i. handsome [ d.m ]

⬇ trigger warning ⬇

child abduction, abuse, violence, murder, suggestive dialogue, anxiety

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❛ hey, handsome, what're you doing later? let's say we go get a coffee, maybe hang out in my backseat– ❜

derek morgan

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When you hear the word surreptitious, what's the first thing that pops into your head?

Well, according to the Merriam-Dexter dictionary, it means "done, made, or acquired by stealth."

Your teachers described your actions as such while you were growing up. You would lie, cheat, and do anything you could to survive. But none of them were aware of what happened at home. That was something you would never wish upon your worst enemy.

Your father -- a man who abducted you from your home six weeks after you were born -- had an intuition for all things erroneous. Casey, his biological son, was just a few months older than you were but endured most of the exploitative nature of the man's actions throughout his childhood and teenage years.

You were raised as siblings, so when Casey started acting irrationally after John (your father) died, you tried your best to have his back.

It started with him disappearing for days at a time -- something you only noticed because you lived together -- but then it quickly evolved into blood-stained hands and a permanent crazed look in his eye.

Only when you snooped in his bedroom one night did you finally discover the lack of all things good in him.

There were drawings on the inside of his closet door, pictures of women with stab wounds all over, handprints made of blood. And in the corner, on a wire hanger, was a white button-up shirt covered with blood, as well.

When your father was alive, similar actions took place. He would come home with a woman, disappear into his room, and come out with red-stained hands. You and your brother would simply share a look, knowing that John would force you two to help bury the body in the backyard -- where nearly a dozen more women were laid to rest in a mass grave.

John would point a gun to your temple, yelling at you to go into the bedroom and start taking the woman outside. The first time that happened, and you began to cry, a punch to the cheekbone assured you that he wasn't afraid to do worse. Casey simply watched with a look you couldn't pinpoint and almost happily helped you dig the graves.

So when Casey picked up John's "hobby" after he died, you weren't exactly shocked.

Nine years and thirteen murders later, you were shoved into an interrogation room at the police station in your hometown. As it turned out, the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI had been investigating the killings, and you were their prime suspect.

Not surprisingly so.

"I'm Agent Morgan with the BAU. Do you happen to recognize these women?" A gorgeous African-American man sat in front of you, tossing an open case file onto the metal table, and raised an expectant eyebrow.

You glanced at the pictures strewn about, then leaned back lazily and crossed your arms over your chest. "No. Should I?"

Morgan glanced over to the blonde at the head of the table. "They were buried in your backyard," she said. You recognized her as SSA Jennifer Jareau.

"My backyard, you say?" Your eyes met Derek's. "Hey, handsome, what're you doing later? Let's say we go get a coffee, maybe hang out in my backseat–"

Before you could continue, unfortunately, an uptight-looking man marched into the room with another file in his hands. "These women -- Christina Dabral, Abigail Burrow, just to name a couple -- were found in your backyard, stabbed dozens of times, and throats slit. Does that ring a bell?"

"Ding, ding..." You whispered, looking up at the man. "And you must be Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU. Yeah..." You saw how his face never faltered. "I've heard so much about you. Big boss man. What's that like?"

He didn't answer.

You smiled.

"When I was in high school," you began. "My math teacher, Ms. Brown, hated me. Always said I had my head in the clouds and needed to focus on my studies. Well, six years later and I'm a college graduate with a major in mathematics. I should e-mail her, don't you think?"

None of the agents reacted to your blabbering.

When your father was still alive, he drilled it into your head that filling the police's heads with unimportant information wasn't the way to go, but you weren't sure doing it with the feds would work in your favor.

You knew that they were waiting for you to get nervous, but you wouldn't give them the satisfaction. "Okay," you said. You crossed one leg over the other, running a hand through your hair, looking between the three agents. It was a challenge to see who would talk first, and you wouldn't be the one to lose.

But, regardless of your attempts to be uncooperative, you had given the team a clue. When Hotchner asked if you knew what had happened to the women, you unconsciously gave him an answer. You said yes.

"Who's Casey?"

Derek had been the one to break the silence, causing the corner of your lips to twitch upward. His face never faded while the accusatory thoughts ran through his mind, and yours held the amused sparkle in your eye. He couldn't deny that, even though you were undoubtedly involved, you were attractive.

