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stunudo · 7 years

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There was a hostage situation. I negotiated with Bale. He agreed to give himself up. He came out of the warehouse peacefully. I gave the okay to send 6 of my agents in and they never came out. It was a mistake. It was my mistake, I was, um, I was outfoxed by Mr. Bale. By you. I sincerely regret having made the decision to send those agents in that day. And I sincerely regret and apologize to the families of all those who died that day

Jason Gideon

Breaking Point

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

A/N: Thank you for reading Bets’ stories. It means a lot that anyone would take the time on something so out of focus as the show is now. I wanted to create something completely different. As there are so many amazing people writing fan fiction it was a difficult task. I hope I didn’t disappoint. xoxo Stu

3 days remain

“What can you tell me about bombers?” Jason began.

“Males, usually youthful offenders.” I answered.

“Loners, lots of times they are negligent and become their own victims.” Morgan answered, thank you Mr. ATF.

“About 50% of bombings are acts of vandalism, possibly politically motivated.” Bird chirped in with the statistics.

“Socially non-confrontational, bombs are weapons of choice for cowards.” Hotch added.

“If that is the case, do not say it to his face. This guy is delivering death on people’s doorsteps, he needs to see the destruction.” Jason was rubbing his hands together, pacing.

“Morgan, take Reid and go over the bomb fragments. Bets, you and Gideon can talk to the victim’s family, see if we can pinpoint a motive or.... a stressor.” Hotch got quiet. I nodded understanding.

I drove the dark SUV as Gideon reviewed crime scene photos.

“Sucks to be back under these circumstances.” Why was I making small talk?

“The team here seemed to have liked you, why did you leave for the BAU, Bethany?”

I sighed, not expecting a personal question. “Boston was filler, it was me bulking up my resume for another crack at the BAU.” I hated to admit so much, to Jason of all people.

“I’m sorry we didn’t hire you the first time.”

“Don’t be, no one can ever truly replace Rossi, I get that now.”

“Why was it so important to you to get on the team? You don’t have the same curiosity as Reid, or the same dedication to justice as Hotch and Morgan.”

“I didn’t like losing.” I shrugged. “Devereaux’s don’t give up.”

Jason nodded, peering across the rims of his reading glasses.

“So, does Haley know you told me? Can I call her and congratulate her yet?” I teased as Hotch and I were going over some notes.

“Do you think I thought to tell you? That was all her.” Hotch chuckled.

The blonde strolled in, “Hotch, the media wants a statement. Should I arrange a press conference or do you need more time?”

“We have all we need for the profile, JJ. I will touch base with you once Morgan hears back from Garcia.” She turned back, head buried in her phone.

“Well, at least you’re not stuck in front of the cameras anymore.” I muttered under my breath.

“C’mon Bets, I think I still have my charms.” Hotch joked.

“You can’t compete with that, that face could convince nuns to murder puppies.”

“Bethany, you’re up.” Gideon called as soon as the unsub had agreed to come out peacefully.

Adrian Bale came out with a stupid look on his smug face. His hands were in the air with a detonator in one hand. Morgan and Jason headed over to ensure he was cleared and secured.

“Bets, you sure you don’t want Morgan to go in first?” Hotch was cautious. I shook my head.

“If Morgan wanted dibs, he should have let me in with SWAT on the last case. Don’t worry he can help after we secure the building.” I was ready for action and giving Morgan grief. I gathered behind a couple of local agents I knew from my days at the Boston field office, and a couple tacticals from the bomb squad.

“Ready, boys?” They nodded and we headed in.

We entered in formation, securing entrances and framing perimeters. Finding the hostage handcuffed to a platform in the center of the warehouse. She was in hysterics, I tried to calm her down. I locked eyes on her and the last thing I heard was the click of the ignition.

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this was my story.

Epilogue:

Jason stared at the menacing eyes of Adrian Bale as he watched his destruction from the backseat of a squad car. The bastard was getting off on it, on all of it. Bethany had led the squad of agents inside, determined and stubborn as always. The hostage would never make it home.

The explosion had damaged everyone’s hearing, but Jason didn’t care. The ground was shifting below his feet as he stumbled past the barricade of vehicles. The lights of ambulances and back up shone before he could hear their wails. Jason Gideon had miscalculated, he hadn’t finished the profile. Bale wasn’t just a bomber, he was a sadist. And he had won.

The flight back to Quantico was silent. Reid was guarding Bets’ things like they were an unaccompanied minor. Her brother Manny met the team at headquarters for the official briefing. Jason stormed out of the conference room when Hotch handed over her stash of hard candy and the vintage photograph of their Grandfather from off her desk.

Jason’s mind was crumbling within him, he had hurt another somebody who loved him. This was exceedingly different from the years missing his son grow and forcing his wife to divorce him. He had gotten Bethany killed. Not just her, more. The Boston field office had to call in for reinforcements after the hit to their numbers. He walked to the fridge for a drink, he needed something to sate the desperation. There in the back, still attached to the plastic rings was a single can of V8.

Jason Gideon grabbed the can and marched out of the break room, through the bullpen and into the elevator in maniacally calm silence. He left, because it was safest. For everyone.

Spencer sat in the back of the funeral, she had full military honors. Hotch held Haley as she cried into his collar. Chief Strauss arrived late trying to corral her three tiny children, matching blonde heads distracting their mother from her guilt and doubt. Mrs. Devereaux, the mother, barely moving as the father shook with grief. This family had given so much to their country and now they held another flag to remind them. Spencer’s mind filled with the words she had spoken to him...

“Well aren’t you the most peculiar thing.”

“Cases with Hansen were the worst, the absolute worst. I would have rather spent the entire case with the unsubs themselves than that misogynistic alcoholic.”

“After graduating from Annapolis I spent my time on a ship or two. Before a friend of my Daddy suggested I apply for something closer to home.”

“Well, at least I never had to learn how to make lobster bisque.”

“We didn’t exactly confide in each other, but we had each other’s backs.”

“It was a Tuesday morning. I woke up. I ran. I got ready. I went to work. Just a day.”

“I kind of have a thing for lighthouses.”

“I was born and bred in Virginia. So many of my family worked for the government or were military that I never considered doing anything else.”

“That’s why, right there. I’m too competitive and you’re too smart.”

The animosity that came from Bethany was easily profiled jealousy, Spencer didn’t hold that against her. He just wanted Gideon back. Somebody had to lead the way. Without the older man, Hotch was doing too many jobs, once again. The young doctor kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. Morgan kept his head up, the tears falling silently. Saying goodbye was never easy.

