A/N: I'm thinking there will only be one more chapter after this one. After that I might go on to regular CM-Hotchniss fics. I just felt like getting this idea out of my head while it lingered. Hopefully it's been at least a little entertaining!
Please review!
She had spent the past decade of her life living in Alaska, so the view that surrounded her wasn't all that impressive. Sure, Colorado had some gorgeous scenery, but she'd definitely seen better.
On the roof of the hospital was a small shed filled with tools and old wheelchairs. She climbed on top of it and opened up the bottle of Sprite she had gotten from the vending machine just down the hall from Laramie's room. The cool beverage soothed her throat and elicited an involuntary "hmmm" as she pulled the bottle away from her lips. She sounded like she was in a damn commercial.
Chuckling, she set the drink aside and stretched her arms out in front of herself. She could have fallen asleep right then and there if she wanted to. Well, she did want to, but she couldn't.
Now that the General was dealt with, she had a few more people to see to. She was nowhere near finished.
But for some reason, she wanted to stay. Just a little longer.
"Mom! I see one!" The voice startled her.
She looked down towards the lower roof to smile at her boy. He had the little metal telescope she had gotten him for his eighth birthday held up to his eye. One of his feet was up on the ledge surrounding the roof and his elbows rested on his knee as he gazed out across the sky.
He looked like an adorable little pirate.
"What do you see buddy?" Molly asked, taking another sip of her drink.
"A bluebird! It really is blue!"
"Well, what did you expect ding-dong?"
He grinned and glanced over his shoulder. "I thought it would be more gray." He informed her patiently. "They say gray cats are blue and gray dogs are blue. I thought it would be the same."
She stuck out her lower lip and nodded. Well, he had a point there.
Flynn hopped down from his perch and half-ran, half-galloped over to the shed. He made no move to climb up and join her; he just stood at the bottom and squinted up at her. "Bruce will be blue." He said with a firm nod. "Blue with white paws."
She arched a brow. "Bruce?"
"Our dog."
"I thought we were going to wait until we met the dog to name it." She of course was going to let him choose the name regardless, so it didn't really matter. She was just curious about the change.
The boy shrugged one shoulder and picked at the end of a feather that was coming out of his jacket sleeve. "I just think it will fit no matter what. Bruce is a good, strong name. And we're getting a good, strong dog. It just makes sense."
Again, she couldn't argue with him. His logic was always flawless.
"Well, Bruce it is then."
/
"Is that her car?" Emily pointed to the Wagoneer with wood paneling the second they pulled into the hospital's parking lot. It was in a spot in the last row, but it was in plain sight.
Hotch responded with a short, "Mhm," as he whipped the SUV into the carport by the entrance.
Thinking that they had an emergency, a nurse rushed out with a wheelchair. She paused when she saw the three young and perfectly healthy people jump out and flash their badges at her. "I'm sorry." She let out a huff. "May I help you?"
"Ma'am, we're looking for General Arnold Laramie." Derek placed himself in front of Prentiss, knowing that if given the chance, his partner would jump down the startled woman's throat for answers. She was frantic and terrified that time was running out, so her normal calm was thrown out the window.
The nurse's mouth parted in confusion. Her brows furrowed as she looked from one agent to the next. "He's on the third floor...is this about his daughter?"
Not bothering to correct her, Emily made her way through the front doors into the warm lobby. "Is she still here?"
More of the hospital staff jumped up from their respective places when they saw their badge and gun wielding guests. The first nurse waved her hands frantically at a tall dark skinned doctor standing behind the front desk. "Dr. Silva!" Her voice squeaked. "The FBI is here! About...about General Laramie!"
Silva tilted his head and glanced down at the file he was just having revised in the system. Had he missed something?
/
It was the second time in her life that she had woken up to such a sterile smell.
Squinting her eyes open, she winced when she was greeted with the harsh fluorescent lights above her bed. "What...?" Her voice cracked and it felt as though she had swallowed a bucket of sand. "Where...?"
"Good morning sunshine." A familiar voice came from her left. And though she was always prepared for any sort surprise, whether good or bad, she almost jumped at the sight of the dark haired man sitting in the chair by the door.
