#little guy two-shots a space marine after nearly dying

[bastard-pyro]

Newsflash, the Admech have an augmentation to make them more racist.

Alt text:

An excerpt taken from Fire Warrior, by Simon Spurrier, and published by Black Library on September 2003. The text reads as it follows:

of sophistication. Like some energistic equivalent of the gantry surrounding the powercore, the ship's logic engine was a structured gem: a perfectly aligned arrangement of operative tiers and commands, symmetrical and cohesive. Had his sense of awe been complete, he suspected, he might actually be impressed by the technology's complexity. As it was, the puritens surgery released a stream of disapproving endorphins into his mind, filling him with revulsion and making him all the more aware of the xenogens blatant disregard for the proper obeisance owed to the Machine God.

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 26)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2662

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, the marine biologist is here, I want to take him to the tent,” Rossi said. “Luke, go get Masuka,” he ordered. 

Luke nodded, muttered an acknowledgement, and dashed off. 

“As for you two kids, I want you to go ahead and get me a list of marinas in the area, that way when they get a hit, we can go immediately.” 

“On it,” Spence replied. You to started to walk toward the bull pen to collect a map, and pins or markers but suddenly Luke was dashing back in. 

“Ugh,” he groaned, putting the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“Luke? What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“The bodies… The tent. The garbage men must’ve knocked the dumpster into the AC unit. The victims… they aren’t in tact anymore.” 

A sense of relief washed over you. You wanted to turn and look at Dexter, to signal a thank you, but you refrained. Clever, clever. You really should stop underestimating him. 

“Oh my god. That’s horrible,” Spencer said. “So what about the marine biologist? Can he do his work?” 

“We’ll see. Most of the algae was on the rocks. We think he weighed the bags down with rocks from his marina. Rossi had me put the rocks in a separate fridge, inside the tent. It still had power so I think it’s okay. I don’t think the heat would’ve gotten to it. Good thing he thought ahead, huh?” he asked with a smile before patting Spencer’s arm and walking off. 

Your face whipped to your husband’s immediately. 

“They stored the rocks separately?” you whisper-shouted. “So that was for nothing?” 

“Well, at least the victims aren’t as intact…” 

“Who cares? The victims weren’t telling us anything. Son of a bitch.” 

“Look, it’s fine. Maybe he won’t turn anything up,” he offered. 

You tried to let it go while you two worked on a list of all of the possible marinas. 

Around 2 PM, Dex stood in the doorway of the conference room, leaning in. “You two wanna grab some lunch?” he asked casually, but you could hear the faintest, most undetected current of panic in his tone. 

You turned to Spence before confirming, asking with your eyes if he wanted to go. Spencer seemed indifferent so you nodded and said, “Sure.” You stood up from the desk, told Rossi and Luke you’d be back soon and left with Dexter. No one said much of anything until you got to a nice outside restaurant. 

“Finally, an ocean breeze,” you stated, soaking up the warmth and cool air. 

“Yeah, it’s a hot one. Especially since it’s summer…” Dex noted. 

“So are we not going to talk about the fact that your plan didn’t work?” Spencer asked, his sunglasses on, but you could see he was throwing daggers at Dexter under the dark lenses. 

“What are you talking about? I destroyed the AC. There should be nothing left for the algae,” he countered, confused. 

“Except there is. The algae was from rocks you picked up, not the bags. Our boss told our team member to store the rocks in a separate place. You didn’t think to check that?” he pressed, leaning forward.

“You didn’t think to ask? I risked everything to sneak in last night.” 

“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?” Spence snapped. 

“Guys,” you interjected. “For one, cool it. Listening ears, remember? Secondly, none of us knew the rocks got moved. We didn’t even know it was the rocks. Masuka never mentioned it. It was just algae.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Dexter noted. “Tracing it to one marina won’t matter.” 

“Why not?” you asked, frowning. 

“Because I’m not the only boat there. They’d have to find me doing something suspicious.” 