@dontshootmespence @cherry-loves-fanfic @imagicana @teatimewithtiya @criminalwriting

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stunudo · 7 years

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Upgrades

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: OC x BAU Team Setting: Prior to Pilot Episode

Self-prompts: Who left the opening in the BAU for Greenaway to fill? What was the BAU like before Gideon’s sabbatical?

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this is my story.

A/N: Language? Suggested violence, brief vomit reference

1166 days remain

“How’s your Christmas shopping going?” Hotch teased as I thumbed through the Sears catalogue my niece and nephews had so thoughtfully marked up with their scribbled handwriting.

“Don’t ask.” I kept a short list with page and item numbers tucked in the toys section. “How’s yours?” I glanced up to see his sidelong glance, touche.

We had spent the last week hauling boxes of files to a separate room on our new floor. The BAU was heading to the twenty first century. We were getting the new office that Strauss had dangled in front of our noses the month before. Hansen and Gideon had made it about two hours each before they conveniently found “consultations” to do.

“Auntie B gets to spoil them rotten, though I am sure my folks already have that covered, especially, you know Charlie’s boys.”

“How’s Cynthia holding up?” Hotch asked in a low tone. I nodded and shrugged, he understood.

“How many peons are going to be supporting us when we get the whole corral to ourselves?”

“Bets… be nice to the SAs.”

“I make no promises,” I muttered licking my forefinger and continued to flip through the glossy pages.

1109 days remain

I had put on a frickin’ dress. I had curled my hair and I had been stood up. The one dead week for cases since New Year’s and I was left drinking alone. The bartender was extra chatty, probably because I was the only single person and figured I would tip more. I flashed my badge and acted like I was undercover, better than being pumped for tips all night.

Admitting my job also slowed down my drinking, leveling me out from a potential pity party. After two hours, I left the diligent barkeep a twenty and headed to the street to find a cab. The winter air was harsh on my exposed ankles, the wool full length coat did its job though. I was making my way down a row of shops, passing a rancid alley when I heard the echoes of a struggle.

I grabbed my sidearm from my purse, it wasn’t loaded, but still effective. Creeping down the dirty snow along the narrow street, I scanned the surroundings. The argument grew and I saw them, just around the rear of a barber shop and a vacant shopfront.

“Listen, bitch, I paid for the whole night, I am taking what I paid for.”

“Get off me, loser! I said I don’t do that.” Her voice was strained, her heels were slipping on the ice.

“Freeze! FBI!” I screamed across the dilapidated parking lot.

The slimy guy held up his hands without turning around. The working girl did likewise, stumbling away from the violent John. “Officer, there is no trouble here. You see, my date and I were just leaving.”

“The hell you were. Maryland law forbids assignation, even if you are lonely this Valentine’s Day, sir.”

“You don’t scare me, you’re just some broad. FBI, my ass.”

Somehow, I found myself taking down the asshole, he may have been pistol-whipped unconscious. It was a blur, but I had a lovely shiner to show for the next two weeks. The prostitute was terrified I was going to book her. As I had no cuffs with me, I called in the assault and gave my statement. If the only witness had run off while I was apprehending the offender, how was I supposed to stop her?

1054 days remain

Aaron walked in like the cat who swallowed the canary. I watched him tap on Gideon’s door, getting the older man to follow him down to my and Hansen’s desks in what had gained the nickname, the Bull Pen.

“Strauss has a surprise for us. Let’s take a walk.”

I was cracking jokes, trying to break Hotch’s foreboding exterior. We exited the underground parking ramp and headed into the breezy spring afternoon. There in front of a state of the art aircraft was Chief Strauss, Vanna White style.

“You’re kidding me.”

“How’d you swing this one, Hotch?” Hansen shook his head and patted the younger man briskly on the back.

“Do the seats recline?” Gideon nodded in approval, already with his sunglasses on.

“Guys, welcome to the only way to travel. The BAU’s own jet.”

“I’m guessing this is some of that Patriot Bill bacon that Strauss scored for us?”

“All threats foreign and domestic, Bets. Let’s not look the gift horse in the mouth, yet?” Gideon chided.

It took me two weeks and five cases before I could fly without a barf bag.

1039 days remain

“All I am saying, you’ve been on the team all this time. You could at least bring in some brownies or something for the break room.” Hansen tried to be funny, tried.

“When was the last time you brought in food for the team, Hansen?”

“Maggie sent cookies in for my birthday!”

“When was the last time you brought in something YOU prepared for the team?”

“I grilled for Rossi’s send off, last fall.”

“Alright, so here’s the deal. When you retire, I’ll cook, for the whole team.” I rolled my eyes and stormed back to my desk. I was counting down the days already. Shit, I would make lobster bisque and frog legs if it meant no more Hansen.

Instead of focusing on paperwork, I headed out to the firing range. The walk was a good stretch for my legs and the target practice cleared my head. The months of adjusting without my big brother and all the new gadgets and offices had been weighing on me. Alone in the muffled stall, I was able to focus without second-guessing. I had a target and I secured it, repeatedly. Why couldn’t everything be this simple. Why couldn’t I be good at it all?

“Well, at least I never had to learn how to make lobster bisque.”

The Next Chapter: This is Not How We Work

@dontshootmespence @imagicana @criminalwriting @cherry-loves-fanfic @criminal-navy-writings @teatimewithtiya

#criminal minds #1ofthe6 #bethany devereaux #aaron hotchner #jason gideon #erin strauss #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfictions #oc x bau team #fbi bau #before the pilot #one week left #bets

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stunudo · 7 years

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...when you're attracted to someone, it just means that your subconscious is attracted to their subconscious, subconsciously. So what we think of as fate is just two neuroses knowing that they are a perfect match.

Dennis Reed from “Sleepless in Seattle”

Going Down With The Ship

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Bethany Devereaux x Gideon

A/N: Okay, here is the Trope List challenge for @reiding-and-writing. I chose #9 Sleepless in Seattle Moment. This fits into my OC Series “One of the Six.” The trope scene takes place during the original investigation of Season 3 Episode 19 “Tabula Rasa”. So it seems like 99.7% of the fandom does NOT like Gideon. Therefore the title fits the expected disinterest/ loathing of this, plus- well Bets was in the Navy people. Also you may have a reason to hate him more... xoxo Stu

I cannot tell you the moment it happened. I wasn’t paying attention. I am unable to pinpoint even the day it happened. It was a slow realization, but a quick shame. Hotch knew. He never said so, but Hotch knew. Damn it I wonder who else knew? Oh well, can’t do anything about it now. I was never a romantic person. If someone gave me the warm fuzzies, I would probably make out with them though.