"Nick?" She hated herself for whimpering.
His eyes softened as he stood up and approached the bed slowly, cautiously. "How are you feeling?"
Molly gave him a look, letting him know just how ridiculous his question was. "You know that's to be determined."
He laughed and bobbed his head up and down. "Of course. Sorry."
Moments passed, and they stared at each other in silence.
It had been nearly a month since their last visit. He had met up with her in Pasadena the week she was going after three brothers who were thought to be involved in Abu Sayyaf. She had taken them out in one day-the idiots went out to eat at a café only three blocks from their headquarters. She was able to walk onto the patio, slit all three throats, and walk away in less than fifteen seconds.
So she rendezvoused with Nick in a motel thirty miles north and they had a wonderful time. He took her to dinner and to a museum. It was a nice three days filled with NO killing. Those were the best days.
"What happened?" She asked, not missing the twitch in his brow and tightening of his jaw.
"You...you don't remember?"
Molly rolled her eyes and snorted. "Well, I remember chasing after Vilches." She informed him. "He jumped out of his car on the bridge, so I had to go after him on foot."
Nick chewed on his lower lips and rubbed his fingertips across his chin. He nearly had a full beard now. "You chased him into a construction site." He filled in the blanks when she didn't continue. "They really don't know what happened, but the workers showed up on Monday morning to find him dead and you hanging from an elevator cable twelve stories up."
"Hanging?" She racked her brain, fighting through the drugs that had been pumped into her system.
"Yeah..." He cleared his throat lowered his eyes. "It had wrapped around your leg. They think that you had to have been there for at least eight hours. All of your blood had rushed to your head and they were worried about brain damage. I told them your brain couldn't get any more damaged." He chuckled, but his joke fell on deaf ears.
Molly was staring at her lower half. She was reclined almost to the point of sitting up-probably a method to regulate her blood flow-and a blanket covered her from the waist down. Beneath the white sheets, she could make out the outline of her waist and beyond that were two lumps with a space between. One lump was much shorter than the other.
Her mind was still a little fuzzy, so it took her nearly a whole minute to register what was wrong. "Where...what?" She pointed to her left leg-whole from thigh to toe-and then to her right. Just below her knee, there was nothing. But it felt heavy still. Why did it not feel any different? "Nick! What the hell?"
"The wire cut off the circulation." He closed his eyes as he spoke. "By the time they cut you down, the limb was as good as dead."
For a moment, he stood staring. Waiting for the inevitable breakdown that was sure to come.
But it didn't happen.
She just let out a shuddery breath and nodded. "Okay." Her hands shook as she tucked the blanket tighter around the uneven limbs. She wasn't ready to actually see the damage yet. "Um...could I get some water?"
/
Flynn found an old box of chalk in the corner of the roof. It had melted with the rainfall from a few days back and then re-hardened, so it wasn't as easy to write with, but he made do.
"Should it be one or two stories?" He called up to her.
She was still sitting on the roof of the shed, resting back on the palm of her hands and staring out at the mountains. They were miles away, but the sheer size of them almost made it look like they were within walking distance.
Blinking, she peered down at her boy. "I'm sorry, what was that kiddo?"
"The clubhouse." He pointed to his detailed sketch. "Mr. Azure will be back next week. I have to have a plan ready!"
His large eyes were serious and his jaw was set. He was so focused on his task.
Mr. Azure, the kind Inuit man who lived a few miles down the hill from them in Alaska, promised to help Flynn build a treehouse in the large Shore Pine just behind their house. He told the boy that as soon as he returned from his annual winter retreat in the tundra, he would get started. So naturally, that was all the ten year old could talk about.
"Let's start with one story, and then maybe when you're a little older, you can add another." Molly reasoned, sitting up and wiping off her hands.
"Yeah." Flynn grinned and went back to his plans. "I can build it myself by then!"
"Yeah." She echoed him with a small laugh.
It was quiet then.
And as though Mother Nature was waiting for the silence, snowflakes began to drift slowly from the sky.
The two Prentiss' tilted their heads back and sniffed the air, as they always did with first snowfalls. Nothing purified the air like winter.