“Well if you move your boat it’ll be suspicious.” 

“Maybe not,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. 

-------------------------

A week seemed to fly by and the marine biologist came back with three hits - and Coral Cove was on the list. 

Fuck. 

“Alright, who wants to take each one?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take Coral Cove,” you volunteered.

Spence took one, and Luke took the last. The three of you set out to canvass the area and look for any clues. You were already aware of the clues at this dock: dark, secluded, crappy security, no rental booths. It was ideal for Dexter to do his work. 

Still, you played the part of an agent and walked up and down the dock, taking in everything. You made new mental notes as if you were seeing the space for the first time, and would report everything to Rossi. The catch 22 of this was you couldn’t hold anything back because of how good an agent you were. At the same time, the more information you fed your team and Miami PD, the more they closed in on Dexter. 

You got back to the precinct before Spencer did, but Luke was already back and giving all the info he could. 

Debra suddenly spoke up. “We could check with rental companies and run the dates boats were rented against the dates some of our vics went missing.” 

“Good idea,” you encouraged, knowing absolutely nothing would show up. “Okay, so I did Coral Cove. It’s dark, only a few light posts. No security at all. It’s pretty private.”

“Coral Cove? That’s where half the force puts their boats,” Batista stated. “Yeah it’s the only place they can still afford.” 

All you did was half shrug. “However, there isn’t a rental boot there, Morgan, sorry,” you said, turning back to Debra. “But I’d still run the others. I doubt our unsub would do his dirty work out where cops are.”

“That would be risky,” Rossi agreed. “But he’s been bold enough to abduct some of these people in broad daylight. Let’s not rule it out. I want a log of everyone who keeps their boats at all these docks.” 

Luke and Debra dashed off to get the logs while you stayed behind in the conference room. 

“What if we put security cams up at the docks?” Batista suggested.

“Then we run the risk of never seeing the unsub again. He’ll spook and move his boat,” you tried, hoping they’d shut the idea down. 

“Well, if anyone does move their boat, I mean that’s kind of a red flag. But we might catch this guy doing something weird, right?” Batista replied. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I think we should do it,” you agreed, nodding, meanwhile dying a little inside. There was no winning this one. If you fought the cameras too much, it’d set off alarms. But with the cameras up there, who knows what they’d catch. All you could do was warn him not to do anything suspicious for a while. 

When the room seemed to disperse with their new tasks, you tried to casually go to Dexter’s office. The good thing was nearly everyone on both teams knew you and Dexter were close, so spending a lot of time together in and outside work wouldn’t raise too many flags. You just didn’t want to do it too often. 

“So,” you began, dragging the word out as you got in his office. You closed the door behind you and leaned on it, your hands behind your back. “They’re installing security cams at your dock,” you informed. 

“What? Why?” he asked, dropping his task and turning to you. 

“The algae was traced back to three marinas, yours being one of them.” 

“Well, then I need to go clean my boat,” he slightly argued. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you not hear a word I just said? You can’t. If you do anything but drive the damned thing, it’ll look off.” 

“And if they find trace evidence of blood and DNA on my boat, I’ll really be fucked,” he said with a sarcastic smile. 

You crossed your arms. “Okay, fuckface,” you began, giving him an exasperated expression. One a tired mother might give her rebellious teen. “You could always drive the boat out to the ocean and clean it there.” 

“Won’t they see the cleaning supplies, and luminol, and black light and be suspicious?” he asked, pressing your idea. 

“Not if we both go. Hide everything in a tackle box and grab some fishing poles. We go way out, and clean. It’s not that suspicious to clean it in the middle of the ocean,” you tried. 

“And by we, you mean the three of us. Your husband who hates me to help cover evidence--”

“Spence will not be coming. It’d be best if he stayed behind and worked on the case,” you interjected quickly. “Plus I haven’t gotten any time alone with you. I miss our nights together,” you said, with a soft smile. 