This wasn’t the puppy love I had with T.J. Stevens my sophomore year at the academy. It wasn’t even what the few months I dated Janet Hyde before she left me for a rookie cop she met at the gym were. This was something else entirely and that is why I never saw it coming. After four years working together I woke up to the unfathomable revelation that I was in love with Jason. What the hell was this?

185 Days Remain

We were still working through the case files when Haley popped in with some take out. I don’t know what Aaron did to win this woman over, but it was not enough. She tried to swing by when we weren’t busy, feeding the wayward profilers or just checking in on us. She was extremely good at her job, but I knew she was only a little blue line away from dropping it all. The way Lover Boy and her looked at each other it was a surprise they didn’t have a litter already.

“Hey H-2, how are you?!” I called, tossing the folder back on to my inspection worthy desk. Her big grin greeted me, I rushed over to help with the bags of Chinese. The Crab Rangoon was calling to me, it had only been 9 hours since breakfast after all.

“Bets, thank you. I thought I was going to lose a quart of Kung Pao Chicken to the carpet!” We wound around the matrix of desks and dropped everything on the break room table. Finally Hotch realized his wife had arrived so I left them alone and headed back with my stash of fried goodness. As Jason walked past me the sparkle in his eye caused a rush to my cheeks. I was confused so I just shoved a piece of food in my mouth and grinned like a goofball.

“We should really bring her along on cases, she always finds the best egg rolls.” Jason explained, rubbing his hands as he headed to the waiting meal. It had been a few weeks of odd nerves and slight blushes up until that point. I now only associate Crab (or what passes for it) with my embarrassment, needless to say I no longer eat it.

I was working late, not that that was odd. What was off about it was that I didn’t need to be. Morgan had left, the SAs had left, even the Bird had left. I headed up to the offices because I wanted to say goodnight. Jason was at his desk with a projector watching film strips. It brought back memories of the awful stuffy afternoons in the science classroom when we were forced to watch an un-medicated birth or terrible animations of sperm swimming.

But there he was laughing. It was a silent film but it was clearly the grandfather to modern physical comedies. I pictured a young Jim Carey attempting the same bits. It was so raw and silly. I got lost in the story. I didn’t see when he came over to lean on the door jam with me. We stood there for the rest of the reel, enjoying the gags. It was a comfortable quiet.

When the tell tale clicking of the end of the film had reached an awkward rhythm I finally looked at him. He was smiling warmly at me, nothing new. “Have a good night, Bethany.” I smiled shyly. “You too, sir.”

I was frozen for a moment in his dark eyes, but then the moment passed and I went home.

“You don’t have the capacity to love these women!” Jason spat at the unsub as he held the victim by the hair, a machete in the other hand. “Put down the knife, Reynolds. Tell me your story, but let her go.”

The unsub was a certifiable idiot. He threw the victim at me, I caught her in my free arm, keeping my gun locked on his head. I tried to reassure her, but I just held on until Hotch had sent Morgan in with the cuffs. After I holstered my weapon, I really hugged her. I shushed her as she fell apart. She had been held for four days, she smelled and could barely stand.

Watching her be loaded on to the back of the ambulance was like watching Vaughn’s isolated cot in the infirmary. I had been a witness to the end of the pain, but couldn’t fathom what these women had endured. We had to do better. Jason had stood next to me while the boxy vehicle pulled away.

“These are the days that I take out that projector. To remember to laugh. Someday soon, she’ll remember how to laugh. You did good today, Bethany.”

I nodded, watching the night descend on the crime scene. It was then I knew that I didn’t want to keep doing this alone.

“Where are you heading this time?” Hotch asked Jason as he locked his office for a week off.

“Cape Hatteras National Seashore.”

“You like the Outerbanks?” I asked.

“Piping Plovers, I’m going birding.” Jason kept it short, he was in a hurry to enjoy his vacation.

“Enjoy the lighthouse if you get the chance!” I called to him as he waved to us behind his back. It actually hurt to see him walk away so brusquely.

“The Bodie Island Lighthouse was erected in 1872.” The baby bird squawked.

“I know, I’ve been there.” I shrugged off the annoyance at the new kid. “I kind of have a thing for lighthouses.” I don’t know why I was admitting that, but it just came out. I shoved a hard candy into my mouth to stop myself from being too chatty.

“Does he take vacations a lot?” His meager voice was trying to be casual.

“Not really.” I thought about it. “But more often than Hotch.”

The next morning we got a case and they were letting the string bean into the field for it. It wasn’t far, just over to Roanoke. They had dubbed him the “Blue Ridge Strangler.” I said a silent prayer of gratitude that Jason was out of town for this one, he hated when they gave the unsubs catchy names.

I woke up a little out of sorts. I don’t know why I was being emotional, but it was frustrating. Going over the crime scene photos with Morgan was nauseating. They looked like me. Dark hair and eyes. Sure they were prettier, but I couldn’t help but feel even more “off”.

I let Hotch and the boys head to the active body retrieval. I stayed behind to start piecing together a profile. When I dug in my purse I found a new key chain in the shape of a lighthouse. There was no note. I jumped at the chance to escape. To run. I picked up my cell.

“Hotch, I am using that IOU from Haley’s last birthday. I will meet up with you back in Quantico.”

“Is everything alright?” He was concerned.

“Everything is fine, besides you have the genius on hand now. It will only be a couple days.”

“Okay, but Bets, call me, when you get there?”

“Deal. Square?”

“Square.”

I hung up and called for a rental car. I wasn’t stopping back home. The drive to North Carolina was a blur.

I knew that Jason hadn’t left me that key chain, but I wanted it to be from him so badly that I tricked myself into hoping. There is nothing more cruel than hope. I don’t even know what I was expecting to find when I arrived at the National Seashore. I walked the beach and trails for hours. After not finding him among the protected coves, I made my way to the lighthouse.

The salt in the air and the sting on my skin brought my Navy brain back to me. I wasn’t this pathetic love-struck girl who chases her crush by crossing state lines. But I was. Visitor hours were drawing to a close at the summit and yet I stared off as the sun set behind me.

