Where I Lived, and What I Lived For [FanFic]
Title: Where I Lived, and What I Lived For
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Hotch/OFC
Rating: FRM
Summary: So often people ask me about him because they want a good story to tell their friends or put in their paper or because they think talking to me is some…link to the legacy of The Boston Reaper.
Notes: This is the fourth piece in The Eye of Providence. Takes place during & just after Season 5's "Outfoxed" and "100"...the title is Chapter 2 of Thoreau's Walden. This chapter's style is more experimental, but I think it pays off and I know I loved doing it, haha! (Thanks pink_siamese for all the help & encouragement...and some beta-ing, haha! ^_^) Lemme know what ya'll think :D
Julie stopped her jog at the coastline, left her shoes and socks behind, and walked out on the rocks. She liked the harsh cold slippery grip under her step as the rocks grew dark and slick from water-wear. Halfway out she sat and shivered with a smile as the surface froze her through her pants.
George liked this weather too. The fast, brutalizing wind carrying a winter-warning chill that made weaker people bundle up. He liked the sound the air made as it tore leaves from their homes and the cracking of branches being snapped in two.
Sounds like bones breaking.
He would tell her that as he broke wood into mulch while they walked together through Salem. Every year they would come for Halloween. She’d dress as a Punk or Goth and George would wear all black with a hockey mask and she would ask what he was.
I’m the Zodiac.
The Zodiac didn’t wear a hockey mask.
Only because he wasn’t smart enough to think of it.
They would find an out-of-the-way graveyard and fool around. The vapor from their breath would mix in thick, puffing, clouds as George slipped a hand up her shirt.
I’m gonna leave my mark on this world, Julie.
How’s that?
Don’t know yet.
George Foyet without a plan? Shudder to think.
She stood up, stretched, grabbed her shoes, and headed for the beach. It was empty, people spending their Thanksgiving inside with family, and so she took her time. She let the sand give way under her as she walked and felt herself leave her mark.
But when I do, you’ll know.
How?
You just will.
Julie worked her way back to solid pavement and passed the arcade with its still-working flying horse merry-go-round. Parts of her wanted to hop on, wanted to remember what it was like to be a kid, to be completely innocent. She wondered if Aaron’s son would like it or if having such a simple pleasure was already lost.
I love you, Julie.
You’re full of it, George.
She remembered how he would pull her nipple taut before releasing and laving it with his tongue. She would moan from behind teeth buried in his shoulder as she undid his fly. The fall and winter months were best for hiding marks and they would take full advantage.
I love you, Julie.
I love you too, George.
Time was subjective when a place was desolate; it stood still, then rushed forward only to fall back into the past. Julie dragged herself to the present and realized she couldn’t stay, reminiscing.
***
It was late in the evening by the time Jim and Alex dropped by with leftovers. The preteen immediately plopped on the couch to watch football with little more than a half-assed greeting.
“Kids,” Jim shrugged out.
Julie returned the shrug.
“So, how was Thanksgiving?” He headed into the kitchen with the food.
“Pretty good. Took a nice jog, watched some games, got some housework done.”
“Any word from the fed?”
“No and I’m starting to get worried. This is the longest he’s gone without touching base.”
“Maybe he’s busy?”
“He said he was in Hampton, Virginia, but that was at least a week ago and he never responded to my text.”
“Ya think somethin’ happened to him?”
“I don’t know. Even if something did it probably wouldn’t hit the news here.”
“Unless it was Reaper-related.”
“I really hope he’s all right.” She smiled. “So how was Thanksgiving at Dina’s?”
“You shoulda gone.”
“It’s a family holiday.”
“You’re family.”
“And yet I don’t see my being there setting that warm and loving tone.”
“So? Fuck her.”
“Jim.” She warned.
“Well the next time there’s a family holiday celebrated at my place you’re going.” Jim reorganized the fridge for space. “Hey, you got pie!”
Julie laughed. “I was so bored and frustrated at the last game I made it.”
“Pumpkin?”
“Of course.”
“C-can we…?”
“You want a slice?”
“Please,” Jim grinned like a kid.
“Alex?” Julie flicked on the oven.
“Yeah?”
“You want some pumpkin pie?”
