My latest criminal minds fic. Emily's POV. A little more comedic than my other fic's,
read, enjoy and tell me what you think! :)
x
Disclaimer: I own nothing, absolutely nothing. The characters etc are not mine.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I've been on the job a long time, seen a lot, I work with serial killers. The sick ones who enjoy mutilation, rape, violence, bondage etc. Yet still, I didn't exactly enjoy the seeing of bodies. Especially bodies that have been soaking up dirty river water for a decent amount of time. He lay there, on the concrete by the river's edge, his skin white and baggy.
I hated the fact that my profession meant I couldn't gag, turn away, or even make a face. The smell was horrible. Yet still, I couldn't get the smell of Rossi, that expensive cologne mixed with sweat, out of my head. He stood no closer than a meter from me, yet it clouded me.
"Single GSW to the head," the ME told us, not that I couldn't see that from my position over her. The only break from his blue skin and faded, destroyed clothing, with the red of the wound.
"How long ago?" Rossi asked.
"Can't tell," she replied as efficiently as he had asked. "I'll have a better indication once I get him to the lab. Water screws with the decomp. He could've been killed, then dropped in the water, killed, held in a locker for a few days, then dropped, or even chucked in a freezer first."
"Any other traumas?" I asked.
"Not that I can see. Just shot point blank. There's burning around the wound, just like the others."
"How can you not do anything? Just stand there?" I asked nobody in particular. My eyes shifting back in forth as if scanning my thoughts like a book.
Rossi's eyes widened mockingly. I could tell he was making fun of me. My eyes narrowed at him. "You're not helping."
"Sorry," he laughed, but then turned serious again before relooking over the body. "Fear? Seduction? He could've though of it as a game?"
"Doubt it," I commented. I kneeled down, as the ME did, to look over the body. "Fear's more likely. Intimidation."
"So he's male."
Both the ME's and my eyes widen as we looked up at him. "Women can't be intimidating?"
He shook his head and smiled. "You certainly can. But I'm saying it's more likely that the UNSUB is male."
"Maybe two of them," the ME added. "A team. Two mobsters. More intimidating, more muscle to move the body, more hands to clean up the mess."
I considered it. I did make sense. I'd though of it myself.
"Now all we have to do is find them."
Easier said than done. I had visions of spending the day neck deep in reports again, I wouldn't let it be. I'd go out into the city, knock on dam doors if I had too.
I slipped into the passenger seat as Rossi got into the other side.
"Want to go back to the hotel?" he asked. I knew exactly what he meant my that.
How badly did I want to go back to the hotel.
"No. Just get me some coffee," I sighed and lay back against the leather seat.
.
So the plan of knocking door to door didn't exactly pan out. You couldn't exactly go door to door with the picture of a practically blue guy with saggy skin to the whole neighborhood. So instead, I spent it looking around for friends of the victims. There weren't many. Well, any. People didn't exactly want to step forward to talk to FEDs. It was like a gang killing, but worse somehow.
"If you think of anything…"
"We'll call," the man answered with a smile prior to shutting the door on my face.
I sighed as I walked out into the not so busy city street. Brownstones lined the wide sidewalks, cars lined the skinny street. There was no rubbish littered, but autumn leaves floated over the pavement, stopping it from looking too perfect.
When my phone rung, I answered it with a voice that was the female equivalent to the male grunt. "Emily."
"How's the search going?"
"These people won't talk to me," I complained.
"It's cause you're a Fed."
"Well I got that."
I leaned against his car, which he'd let me borrow, and studied the street. It looked normal. There weren't drug dealers everywhere, young men leaning against walls. There were families, fathers going to work, mother's dropping kids at school before they too went off to the office.
Normal.
"So what are you going to do?"
I let out a huff of air. I was asking myself the same thing.
"I don't know. I'll get back to you."
Pushing myself off the side of the car, I started my way down the street. I'd seen a coffee shop down a block or two, maybe I'd get a coffee, maybe a biscuit to go with it, maybe more than one biscuit. The air was cool, crisp but not uncomfortable. With my red scarf wrapped around my neck and my grey coat, I was perfectly cozy.
When a car pulled up into the space free ahead of me, windows tinted, I slipped my hand up under my coat and hugged it around the pistol that was sitting on my hip, hidden from view. The driver got out and opened the door for the man in the back seat.
