"For darkness restores what light cannot repair."

"You better man up, boy. Look up to the sky."

Those words lived in his very soul, even after many years. Derek tried to push Carl Buford's shadow out of his mind as he attached the shutters to the window.

Each hammer blow- a temporary relief.

Each blasting noise- a short-lived comfort.

He thought he would feel glad about Buford's death. He thought it would bring him the solace that had shied away from him from all his years of silence.

Instead, the walls that he had so carefully built grew stronger and taller, and the hurts he endured only intensified. After that phone call, Derek had suddenly seemed more withdrawn than ever before. The others on the jet had noticed as well, and didn't prompt him further. The whole atmosphere felt stoned and tense.

Even after they touched down, even after they returned to their headquarters...no one could bring themselves to talk to Derek. The moment they returned to Quantico, Derek had clamped himself in his own office. They gave him space, they gave him time to deal with it. Of course, he was grateful for it.

Carl Buford had done terrible things to him. Carl Buford had molested him.

But Carl Buford was also his pillar of support, a surrogate father. Carl Buford taught him football, gave him a second chance when no one else did. Carl Buford was the only person, apart from his family, that had truly, and deeply, cared for him.

Carl Buford gave him nightmares that would haunt him to his grave...but Carl Buford had also give Derek a future.

For years, Derek kept the pain inside him. For years, it had tore him apart.

Even after saving so many children from sex abusers and locking them behind bars, he could never seem to get over the pain. There was bound to be other sexual predators prowling around the world. Even with the talented agents of the BAU, they could never punish every single sex offender behind bars.

Every night, every day, every single waking and sleeping moment, Derek Morgan could barely deal with the fact that he could not save everyone. Each and every child cases disturbed him so greatly that at one point he had started to hallucinate.

Those ghosts came from him; those ghosts stayed with him.

That's why he bought four run-down properties. They were, in a sense, were like him. Broken and beyond repair. Full of holes, so full of darkness that even light cannot penetrate. But he liked it that way.

In the darkness, he felt more warmth than he had when he was out in the sunlight. The darkness always welcomed him while the light pelted him with waking nightmares.

In the darkness, he found solace; in the light he found despair.

The walls had started to build when he was ten, when his father died in front of him. Gradually, as the tragedies began to stack up, so did every brick, every scale of armour. Even now, he was still in the process.

He built walls for his properties too...filling every nook and canny, chasing away spiderwebs, fixing it up...because in a way, it was like fixing himself.

So in the darkness he works.