ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒚 ❜
chapter no. 032!
❝ BUT O, HOW FALL'N! ❞
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PUSHING BACK THE CURTAINS, CARA VALENTINE'S BROWS IMMEDIATELY FURROWED AS SHE WAS WELCOMED BY THE SIGHT OF HOTCH AND CRUZ. Hotch was sitting in the back right corner of the plane while Cruz stood behind him, the two looking over a file. They were talking quietly but paused when she began making her way toward them. Before sitting down, she shoved her go-bag into the overhead.
"I thought you said to be on the plane by nine," the blonde recalled, dropping down into the seat across from the dark-haired men.
The Unit Chief nodded. "Yes. For you," he replied, closing the manila folder and sliding it over.
Without a word, she opened the file and ran her eyes over the document. It was a police report filed by one Officer Tremblay, a standard trespassing report. Flipping to the next page, the same officer filed another report for breaking and entering. Reading the reports over again, she couldn't help but notice where these incidents occurred.
3260 Pagey Avenue.
Her heart dropped. "Castaway's Mansion?" Cara questioned, glancing up before focusing back on the address.
Cruz nodded. "The reports arrived this morning."
"The date says that these two incidents occurred on two separate nights, a day apart." She pointed out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Captain Marvinhill was hesitant in sending them. He's not sure if the breaking-and-entering and trespassing are related to the Red Scorpions or not." Hotch stated.
Cara nodded. "Castaway's Mansion is known for its affiliation with the Red Scorpions. Rival gangs knew that it was our primary headquarters. Given the news that the Founding Fathers are dead and the majority of the Scorpions are in jail or prison, it makes sense that people would break in. It happened every once in a while, but with the place unprotected and abandoned, it's a free-for-all. However, neither of you believes it's a coincidence. Why?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"Turn to the next page," Hotch instructed.
Doing as he said, she quickly rotated the file around. There, staring back at her, was a photograph of a blank wall with the words, "If thou beest he; But I how fall'n! how chang'd," inscribed in red paint.
A small shiver of panic slivered down her spine. It was him. Her nightmares were coming true. Cara's face fell, and the hair on her arms rose. Neither action went unnoticed, and she could see Hotch stiffen in the background.
"That's from Paradise Lost, isn't it?" Cruz suspected, but her lips remained shut.
The two could see the fear in her. And she knew they could. This had caught her off-guard. Nightmares were one thing. Reality?
Cara knew she was being watched; the feeling of eyes attached to her body hadn't wavered in the past six months. But this was different. These words were the most direct he had been to her since the news that the Founding Fathers were murdered surfaced. Obviously, they were very much alive, but none of them had done anything like this. He hadn't done anything like this until now.
"The rest of the team will be here soon. I'll catch you up later," Hotch muttered and the sound of footsteps fading away echoed. The ex-convict's attention was stuck on the photograph, and it felt like she couldn't breathe. "Valentine?"
"He did this," she choked out, pushing down the lump in her throat. There was a familiar hollow pit settling in her chest.
"Who did?"
Squeezing her eyes shut, she took in a deep breath. "Le. He wrote that."
Silence momentarily answered her.
"Michael Le? Are you positive?" Hotch checked.
Cara nodded. "Aside from Owen, he's the only other person who knows what those words translate to."
Finally meeting Hotch's gaze, she noticed that his face had dropped, and he was stiff. He'd exhibited this behavior a couple of times; it only tended to show up when he was concerned and on edge. It meant that the time for sarcastic side comments was over, and it was time to get serious.
"What do they mean?" he asked, ignoring the sound of approaching footsteps.
Keeping herself glued to the seat and resisting the urge to turn her head and habitually look for Spencer, Cara let out a breath of air. "Cruz was right," she murmured, keeping her voice low enough so only he could hear her. "Those words are from a line in Paradise Lost. "If thou beest he; But O how fall'n! how chang'd From him, who in the happy Realms of Light, Cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst out-shine Myriads though bright: If he Whom mutual league." That's part of the entire line, and these are the first words spoken by Satan in the poem.
