(Hello lovelies! So I've been trying to write the next chapter for Home for like a week now but I'm at a total block. So I was scrolling through my pinterest and I came upon the following prompt:

Write seven poems dealing with the seven deadly sins. You can't use their names.

And I thought, y'know what would be even more interesting? A fanfiction with seven chapters, each dealing with a different team member and a different sin. SO here we are. I hope you enjoy! For any readers of Home, hopefully I will have another chapter up by the end of the week.

As always, reviews are always greatly appreciated.)

Envy: (noun) A Feeling of discontented or remorseful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck.

"A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot." Proverbs 14:30

Derek Morgan: Envy

I stand under the warm spray of the shower head, but I cannot feel the blistering water beating onto my skin. I stare at the white tile of the Bureau shower stall and cannot stop myself from slamming my open palm against it. I strike out, again and again, wanting to feel something other than loathing. Something other than shame. I curl my fingers into fists and continue my assault, not even slowing when the skin on my knuckles slices open and blood begins to drip down the grout.

I hear the locker room door swing open and still. It is only now that I realize that I am crying, the sly tears being masked by the shower. I shut off the water that had long since run cold and wonder how long I have been in here, if any one noticed my prolonged absence.

I wrap myself in a towel and step past the curtain. My face is a mask, no one would ever guess the turmoil that boils and storms inside. I make my way to my locker and pull on clothes from my go bag. It is only after pulling on my T shirt that I fully recognize the damage done to my hands. They sting; the torn skin gaping open to create rivulets of blood. I wrap them in paper towels, hoping I don't need stitches because I'm sure as hell not going to the emergency room.

The other agent exits the room and I am once again alone. I walk to the mirror and take a long, hard look at myself. I know what others see: FBI agent, former college football player, a flirt, a good son, someone you can trust and rely on, someone who merits respect.

But I don't see that. How could I? All I see is someone broken. A stupid kid who never had a chance. Or maybe, whose chance was ripped out of his grasp before he could even drive. I am over come with disgust and revulsion and I tighten my fists, blood slowly seeping through the paper towels. I'm the only one who knows that my entire life is facade; carefully constructed and maintained to mask the self loathing I felt almost every moment of the day. The easy going grin, the playful sense of humor, the reputation with the ladies, everything was just to throw everyone off the scent. I lean closer, my nose almost touching the glass, peering into my own eyes. This is not a man you should respect; this is a man to pity and avoid, as if afraid that my darkness will infect you just by breathing the same air.

The door opens again and I straighten, neutralizing my face. I throw away the now soiled paper towels and grab new ones before retrieving my bag from next to the bench and heading to my desk. When I arrive I find everyone gathered together, discussing weekend plans. My baby girl is there, and she opens her arms as soon as she sees me. I can't help the small smile that pulls at my lips as I pull her in for a hug, resting my chin on top of her head. She smells like coffee and sharpies and lavender, and I don't ever want to let her go. She is soft in my arms, and her optimism and joy is almost enough to make me feel whole. But of course there's that little voice in the back of my mind that reminds me that I am garbage, that I don't deserve to kiss the floor she walks upon let alone experience that kind of happiness first hand.

JJ says something teasing to Reid and the boy genius turns red, murmuring under his breath. I laugh too and reach out to tousle his hair.

"Chocolate Thunder! What happened to your hand?" I had forgotten about the paper towels covering my split knuckles and I pause for a moment as Garcia gently takes my hand in hers and pulls back the paper towel."

"Morgan what the hell? Did that happen in the field?" Emily asks, her eyes carefully studying my face.

"Yeah, it's really not a big deal. My hands just got a little banged up when we were chasing the unsub." I shrug.

"Wait, hands?" Garcia pulls my other hand into view from where it has been resting on the small of her back. She shakes her head as she observes the damage. "Sugar, you probably need to get these looked at by a doctor! And I mean a medical doc, Reid, because as much as I love you and as many useful things are crammed in your ginormo brain, you can't give stitches which," she says turning back to me, "you probably need." She finishes with a gentle smack to my chest.

"Baby girl I'm fine! Look, full range of motion." I flex my hands but this only proves to make them start bleeding again.

"Okay well if you're not going to the hospital, you're at least letting me wash these and give you a bandaid." She takes my by the elbow and marches me to her batcave, throwing over her shoulder to the rest of the team that we will be back shortly.

She sits me in her rolling chair and fishes out a first aid kit. As she digs through it, I can't help but watch her face. Even focused on trying to mend my mangled hands, she possesses a kind of contentment that I haven't felt in years- before this job, before Carl Buford, before losing my dad.

"Baby girl how do you do it?" I finally ask.

She raises her eye brows. "How do I do what, hot cakes?"

"How do you stay… How are you… With everything we see, everything we face and fight, how do you hold on to you joy?"

She chews on her lip as she carefully dabs antibacterial ointment on my hands. "I don't know. I guess part of it comes from being separated from the worst of the carnage. I mean yes, I see the pictures and read the reports, but it can't be anything near what you see in the field." She pauses as she lays out squares of gauze across the wound. She covers the gauze with medical tape, taking care that it wasn't too tight or too loose.

"And I guess the other part is I have you guys. You're my own personal super heroes. I don't have to worry about whatever big bad is waiting out there because I know that my team can handle it. I mean, maybe it's a little naive, but I honestly feel like the good guys can and will win. I have faith that the universe will right itself in the end, especially since the good guys have the statuesque SSA Derek Morgan on their side. As long as you're around, I don't really have a reason to worry, you know?" She rests a soft hand against my cheek and smiles.

I smile back but inside I cannot stop the tidal wave that has just erupted inside me. It crashes against my walls, threatening to submerge and drown me from the inside. There is so much warmth and goodness resonating from my friend that in this moment I hate her. I hate her optimism. I hate her blind faith in me. I hate her for this sense of security that seems to surround her. And this make me hate myself even more.

Because I don't actually hate her. Rather, I'm angry that she has those things and I do not. I feel like a lost man, cold and starving, with his face pressed against a bakery window. Just out of reach is safety and survival but I am kept in seclusion, never to take part. I want to feel her happiness. I want to go back to a time when I wasn't hardened and scared and miserable. I want her innocence; I want it so bad that it's as if my very soul has broken apart inside of me, red hot plasma filling me until want to fall to my knees.

"Are you okay? I didn't wrap it too tight, did I?" Her brilliant dark eyes are peering into my own.

And I push down the grief, the anger, the burning want. "No that feels great, baby girl. Thank you." I stand and pull her into a tight hug before pressing a kiss into her hair. "I love you, y'know that? I really do."