Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
You've got what it takes, but it will take everything you've got.
o o o o
Derek Morgan rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He'd set the alarm over an hour before he truly needed to wake up, because he knew he would need that hour to convince himself this entire endeavor wasn't one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Staring at the ceiling, he studied the immobile ceiling fan. His apartment in Chicago hadn't had a ceiling fan and the crash pad he'd been given during his months of undercover work barely had safe electrical work, much less luxury items like ceiling fans. He tried to think back to whether or not any of the houses he'd lived in growing up had ceiling fans, but his mind drew a blank.
Maybe he should just stay here and stare at the ceiling fan all day. It might be safer. There was no chance of failure if he lay in bed all day and did nothing but try to remember what was or wasn't in different houses. He couldn't get someone killed by staying in bed.
Even as he lay there contemplating not showing up for the first day of his new job, his dream job, the job he'd been working towards since he'd heard it existed, he knew he wouldn't. He would get up, go through his usual fitness routine, take Clooney for a run, shower, shave, brush his teeth. He was so nervous, he wasn't sure if he would be able to look at breakfast, much less have any or keep it down. Maybe just coffee.
Coffee would be good, Derek thought. Wake himself up a little bit. Get rid of some of his nerves, if that were possible.
He should never have left Chicago. What was he thinking? A behavioural analyst for the FBI? He couldn't do that job. He was going to get people killed! And what kind of moron was Jason Gideon, anyway, to even consider giving him a job with the BAU? And then to actually give him the job? Something was wrong with the man. He was supposed to be this brilliant profiler, but, if he were so brilliant, why did he do something as stupid as picking Derek out of the Academy?
But Gideon had picked him. Gideon was the best. That's what everyone said. Gideon was the best. He wouldn't make that big of a mistake, would he? If Gideon thought he could do the job, maybe he could. Maybe he wouldn't be the worst profiler the BAU had ever had. Maybe he could do this.
Who was he kidding? He was just a quota filler. He hadn't been chosen because he was the most qualified or had the most potential. He'd been chosen because he was black and they needed a check in the African American column. They didn't expect him to succeed.
How dare they not expect him to succeed! What? Did they think he was just some stupid mass of muscle without a brain? Some stereotypical black athlete? He was more than some stupid stereotype! He could do this job. He was perfect for this job. This was what he'd been working towards for years and he deserved it. He could do this.
What if he couldn't do this? What if he got someone killed because he messed up? What if a murderer got away because of him? No. He couldn't do this. He was crazy to think he could do this job. He should just call Agent Hotchner and tell him that this entire thing was a complete mistake, that he had no business being a part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.
A cold nose touched his ankle and made him jump slightly. Derek looked down towards the other side of the bed to see big, brown eyes blinking sleepily at him.
"You were the worst police dog in recorded history, you know that, Cloon?" Derek shook his head at the German shepherd as he yawned and stretched his legs out lazily. "Yeah. Your retirement was safest for everyone. Especially me."
Clooney made an indignant sound and scratched behind his ear with a hind leg before awkwardly crawling up until his face was only a few inches from Derek's. Any other dog might have tried to lick Derek's face or done something cute or rolled over in an attempt to get his stomach rubbed, but not Clooney.
No. Clooney put one paw over the other like a human crossing it's legs and rested his head down on his paws and stared at Derek. Not looked in Derek's general direction or waited for Derek to scratch his head or watched to see if Derek got up, but stared Derek straight in the eyes.
"You think I can do this?" Derek asked the dog.
"Once for yes, twice for no."
Clooney stared without moving and then yawned.
"Is that a maybe?"
Clooney closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side.
"You're almost as useless as a regular dog as you were as a police dog," Derek smirked and shook the dog's head. He talked badly about his dog and to his dog, but, if pressed, Derek would have to admit that he loved Clooney, effectively useless or not.
Derek stared back up at the ceiling fan and sighed. For better or worse, he was expected at Quantico at nine. He should probably get up and take Clooney out for his run soon before leaving him alone all day with only the cat for company. He had just swung his legs over the side of the bed when his phone let out several loud beeps.
He had a text message. At six in the morning?
Scrubbing his hand over his eyes, he walked over to the chest of drawers his mobile sat on top of and pulled it off the charger. James' name stared at him and Derek shook his head with a smile. That dumb kid had gotten up at five in the morning all the way back in Chicago to make sure to text Derek at six because he knew that's when Derek got up.
Unable to wipe the smile from his face, he flipped the phone open.
'Hai quello che ci vuole, ma ci vorrà tutto quello che hai.'
Derek read the Italian words and then scrolled down, knowing by now that an English explanation was just afterwards.
'It's something Gramps used to say to me. It means 'You've got what it takes, but it will take everything you've got.' Good luck, bro. Kick ass.'
He smiled at the text before 'locking' it in place so he wouldn't accidently erase it. Clooney perked up when he saw Derek change into a pair of track bottoms and a plain white shirt and jumped off the bed, wagging his tail happily and pushing the door open with his nose. Derek cringed when he heard an angry hissing scream and a crash.
"Clooney! Leave the cat alone!"
ooo ooo ooo ooo
Taking a deep breath, Derek took a step out of the elevator and walked towards the double glass doors into the bullpen he'd toured a few times while attending the classes at the FBI Academy. Part of him wanted to turn around and run the opposite direction, but he squared his shoulders and pushed one of the doors open.
"Good morning, Agent Morgan," Gideon greeted as he walked away from the coffee machine. "I'm glad you decided to come in this morning. You made a good choice. Welcome to the BAU, Derek."
This was written in response (a rather late response) to the 29 Oct Fortune Cookie Prompt. "You've got what it takes, but it will take everything you've got." I dunno... I got thought about how nervous and unsure a person would be the morning before their first day at the BAU so I went with it.
This is part of the Cracked Concrete story, my Derek story that's set back when he's still a cop in Chicago, so that's where you can find out what and who made Derek into the man we all love to drool over while he kicks down doors every Wednesday night. So, if you like it, you can go check that out if you so desire.
Anyways! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!