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Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Catherine Jareau is mine, along with all the other characters you do not recognize.

Chapter 22: Ashley Seaver

Part 2

Only reapers, reaping early

In among the bearded barley,

Hear a song that echoes cheerly

From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy

Lady of Shalott."

- Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott

I turn around and think to myself: Where on earth is Catherine? I kick off my shoes and leave them on the mat next to the door. Why hasn't Catherine come out of what I assume is hiding to tell me to go away? Oh No. What if she's taken of somewhere while Spencer, Jack and Henry distracted me? Is she really that devious? Is her grief just an act? No it can't be, it's gone on for a few weeks now, and there is no way anyone could be that good at faking a breakdown.

I turn around and survey, not profile, what little I can see of the condo from the front entrance. I am mildly surprised to find that there are toys everywhere: Cars, trucks, little army men, even tiny post and pans from a child's play kitchen. I walk cautiously down the hall while being extra careful not to step on any of the loose Legos scattered across the hardwood. I look into the living room, no Catherine, the kitchen, no Catherine, the dining room, no Catherine. A quick look tells me that Catherine is not in the spare bedroom either. I do notice that there are pajama legs sticking out from under one of the pillows, Henry and Jack must be sleeping in here.

I am now down to two doors. I take a deep breath before opening the door to Emily's bedroom and sigh in relief when I do not find Catherine hiding in there. I frown while contemplating the slightly dusty room. It's been a while since anybody has cleaned in here. Does that mean Catherine hasn't been in Emily's room at all? Nor allowed anyone else to be either? I know that she spent lots of time in here with Emily when she was alive. Oh well, it is just one of the many mysteries surrounding Catherine Jareau. After closing the bedroom door silently I frown and consider whether or not Catherine has even been informed that I was coming over today.

One door left. Here goes nothing. I open Catherine's bedroom door without knocking and discover Catherine curled up in a ball on her bed, clutching at a well-worn book while sobbing noiselessly. It is therefore completely understandable why the oxygen in my lungs turns to lead. There is always something terribly wrong, and horribly sad when a child knows how to cry without making a single sound. And a child is all Catherine can possibly be right now, a child who has lost her mother. I don't know why it's hitting her again. Something is different this time, she was a mess the first time, but now she looks beyond devastated. If I didn't know the team as well as I do I would have questioned their decision of leaving an obviously devastated child, with their children.

It's like an accident, or a train wreck, I can't look away.

"Go away Ashley," Catherine whispers, "Please," after she catches me staring.

Ah, so I have been noticed. I sit down a few feet away from where she is curled up. "You know I can't do that Catherine," I say gently.

"Go away," She says again. She uncurls slightly, "I'm fine."

I roll my eyes, "Come on. You don't seriously expect me to believe that? I may not have been a profiler for very long but I don't need any of my profiling skills to know that you're a mess, so is your condo for that matter. My God Catherine, when was the last time you left this place?"

Her silence is deafening.

I continue along the same vein, "I'm going to say just about three weeks. Am I right?"

"No," she growls.

I raise an eyebrow, "Do enlighten me then."

She sits up and glares defiantly at me, "I went out a few days ago. They didn't have to make you come. I'm fine."

I snort derisively, "Are you really?"

She huffs and says, "Yes."

I inch closer to her, "No one made me come and you're not very good at lying."

Catherine doesn't make a sound.

"So…" I say while wracking my brain for a neutral conversation topic, "I heard you went to London. Did you have a nice time? Did you get to do anything fun while you were there? Did you see the changing of the guard at Bucking-"

"Stop Ashley. Just stop!" she shouts.

"Catherine," I say softly.

She looks away and whispers brokenly, "Please?"

"Look at me," I command.

She looks up and scowls at me, "What is this shock therapy?"

I try not to smile, "Pretty much."

Catherine sighs and wraps her arms around herself.

I frown, "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

She mumbles, "Not really."

My lips twitch, "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

Catherine frowns, "Why do you care?"

I place my hand next to Catherine on her bed, "I care because you're a good person and you were important to Emily."

She flinches at Emily's name and looks away.

"Tell me, please?" I half ask half demand.

Catherine's head whips around, her eyes widen, "Or else what?" she whispers.

It feels like a bullet pierced my heart the second I realize that she is absolutely terrified of me.

I frown, "There wasn't an or else added on there."

She frowns, "There always is. What are you going to do if I don't talk to you?"

I try to think of something benign, "Well I might tickle you…"

Catherine looks up, her facial expression proclaiming shock.

I laugh quietly for a few seconds before I realize that Catherine isn't laughing with me, nor is she smiling. I frown, "What?"

Catherine's lip trembles and her eyes are wide with a hint of panic, "You promised that you wouldn't touch me."

Fuck. Not that again. I want to hit my head against the wall for forgetting. I settle for running my hand through my loose hair. "I'm sorry Catherine," I start, "I-".

Catherine smirks, "Gotcha!" she proclaims smugly.

I chuckle quietly, "Yes you most certainly did get me."