“If I had been a younger man, I might have assumed you were here for me. But not after this, this view is the real heart-breaker, eh?” Jason’s voice brought the delusion crashing down around me.

“Some people don’t see age as a barrier, but as experience to cherish.” I called over the wind, defending my recklessness. He walked over to me, his face that of a concerned teacher. I had made an ass of myself. “But you don’t have to say it, I get it.”

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I am not someone you should be wasting your youth on.” He stood there, his hands moving constantly. “Honestly I am flattered and a little frustrated.” He smiled.

I laughed through my tears. He was being charming and it added to the bitter-sweetness. “What is frustrating you?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had profiled you as a lesbian.” Admitting he had been half-wrong about me was probably the humblest thing he could have said in the moment. This esteemed mind acknowledging he didn’t know something, was as genuine an offering as I could have hoped for.

I shook my head, laughing again. “If only it was that easy.”

I dragged myself off the lighthouse and into the rental car. I found a run down motel and crashed for two days. I slept off the embarrassment and the disappointment. When I got back to headquarters I was recognizable again.

“Row? Where did you skip off to?” Morgan teased, ruffling my hair.

“Nun-ya. Nice work messing up your ankle though.”

“Right, right. But you left me with the kid. I mean he talked to the victim’s parents and everything!”

“Wow! Looks like he can ditch those water wings after all.” I teased.

“I can hear you.” Baby bird chirped.

“We know.” Morgan and I said in unison. I high fived him and he low fived me. Turns out, I was okay after all. I had my team. Who needed love anyway?

Next Chapter: The Last Case

@criminalwriting @dontshootmespence @cherry-loves-fanfic @imagicana @hotchnerfuckmeup @teatimewithtiya @dontcallmedad

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stunudo · 7 years

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The Last Case

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: OC x BAU Team Setting: Prior to the Pilot Episode

Self-prompts: Who left the opening in the BAU for Greenaway to fill? What was the BAU like before Gideon’s sabbatical?

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this is my story.

7 days remain

The cheerleader had presented the case in the conference room. It was one of the more bizarre files that had come through in ages. Baby Bird was rattled with fascination, that still didn’t quite feel natural to me. Oh well, he did good work, I left him alone. Maybe it was because I no longer felt jealous over him getting Jason’s attention or maybe he was growing on me. Can’t be sure now.

“The victims were left in the clothes of the previous victim and left at the site of the next abduction.” She explained.

“So this unsub is a highly organized and he’s not slowing down.” Morgan concluded.

“The evidence crosses at each of the crime scenes. He’s meticulous.” Jason’s face rested on his thumbs.

“How long is he holding them before he ‘trades up’?” I asked, trying to gauge how long we had before the latest abductee ended up a corpse.

“Two days, five hours.” Baby Bird hummed, grimacing.

“That’s pretty specific.” Morgan admitted.

“This unsub knows exactly what he wants and precisely how long it will take.” Jason mused.

“But look at the victimology, all ages, ethnicities, socioeconomic backgrounds... I have never seen such an array of tastes.” Derek began, Hotch and Jason shared a glance.

“It’s more of a spectrum, really,” Bird piped in.

“We have work to do. We have 38 hours to create the profile and track him down before Mrs. Hawkins is exsanguinated and dressed in Jack Simmons’ Sunday best and we have a new victim to locate.” Hotch summarized. “Be ready to go because the pilot is prepped for wheels up in 30.”

“Wheels up. Nice one, Hotch.” I chuckled smirking with Morgan.

Hotch rolled his eyes.

I have nothing against flying, the jet was twelve times better than driving everywhere. But I couldn’t work because I got nauseous reading in the air. I couldn’t sleep because someone was always talking. And in the months since the savant had joined the team, not once had Jason asked anyone else to play chess with him. I actually hate chess because I get too focused on my attack and never notice my opponents infiltration until it’s too late. Nevertheless, the jet continued to make me restless.

“Agent Devereaux? Did you want to play?” He would do this and make me feel like a grade school teacher. Everyone else called me Bets, occasionally Jason would use my full first name. “Row” was Morgan’s, considering he only used it because I hated it.

“No, thanks, birdie. I’m good.”

“As a Naval Officer you must have some tactical aptitude.”

“Mustn’t I?”

“I just find it odd that you don’t enjoy chess, you have highly developed reasoning skills, are competitive with a military background.”

“That’s why, right there. I’m too competitive and you’re too smart.” He smirked at the compliment, however backhanded it was. His big eyes like dew drops, how had this kid survived this long? I rolled my eyes and tried not to act too serious about it.

“Garcia, can you tell us anything else about our victims? Besides living in the Quad Cities, do they have a link?” Morgan was on the phone with Penelope in the quaint Iowan precinct. The smell of manure permeated everything since we landed, though I am sure it was in my head.

“Well, that is something. Thanks, Mama.” Morgan turned to share with the group. “They all have the same birthday.”

“But their ages...” I thought out loud,

“Different years, obviously.” Hotch clarified.

“So we just need to get everyone with that birthday into protective custody? That could be hundreds of people.”

“Dozens. They were all born on Leap Day.” Bird’s thinking face was pointed.

“29th day. 29 hours to drain the victims.”

“29 victims?” I guessed.

“If that’s his goal, let’s make sure he doesn’t make it that far.”

“We need to figure out the trigger, it’s not a Leap year.” I pointed out.

“Last year was though.” Morgan said.

“But he didn’t start killing until January. Send Garcia to dig through the local news, maybe something happened last February 29th.” Hotch said to Morgan.

“Thinking the new year made him slip into his delusion?” Gideon watched Hotch.

“Hey, listen, don’t say anything, but we think we’re pregnant.” Hotch said in a low voice while driving to the vic’s abduction site.

“Like now I can’t say anything or after this conversation to other people?”

“You know what I mean, Bets. Haley is feeling queasy already.”

“I knew you could do it, Lover Boy!” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations! Finally going to fill that big ol’ house with the pitter-patter of little feet.”

“Thanks,” Aaron smiled, the joy still had him dumbstruck. “And we’ll see, one at a time.”

“Every kid needs a sibling, even if they annoy the snot out of them, <fake cough> Seany boy <fake cough>.” I teased. “How long is she going to keep working?”

“What makes you think she is going to stop?”

“Because you’re the job, Hotch. And Haley knows that.”

“The unsub thinks the victims’ blood has special properties because of the day they were born?” I asked following up with Jason’s assessment.

