'' Repeating History ''

'' Coping Mechanism ''

     “Don’t contaminate the crime scene, Bowie,” their superior says in a low, stern tone.

They glare downward slightly, annoyed that he’d even mention that to them when they know full well not to do that already. They sigh and pull themselves back from the car, walking around to the road again and feeling stable once their feet hit solid ground again.

     “Do you want me to do the thing?” they ask, rubbing their nose slightly and sniffling a bit as their nose runs in the cold. Their face feeling stiff and slowly growing red as snowflakes land in their messy hair and on their freckled cheeks.

Their superior takes a slow, shaky breath of cold air as he gazes upon them, then exhales in a soft sigh and shakes his head. Bowie cocks an eyebrow at him. Genuinely confused by his response. Typically he’d be begging them to do it, but now he didn’t want them to?

     “I don’t think that will be necessary, Bowie.”
They furrow their brow at him slightly. “Carter, you know once the scene has been cleared I won’t be able to come back and–” The man cuts them off by raising a hand dismissively.

He looks conflicted, and yet it seems he’s made up his mind. Leaving Bowie with this weird and intense feeling brewing in their gut, drawing out nausea in them. They can’t place the emotion, but they know it’s negative. They look down at their feet. Narrowing their eyes and knitting their brow with frustration. Carter approaches them, offering a hand where they can see it, but they don’t take it. Their mind slowly shutting down with the mounting confusion and frustration.

     “Don’t be like that, Boe. I know you want to help, and that’s your main way of doing so, but I just. I don’t think it’s necessary. And I think you should take a break from the field,” he says, and Bowie’s head snaps up to look at him. Their gaze focused between his eyes, angry and tearful.

     “What?” they breathe sharply, words leaving them in a tone that gives off a strong air of disbelief.
Carter frowns deeply, seeing that his words have brought them a considerable amount of distress.
     “Bowie. It’s not that I don’t want your help. You’re a great asset to our work, and you’ve helped us solve a lot of cases in a timeframe we would have likely never achieved otherwise. And I’m grateful for that. But you’re becoming unstable,” he says, trying to sound gentle and caring.

He never wants to hurt the younger detective's feelings or make them feel unwanted, but clearly, his fatherly tone and want to show care towards them was going in one ear and out the other.
     “Unstable?” they whisper sharply, expression growing angrier. Fire engulfs that distress within them, boiling their emotions in preparation for a violent release, which the older man can see brewing.

     “Bowie, you know what I mean–” he tries to say, but is quickly cut off by Bowie shouting, getting the attention of the other CSI crew members nearby.
     “Un. Stable?! Is that what you think?! Really? After you, drag me out of my comfort zone, force me to do all this shit for you,”
     “Bowie–” Carter stammers, trying to cut them off, but they’re not going to let him.
     “You’re just a selfish asshole, Carter! You used me, and now that I’m starting to outwardly show signs of stress you wanna throw me away?!” they bark, practically chest to chest with him. Their dark eyes filled with anger and betrayal.

The senior detective stands there in silence. His face was halfway between sympathy and disappointment. Bowie swallows hard, tears rolling down their face slowly.
      “You’re just like him.”

Carter's brow furrows a bit, anger behind his eyes. “You know you don’t mean that,” he says sternly, watching Bowie sniffle and tremble in front of him, biting their bottom lip and wiping their tears and nose water off on their sleeve.