Chapter 1: Nowhere Else to Go
Endgame
a/n: if you read the summary, then you have some idea of what you're getting into. In this, my first Criminal Minds fic, I've decided to go the whole "a new chica joins the team" route. I've tried to avoid a lot of the cliches that come with that plot line, so give it a chance. :)
This story takes place shortly after Elle's departure at the end of season 1. I've left out Prentiss altogether. I like Prentiss very much, but I can only handle so many characters at once, ja? It's AU for obvious reasons.
Oh, I'm not sure how long ago Gideon was involved with the CIA. If it was 20 years ago or something (making my character, like, FIVE when he was there...) then obviously that bit would fall into the AU part, too. ;)
Enjoy! And, if you do, or if you don't, review me!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not one lil bit. Thanks for creating them and letting me play. :D
Chapter 1: Nowhere Else to Go
You cried for night; it falls: now cry in darkness
-Samuel Beckett
Detroit, Michigan
It was a deep, lonely night, deathly dark and icy cold. But one man - a hunter - strolling the back alleys didn't care: darkness was his home, his safety, his love and companion. The cold kept him sharp, kept him alive. Heat would only soften his senses and dull his keen mind as he slipped through the sleeping streets. She was there, somewhere, he just had to find her. Then as he rounded a corner, he saw her, a vision of light and beauty and young, coltish grace.
"Hey, sugah," she said in a heavy Southern accent unusual to Detroit, "you lookin' for a date?"
Tossing back a lock of long, teased blond hair, she sauntered up to him, hips swinging, and he grinned coldly. "Yeah, it just so happens that I am." He threw his arm around her and led her away from the glaring streetlights, across the street and back into the comforting darkness of the alley.
"Money first," she said sharply as his hand ran up her thigh.
He took a long, deep breath, enjoying the heady, cloying scents of cheap perfume, sweat and...fear. God how he loved the smell of fear! In a vicious motion, he turned her around and pressed her against the wall. Pulling something from his pocket, he ran it gently, lovingly up the side of her neck.
She whimpered and tried to wriggle away from his heavy grasp, but he only held on tighter. "I don't have any money," he told her, his breath hot and fierce in her ear. He pulled the knife across in her throat in a quick, hard motion and she let out a little gulp. "But I think that's the last thing on your mind right now."
Releasing the girl, he took a step back and watched the blood drain from the cut in her throat and gather in a pool all around her. In the darkness it was black, but in his mind's eye it was bright crimson, like rose petals.
"Goodnight, sweet princess. May flights of angels wing thee to thy rest." With a feral smile, he raised the knife again and set about his work with the precision of a careful, skilled butcher.
FBI Headquarters
Quantico, Virginia
It was a quiet morning in Quantico, Virginia, specifically at the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. The team members worked at their desks, tackling old paperwork, or, in one agent's case, a particularly challenging game of Solitaire. Supervisory Section Agent Jason Gideon was in his office updating his kill book, the journal he kept to record the victims of the cases the team worked.
Today was a good day, because today he got to add an entry to his "victory" list at the front of the book. These names belonged to the victims he had helped to save. He smiled as he added the new name, and he was still smiling when there was a knock on his office door.
"Come in," he called distractedly, assuming it was a member of his team, most likely Spencer looking for a game of chess. He would enjoy some chess right now, as a matter of fact. He looked up over the rim of his reading glasses, and his smile slowly faded as he absorbed the sight before him.
She was a petite, curvy brunette with remarkably clear glass green eyes and a heart-bruisingly lovely face. He knew those eyes, that face. Many might argue with his description: at first glance she was merely pretty, not breathtaking, with her slightly crooked nose; her full, just-barely top heavy mouth; her stubborn jaw; and those disconcertingly clear, penetrating eyes. But anyone who disagreed with his description had never seen her smile; it transformed her, gave her an indescribable incandescence, and it was that expression, not the current look of determined...something...desperation, maybe?...she was wearing that took her from merely pretty to heart-bruising.
He managed to tear himself away from his inner monologue to wonder. What the hell was she doing here, stepping casually into his office like...? He frowned and pulled off his reading glasses. "You shouldn't be here," he told her.
"You don't even know why I came," she replied with a raised brow.
"I don't need to know. You need to leave," he said shortly.
She frowned, and it made her look very young and vulnerable. "Gideon," she said softly, "please, at least hear me out."
He gave her a long, unblinking stare, his brow furrowed, but at last he sighed and gestured her in. "Close the door. I don't need the whole place hearing this."
