Dear readers, I am currently writing a story called 'Scared is the Excuse Everyone Has Always Used', and this one-shot serves as a prequel to it. I appreciate any reviews/favorites this gets, and I would be happy if people read the main story to this too - even if it is just one reader - it means a lot. I love feedback so please don't hesitate and constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you enjoy this!
It had been a couple of months since Elle Greenaway had left the BAU. Initially, it was hard. Despite the numbing fear experienced every night as she tossed and turned through plaguing nightmares and the dread that remained every morning as she woke from fitful sleep in a cold sweat, she did love the team. She was still familiar to the routine of walking through the offices and finding Spencer and Derek playing around, a light-hearted expression on the latter's face whilst the intelligent doctor attempted to focus. Then there was Gideon, the man she couldn't forgive, but thinking about that, the harbored hatred towards the once fatherly figure made her sick with constant agonizing thoughts. She tried to forget about him by focusing on the happy, perky females she had worked alongside - JJ and Penelope. She wondered how they were doing, if they were okay. After all, if anyone knew just how terrible things could get, it was Elle.
None of them deserved the pain she had suffered. Not even Gideon. Simply thinking about the innocent Doctor Reid suffering, or having the optimistic Penelope broken due to the actions of a bullet, sent shivers down her spine. Then, of course, there was Aaron. Unlike Gideon, she couldn't hate him, even if she blamed him in some way for what the Fisher King had done to her. Even if he resented her. After the accident, it had been Derek who revealed how Aaron had been the one who washed the blood off her walls. Maybe that was why she couldn't hate him. He showed remorse; Gideon believed he could do no wrong.
Then again, she hardly felt remorse over the shooting of Lee. However, he was deserving of the death sentence. If she could turn back time she would act in the exact same way. Watching his body lose the last breath wasn't rewarding, but it was liberating. Night horrors may torment her every time she shut her eyes, but at least she had saved one would be victim from his dirty hands. What had Gideon accomplished by playing his part in her shooting? An almost dead agent.
Things were better though, physically rather than mentally. Moving out to Cuba had been the best choice Elle had made in a while. Relationships with her mother were still strained, but the older woman was willing to put a roof over her head until she found a place of her own. A friend of the family had given her a job at their small diner, slowly allowing her to build up funds until she could afford a small, slightly run down bungalow on the same street as her assorted family.
Under the heated sun, she was getting a nice tan. Short hair cut off in a frenzy was growing back, now just past her shoulders. By the end of the year it could quite possibly be close to her elbows, something she was relieved about. Spending time in the country was psychically rewarding.
However, whenever her mind wandered, she could remember Lee's dead body slumped over with the blood pooling out from his wounds. Shutting her eyes at night transported her back to her old apartment, still able to feel Garner's hands inside of her… scrawling his warning on the walls of her house, in her own blood. Sometimes she woke up needing to throw up, other times she needed to walk around outside. Listening to the ocean waves was soothing. But that reassurance never lasted long. Whenever she was home alone, the gaping emptiness of the four walls made her paranoid. Entering a new room, she expected someone to be waiting for her, ready to attack. Every knock on the door was a masked man with a gun. Even in the warmest of summer days she never opened her windows. That was how Garner had got in.
She rarely handed her address out either. With the exception of family, trusted work colleges and wage slips, nothing made its way to her doorstep. Which made it quite the surprise to wake one morning to post. Showering away the remains of a bad night's sleep, the brunette had stumbled across to the small kitchen space that was home to the front door. There, instead of making toast and coffee, she found herself bending down to pick up a small, white envelope. She studied it carefully, turning it over in her fingers to find her address scrawled across the front. Running her fingers over it, despite not having seen the sender in months, she recognized the font immediately.
"Spencer," she breathed, opening up the envelope to find a large piece of paper folded up inside. Retrieving it, she walked over to her sofa and sat down upon it, wondering just why he would want to write to her. Didn't everyone think she was a cold blooded murderer?
Elle finished the letter with shaking hands, teary eyes and a state of disbelief. Clinging to his written words tightly, wishing she could be there for him, the woman let out a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. In the three page long letter, Spencer had done what she had never been able to do herself, reveal everything. He had told her of Hankel, of the pain experienced under drugs and torture and he had explained just how he had got in the situation. After his revelations, he had tried to get across where he was with his thoughts, it was painful to read. Nothing had fully sunk in but she couldn't read it again. The man had finished with: I'm sorry you had to read this, but I don't know who else to turn to. You are the only one who can understand.