"Seriously though," she says, "I don't want you tickling me. Only Derek, Jenny and Henry ever try."

"What about Spencer?" I ask just to see what kind of a reaction I will get.

Catherine blushes.

Hmm, so I was right: They are still dancing around each other. It always was and still is strange to me how two people can dance around each other so much and for so long and not even notice that they're doing it. Although maybe they have, since I can see through the partially open closet door that several articles of clothing resembling Spencer's usual style appear to be hung up inside.

"Are you going to tell me what is bothering you Catherine?" I ask gently, "Your family is very concerned. I was under the impression that you had mourned Emily's death beginning back in March."

Catherine shifts uncomfortably.

I press on, "But it seems like this is more than just a resurgence of grief. Am I correct in my assessment?"

She shrugs in answer to my question.

I sigh, "Come now, I know you can do better then that."

Catherine crosses her legs and straightens her spine, ignoring me.

"What were you reading before? I ask Catherine in an attempt to open another line of conversation.

She disregards both my question and myself.

I try again, "What book were you reading when I came into your room?"

"You mean when you entered without knocking or asking for permission?" Catherine says tersely.

I roll my eyes.

She releases the book from her tightly clenched hands and slides it across the bed to me.

I open it to the bookmarked page and look down at the title and wince. Catherine was reading Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott. "Do you know this one by heart yet?" I ask thoughtlessly.

Catherine raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth. Her voice has a haunted quality to it as she starts to recite:

And down the river's dim expanse-

Like some bold seër in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance-

With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right-

The leaves upon her falling light-

Thro' the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

It is my turn to fidget uneasily when Catherine is finished narrating. That poem always makes me uncomfortable.

"Do you think Emily knew she was going to die? When she left here I mean," Catherine whispers when she's finished her recitation.

Shocked I stutter, "I- I- I don't know Catherine."

Catherine turns her head to look at me.

No, my mistake, her eyes have continued past my face and are fixed on the window behind me.

She blinks rapidly, "I read somewhere that a person dies twice, 'One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.'"

I bite my lip, "That's really deep Catherine. Is that quote why you keep saying Emily's name?"

Her silence is my answer.

I sigh quietly but jump slightly when Catherine starts rambling.

"What if she was alive and I said her name and then she died? What if everyone stops saying her name? What if they stop remembering her? What happens if I am the only one left?" She trails off and shudders slightly.

I frown, "Catherine, you know that isn't possible, and that it isn't logical. Emily was part of the team, part of your family. No one is ever going to forget her."

"I never said it was logical Ashley," she says harshly and then in a softer tone, "I know it isn't I just can't get my mind to let go of the fact that I- That we have lost her forever. She promised to come back, to come home. This is her home, she promised to come back but she isn't here!"

I frown and cast my mind back, reaching for my memories in the week leading up to Emily's death. I can't remember Emily mentioning speaking to Catherine while we were working together. "I didn't know that you spoke with Emily before she left for Boston. Or was it while she was there that she contacted you?" I ask hesitantly.

Catherine grimaces and says, "Neither."

I am puzzled. "How could Emily make a promise to you if you didn't speak with her?" I ask.

"She left me a letter," Catherine whispers this so quietly I have to strain my ears to hear her.

I frown. This is news to me. I wonder if anyone on the team knows about this letter. "May I please see it?" I ask in my most respectful tone of voice. The idea of a letter Emily may or may not have left for Catherine has raised various half forgotten suspicions in my mind.

Catherine jumps up from her bed after regarding me closely for more than a minute, as if to judge the merit both of my question and myself.

I am amused enough by her exuberance that it doesn't bother me when Catherine kicks me out of her room so that she can get the letter.

When I am finally let back into her bedroom, Catherine has lost all of her exuberance and the frightened child has reappeared.

She clutches at what I assume to be Emily's letter to her.

I hold out my hand, "May I please see your letter Catherine?"

She holds it out to me before snatching it back and backing up towards her bed.

I follow Catherine but leave a decent amount of space between us and a clear path to the doorway just incase she decides to bolt. I keep my tone calm and even when I talk, "I promise that I will be very careful with it. I will read it right here with you and it won't leave your sight even for a moment."

Catherine sits down on her bed and places the letter beside her.

I sit down on the other side and pick up the letter. "Have you shown this to anyone else?" I ask.

"Not exactly," she murmurs.

"I don't get it," I say, hoping that my obvious confusion will prompt an explanation. It does.

Catherine bites her lip, "I tried to tell and show Jenny but she didn't want to look and Spence…" she trails off, "He refused as well and I didn't- I couldn't push him."

I nod and carefully remove the creased letter from its envelope then unfold it gently.

Darling Creirwy (kree-ree),

I'm glad you remembered where to look Dawnie.

Buffy: Dawn, listen to me, listen. I love you. I will always love you. But this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles… tell Giles I figured it out. And, and I'm okay. And give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it. Be brave. Live… for me.

Spike: I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but ... after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again ... do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways ... Every night I'd save you.