"Do you have any idea why I'm here?" she asked him, settling into a chair across from his desk.
"I assume you're going to tell me."
She made an impatient gesture with a small, deceptively delicate-looking hand. "Could we tone this down a little, please? I didn't come to fight with you."
He rested both hands on his desk, fingers spread. "The last time I saw you--"
"You didn't even ask, Jason. You profiled me, didn't you? For them? Do you think I would be capable of something like that?"
He looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"Jason."
He dropped her gaze, shook his head. "No."
"Ok, then. Why didn't you--"
"No, I never profiled you," he corrected her.
She sat back, momentarily stunned. "You didn't? But I thought..."
"They didn't want me looking at you," he explained.
"Oh," she whispered, looking away, her eyes unfocused. She looked a little lost.
After a moment he sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands. Despite himself he felt a stir of pity for her. She looked so young. She was young. And she reminded him in so many ways, always had, of Spencer - or really, he supposed, it was the other way around: Spencer reminded him of her. "Elliot," he began again, more gently, "why are you here?"
Dr. Elliot Jackson, the CIA's best kept secret (and, really, that's saying something), turned her clear, penetrating gaze onto Jason Gideon and shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Jason," she whispered. "I just didn't know where else to go."
Now it was his turn to sit back. "I think you need to start at the beginning, Jack. Tell me everything. Start with why every single agent at the CIA who knew anything about you was scared of you."
Jackson smoothed her already flawless black wool skirt to give herself something to do as she collected her thoughts. "They weren't afraid of me because I was a stone-cold killer, Gideon. They were scared of me because of this." She reached into her black leather briefcase and pulled out a thick file. She handed it across the desk to him with a small smile.
"Your file?" he asked, incredulous. "The real thing?"
"Yes. Do you have any idea how classified that thing is?"
"Why are you showing it to me?"
She shrugged. "Someone needs to know, Gideon. You think they were scared of me because I'm dangerous. They would have made me dangerous. I want to use what I can do for good, as corny as that sounds. I think I can do that here." She stood, her confidence restored again, and she looked more like the woman he remembered. "Read it. Call me if you think I might make a good addition to your team. I said I didn't know where else to go, and that's the truth. I can t be out there." She gestured out the window. "I'm not cut out for civilian life. But I can't be a killer for them, either; and that's what they were turning me into."
He rested a hand on the fat file in front of him. "What should I do when I'm finished with it?"
"Destroy it. I'm not exaggerating, Gideon; no one can see that."
Gideon nodded, appreciating the gravity of the situation. "I'll be in touch," he told her. He held out a hand, but then he pulled it back. "I'm sorry; I seem to remember that you don't like shaking hands."
Her mouth quirked in a little smile. "Soon you'll know why. 'Bye, Gideon; happy reading."
He watched her go with a bemused smile before flipping open the heavy folder and losing himself in one of the most fascinating, unbelievable stories he'd read in a very, very long time.
---
"So she's a spy?" Aaron Hotchner demanded hours later.
"A former spy," Gideon repeated patiently.
"A spy you knew when you worked for the CIA?"
"Yes."
"How old is this girl? Twenty?"
"She's twenty-five." He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture, making a face. "That's irrelevant. The fact is she's requested assignment to the BAU, and I think you should accept."
Hotch frowned at his mentor. "You do? Gideon, we can't just adopt any wayward orphan who comes along. Does she even have any behavioral training?"
"Aaron, listen to me. You know I usually let you make decisions like this, but in Dr. Jackson's case I'm making an exception. No, she has no formal behavioral training. I'll coach her. She has other skills that I think will make up for it until she learns the ropes."
"The ropes? Gideon, this isn't--"
"Aaron."
"She's not even in the FBI!"
"The CIA isn't very happy about it, but they're allowing her to work as a Special Liaison to the FBI assuming, of course, she gets permission from you."
"I would think Section Chief Strauss--"
Again Gideon waved that away. "Strauss is a politician. It's your word that matters, and Jackson knows that. It's why she came to me first, not Strauss. Aaron, trust me."
Though he had serious reservations, Hotch raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Alright, Gideon, you win. She's your responsibility, though. If she gets in the way, she's out. If she can't handle it, she's out. Ok?"
"You won't regret this, Hotch. I promise," Gideon assured him. Shaking his friend's hand, Gideon hurried from Hotch's office. As soon as he was alone he lifted his Palm Treo to his ear. "Jack," he said when she answered, "you're in."
