Fic: A Girl Needs a Gun These Days {Criminal Minds - Elle/Emily} 3/?
Title: A Girl Needs a Gun These Days 3/?
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Elle/Emily
Summary: The current BAU team is brought to Brooklyn when a series of murdered rapists looks to be the work of a vigilante. Previous chapters.
Warning: Deals with rape.
Rating: R
Notes: A huge thanks to serialbathera for all her amazing advice as my beta.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. No profit made, no infringement intended.
--------------- Chapter 3: She was Cuffed to the Truth like the Truth was a Chair
Prentiss doesn't look at Elle as she walks into the room. Instead she focuses on arranging the stacks of files in front of her, the medical, school and financial records only forming a small stack beside Elle's FBI records. Every background search, shooting, and disciplinary write-up now lies at her fingertips. Between the additional access Garcia had been allowed and some very illegal hacking into each and every locked and hidden file on Elle in the FBI's database, under any other circumstance Garcia would be gleeful at having the FBI's secrets at her fingertips, but today she could barely crack a smile when she gave Prentiss the files.
Elle leans back in her chair, arms crossed and legs stretched, as Prentiss arranges her papers, observing her silently.
"So you're the new me?" Elle asks with a chuckle.
"I joined the team two months after you left," Prentiss replies, raising her eyes from the papers to meet Elle's.
"You any good?" Elle asks.
"You'll have to tell me," Prentiss replies.
"I will," Elle responds with a slight amusement.
"These four men: Ricky Knight, Benjamin James, Bradley Cook, and Devon Riley," Prentiss begins, pushing each mug shot in front of Elle, "were all shot in their apartments in the last 3 months," she then lays the crime scene photos over them, "Each of these men was accused of rape, but never tried. The women who accused them all sought help from your organization."
"I know who they are and what they did. It doesn't mean I killed them," Elle replies easily.
"No, but you also had files on each of them, with their home and work addresses. Everyday you would listen to their victims recount the torture those men put them through, and you would deal with the immense ramifications of their crimes. You'd work tirelessly to make them pay for their crimes and instead you would see them getting away with it. Everything you needed to stop them was there in your office- their addresses, your gun. Why wouldn't you want to do what the law had failed to do: bring these men to account for their crimes and lock them away so they could never hurt anyone else?" Prentiss asks.
"Many people have access to that information, why don't they all kill them?" Elle replies with a smirk.
"Because they don't know what it's like to feel powerless, but you do," Prentiss responds, her eyes fixed on Elle, challenging her to admit she takes it personally.
"I was in the FBI, Agent Prentiss. Between my training and my gun, I can protect myself just fine. I could probably even kick your ass," Elle says pointedly.
"I don't doubt that you'd be a challenging sparing partner, but when you were shot in your home, your training and gun were useless to protect you," Prentiss replies.
Elle's jaw is clenched, her features set in stone, refusing to respond in any way.
"The truth is that while you pride yourself on your ability to defend yourself, Randall Garner took that all away in an instant. He shot you before you could get your gun and then reached inside your wound and wrote in your blood, while you lay dying. He took away your ability to protect yourself, to feel safe, to trust that others could protect you, and he almost took your life. So I think maybe you can understand that violation more than most," Prentiss says gently.
"Empathy isn't a crime," Elle replies tightly.
"I don't think you just empathized Ms. Greenaway, I think you saw yourself in those women. So much so that you felt like it was happening to you, over and over. You needed that control back, and you took it. Just like you did when you shot William Lee," Prentiss says, her voice biting.
"I helped those women in every possible legal way, and that was enough," Elle replies forcefully, her voice rising in volume, skirting much of Prentiss' assertion.
"Was it really enough? Watching those women suffer, those men going free, feeling that rage and knowing you could do something? You couldn't let those men prove you powerless yet again," Prentiss presses.
"I didn't kill any of those men, and the ballistics will prove it," Elle replies, trying to shut down the line of questioning.
Prentiss flips through the files, letting the silence build its own tension.
"Before you joined the FBI, you studied Criminology at NYU?" Prentiss questions.
"Yes, what does that have to do with anything?" Elle asks in frustration.
"Half-way through your freshman year you withdrew for a semester, but no reason was listed," Prentiss continues.