You sat up in your seat, intertwining your fingers and resting your elbows on the table in front of you. Your wrists were in shackles, so the uncomfortable metal dug into your skin. "Casey," you felt the name on your tongue. "He's an old friend."

There was no evidence of you two ever coming across each other since John made certain that there was no paper trail of you ever having met, so you weren't about to admit to the feds that you were nonbiologically siblings.

"An old friend," Morgan repeated. You nodded. "Do you know where we can find him?"

You looked at Jareau and Hotchner, who were both glaring at you with certainty in their features. "I haven't seen him in years," you said. "I think he moved to the west coast in my senior year of high school, but my time management is all off."

Clearing your throat, you looked between all three agents again. Your nerves were starting to get to you, and they could see it.

"Are you sure you haven't seen him lately?"

You simply nodded. "Positive." This time, you didn't meet anyone's eyes.

They had you right where they wanted you. You knew it, and so did they.

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It was the next day, and no one had come into the interrogation room to talk to you. It was strange since you were their prime suspect, and they had been badgering you for hours before asking about your brother.

The two-way glass across the room taunted you. You knew some of the BAU agents were on the other side, watching you, seeing your anxiety slowly build up your throat and threaten to spill over.

Your confidence had disappeared when you were left alone all night.

Over time, your leg had begun to bounce up and down, and your fingers tapped in a rhythmic pattern. It was a nervous habit that you picked up from your father, and you hated the fact that some of his attributes still stuck to you to this day.

For heaven's sake, you were willing to take the fall for someone who you weren't even related to. And you hated him.

Morgan said your name as he walked into the room. No one followed after him in, and he had a certain look in his eye. It wasn't like the one before. "How are you? Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee..."

You shook your head, wringing your hands together under the table and biting the inside of your cheek as you looked at him.

He sat down in front of you, nodded, and rested his elbows on the table. "We know what happened to you," he claimed.

"What are you talking about?" you scoffed. "Nothing happened."

"Your real parents, Martha and George, had a baby when they were in their twenties–" He said that the baby was born the same day you were. "–and that baby was taken, right under their nose, almost two months later. Do you know anything about that?"

You swallowed. "No."

"You see, I think you do. I think your father, John, raised you as his own. His son, Casey, acted like a brother to you up until John died, and that's when he started to change. How am I doing so far?"

You simply stared at him.

"Casey started killing women, just like John did when you were kids. He forced you to help him, threatening to kill you if you didn't. You were terrified, but he was your brother, and you were willing to do anything for fami–"

"Stop."

At this point, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. You were starting to relive every killing that you witnessed John committing. You were so young. You hated him for taking away your childhood.

Why did he take you away from your parents?

Why did he raise you as his own?

Why did he have to go off and die before you could report him to the cops?

Questions swarmed your thoughts, and you struggled to meet Morgan's eyes through the tears. You were scared of going to jail for something you didn't do. You were scared that if you were deemed innocent, they wouldn't be able to find Casey, and he would kill you if he found out you told the feds anything.

You were core-strickenly terrified.

"We found Casey."

Your leg stopped bouncing as you searched Derek's face for any tell of a lie, but you found none. "Are you lying to me right now? Because if you aren't, I'll have ruined my makeup for nothing."

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as you dabbed your under eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. "I'm absolutely serious," he said. "He's in the other room, confessing to everything."

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm gonna need proof of that, Agent. If he's actually here, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Derek Morgan turned around in his seat, looked at the two-way mirror, and nodded once. You assumed that whoever was behind the glass would get a video or picture of some sort and prove to you that Casey was in the same building as you, and you were inwardly hoping that the gorgeous man in front of you was telling the truth.

If he were, you might've finally been free to live your own life.

Jennifer Jareau walked into the room nearly two minutes later, holding a phone out to you and playing a video of Casey talking to another agent. You smiled at the sight.

"Oh, my God," you muttered. "I don't have to lie for him anymore."

Derek gave you a grin when he saw the relief on your face. "No," he said your name. "You don't."

Running a hand over your face, you let out a laugh. "Okay, Agent Morgan with the BAU," you said. "Ask away."