Post by Kikerz on Mar 25, 2011 22:33:25 GMT -8
KIKI
There was no possible way to deny it - the day had dragged on long enough. (To say nothing of the week itself.) After a couple of weeks of hard work, it had finally culminated in arresting one of the more notorious criminals to hit Vale city in a while. Needless to say, Morgan wasn't the only one with bags under her eyes. Although no one could deny the sheer satisfaction when they took him down, knowing there was one less criminal preying on the citizens.
Their break had finally come around noon that day, when a call had come in describing their guy hightailing it down the market strip. Springing into action, they had finally arrested him, Booth opting to bring him to his holding cell. Well, opting wasn't the best word really. Brooks had originally been assigned to take him in, but there ended up being a small squabble between the two partners. What could be said? It had been a tiring few weeks and they both were at the ends of their ropes. So when Booth did his usual over-protective thing (it's not Brooks fault that she was half a foot smaller and considerably skinnier than their criminal!) she took it as a personal insult, flying off the handle and leaving the pair of them fairly disgruntled with each other. Leaving with a couple of loaded insults, the partners left each other fed up, needing some time away from the other. It was a stark change in both behaviors - previously Brooks couldn't remember Booth ever taking a sharp tone with her, or anyone, let alone a fugitive. And on her own part, Morgan, although she could be a little snarky and cranky at times, almost never flew fully off the handle like that.
So it was in a fairly foul mood that the female agent returned to Headquarters, bee-lining first for 'her' coffee machine and then slamming her door behind her, remnants of emotion swirling in her actions. Practically flinging herself onto her chair, her face was buried in her slender hands, rubbing her closed hazel eyes from exhaustion. Several unintelligible phrases not meant for anyone younger than Sweets to hear found them thrown into existence, born from rage and a not a small amount of exhaustion. Letting out a long exhale, Morgan finally opened her eyes, leaning back onto her chair and studying her office. Switching her blackberry off, she half-tossed it to the other side of the office, disgusted. Anyone she wanted to talk to was in the office already.
By no means was it a large office, and the clutter surrounding it seemed to shrink the space even more. Boxes of paperwork Morgan had been putting off constructed a fort practically surrounding her desk, with various clutter you wouldn't imagine needing to be on a desk squeezed onto the solid redwood surface. But it was an office all the same, giving Morgan her much needed alone time, shut off from the rest of her team.
Settling on a large beige folder, Morgan leaned forward, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Pulling it out from under a stapler, hole-punch, and a coffee mug or two, all luxury of unknowing fleeing the instant she pulled it out. In her undeserving defense, it had been a very long week, the papers that defined her buried under too many papers in an office that hadn't even been opened for the past month. But all the same, Brooks kept the folder on her desk, a constant reminder of who was out there.
The man responsible for taking her partner's life had ties farther back to her and Carter than she even knew. However, the fact that Carter had been killed by this man still haunted her enough to keep his file on her desk. Now, inspired by her recent success with their arrest today, Morgan indulged herself and opened it once more.
Brooks had picked it up so many times over the years that she barely had to look at the photos any more. Like a hot brand on her mind, every image was there, creeping into her nightmares and daydreams when they could. The symptoms of her PTSD came and went, more prominent on lighter days, like this one would have been, should have been with the afternoon off like this.
Once again the wave of helplessness flooded over her, spurring the slender agent to rise and close the shutters on her office windows. Nobody needed to see her like this, especially, despite how fond she was of him, the office psychologist Sweets. Making sure her door was locked, Brooks found herself pressing against it, holding it back with all her might as if her demons were on the other side, roaring to get in instead of inside her already.
Sliding down to the floor, her legs stretched and bunched up, one pointing towards her desk, resting uncomfortably against the cheap paper boxes the Forces had provided, her other one in semi-fetal position. Resting her arms on this one leg, her forehead soon followed, bending to the weight of just what she did in this building, that, and what she couldn't do. She had let down her partner, that was more than obvious, but in not actively pursuing his killer, tracking him down at all costs especially after he slipped through their fingers-! That was the true betrayal.
Composing herself, Morgan returned to her desk, human illusion looking more frayed than ever. It was no secret that the job took a lot out of you, but in Morgan this was sometimes more physically visible. Reaching towards the phone of sheer instinct, fingers skipped over numbers that spelled out her partner's ringtone, surely 'The United States of Whatever' would ring as soon as the call connected. But it was cut off too quickly, something forcing her hand down to place the phone to rest again. What would she even say, to begin? It was a blind instinct to call him, perhaps guilt if anything else.