"I just needed a break," Elle says with a shrug.
"You don't take 'breaks'. In the FBI you were nothing if not focused on your career and your work. What's the real reason you dropped out of university Ms. Greenaway?" Prentiss presses.
Elle glares silently at Prentiss.
"Were you raped?" Prentiss asks directly.
Elle doesn't respond in any way, not even the slightest movement.
Prentiss waits. For almost a minute they sit in silence, the room frozen in an eerily stillness.
"Yes," Elle finally replies, giving nothing but the syllable away.
"And your rapist was never convicted?" Prentiss asks.
"No," Elle replies shortly.
"Why isn't there a police report?" Prentiss asks.
"My father's friends in the department kept it quiet. DNA never matched a perp or other victims, and the leads went cold," Elle replies with a dark laugh.
"So you never got any sort of justice?" Prentiss asks.
"No," Elle replies tersely.
"But these men, they got justice. They got what they deserved," Prentiss posits.
"Not from me. Do you know why I joined the FBI Agent Prentiss, why I started studying Criminology?" Elle asks rhetorically.
Prentiss shakes her head.
"After I was raped I started reading every book I could find about sexual violence. I read book after book about the psychology of rape and the rapist, about victimology and indicators. The one thing that brought me peace was profiling my rapist," Elle tells Prentiss, forcing her to meet Elle's eyes.
Now it's Prentiss's turn to be silent, unable to stop sympathy from creeping into her features.
"Anger-Retalaitority. Classic extreme rage and excessive violence. Defensive wounds, along with facial and genital injuries on the victim," Elle recites, her voice clinical.
"How badly were you hurt?" Prentiss asks softly.
"I spent a week in the hospital, same as when I was shot," Elle replies without emotion.
"To come back from that to work everyday with similar crimes, both at the FBI and now Brooklyn Rape Crisis, that would take a very strong person," Prentiss says, once again studying Elle.
Elle remains silent, her eyes locked on Prentiss as though in a staring contest.
"Is it anger that fuels that strength?" Prentiss asks after a moment.
"It's control, Agent Prentiss. Control and steadfast determination. I control the playing field, my actions, my life. I may have lost my control after my shooting, but never since," Elle finally replies.
Now Prentiss is silent. Elle starts studying the photographs in front of her.
"What's my stressor?" Elle asks Prentiss, not looking up from the crime scene photos.
Prentiss doesn't respond.
"My shooting was years ago. If that was my stressor I should have started my spree years ago. I haven't dated anyone in years, haven't had anyone recently die. Even the loss of my job was years ago," Elle continues as she flips through the photos.
"Your work with these women could…" Prentiss starts.
"I've had the job for over a year. Far before the first murder," Elle interrupts.
"Perhaps it was a particular victim that had a very similar MO to yours," Prentiss replies.
"Katharine Garret," Elle murmurs, pausing on the photograph of the notes.
"Is that a confession?" Prentiss asks gently.
"She was brutally raped 5 months ago. The DA declined to prosecute just 3 months ago," Elle says, almost more to herself.
"And that triggered memories of your rape?" Prentiss leads.
"No, don't you see? The rape had to be more recent. It was the stressor, along with the DA's decision not to prosecute. This is Katharine's writing," Elle says, her voice rising.
"Would she have had a chance to meet the victims of the murdered men?" Prentiss asks, intrigued.
"Yes, at group. We have a group therapy session once a week, and Katharine was always there. She was so angry, I think she scared the others a bit. I thought that anger might help her survive, not turn her into a killer," Elle replies sadly.
"What about the men's addresses?" Prentiss asks.
"She often helps me clean up. One day I noticed files were missing, but I thought I must had just misplaced them. The next day there were back," Elle replies.
"Does she have any other possible stressors? A boyfriend?" Prentiss asks.
"No, but I believe she lost her job not long ago. She couldn't keep the depression and PTSD from affecting her work," Elle replies.
"PTSD?" Prentiss repeats.
"A pretty bad case of it. Nightmares and flashbacks got to the point where she seemed to be reliving it almost daily," Elle tells her.
"I'm going to have Garcia do a full check into her. You can go now Elle, but please don't leave town," Prentiss says as she gathers all the files.
