The Waste Land, 42/44
Title: The Waste Land
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. He isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
Author’s Note: Sorry about the long wait. One chapter left, and then the epilogue.
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Sixteen - Vigil (Reid)
Every single case they take leaves a mark - physical and mental. Sometimes it’s a small wound, when they’ve been running for three days on nothing but coffee and carbohydrates. Nutritionists recommend that 45 - 65% of daily intake should come from carbohydrates, but Reid probably wouldn’t call day old pastries a properly balanced diet.
Sometimes, the wounds are big, like when half the team ends up in hospital, and the Unit Chief is in a body bag. A crass description, perhaps, but for Reid, sentimentality has been in short supply these last few days.
Now, they’re all at Rossi’s house, partially for convenience, and partially - Reid thinks - so than none of them have to mourn this loss alone.
It’s been four days, and the pain is as bad as it had been four days ago.
Rossi, Garcia and Will are keeping them all drowning in food; from the living room, Reid can hear the arguments about exactly why they have to use beef in Italian beef sandwiches, instead of some vegetarian alternative.
Reid drinks water - partially because he’s still on a variety of medications, and partially because he doesn’t think that he could stomach alcohol at all anyway. It might dull the pain somewhat, but right now, the pain is something that he needs. The itching and the stinging and the general aching of his chest distracts him from the tingling of his veins, and the urge to find a way to make it all just stop.
It might have been harder, if he were alone.
He taps his fingers against the leather of the couch. Expensive leather - only the best for millionaire, David Rossi. On the floor in front of him, Jack has engaged Morgan and Prentiss in some kind of complicated role-playing scenario involving Batman, Captain America, and a stuffed bear named Mr. Crinkles.
When Haley had asked that the team keep an eye on Jack while she organizes Hotch’s affairs, both profilers had risen to the request. It doesn’t take someone with a background in behavioral science to see the reasons for that eagerness. Guilt is something that they’re all feeling; if they’d done things just a little differently, then would Hotch still be alive?
That’s just another example of chaos theory in practice.
On the sofa beside him, JJ bounces Henry on her knee. The young boy is enthralled by all the people, seemingly unconcerned by the air of melancholy. He laughs as Morgan’s Mr. Crinkles tackles Jack’s Captain America, much to the five-year-old’s disapproval.
‘That’s not how you play the game,’ he protests, but he’s smiling, which is more than anyone else can claim.
He knows that his daddy had been killed by a bad man, but Reid’s not entirely sure that Jack understands it. He’s at the age where he’s beginning to realize that death is not some reversible, temporary thing.
All things die. Some things sooner than others.
‘Hey.’ JJ gives him a soft smile. ‘How’re you doing?’
I’m fine, he almost says, but it’s so far from the truth that she would never believe him in a million years.
‘About as well as everyone else,’ he says, with a shrug. Henry, sensing the need to change the focus of his attention, makes a sound of glee, and waves his arms in Spencer’s direction.
‘Not now, sweetie,’ JJ tells him. ‘Uncle Spence is still a little sore.’ He finds it amusing, considering that he’s not the only one with stitches. Granted, JJ has a lot fewer stitches than he does. ‘How’re you feeling, Spence?’ she adds, voice laced with concern. He wonders if she’s thinking about Tobias Hankel. This time, splitting up had landed both of them in hospital.
Not that things would have been any better if they’d stuck together. Carson had been a big threat, but it was Foyet that had done the real, irreversible damage. He’s not talking about the Eye of Providence. It’s not something he would have asked for, but it’s something that he can deal with.
‘I’m not sure,’ Reid says with a frown. His mind is a little jittery, but that’s to be expected. The characteristic symptoms resulting from the exposure to the extreme trauma include persistent re-experiencing of the traumatic, persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma and numbing of general responsiveness and persistent symptoms of increased arousal.
There’s a world of difference between Hankel and Foyet, but that doesn’t make reliving the worst experience of his life any more desirable.
His fist clenches in pain.
There’s a pause.
‘I’m not okay,’ he says, and it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to admit. He’s used to being self-sufficient, to not relying on anyone else, but if there’s one thing that he’s learnt from being in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, it’s that you can’t hide anything.
‘I’m not either,’ she says, her voice high, and just a little bit shaky. There are tears in her eyes. Another pause. ‘I don’t think any of us will be.’
Will be.
Future tense.
JJ hesitates, as though there’s something she wants to say, only she’s not quite sure how to say it. ‘I don’t know if I can come back to the team.’
Reid nods. The revelation does not surprise him - he knows that JJ loves her job, but he also knows that she needs to do what’s best for her son, and that means being in a position that has a lower mortality rate.
‘Where will you go?’ he asks, softly.
‘I’m not sure,’ JJ shrugs. She gives a short laugh. ‘The Department of Defense keeps trying to recruit me. Maybe I’ll give them a call.’
Reid nods. He’s thought about making the same choice over the past couple of days, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Las Vegas had ceased being a home once he had institutionalized his mother, and while he still visits when he can, he will never move back there.
He could get a teaching job, or a research job, or practically anything else under the sun. Three Ph. Ds is nothing to laugh at, and there have certainly been enough offers, but he can’t see himself leaving the BAU anytime soon.
Afternoon trickles into evening, and nobody leaves. Partially because of the fact that they all need the company, but mostly because of the underlying feeling that anyone who gets separated from the group will accidently fall into a ditch and break their neck.
Baseless, perhaps, but not uncommon.
The realm of the Fisher King has become a wasteland.
It will last a few days, perhaps a few weeks, before they fall back into their regular routines. Within time, they will gain some semblance of normality, but things will never quite be the same.
