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Her home was even more obscure at night, if that was even possible for such a dark apartment. Somber shadows of her long curtains, always closed shut, embraced the calculated mess scattered on the floor of her living room. Her go bag, documentation on everyone on the team, her profiling book that she's studied for the last few days to update her ways to the ones used within the BAU. And although the silence of her room was as deafening as usual, her mind had other things to worry about.
If she continues to take one and a half pill every night, then she'll be out of them ten days earlier than her refill and she was already in need of seven more sleeping pills by the end of the month. It would be ideal if she could survive with half a pill for three non-consecutive days.
One.
Two.
Three...
It was quite late at night and Eleanor was way too busy counting her remaining pills for the rest of the month, absorbed in her thoughts while standing with her legs crossed in the middle of her bed with a dozen white little tablets in the palm of her hand, trying to find different ways of altering her dosage without too much damage.
As her new team within the BAU got their day off, so did her interview with Hotch got postponed, so maybe altering her sleep schedule before her first case wouldn't be such a great idea. She was aware of the fact that she was already part of the team, as per Gideon's say, and the interview was merely an excuse for him to introduce her to the team. In the end, it wasn't the first time Hotch has heard or participated into a conversation about Eleanor. He was already familiar with her. Or at least, he thought so. Hotch, for whatever reason, didn't have access to her undisclosed file as part of the effort the NSA put in limiting public information regarding her time spent in Witness Protection. So he was blindly trusting in Gideon's judgement.
After another half an hour of pill permutations and a few 'fuck it' along the way, she ended up chugging half her normal dose of sedatives, but although being up since 4:30 and struggling to fall back asleep until 6:30, Eleanor wasn't called in until later that evening. They have just gotten a case and they were running late because of her interview with Hotch, so it was safe to say that when she got out of that elevator, everybody's eyes were picking up on her. The path to Aaron Hotchner's office felt like a never ending moment, passing the bullpen and the not so friendly eyes of her new team mates. She has read enough to recognize them in a split second: Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss. As their burning looks followed along her way, her gaze remained fixated on the office door, until she'd finally reached it.
Aaron Hotchner was tall and imposing, no facial expression, hard to read. Ideal profiler face. He wasn't scary or uncomfortable to be around, making sure to be polite enough to make anyone feel more at ease around him. He reminded her of her mother. After all, he was a prosecutor. He wasn't used to smiling or showing much emotion. Fortunately, Gideon was present too, his familiar face always a pleasure to have around. He smiled and had a sit next to her in front of Hotch's desk, crossing his legs and leaning back on his chair to adopt a more laid-back posture. Hotch, however, pulled back his shoulders as he stretched his arm to greet her with a firm shake.