As if he had suddenly known she was calling, her light on the receiver flashed, lighting up the dark office in a bath of red. Sound battered her eardrums, causing her to leap back, the wheels on her chair skidding back until they were stopped by the boxes of files. In disgruntled response, the files tumbled around her, the moment of cluttered panic settling like snow on her already cluttered floor. Not forgetting what caused the disarray, she leapt up, leaving her chair behind as she scrabbled for the phone. "Agent Brooks."
Frozen, her hand rested on the receiver long after the caller hand hung up. Far from being sculpted from flawless marble, the hand shook painfully, the tremors settling all around her body as the reality set in. Morgan hadn't been able to say anything the whole call, making it much less a conversation than an informing session. The best she'd managed was a confirmation of her presence towards the end of the call, acknowledging that she had gotten the directions down perfectly.
Propelling herself through the office, she barely noticed the surprised looks she generated. Well adjusted to ignoring the questions of others, she ran down the stairs, out the door faster than if she was in hot pursuit. The directions to the warehouse were simple enough, the mere connection to her case kept them bored into her mind. Driving just under the speed limit, she late would admit that a couple of red lights had been completely ignored, the holster at her hip pressing into her skin in just one indication of her stress.
Commanding her large metal steed to pull up just in front of the abandoned facilities, Brooks' nose picked up on several scents, the most prominent being of cut wood. It was faint, but the worn-down sign to her right confirmed the old wood processing plant's presence. Not caring to draw her gun, the small agent was dwarfed against the old facilities, her footsteps barely making a sound inside the building, let alone lending any sign to the outside world that she was where she was.
It was even more humid in the building than outside - Morgan hadn't realized the temperature outside to begin with. A tight-ish light purple shirt (see signature & change colour) wrapped around her upper half, darker black pants ending in heels standing only a few inches taller than she really was. Instinct alone drove her to place her hand on her gun, the contact easing her irrational nervousness, before the gun slid back into her palm, the cold weapon held with both hands down past her waist.
Hazel eyes scanned the large warehouse uneasily, in a setting that anyone would have been a little skittish. A fitting stage for a showdown, just not the kind Morgan imagined. The battle-worn agent had been waiting for a tip like this long enough, and was determined not to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Holding her gun almost out of sight, but still ready to be raised if the situation called, she cautiously stepped over floors coated in dust, the small amount of light streaking in from windows high above a human's eye. A cautious voice called out a tentative "Hello?", her body more relaxed than perhaps it should have been.[/color]
There was no possible way to deny it - the day had dragged on long enough. (To say nothing of the week itself.) After a couple of weeks of hard work, it had finally culminated in arresting one of the more notorious criminals to hit Vale city in a while. Needless to say, Morgan wasn't the only one with bags under her eyes. Although no one could deny the sheer satisfaction when they took him down, knowing there was one less criminal preying on the citizens.
Their break had finally come around noon that day, when a call had come in describing their guy hightailing it down the market strip. Springing into action, they had finally arrested him, Booth opting to bring him to his holding cell. Well, opting wasn't the best word really. Brooks had originally been assigned to take him in, but there ended up being a small squabble between the two partners. What could be said? It had been a tiring few weeks and they both were at the ends of their ropes. So when Booth did his usual over-protective thing (it's not Brooks fault that she was half a foot smaller and considerably skinnier than their criminal!) she took it as a personal insult, flying off the handle and leaving the pair of them fairly disgruntled with each other. Leaving with a couple of loaded insults, the partners left each other fed up, needing some time away from the other. It was a stark change in both behaviors - previously Brooks couldn't remember Booth ever taking a sharp tone with her, or anyone, let alone a fugitive. And on her own part, Morgan, although she could be a little snarky and cranky at times, almost never flew fully off the handle like that.
So it was in a fairly foul mood that the female agent returned to Headquarters, bee-lining first for 'her' coffee machine and then slamming her door behind her, remnants of emotion swirling in her actions. Practically flinging herself onto her chair, her face was buried in her slender hands, rubbing her closed hazel eyes from exhaustion. Several unintelligible phrases not meant for anyone younger than Sweets to hear found them thrown into existence, born from rage and a not a small amount of exhaustion. Letting out a long exhale, Morgan finally opened her eyes, leaning back onto her chair and studying her office. Switching her blackberry off, she half-tossed it to the other side of the office, disgusted. Anyone she wanted to talk to was in the office already.
By no means was it a large office, and the clutter surrounding it seemed to shrink the space even more. Boxes of paperwork Morgan had been putting off constructed a fort practically surrounding her desk, with various clutter you wouldn't imagine needing to be on a desk squeezed onto the solid redwood surface. But it was an office all the same, giving Morgan her much needed alone time, shut off from the rest of her team.