“So is he dying or is he trying to save someone else?” Morgan asked.

“He has been controlled up until this point, either the deadline or illness isn’t imposing or--”

“Or he believes it’s working!” Baby Bird finished Hotch’s thought. “He’s saving himself. Anyone else would not be able to psychosomatically manifest improving symptoms unless they were completely filled with the delusion.”

“Alright, Agent Genius, where would someone be able to perform blood transfusions. And store that amount of blood?” I continued.

“A blood bank?”

“Any hospital would have the facilities.”

“Hotch?” The pretty girl interrupted my team’s brainstorming. “They want to do a press conference before the 6 o’clock news.”

“Thanks, JJ. We’ll deliver the profile and I will go with you.”

“What about plasma or dialysis centers?” I tried to get us back on track.

“Rochambeau? Winner picks who will lead SWAT in?” I made wager eyes at Morgan. He chuckled, nodding.

One- two- three- I shot ROCK, Morgan shot PAPER.

“Man! I knew it, oh well.”

“Save me the shoulda-coulda-woulda’s, Row. I get to bust down the doors today.” Morgan put on another weapons’ belt and left to coordinate with the locals. The abandoned veterinary hospital was where we tracked the unsub so I was on bird-sitting while Morgan got to see some action. Jason and Hotch were double checking the entry plan with a blueprint.

I had no idea that I had less than a week left to live. I never dreamed that one of these men would make a decision that would end my life. I just geared up and helped secure the perimeter, keeping the younging away from the action. We took down our unsub and saved Mrs. Hawkins before she lost too much blood. Who would have guessed that the almost 69 year old, half-drained victim would be seeing her next birthday when I would not?

I smiled at the reporter-patrol when we boarded the jet. It wasn’t her fault that she was new and had a position designed just for her ‘talents’. I was grateful that Hotch had less stress since Strauss had sent her our way. I was always going to be possessive of my team, my boys. I wished we were heading home, I missed my bed. But the blonde had us diving into another case. Next stop: Boston, MA.

The Next Chapter: Breaking Point

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#Criminal Minds #Bets #OC x BAU Team #1ofthe6 #Team x OC #Bethany Devereaux #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfictions #aaron hotchner #jason gideon #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #before the pilot #oc #i'm not crying you're crying

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stunudo · 7 years

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Then The World Changed

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: OC x BAU Team Setting: Prior to Pilot Episode

Self-prompts: Who left the opening in the BAU for Greenaway to fill? What was the BAU like before Gideon’s sabbatical?

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this is my story.

Warnings: Terrorism, grief. I do not own the image of the Pentagon wreckage or the characters from the show. I refused to release this on the anniversary, it’s going to be rough as it is. Sorry in advance! xoxo Stu

1265 days remain

It was a Tuesday morning. I woke up. I ran. I got ready. I went to work. Just a day.

The bank of computers were aligned on the wall. The phone cords and power strips a jumble beneath the old wooden table top. The internet was connecting with springs and hissing progress. I was working on weather patterns affecting the comfort zone of an unsub in Northern Texas. Hotch was on the phone beside me, talking to Haley. The two had been married for less than a year, it was rather nauseating to witness. They were so happy. I continued to get along well with Haley; she is smart and keeps Aaron on his toes.

“I love you, too.” Hotch hung up, a small smile still on his lips.

“Alright, Lover Boy, if I was an UnSub hauling bodies into the dessert. What vehicle would be most discreet?”

“Something all terrain, a Jeep maybe?”

The phone rang dragging me out of the haze of concentration. Erin Strauss’s voice yelled into the phone.

“Listen to me Agent. Tell Gideon there has been an attack in New York. All hands on deck, the BAU needs to clear out immediately.”

It was September 11, 2001 and the world and the work would never be the same.

1334 days remained

It wasn’t Grammy’s sweet tea anymore, but it was the same big porch. My folks had inherited the family land after she had passed in ‘96. Daddy tried his hardest to keep the Devereaux Fourth of July barbecue going strong. There we were sweating in the 90 degree sun. Charlie’s boys were chasing Manny’s kids ruining their perfectly matching outfits.

“Auntie B! Auntie B! Tell Charles he can’t be mean to be, I am the littlest!” My brothers were stifling their laughter as I rolled my eyes at my niece’s dramatics. I crouched down and put my palms on to her shoulders.

“Amelia June, do you think being the littlest saved me from anybody’s mean-ness?” Her brown eyes went all puppy dog.

“No?” She asked, “No, ma’am.” Correcting herself.

“That’s right. You are going to have to ignore them and play by yourself or push back.” I shook her a little to bring out some natural aggression. “Now get!” I tickled her a little and sent her running towards the gaggle of cousins. I strolled over to my brothers’ over sunned faces.

“Manny, those kids need a Devereaux summer. Don’t let my only niece become a whiner.”

“Don’t look at me, Bets!” Manny’s lazy smirk nodded towards his dolled up wife sitting in the shade. “You think I can get Jill to agree to anything besides riding lessons or tea parties?”

“Man am I glad we only have boys, girls are tough!” Charlie cracked, asking for retribution. I slurped over the ice from the bottom of my glass. I just shook my head, rolled my eyes and chucked the ice straight into my oldest brother’s smarmy face. He tried grabbing me, but I was too quick. Sprinting towards the barns.

“Somebody’s been spending too much time behind a desk, Colonel!” I screamed across the yard. He hadn’t even tried following me. Everyone was laughing, well except Mama and Jill. I took an overplayed curtsy, because girls are tough.

1265 days remain

I worked 37 miles away from my big brother for the past year and a half. I had seen him a grand total of twice in that time.

I remember telling Gideon to shut up when the announcement of the third crash hissed over the radio. The nausea and powerlessness paralyzing me.

There are official reports about where we were and when. They can tell you about the hours stuck in traffic and the details we were piecing together from news stations and phone calls. I am not reliving that day. Frankly, because I can not. I have buried it in the dark spaces. The spaces that open only in slumber and self doubt.

Charlie was inside the Pentagon when Flight 77 collided with the western face at 0937. It took two days to confirm what we were all thinking: Charlie was gone. The day my mother called me we were still in New York. After days of horror, exhaustion and smells too pungent to name, I threw my television set out the window of my third floor studio apartment. The images from the endless news updates seared into my memories.