"You have my number," Elle replies, and Prentiss could almost swear she sees the hint of a soft smile upon her lips.
--------------------------------------
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Elle/Emily
Summary: The current BAU team is brought to Brooklyn when a series of murdered rapists looks to be the work of a vigilante. Previous chapters.
Warning: Deals with rape.
Rating: R
Notes: A huge thanks to serialbathera for all her amazing advice as my beta.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. No profit made, no infringement intended.
--------------- Chapter 3: She was Cuffed to the Truth like the Truth was a Chair
Prentiss doesn't look at Elle as she walks into the room. Instead she focuses on arranging the stacks of files in front of her, the medical, school and financial records only forming a small stack beside Elle's FBI records. Every background search, shooting, and disciplinary write-up now lies at her fingertips. Between the additional access Garcia had been allowed and some very illegal hacking into each and every locked and hidden file on Elle in the FBI's database, under any other circumstance Garcia would be gleeful at having the FBI's secrets at her fingertips, but today she could barely crack a smile when she gave Prentiss the files.
Elle leans back in her chair, arms crossed and legs stretched, as Prentiss arranges her papers, observing her silently.
"So you're the new me?" Elle asks with a chuckle.
"I joined the team two months after you left," Prentiss replies, raising her eyes from the papers to meet Elle's.
"You any good?" Elle asks.
"You'll have to tell me," Prentiss replies.
"I will," Elle responds with a slight amusement.
"These four men: Ricky Knight, Benjamin James, Bradley Cook, and Devon Riley," Prentiss begins, pushing each mug shot in front of Elle, "were all shot in their apartments in the last 3 months," she then lays the crime scene photos over them, "Each of these men was accused of rape, but never tried. The women who accused them all sought help from your organization."
"I know who they are and what they did. It doesn't mean I killed them," Elle replies easily.
"No, but you also had files on each of them, with their home and work addresses. Everyday you would listen to their victims recount the torture those men put them through, and you would deal with the immense ramifications of their crimes. You'd work tirelessly to make them pay for their crimes and instead you would see them getting away with it. Everything you needed to stop them was there in your office- their addresses, your gun. Why wouldn't you want to do what the law had failed to do: bring these men to account for their crimes and lock them away so they could never hurt anyone else?" Prentiss asks.
"Many people have access to that information, why don't they all kill them?" Elle replies with a smirk.
"Because they don't know what it's like to feel powerless, but you do," Prentiss responds, her eyes fixed on Elle, challenging her to admit she takes it personally.
"I was in the FBI, Agent Prentiss. Between my training and my gun, I can protect myself just fine. I could probably even kick your ass," Elle says pointedly.
"I don't doubt that you'd be a challenging sparing partner, but when you were shot in your home, your training and gun were useless to protect you," Prentiss replies.
Elle's jaw is clenched, her features set in stone, refusing to respond in any way.
"The truth is that while you pride yourself on your ability to defend yourself, Randall Garner took that all away in an instant. He shot you before you could get your gun and then reached inside your wound and wrote in your blood, while you lay dying. He took away your ability to protect yourself, to feel safe, to trust that others could protect you, and he almost took your life. So I think maybe you can understand that violation more than most," Prentiss says gently.
"Empathy isn't a crime," Elle replies tightly.
"I don't think you just empathized Ms. Greenaway, I think you saw yourself in those women. So much so that you felt like it was happening to you, over and over. You needed that control back, and you took it. Just like you did when you shot William Lee," Prentiss says, her voice biting.
"I helped those women in every possible legal way, and that was enough," Elle replies forcefully, her voice rising in volume, skirting much of Prentiss' assertion.
"Was it really enough? Watching those women suffer, those men going free, feeling that rage and knowing you could do something? You couldn't let those men prove you powerless yet again," Prentiss presses.
"I didn't kill any of those men, and the ballistics will prove it," Elle replies, trying to shut down the line of questioning.
Prentiss flips through the files, letting the silence build its own tension.
"Before you joined the FBI, you studied Criminology at NYU?" Prentiss questions.
"Yes, what does that have to do with anything?" Elle asks in frustration.
"Half-way through your freshman year you withdrew for a semester, but no reason was listed," Prentiss continues.
"I just needed a break," Elle says with a shrug.
