AN: So first of welcome to my new story. This might be a bad idea: starting another new story. I will continue to work on Tiny Dancer and Past, Present, Parenthood as those are my priorities, but I needed to throw something in the cycle to shake it up a little. Second, this wasn't the story that won my vote a while back, but that one is not ready yet and this one tied for second.
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Background: This story is AU and honestly this first chapter doesn't actually serve a storyline purpose other than being an interesting opening. If you are not into OC focused stories this one is not for you. The story does heavily feature the team, but the core plot centers around an OC character.
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Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and this story is for entertainment purposes only.
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Elaine's POV
A wise man in my life once said, "Scars remind us of our past. They don't have to dictate where we are going."
I met that man at a very pivotal point in my life. Everything I had known and everyone I knew was being ripped away. The only thing I had left was my little brother, and it was my job to keep him safe from all the demons in the world. The wise man made sure we all knew that scars were not only physical and that the quote was not solely about scars. He said memories worked just about the same. When I look back on the memories, as bad as the situation was, I can't help but smile. The situation may have been bad, but I met the most amazing people because of it: my family.
They say smell holds high value in the form of memories. I believe that's true. Everyone member of my family had their own distinct air around them, and I found comfort in every single one.
The watcher who spent his nights camped at the edge of the forest always seemed to smell like the forest had coughed him up there. Though, when he would first arrive back home, before spending nights at his watch, he was always overpowered by a cologne that can only be described to smell like a chemically created saltwater ocean. I always preferred the earthy smell of the forest. It made me feel safe. Whenever I walk through the woods, I find myself wrapped up in the memories of that watchman's tower. It is as if I'm there again listening to the rain pour down over the tin roof struggling to stay awake, but succumbing to my tiredness because I know he will protect me. I miss all those nights watching the tranquil trees and listening to the call of the crickets and croaks of the rain frogs.
The lawyer who rarely smiled had a smell that could only be described as clean. It was very fitting. His suits always smelled like clean linen and were freshly pressed. The small hint of aftershave only added to the freshness. He came and went, but we all still loved him. I find doing laundry becomes less of a chore as I remember back. He took the longest to warm up too, but he taught me some of the most important life lessons around the fireplace on those quiet nights. And those rarities where he smiled always meant the most amazing thing was happening.
The teacher who taught me more than I ever would have learned in a classroom always smelled like coffee and old books. He was always up before me, pouring sugar into his mug. We must have gone through a bag of sugar a week. I'm pretty sure he ran solely on coffee. I recently found myself in a used bookstore with a cafe inside and half expected to find him behind me, flipping through a book at the speed of light. I'll never forget during rainy weekends when we couldn't go outside. We would all circle around him, ready for a lesson on whatever we asked or old poems being read from big books in his lap. Those days spent listening to him teach never seemed like work, and I actually found myself enjoying them.
The doctor who could fix almost anything, and not just physically, smelled like lilacs. I never figured out if it was a perfume, shampoo, or just apart of her. I use to find it weird that this woman with so many sharp edges smelled like that of a delicate flower. I do know, however, that she is the reason lilacs bloom in my front yard. I have her to thank for many things. Without her, the good memories may not have so easily covered up all the bad. She was always a good ear to talk to. She reminded me of my mother with her love of language and was a comfort I severely needed at the time.
The fairy godmother who wore her heart on her sleeve carried around an air of the tropics with the barely-there scent of hair spray. She made those tough days much more bearable and that transition period doable. She always could make us laugh as hot tears rolled down our faces. We'd put on some cheesy rom-com and stuff our faces with ice cream until the hurt went away. Now when I find that things are too much, I'll pop in one of those movies, fix myself a bowl of ice cream, and camp out on my couch until the tears are from laughing. She took everyone in, no questions asked, with open arms, and it's something I could never thank her enough for.
The runner with an exterior of titanium and heart of gold who became my confidant was the perfect cocktail of apples and cinnamon. I was taken by surprise the first time I found her baking at midnight, but soon it became our thing. Cinnamon was almost always included. The apple was from her shampoo that I often found myself using on those long weeks she was away. To this day, I still find myself in the mood to bake an apple pie in the middle of the night, with music drifting in the background.
The bookkeeper who spent her days teaching us soccer had two distinct smells. One of grass and dirt after a few hours of practice and one of lemon after a morning of making lemon bars or lemonade for afterward. Nothing was better than playing soccer till everything hurt than sitting around the table with our lemon treats and giggling up a storm about the game. She taught me how to remain organized amongst chaos. A skill that I still use today. She also taught me that I don't like soccer, but I got out there and played with them because my family liked soccer. And I loved my family.
My two best friends, one reminded me of a hot summer day and the other like spring. The summer spent half of her time swimming laps in the pool, so much that at the smell of chlorine, I can just see her wide grin in front of me as she wraps a towel around her waist. A few seconds later, she'd jump in the shower and come out, having hidden the chlorine behind coconut. The spring always smelled like a melody of flowers and cucumber. I never questioned it. What I do know is that summer and spring needed each other and took me in with open arms; well, not exactly open. It took a little trust-building. Though, they were exactly what I needed. And I would like to believe they needed me too.
My brother, the person I clung to when things went bad, always smelled like strawberries. I was actually sad when he outgrew his childhood choice of strawberry-scented shampoo. That smell could always make a bad day happy and was like my own version of a security blanket. As long as I had my brother, I knew things were not the worse they could be. It is because of this I use the same scent, the same brand on my own kids.
My sister always smelled like blackberries and sage tea. Oh, how I missed it when she was gone. We weren't as close as my brother and I to start, but we soon became best friends. She was my sun, someone I looked up to and wanted to be just like. Along with my midnight apple pies, I also make a mean blackberry cobbler. When I do, I'll pick up the phone, and no matter how late it is she's there. She's there to remind me that it was all real and that my current life is not just a dream.
My grandmother was someone that took me a long while to figure out with her scent of vanilla and fancy perfumes. Her hugs could be cold and ridged, but sometimes they were soft and warm. Her words could be ice and barking, but sometimes they were smooth and timid. You had to work to earn her trust, and a part of me found it infuriating, but another respected it. When I finally received those soft and warm hugs, they became my comfort. A comfort I'm always drawn back to as I walk by a perfume aisle.
My grandfather was gruff but loving with his air of cigars and fancy cologne. He taught me the rules of life, and how to win at poker. I'd been playing since I could hold the cards, but he taught me to play like a gentleman so they'd never see it coming. I miss those days of late-night poker or just sitting in front of the fireplace as he whispered stories and songs in his family's home tongue. The same language he used as we danced around the kitchen, filling the house with the delightful smells of dinner. I never knew I'd meet someone as wise as him, but boy was I grateful.
My mother, the most important person in my life, smelled like roses. I was undoubtedly a mama's girl, mostly because I didn't share her for the first 13 years of my life. It was just me and her in our own little bubble. She had work of course, but at the end of the day, it was just the two of us. Looking back, I didn't realize there were pieces of the puzzle missing and things I didn't see. I was just a kid who loved having my mother to myself, but I can't help but wonder what it would have been like to grow up with the complete puzzle.
My life was anything but normal, typical, or any other word that means of what you would expect. It was filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, goods and bads, scars and memories. But all the positives outweighed the negatives in my opinion, and the negative didn't dictate where I was going. My family taught me who I was and was there when I needed them the most. That same wise man once told me, "Life is one hell of a thing to happen to a person." Because of my family, I overcame everything it had to throw at me.
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AN2: The next chapter should be up later tonight.