"He delivers this as a speech to his followers, which consists of other demons. This was his first speech to them. He describes how he's been defeated and lost the war but still gives them hope of winning Heaven back. According to him, the reason for Satan's defeat was that God had thunder, which he lacked; hence, God won. However, Satan still wants revenge, and his mind is filled with nothing but all the possibilities of how he could win.
"Symbolically, Le is Satan, and I'm God. I beat him because I'm free from the Red Scorpions and got away with becoming a traitor and escaped him. I have the F.B.I. on my side while he's got nothing but the rest of the Founding Fathers. There's a difference in how much power we have; he wants more. He wants revenge for what my father and I did, causing the current co-leaders to be arrested and put away. Using that beginning line is him saying that he's coming for me. Whether that be today or a year from now, he's coming." Cara concluded, leaving out the whole meaning of the message.
Hotch pressed his lips together and leaned back again, maintaining eye contact. "He won't come anywhere near you. You're safe," he assured, voice low.
"I'm not," she argued quietly, ignoring the sets of eyes she could feel boring into the back of her head.
"As long as you're under Cruz and I's protection, you are," Hotch murmured, his eyes glancing at the team.
She closed the file. "You can't promise me that, Hotch, and you know it."
At her words, the Unit Chief inhaled deeply. "Will you be able to work on this case? I need your mind clear and your behavior in check."
"Yes. I just need a moment." Cara answered honestly, noticing how his shoulders dropped the slightest.
"Take this plane ride to process. Once we land, it's time to work." Hotch instructed sternly, slipping the manila folder into his briefcase. Before walking past to join everyone else, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Peering up, the blonde shot him a half-smile that they both knew was incredibly forced. "Let's get started."
Hotch joined the rest of the team, and Cara remained in the plane seat, her back and body facing away. Reaching up, she ran a hand over her face and ignored the jittery feeling spreading over her body. Shivers of panic ran down her spine.
"Trevor Burkett is a senior at Mecklenburg State, and Christy White is a sophomore at Ripley University." JJ began, and Cara shifted her gaze to look out the window.
"And both students are roughly the same age, but Michael Smith is a retiree in his late fifties," Morgan added.
Cara tensed at the third victim's first name. Feeling someone nudge her foot, she turned her head to the left, seeing that Spencer had chosen to sit on the couch. His brows were drawn in, and he wore a concerned expression.
"Which one of these is not like the other?" Rossi retorted.
"The UnSub seems not to have an age or a gender preference," Hotch noted.
Spencer's eyes bounced from her face to her wrist, where she was rubbing at the skin. A habit the team had come to recognize as one of her tells. Once Cara realized where his eyes were fixed, she stopped.
"So, he probably wasn't driven by any sort of sexual desire," Blake spoke up.
"He could be holding them all together, which may mean they're surrogates of some kind." Rossi continued.
"That would also explain why he left Debbie Martin behind. She was African-American, and the rest of his victims were Caucasian. Maybe she didn't fit his parameters." Spencer mentioned, his eyes leaving her figure as he returned his attention to the briefing.
Cara's eyes lingered on him for a second longer before she made herself look away and back out the window. Things between them had been slightly amiss the past few weeks. Ever since she'd unexpectedly shown up at his apartment, asked to stay the night, got silence in return, and then left after the two of them found themselves particularly close, their dynamic had shifted just a bit.
Cara was pretending nothing had happened between them and that things were the same as they'd been. She was back to her emotionless stature, no longer exhibiting any vulnerability. Meanwhile, Spencer couldn't get her off his mind. A million thoughts were rushing at him constantly. He couldn't forget the susceptibility reflected in her deep blue eyes as she stared up at him and how natural it felt to have his arm wrapped around her waist. He couldn't.
"Well, Michael Smith was the first victim abducted." Rossi brought up, and the rustling of files could be heard.
"Do you think it was logistical or intentional?" Blake questioned.
Rossi responded without missing a beat. "Either way, the first victim is usually the most significant, and Michael's the odd man out."
"What do you have there?" A voice murmured as a shadow sat down beside her.
Looking up from the book in her hands, Cara smiled widely. "Macbeth."
Michael Le smirked, his hand brushing against hers as he leaned over, eyes wandering over the pages. "How are you liking it so far?" he asked quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder.