"You don't take 'breaks'. In the FBI you were nothing if not focused on your career and your work. What's the real reason you dropped out of university Ms. Greenaway?" Prentiss presses.
Elle glares silently at Prentiss.
"Were you raped?" Prentiss asks directly.
Elle doesn't respond in any way, not even the slightest movement.
Prentiss waits. For almost a minute they sit in silence, the room frozen in an eerily stillness.
"Yes," Elle finally replies, giving nothing but the syllable away.
"And your rapist was never convicted?" Prentiss asks.
"No," Elle replies shortly.
"Why isn't there a police report?" Prentiss asks.
"My father's friends in the department kept it quiet. DNA never matched a perp or other victims, and the leads went cold," Elle replies with a dark laugh.
"So you never got any sort of justice?" Prentiss asks.
"No," Elle replies tersely.
"But these men, they got justice. They got what they deserved," Prentiss posits.
"Not from me. Do you know why I joined the FBI Agent Prentiss, why I started studying Criminology?" Elle asks rhetorically.
Prentiss shakes her head.
"After I was raped I started reading every book I could find about sexual violence. I read book after book about the psychology of rape and the rapist, about victimology and indicators. The one thing that brought me peace was profiling my rapist," Elle tells Prentiss, forcing her to meet Elle's eyes.
Now it's Prentiss's turn to be silent, unable to stop sympathy from creeping into her features.
"Anger-Retalaitority. Classic extreme rage and excessive violence. Defensive wounds, along with facial and genital injuries on the victim," Elle recites, her voice clinical.
"How badly were you hurt?" Prentiss asks softly.
"I spent a week in the hospital, same as when I was shot," Elle replies without emotion.
"To come back from that to work everyday with similar crimes, both at the FBI and now Brooklyn Rape Crisis, that would take a very strong person," Prentiss says, once again studying Elle.
Elle remains silent, her eyes locked on Prentiss as though in a staring contest.
"Is it anger that fuels that strength?" Prentiss asks after a moment.
"It's control, Agent Prentiss. Control and steadfast determination. I control the playing field, my actions, my life. I may have lost my control after my shooting, but never since," Elle finally replies.
Now Prentiss is silent. Elle starts studying the photographs in front of her.
"What's my stressor?" Elle asks Prentiss, not looking up from the crime scene photos.
Prentiss doesn't respond.
"My shooting was years ago. If that was my stressor I should have started my spree years ago. I haven't dated anyone in years, haven't had anyone recently die. Even the loss of my job was years ago," Elle continues as she flips through the photos.
"Your work with these women could…" Prentiss starts.
"I've had the job for over a year. Far before the first murder," Elle interrupts.
"Perhaps it was a particular victim that had a very similar MO to yours," Prentiss replies.
"Katharine Garret," Elle murmurs, pausing on the photograph of the notes.
"Is that a confession?" Prentiss asks gently.
"She was brutally raped 5 months ago. The DA declined to prosecute just 3 months ago," Elle says, almost more to herself.
"And that triggered memories of your rape?" Prentiss leads.
"No, don't you see? The rape had to be more recent. It was the stressor, along with the DA's decision not to prosecute. This is Katharine's writing," Elle says, her voice rising.
"Would she have had a chance to meet the victims of the murdered men?" Prentiss asks, intrigued.
"Yes, at group. We have a group therapy session once a week, and Katharine was always there. She was so angry, I think she scared the others a bit. I thought that anger might help her survive, not turn her into a killer," Elle replies sadly.
"What about the men's addresses?" Prentiss asks.
"She often helps me clean up. One day I noticed files were missing, but I thought I must had just misplaced them. The next day there were back," Elle replies.
"Does she have any other possible stressors? A boyfriend?" Prentiss asks.
"No, but I believe she lost her job not long ago. She couldn't keep the depression and PTSD from affecting her work," Elle replies.
"PTSD?" Prentiss repeats.
"A pretty bad case of it. Nightmares and flashbacks got to the point where she seemed to be reliving it almost daily," Elle tells her.
"I'm going to have Garcia do a full check into her. You can go now Elle, but please don't leave town," Prentiss says as she gathers all the files.
"You have my number," Elle replies, and Prentiss could almost swear she sees the hint of a soft smile upon her lips.
--------------------------------------