“Hells yeah!”
Julie stepped out of the kitchen with a raised brow. “Oh that better have been a ‘yes, please’, you just said.”
The boy looked up from the game with a guilty smirk. “Yes, please, dear Julie, the coolest woman who ever lived.”
“That’s more like it,” Julie cracked and headed back in to reheat the pie.
“You’re pretty stressed, huh?” Jim frowned.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You’re doing stuff.”
Julie laughed. “I do stuff all the time, Jim.”
“Not bake and clean, Jules.” And the house was spotless. “You’re really stressin’ ‘bout the fed, aren’t you?”
“I just…I have this bad feeling.” Julie moved around him as she grabbed plates and silverware. “It’s probably nothing, just over-thinking things, but that doesn’t make it go away.”
“You think, uh, he’d attack the fed now?”
“George?”
He nodded.
“I think the only reason he wouldn’t is if he was waiting for Christmas.”
Jim flashed a smile, but then frowned again. “Julie.” He waited for her to stop and look at him. “Whatever happens ain’t your fault. People can pull ya into The Reaper’s…whatever, all they want, but that’s not you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re not the only person Foyet knew and dated.”
“I know.”
“You’re just the luckiest.”
Julie gave a sad smile before calling Alex to the table.
***
Football played in the background as Julie stood over the kitchen sink with the letter. It hadn’t taken her long to find it tucked away in her private lockbox at the top of the closet. She’d thumbed through all those things from her past she thought best to pretend never existed before she returned to the letter.
The words were written with great care on unlined paper like it was his declaration. He’d wanted her to understand; it was a message, another secret for her to keep…George had wanted her to know.
Robert Frost
To Earthward
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things
The flow of--was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In the grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough.
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
At the bottom, clear and delicate, was The Eye of Providence.
She read the page over and over as she brought lighter to paper and watched the kiss ignite. Red-orange and golden-yellow flames devoured the black Eye before working up the clean penmanship of George Foyet.
Her phone dinged with a message.
She dropped the rest in the sink, turned on the water, and left the remains to the garbage disposal as she went to check her phone. It was Aaron.
He’s dead
Your address?
***
Have you ever thought what it’d be like to kill someone?
Julie looks over at him.
I thought you knew.
The über prep from ‘Sconset is stripped to bare skin. His look is devious, but serious.
I do. I’m asking about you.
Oh.
Have you?
She rests her chin on his chest as they share the summer-in-Nantucket bed.
Yes, but not my parents.
Then who?
The guy who shot my dad.
George pulls her up by the hair for a kiss. How?
How what?
He smiles. How would you do it?
I think I’d shoot him so he knew how it felt for my dad.
George laughs. He’s probably been shot before, Julie.
She straddles his waist. You have a better idea?
I’d stab him.
Same as your dad?
No, not like him.
Then how?
I’d take my time.
George makes a hand a fist. Dr. Foyet says that a man can survive a stomach wound for hours if its in the right place. He presses his fist into her appendix scar and drags it across slow. Some folks can even be gutted and live for a good while after.
Julie slides down his body until she feels hard cock up against her ass. But if you gut him so he lives then you haven’t killed him, George, and we’re talking about killing.
True, but like I said, I’d take my time.
Make him suffer.
Yeah.
‘Cause of what he did to my dad.
No.
Julie lifts, shifts, and buries him inside her. She thinks of the knife in the gut as they moan together.
Then why George?
He takes her by the back of the neck and the breast and whispers. Because I’d want to.
***
Julie examined Aaron as she stepped into his apartment. The midday sun showed him with scratched face and scraped knuckles, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the mask-like expression on his face; she wondered if this was the glare George got when in the apartment. Her heart skipped then double-timed.
“You’re okay.”
“He killed my wife.”
“But you’re okay.” She turned and gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your wife, Aaron.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“He was going to kill my son.”
She nodded.
“And you loved him.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“But you did love him.”
“Yes.”
“How?” His hands grabbed imaginary throats. “How does someone do that, Julie?”
“He wasn’t like that -“
Aaron moved faster than she expected and the wall knocked the air out of her when she hit it. “He was always like that!”
Julie held his glare calmly. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it does.”
