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piscesnebula2023-10-24 05:47 pm
technophobics) wrote in piscesnebula2023-10-24 05:47 pm
technophobics) wrote in piscesnebula2023-10-24 05:47 pm
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A strange time. He had mentioned it in his interview, but only briefly. That they'd tried to seek shelter there after realizing that the military base nearest them was a lost cause, but it didn't work out. Which is true. Quite a lot hasn't worked out. Of that first group from Atlanta, just about thirty people, only five remain. Patchworked out with others they've met over the years into their surreal family.
(If he knew what Reid was wondering, he'd laugh. There's no way Daryl seems like he had a job at the CDC, he knows damn well.)
"As a hobby," he echoes. Genetic disorders. Daryl's starting to figure out that the younger man is a total weirdo, not just smart. Makes Daryl like him more, though. Not that he should be thinking about liking or disliking anyone here. He wants it to work out, but he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He has to stay vigilant for his people, even while they decompress. They deserve the break, and given he has nothing else to offer, continuing to be a proverbial guard dog is the least he can do.
A shrug, then. "Sure." Why not. Daryl's DNA is already in a million databases due to the number of times he's voluntarily provided samples to get various cops off his back. There's nothing remarkable lurking in his genetics; he had chicken pox as a kid and he never did any of the intravenous drugs his brother trafficked. (Just the non-intravenous ones. He's not a saint.) Maybe he's developing lung cancer thanks to a lifetime of smoking, but at this stage, he figures if he ends up dying slowly and miserably in bed, he'll have lucked the fuck out.
"You need to draw blood, or just swab me?"
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"Neither, we do it by saliva samples," Reid says cheerfully, patting at his pockets until he finds the sample tubes he'd brought along, one of which he offers to Daryl. It's inelegant, but hey, it works.
He doesn't elaborate on Daryl's amused little note at his hobby, because it would inevitably involve why he's been studying genetic disorders for a long time, and that's not something he's very open about. He'd be more than happy to ramble on about the particularly interesting points of said hobby, but right now, he has something more important to get to.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" It's said accompanied with a bitten lip, somewhere between awkward and nervous and a profiler's familiarity with asking personal questions. "Your admission interview was a little bare, and I don't need the full details of your entire history, but-- well, in the spirit of honesty, I've been sent to determine if you or any of your group is a danger to the Forty-Eight." He grimaces. "Sorry."
It feels rude. It probably is rude, though Reid's never been the best judge of social mores. But they've got a jumpy, paranoid population who's gone a little soft due to being safer than most, and the last thing any of them want is to let in someone who might be dangerous. From the inside, it'd be all too easy to compromise the security of the Forty-Eight.
no subject
Some shifting. Daryl props one leg up, ankle on his knee, so that Judith can sit cradled on his lap while he accepts the tube. He's seen one of these before, too.
No comment for a moment. He strokes a hand over the baby's head and her fine hair while she pats her hands at his knee, popping the sample tube open with his other. It might be rude, leveled at someone else. But Daryl is the anomaly and he knows it. He also knows Reid's nervous, and can tell the younger man feels bad about askingβ doesn't take a profiler to have some experience with reading people.
"Don't have to apologize."
Saliva sample collected, he closes the tube and hands it over to Reid. Maybe one of them will even remember the release form. He jiggles Judy a little, and she babbles some nonsense, then grips his fingers. Daryl looks like he's going to say something else, but before he can get it out, the door to the townhouse opens and a young blonde woman with scars on her face appears, looking bleary-eyed and contrite.
A brief shuffle as she apologizes for having taken such a long nap, but Daryl tells her it's fine. He passes off baby Judith to her, who only fusses a little at being taken away. She likes Aunty Beth just as much as she likes Uncle Daryl, but only Daryl lets her chew on his clothes. Priorities in babyland. Beth (who survives in every au i write sry them's the rules) smiles at Spencer and politely says hello as she scoops Judith up, friendly and sweet, before she heads back inside and leaves the two men alone on the porch.
Quiet, then. Daryl stares at him, waiting.
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He greets Beth with an awkward little wave and an awkward little smile -- at least heightened paranoia in the post-walker world means that very few people try to shake his hand, which is a big relief for a man who dies inside every time he thinks about bacteria transmission -- and then it's just the two of them.
Spencer silently hands over the medical consent form again, along with a pen that had previously been tucked behind his ear, mostly hidden in the curls of his hair. The last page is the one Daryl needs to sign, a handwritten form because the electricity they have is better used on lighting and heat, and not printing medical forms. The sample collection tube gets tucked into his pocket.
"Have you ever been arrested for a violent crime?" is the first question. And it's a loaded one, because a lot of people who have would deny it -- but to Spencer, it just adds to his knowledge of the person if they do try to lie.
no subject
But it passes. He hands both the papers and the pen back. Question time, apparently.
"No," he answers, looking at him. A beat, then: "Couldn't I just lie?"