“What part?” he asked with a coy grin. 

You glared at him. “The part where we drank beer and shot the shit.” 

He appeared thoughtful for a moment before smiling up at you and saying, “Alright. Yeah, I suppose it’d be fun. We’ll clean the boat and go fishing.” 

“Sounds good,” you cheered before skipping out of his office. 

-----------------------

“So how has he been doing this?” Luke asked as all of you sat at the conference room table, eating dinner. 

“Doing what?” Batastia responded.

“Abducting them,” he clarified. “I know he took some delinquents, but he also took some people that weren’t low risk.” 

“He’s either strong enough to subdue them,” Rossi started.

“Or he has a ruse,” Debra added. “You know, like Bundy, maybe?” 

“Or he knocks them out some other way,” another detective offered. “Like a sedative.” 

Jesus, was it hot in here or was it just the heat closing in on you and Dexter? 

“Let’s get the ME reports,” Rossi suggested. “Maybe we missed something. See if he checked for toxins or drugs in the body, or any sort of bludgeoning on the head.” 

Spencer jumped up. “On it.” 

He stepped out to head to the ME’s office and the rest of you kept spitballing ideas until he called. 

He called Rossi and then Rossi put him on speaker. “Hey, guys. I’ve got the ME on the phone.” 

“Hey there, so I found something unusual,” he noted. “I was going back through my notes of your bodies, trying to find evidence of sedation or how they were being taken -- I did find Etorphine in their system.” 

“And that’s unusual, why?” Rossi asked, his eyes touching on everyone around the table.

“Well, other than being a heavy dosage, nothing. It’s a strong sedative. That’s not what was confusing me.” 

“Well, do tell,” Batista encouraged. 

“The three newest victims, the ones that were dead the least amount of time -- they had rough cuts on them.” 

“What do you mean?” Luke pressed. 

“Well so the first fifteen, a knife penetrated their chest, one quick movement. No hesitation, and it goes deep. These other three had hesitation marks, and they barely went in compared to the others. The severing on the ends of the limbs wasn’t as clean.” 

Everyone frowned - you included. Fuck - this ME was good. 

“So what do you think that means?” Batista asked. 

“No idea. Unless this guy got unsure about what he was doing, these last three bodies weren’t his victims.” 

At that, Spencer said that was all the ME had and that he’d be back to the station with the reports. The phone call ended and everyone continued theorizing.

“But how could we have a copycat before we even discovered the bodies?” Debra asked. 

“What if it’s not a copycat?” Rossi suggested. “What if… it’s a partner?” 

“It could be, but why would he suddenly take up a partner?” you asked. Being silent for too long started to look bad when you were the star profiler. 

“It does seem strange. He’s killed fifteen people and just now decided to let his partner do the killing? Most of the time they bring them in earlier,” Rossi agreed. 

“Unless they couldn’t find someone,” Debra tried. 

“Nah, I think it’s something else,” Luke noted. “If you were thinking you were cleaning up the streets… Who would you teach that to?” he pressed. 

Everyone seemed stumped so you threw out a bogus answer. “What about a son, or a sibling? Maybe the guy is getting older, or their kid just came of the age. They figure they should show them the ropes, have them take over the legacy.” 

Debra sat back. “Holy fuck. A family of serial killers? That’s just fucking great.” 

“It’s a start on the profile though, maybe,” Rossi encouraged. “Let’s see if we can get Garcia to fish out any possible vigilante types in the area that have family. Y/N, when you were down here, did you have any suspects at all?” your boss directed at you. 

Fighting the hard urge to glance to Dexter, you tossed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boss and saying, “No, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” 

“No problem, let’s see what Garcia can dig up,” Rossi said before dismissing everyone. “Everyone, let’s take a half day tomorrow. We’ve been at this non stop, maybe some distance will help us get some clarity.”

