Prologue: Tiny Bottles of Gin
"He's dead, Elle. You won." Dr. Reid sat across from Elle Greenaway, watching as she poured another tiny bottle of gin into her glass, assuming the room's mini-bar must be all but dry by now. After taking another sip, Elle picked up the last of the tiny bottles, contemplating it. She pushed it towards Reid along with a second glass. He took the bottle and unscrewed the top, upending it into the glass without ever taking his eyes from her face. It was obvious that she didn't want to talk anymore, but this case was tearing her up. Her wounds were still fresh in the most literal sense. He was worried.
"Here's to winning," she commented bitterly, savoring the burn of the alcohol in her throat. She ran a hand through her hair and flicked her eyes down to Reid's untouched glass. He knew that was his cue. He picked up the glass and took a few sips, still pointedly watching her.
Elle placed her glass on the table softly, staring down at it to avoid Reid's gaze. "I don't think I can do it anymore."
"Do what anymore?" He asked as he shifted in his seat.
"You know what," she snapped without looking up.
Reid sighed and downed the rest of his gin. He held his empty glass a few inches above the table and let it drop. Elle's head snapped up instantaneously, fear in her eyes.
"Post-traumatic stress," he stated simply as he reached across the table. For a split second he considered placing his hand on hers, but he thought better of it and snatched her glass instead.
"Hey, what the hell do—"
"You don't need any more." Reid tipped the glass back and forth. "The word gin actually comes from the French and Italian words for 'juniper', which is the main ingredient—"
When she interrupted him she didn't sound angry, just exhausted. "Reid. Thanks for your concern and all, but you can go."
They made eye contact for the first time in minutes. "I'm not going anywhere."
A sad smile crept onto Reid's lips and he drank the rest of the gin from Elle's glass. There had been a little more than he thought and he coughed against the unexpected burn. "I don't know how you drink that stuff."
"Practice," Elle replied nonchalantly and pushed her chair back from the table. When she stood, Reid began to get up as well. She held up a hand, "Sit down, genius, I just have to pee."
He shot her a suspicious glance as she disappeared into the bathroom. Instead of sitting back down, Reid crossed the room to the pictures scattered across the bed. If they didn't find this rapist soon, before he could hurt anyone else, Elle was going to keep blaming herself. He sat on the edge of the bed. Gathering the pictures carefully, he placed them in chronological order. The team had already come up with an explanation for the change in the unsub's choice of victim, and there wasn't much else to be learned from the pictures, but he looked through them one by one anyway.
A few minutes later, there was a small click from the bathroom door, and Elle emerged with her eyes significantly redder than when she had gone in. Reid chose not to mention it. He stood up and placed the stack of pictures on the table. Elle had stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the pictures.
"You know we're going to find him, right?" Reid put a hand on her shoulder and pulled out a chair for her, motioning for her to sit. When she did, he moved back to his seat across from her.
"This job," she began quietly, "I thought I wanted it. And for a while I did. But I hear women screaming when I try to sleep. I see a shadow behind every corner. I'm terrified of glasses dropped on tables, Spencer."
Elle so rarely called him by his first name that it caught him off guard. He fidgeted with the edge of his tie, vaguely aware that he was no longer sober. "I- it- given what you've been through that's perfectly normal."
"I know." Elle slapped her hand onto the pile of picture next to her and fanned them out in front of Reid. "Look at them. How many more? How tall is this pile going to be before we catch this bastard?"
Reid knew better than to answer. Those questions weren't meant for him. He let her sit there quietly for a few seconds, and then he gathered the pictures. He put them facedown and kept his hand on the pile. "We'll get him. I promise."
Elle heaved a cynical sigh, still focused on the pictures. She jumped when she felt Reid's hand brush against hers. "Elle." She was in tears when she looked up at him. "I promise."
He sat there holding her hand for nearly an hour, the room silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner and an occasional sob. "It's past midnight. You should try and get some sleep. We have a lot of work to get done tomorrow."
She nodded. He was right. He was always right. "Okay," she agreed, and pulled her hand away from his. It gave her the strange sensation that she was all alone in the world again, but she did her best to shake it off.
"Okay," Reid gave her a strained smile as he stood, pictures in hand.
Elle walked him to the door, slowly realizing she was in for a hangover the next morning. The back of her head was already pounding. Reid tried to decipher the expression on her face. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," she waved off his concern quicker than he liked. "Headache is all." She opened the door and ushered him out, rubbing her temples as she leaned on the doorframe. "Goodnight, Reid."
"Goodnight, Elle." He nodded and turned to walk away. Glancing back, he added, "And seriously, try to sleep."
She gave him a nod of agreement and shut the door behind her. Once the door was locked, she laid down on the bed, on top of the blankets and still in her clothes. Intending to just catch her breath for a second, she closed her eyes and fell asleep before she could even think to get up again.