As per the norm, I shall begin with the Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Working Title: Vengeance Unwise
As the dawn breaks, the sun almost timidly, at first, begins her ascent into the vast morning sky— peeking over the horizon before climbing high above the tree line, pouring her generous warmth over the waking earth. He stirs in his sleep to the familiar sounds of morning, travelling through the wide-open bedroom window. The rat-tat-tat of woodpeckers off in the distance, an array of different bird calls in their search for food, the constant sound of the lake as it tenderly licks the rocky shore and tickles the beaches, and the breeze as it gently caresses the trees in a game of this way.
Amongst the familiar sounds outside, is the sporadic wisp of the light bedroom curtains as the panels flip and twirl in a graceful dance, scooped up by the breeze— rousing him from the comfort of sleeps safe embrace. Slowly, he opens his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the brightness and watches as the curtains and trees outside his window sway for a moment. A soft sigh of contentment, from a good nights rest, escapes his lips as he rolls over onto his side, then reaches for the watch that resides upon the bedside table. Last day, he muses as he tosses the sheets off his body and swings his long, lean muscular legs over the edge of the bed, letting his feet press against the natural flooring.
He's always loved his secluded cabin, perfectly nestled in the woods, not too far from the water. His sanctuary away from all that he knows is wrong with the world, far away from the monsters he spends his waking hours chasing, and dreaming about. This piece of paradise for him is the ultimate, perfect hideaway, untouched by the harsh realities of 'real' life, unconnected except via cell phone and only when absolutely necessary, yet far more secure then any government building. Memories, a place to feel safe, he finally stands and pads to the bath to begin his day.
Ever the creature of habit, he takes the familiar road that will lead him home. However, avoiding the rest stop where he encountered the 'footpath killer', stopping in the next town to fill the tank and indulge his sweet tooth with his customary chocolate bar. A strange feeling raises the hair on the back of his neck as he twists the plastic cap, closes the metal cover, places the pump back in its place, and walks towards the store to pay. Everything seems to remind him of his experience and he scolds himself for allowing it to get to him. The young man behind the counter looks up at him with a warm smile.
"That will be thirty-two fifty." He pauses as Gideon nods and holds up his hand as he contemplates on which chocolate bar will satisfy his sugar fix, calming him if only slightly and if only for a moment. His hand rests on his choice, placing the wrapped treat on the counter, and the young man adds it to the total. Getting out his wallet, he places the needed cash on the counter top. Quickly counting the bills, the cashier punches in the amount and begins to pull out the change. Somehow Gideon expects the cashier to stutter as the 'footpath killer' had, instead the kid grins and hands him the change.
"Thank you and have a great day."
"Thanks." Gideon replies quickly, shoving the change into his coat pocket, he returns to his SUV and the open road home. As the kilometres pass, the cityscape begins to creep into view and he turns the radio station once more to reflect the change. Arriving home, the usual city sounds greet him, but an odd silence encircles him as he closes the door. Stepping out of his hiking boots, tossing his jacket over the banister, he heads straight down to the laundry room and sorts through the dirty clothes, quickly dumping the darks, mostly jeans into the washing machine before heading back upstairs to make dinner.
---
For the students, lecturers, and support staff it's their usual Monday morning. Quantico's campus is an array of powder blue and grey polo shirts and kaki pants making their way to lectures, various training sessions, the library for research/study, or the various on campus coffee shops for a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast bite. Lecturers too, speed walk to the main buildings, stopping for coffee and the morning paper, as the support staff head to their respective buildings ready for a new day— a new week as the grind begins. Elle pulls into the lot and parks. Getting out of her car, she looks up at the greyish morning sky. The usually light cotton candy like clouds somehow seem heavy in their appearance, saturated with water, threaten to shower them with rain— perhaps even a thunderstorm, somehow feel as though they are hanging lower in the sky.
Like every morning before today, she walks past Gideon's office on her way down to the bullpen. However, this morning, Elle notices something odd. Gideon's door is closed and the lights aren't on, which she finds very odd because— one, he's usually the first member of the team to arrive. Normally, signing off on past cases or when they're working on an at home case, going over evidence; and two, he has a fairly open door policy; the door is open unless he's in a meeting. Perhaps he called in sick or has taken a couple of days off to stay at his cabin, she muses heading to her desk and the waiting game— if they happen to be lucky and not have a pending case, they can catch up on paperwork, until called to duty.
It isn't long before the team is once again assembling in one of the various conference rooms in preparation for yet another briefing, on yet another sick psychopathic something or other. All settle in their seats and Morgan glances once more towards Hotchner, who continues to stare sternly towards the open door, trying not to hint that something isn't right; yet everyone seems to be well aware of the fact that Gideon has yet to arrive. J.J. fingers the pile of files she has prepared for the team this morning, once receiving the formal request and she contemplates waiting for Gideon to arrive or Hotchner to indicate that they should continue. Clearing her throat, J.J. looks towards Hotchner for the go ahead. He continues to stare at the open door.
"Should we begin without him?" she seems to bring him back fro his musings and he turns his attention towards her.
"I can always bring him up to speed whenever he decides to join us." He says quickly looking at the door once more. Elle tries to maintain a neutral expression, but wonders what the underlying issue is as his tone feels more like icy water in her ears. J.J. seems to easily return to liaison mode and begins distributing the files to the appropriate member of the team— Hotchner and Gideon usually get all the particulars and she feels funny keeping Gideon's file, even if it is for safe keeping and she places it on the table under her own. Taking a breath to begin presenting the case, her gaze joins the rest of the teams towards the door and the agent standing upon the threshold.