I sat beside my mother during the service. Daddy sat beside Charlie’s wife Cynthia, the only time I saw her move unassisted the entire day was to take the flag. I had to stop myself fidgeting in my uniform. My mother cried silently while I tried not to strangle the bugle player.

Never had Devereaux children sat still as long as my nephews and niece did that day. The service was for Charlie, but I felt it was for us all. America was grieving. I was wiping off the counters in the kitchen when a little hand tugged my jacket.

“Auntie B? What’s it like?” Amelia asked.

“What’s what like, Slugger?” I petted her fly away hair.

“Not having your big brother no more?”

“I don’t know yet, I am just figuring it out, aren’t I?”

“Oh, right.” She nodded. “Well, good luck.” She bounded away, tugging at the tulle on her dress.

Over the next few weeks I finally got to meet the famous David Rossi. After the attacks, he came back to the BAU in a consulting capacity. I could tell he knew there was more unsubs to catch and his military background ensured his return to duty. Hotch and he worked the Boise Idaho School Bombing case that was the only thing to fill the headlines after the Towers.

Gideon, Hansen and myself were still working on paperwork from the office in Quantico; evaluations, ensuring that the behavior of our first-responders and clean up efforts were stable, profiles on potential next targets. Long hours and lots of probables for the new Department of Homeland Security to consider along with the endless intel from the CIA.

Rossi left just before Halloween that year, which was disappointing. He had a sort of lone wolf mentality, but our work was exponentially better with him around. “You’re a lot more reserved than Katie, eh?” He asked over a meal at Hansen’s house.

“I focus on the work, if the unsubs bring out our emotions, we’re no good to the team.”

“Yeah, but burying it doesn’t make it go away.”

“True, but neither does surrendering to it.”

1214 days remain

Hansen had drank my V8 again. I had the stupid six pack hidden in the back of the community fridge, labeled and still: gone. I trudged back to work unsatisfied. There they were, Strauss and Hotch looking all superior.

“What do you mean they’re moving the unit upstairs?” Hotch looked at Strauss as if she had told him we had been released into the wild.

“Orders are to have a workable office with the latest technology by the first of the year.”

“Where is the funding coming from?” Hotch was always worrying about damned budgets.

“Just take the upgrade, Aaron.” Strauss huffed. “Don’t make me regret allotting you one of the private offices.” She clipped off to wherever her office was now.

“You think Gideon wants his office? Because I could really use some leg room, Chief.” I teased.

“Don’t get too excited, Bets. I think we’re all better off if he has a place to hide.”

Next Chapter: Upgrades

@dontshootmespence @criminalwriting @cherry-loves-fanfic @imagicana @hotchnerfuckmeup @teatimewithtiya

#criminal minds #oc x bau team #1ofthe6 #bets #bethany devereaux #bau #fbi bau #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfictions #9-11 #taps #grief #memories #aaron hotchner #jason gideon #erin strauss #i almost forgot they changed the timeframe rossi was with the bau in season 7 #hoping i made it work and stayed true to canon #david rossi

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stunudo · 7 years

Text

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: OC x BAU Team Setting: Prior to Pilot Episode

Huge shout out to @dontshootmespence for being amazing and reading this before anyone else.

Self-prompts: Who left the opening in the BAU for Greenway to fill? What was the BAU like before Gideon’s sabbatical?

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this is my story.

Early Years: 12,865 until 6,075 remain

“I was born and bred in Virginia. So many of my family worked for the government or were military that I never considered doing anything else.”

I had two older brothers: Charlie and Manny. I don’t know how I would have turned out without them, but from day one I knew I was the baby. So I spent most of my waking hours trying to keep up with them and to prove that I didn’t need them to protect me. I got my first set of stitches at four, cut my fingers trying to re-thread the chain on my hand-me-down bike. I wasn’t even tall enough to reach the seat, but I tried fixing it anyway.

I broke my arm at seven after falling down a rocky hill near a creek. I don’t remember the pain. I do remember that it was Manny’s fault and how mad I was that he didn’t get in trouble for it. Even after I walked home by myself to tell my mother what happened. I learned quickly that it was not fair being a girl.

It was off that creek in a small pond that I almost drowned one day in autumn. It had been rainy all week, we were playing soldiers. We made camp along the clean waters. The ground slick in parts and mushy in others. I don’t remember why I got in the water, but I do remember how the sandy bottom held onto my shoes. The muddy muck trapping me, the sunshine fragmented through the splashes of the other kids.

Then suddenly I was above the surface, air stinging my burning throat. It was Charlie, he had found me. He slammed his palm into my bony back as I hacked up the water. He didn’t tell Mama or Daddy, and I didn’t say where the bruises came from neither.

Mama was Cuban, but we didn’t talk about it. She was beautiful: full lips, deep brown eyes. Her hair was long with hints of red in the ebony sheen. She came to America alone and in secret. Old money Virginians weren’t too keen on Communists in the sixties.

But my Daddy fell hard, or so he always told us. Mama didn’t talk about her homeland. The only time I remember her even flinching about it was when I walked in on her crying.

I was, maybe, six years old and I ran into the house to tattle on one of my brothers. She was sitting at the Formica kitchen table, a letter covered in international stamps clutched in her hand. A rosary fell from the envelope, my grandmother’s I later learned. Mama just hugged me tight, wiping away her tears. My mother, the strongest woman I ever met.

I remember the hills, the long drives we took as a family to Grammy and Pop-pop’s place. It was always sunny, I know that isn’t possible, but my memories are bleached in sunlight. We had our sweet tea on the huge porch, Grammy fussing over us and our cousins. She never liked me getting dirty, tried to get me in the kitchen instead of wrestling or climbing in the barns.

Pop-pop was my hero; he was a WWII veteran. He was injured in action which brought him home before VJ Day. Grammy always said it was the best-worst thing that ever happened. He himmed and hawed about it, feeling he still had a job to do. He loved his family, but he loved his country more.

Pop-pop never told me to help my grandmother in the kitchen. Instead he called me “Slugger” and gave me extra hard candies behind Grammy’s watchful eye.

Daddy was in sales, he sold anything he could. Or so we were told. His connections ended up getting him a job in D.C. lobbying for something or another. He was gone, a lot. My older brothers kept me in line though, being a southern girl from a good family meant being respectful.

Being sixteen, a tomboy and having overprotective brothers meant no dating, at least not outright. Charlie caught me necking with Hunter Ashbourne at the drive in one Saturday night. I was grounded for a month. Mama prayed for my soul a whole lot that summer. I can only imagine what we would have put on her tombstone had she known I learned to French Kiss from the neighbor girl Dottie Leland the summer before.