Settling on a large beige folder, Morgan leaned forward, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Pulling it out from under a stapler, hole-punch, and a coffee mug or two, all luxury of unknowing fleeing the instant she pulled it out. In her undeserving defense, it had been a very long week, the papers that defined her buried under too many papers in an office that hadn't even been opened for the past month. But all the same, Brooks kept the folder on her desk, a constant reminder of who was out there.
The man responsible for taking her partner's life had ties farther back to her and Carter than she even knew. However, the fact that Carter had been killed by this man still haunted her enough to keep his file on her desk. Now, inspired by her recent success with their arrest today, Morgan indulged herself and opened it once more.
Brooks had picked it up so many times over the years that she barely had to look at the photos any more. Like a hot brand on her mind, every image was there, creeping into her nightmares and daydreams when they could. The symptoms of her PTSD came and went, more prominent on lighter days, like this one would have been, should have been with the afternoon off like this.
Once again the wave of helplessness flooded over her, spurring the slender agent to rise and close the shutters on her office windows. Nobody needed to see her like this, especially, despite how fond she was of him, the office psychologist Sweets. Making sure her door was locked, Brooks found herself pressing against it, holding it back with all her might as if her demons were on the other side, roaring to get in instead of inside her already.
Sliding down to the floor, her legs stretched and bunched up, one pointing towards her desk, resting uncomfortably against the cheap paper boxes the Forces had provided, her other one in semi-fetal position. Resting her arms on this one leg, her forehead soon followed, bending to the weight of just what she did in this building, that, and what she couldn't do. She had let down her partner, that was more than obvious, but in not actively pursuing his killer, tracking him down at all costs especially after he slipped through their fingers-! That was the true betrayal.
Composing herself, Morgan returned to her desk, human illusion looking more frayed than ever. It was no secret that the job took a lot out of you, but in Morgan this was sometimes more physically visible. Reaching towards the phone of sheer instinct, fingers skipped over numbers that spelled out her partner's ringtone, surely 'The United States of Whatever' would ring as soon as the call connected. But it was cut off too quickly, something forcing her hand down to place the phone to rest again. What would she even say, to begin? It was a blind instinct to call him, perhaps guilt if anything else.
As if he had suddenly known she was calling, her light on the receiver flashed, lighting up the dark office in a bath of red. Sound battered her eardrums, causing her to leap back, the wheels on her chair skidding back until they were stopped by the boxes of files. In disgruntled response, the files tumbled around her, the moment of cluttered panic settling like snow on her already cluttered floor. Not forgetting what caused the disarray, she leapt up, leaving her chair behind as she scrabbled for the phone. "Agent Brooks."
Frozen, her hand rested on the receiver long after the caller hand hung up. Far from being sculpted from flawless marble, the hand shook painfully, the tremors settling all around her body as the reality set in. Morgan hadn't been able to say anything the whole call, making it much less a conversation than an informing session. The best she'd managed was a confirmation of her presence towards the end of the call, acknowledging that she had gotten the directions down perfectly.
Propelling herself through the office, she barely noticed the surprised looks she generated. Well adjusted to ignoring the questions of others, she ran down the stairs, out the door faster than if she was in hot pursuit. The directions to the warehouse were simple enough, the mere connection to her case kept them bored into her mind. Driving just under the speed limit, she late would admit that a couple of red lights had been completely ignored, the holster at her hip pressing into her skin in just one indication of her stress.
Commanding her large metal steed to pull up just in front of the abandoned facilities, Brooks' nose picked up on several scents, the most prominent being of cut wood. It was faint, but the worn-down sign to her right confirmed the old wood processing plant's presence. Not caring to draw her gun, the small agent was dwarfed against the old facilities, her footsteps barely making a sound inside the building, let alone lending any sign to the outside world that she was where she was.
It was even more humid in the building than outside - Morgan hadn't realized the temperature outside to begin with. A tight-ish light purple shirt (see signature & change colour) wrapped around her upper half, darker black pants ending in heels standing only a few inches taller than she really was. Instinct alone drove her to place her hand on her gun, the contact easing her irrational nervousness, before the gun slid back into her palm, the cold weapon held with both hands down past her waist.
Hazel eyes scanned the large warehouse uneasily, in a setting that anyone would have been a little skittish. A fitting stage for a showdown, just not the kind Morgan imagined. The battle-worn agent had been waiting for a tip like this long enough, and was determined not to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Holding her gun almost out of sight, but still ready to be raised if the situation called, she cautiously stepped over floors coated in dust, the small amount of light streaking in from windows high above a human's eye. A cautious voice called out a tentative "Hello?", her body more relaxed than perhaps it should have been.[/color]