Shrugging, she peered back down at the book. "It's good, but I think I still prefer Othello."
"If you want, you can sit on my lap and read it to me."
Cara's stomach tightened as her throat clenched. Without realizing it, she'd gone back to rubbing her right thumb against her left wrist, this time harsher. She felt like she was going to be sick.
"When we land, Morgan, you and JJ go talk to Debbie Martin. The rest of us will get set up at the field office." Hotch announced.
Pushing up from her seat, Cara ignored the feeling of several eyes landing on her as she went to the small refreshment area. She reached down and grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge. She unscrewed the cap and hastily downed half of the drink. A part of her was hoping the cold water would ease her nerves, but it didn't.
"Now, I know something's wrong," a voice joked softly, trying not to attract attention, but Cara knew the team was watching. Turning around, she found Spencer blocking her way back to the main section of the jet. "You never drink water. Are you okay?" he muttered, eyes darting between hers.
She averted her stare, finding that it settled on the bowl of chips in the far right corner of the small counter.
"We saw Cruz exiting the jet. Is it the Red Scorpions?" Spencer asked, dipping his head down in an attempt to catch her eye.
Everything discussed between Hotch, Rossi, Cruz, and Cara was confidential. The team wasn't permitted to know anything unless it was determined that it was absolutely necessary. Cara couldn't break the vow she'd made, despite how much she wanted to talk to Spencer. She needed to stay guarded as she had been in recent weeks.
Shaking her head, the blonde briefly met his concerned gaze. "We need to focus on the case, all right? I'm not important right now," she finally replied, stepping to move around him, but he wrapped his hand around her arm.
"You're important to me," Spencer spoke gently, his voice faint enough that no one else could hear him but her.
Cara's stomach twisted at his words and she looked up, lightly leaning into his touch. This was the most physical contact they'd had in weeks. "You're important to me too," she mumbled, unable to help herself from being honest with him. His face burned. "And I appreciate your concern, but now isn't the time. I need you to focus on this case, not me, okay? There are people who need our help. Your help."
Spencer nodded, and she knew he understood where she was coming from.
Their eyes stayed locked for another five seconds before he gave her a tender smile. "I'm here for you," he paused, watching as she forced a feeble and faux half-smile. Part of him was tempted to point out the action, but he decided against it. "Please remember that I'm here for you," he whispered, dropping his hand from her arm.
At the loss of physical contact, Cara felt a frown tug at her lips, but she hastily stopped herself from doing so. "Thank you, Spencer."
A frown visibly spread across his face. The sound of his full name coming from her felt odd. He didn't like it. "Of course," he said, wanting more than anything to hug her, but he was second-guessing himself. It was unclear from her limited and controlled behavioral cues whether or not she was open to further physical touch. Despite how much he wanted to, he didn't hug her and didn't utter another word. Instead, he allowed her to slip past him. He stood there for a few seconds with an ache in his chest, wondering why he couldn't just stop overthinking and comfort her.
He hadn't hesitated in the past month, so why was he now?
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IT WASN'T LONG AFTER HALF OF THE TEAM ARRIVED AT THE FIELD OFFICE THAT SPENCER REID HAD MANAGED TO FIND THE COFFEE MACHINE. While he brewed a fresh pot for everyone, Hotch and Cara stood side-by-side, setting up the evidence boards. Rossi was across the room, on the phone with Morgan.
After pinning up the map of the area, Cara took a step back. "I'm not sure these three are surrogates," she voiced, gesturing to the pictures of Michael Smith, Trevor Burkett, and Christy White.
"Why do you say that?" Hotch asked, turning to her.
She crossed her arms. "If they were, it'd make more sense to pick victims close to Michael Smith, who was abducted first. Both Trevor and Christy look like the average college student. I highly doubt there are people that don't look like them nearby. You don't drive sixty miles just to abduct somebody random. However, it's a good countermeasure. I'd say either the UnSub knows them or perhaps stalked them for a bit."
Hotch glanced at the woman briefly before looking back at the board. "We should have Garcia dig into their past, see if there's a connection between the three of them."
Spencer Reid's voice soon broke the transient silence. "Here you go," he announced, and the pair spun around to see the doctor holding out steaming cups of coffee toward them.