Soon my brothers were out of the house. Charlie joined the Army, while Manny went away to college in Boston. It was just Mama and Daddy home when I announced I had applied to the Naval Academy. Daddy had never doubted my determination, but the flicker of concern on his face that afternoon hurt my heart.

Mama didn’t look at me, but nodded that it was a good thing while washing the dishes. “The military is a fine place to find a good husband, Bethania.”

My Plebe Summer was set to begin the Monday following the Fourth of July. Most of my friends had summer jobs after graduation, so I didn’t have a whole lot to keep me busy before heading to Annapolis. Pop-pop and Grammy had their usual cookout for the holiday. Pop-pop kept patting me on my shoulder, asking “You ready, Slugger?”

I told him I was, just couldn’t sit still. He laughed, “Well they won’t let ya there neither.” I nodded back.

“Bets? Why don’t you come meet Marcia’s boys, they’re about your age. You remember Marcia and Todd Stevens, don’t ya?” Grammy called from the porch.

I rolled my eyes, Pop-pop laughed before scolding her. “Bets is going to be a Plebe, Doris June, don’t you try making your matches now!” He winked at me, knowing I hated the forced politeness my Grammy insisted on me. I patted his knee, pushing myself up to be re-introduced to the Stevens’ boys, T.J. and Marcus, for the third summer in a row.

I remember the little cousins running with sparklers. I remember the bugs and frogs croaking into the night. But mostly I remember that was the last conversation I had with my Pop-pop. My hero went home while I was learning to salute.

Next Chapter: Navy to FBI to BAU

@criminalwriting @dontshootmespence @criminal-minds-fanfiction @hotchnerfuckmeup @reidoneshots @imagicana @reiding-and-writing @milkandcookies528 @lookingforgalifrey @reidbyers @rachficrecs

#Criminal Minds #OC x BAU Team #Bets #1ofthe6 #criminal minds fanfiction #before the pilot #go navy #tomboy #Bethany Devereaux #teammates #fbi bau #profiler in training #stu

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stunudo · 7 years

Quote

The Navy has both a tradition and a future--and we look with pride and confidence in both directions.

Admiral George Anderson

Navy to FBI to BAU: 6075 until 1810 remain

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Bethany Devereaux Setting: Prior to Pilot Episode

Self-prompts: Who left the opening in the BAU for Greenaway to fill? What was the BAU like before Gideon’s sabbatical?

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this is my story.

A/N and Warnings: If you haven’t, please read Early Years for context. Very subtle mentions of sexual harassment and assault. If you or someone you know has suffered from sexual assault please Call 1-800-656-4673 (US) for help. I also just want to say we need to do a better job of helping our veterans and active duty service members deal with this problem. Offensive slang. Longer, but the academy and Navy service afterwards is a minimum of 9 years! xoxo Stu (Special thanks to @dontshootmespence, you’re amazing)

To say that I was unprepared for my induction summer and life as a Plebe isn’t accurate. I would say I was blindsided by the exhaustion. We got up at dawn. We ran the yard. We did formations. We ate in the mess hall. We were always a unit. The company became our family, friends and brothers in arms (no one actually said much that there were women present). We slept maybe six hours a night. It was a team-building, honor inducing, painfully mesmerizing blur. But I did it: I survived my seven weeks of bodily torture and got to see Mama and Daddy.

They had tours and history lessons while I had my regular duties. After the parade we waited alphabetically for our parents and guests to find us. I remember seeing Daddy with Mama’s fist holding his arm tightly, naturally she wore heels that were sinking into the grass of the yard. I couldn’t wait, I ran to them. The familiar hugs and scents overwhelmed me and I cried tears of happiness.

“Bethania, that is enough!” Mama shushed me, taking out her handkerchief for me to clean up.

“Looking trim there, Bets.” Daddy commented. His eyes were sad. I kept staring at them, watching as they exchanged glances.

“What happened?” I demanded. “Is it Charlie? Is he alright?” My older brother had been overseas, but not in a conflict zone.

“Charlie is fine, Bets,” Daddy began slowly, “It’s Pop-pop, he’s gone to heaven, baby. A few weeks ago.”

I know I was upset and grieving, but I will never shake the disappointment I felt. My parents, these two people in my life that I had trusted had withheld something so monumental.

There were only around 100 women alongside me as I began my studies that fall. The class size was roughly 1150. Routine was something that kept me focused. I worked hard and kept my head forward. Not down, not on a swivel. Eyes on the prize. I ignored the snark we got from time to time for being female, I was used to it.

Edwards and Vaughn were the other female midshipmen in my company. Edwards put up with nothing. If a guy so much as looked at her too long she was tearing him down with her thick Brooklyn slang. Vaughn was quiet, she would flinch if someone said something too loudly or catcalled. I wish she could have developed a thicker skin. Maybe its because she didn’t have the big brothers I did or maybe she had never been praised in her whole sorry eighteen years. I don’t know, but the sharks smelled blood.

It was the week before Thanksgiving leave that I found her in the lavatory. Her face was red from crying. The hard tile floor cooling her bruising skin. I don’t know how long she had been there, but I picked her up and took her to the infirmary. She moaned, “No, please” when the male doctors touched her. Her strained voice is etched into my memories.

“Midshipmen Devereaux, you can return to your classes.” Someone sent me away.

I visited Vaughn that night during study break. She didn’t want to talk about it. So I talked about the day, the awful food in the mess hall, how Jennings and Martin had been given extra laps. Nonsense small talk. She left before the end of the week. Back to Kansas, a landlocked state for the girl that dreamed of the sea. I never found out who had hurt her, she was too scared to tell. But from then on: my head was always checking two steps behind me as well.

My family had tickets to the Navy- Army game my second year at the Academy. It was in Jersey, so I had to get special leave privileges to go along. Charlie was there, thankfully my Midshipmen pulled out a victory after an otherwise embarrassing season. Gambling is not strictly promoted in the Fleet, so I am not going to say that I won a bet. Just that I left the game with some cash in my pocket.

“Hey, Bets!” Another Virginian drawl called out to me in the middle of the stands at Giants Stadium. I looked up to find a very filled out T.J. Stevens, grinning lazily at me. He was wearing a faded NAVY tee shirt, so I figured I could play nice. “How did you get away for the game?” He asked.

