~ worrying is like praying for something you don't want to happen ~
Okay, so what's your profile?" Rossi asks, sitting down beside me on the back deck.
I have a feeling this is now our thing, talking about life decisions well drinking morning coffee on the deck.
Currently, he is asking me why I shut a good guy friend down last night when he asked me to go on a date.
Now I have two reasons, reason number one has everything to do with what I profiled him as, and reason number two has everything to do with Brandon, which is what Rossi wants me to admit.
I let out a sigh, "Simon likes power and authority, tends to dislike emotions to distance himself from hurt." I start, a hint of annoyance in my voice.
"He's smart, sometimes too smart, but doesn't like to show it. He tends to be good at communication but doesn't necessary enjoy it or use the skill. He likes to be in control and stay mysterious, not letting people in is a coping skill he learned as to not get hurt from an early age, most likely stems from his childhood trauma. " Childhood trauma that I know way to much about after that one party.
Setting down my coffee I turn to Dave, "He is opened hearted but chooses very carefully who he lets down his walls around, but he did choose me to do so, though he was drunk hence his horrendous communication skills. He is really sweet and caring, and is very open minded, along with being very supportive but he's not supported, meaning he likes to help people when he can but doesn't have that much help himself." I pause, shaking my head.
Almost felt bad for him, almost.
"Simon's straightforward. Not scared of death, and doesn't think through all outcomes before making a decision. He's incredibly impulsive. A Martyr. He is narcissistic and attention seeking, though does it so you can't tell if you aren't looking. Dramatic at some times, most times, but again, does it so if you aren't looking you won't notice. His 'poor self esteem' is just a mask to cover up his intrusive attitude, and since he is narcissistic he enjoys that you can't tell." I inform, using my hands as quotation marks around the words 'poor self esteem' to get my point across.
"So why were you looking?" David cuts me off with a smug smirk.
I let out a small chuckle, "It's kind of hard to shut off my profiling powers," I tell him, knowing it was half of the truth.
He nods, "I'll agree with that," he mumbles, letting out sigh.
"But?" I rhetorically ask, picking up my coffee to take a sip.
"But, I know that's not the full truth,"
It was my turn to nod, "To be fair, I'm not on trial, I didn't solemnly swear to tell the whole truth," I sarcastically reply, raising my mug at him, as if to say 'cheers'.
"That you did not," he mumbles, copying my motion.
*
Standing in the club, I walk behind the counter, grabbing my self a glass of whiskey.
Swirling the amber liquid around the glass, my thoughts drift to Hotch.
I told him we could talk, but we still haven't.
And Jason Gideon, I want to seriously inform him that one more conversation about my childhood trauma or excepting Hotchner as my father, and I will punch him, elder or not.
I swear these people spend way to much time trying to profile me, as if I'm a UnSub.
I'm not.
David is the only person I can remotely relate to, and kind of trust.
I mean, I cried in front of him so that counts as something.
He kind of reminds me of a grandpa I never had.
"Sofi?" A low deep voice asks from behind me.
I slowly turn around, a sheepish smile on my face, "Hey Brandon," I say, trying to pretend like he wasn't in the top two things on my mind all week.
He doesn't say anything, just comes over and gives me a hug, "I thought you were ignoring me," he mutters into my neck.
I pull back and stare at him, "What?" I ask, confused, my voice small.
He studies me, his eyes piercing into mine, "You don't know,"
I tilt my head to the side, worry spreading through me like a wildfire just from seeing the broke expression on his face.
"What? What don't I know?"
Silence, the room was full of silence.
Tears gather in Brandon's eyes, making my worry grow, "What Brandon, what?" I ask exasperated my hands cupping his face.
He shakes his head, trying to rid his tears, "He's gone,"
I let out a shaky breath, "Who?" I ask, my voice so low I could barely hear myself.
"Dax," he whispers, "My baby brother is gone,"
My eyes prickle with tears, but I try to hold them back, my body feeling numb.
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
Silence.
I've never hated it more then now.
"How?" I ask breathlessly, swallowing back my tears.
Although I didn't let my tears fall, Brandon's fell down his cheeks, making me want to cry all over again.
Using my thumb, I wipe them away, "He," he pauses, clearing his throat, "He was coming home from football tryouts, they think he got a concussion from being tackled and passed out at the wheel," he explains, letting out a strangled sob at the end.
I shake my head in disbelief, "No," I mumble hoarsely.
He just nods, "He drifted to the left side of the road, died on impact,"
"No, I-I was talking to him earlier, he said he would see me soon, h-he can't, I- can-" Brandon just pulls me into a hug, not saying anything.
I just stood frozen as he did so, not moving, I couldn't.
I knew the right thing to do was to cry and comfort Brandon but I couldn't.
I just stepped back harshly and ran, because that's what I do best.
*
"Good morning princess," Derek's voice rings through my ear.
"Morning," I respond.
It was quiet for a second before he gripped my arm, halting my steps, "What's wrong?" he asks, making me meet his eyes.
I let out a small laugh, "Nothing, I just said morning,"
He nods, "I know, except everyday I say good morning princess and everyday you say 'I'm not a princess, I'm a agent, they're more badass,' kind of like Garcia says, 'I'll show you a good morning' but not today-"
"Derek, I'm not predictable, I'm no Garcia with my response, forgive me if I don't feel like a badass agent for once," I mumble, walking away before he could respond.
He was about to call after me, but Garcia cut him off, announcing a case, before looking at me and asking if I was okay, to which I made up a lie.
We ended up in Arizona, going after a unsub who raped and shot women across the state.
"The man we are looking for is highly organized. He brings everything he uses to the attacks and takes them with him when he leaves indicating that he is well prepared. This tells us he was calm, in control when he attacked or killed, because he doesn't leave anything identifiable behind, other then a lily." Hotch explains.
Nodding his head, Rossi continues, "He need's a vehicle, something not suspicious because he uses it when surveying his victims, probably a company vehicle. These attacks happen in the day, so it wouldn't be strange to see one parked outside a victims house or down the street for a long period of time,"
"He is most likely stalking the women before each attack, going back to our company vehicle theory, it wouldn't be suspicious for someone to be in a company van or truck, you'd assume they were inspecting something or perhaps doing work in it, he wouldn't attract attention, set off any red flags for being there," I inform.
"Your job right now, is to pretend we have a suspect in custody, a suspect that we say is the culprit, it will draw the unsub out. He want's attention, it won't sit well with him when it's taken away, he'll slip up or even call to inform us we are wrong," JJ speaks, earning nods.
"Alright, thank you for your time," Hotch ends the profile, motioning us to the back room offered to us.
Standing around the rectangle table, Hotch gives us jobs, "Reid, Morgan, work on the geographical location, we need to narrow it down. JJ and Tate work on a press release for when we announce we have the culprit behind everything. Rossi and I will continue family interviews, work on a more thorough victimology." he announces, earning nods from us all.
One by one, everyone filters out of the room, leaving only me and JJ.
I turn to leave, only to be stopped by her grip on my arm.
Second time today.
"Hey, are you okay?" she asks, her being the last out of the whole team to ask me the same question.
I close my eyes for a second, running my hands down my face, "The next person to ask me that is going to be target practice," I grumble, walking past her.