“He’s dead.”
“I killed him.”
“So you won.”
“Two innocent people died, my son is without his mother, and you think I won?”
“The only way you could.”
Julie heard Aaron’s fist rush past and crash through the drywall. The sounds of plaster crumbling filled her ears as she turned to look at him. She watched him shake and pant, saw tears roll down his face. He reminded her of a wild animal, desperate to fight but unsure it was able.
“Aaron?” It was a soft, stern, pant.
His grip on the broken wall fell apart with the rest of him. The anger, the frustration, the hate all streamed out as he shook harder in his sobs. He fell to his knees, soaked her stomach in tears.
Julie set a hand on his head; she moved it carefully through his hair as she took deep, encouraging, breaths. “You need rest, Aaron.” She slipped down beside him. “Where’s your son?”
“With h-his aunt.”
“For how long?”
“Weekend,” Aaron answered on the intake of breath.
“For you to get your and Jack’s affairs in order?”
He nodded.
Julie brought Aaron with her as she stood up. “You can’t do that like this.” She gave a small smile. “Shower, clean up, and clear your mind. Are you hungry?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry.”
Aaron’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”
***
He curled up beside her in the bed, smelling of drugstore soap and salt water. Julie recalled how her dad had smelled the same in the first days after her mother finally drank herself to death.
“Thank you for the food.” Aaron’s voice was numb.
“When my dad was shot the first thing he ate when he got home was toast.”
“Yeah?’
“He said the crunch let him know he was alive.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a cop.”
Aaron frowned as he remembered Sam and his brain logged another reason George would’ve kept Julie as his girlfriend.
“How did he die?”
“We engaged in a physical altercation. I gained the upper-hand and overpowered him.”
Julie’s lips flicked up. “That’s the answer you give in front of a commission.”
“I beat him to death.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Julie rested her chin on Aaron’s chest and fingered the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to ask what it had been like, how it had felt for Aaron, but she shifted up to kiss his lips instead.
"For any eye is an evil eye / That looks in onto a mood apart. " ~ Robert Frost, A Mood Apart
Previous Chapters:
Reading
Visitors
Brute Neighbors
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Hotch/OFC
Rating: FRM
Summary: So often people ask me about him because they want a good story to tell their friends or put in their paper or because they think talking to me is some…link to the legacy of The Boston Reaper.
Notes: This is the fourth piece in The Eye of Providence. Takes place during & just after Season 5's "Outfoxed" and "100"...the title is Chapter 2 of Thoreau's Walden. This chapter's style is more experimental, but I think it pays off and I know I loved doing it, haha! (Thanks pink_siamese for all the help & encouragement...and some beta-ing, haha! ^_^) Lemme know what ya'll think :D
Julie stopped her jog at the coastline, left her shoes and socks behind, and walked out on the rocks. She liked the harsh cold slippery grip under her step as the rocks grew dark and slick from water-wear. Halfway out she sat and shivered with a smile as the surface froze her through her pants.
George liked this weather too. The fast, brutalizing wind carrying a winter-warning chill that made weaker people bundle up. He liked the sound the air made as it tore leaves from their homes and the cracking of branches being snapped in two.
Sounds like bones breaking.
He would tell her that as he broke wood into mulch while they walked together through Salem. Every year they would come for Halloween. She’d dress as a Punk or Goth and George would wear all black with a hockey mask and she would ask what he was.
I’m the Zodiac.
The Zodiac didn’t wear a hockey mask.
Only because he wasn’t smart enough to think of it.
They would find an out-of-the-way graveyard and fool around. The vapor from their breath would mix in thick, puffing, clouds as George slipped a hand up her shirt.
I’m gonna leave my mark on this world, Julie.
How’s that?
Don’t know yet.
George Foyet without a plan? Shudder to think.
She stood up, stretched, grabbed her shoes, and headed for the beach. It was empty, people spending their Thanksgiving inside with family, and so she took her time. She let the sand give way under her as she walked and felt herself leave her mark.
But when I do, you’ll know.
How?
You just will.
Julie worked her way back to solid pavement and passed the arcade with its still-working flying horse merry-go-round. Parts of her wanted to hop on, wanted to remember what it was like to be a kid, to be completely innocent. She wondered if Aaron’s son would like it or if having such a simple pleasure was already lost.
