━━━ ❝ ❨ 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒓𝒅. ❩ ❞
Their story was never meant to be a happy one. In fact, the...
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CHAPTER 4: NO REST FOR THE WICKED (5x9: 100)
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A STORM. OF THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, unspoken words. Bess sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs positioned in a strict row by the wall facing Erin Strauss' office, fighting this storm. Waiting for Morgan to finish inside and swap places with her, so the section chief could continue her interrigation with her. More like torture. Reliving every second over and over again. But of course, she didn't have to go into the woman's office for that. She was reliving it right now, sitting in that chair. A bad movie without a pause button. She just couldn't make it stop.
But how exactly did she end up sitting in that chair? It had all started three weeks ago, right after that case with the Fox. When in that interrogation room of the Supermax Prison Hotch got to know that George Foyet had decided it was time for him to lose everything. He hadn't realized it then, but the hourglass had already been turned. And the grains of sand that held his family's precious time were slipping away faster than he could grasp.
Bess, of course, didn't get a hold of this until the next morning. She was too preoccupied with Rossi that night—not like Hotch had asked for her help anyway. With the intense taste of the scotch lingering on her tongue, she drank the senior agent's every word like it was the water essential for life. It had been past midnight when he finally left, and he taught her more in those few hours than she could have wished for. And it was just the beginning.
Remaining faithful to their deal, Rossi came over again. He came almost every night, and before Bess could stop it, she found herself drawing closer to him. Not in a romantic way, but more in a strange bond that she hesitated to call friendship. She should have kept her distance. She knew better than that. But spending so much time together made it inevitable not to open up to one another. And to tell the truth, she liked it. The long talks spiced with laughter; it was a relief with what was going on in the office.
Before the memories could overwhelm her once again, the door of Strauss' office opened up and Morgan stepped out. His eyes locked with Bess' for a second, then without saying a word to her, he turned on his heels and walked off in the direction of the bullpen. Bess let out a tired sigh as she rose from her seat, and entered the section chief's office like they were pulling her teeth.
"Agent Sinclair, please, take a seat." Strauss gestured towards the two chairs facing her large office desk, and Bess did as she asked, sinking into the chair farther from the door, crossing her legs as she leaned back comfortably. The blonde woman reached forward to push a button on the recorder, saying, "Please say your name and rank for the record."
The corner of Bess' lip twitched as she watched Strauss sit down on the other side of the desk, then spoke up in a clear voice, "SSA Elizabeth Sinclair, Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia."