It seemed that, for the first time, someone understood her. If Reid had found a kindred spirit in her, then she wouldn't let him go through the ordeal alone. After all, she had been forced into isolation, he shouldn't experience the same. So she wrote back. At first it was words of reassurance and comfort, explaining that she understood what he was feeling. He asked if it would ever go away, they both knew the answer, which made it slightly easier for Elle to reply with a 'no'. Slowly though, conversation naturally turned to other things.
It became easier to talk to him and it became easier to open up to others. She even let her distant cousin, Robbie, come out to visit her during his daughter Rebecca's school holiday over summer. Writing to Spencer didn't stop the horrors of the night creeping to her in the shadows, it didn't stop the fear of not been alone in the house and it didn't stop the feeling of Garner's hand in her chest. However, it seemed the contact was benefiting Spencer's mentality in a way it never could for her. No longer was he an addict and was easing back into his BAU role. He was strong, that was obvious.
One day, he asked her why she had run away.
She told him she had experienced worse than Garner without delving into explanation. She revealed he was a trigger.
He didn't question her further.
After a while he started talking about the team. At first, Elle had told him not to, reluctant to let them in again. As if Spencer was psychic, he brought her up to date on them all just as she was starting to feel a longing. She already knew Gideon had left, after all she was left to comfort Spencer via the written word after that event, but he told her everything else. About the man's replacement, about Hotch's struggling marriage and the good and bad times experienced by everyone in the group.
It was then, after starting to heal in some strange way, that everything came crashing down around her once again.
Expecting a white envelope every couple of weeks became a natural thing. Shipping from the furthest corner of Cuba to Virginia took time, so she wasn't disappointed by the absence of contact at her doorstep. She knew it would be coming, Spencer didn't disappoint. One day though, the writing changed. It was neater, straighter and the occasional doodle on the fold of the envelope wasn't there. Nervous, Elle tore through the container, watching a piece of yellow paper float to the floor.
Bending down, she picked it up. It began with 'Ellie' and only one person ever called her that. "Robbie?" Elle sighed quietly, quickly reading through his letter in panic. Every now and again, she caught words such as 'hospital', 'coma' and 'hit and run', flinging the letter aside she ran into her bedroom, retrieved her suitcase and packed everything she could fit. There had been an accident; Robbie's young daughter was in hospital.
From the airport, she phoned her boss and explained the situation. He granted her as much time off as she needed. Then she phoned her landlord, a kind, elderly woman called Natalia. She was understanding and would leave the place in good hands. Finally she contacted Robbie who got his friend David to pick her up from the airport. Elle was reluctant to be escorted by a stranger, after everything that had happened to her, but she was assured he was a good man. She was skeptical, but desperate to be there for her cousin so didn't put up a fight.
It turned out David was lovely. He greeted her happily, took her case and placed it in the car, even holding her door open for her. Sitting inside, at the back in case he tried anything (she didn't have her gun, she would have to get physical and it was harder for him to reach her here), he asked her if she didn't mind listening to the radio. The first song was one they both loved. From there, it was an easier trip.
Arriving at the hospital was terrifying. David promised to take her case to Robbie's place, allowing her to go straight to the ward. There, she found him. Bags under his eyes, red rimmed too. Wrinkled and untucked clothes informed her he hadn't been home in days. Getting nearer to him, the smell of cheap deodorants heightened, his lack of a shower in days was attempting to be masks. When he saw her, he leapt up and hugged her tight. At first she flinched, not used to contact. Slowly though, she allowed herself to comfort him. Promising him everything would be fine.
Two days later Rebecca died.
Robbie was inconsolable and Elle found herself returning to New York on a permanent basis. Calls were made to secure her residence and explain to those back in Cuba that she wouldn't be returning. Moving into a rundown bungalow with her cousin wasn't a turn she had been expecting, but there she stayed. Weeks passed, the funeral had been tough but he was slowly starting to get his life back. Getting a new job as a school receptionist reminded Elle she needed to start afresh too.
Thankfully, David gifted her a role in his nightclub. He was struggling to find workers who could contend with the rough crowd and she wanted a distraction. It was the perfect arrangement. Four months had passed in her new life when she realized for the first time that she had forgotten about Spencer.
That night she had tried to redeem herself. Buying some stationary, she sat down under the guidance of a dingy lamp with her pen in hand, staring at the paper intently - as if her glare would cause her thoughts to become imprinted upon it. Nothing came. She tried to write, explaining her absence. But it sounded pathetic. When she attempted to explain her thoughts it made no sense. Reid was so good at this, but after all of this time she still struggled. Angry, Elle flung the paper away.
Once again, the good things in her life were snatched away and the woman spent every night, after struggling out of the grip of nightly terrors, wondering how Spencer Reid was doing, hoping he no longer felt alone. Wishing that one day, she would be the one strong enough to make that first step.
And then the murders began…