CHORUS
You are a woman marked for sorrow.
ELEKTRA
Yes, I know sorrow. Know it far too well.
My life is a tunnel choked by the
sweepings of dread.
⟿ criminal minds
⟿ aaron hotchner
...
CHAPTER TEN: SOMEBODY'S GOT TO SAVE THIS COUNTRY FROM CERTAIN DOOM AND LET'S FACE IT, THAT PERSON IS ME
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
IT WAS A full-blown concert.
With the soft glow of twilight spilling into the bullpen, Beatrice Sterling found herself amidst an impromptu performance in her and Garcia's office. A mischievous grin played on her lips as a screwdriver, a most unconventional accessory, danced playfully between them. In the heart of the room, an audacious ladder stood tall, an unwitting partner in her rhythmic escapade. The relentless thump of the music took hold of her, its infectious beat guiding her swaying hips and lithely moving limbs.
The room's dim lighting had caught her discerning eye after an arduous bout of paperwork, yet summoning an electrician seemed far too mundane for the likes of the blonde analyst. Armed with determination and a spare lightbulb, she embarked on her mission to brighten their shared space.
As the chorus unfurled its wings, she surrendered herself to the enchantment, letting her head sway and her body twirl. The screwdriver, once a mere tool, now took center stage as an unexpected prop, transformed into her private microphone.
With a flourish that blended audacity and finesse, she leaned into the ladder, a sentinel of support in her fanciful performance. "Got me looking so crazy right now, your love's got me looking so crazy right now," she sang, her voice intertwining with the melody.
As her dance reached a crescendo, Beatrice's outstretched arm traced an arc through the air, and with a twirl as graceful as a swan's, she spun to face an unexpected audience. "Got me hoping you'll page me right now, your kiss! Got me hoping you'll save me-holy shit!"
A gasp escaped her parted lips, freezing her mid-twirl. There, by the doorway like an apparition materializing from the ether, stood Aaron Hotchner, his hand clung to the doorknob like an anchor in a tempestuous sea. Her hand instinctively flew to her chest, her breath stolen by both surprise and embarrassment.
"You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!" exclaimed the woman. "Couldn't you have knocked?"
His response came with characteristic stoicism, a masterclass in deadpan delivery. "I did," he intoned. "Twice."
"Well, I suppose subtlety isn't in your repertoire, then." she jabbed, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose slightly. "So, uh, how long have you been there?"
"Just enough."
"Yeah, okay," Her fingers deftly moved to command the music to retreat into the background, its vivacious energy now subdued. A self-conscious gesture followed as she smoothed the wrinkles on her sleek sleeveless black dress, an ensemble that seemed to have a flirtatious conversation with her best features. A subtle blush tiptoed onto her cheeks, accentuating her awareness of the slightly unorthodox situation. "So, uh, is there anything I can help you with? I have already left the performance evaluation on your desk earlier."