The Unit Chief took his cup wordlessly, and Cara gave Spencer a nod, to which he returned.
"All right. Thanks, Morgan." Rossi said, and the ex-convict's eyes traveled to the Italian man. "UnSub had plenty of time to take Debbie Martin, too, but he just left her there."
"You were right, Valentine. They're not surrogates. Christy White was his specific target." Hotch stated.
Cara nodded. "Which means he probably stalked Christy and was expecting her to be alone. Debbie was a hiccup in his plan, so he had to adjust."
"The UnSub went to great lengths to stage the abductions in rapid succession as if they were orchestrated." Spencer continued, his brows furrowing as he spoke.
All eyes swiveled to Blake as she entered the room. "Okay. Garcia reviewed Michael Smith's phone records. Everyone he spoke to checks out, except for him." She raised a picture of a Caucasian man with white hair. "Dr. Edward Calder, local E.R. physician. He spoke to Michael Smith an hour before his abduction."
Hotch stepped forward, placing his coffee on the table.
"What's his story?" Rossi asked, nodding at the photograph.
Blake turned to look at him. "He claims he was home alone the night Smith disappeared, but not a soul can corroborate it." She placed the picture on top of a stack of files.
"We should talk to him." The Unit Chief stated, crossing his arms. "Blake, you and an officer can go pick him up. Rossi, I want you in the room with me when we interrogate him. Valentine, I want you to observe. Pick up on whether or not he lies."
Cara nodded again, and Blake left the room in search of an officer who wasn't busy.
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THE DOORS TO THE INTERROGATION WING OPENED, AND CARA LOOKED TO SEE JJ WALKING IN. "How's Debbie?" Cara questioned as JJ made her way to her side.
"She's shaken up— upset, but I think she'll be okay," JJ responded, and she nodded.
From the corner of her eye, Cara could see her studying her body language before glancing away. She and the others knew something was up. The looks she kept receiving from the team made it more than apparent, and for profilers, not all of them covered up their curiosity well. However, no one was going to ask what was wrong. Cara had been with the team long enough to notice how they respected each other's privacy and didn't question each other. At least not while on the clock.
"No. Like I told the cops, I was home alone watching the game." Dr. Calder spoke, and the sound of his voice drew the blonde back into focusing on the questioning.
"Which game?" Rossi asked.
The doctor glanced at him and shrugged. "Royals/White Sox."
Narrowing her eyes, Cara surveyed his body language. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and there were no physical signs of stress or anxiety.
"Who won?"
"I fell asleep in the seventh. What does that have to do with Mike? Shouldn't you be out looking for him instead of talking to me?" he retorted, darting his eyes between the two agents. Cara couldn't tell if he was lying or not, and that sudden fact caused her to shift footing.
The door opened again, and JJ and Cara glimpsed back, greeting Blake.
"You were the last person to talk to him. Did you two have plans that night?" Hotch inquired.
"No. Why, you don't actually think that I'm responsible for this, do you?" Dr. Calder retorted, his index finger pressed against the table.
This time it was Rossi who shrugged. "Are you?" he asked loosely.
"You gotta be kidding," the man scowled. "Mike is my best friend. He's like a brother. I would take a bullet for that guy."
At his words, Cara's brows rose. "That's a bold statement to make. He's overcompensating." She noted, her eyes not wavering from Dr. Calder's character.
"His dialect is definitely pointing to that," Blake muttered in agreement.
"You didn't answer my question." Rossi pointed out.
"No. I had nothing to do with it." Dr. Calder snapped, his glare lingering on the Italian man.
"How long have you two been friends?" Hotch spoke, moving the conversation along.
The doctor glanced at his hands. "Since we were nineteen. We played football in college together."
"Is that right? Where at?" Rossi probed, and the three women could tell from his tone of voice that he did not like this man.
And the feeling was mutual as the white-haired man glowered at him again. "Mecklenburg State. Mike's a booster for the football team. He loves the game."
JJ crossed her arms. "That's the school Trevor goes to," she stated.
"Trevor and Michael may know each other through the football team," Blake suggested, her eyes never swaying from the men in the interrogation room.