Wait for me Creirwy (kree-ree). I always keep my promises.

All my love,

Emmy

After I read the letter I take a couple deep breaths while I absorb everything. I think I've managed to catch all of the veiled meanings in Emily's note and I feel the need to ask Catherine one simple but very important question, "Do believe that Emily is alive even though she didn't come home when you expected her too?"

Catherine's whispered "No," breaks my heart.

We sit in silence for quite a while.

"Catherine," I start apprehensively, "Why have you refused to let Jack and Henry leave here without you?"

Catherine gives me a look that says, 'haven't you figured it out already?' "What if someone came after them? I wouldn't be there to protect them if they're not with me."

"They're not here right now," I feel the need to point it out.

Catherine glares at me, "I know that."

I frown, "So why aren't you afraid for their safety?"

Catherine's eyes catch mine.

I am amazed at how blue they are, but her answer shocks me even more.

"Spence is with them," she says simply, as if that's the end of that and truthfully it was.

I frown, "You do know that things can't go on like this forever, right?"

Catherine huffs in annoyance. "I know Ashley. I just need some time to figure everything out. I need time to come to terms with the fact that the information in Emily's letter was erroneous, and that I was wrong in my assumptions of Emily being alive. I know that sounds incredibly egotistical of me Ashley. I need time to figure out how to say good-bye. I didn't say good-bye before. I was in shock and then I found the letter and I was so sure Emmy was alive and coming back to all of us. That I just had to be patient and she would come home. Now I know that isn't true…" she trails off.

I frown, "How much more time to do you need Catherine? It's been almost three weeks. Jack will have to start school in a few weeks and shouldn't you be writing your thesis or something?" I have a momentary flashback to Emily's funeral and Catherine sprawled out and bawling her eyes out on the freshly shoveled earth of Emily's grave. I decide to try something different, "Have you gone to visit Emily's grave yet?"

Catherine shrugs but doesn't look at me, "I went every week that I was home to talk to her. I felt stupid since I was sure she wasn't buried there…"

I tap my finger on her hand to quiet her, "I meant recently Catherine."
"I haven't been back since the end of July. I was sure…" she trails off.

"I think you should go back to visit her Catherine," I hold my breath.

"I don't know how," she whispers tiredly.

And exhale, "The same way you went every time before Catherine. You take a bus, drive, or have someone else drive you."

She glares at me, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

I half-smile, "I know, but you need to start getting back into the habit of going to see Emily. It will help you get ready to start up your regular life again."

"You mean move on," She says accusingly.

"Yes," I say simply. "Emily is gone. You're wallowing and you're scaring the hell out of your family Catherine. Even if you aren't ready to move on, you need to fake it for a little while, just until it becomes real. You can mourn Emily all you want but you can't put the rest of your life on hold."

"I need time Ashley," she says firmly.

"How much time?" I ask, not sure I like where our conversation is headed.

"A few more weeks…" she mutters.

"Catherine-" I start.

She cuts me off, "Ashley. I will start fixing things but I won't be able to fake it, to make it convincing until at least Labour Day weekend."

I sigh. How can I argue with that? No one will believe that this little idea of shock therapy, of putting Catherine and I in a room alone together for a few hours, would work instantaneously. She needs time to figure out how to fake it. And my God- did I just conspire with Catherine to lie to her entire family? "Alright," I say finally, "I can agree to work with two weeks, but first I want you to promise me something."

"What do you want?" she asks wearily.

I keep my eyes on her, "I want you to meet me tomorrow afternoon."

Her eyes narrow, "Where?"

I watch her face attentively, "At Emily's grave."

Catherine flinches and looks at me, dazed. "Okay," she whispers.

"Good," I say and stand up.

Catherine follows me as I head out of her room towards the front door.

I stop and she stops a few feet behind me.

She cocks her head and looks at me curiously.

I hold out my arms and raise an eyebrow.

Catherine steps into my arms and I hug her briefly before she pulls away.

I wince internally when I realize that this afternoon was filled with more progress than we made since Emily was alive. "Everything is going to be okay Catherine. It will get easier and then better," my voice is barely above a whisper.

"Good-bye Ashley," Catherine whispers as she shuts and locks the condo door behind me.

"Good-bye Catherine. I'll see you tomorrow," I say quietly.

I walk down the hall towards the stairs and am surprised to realize that Catherine hasn't asked me for a single answer in regards to Emily's death at the hands of Ian Doyle. I guess she is so used to being shut down by her family she didn't consider me a viable alternative for answers. I'm not sure if I should be hurt or not. Catherine has finally really grouped me in with her family, but in this case I'm not sure that is a good thing since they've let her down by not being as honest as possible.

That night, before I fall asleep I make a promise to myself and to Catherine. That if she does come to me for answers about Emily, whether it is when we meet up tomorrow at Emily's grave or at any other time, that I would tell her everything and anything I am able to. She deserves answers. We all do.

Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

- Alfred Lord Tennyson, The Lady of Shalot