpen the next morning.
“He can re-test in two weeks, unless we’re operating under some really new rules here,” Rossi offers as he filled his mug in the break room.
“Yeah, but he’s going to be embarrassed about it, so let’s not mention it,” Prentiss responds, looking at Morgan intently by the end.
Morgan holds his hands up innocently, “Not a word!”
Reid walks into the office, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched. He ignores his teammates in favor of tinkering with the anomaly detection device he and Garcia have been fussing with the past three weeks. It’s based off a successful prototype their U.K. counterparts sent over, but that hasn’t stopped Reid or Garcia from attempting to improve it.
Morgan ignores the signals Reid’s giving off and invades his personal space. “Hey, we’re all here for you,” he says, looking over Reid’s shoulder at text streaming down the monitor rapidly.
Reid turns away from the screen and looks at his teammate doubtfully. Morgan continues, “I’m serious! If you ever need anything,” he pulls out a whistle from his pocket and loops it around Reid’s skinny neck, “just blow on that.”
As Reid yanks the whistle off and stuffs it into his satchel, JJ walks into the room. “We’ve got a case! Everyone into the briefing room!”
Hotch examines his team closely as they jostle for seats in the cramped room. He used to think their offices at Quantico were small, but their current headquarters had redefined his idea of cramped. Hotch still wasn’t sure if someone from DHS or NSA had arranged for it (they were still throwing hissy fits at being denied jurisdiction for anomaly-related incidents) or if the FBI really was cheap enough to stick them here instead of pay for a new facility (as Morgan, Garcia, and Reid had suggested numerous times).
As JJ hands out paperwork, Rossi’s lip curls. Never a good sign, Hotch thinks, hoping desperately to avoid the “I was trained to profile people not dinosaurs” rant. He’d been subjected to it five times since Rossi joined the team and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to nod sympathetically anymore.
“We’ve got three suspicious deaths at Maryland General,” JJ says bluntly. “The first two were thought to be industrial accidents at the docks, but the third has suspicious bruising-very inconsistent with any type of workplace injury. Garcia’s loaded the security footage from the ER onto the laptop and is combing through dock footage to get an idea of what we’re looking for.”
“Good,” Hotch says shortly as the team studies the pictures of the cadavers projected onto the concrete-block wall intently. “Any ideas?” Hotch asks after a moment.
Rossi’s quiet, which isn’t unsurprising. Transitioning from profiling serial offenders to identifying, containing, and predicting the actions of the various creatures that emerge from each anomaly hasn’t been the easiest transition on the veteran field agent. And while he hasn’t gotten through the first tenth of training manual Prentiss and Reid wrote during their first frantic month on the job, Rossi’s been invaluable to the team-they never would have secured the Pteranodon without his experience in duck hunting.
“Definitely a large animal to leave that kind of bruising,” Morgan muses. He’s another agent who’s impressed the hell out of Hotch the last few months. For all of Morgan’s protesting that he’s “just the muscle,” it’s obvious that he’s been taking more of an interest in the newer side of their job description.
“But no bite marks,” Prentiss continues, “We’re not dealing with a predator. Large herbivore.”
“Looks like it just ran over the guy,” Reid finishes. “And judging by the bruise pattern on the chest, it doesn’t look like it’s that tall-just heavy.”
“What are you thinking?” Hotch asks.
“Some kind of Procolophonia, maybe,” Reid says uncertainly.
“A Pareiasaur?” Prentiss asks.
“Has to be,” Hotch says quietly. “The procolophoneoidea are too small to cause this kind of damage.”
JJ holds up her hand, “Translation for those of us who don’t hold paleontology or zoology degrees, please?”
“Pareiassurs were medium to large-sized herbivores that live during the Permian period,” Reid lectures, absently tapping his fingers on the desk rhythmically. “They were stocky, but had very large bodies-there’ve been specimens as large as 9.8 feet long and it would have weighed around 1,300 pounds.”
“Their teeth resemble those of iguanas, caseids, and other reptilian herbivores,” their resident herpetologist explains. “Most Pareiassurs were protected by armor-like skin. It’s been hypothesize that they had excellent hearing and communicated verbally.”
“Thanks Emily,” JJ says when the team goes quiet. “Any other questions before we leave?”
~*~*~*~*~
“It’s a Scutosarus,” Reid exclaims, smiling despite the fact that he’s running for his life-again. The team had split up to find the creature trapped inside a labyrinth of shipping containers, and he and Hotch had apparently found it.
It was rather angry. And Hotch was out of bullets.
“See!” he exclaims between gasping breaths to Hotch. “This is exactly why I need a gun.”
Hotch veers left suddenly, his arm reaching out and forcing Reid along for the ride. He gestures upwards and the two men begin to climb. Sadly, the scutosauruses have followed them and start to ram the shipping container the two men have taken refuge on top of.
“Any ideas?” Hotch shouts over the din of collapsing metal.
Reid searches his pockets frantically when he comes upon a small metal object. “Morgan’s never going to let me live this down,” he mutters.
Before Hotch can ask for an explanation, Reid pulls out the whistle, takes a deep breath, and blows.