At this everyone got up and gathered their stuff and finished out the day. Spencer showed up after an hour. Silently, you and Spencer went back to your hotel room. Once you were safely inside, you decided to tell Spencer your plans. The half day couldn’t have come soon enough. 

“So, I was thinking of going out on Dexter’s boat with him tomorrow,” you cautiously informed as you dropped your bag on the floor.  

“You’re… I’m sorry, you’re going on a fishing trip while we’re trying to cover up your tracks? Cover evidence you created?” he asked, incredulous. 

“That’s exactly what we are doing. It isn’t some kind of fun outing. Dex needs to clean his boat and we can’t do it with the cameras mounted around there.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I know you hate it, for some reason. So you can either come along with us for hours, which I know you’ll hate… or you could spend time in Miami with the team.” 

“So that’s it? I either come along and be unhappy and uncomfortable, or I am forced to stay back in the city.” 

You shrugged, losing your patience. “I’m not sure what else you want, Spence. We need to clean his boat.”

“Can’t he do it alone?”

“Yeah but… to be honest, I wanted to spend some time with him. Time that isn’t about this investigation…”

“Oh, sorry, don’t let me interrupt your buddy time with him,” he responded as if he were offended while he got ready for bed. 

You clenched your fist and threw your pajama shirt on the bed as you faced Spencer. “Why do you hate him so much?” you demanded angrily. 

Your husband gave you a look that tore you apart inside, it was as if the answer should be obvious and even asking him to explain himself was a ridiculous request. 

“Why do you not?” he begged breathlessly. Disbelief colored his face. 

You were taken aback by his question. “Well… he’s my friend,” you began, somewhat stammering. 

“Yes, now he is, but a few months ago he would've been another unsub. and now... now we have to pretend to like him..."

“It’s not pretending for me, I really do enjoy his company.” 

He shook his head, disappointment replacing every feature on his expression. He stopped looking at you to busy himself with finishing his nightly routine. His voice got softer as he said, “It’s fine, Y/N, just go do what you have to.” 

You pursed your lips, wanting to make this easier on him somehow. This was exactly what you didn’t want. You were dancing in the line of fire here, but Spence wasn’t even guilty and he was going through the same stress you were. 

You sighed sadly before finishing your own routine and crawling into bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[rasytastore]

The Best Fishing Guide

Steve Huff is lxv. He has been a fishing guide for the cardinal of these years, initial within the Florida keys and currently within the swamp town space, wherever he captive in 1996 along with his bright-eyed spouse, Patty. Huff’s specialty is fishing the thin water flats for malacopterygian, bonefish, permit, and snook, and he has guided his shoppers into unnumberable world-record fish. Last year he was inducted into the International sport fish Association’s Hall of Fame, that is that the fishing world’s town. In his book, A Passion for malacopterygian, Andy Mill calls Huff “bar none, the most effective malacopterygian guide alive, the most effective there was and also the best there ever are.” Marshall Cutchin, a former Keys guide and also the editor and publisher of the fly fishing web site midcurrent.com, goes even any, occupation him “the best guide who’s ever lived, period.”

This type of speak embarrasses Huff, United Nations agency prefers to shower accolades on others. “Steve could be a very humble guy,” says Sandy Moret, United Nations agency owns a fly search within the Keys and has fished with Huff for 3 decades. For Huff, it’s all pretty easy. “I’m simply a fishing guide,” he says. “My job is to form AN angler’s dream come back true.”

His own dreams area unit a part of the equation, as well. Guiding, at its essence, could be an unselfish endeavor, meshed to the happiness and success of the paying client, the “dream creating.” except for Huff, there's the rush—of being on the water nearly on a daily basis and making an attempt to work out the puzzle bestowed by the tides, the wind, the clouds, the fish, and also the angler’s ability. The climax, that final puzzle piece, is that the golf shot and landing of the guided angler’s targeted fish. Huff can’t live while not that rush.