"Agent Hotchner, may I have a word with you?" he inquires from just inside the door. All eyes on him immediately sense the tension in his posture, the tension set in his jaw, and a sense of panic washes over them. Hotchner stands, buttons and straightens his suit jacket, then directs the agent to the hall. In as hushed tone as he can manage, the agent holds the file out towards Hotchner. "I think you'll want to see this." He watches as Hotchner accepts the file and opens it. His face suddenly pales as he feels as though he has just been socked in the stomach and the wind has literally been knocked from his body. Lifting his head his dark eyes lock with the other agents.
"When did you get this?" he suddenly snaps the cardboard closed, carefully concealing the contents within.
"Not five minutes ago sir. It's all we have right now." He replies simply.
"The police?"
"The police what?" Elle's voice nearly betrays her. Hotchner turns to face her.
"We have a bit of a situation," he pauses turning back to the agent, "please keep me informed. I'll speak with Special Agent Henrys."
"I've already spoken to him. Your team will remain as far from the investigation as humanly possible." He replies.
"Then why bother showing us this?"
"It's being taken care of." He replies turning and making his way towards the elevators.
"Hotch?" Elle's voice is small and he is uncertain as to how much she has heard. Wanting to only tell the team once, he steers her back into the conference room, closing the door behind them. She sits silently beside Morgan and Hotchner clears his throat.
"I've just been informed that Gideon has been abducted from his home."
"When? Why weren't we informed sooner?" Reid says what's on everyone's mind. Hotchner only shakes his head.
"I don't have the particulars and from what I do have, we're not on the case."
"You cannot possibly be serious!" Elle exclaims in a huff. "Gideon has been abducted and we're supposed to what? Continue on as though nothing has happened?" she sighs and crosses her arms across her chest. Hotchner tilts his head in thought. J.J. knows exactly what he's thinking.
"Let me see if I can get something more." She stands and heads out of the room, leaving the rest of the team in silence. Finally broken by Elle springing to her feet and heading out the door in a huff.
"Elle! Elle wait up!" Hotchner calls and she turns to look at him.
"We have to do something. I'm not going carry on as if there isn't anything wrong. I'm going to find him." She looks down for a moment.
"My office." He pulls her in and closes the door. "We cannot do anything that could potentially jeopardise the police investigation. Nor the FBI's." he adds. "They will find him." He adds placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She sighs in response. "This is hard for all of us." He adds.
"I knew there was something wrong when he wasn't here before I arrived this morning." She looks away. "I should have called him or something. Maybe I should have mentioned it to you."
"You would have thought that he had called." Hotchner says in a hushed tone, trying to calm her down.
"So what? Are we to go off wherever and try to save someone else? Jason is a member of our team, he's like family." She lets the tears she had tried so desperately to keep at bay, make their way down her cheeks.
"Elle, it's going to be okay." Hotchner reaches for his Kleenex box and quickly hands Elle a tissue. "I know that this is difficult. It is for me too." He stops himself and puts an arm around her shoulders, letting her fall into him. Her sobs tell him that there is far more than her words ever could. She freezes within his embrace and looks up at him.
"We have to do something." He nods and in that moment a silent agreement to find Gideon has just been sealed.
---
"I told you that we shouldn't have clunked him over the head like that." He hears the man speak, but his words seem to dance round his heavy head.
"Boss said that he wanted him alive." The reply. "Stupid FBI agent getting in his way." He adds with a cough.
"Told you to quit that." The other says.
He wants to open his eyes, wants to see his surroundings, the other men in the room—something prevents him from doing so. Common sense dictates that once a prisoner sees his capture, they are as good as dead. So too is anything to let on that you're waking, his plan suddenly crashed by the low moan that escapes his parched lips.
"Hey Jimmy, you hear that?" one of the voices asks the other.
"Yeah, I'd say he's coming around. You are so lucky that he's alive." The other man says and Gideon can hear the sharp snap of a slap. Keeping his eyes closed, as he can only imagine the splitting headache that will follow such a violent blow to the back of his head and he wonders if the slightly damp coolness under his neck is cold sweat or blood. The only way they must have gotten him was to knock him out, which he is sure they had done, as the very last thing he remembers is trying to fight off a pack of men— obviously losing the fight, so too living on very borrowed time.
"Get up!" one of the men suddenly grabs him by the shoulder and jerks him into an upright position, his head spinning violently in protest against the sudden movement his body is forced to endure— far from the more gentler approach he had in mind. Finally opening his eyes he looks into those staring back at him, dark, almost black and soulless.
"You're lucky old man that the boss is letting you live." He pauses.
"For now." The other adds pacing back to the other side of the sparse room. A storeroom, or warehouse somewhere, he couldn't be sure. Nor could he be sure that anyone was aware of his current situation. The two men freeze as the loud, deliberate sound of confident footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door. The jingle of keys, followed by the loud thud of the lock and the squeak of the doorknob as it slowly turns and a man dressed in a very expensive suit enters the room.
"Agent Gideon, we meet again." He addresses Gideon in a very business like fashion. Gideon, still unable to collect himself, doesn't recognise the man standing in front of him.
"I don't."
"You will." He snaps. "You two had better make sure the FBI here is comfortable." He adds before leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Gideon's hands are bound together, his ankles as well, so he knows his chances of escape are pretty slim to none, at least for the time being. He carefully manoeuvres his hands and gently touches the back of his head— he can feel that the wound is still seeping, starting to clot, but still fairly fresh; an indication that he hasn't been missing long enough to be missed. They're probably on a case, he muses closing his eyes against the light, probably have no idea that I've been abducted— and that's my worst-case scenario, he sighs.