----
short lil intro chapter there, kids. Lemme know what you think!
originally posted on ff.net 10/15/09
a/n: if you read the summary, then you have some idea of what you're getting into. In this, my first Criminal Minds fic, I've decided to go the whole "a new chica joins the team" route. I've tried to avoid a lot of the cliches that come with that plot line, so give it a chance. :)
This story takes place shortly after Elle's departure at the end of season 1. I've left out Prentiss altogether. I like Prentiss very much, but I can only handle so many characters at once, ja? It's AU for obvious reasons.
Oh, I'm not sure how long ago Gideon was involved with the CIA. If it was 20 years ago or something (making my character, like, FIVE when he was there...) then obviously that bit would fall into the AU part, too. ;)
Enjoy! And, if you do, or if you don't, review me!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not one lil bit. Thanks for creating them and letting me play. :D
Chapter 1: Nowhere Else to Go
You cried for night; it falls: now cry in darkness
-Samuel Beckett
Detroit, Michigan
It was a deep, lonely night, deathly dark and icy cold. But one man - a hunter - strolling the back alleys didn't care: darkness was his home, his safety, his love and companion. The cold kept him sharp, kept him alive. Heat would only soften his senses and dull his keen mind as he slipped through the sleeping streets. She was there, somewhere, he just had to find her. Then as he rounded a corner, he saw her, a vision of light and beauty and young, coltish grace.
"Hey, sugah," she said in a heavy Southern accent unusual to Detroit, "you lookin' for a date?"
Tossing back a lock of long, teased blond hair, she sauntered up to him, hips swinging, and he grinned coldly. "Yeah, it just so happens that I am." He threw his arm around her and led her away from the glaring streetlights, across the street and back into the comforting darkness of the alley.
"Money first," she said sharply as his hand ran up her thigh.
He took a long, deep breath, enjoying the heady, cloying scents of cheap perfume, sweat and...fear. God how he loved the smell of fear! In a vicious motion, he turned her around and pressed her against the wall. Pulling something from his pocket, he ran it gently, lovingly up the side of her neck.
She whimpered and tried to wriggle away from his heavy grasp, but he only held on tighter. "I don't have any money," he told her, his breath hot and fierce in her ear. He pulled the knife across in her throat in a quick, hard motion and she let out a little gulp. "But I think that's the last thing on your mind right now."
Releasing the girl, he took a step back and watched the blood drain from the cut in her throat and gather in a pool all around her. In the darkness it was black, but in his mind's eye it was bright crimson, like rose petals.
"Goodnight, sweet princess. May flights of angels wing thee to thy rest." With a feral smile, he raised the knife again and set about his work with the precision of a careful, skilled butcher.
FBI Headquarters
Quantico, Virginia
It was a quiet morning in Quantico, Virginia, specifically at the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. The team members worked at their desks, tackling old paperwork, or, in one agent's case, a particularly challenging game of Solitaire. Supervisory Section Agent Jason Gideon was in his office updating his kill book, the journal he kept to record the victims of the cases the team worked.
Today was a good day, because today he got to add an entry to his "victory" list at the front of the book. These names belonged to the victims he had helped to save. He smiled as he added the new name, and he was still smiling when there was a knock on his office door.
"Come in," he called distractedly, assuming it was a member of his team, most likely Spencer looking for a game of chess. He would enjoy some chess right now, as a matter of fact. He looked up over the rim of his reading glasses, and his smile slowly faded as he absorbed the sight before him.
She was a petite, curvy brunette with remarkably clear glass green eyes and a heart-bruisingly lovely face. He knew those eyes, that face. Many might argue with his description: at first glance she was merely pretty, not breathtaking, with her slightly crooked nose; her full, just-barely top heavy mouth; her stubborn jaw; and those disconcertingly clear, penetrating eyes. But anyone who disagreed with his description had never seen her smile; it transformed her, gave her an indescribable incandescence, and it was that expression, not the current look of determined...something...desperation, maybe?...she was wearing that took her from merely pretty to heart-bruising.
He managed to tear himself away from his inner monologue to wonder. What the hell was she doing here, stepping casually into his office like...? He frowned and pulled off his reading glasses. "You shouldn't be here," he told her.
"You don't even know why I came," she replied with a raised brow.
"I don't need to know. You need to leave," he said shortly.
She frowned, and it made her look very young and vulnerable. "Gideon," she said softly, "please, at least hear me out."
He gave her a long, unblinking stare, his brow furrowed, but at last he sighed and gestured her in. "Close the door. I don't need the whole place hearing this."
"Do you have any idea why I'm here?" she asked him, settling into a chair across from his desk.
