criminal minds | one-shots ✓

7. e. greenway | william lee

elle remembers a gunshot.

she'd gone in blindly, thinking of RULES and fingers and blood. there was no way what had happened could've been prevented, she knew this as well as any fact. she was already unraveling - it had only been a matter of time.

i want you to think about this job, what you've been through, what you're capable of, hotch had said.

he had had no idea just what, exactly, that implied.

she didn't regret it, when she'd pulled the trigger. didn't regret it later, didn't regret the aftermath.

the only thing she could truly say she regretted was not saying goodbye to spencer. she thought he understood, in a way. there was a certain sort of sadness, with him, and she thought she was the same way. like they could both turn into the people they hunt, given time.

too bad she was a better killer than she was a profiler.

there was always a recurring dream. it got really bad about a week after the accident, and then went away for a while, just to come back, in intervals.

an empty corridor where a little girl sits. she's playing jack, by herself, and all the lights are off and the only reason elle can see is because of a red light that sits on the roof, pulsing to the beat of her heart. RULES is written on the wall, blood still dripping.

the little girl looks up and tilts her head to the side, and then, all of a sudden, she isn't a little girl in anymore; she's a monster. she's twice the size she was and her hands are covered in blood and her mishappen legs are bruised and cut. her arms are bent unnaturally and when looks at her, she snarls.

if elle cared, she'd say there was a metaphor in all that. like her subconscious was trying to tell her something, like naybe she was girl turned monster. of she cared.

too bad she doesn't.

there are things nobody knows about her. seeing her mother's dead, crushed body, under the weight of three cars, for example, or seeing her father's closed eyes in a coffin through blurry vision, imagining them open, lifeless and dead. going to college in her home state, going to a party thinking it'd be good for her to get out and socialize.

some cases hit close to home, everyone who's ever worked in the bau knows that, but william lee had dug up memories she'd left behind long ago, reminded her of more than just a gunshot and blood.

not everybody can handle this job.

maybe, if elle had been better. if she'd been good. if she hadn't seen too much at a young age and clutched it so close to her chest, it hurt. if william lee had never been there to hand her a shovel and urge her to dig her own grave.

ironic.

when elle left, she never intended to come back, even if she could. maybe she'll travel the world, if she survives. maybe she'll have a mundane life where she meets a man she doesn't truly love or a woman who only fulfills the serial aspect in her life. maybe she'll learn to love and to grow and to make herself better.

but she probably won't survive.

she wonders if anyone will remember her. obviously, the agents who live will - another thing she wonders is how many of them will still be there by the end. she's willing to be two, at most; spencer and someone, she's sure. - maybe they'll even tell her story, but. she wants more than that, if she's being honest.

she just doesn't know what more implies.