"We should have Garcia look deeper into the Mecklenburg State connection," JJ advised, and Cara nodded absentmindedly, too focused on Dr. Calder to agree verbally.
"I'll give her a call," Blake replied, stepping out of the room.
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IT WASN'T UNTIL AFTER DUSK THAT THE TEAM GOT A CALL BACK FROM GARCIA REGARDING TREVOR BURKETT. "Hey, whatchu got cookin', baby girl?" Morgan asked, turning away from the evidence board, phone in hand.
The keyboard keys clicking proceeded the woman before her voice was heard. "I have some uber interesting information about our missing college boy Trevor Burkett. Turns out he was president of the Mecklenburg State Chapter of the Beta Sigma Delta fraternity."
Hotch slid his hands into his pockets as the dark-skinned man stood beside him. "What's so interesting about that?" Morgan raised a brow.
"Two things. First of all, they're weirdly, strangely, a lot into pigs. I guess it had something to do with one of their founders being a farmer. They had a pig party every year. Everyone wore a pig mask. Oink to the oink-oink."
"What's the second thing, Garcia?" Hotch pressed.
Feeling a gentle force against the side of her right arm, Cara glanced to see JJ leaning over from her seat and into her. Their chairs had been pushed together as they'd been going over records earlier. Cara shifted, allowing JJ to lean further into her. Ever since girls' night, she'd felt strangely closer to the women of the team, and it appeared the feeling was mutual to a degree.
"This is where your bacon gets extra-crispy. A little over a year ago, a pledge named James Linwood took a leap off a roof."
"Let me guess. He was drunk..." JJ began.
"Or on drugs." Cara finished.
"Ah. I see you've been to a frat party before. Yeah, according to tox reports, he was. I believe the technical term is "hammered." It was during one of these pig parties, where the pledges are hazed and then forced to imbibe like crazy."
Morgan brought the phone up to his mouth. "Did the kid survive?"
Keys started clicking for a second before they stopped again. "Negative. He sustained a fatal brain injury, and after his death, Beta Sigma Delta lost their chapter and was shut down. No one was charged or prosecuted, though. I'm sending all of this to your tablets now." Penelope announced.
"If the abductions have anything to do with what happened that night, this could be about revenge," Morgan suggested, shrugging.
Hotch's eyes were focused on the table as he spoke. "And the UnSub could be working off some sort of hit list. Thanks, Garcia."
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AS CARA SAT AGAINST THE HEADBOARD OF THE HOTEL BED, THE FEELING OF EYES WATCHING HER EVERY MOVE HAD FADED, AND SHE FELT FREE. Even though it was only for a few hours of the night, she was free to some degree. Free from her nightmares as long as she stayed awake. Turning to the next page of Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary, she let out a loud sigh and sunk further into the blankets.
Reading was the only thing distracting her mind presently from the events that had ensued on the jet yesterday. She still barely slept at night, and if she wasn't reading, she was keeping watch beside a window, which the room she was in currently lacked. For once, Cara Valentine was left blind to the outside world, yet she felt comfortable enough to relax. Perhaps it was because she was re-reading her current favorite book, but regardless, she enjoyed it.
Suddenly, the sound of blunt knocking hammered against the hotel door, and her hand froze; the page held between her fingertips paused in mid-air. Goosebumps traveled across her body, and she held her breath. Nothing but intense panic raced through her veins, and she flinched as another knock echoed.
Placing the book on the bed, she stood up and quickly looked around for something to use as a weapon. Cara still hadn't been issued a gun, except for that one time, but the F.B.I. liked to pretend that didn't happen. Suddenly, her eyes landed on the green bedside lamp, and she unplugged it, tip-toeing her way toward the door. Another knock sounded.
Cara leaned forward, cautiously peering through the peephole to see that it was none other than Aaron Hotchner standing outside. A rush of relief flooded her nervous system, and she reclined. Unlocking the door, she threw it open, her right hand on the handle and her left one gripping the lamp.
"Do you ever sleep?" she retorted, tone neutral.
The Unit Chief wore a grim expression and stepped in without a word.
