Soorry, people. My muse died last night, but I managed to squeeze this out before I fell asleep... on top of my computer... *has keyboard-shaped indent in face*. Please review. *Flame donation box here*
Elle Greenaway supposed that the team had forgotten her.
She wished forgetting was that easy.
Every night as she slept, her hand was wrapped around the gun again, pointed at that suspect's face, but this time, the face could change. It would shift between the few people she cared about, before finally settling on either her father, or Hotch, or Gideon. And every time, no matter what, she'd pull the trigger.
She was beyond messed up, she knew, but she couldn't get help, or even admit what she'd done.
She hoped the world would forget, but she knew.
Her crime was not forgotten.