"I assume you're going to tell me."
She made an impatient gesture with a small, deceptively delicate-looking hand. "Could we tone this down a little, please? I didn't come to fight with you."
He rested both hands on his desk, fingers spread. "The last time I saw you--"
"You didn't even ask, Jason. You profiled me, didn't you? For them? Do you think I would be capable of something like that?"
He looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"Jason."
He dropped her gaze, shook his head. "No."
"Ok, then. Why didn't you--"
"No, I never profiled you," he corrected her.
She sat back, momentarily stunned. "You didn't? But I thought..."
"They didn't want me looking at you," he explained.
"Oh," she whispered, looking away, her eyes unfocused. She looked a little lost.
After a moment he sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands. Despite himself he felt a stir of pity for her. She looked so young. She was young. And she reminded him in so many ways, always had, of Spencer - or really, he supposed, it was the other way around: Spencer reminded him of her. "Elliot," he began again, more gently, "why are you here?"
Dr. Elliot Jackson, the CIA's best kept secret (and, really, that's saying something), turned her clear, penetrating gaze onto Jason Gideon and shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Jason," she whispered. "I just didn't know where else to go."
Now it was his turn to sit back. "I think you need to start at the beginning, Jack. Tell me everything. Start with why every single agent at the CIA who knew anything about you was scared of you."
Jackson smoothed her already flawless black wool skirt to give herself something to do as she collected her thoughts. "They weren't afraid of me because I was a stone-cold killer, Gideon. They were scared of me because of this." She reached into her black leather briefcase and pulled out a thick file. She handed it across the desk to him with a small smile.
"Your file?" he asked, incredulous. "The real thing?"
"Yes. Do you have any idea how classified that thing is?"
"Why are you showing it to me?"
She shrugged. "Someone needs to know, Gideon. You think they were scared of me because I'm dangerous. They would have made me dangerous. I want to use what I can do for good, as corny as that sounds. I think I can do that here." She stood, her confidence restored again, and she looked more like the woman he remembered. "Read it. Call me if you think I might make a good addition to your team. I said I didn't know where else to go, and that's the truth. I can t be out there." She gestured out the window. "I'm not cut out for civilian life. But I can't be a killer for them, either; and that's what they were turning me into."
He rested a hand on the fat file in front of him. "What should I do when I'm finished with it?"
"Destroy it. I'm not exaggerating, Gideon; no one can see that."
Gideon nodded, appreciating the gravity of the situation. "I'll be in touch," he told her. He held out a hand, but then he pulled it back. "I'm sorry; I seem to remember that you don't like shaking hands."
Her mouth quirked in a little smile. "Soon you'll know why. 'Bye, Gideon; happy reading."
He watched her go with a bemused smile before flipping open the heavy folder and losing himself in one of the most fascinating, unbelievable stories he'd read in a very, very long time.
---
"So she's a spy?" Aaron Hotchner demanded hours later.
"A former spy," Gideon repeated patiently.
"A spy you knew when you worked for the CIA?"
"Yes."
"How old is this girl? Twenty?"
"She's twenty-five." He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture, making a face. "That's irrelevant. The fact is she's requested assignment to the BAU, and I think you should accept."
Hotch frowned at his mentor. "You do? Gideon, we can't just adopt any wayward orphan who comes along. Does she even have any behavioral training?"
"Aaron, listen to me. You know I usually let you make decisions like this, but in Dr. Jackson's case I'm making an exception. No, she has no formal behavioral training. I'll coach her. She has other skills that I think will make up for it until she learns the ropes."
"The ropes? Gideon, this isn't--"
"Aaron."
"She's not even in the FBI!"
"The CIA isn't very happy about it, but they're allowing her to work as a Special Liaison to the FBI assuming, of course, she gets permission from you."
"I would think Section Chief Strauss--"
Again Gideon waved that away. "Strauss is a politician. It's your word that matters, and Jackson knows that. It's why she came to me first, not Strauss. Aaron, trust me."
Though he had serious reservations, Hotch raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Alright, Gideon, you win. She's your responsibility, though. If she gets in the way, she's out. If she can't handle it, she's out. Ok?"
"You won't regret this, Hotch. I promise," Gideon assured him. Shaking his friend's hand, Gideon hurried from Hotch's office. As soon as he was alone he lifted his Palm Treo to his ear. "Jack," he said when she answered, "you're in."
----
short lil intro chapter there, kids. Lemme know what you think!
originally posted on ff.net 10/15/09