I love you, Julie.
You’re full of it, George.
She remembered how he would pull her nipple taut before releasing and laving it with his tongue. She would moan from behind teeth buried in his shoulder as she undid his fly. The fall and winter months were best for hiding marks and they would take full advantage.
I love you, Julie.
I love you too, George.
Time was subjective when a place was desolate; it stood still, then rushed forward only to fall back into the past. Julie dragged herself to the present and realized she couldn’t stay, reminiscing.
***
It was late in the evening by the time Jim and Alex dropped by with leftovers. The preteen immediately plopped on the couch to watch football with little more than a half-assed greeting.
“Kids,” Jim shrugged out.
Julie returned the shrug.
“So, how was Thanksgiving?” He headed into the kitchen with the food.
“Pretty good. Took a nice jog, watched some games, got some housework done.”
“Any word from the fed?”
“No and I’m starting to get worried. This is the longest he’s gone without touching base.”
“Maybe he’s busy?”
“He said he was in Hampton, Virginia, but that was at least a week ago and he never responded to my text.”
“Ya think somethin’ happened to him?”
“I don’t know. Even if something did it probably wouldn’t hit the news here.”
“Unless it was Reaper-related.”
“I really hope he’s all right.” She smiled. “So how was Thanksgiving at Dina’s?”
“You shoulda gone.”
“It’s a family holiday.”
“You’re family.”
“And yet I don’t see my being there setting that warm and loving tone.”
“So? Fuck her.”
“Jim.” She warned.
“Well the next time there’s a family holiday celebrated at my place you’re going.” Jim reorganized the fridge for space. “Hey, you got pie!”
Julie laughed. “I was so bored and frustrated at the last game I made it.”
“Pumpkin?”
“Of course.”
“C-can we…?”
“You want a slice?”
“Please,” Jim grinned like a kid.
“Alex?” Julie flicked on the oven.
“Yeah?”
“You want some pumpkin pie?”
“Hells yeah!”
Julie stepped out of the kitchen with a raised brow. “Oh that better have been a ‘yes, please’, you just said.”
The boy looked up from the game with a guilty smirk. “Yes, please, dear Julie, the coolest woman who ever lived.”
“That’s more like it,” Julie cracked and headed back in to reheat the pie.
“You’re pretty stressed, huh?” Jim frowned.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You’re doing stuff.”
Julie laughed. “I do stuff all the time, Jim.”
“Not bake and clean, Jules.” And the house was spotless. “You’re really stressin’ ‘bout the fed, aren’t you?”
“I just…I have this bad feeling.” Julie moved around him as she grabbed plates and silverware. “It’s probably nothing, just over-thinking things, but that doesn’t make it go away.”
“You think, uh, he’d attack the fed now?”
“George?”
He nodded.
“I think the only reason he wouldn’t is if he was waiting for Christmas.”
Jim flashed a smile, but then frowned again. “Julie.” He waited for her to stop and look at him. “Whatever happens ain’t your fault. People can pull ya into The Reaper’s…whatever, all they want, but that’s not you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re not the only person Foyet knew and dated.”
“I know.”
“You’re just the luckiest.”
Julie gave a sad smile before calling Alex to the table.
***
Football played in the background as Julie stood over the kitchen sink with the letter. It hadn’t taken her long to find it tucked away in her private lockbox at the top of the closet. She’d thumbed through all those things from her past she thought best to pretend never existed before she returned to the letter.
The words were written with great care on unlined paper like it was his declaration. He’d wanted her to understand; it was a message, another secret for her to keep…George had wanted her to know.
Robert Frost
To Earthward
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things
The flow of--was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In the grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough.
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
At the bottom, clear and delicate, was The Eye of Providence.
She read the page over and over as she brought lighter to paper and watched the kiss ignite. Red-orange and golden-yellow flames devoured the black Eye before working up the clean penmanship of George Foyet.
Her phone dinged with a message.
She dropped the rest in the sink, turned on the water, and left the remains to the garbage disposal as she went to check her phone. It was Aaron.
He’s dead
Your address?