Huff was born and raised in Miami. once he was 10, his father gave him a fishing rod, the primary piece of tackle he’d ever in hand. His father left the future day. Huff would neither see nor speak to him once more. “He was AN alcoholic and a gambler,” Huff says. “He in all probability died during a ditch somewhere.”

Huff is tough regarding the impact that his father’s going away might need to be had on his life. “I assume we have a tendency to age to be no matter we have a tendency to were meant to be,” he says. And anyway, thereupon rod, his father provided him with the primary tool for what would become his life’s permanent passion. Huff took the rod, solid into a Miami canal, and caught a two-pound robalo. “That was it,” he says. “I was done.” He biked everywhere town, fishing in backyards and canals. {one day|at some point|in the future|someday|sooner or later|in some unspecified time within the future} he sneaked down a hole in the middle of a causeway bridge. He solid a lure from a ladder and caught a twenty-seven-pound robalo, to the current day his largest. He knew then that he would be a guide sometime.

On the water within the swamp. PHOTO: MATTHEW HRANEK

THE SILVER KING

On the water within the swamp.

While attending the University of Miami, Huff studied marine biology. once he graduated, he told his mother of his career plans. She wasn't happy. “She told ME that fishing guides were a bunch of drunks and bums which i might ne'er quantity to something,” Huff says.

Still, she cosigned a loan thus Huff might purchase his initial guide boat. He captive to the Keys, and on November 1, 1968, he took out his initial shopper. “Poor bastard,” Huff says. The day was windy and overcast and fishless. The guy ne'er came back. “I had no clue what i used to be doing,” Huff says. “I didn’t even grasp what I didn’t grasp.”

If you want fishing T-shirt  visit store https//:rasyta.com/fishing

But Huff resolves to work it out. He poled for miles, into the teeth of twenty-five-knot headwinds. (“Best dray horse I’ve ever seen,” Cutchin says.) He scouted and discovered new spots. He tied his own flies, designed his own boats, fictitious new fishing knots. He stayed out longer than anyone else, creating the run back to the dock in complete darkness. He ne'er gave up.

And at intervals many years, people that fished with him once ne'er needed to go away him. “He’s intense and he expects you to match that intensity,” says one among his shoppers, the author Carl Hiaasen. “It causes you to a more robust angler.” Bill Hassett, an equipment store owner in St. Louis, Missouri, has fished with Huff for cardinal consecutive years. Lenny Berg, AN specialist in Fort Pierce, Florida, has been with him for xxxv years. Hiaasen could be a relative newcomer, having fished with Huff for fifteen years. “I simply feel lucky that he let ME on his boat,” Hiaasen says, laughing.

Those who do fish with him tend to urge greedy. The late Del Brown once reserved Huff for cardinal days one year to fish for allowing within the Keys. Tom Evans, holder of sixteen world records, once fast him in from March one to Gregorian calendar month fifteen. Huff currently incorporates a list of regarding fifteen shoppers, to whom he's intensely loyal (he turned down a visit with George H. W. Bush in favor of 1 of his already-booked regulars). He has taken on specifically one new shopper within the last twenty years.

His shoppers became his dearest friends. “When you’re during a boat along for 10 to 12 hours on a daily basis, you quickly get past the tiny speakers,” Huff says. “You laugh and you cry alone.” One shopper perpetually complained regarding his spouse for years. Hoping to vary the topic on the water someday, Huff flat out told him he ought to divorce her. the person referred to as back per week later and told Huff that he had filed divorce papers. “I said, ‘You’ve ought to be excreting ME,’” Huff says.

PHOTO: MATTHEW HRANEK

A snook.