"Can we play in it?" Flynn dropped the chalk and began climbing to his feet. He looked down the hill at the little field that rested just between the trees. He had mentioned earlier that it would be the ideal location to build an army of snowmen. Their current record was sixty-two.
Shrugging, Molly glanced up at the clouds that were quickly shifting from white to gray. "Give it a few minutes, let's see if it sticks." But when she looked back down at the rooftop, the boy was gone. "Flynn?"
He was nowhere in sight.
"Flynn?" She continued to call his name as she stumbled into the standing position on top of the shed and turned around. "Buddy! Where are you? Wait for mommy!"
Without hesitation, she leapt the ten feet down to the asphalt and checked the area he had just been drawing in. But the chalk was gone and the dark roof was clean.
/
"Hey Morgan!" Spencer's voice finally came through the other end.
"Finally!" Derek huffed, taking the phone off of speaker and holding it to his ear. Hotch and Prentiss were on the other side of the lot, going through Molly's car, so they weren't able to listen in anyway. "Where the hell have you been man? I've tried calling you like a thousand times!"
"Really? You called me one thousand times?" The genius/smartass replied.
"Well, closer to twenty, but still a lot!" Derek growled. He really didn't have time for the kid's antics right now. "Listen, Hotch wants you over here ASAP! JJ and Rossi are on their way up now. We've almost locked in on Molly, but we need to regroup."
"Yeah, I'm way ahead of you." Reid responded dryly.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm pulling up to the hospital now. But, listen Morgan-"
"Damn man, I'm impressed!" Derek let out a laugh when he caught sight of the SUV rolling up to the driveway. "You rode the jet all by yourself like a big boy?"
"Well, yes, but something-"
He was cut off again by the older agent.
"Spence, I'll see you in two seconds. We can catch up then." Morgan hissed out a chuckled as he hung up and slid the phone back onto his belt clip.
It was when the vehicle approached that he saw two figures sitting inside. He tilted his head and wandered over slowly. When the passenger's door opened he couldn't stop the shudder that ran up his spine.
"Ambassador Prentiss." He greeted, straightening up and holding out his hand.
The stern woman nodded and shook the offered limb. "Agent Morgan." She said shortly before turning and walking briskly towards Prentiss and Hotchner.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Morgan turned on Spencer. "Where the hell did she come from?" He still whispered, just in case supersonic hearing ran in the family.
"She just showed up in Little Rock." Reid held up his hands in defense. "She demanded to be taken to where Emily was and suddenly we were on the jet...she may have drugged me." He looked up and tried to recall the events that brought them to the current situation.
Rolling his eyes, Morgan clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Let's stick with that story okay?"
They watched apprehensively as the Ambassador strolled up to the Wagoneer with her hands resting casually in the pockets of her gray pea coat. Emily was just pulling herself out of the backseat with a little black suitcase, when she saw the figure approaching.
After a quick double take and a dropped jaw, they knew that this was just as shocking for her. "Mother?" She all but screamed. "What are you doing here?"
"Where's Molly?" As usual, Elizabeth treated her daughter's inquiry as a rhetorical one.
Hotchner, though slightly more tense than usual, was more capable of a response at the moment. "That's what we're trying to figure out ma'am."
For some reason, he wasn't all that shocked by the older Prentiss' presence. She was always one to take control of situations that were seen to be way beyond her control. But if she thought that she could do a better job, then she was like a dog with a bone. In Politics, that was a great characteristic, but in the real world it wasn't all that charming.
"Why would she want to see this man?" Elizabeth demanded, pointing in the direction of the hospital. "He's the reason-"
"Yeah, we know." Emily snapped. She always reverted to her teenage self when addressing the strong-willed woman. "She wasn't here for a friendly visit."
Aaron made sure that Spencer was with them before continuing for his angry girl. "We think that her initial plan was to hurt General Laramie in some way. Possibly by amputation or some other means to exact revenge." He held up a hand when Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask for clarification. "But when she arrived, she was told that the General suffered a paralyzing stroke and had been put on life support. He was to be taken off of it by tomorrow."
"Was?" Elizabeth crossed her arms and glanced between the Unit Chief and her daughter, almost afraid to ask her next question. "Did she...did she kill him?"
