darling–littlered:

Joanna feels her heart leap in her chest, causing a moment of fear to shine in her eyes. Eyes showed a lot. Biting down on her lip, she nodded. Stealing, assault, accessory to murder, prostitution — oh shut up brain. Jo feels sick to her stomach and has the sudden urge to run away. Her cheeks flushed off all color and she forced a nod. God, he can probably smell the record on you. 

She looked down to the dog again, running her fingers through his fur. A smile formed on her face, she dealt with dogs and animals better than humans. Reason being was that they didn’t speak and Joanna didn’t have to speak to them. Most were loyal no matter what she did. Unlike some “friends” she had in the past. Joanna shook the thought from her thoughts and looked back to the man, she realized it had been a good five minutes since she spoke. Shit. Say something! 

“Uh… Special Agent?” Jo asked, trying to spark some kind of conversation. “Guess that’s a fun job. Much better than bein’ a violin teacher.” A light laugh escaped her lips. Suddenly, she realized she had her violin case on her. She forgot, she had it everyday that it started to become a part of her. As she fixed the strap, she eyed him. What was it about this man that intrigued her? Maybe it was the way he stood, or how he stared at her eyes. No no, his eyes, something about his eyes. She stared again, getting lost in her own thoughts. 

The spark of fear in Joanna’s glassy eyes is not lost to the profiler. It sparks his own curiosity in the girl as he wonders what might have caused the sudden look of fright to color her expression. Perhaps it was him; many people, he’d learned, react differently upon hearing words such as Special Agent, FBI, Police, et cetera. They act as if they are guilty, though more times than not it is those who do not act guilty that are the ones with the blood on their hands. Her cheeks were painted a faint red as the blush crawls up her neck and he raises his eyebrows. 

             He’s not [real] FBI

                          He’s just some v o l u n t e e r they picked up along the way

  Never passed the screening tests

                                              Too unstable. 

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use.” His lips twist into a sneer at the thought and the chuckle that escapes his throat is sour and humorless; self-mocking. No, the job was not fun. The nightmares that follow his dreams and even his waking hours were something he would gladly trade in for something as mundane as a violin teaching post. 

                     My horse is hitched to a post closer to Aspergers

                                   And narcissistic sociopaths

   Not so much of a s o c i a l  d i s o r d e r

               As an active imagination

“I’d gladly teach violin – if I knew how to.” He should have said no to Jack Crawford’s offer. Stick to teaching criminal psychology and psychoanalyzing rather than doing the criminal profiling and being psychoanalyzed. 

darling–littlered:

Joanna eyed him for a moment, nodding. The girl finally returned and she was invisible to everyone else around them. “He’s funny lookin’, ain’t he?” The girl squeaked, Jo shook her head quickly and shooed her. Her eyes finally went up to the man, still staring. Sometimes Jo didn’t realize she was staring, it just happened because she was so lost in her thoughts. Quickly, she had to find something to stop the thick, heavy, awkward feeling that was stuck in the air. 

“Hello, pup!” Joanna finally said, kneeling down to see the dog. She held out her hand to allow the dog to smell her hand before she pet him. Brilliant green eyes gazed back up to him and she looked into his eyes for a moment, but not for very long. She realized how little human contact she had besides her husband and one year old son. It probably wasn’t healthy, but was there anything healthy she did to herself?

The young woman stood up, looking at him again. It’s proper to say your name first, right? Jo felt so out of practice with new people it made her  little uneasy to talk to someone. She cleared her throat, trying to fill the awkward silence a little. “Uh — I’m Joanna. Joanna Watson.” She said softly. 

The first thing he notices about the girl are her eyes. Much as he tries to avoid eye contact, knowing that once he locks gazes with someone, it would be hard for him to focus on anything but what he sees in them, it was hard not to notice her eyes. Brilliant green hues that seem so – empty. Their eyes meet, and yet it feels like there is a thin film that separtes them. She stares at him, but she doesn’t see him. 

The silence that hung between them was deafening, making the profiler uncomfortable. Silence had never been a problem for him – he encouraged silence most days, never quite wanting to force a conversation with someone he does not want to talk to, but this silence hung in the air thick enough to suffocate him, and he needed to breathe. As he opens his mouth to say something, she breaks the eye contact and busies herself with Winston, who’d dutifully stood by his side. 

The dog enjoys the attention, his tail wags as she pets him, tongue falling out of his mouth as he smiles a doggy-smile. Will watches her from where he stands, trying – and possibly failing – to not stare at the girl. Her gaze seemed sharper as she petted the retriever – not as clouded as it had been when they’d walked into each other.

“Special Agent Will Graham,” he introduces, stating his title out of habit. “But, um – Will’s just fine.”

darling–littlered:

I _NEED A [_HERO_]

• pureempath

   ——I’m holding out for a hero til the { m o r n i n g   l i g h t }

“This game isn’t fun anymore.” Joanna muttered as a little spirit girl dragged her around the city, blind folded. She could hear her giggles and she could feel the stares of people stared at her. They whispered things, but really, how rare was it to see someone talking to themselves in a big city like this? The girl’s giggles stopped and Jo was left alone, standing in the middle of a sidewalk. Her hand reached out and she felt something, she removed the mask around her face. 

“—Oh, sorry. I—” The girl pressed her lips together and removed her hand from his shirt, looking away for a moment. 

It wasn’t often that he takes his dogs out for walks – there were too many of them for him to keep track of on the streets, so he usually lets them out in the yard twice a day. But on that day Winston, the newest addition to the family of strays, had refused to leave Will’s side. Eventually giving in, the profiler had hooked a leash onto the retriever’s collar and left the comfort of the small house he called home.

The streets were not very crowded which he was thankful for as he led Winston through the city. That doesn’t stop those who walk past him from staring, though. Many in Virginia knew of him now. Many are frequent readers of Freddie Lound’s Tattle Crime, and many see him as an unstable psychopath – much like the killers he catches. He catches insane people because he can think like them… Because he is insane. 

Wandering thoughts had caused the profiler to forget almost completely that he is still on the streets, and still walking. It was not until he bumped into someone, and they grabbed his shirt that he snaps out from his thoughts. 

Blinking in surprise, he looks at the girl he’d walked in to as she pulls off a strip of cloth from her face. It was uncommon to find someone walking alone blindfolded, even for Will. He takes half a step back once she lets go of his shirt to give both of them some space. “It’s my fault,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”