Furrowing her brows the tiniest bit, she closed the door and locked it back. "I'd make an inappropriate joke, but I can tell by how your forehead is creased and how white your knuckles are that this isn't the time," she observed, gesturing to his tense posture.
"Cara..." Hotch began, and Cara immediately tensed at him using her first name. He'd never called her Cara. "Joseph Arthur was just murdered during a riot at Edmonton Institution, and Kirk Farell has been found dead in a shower at the Kent Institution tonight. From the looks of the crime scene photographs, it appears Farell was murdered as well."
No.
As if stuck underwater, everything was dragging and warbling as the dark-haired man stood there, an uneasy expression displayed across his face. Cara's face had fallen, and she was as pale as chalk, standing there, absolutely frozen to the spot.
She couldn't decipher her feelings, but it certainly wasn't relief or happiness. Rather something more chilling. Her thoughts were flying by in a whirl of red, and all she could concentrate on was the last thing Joseph Arthur had ever said to her.
"Checkmate, Sin. God, I wish Le was here to see how petrified you look. You can count to ten as many times as you please, darling, but the truth will remain the same. We won."
She could still hear the maniacal tone in his voice and envision the jeering smirk he wore as he stared at her. She could still remember her urge to pin him against the wall and how difficult it was to keep herself under control. She could still hear herself counting to ten silently in an attempt to calm down and how he ruined that with his childish taunt.
Without realizing it, the lamp in her hand had fallen to the floor, and the lightbulb had burst into thousands of tiny shards. The sound of glass shattering echoed in the small hotel room, and Hotch walked forward, hand outstretched. "Cara, breathe." His words failed to stir her attention as tears welled up in her eyes. Hotch's face dropped further.
This was going just as rough as he presumed it would.
Even if she refused to admit it to anyone, everyone on the team knew Cara Valentine was absolutely terrified of the Red Scorpions and the threat they posed to her. They were furious and hurt by her betrayal, and they would send whatever messages they could to make that apparent.
"Take a deep breath, okay? It's going to be all right."
All he got in response was a slight shake of the head as the blonde backed away. She was entirely somewhere else and didn't have the slightest clue what she was doing. Her back hit a solid surface, and her bottom lip trembled. A river of inescapable panic whirled in her stomach, and she felt as if she could barely breathe. She could feel the tension boiling into her limbs and face while her mind replayed Arthur's words, her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow.
Spencer. I need Spencer.
He was the only person who'd figured out how to bring her out of a panic attack.
Words, however, were restricted, and she couldn't utter a thing.
Collapsing completely against the door, she felt lightheaded. The sound of her breathing was raspy and fast-paced; she felt like she'd just run a mile without stopping and was just now trying to catch her breath.
"Cara, breathe." Hotch's voice sounded a million miles away, and she recoiled at his touch. Shaking her head, she blinked back tears. "It's Hotch, Cara. Look at me." The tone he spoke in was the softest it'd ever been, and she gasped. Momentarily meeting his eyes, she caught a glimpse of the worry he wore.
"I know you're scared, but you're safe right now. Breathe." She tried to focus on his eyes the way she did with Spencer, but it didn't help. And that fact suffocated her.
Cara's chest heaved up and down as she attempted to catch her breath but was unable to. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," Hotch instructed, placing a hand on her shoulder. Unlike before, she didn't flinch and followed his instructions, closing her eyes.
"You're doing good. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
It took three minutes and twenty-three seconds before she could feel oxygen finally reaching her lungs. Fluttering her eyes back open, her vision blurred with hot tears the instant she saw Hotch. Right away, he noticed and stepped to the side. "Come on." He took her hand in his and rested the other on her back as he guided her around the glass. Soon, she felt herself being sat on the edge of something soft.
Everything around her was still in a haze, but her breathing had resumed back to normal. Her mind, however, was still racing— every thought connecting to the carousel of fears in her brain.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brought her hand to her mouth, covering it as the realization slammed into her. Arthur and Kirk were dead.
Who was next? Owen? Her dad? Her?
Squeezing her eyes shut once more, she leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. Her breath was coming out in shallow rasps against her palm, lungs unable to move against her suddenly heavy ribs. The thoughts running through her mind no longer made sense as replays of horrors long-forgotten became the primary focus.