"The opposite actually." Prentiss responded, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. "She signed a waiver to keep him alive by any means necessary."
"And used the money from the trust fund he set up for her to pay the bills." Morgan added. "It's estimated give him years' worth of treatment if that's what it takes."
"What's his quality of life?" Spencer asked. His brows furrowed as he internally ran through everything he knew about strokes.
"There isn't one." Hotch said simply. "His brain was totally affected and his body is virtually useless. He's a vegetable." He tried to sound sad, or at least a little regretful. But from what he'd read, General Laramie was a disgusting human being. And that was going by what had actually been published. Who knew what he did off of the government's radar?
Elizabeth processed the information for a moment before letting out a small breath. "So she just prolonged his suffering?"
"An eye for an eye." Emily said with a sniffle.
Her mother shocked her with a tight, almost proud, grin. "Damn right."
/
Molly watched the older girl-woman, actually-pick through her salad. She had removed the purple onion slices as well as the black olives and set them on the small bread plate to her left.
"So, what grade are you in?"
The girl raised her eyes from the hands to their owner. Emily, Elizabeth had called her, was pretty. She had long dark hair, hanging in waves around her shoulders, and pink lipstick. Molly had always wanted to wear lipstick.
Realizing what she had been asked, she perked up and looked across Elizabeth and Neil to General Laramie. Grade? What was a grade? Was she supposed to be in one?
"Molly isn't following the traditional timeline as far as her education goes." Laramie told the table. "She's studying history, mathematics, and all of that. But her levels are varied. We're finding that it works quite well given her condition."
He level a glare in the girl's direction and she felt her shoulders sag. Somehow she had said the wrong thing without even opening her mouth.
"Condition?" Emily wrinkled her nose. "What's her-"
"Emily, don't be coarse." Elizabeth whispered.
Her daughter narrowed her eyes and turned back to Molly. "I hear you like the ocean." She decided that changing the subject was her safest bet.
"I like water." Molly clarified, looking up from her own meal. Laramie ordered her grilled chicken with a side of steamed broccoli. The blander the better.
Emily smiled, her teeth were so pretty and straight. And like her mother, her face was kind. "Do you like to swim? We just got a new pool at the house. It's heated and..." She trailed off when Molly's face went from hopeful, to doubtful as she gave another sideways glance to her guardians. Nibbling on her lip, she turned to confront the men. "She's allowed to swim right? Do her studies allow that?"
The General straightened up and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. He looked to Neil and Elizabeth, to silently request that they see to their daughter, but was thrown off by the couples' expectant looks.
"Is physical education not a part of her tutelage?" The Ambassador's perfect eyebrows arched in feigned shock.
Laramie cleared his throat and tilted his head. "She runs every morning." He said shortly, going back to his soup.
Emily's glare remained on the man for a moment before she softened it and looked back to Molly. "Well, since you definitely need some variety, I insist that you come to the pool at least once a week. It's great for your heart and muscles."
"And it also helps to relieve stress." Neill added, swallowing the last of his sandwich. He looked to his two subordinates. "What do you say gentlemen? Every Saturday?"
As if they could argue with him.
/
There wasn't a ladder that lead down from the roof, so she had to go back the way she came. She hurried down the stairwell, not making eye contact with the nurses that walked by. One of them even asked if she was alright, so she simply grunted a reply.
Bursting through the side door, Molly sucked in a gulp full of air as she tried to get her bearings. The hill leading down to the field was to her right and the parking lot was to the left. She froze when she saw the group gathered around her car.
She knew they were catching up to her, but the sight of them so close made her heart skip a beat. For a moment, her feet began to stumble towards them. She needed to embrace reality, and in order to do so, she needed to speak to someone who was in touch with it. Emily could help her. The older woman was the only person, other than Flynn, who could keep her grounded.
But a soft voice from behind her stopped her in her tracks.
It was far away. It was a miracle that she'd heard anything at all. But she knew what it was.
"Flynn?" She looked back towards the trees. "Honey, make sure your jacket is zipped." Without looking back, she ran down the steep hill.
No matter what, she would always go to her son.