***
Have you ever thought what it’d be like to kill someone?
Julie looks over at him.
I thought you knew.
The über prep from ‘Sconset is stripped to bare skin. His look is devious, but serious.
I do. I’m asking about you.
Oh.
Have you?
She rests her chin on his chest as they share the summer-in-Nantucket bed.
Yes, but not my parents.
Then who?
The guy who shot my dad.
George pulls her up by the hair for a kiss. How?
How what?
He smiles. How would you do it?
I think I’d shoot him so he knew how it felt for my dad.
George laughs. He’s probably been shot before, Julie.
She straddles his waist. You have a better idea?
I’d stab him.
Same as your dad?
No, not like him.
Then how?
I’d take my time.
George makes a hand a fist. Dr. Foyet says that a man can survive a stomach wound for hours if its in the right place. He presses his fist into her appendix scar and drags it across slow. Some folks can even be gutted and live for a good while after.
Julie slides down his body until she feels hard cock up against her ass. But if you gut him so he lives then you haven’t killed him, George, and we’re talking about killing.
True, but like I said, I’d take my time.
Make him suffer.
Yeah.
‘Cause of what he did to my dad.
No.
Julie lifts, shifts, and buries him inside her. She thinks of the knife in the gut as they moan together.
Then why George?
He takes her by the back of the neck and the breast and whispers. Because I’d want to.
***
Julie examined Aaron as she stepped into his apartment. The midday sun showed him with scratched face and scraped knuckles, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the mask-like expression on his face; she wondered if this was the glare George got when in the apartment. Her heart skipped then double-timed.
“You’re okay.”
“He killed my wife.”
“But you’re okay.” She turned and gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your wife, Aaron.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“He was going to kill my son.”
She nodded.
“And you loved him.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“But you did love him.”
“Yes.”
“How?” His hands grabbed imaginary throats. “How does someone do that, Julie?”
“He wasn’t like that -“
Aaron moved faster than she expected and the wall knocked the air out of her when she hit it. “He was always like that!”
Julie held his glare calmly. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it does.”
“He’s dead.”
“I killed him.”
“So you won.”
“Two innocent people died, my son is without his mother, and you think I won?”
“The only way you could.”
Julie heard Aaron’s fist rush past and crash through the drywall. The sounds of plaster crumbling filled her ears as she turned to look at him. She watched him shake and pant, saw tears roll down his face. He reminded her of a wild animal, desperate to fight but unsure it was able.
“Aaron?” It was a soft, stern, pant.
His grip on the broken wall fell apart with the rest of him. The anger, the frustration, the hate all streamed out as he shook harder in his sobs. He fell to his knees, soaked her stomach in tears.
Julie set a hand on his head; she moved it carefully through his hair as she took deep, encouraging, breaths. “You need rest, Aaron.” She slipped down beside him. “Where’s your son?”
“With h-his aunt.”
“For how long?”
“Weekend,” Aaron answered on the intake of breath.
“For you to get your and Jack’s affairs in order?”
He nodded.
Julie brought Aaron with her as she stood up. “You can’t do that like this.” She gave a small smile. “Shower, clean up, and clear your mind. Are you hungry?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry.”
Aaron’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”
***
He curled up beside her in the bed, smelling of drugstore soap and salt water. Julie recalled how her dad had smelled the same in the first days after her mother finally drank herself to death.
“Thank you for the food.” Aaron’s voice was numb.
“When my dad was shot the first thing he ate when he got home was toast.”
“Yeah?’
“He said the crunch let him know he was alive.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a cop.”
Aaron frowned as he remembered Sam and his brain logged another reason George would’ve kept Julie as his girlfriend.
“How did he die?”
“We engaged in a physical altercation. I gained the upper-hand and overpowered him.”
Julie’s lips flicked up. “That’s the answer you give in front of a commission.”
“I beat him to death.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Julie rested her chin on Aaron’s chest and fingered the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to ask what it had been like, how it had felt for Aaron, but she shifted up to kiss his lips instead.
"For any eye is an evil eye / That looks in onto a mood apart. " ~ Robert Frost, A Mood Apart
Previous Chapters:
Reading
Visitors
Brute Neighbors