Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.

Pull Me Through: Part I

Events turned so quickly upon themselves, yet it would take time to filter through the team and in turn, slowly cast a cloud of darkness over them. Their most recent case had them working frantically piecing together the clues given to them by the unsub to find a missing girl— no one would have foreseen their objective change as the case shifted from a taunting unsub to an extremely personal one. Personal in the way in which the unsub now contacted them directly, a first since their 'quest' had begun, via Elle's extension.

"She didn't have to die!" the unsub's voice, like sandpaper, snapped loudly over the speakerphone, causing some to stop in their tracks and watch as Gideon tapped a button that cut the line. Hotchner stood beside him, arms folded tightly across his chest as he knew exactly which 'she' the unsub referred to. He stared at Gideon for a moment, didn't have to die? When Anderson caught his eye, he realised exactly what it meant. Being that the team had been working in their customary smaller groups with J.J. and Morgan on their way, if not already in Boston; following up on a lead and Reid working through the clues in a conference room. Gideon and Hotchner had been left to work through other details and interview the young man who delivered the package to Hotchner's home— all unaware of the fact that following the press conference led by J.J., the unsub had broken into Elle's flat and lay in wait for her arrival, which hadn't been long, as Hotchner unknowingly played right into his hand by sending her home with another agent. Even so, he and Gideon bore equal responsibility for the fresh chaos inflicted upon the team. Once news of Elle's undergoing life saving surgery reached them, the thought of loosing a member shook them of their confidence as emotions had begun to get the better of them—possibly clouding judgement, so when Gideon suggested that he go home to his family and get some rest, the raven haired agent didn't protest— only nodded his response and without another word, walked down the long hallway to the elevator.

He knew he ought to be grateful to have a family to go home to— but on the other hand, he knew there was no way that he could go home. He just felt that there was something that he needed to do, something that had been slowly gnawing at him ever since he arrived at the hospital. While he knew that he was indeed in the right place, he spent the better part of twenty minutes staring at her flat trying to muster up the courage to go inside. He thought of the past weeks and the events that plagued that week, the most recent in particular— all leaving a distant, drawn out aftertaste in his mouth. With each and every detail still fresh in his mind, and while he knew that once he opened the car door and closed it behind with a thud; there would be no turning back. He ever so slowly let the breath he had been holding escape his lips in a loud sigh as he gingerly cut through the police tape with the jagged edge of one of the many keys that resided comfortably on his key chain— a plastic holder protected the photograph of his wife and their son. He absently fished in his jacket pocket for the key to the flat and held it for a moment between surprisingly steady fingers before he slid it into the lock with ease, then slowly turned the doorknob and pushed open the French door.

At first, he was unable to see much— the only illumination was provided by the glittering shimmer of the silver moon that seemed to seep into the room through a soft canopy of leaves from the trees that stood proudly outside the window. Running his fingers lightly over the wall, he fumbled for a light switch and turned on the lights, casting a soft glow upon the room. As his eyes adjusted to the light, they immediately came to rest on the blood smeared on the once pristine white wall. RULES had been deliberately spelt out in large, bold, capital letters in Elle's blood, long dried a deep crimson. He then noted the dark drying stain on the carpet in front of the low wooden coffee table that remained undisturbed in front of the window seat, which he quickly assumed to be the primary crime scene. She had more than likely been so tired that she literally had fallen asleep there on the bench— as the indentation of her form seemed to be remembered by the pillows. It truly sickened him, almost in the physical sense to think that someone, the unsub no less, had done this to one of his own— he was supposed to look after his team, yet in this case, there wasn't a damn thing that he could do to protect her.

Standing in her home, it wasn't hard to let his mind wander, wasn't hard to recall the first time he laid eyes on her. He remembered how professional she had been in her attire— she wore a neatly cut navy suit, black high heeled shoes, and a white knit top. He also didn't miss how she wore her dark shoulder length hair in neat, soft waves that caressed her very straight, very strong shoulders; a contradiction to her tuff as nails exterior. She had approached him with a firm handshake in greeting and appeared eager to begin her career with the Behavioural Analysis Unit. She had also shown interest in meeting and working with Special Agent Jason Gideon, who's reputation always proceeded him, no doubt a major draw for her joining the team. He also recalled how well their interview had been one of the more pleasant ones he had experienced, not for a moment feeling like a chore and he had been very pleased with how well he thought she would mesh with the existing team members. Her first day would be a whirlwind of filling out paperwork and quick introductions, save for Gideon, who was still technically on medical leave— after which, she was briefed and would join the team in the field.

A small smile crept across his lips as he recalled how well Elle had been so incredibly poised under the pressure of her first case and he could tell in that moment that she had wanted to be an asset to the team, which she was and would continue to be. She had even managed to control her impatience while covering Gideon from a fair distance as he directed the attention of the man who used his victim as a shield. Funny how the memory then caused the sudden rush of guilt to resurface— he hadn't been able to look out for her. He found himself following the bloody trail further into the living room, where the telephone still lay on the floor amongst a secondary patch of drying blood. He looked around and then found a storage closet where he searched and retrieved a bucket, a strong cloth, and cleaning solution— then headed towards the bathroom where he filled the bucket nearly to the brim with water. Careful not to spill the contents, he returned to the entry, placed the bucket underneath the bloody message, dunked the cloth into the hot water, not caring whether it not it burned his hands and wrung out the excess before scrubbing madly at the blood stained wall. He knew full well that he was embarking on a futile task— he knew far too well that he would be far more successful in stripping the layer of paint off the wall before the stubborn blood would ever release its iron grip.

Despite the fact, at his core, he knew that at least he was doing something. It had to be better than waiting around, he mused as he dunked the cloth back into the bucket. At the very least she can return home without the evidence as a reminder of what had transpired. Besides, there was no way that Gideon would leave her side, and he'll keep me up to date on her condition, he thought as his arms begun to ache, but seeing how much more he had to do, he ignored the pain and pressed on. He continued to scrub until the pain had become so unbearable that he could no longer hold the cloth and dropped it into the bucket with a splash.

"Damn it!" he angrily cursed at the empty room and stepped back to inspect his work. The result unsatisfying and the loud sigh echoed sharply in his ears as he slammed his back against the wall and slid down until he was leaning on his heels— his elbows rested on his thighs, he then massaged his temples with his long fingers. All that effort and nothing to really show for it, as in truth, the result looked more like a failed attempt at a paint technique, rather than an attempt to erase the memory of their case. Perhaps a coat of fresh paint, new flooring and along with that, everything would return as it once was— Time would miraculously be reversed to the moments that led up to Gideon's gross miscalculation in drawing out the unsub, and his own ingenious idea to send her home to get some much-needed rest. Why hadn't I been clearer in my instructions? If Anderson had been properly informed, had he stayed with her as I thought he would— the whole situation could have been averted and Elle would not be lying half dead in a hospital bed because of us; because of me. With that realisation hitting him like a transport truck, his mind suddenly refused to process anymore. Instead, his brown eyes set back on the wall, and just as quickly he felt himself being pulled out of a trance; picked up the bucket, retraced his steps back to the bathroom and dumped the soiled water, rinsed the cloth and draped it over the buckets lip.

To Be Continued…

A/N: I ought to apologise in advance for any 'major grammatical' errors as this is the first piece I've written in a very long time in a past tense, which is another reason I've been so long in posting (it took me a while to 'get into it').