#dave seeing jason for the first time like 😐😒

[bauretiredaa]

@theystories​:  𝚢𝚎𝚜  𝚒𝚖  𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏,   𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍  𝚞𝚛   𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚘𝚠  𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚛  𝚘𝚏  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘  𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜  𝚝𝚘  𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎  as the first channel for miles comes within range.  with a flick of the wrist he turns the volume up as the static begins to give way for the thin,  faraway voice of a news anchor.  it remains on the cusp of being intelligible,  words weaved into the current of static,  but as he gives it a decisive smack the voice begins to emerge from the crackling depths in waves:  [ 𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  ...  𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙱𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺  ...  𝚈𝙴𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙶𝚁𝚄𝙴𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴  ...  𝙵𝙱𝙸 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽  ...  𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  ].  another body,  upping the total to four.  time is ticking and the sleek black car accelerates down the road with a roar of its engine.  

𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜  𝚘𝚏  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎  𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚙𝚝  𝚒𝚗  𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢  𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚗  𝚏𝚘𝚐  pass by his window in a blur of muted greens and greys but his focus is targeted on the map spread across the shotgun seat,  brown hues tracking the red marker drawn along the road that the black pontiac catalina is roaring down.  it’s been a long and grueling drive but the opportunity had been one too golden to pass up.   “ YOU’RE GOING TO MICHIGAN ”,  the monotone had said in the recorded message sitting on his voice mail last night.  “ JOIN THE BSU IN ARCADIA,  REPORT BACK TO ME TOMORROW EVENING ”.  no questions,  no qualms,  he had simply loaded into the car  --  eager to get his name in the mouths of the right people and set in motion the career that awaits him after graduation.  the circumstances are not ideal --  every twist and turn of the case is not only scrutinized by the brightest minds of their profession but by every american with a newspaper,  not to mention the fact that trail is somehow getting cold before they’ve finished finding bodies.  shaking the morose turn of thought,  he flips the map closed as he makes the last turn into arcadia township, michigan.  he’s made more of less before  --  he can make something out of this,  he just needs a chance.

𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜  𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜  𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎   𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗,  shifting the gear with a smooth motion as he rolls up into the parking lot,  static infused voice of the news anchor having been replaced by the rhythms of daytime radio.  the station is small, a quaint brick house that he would have sooner guessed to be a corner shop than the headquarters for a full scale serial murder investigation.  the building looks dreary even from a distance,  like the walls are being weighed down, like they weren't built weather this kind of storm. outside stands a figure nearly as unassuming as the building,  silently contemplating something unseen and far away while nimble hands roll a modest cigarette that is stuffed into his pocket rather than smoked.  as david pulls up beside him,  it becomes clear who it is.  meeting heroes was never a concern of his:  he doesn’t have any,  not anymore,  but ( despite his best efforts ) there is still measured disappointment in the arch of his brow as he regards the casually dressed man who’s eyes remain trained towards some distant thing,  fingers rolling yet another cigarette to be stuffed into his pocket.

𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜   𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝,  𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚜  𝚘𝚏  𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎;  but seeing the agent with his own two eyes,  he can understand where the director's concern comes from.

                                      ❝     ...   agent   gideon.    ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔  𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍  𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜  𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑   𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 of the midday sun as he steps out of the car, perfectly tailored suit smoothed out with a hand before it is offered out in polite greeting.    ❝    my  name  is  david  rossi,    ❞    he continues before the other has so much as made a move towards reciprocating the handshake,    ❝    you  asked  for  resources.   i  am  at  your  disposal.   ❞