He isn't lying. He hasn't been arrested for a violent crime, or any crime. Which does not mean he hasn't committed any (he has), just that he's managed to avoid being caught. But he's not worried about that; he has no control over what Spencer believes. He's mostly just wondering as to what the methodology is here. Lie detectors are fake, he knows that much, but the younger man isn't doing anything but sitting across with him, eyeballs presumably peeled.
no subject
He's not as good of a lie detector as Hotch or Gideon or Rossi were, but he does okay. There's a lot of subtle signs that people give off if they're telling the truth or if they're lying: eye contact, the steadiness of their voice, the openness of their body language, how much detail they put into things.
He can tell that Daryl's not lying about being arrested for a violent crime because his answer is simple. Someone that was lying might feel the need to pad that out with details: of course not, I've always been a good person, I've always been charitable to my community. Daryl's simple no is very telling. He doesn't feel the need to defend his answer.
"If I asked the rest of your group about what they think of you, what do you think their answers might be?" he asks, fidgeting with a corner of the consent form, compulsively smoothing out a dog-ear of the page.
no subject
Daryl is motivated to behave, now, no matter that he still seems standoffish. But he's had to be prepared to defend himself since he was a child, and he doesn't know how to turn it off. He may never; he may always seem like he could become hostile at any moment, even just sitting around.
His head tips. Observing Spencer. "That how you could tell?" Wry. "Gossip?"
Seems about as useful as lie detectors. But he shrugs, and answers anyway.
"Dunno. They've done alright by me, most of 'em. Like to think I've done the best I can in return."
He's underselling it, but he doesn't know that. Unaware of how much some people care about him, because he doesn't think he deserves it. Daryl's gaze falters and he looks away out at the street-turned-walkway. Plain, old-world insecurity. He doesn't care what broader society thinks of him, didn't then and doesn't now, but he cares about what his people think of him.
no subject
That little glance away is telling, since Daryl's gaze has been steady up until now. He desperately wants what he said to be true, but he isn't sure that it is. He isn't sure that his people would actually say something so kind about him. He comes off as self-assured, but there's some insecurity there.
It's not unusual. Spencer would like to think he's useful to this community as well, but some nights he can't sleep because he worries he isn't doing enough, stricken with guilt over sleeping instead of doing.
"Most of them?" he repeats curiously. On Hotch or Morgan, that question would have been a narrow-eyed taunt; on Spencer, it's a wide-eyed innocent question. Two very different methods that work on different people, and it's partially because Spencer knows he can't really pull off the whole steely eyed, grim-jawed serious thing, but partially because he knows his non-threatening demeanor is good for helping people open up.
He takes the pen from behind his ear again, spinning it between his fingers.
"So there's some of them that haven't done alright by you," he continues. "Are there any continuing feuds that might pose a danger to you or anyone else?"
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But. Daryl looks back at Reid, his gaze contemplative. Stormy blue eyes thinking about him and his eagerness to do things. Outside the walls scraping at willow bark despite clearly never having so much as gone camping before the turn, and now in here, doing these followup interviews while also soliciting participation in genetic research. Spinning plates. He wonders how much stale coffee Spencer drinks on the daily.
"Ain't what I meant."
He wishes he could ration another cigarette just to have something to do with his hands; he doesn't want to pull at his cuticles like a child. His fingers tap briefly on his knee, but he makes himself stop. Almost nervous. Communicating effectively past yes or no answers has never been his strong suit.
"Just don't know some of 'em well. The priest, the redhead, the chick with the busted arm. Folks we found on the road. I know Gabriel is fucking terrified of us, no matter we saved his life half a dozen times. Not his fault. He just wishes survival could be a kinder business, and being angry at the people doing the surviving is... easier than being mad at God, or whatever."
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So, he can probably tick off the 'not religious' box for Daryl, then. Spencer wonders if he ever used to be, before. A lot of people have lost their faith. Then again, a lot of people found it, too. Drastic circumstances makes for drastic change.
Still, it's good to know that Daryl doesn't seem to have any big conflicts with any of the people in his group. He doesn't even take it personally when a member is continuously scared of them despite doing everything he can to help, which is extremely even-tempered of him.
"Are there any feuds in your group?" he follows up, tone a little lighter than before. This one's not so much an interview question as it is plain curiosity. "We obviously can't mandate in the Forty-Eight that nobody has any arguments, but it's useful to know where the sources of strife are. It sounds nosy, I know, but the leadership does its best to mediate arguments over resources, if that's what any feuds are over."
no subject
"Regular shit. Folks in close quarters get annoyed now and again."
He doesn't think anyone will confess anything dire. In fact, he'd be more inclined to anticipate his people closing ranks over even the most minor infractions. Barring, say, the aforementioned Gabriel, but even if the man decides to babble on about the violence he's witnessed, a few followup questions are bound to stump judgement. Yes, he's seen them murder other living humans brutally, he's seen executions and slaughters. Why? Oh, well, cannibals, slavers, rapists.
Kind of a wash.
"Your people got problems? Anything we should avoid stepping into by accident?"
Reid's probably not here to give an interview of his own, but fair's fair, Daryl thinks. Besides, the younger man sort of seems like the kind of guy who got his ass kicked a lot at school, no matter that now he's an FBI agent and someone in a position of authority at 48. Meaning he should have a good sense of who the assholes are, profiler or not.