"You don't like me, do you?"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. Do you keep one of those magnifying glasses tucked away in that little vest of yours?"
•••
Lydia Beowulf works for the Hostage Response T...
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Lydia felt the heavy raindrops pelt her head and shoulders as she was planted on the steps to Anna's house. She saw the red and blue flashing lights approach out of the corner of her eye. Once the familiar SUV approached, she somehow felt even more emotional. She attempted to keep the tears back, but it was like trying to stop a faucet with her bare hands. It'd be useless as her tears would fall in line with the storm brewing in the sky. They were one and the same.
It was all too familiar. She had been there before. Sitting on the front porch steps while the blood soaked into the carpet within the confides of the home behind her. She was small again. In her nightgown clutching onto her stuffed bear while she dreadfully waited.
As the car pulled to the curb, almost disappearing into the night sky if it weren't for the flashing lights illuminating off of the droplets, Hotch slammed the driver door and approached Lydia on the steps. He too was getting drenched as the water seeped into the fabric of his suit. He must've come straight from the office. Typical of him to be working late on their 'day off'.
"Are you the only one here?" He asked with the familiar stern look on his brow. Lydia's eyes were squinted from the rain as she looked up at him and nodded.
Hotch was the only person she knew she could call and would know exactly what to do and get it done no matter the circumstances. She trusted him. She believed in him as much he believed in her.
She didn't have to say much as he walked inside the house to get a look for himself. She had gotten the gist out over the phone even though her words were separated by hyperventilating gasps. All he knew was that Anna was missing, there was a struggle at her home, and Lydia found it.
To be quite fair, that's all Lydia knew as well and it was eating her alive. Her best friend could be anywhere. For all she knew, she could be dead. There was enough blood on the carpet for it to be feasible.
That thought made her choke back a sob, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Her mind was at crossroads. One side being the level-headed investigator and the other being the hopeful witness.
Hotch prodded through the front door after seeing the scene for himself. She didn't have turn and look at him to feel his demeanor change. It wasn't good.
"Come inside. You're not going to be any help if you're sick." He said bluntly, but not in a way that would be considered rude. More like a concerned father whose judgment was clouded by something entirely different. It didn't matter what he meant by it anyway, she was barely processing anything he said.
"I don't think I can." She said lowly with a rasp reverberating her voice. Her breath could be seen in the chilled autumn air.
"What do you mean?" He questioned, walking down the steps to look her in the eyes. His hand shielded his eyes like a visor as he observed her from afar. He had never seen her look so unkempt before and it surprised him a little. Her brown hair was dripping and her eyes were swollen.