Many of the memories she could recall involving Joseph and Kirk had been ones including the Red Blood and the torture she watched them inflict upon others and the anguish she'd taken part in. She'd suppressed much of those instances from her consciousness, but here they were. Back in full force, just as they had been weeks ago.
Brick by brick, the walls that she had protecting her at all times came tumbling down. A painful lump rested in her throat as the tears began to fall gradually. Sobs racked their way up her spine, and she pressed both hands to her mouth, trying to silence them.
The only sound that could be heard was muffled sobs, and she winced as Hotch touched her shoulder. "Cara, it's Hotch. I'm still here, all right?" His voice fully broke through, and she felt him rub her back comfortingly.
Sitting up, a whimper escaped her lips, and she leaned into him, no longer caring that he was seeing her in her most vulnerable state or that he was her boss. She just needed someone to hold onto so she knew that this was real and that she was physically safe for the time being.
The Unit Chief hesitantly coiled his arms around her, allowing Cara to clutch onto his sweater. Closing her eyes, she cried into his chest unceasingly. Neither of them knew how much time had passed or how long they sat there, but Cara didn't care. She was just grateful for the silence surrounding them and that Hotch voluntarily sat there, wordlessly comforting her without objection.
Eventually, the crying faded as her body was utterly drained. She had nothing left in her as her breathing slowed, no longer coming in and out in wheezy rasps.
She allowed herself to feel the beat of her heart against the bare bones of her ribcage and how anxious she felt. She allowed herself to feel all of it until there was nothing left. Another hollow pit overtook the bundle of nerves in her chest and she slumped.
The left side of her body was curled into Hotch, and her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, head tucked under his chin. The hotel room was silent, and Cara could make out slivers of the sunrise peeking through the blinds. One final tear made its way down her face, and she let out a heavy breath, her grip on Hotch loosening.
She was okay.
A slow and steady breath left her lips and her shoulders dropped.
She was okay.
"When's the last time you ate?" Hotch asked, breaking the quietness that had been engulfing them.
Cara shrugged. "I had coffee for lunch yesterday," she replied softly, knowing that he was most likely rolling his eyes.
"When's the last time you slept? As in gotten genuine sleep. Naps don't count," he added quickly before she could reply with the answer she typically gave him.
"A couple of months ago," she muttered, feeling his grip tighten. "I'm too scared to sleep at night," she admitted. "When you're asleep, you're at your most vulnerable. I don't want to be caught off-guard or have nightmares. As long as I don't sleep for more than three hours, I don't fall into a deep enough sleep to have dreams." This was the first time she was truthful about how much rest she'd been getting over the past six months.
"You should have said something," Hotch stated, and she could feel his eyes on her.
Cara shrugged again. "It never came up, and besides, you all have already done so much for me. I didn't want to tax any of you with more troubles of mine."
Hotch scoffed. "Cara, you and your well-being are not a burden. Not to any of us. You're a member of this team and your health matters. You matter." Her cheeks burned at his words. "Take a shower and get dressed. We're going to get breakfast and head to the precinct early. You can sleep on one of the couches there. I don't want you at the hotel alone, and I don't trust the police enough to keep an eye on you."
Unwrapping her arms from around him, Cara pulled away and nodded. Hotch stood up and gave her a rare and sincere smile, to which she responded with a weak half-smile. "Thank you," she whispered, watching as he nodded.
"Of course."
𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 ─── ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act one: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙿𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂, ¹
╱ ✹ ▬▬ ❛ © CARDIIAC 2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━ 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 ࿐ ໋₊ ˖
hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the thirty-second chapter!
#tbt to when cara told herself she'd never cry in front of hotch... oops.
when i first wrote this in 2019, i seriously debated whether or not i wanted to turn this story into a hotch + cara fanfic. deadass. i really like them together and their dynamic. there's potential there, folks. (but let's forget i ever admitted that.)
the next chapter is a continuation off of this one and is a chapter that i really like.
REMINDER: WE ARE THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM ACT TWO!!!! GET EXCITED!!!
here are two more cute edits i made out of boredom:
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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸
Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.
Don't forget to vote & comment!
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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸
❝ All Rights Reserved.
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