Fear rippled through me, yet I pushed my chin high. I was not easily intimidated, or at least, I wouldn't let myself appear to be.
The man who got out had grey hair, a strong, angular face and a friendly smile. It was the smile that got me. Another difference between the gang and the mob. If I didn't know better, feel it in my gut, it'd probably smile back at that man as I passed him.
He leant against the car and watched me. I forced my eyes ahead of me and kept walking.
"Detective Prentiss?" he asked. He sounded like a normal citizen.
"That's me," I told him, still looking forward, still walking. Yet I saw out of the corner of my eye him nod at his driver then start walking after me.
My heart was starting to hurt as it banged against my chest. I let out a slow, deep breath and tried to calm it. When I figured out that stilling it wasn't going to happen, I focused on keeping my pace constant, my appearance unfrazzled.
"I hear you've been asking around about some of my friends."
"Do you have some information to give me?"
He laughed, cold. I felt the ice of it send shivers down my back.
"Something like that."
I stopped and looked at him, my eyes meeting his, talking all the balls I had. "And what is it that you want to say Mr…?"
"Mancini."
"Mr Mancini, what information to do have for me."
"That you should be careful."
My stomach dropped.
"Should I?"
"Yes. We wouldn't want a pretty young thing like you to get hurt," he said it in kindness, fake kindness, but still kindness. The threat was still evident. My jaw tightened, my fingers curled into fists.
I stepped forward so we were practically nose-to-nose. "As lovely as that is, I can take care of myself. I don't let little boys with guns scare me."
He shrugged and smiled at me. I felt my heart stop for just a moment. I don't know how, but I smiled back then walked passed him back to Rossi's car.
"Be careful," he warned. More of a threat than a warning.
"Will do," I called back.
.
My heart was still hammering when I walked into the precinct. Obviously something showed on me because many heads turned.
"Guess who I just ran into?" I didn't wait for a reply. "Mr Mancini."
I pulled off the blazer I'd been wearing and slung it over the seat, then the blouse under it joined it so all I wore was a muscle back single tucked into my slacks. Suddenly I felt incredibly hot, sticky with sweat.
"Mancini?" Rossi asked.
"Grey hair, tall, angular face?" Tobin.
"Him?" Williams asked pulling up a picture on his screen and turning it so I could study it.
"That's him."
"Who is he?" Rossi asked.
Tobin replied, "Mancini Sr. Head of the Mancini family."
Rossi's eyes widened.
"Yeah, sounds right," I nodded. "Does anybody have a cigarette? I need a cigarette."
Rossi's eyes widened even further.
"What was he like?" Rossi asked at the same time as Tobin asked, "What did he say?"
"Not much," I explained, walking over to Williams who held out a box of cigs and a lighter. "You should be careful… yadda yadda yadda. Honestly, he reminded me of Ian."
And that was what was getting at me.
The feelings I had – maybe still do – for Ian were always complex. He was an assignment, somebody evil for me to pretend to get close to. The problem had been the pretending part. I'd fallen in love. Though, I did think I'd done pretty alright at pretending to my team that I hadn't fallen for him. But I still loved him. As sick, as horrible, as evil as he'd been, he'd loved me. He had looked after me, and he'd looked after his son. Under all the evil, he was a good man.
And that was what was getting at me.
Along with how similar Mancini was to him. I didn't like to see him, the head of an evil family, behind the killing of twenty people, as a person. But then again, Ian had killed just as many.
"You okay?" Rossi asked again as I snapped back into reality.
I nodded and lit up the cigarette, not particularly caring about any rules they had about not smoking. I took a deep drag and felt the poisonous smoke fill my lungs. Before Ian came back, I hadn't had a smoke in three years. Then he returned and I couldn't help it. He died and I couldn't help it. My heart still ached at the loss. I'd nearly managed another six months, but now, at just the thought of him, I couldn't resist the urge. It didn't exactly make me feel great about myself.
Still sucking up smoke, I began to flip through the sheets of paper on my desk. Before I knew it, Rossi was right behind me.
"What are you looking for?" He asked me in a soft tone.
My heart ached. I desired to do nothing more than curl up against him, let him hold me. But I held my own, taking another deep drag.
"He threatened me. Which means we must have stumbled across something he doesn't want us to."
"Okay," Rossi said, his voice was still compassionate. I wished it wouldn't be. "Let's get to work."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hope you liked it.
x