Moving On
This is written for the 'The Times are Changing' mini-challenge on CCOAC. The aim of which was to write a piece related to the departure of Ashley Seaver.
This is a letter to David Rossi, from Ashley, which she has written to try and explain her reasons for leaving the BAU.
. . .
David,
I wanted to have a chance to explain to you why I have made the choice that I have. Ideally I would be doing this face to face, I really owe you that. But for several reasons I couldn't. The main one being that I knew you would try to talk me out of this, and I know how persuasive you can be.
I have chosen to leave the BAU, and potentially the FBI. It is not a decision I have taken lightly, please believe me in that. I have agonised over that for days, and nights. Realising that having everything you ever dreamed of is really a living nightmare, well, it can shatter any confidence you have in making decisions about your own future.
I think the best place to start is the beginning. The reason why I thought the FBI, and specifically the BAU, was what I wanted.
The day that you and your team stormed into my home and turned my rocky world upside down is one I will never forget. Everything about that day is engrained in me forever. The memory is a fresh as if it only happened yesterday.
But it didn't happen yesterday. It was a few years ago, when I was eighteen and naive for my age. The rose tinted spectacles I wore daily were ripped from me that day, and crushed into a million pieces. I have spent years picking up those pieces and trying to put my life back together, to view it in a better light. However each day it has crumbled further.
Every teenager wants to be normal, not stand out, and have a normal family that do normal things. I had spent my teenage years trying to pretend I lived in the perfect family, Mom, Dad and me. I suppose I got my ability to stick my head in the sand from my Mom, we had both learnt life was better if you didn't rock the boat.
Dad was protective, overtly and embarrassingly so at times, but all Dads are, was my reasoning. I was his little girl and he didn't want anything bad to happen to me. Little did I know that he knew first-hand the meaning of something 'bad'. That he knew the pure evil that was out there preying on young girls. I just never knew that the very same evil had seeped into our family home. Invading us and eventually ripping my family apart.
Sometimes, when I look back I think Mom and I both knew, but then I think I can now see the signs because of the knowledge I have gained. So much of my life up to the day you came thundering through my door is a blur. I sometimes struggle to distinguish truth from vivid dreams. Did I see the clues? Could I have stopped him? Or is it my imagination?
Yet that day is crystal clear. I can smell the meal Mom was cooking, a roast. I was reluctantly helping her bake a cake. Dad was very demanding, real Stepford Wife stuff. I was adding nutmeg to the mix as the shouting and banging started. I jumped and dropped the bowl. I think Mom was more upset about that then everything that was going on around us.
I remember seeing your guns, guns everywhere. Yet I wasn't scared, not until I heard Dad. The boom of his voice, sent shivers down my spine, Mom started cleaning frantically. The fear was evident in her face. I froze, watching you, just you. Most people shrink back from my Dad when he's calm, yet alone in full flight of a rage. Yet you stood there, you didn't flinch as he came towards you. You spoke calmly, quietly, the polar opposite of my father.
Everyone around you have their weapon raised, trained on him, but you had yours pointing down. Your words were your weapon, your voice your shield. You never took your eyes off him. Everyone was shouting commands, but your quiet voice cut through all the noise. Inches away from you he stopped, I remember being surprised he got so close to you, but your team listened and did as you said, they let him. The two of you face to face, neither said a thing.
Then he turned to me, looked me in the eye. In a whisper, he said, "I did it because I love you. You are perfection to me."
The room spun, I had no idea what he had done, but I was to blame. It was my entire fault. Gasping for breath I remember the look of pity on your face, your eyes trying to reassure me, as two of your team took him away. It was then you made your way over to me. To me, not Mom, but me.
You didn't say a word, but you hugged me, tight. You didn't let go until the tears stopped, you just stood, stroking my hair. Standing in silence, following the earthquake that had hit our house; just the aftershock of sobs from Mom and me.
You came back daily, to talk us through what was happening. You took us to his trial. You brought us home again. You continued to visit, not as often, but when you could. Every the time, that same look of pity in your eyes.
Eventually, you moved on, until you found me in training.
I had made it into the FBI: my chosen path, my road to redemption.
Yet again, at the momentous point in my life, there stands David Rossi, watching over me like a guardian angel. You give me a break, at foot in the door of the BAU. I was so grateful.
However I should have learnt my lesson then. I was in the wrong place. There was no shining light moment, no lifting of the weight from my conscious. Reaching out to help the family left me vulnerable.
As with everything in my life I persisted. I didn't fall at the first hurdle, I moved on, as you advised. But I now realise I was just fooling myself. I wasn't moving on, I was standing still, my father's shadow constantly looming over me.
I joined the FBI to settle the score, to save the souls my father stole. I wanted to reset the balance. I realise I was setting myself up for a fall. Luckily I saw the light before I hit the ground.
I was living in a nightmare, not just from what I saw with the team, but my father continued to plague me. Sleep deprivation is a cruel torture, one I'm sure you are more than aware of. I started to see him wherever we went, whatever the case. He was mocking me, smirking, letting me know I couldn't clear the slate. I was responsible for the deaths he created and no matter what I did the blood would stay on my hands. He was continuing to rule my life.
Then it dawned on me. Every decision I had made from that day, the day I met you, had been made because of my father's actions. I stopped living that very day. The day you walked in Ashley Seaver died. I may be living and breathing, but I was his last victim.
Before I knew what my father was I had dreams. Happy dreams, goals for my future and a life. I want that again. I want to be me.
So here ends Agent Ashley Seaver. I am leaving tomorrow to travel, to find the answers to my questions. To find me.
Thank you David for everything you have done. I hope I haven't disappointed you. You have played such a pivotal part in my life for so long now, but in your own words of wisdom I must move on, before I let this consume me.
Yours forever
Ash
. .
Slowly and deliberately David folded the letter and returned it to its pristine white envelope. Sighing deeply he switched off the desk lamp and made his way to the door. Another agent full of potential, chewed up and spat out by the FBI.
Closing the door behind him, his attention was caught by his own reflexion. His dark scrutinising eyes glared back at him. Maybe the kid was right, she'd had a lucky escape, before the BAU had sucked her in. Got out while she still could, he thought.
Dropping his head, he walked away. Maybe one day he'd take on board the advice he so freely dealt. Maybe one day he would be brave enough to move on.
. .
There it is, hope you like, and please let me know your thoughts.