It has been hypothesized that due to their large cheekbones, Scutosaurus have excellent hearing.
Hypothesis confirmed, Reid thinks dizzily as the Scutosaurus freezes at the sound. It bays woefully as it flees, its stubby legs moving frantically to get away from the high-pitch.
~*~*~*~*~
“Good going kid,” Morgan says when he spots Hotch and Reid gingerly climbing down from the shipping container.
“Did you herd the Scutosaurus back into the anomaly?” Hotch asks.
“Just in time,” Morgan replies. “It closed right after the big ugly went through.”
Hotch nods, “Time to sic JJ on the media then.” He pulls out his cell phone and starts walking back to the dock manager’s office.
“Think we’re using the vandalism excuse again?” Morgan asks.
“I’m holding out for escaped illegal animal transport,” Reid replies. “They have to know we wouldn’t have come for vandalism-and there were three deaths this time.”
Morgan grins and slings an arm around Reid’s skinny shoulders, “Good thinking with the whistle, you got really lucky.”
Reid pushes Morgan’s arm away, clearly irritated. “No I wasn’t. I knew the Scutosaurus skull suggested superior hearing so it was pretty logical to use the whistle.” He turned and looked at Morgan. “What’s lucky is that we got the Scutosaurus and not the Inostrancevia.”
“The what?”
“The predator,” Reid replies intently. “We’re talking 5 inch incisors, highly muscular, and 14 feet tall when it stands upright.”
“Well then,” Morgan replies after a moment of thought. “I guess we’ve got some work to do at the shooting range. We’ve got 11 days-you ready to work?”
Reid grins. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says, “you help me with this, I’ll get you up to speed on the creatures of the Paleozoic era.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
~*~*~*~*~
I basically wrote this by framing CM characters as Primeval characters. For your reference, this was the basic formula I was writing the CM characters under:
Connor = Reid
Jenny Lewis= JJ
Captain Becker= Morgan
Cutter= Hotch
Abby= Prentiss
Sarah Page= Garcia
Danny Quinn= Rossi
Rating: PG-13/Teen/FRT
Word Count: 1,290
Pairing: none (gen)
Summary: “Profilers aren’t required to carry,” Hotch snaps. “Yeah, but it makes a hell of a difference when facing a Spinosaurus aegyptiacus.” AKA the one where the BAU hunts dinosaurs. A Criminal Minds/Primeval fusion fic, crack!fic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds nor Primeval, Ed Bernero and Adrian Hodges/Time Haines do.
Note: Thanks to
underspell102 for the transcript of L.D.S.K, which I pilfered through and completely crack!ified for this fic. Also, thank you to Wikipedia for the dinosaur info-my own studies never included the Latin family names (but they did have multiple viewings of Jurassic Park).
Reid lowers his gun disgustedly, “They’re going to take away my gun.”
“Profilers aren’t required to carry,” Hotch snaps.
“Yeah, but it makes a hell of a difference when facing a Spinosaurus aegyptiacus,” Reid replies sullenly. “Besides, you carry two.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Reid failed his qualifying exam,” Prentiss informed Hotch as he walks into the bullpen the next morning.
“He can re-test in two weeks, unless we’re operating under some really new rules here,” Rossi offers as he filled his mug in the break room.
“Yeah, but he’s going to be embarrassed about it, so let’s not mention it,” Prentiss responds, looking at Morgan intently by the end.
Morgan holds his hands up innocently, “Not a word!”
Reid walks into the office, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched. He ignores his teammates in favor of tinkering with the anomaly detection device he and Garcia have been fussing with the past three weeks. It’s based off a successful prototype their U.K. counterparts sent over, but that hasn’t stopped Reid or Garcia from attempting to improve it.
Morgan ignores the signals Reid’s giving off and invades his personal space. “Hey, we’re all here for you,” he says, looking over Reid’s shoulder at text streaming down the monitor rapidly.
Reid turns away from the screen and looks at his teammate doubtfully. Morgan continues, “I’m serious! If you ever need anything,” he pulls out a whistle from his pocket and loops it around Reid’s skinny neck, “just blow on that.”
As Reid yanks the whistle off and stuffs it into his satchel, JJ walks into the room. “We’ve got a case! Everyone into the briefing room!”
Hotch examines his team closely as they jostle for seats in the cramped room. He used to think their offices at Quantico were small, but their current headquarters had redefined his idea of cramped. Hotch still wasn’t sure if someone from DHS or NSA had arranged for it (they were still throwing hissy fits at being denied jurisdiction for anomaly-related incidents) or if the FBI really was cheap enough to stick them here instead of pay for a new facility (as Morgan, Garcia, and Reid had suggested numerous times).
As JJ hands out paperwork, Rossi’s lip curls. Never a good sign, Hotch thinks, hoping desperately to avoid the “I was trained to profile people not dinosaurs” rant. He’d been subjected to it five times since Rossi joined the team and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to nod sympathetically anymore.
“We’ve got three suspicious deaths at Maryland General,” JJ says bluntly. “The first two were thought to be industrial accidents at the docks, but the third has suspicious bruising-very inconsistent with any type of workplace injury. Garcia’s loaded the security footage from the ER onto the laptop and is combing through dock footage to get an idea of what we’re looking for.”
