Only the Devil Fears Not the Reaping

In the beginning it had been Kelly Nieman she saw.

She has never been a particularly vain person. She knows she's pretty. She's been told it enough times. But it's never been something that she's focused on. It's just been part of her identity. Until now.

She wishes she could say it had been a blind rage she had flown into. That she hadn't known what she was doing, but she had known all too well. She could have tied Nieman up. She could have incapacitated her in some way. Instead she had wrestled the scalpel from her grasp, twisting the doctor's hand back in a move she had learned the first day in hand-to-hand training at the academy. Just a tweak of the wrist and the fingers failed to work, the steel blade falling useless to the table beside her head. Gripping Nieman's hair, she pulled the woman down, smacking her head against the table, knocking her out long enough to daze her, to claw her way free of her bindings and grasp the metal tool. There had been so many weapons to choose from, some larger, some pointed, sinister, others more dull. But she hadn't wanted those. Her gun had been in the corner by the computer. The computer. Her eyes had connected with the screen once again as Nieman started to stir, the face of ligaments, tendons and muscles staring back at her. She hadn't wanted the gun, she hadn't wanted quick and painless. She hadn't wanted a trial by jury. She'd wanted revenge.

When they debriefed her at the precinct she said there had been a struggle. They vied for the knife. Kate did the only thing she could do to save herself. It had been self-defense. In reality she had stood in front of the door, and watched as Nieman crawled across the floor to the opposite corner of the room. She could have run. She could have called for help, instead she had silently watched as the woman crawled aimlessly toward the back corner, as if the right angle could somehow shield her. Thoughts raced through her head like a rollercoaster, an endless whirr of nauseating loops and heart-stopping drops. What would Nieman have done with her face? Would she disappear quietly into the night or would she have a little fun first- torture her family- the daughter who had just started kissing her goodbye, the father who clung to her like a lifeline after every near-death experience, the sweet, heroic man curled up behind her, feigning sleep about as well as she was. How would she use her face to forever taint their idea of "Always?"

She had slit her throat, execution style: one hand on her forehead, the other running the thin, sharp blade across her neck. She had pleaded, just like Kate had hours earlier, a frantic hoarse sound, followed by choked, wet gurgles. And Kate had watched.

In the beginning, every time she closed her eyes she had seen Kelly Nieman's dead gaze. Now she's back in that room, the cold press of the scalpel against her skin, her own faceless image staring back at her. Part of her wishes the plastic surgeon had marred her. Then, at least, she'd have an excuse for not being the same beautiful person she had been before.


A/N: Just a little post-ep my brain stirred up for Reckoning. Because even though Beckett only spoke about 10 lines in the whole episode, her eyes said so much more. Who knows if this is what happened between Beckett and Nieman, or if we'll ever find out. I guess only time will tell. ;)

Thank you to KC and Dia for the wisdom and beta. You guys make my words pretty.