“Used every favor I had.” I smiled. “Wait, I have seen you! You’re a fucking Plebe! Why didn’t you say something to me in the yard?” I realized all my focus on my duties and routines I had missed my old family friend.

“Too shy, besides it’s not like they encourage socializing.” T.J. shrugged.

“Well, I’m glad it took you all the way to Jersey to say hey.”

“Maybe, want to hang out sometime? I mean, we could get together on town liberty next week?” He was six feet of shy and sweet southern charm, I nodded.

We did a good job sneaking around. Every upperclassman had different duties, but Plebes only had a chance of freedom on Saturday nights. Drinking was out of the question, we were both too young and dedicated. We found ourselves at the local bowling alley, on a fairly regular basis during that spring semester.

Unfortunately, my Company Operations Officer, Thomas (who was not the most pleasant fella) happened upon T.J. and I, a few weeks after Mid-term leave. “Well, well, lookie here.” His dark eyes scoring over us like a cobra. “And I had pegged you for a dyke, Devereaux.”

I rolled my eyes, like I hadn’t heard that one before. “Sir? Is there something we can help you with, otherwise I would like to continue to beat Stevens’ ass.” I quipped as I strolled down the alley and cleaned up with a spare.

T.J. was frozen. The upperclassman was watching his every twitch. “You’re up, T.J.” I tried to act casual. Finally he got up and took his turns. In the meantime, Thomas sat besides me and whispered with his beer breathe.

“You’re dead Devereaux. Plebes are off limits and you know that.”

I turned and looked him square in his beady eyes, “You have no proof. I have known Stevens for years. I was just making sure he was relaxing on his liberty.”

“You better watch yourself, girl.” Thomas’ southern drawl felt dirty now. “He’s got a few weeks before Sea Trials, hate him to mess that up.”

Turns out Thomas’ threats were empty. T.J. did fine at his trials, but he broke up with me anyway. Too scared of the attention, even though now we had nothing to hide. Life is funny that way. You throw things away when you finally have a chance at happiness. Or you are so afraid of the possibilities that you hightail it the other direction. I didn’t want a coward, even if he was sweet. I just had to keep telling myself that.

“After graduating from Annapolis I spent my time on a ship or two. Before a friend of my Daddy suggested I apply for something closer to home.”

I was part of a crew. I had earned a degree. I was serving my country, still making Pop-pop proud. The years in the Fleet held a sense of purpose and routine that could not be repeated in any other environment. I saw the entire world. I saw the Persian Gulf, after Desert Storm, but I got to those ancient waters and so many more.

I slept, ran and ate Navy. I worked with some amazing sailors. But I was restless. After Charlie had been at the Pentagon for two years, he kept telling me to keep my options open. I knew I didn’t have another enlistment in me, I didn’t want to command a full ship.

It was ironically a Stevens that told me to apply to the FBI. T.J.’s uncle Carl was teasing me during a big New Year’s bash at my folks’ house. It was now 1997, I had only six months left. Why not? How hard could a single target be after years of chasing shiploads?

The academy was nothing I wasn’t already trained to handle. The classes were more specific to law enforcement so I had to relearn my vocabulary. I was easily the oldest person in my class, surprise surprise. The mental stimulation was refreshing and tougher than I cared to admit.

The FBI was a good fit for me, I liked the results and being able to see my targets in person. The small unit working together was how I thrived. I had been placed in the Carolinas, it kept me near the water, but the honeymoon phase ended quickly. I began searching for bigger challenges after just two years. Then I found an internal posting for a profiler position in Quantico.

It was the late nineties and being a woman in the FBI was still uncommon. The position that had been vacated was that of the notorious ladies’ man and founding member, David Rossi. (He later became an international best selling author of True Crime books.) I interviewed with SSA Cole in a dimly lit basement office. After the second interview I got the impression they didn’t want to fill the position. That was the only time I did not achieve my objective and as a Devereaux, I didn’t just let that slide.

I returned for my second attempt at the promotion nearly ten months after my first interview with Katie Cole. Now it was her position that had been vacated. A talented clinical psychologist and profiler, her reputation and name left a large hole to fill in the small unit. But the fact that she had broken into the old boys’ club of the BAU made my opportunity all the more possible.

I had been working in the Boston field office, in the interim, hoping the diverse caseload would deepen my understanding of the work the profilers did. Irish mafia and vice cases helped develop my intuition and my confidence grew with each collar.

The offices were in a cement lined basement at the headquarters, just like the last time. Jason Gideon was regrouping after Rossi’s and Cole’s departures. Their poster boy Aaron Hotchner was running the interview process because Gideon didn’t have the attention span to interact well socially. Hotch was an arrogant lawyer with a chip on his shoulder when it came to child abuse cases. But his irrefutable moral compass held the whole unit together.

Aaron, remarkably, remembered me and asked pertinent questions to my expanding experiences. After an open-ended Q&A session I was told they would be in touch. I shook hands all around and made my way through the cave of file cabinets. SSA Gideon was staring at the cork side of an ancient chalkboard on wheels. There were photographs of victims and their dumpsites. I didn’t think he had registered my presence until he began to speak.

“Why would he wrap the bodies, but leave the faces exposed?” His musings were to himself, but I took it as an opening.

“Sir?” I pointed to a victim’s face. “He wants to see them, he comes back to check on them.”

His dark eyes turned on me as if I was speaking Swahili. I pointed to the position the bodies were in and the nearest footpaths. They were left directly in line of sight.

“What else can you tell me about this unsub?” Gideon asked, not making eye contact again. But I felt him watching my micro-expressions, my processing obvious on my heavily browed face.

“He takes talismans or mementos from each of the victims. He relives the deaths even when he can no longer visit their graves.”

“Hotch?” Gideon called. “Agent Devereaux is coming to Indiana with me. Handle the transfer while we’re gone.”

And just like that, I was in.

Next Chapter: New Girl on the Unit

@teatimewithtiya I hear you’re the expert, how did I do?

@criminalwriting @dontshootmespence @cherry-loves-fanfic @gubl-oser @imagicana @reiding-and-writing @milkandcookies528 @lookingforgalifrey @reidbyers @rachficrecs @hotchnerfuckmeup @criminal-navy-writings

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #1ofthe6 #criminal minds fanfictions #OC x BAU Team #bets #Bethany Devereaux #aaron hotchner #navy #anapolis #tough as nails #survivors guilt #virginia #fbi bau #jason gideon

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