“Good,” Hotch says shortly as the team studies the pictures of the cadavers projected onto the concrete-block wall intently. “Any ideas?” Hotch asks after a moment.
Rossi’s quiet, which isn’t unsurprising. Transitioning from profiling serial offenders to identifying, containing, and predicting the actions of the various creatures that emerge from each anomaly hasn’t been the easiest transition on the veteran field agent. And while he hasn’t gotten through the first tenth of training manual Prentiss and Reid wrote during their first frantic month on the job, Rossi’s been invaluable to the team-they never would have secured the Pteranodon without his experience in duck hunting.
“Definitely a large animal to leave that kind of bruising,” Morgan muses. He’s another agent who’s impressed the hell out of Hotch the last few months. For all of Morgan’s protesting that he’s “just the muscle,” it’s obvious that he’s been taking more of an interest in the newer side of their job description.
“But no bite marks,” Prentiss continues, “We’re not dealing with a predator. Large herbivore.”
“Looks like it just ran over the guy,” Reid finishes. “And judging by the bruise pattern on the chest, it doesn’t look like it’s that tall-just heavy.”
“What are you thinking?” Hotch asks.
“Some kind of Procolophonia, maybe,” Reid says uncertainly.
“A Pareiasaur?” Prentiss asks.
“Has to be,” Hotch says quietly. “The procolophoneoidea are too small to cause this kind of damage.”
JJ holds up her hand, “Translation for those of us who don’t hold paleontology or zoology degrees, please?”
“Pareiassurs were medium to large-sized herbivores that live during the Permian period,” Reid lectures, absently tapping his fingers on the desk rhythmically. “They were stocky, but had very large bodies-there’ve been specimens as large as 9.8 feet long and it would have weighed around 1,300 pounds.”
“Their teeth resemble those of iguanas, caseids, and other reptilian herbivores,” their resident herpetologist explains. “Most Pareiassurs were protected by armor-like skin. It’s been hypothesize that they had excellent hearing and communicated verbally.”
“Thanks Emily,” JJ says when the team goes quiet. “Any other questions before we leave?”
~*~*~*~*~
“It’s a Scutosarus,” Reid exclaims, smiling despite the fact that he’s running for his life-again. The team had split up to find the creature trapped inside a labyrinth of shipping containers, and he and Hotch had apparently found it.
It was rather angry. And Hotch was out of bullets.
“See!” he exclaims between gasping breaths to Hotch. “This is exactly why I need a gun.”
Hotch veers left suddenly, his arm reaching out and forcing Reid along for the ride. He gestures upwards and the two men begin to climb. Sadly, the scutosauruses have followed them and start to ram the shipping container the two men have taken refuge on top of.
“Any ideas?” Hotch shouts over the din of collapsing metal.
Reid searches his pockets frantically when he comes upon a small metal object. “Morgan’s never going to let me live this down,” he mutters.
Before Hotch can ask for an explanation, Reid pulls out the whistle, takes a deep breath, and blows.
It has been hypothesized that due to their large cheekbones, Scutosaurus have excellent hearing.
Hypothesis confirmed, Reid thinks dizzily as the Scutosaurus freezes at the sound. It bays woefully as it flees, its stubby legs moving frantically to get away from the high-pitch.
~*~*~*~*~
“Good going kid,” Morgan says when he spots Hotch and Reid gingerly climbing down from the shipping container.
“Did you herd the Scutosaurus back into the anomaly?” Hotch asks.
“Just in time,” Morgan replies. “It closed right after the big ugly went through.”
Hotch nods, “Time to sic JJ on the media then.” He pulls out his cell phone and starts walking back to the dock manager’s office.
“Think we’re using the vandalism excuse again?” Morgan asks.
“I’m holding out for escaped illegal animal transport,” Reid replies. “They have to know we wouldn’t have come for vandalism-and there were three deaths this time.”
Morgan grins and slings an arm around Reid’s skinny shoulders, “Good thinking with the whistle, you got really lucky.”
Reid pushes Morgan’s arm away, clearly irritated. “No I wasn’t. I knew the Scutosaurus skull suggested superior hearing so it was pretty logical to use the whistle.” He turned and looked at Morgan. “What’s lucky is that we got the Scutosaurus and not the Inostrancevia.”
“The what?”
“The predator,” Reid replies intently. “We’re talking 5 inch incisors, highly muscular, and 14 feet tall when it stands upright.”
“Well then,” Morgan replies after a moment of thought. “I guess we’ve got some work to do at the shooting range. We’ve got 11 days-you ready to work?”
Reid grins. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says, “you help me with this, I’ll get you up to speed on the creatures of the Paleozoic era.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
~*~*~*~*~
I basically wrote this by framing CM characters as Primeval characters. For your reference, this was the basic formula I was writing the CM characters under:
Connor = Reid
Jenny Lewis= JJ
Captain Becker= Morgan
Cutter= Hotch
Abby= Prentiss
Sarah Page= Garcia
Danny Quinn= Rossi