Norman Jayden, FBI profiler, who now resides in Philadelphia. He works with Carter Blake who is a brute of a man; complete dick-weed Norman thinks. Norman was mostly known for his work on the Origami Killer Case (aka Origayme Killah Case. :) ), he was known for his testing of ARI too. Norman hit his head as there was a knock on his door, really, people should have figured out by now to not bother him when the door is shut. He gritted his teeth and Charlene opened the door.
"Carter needs you." she had a sickly sweet smile planted on her face. Norman nodded and picked up ARI, which he thankfully already had off. He quickly walked out of his office (more of a back closet but I digress-) and headed for Blake.
"Jayden." Perry acknowledged Norman who nodded in response. "Carter can fill you in, right? I need to go to a press conference." Perry said as he walked away. Norman jumped as Carter tossed the file in front of him.
"You can read, right?" Carter smirked as Norman scoffed and picked up the file, reading the content inside of tit and setting it back down.
"Kidnapping." Norman sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. 'I'm too fucking old for this...'
"Yep, can you find anything else out with your amazing glasses?" Carter narrowed his eyes and went back to his computer.
"Maybe." Norman kept his straight face and tucked the file under his arm and walked away. Norman passed desks upon desks to get to his office; quickly, he shut the door and furrowed his brows, the door couldn't shut fully.
He growled, "Cheep ass doors." He decided to leave it as it was.
Lil' bit short but eh, who really cares. This will take some time to update because I have SO MANY STORIES IN THE WORKS LIKE HOLY-
Anywho, hope you guys will like this, I've noticed there isn't a lot of Carter x Norman that has Carter really not noticing/caring about Norm's addiction. Most fics have Norman off of Tripto or they just kinda glance over it. Also, lets hope to makes this a slow burn fanfic! I suck ass at them but I love reading them so much.
The moaning haunted his dreams.
Jackson Neville. That fucking degenerate of a man had taken over Norman, had taken advantage of the moment when Norman was hit, when he was knocked down. Norman could still smell his sweat, could still hear his own pitiful cries. He was stupid; he had a gun right on his hip and he did abso-fucking-lutely nothing with it. Norman could do this though, he could get through this, has done it with other things, why not this? He jumped up and stumbled back from a random burst of adrenaline. Sweat poured down his face and dripped onto the floor. The only Tripto vile he had with him crashed onto the floor, nearly breaking, luckily it only suffered a crack and slight leaking. Norman let out a sigh of relief, but the anxiety and adrenaline still ran through him, insane, crazy. The door cracked open. Slowly, making Norman’s stomach erupt into butterflies.
“Shit,” he mumbled, hissing as he shoved the vile of triptocaine into his jacket’s pocket.
Blake was actually an alright detective, so he could catch onto Norman’s glassy eyed look and how odd he was acting. Anyone could catch on. Norman has always had that aura of nervousness even when he’s trying damn hard to cover it, and he’s very good at it; nearly even fooled Blake a few times.
Great actor Norman is.
Told you it would take me awhile to update, by awhile I ment a few months because h o l y s h i t-