As with all intense relationships, complications will arise. Huff not fishes with one among his longest-tenured shoppers. “One day I simply told him what he was: a selfish prick,” Huff says. The guy asked Huff why it took him ciao to work that out. to the current day, the 2 still speak on the phone many times a year, unable to fully disconnect. one among the saddest endings came with Del Brown, United Nations agency posthumously still holds twelve world records. Huff and Brown had fished along since 1980. They were an ideal combine on the water, with matching intensity and drive. however one late afternoon in 2001, once Brown was lxxxiii, Huff poled for AN hour into the wind to urge Brown in position to fish. Huff waited for Brown to carry up his finish of the discount and solid for a fish. however, Brown place his rod down and told Huff he needed to travel in. Huff was wracked with heaving sobs as he ran the boat in. At the dock, he told Brown through tears that he couldn't fish with him any longer. “It was very my downside,” Huff says. “Del was obtaining older and that i simply didn’t need to admit it. It busts my heart.” Brown died 2 years later.

Huff has witnessed several strange moments throughout his cardinal years on the water. AN unhooked 100-pound malacopterygian once leaped into his boat and hit a feminine shopper squarely within the chest. (On his boat future year, she wore a flak jacket as a gag.) One year he was fishing with Tom Evans once Evans suddenly had to use the lavatory. As Evans adorned off the rear of the boat, he asked Huff to solid for a rolling malacopterygian. Huff did, and he hooked and landed a 186-pound malacopterygian, which might are the globe record. however, Huff ne'er submitted it to the IGFA. “Tom needed that record thus badly,” he says. per week later, Huff junction rectifier Evans into a 177-pounder, that so did become the globe record.

But maybe the strangest factor happened with a person named Everett Watkins, United Nations agency flew from CA to fish with a disciple United Nations agency had started a visit with Huff. Watkins, AN weighty man, hooked a 125-pound malacopterygian on one among his initial casts. however, he vies the fish terribly slowly as if he were during a trance. “I told him he required in grips down on the fish as a result of there area unit solely 2 things that might happen: He would land the fish or he would break down,” says Huff. “Little didi do know there was truly a 3rd situation.”

With the fish still on his line, Watkins suddenly folded face-first onto the bow. Huff bust off the fish and ran back to the dock at full speed. “He was blue after they loaded him onto the car,” Huff says. It clothed that Watkins had AN aneurysm and was dead before he hit the deck. “I felt very unhealthy and that i asked his crony what we must always do,” Huff says. “He told ME Everett would have needed USA to travel back and fish. So we did. and that we caught 2 nice malacopterygians.” The incident spawned over many unhealthy jokes. “People aforesaid, ‘Damn, Steve, people very area unit dying to fish with you,’ and ‘Why did you break the fish off?’” Huff says. He currently takes AN angler back to the dock at the primary sign of physical distress.

Huff along with his fly-caught 186-pound malacopterygian in 1977. PHOTO: COURTESY OF Florida keys OUTFITTERS ARCHIVES

Huff along with his fly-caught 186-pound malacopterygian in 1977.

Luckily, I feel pretty smart on this overcast and funky morning as Huff and that i build a thirty-minute run into the center of what Peter Matthiessen referred to as “shadow country”—the large sky, knotty mangroves, and moving water that area unit the swamp. Huff cuts the engine and hops au fait his poling platform. He’s sporting a khaki-colored shirt and pants and a combine of closed-toed Crocs. He propels the boat forward with apparently very little effort along with his twenty-one-foot pole. We’re when robolo, the fish that has remained Huff’s favorite since his childhood days in Miami.

If you want fishing T-shirt  visit store https//:rasyta.com/fishing

I fill in the bow and solid a yellow streamer that Huff devised. (“It doesn’t have a reputation. It’s simply ruminant hair and chicken feathers,” he says.) The wind from AN incoming storm is brisk however not intolerable. I’m not specifically throwing strikes with each solid. I begin to press a touch, and also the casts get even worse. Huff provides ME an important pointer: “Just hold your back solid a touch longer,” he says. I quickly see positive results. Huff poles the USA on, fifty feet some from the bank. rapidly, I begin obtaining solid takes, ANd at intervals an hour, I’ve landed 5 small (two- to four-pound) Robalo.