There’s a hole in the world.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. He isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
Author’s Note: Sorry about the long wait. One chapter left, and then the epilogue.
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Sixteen - Vigil (Reid)
Every single case they take leaves a mark - physical and mental. Sometimes it’s a small wound, when they’ve been running for three days on nothing but coffee and carbohydrates. Nutritionists recommend that 45 - 65% of daily intake should come from carbohydrates, but Reid probably wouldn’t call day old pastries a properly balanced diet.
Sometimes, the wounds are big, like when half the team ends up in hospital, and the Unit Chief is in a body bag. A crass description, perhaps, but for Reid, sentimentality has been in short supply these last few days.
Now, they’re all at Rossi’s house, partially for convenience, and partially - Reid thinks - so than none of them have to mourn this loss alone.
It’s been four days, and the pain is as bad as it had been four days ago.
Rossi, Garcia and Will are keeping them all drowning in food; from the living room, Reid can hear the arguments about exactly why they have to use beef in Italian beef sandwiches, instead of some vegetarian alternative.
Reid drinks water - partially because he’s still on a variety of medications, and partially because he doesn’t think that he could stomach alcohol at all anyway. It might dull the pain somewhat, but right now, the pain is something that he needs. The itching and the stinging and the general aching of his chest distracts him from the tingling of his veins, and the urge to find a way to make it all just stop.
It might have been harder, if he were alone.
He taps his fingers against the leather of the couch. Expensive leather - only the best for millionaire, David Rossi. On the floor in front of him, Jack has engaged Morgan and Prentiss in some kind of complicated role-playing scenario involving Batman, Captain America, and a stuffed bear named Mr. Crinkles.
When Haley had asked that the team keep an eye on Jack while she organizes Hotch’s affairs, both profilers had risen to the request. It doesn’t take someone with a background in behavioral science to see the reasons for that eagerness. Guilt is something that they’re all feeling; if they’d done things just a little differently, then would Hotch still be alive?
That’s just another example of chaos theory in practice.
On the sofa beside him, JJ bounces Henry on her knee. The young boy is enthralled by all the people, seemingly unconcerned by the air of melancholy. He laughs as Morgan’s Mr. Crinkles tackles Jack’s Captain America, much to the five-year-old’s disapproval.
‘That’s not how you play the game,’ he protests, but he’s smiling, which is more than anyone else can claim.
He knows that his daddy had been killed by a bad man, but Reid’s not entirely sure that Jack understands it. He’s at the age where he’s beginning to realize that death is not some reversible, temporary thing.
All things die. Some things sooner than others.
‘Hey.’ JJ gives him a soft smile. ‘How’re you doing?’
I’m fine, he almost says, but it’s so far from the truth that she would never believe him in a million years.
‘About as well as everyone else,’ he says, with a shrug. Henry, sensing the need to change the focus of his attention, makes a sound of glee, and waves his arms in Spencer’s direction.
‘Not now, sweetie,’ JJ tells him. ‘Uncle Spence is still a little sore.’ He finds it amusing, considering that he’s not the only one with stitches. Granted, JJ has a lot fewer stitches than he does. ‘How’re you feeling, Spence?’ she adds, voice laced with concern. He wonders if she’s thinking about Tobias Hankel. This time, splitting up had landed both of them in hospital.
Not that things would have been any better if they’d stuck together. Carson had been a big threat, but it was Foyet that had done the real, irreversible damage. He’s not talking about the Eye of Providence. It’s not something he would have asked for, but it’s something that he can deal with.
‘I’m not sure,’ Reid says with a frown. His mind is a little jittery, but that’s to be expected. The characteristic symptoms resulting from the exposure to the extreme trauma include persistent re-experiencing of the traumatic, persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma and numbing of general responsiveness and persistent symptoms of increased arousal.
There’s a world of difference between Hankel and Foyet, but that doesn’t make reliving the worst experience of his life any more desirable.
His fist clenches in pain.
There’s a pause.
‘I’m not okay,’ he says, and it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to admit. He’s used to being self-sufficient, to not relying on anyone else, but if there’s one thing that he’s learnt from being in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, it’s that you can’t hide anything.
‘I’m not either,’ she says, her voice high, and just a little bit shaky. There are tears in her eyes. Another pause. ‘I don’t think any of us will be.’
Will be.
Future tense.
JJ hesitates, as though there’s something she wants to say, only she’s not quite sure how to say it. ‘I don’t know if I can come back to the team.’
Reid nods. The revelation does not surprise him - he knows that JJ loves her job, but he also knows that she needs to do what’s best for her son, and that means being in a position that has a lower mortality rate.
‘Where will you go?’ he asks, softly.
‘I’m not sure,’ JJ shrugs. She gives a short laugh. ‘The Department of Defense keeps trying to recruit me. Maybe I’ll give them a call.’
Reid nods. He’s thought about making the same choice over the past couple of days, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Las Vegas had ceased being a home once he had institutionalized his mother, and while he still visits when he can, he will never move back there.
He could get a teaching job, or a research job, or practically anything else under the sun. Three Ph. Ds is nothing to laugh at, and there have certainly been enough offers, but he can’t see himself leaving the BAU anytime soon.
Afternoon trickles into evening, and nobody leaves. Partially because of the fact that they all need the company, but mostly because of the underlying feeling that anyone who gets separated from the group will accidently fall into a ditch and break their neck.
Baseless, perhaps, but not uncommon.
The realm of the Fisher King has become a wasteland.
It will last a few days, perhaps a few weeks, before they fall back into their regular routines. Within time, they will gain some semblance of normality, but things will never quite be the same.
There’s a hole in the world.