Chapter Text
Just a couple more hours, and Elle will be sitting on a flight to Jamaica, Derek Morgan by her side and two weeks of sun, sand and eye candy, if what he’s saying is true.
“Morgan, your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is.”
He throws an arm around her. “Hey, I never said it was his. He just manages the place. But trust me when I tell you it is off the hook. Hot sunny days, cool breezes at night, never-ending tropical drinks with the little umbrellas, and nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories.”
She raises an eyebrow, and turns to him. “Male and female, right?”
He smiles, and she realizes that she’s possibly the only woman in the world immune to the Morgan charm. “Elle, two weeks of pure heaven.”
“I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like.”
“You better thank your man upstairs for making it the whole team, otherwise you know they'd find a reason to bring us back up in here.”
“Why? They got other teams.”
“You can go on believing that if you want to, but I am not answering my cell phone.”
“Okay.” She won't either.
Just then, Reid breezes past them, looking very concerned for someone who’s about to have two weeks off of work. What does he even have planned?
“Oh, there he is. Pretty. Boy. Last chance. I can get my man to swing you a hotel room for practically nothing. Even you might get a little lovin' out there.”
“Thanks anyway.” He’s only half listening, grabbing his bag and barely looking at either of them - situation normal for him, not making eye contact, but it’s still strange that he’s so distracted.
But not as strange as Elle feels when she realizes she really wants him to come along.
(She thinks back to the case in San Diego, when he’d asked her why he couldn’t get a date. She’d asked him if he’d ever asked anyone out, and taken his silence as a ‘no’. Sometimes she wonders - why did he ask her? Did he want to ask her out? She’s shoved it to the back of her mind, until now.)
“Come on, Reid. Live a little?” Morgan pouts. Genuinely pouts.
“I have to go. I'm going home. Have a good one, guys.” With that, he practically runs out of the door, and she finds herself pouting, too.
“Bye.”
“He look okay to you?” Morgan, for all his faults, sounds genuinely concerned.
“He looks about the way I would if I was gonna spend two weeks with my family.”
Just then, Hotch comes down the stairs. “Hey, don't knock family. I'm gonna get nothing but for the next three-hundred thirty-six hours.”
“Good for you.” She’s genuinely happy for him - she knows what the job takes from him, and she hopes he gets plenty of time with Jack and Haley.
“Haley's got a list of chores a mile long. I can't wait. The biggest decision I gotta make is what I'm gonna do first.”
She smiles. “I bet you she has a thought or two about that as well.”
He practically grins. “Bring it on.”
Gideon practically runs past them on his way to the door. All he’s carrying is his jacket. “I'll be lost in a cabin in the woods for the next two weeks. Do not call me for anything. Have a great time. You all deserve a break.” He’s about to walk out the glass doors when he turns back round. “Seriously, don't call.”
When he disappears into the elevator, she, Hotch, and Morgan all look at each other and laugh, before she dips into Garcia’s lair to say goodbye.
Penelope pouts. “I wish I could come with you guys.”
She squeezes her shoulders. “I wish you could too, Pen. I’ll drink the brightest colored cocktail on the menu in your honor. And I'll bring you something back for your desk.”
“And you’ll tell me everything when you get back? All the little details.”
“Promise.”
“Then I suppose I can bear it.” She leans up and kisses her on the cheek. “Have fun, my fellow bisexual goddess.”
Then, Morgan grabs her and they jump in his car to drive to the airport.
***
The flight is easy, just under four hours, and when they land, the heat and humidity practically smack her in the face.
It’s Heaven.
They collect their bags before jumping into the hotel taxi that Morgan’s friend has arranged, and pretty soon they’re checked into their rooms, and Elle is in her favorite bikini on the beach, sipping away at a brightly-colored alcoholic drink with a little umbrella in it, just as Morgan had promised.
He slides into the chair next to her, before introducing his very attractive friend to her.
She shakes his hand, and immediately decides she’s going to flirt with him.
“This right here is my partner from the FBI, Miss Elle Greenaway.”
“You didn't tell me she was beautiful.” Gerald is just as prepared to flirt, it seems.
“Would that have gotten me a better deal on the room?”
Gerald raises an eyebrow. “You want me to show you a brochure with the real rates?”
Derek laughs, clearly completely relaxed, his hands up in defeat. “I'm done. I'm done. I'm done.”
She takes over the conversation. “Your resort is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Always wondered what it would be like to work in paradise. Turns out it's not half bad. Anything else you need?”
“Yeah, I think…” Derek is immediately distracted by a gorgeous woman in a white and blue bikini playing volleyball. Elle is also a little distracted, she can’t lie. “Wait a minute. Look at that right there - Lord, have mercy. I think I need to handle something.”
Gerald smiles. “You need any backup?”
“You better watch your mouth.” Gerald smiles widely, and then Derek turns to her. “Elle, you gonna be all right?”
She laughs. “No, I'm fine. You go.”
He leans forward to kiss her on the cheek, and she laughs. “That's such a good answer.”
“Get outta here.” She swats him, and he practically runs off, before Gerald clears his throat.
“So how about you? Anything I can get you?”
“No, thank you. I'll let you know if there's anything. Thank you, Gerald.”
“I'll be around.” With that, Gerald leaves, and she leans back ready to sip on her drink and read a book, when a frisbee collides with her chair.
A very attractive man runs up to her, all dark hair and muscle, and she feels a bit like she’s a lioness about to hunt down an antelope.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” She bites her lip as she looks at him, and his pupils dilate. His breathing even gets a little bit quicker.
Oh, he is so obvious.
“Hey... you alone?”
Bingo. “Completely.”
“Do you wanna play?”
Oh yes, she does.
***
She ends up spending the rest of the day with the guy, who she quickly learns is called Curt, and they eat dinner together before heading onto the dance floor. That’s where she sees Derek for the first time since they arrived - he’s got Blue Bikini Girl in his arms, and he chuckles as he spins the girl past her.
“Well, you all right there, Greenaway?”
She sighs. “Go. Away.”
He laughs. “See you tomorrow?”
“Afternoon.”
Curt sounds a little surprised, and very eager. “Afternoon?”
Oh, she is gonna ride him until he can’t walk straight. “Don't speak.” She presses her lips to his, and pretty soon she’s given up on dancing - vertically, anyway - and is asking him where his room is.
***
She goes back to his room, for a while, and it’s all going great until he drops something about wanting one last ride before he gets married next week.
So naturally, she curses him out in English and in Spanish, and slams the door behind her, before making a mental note to get Penelope to track the guy’s fiancée down.
She climbs into her bed, quite grateful that she can’t hear anything coming from Derek’s room next door, and falls asleep.
That is, until the Jamaican police kick the door in and she’s cuffed and dragged to the Montego Bay police station.
***
She spends the next few hours in the interrogation seat - she’s pretty sure the detective actually doesn’t care all that much about the case, but she knows he’s enjoying having her cuffed to the chair.
“Then how did the blood get outside your door?”
She practically growls. “I have no idea. There wasn't any blood inside, was there?”
“Who was the victim?”
She groans. “For the hundredth time, I didn't even know that there was a victim until you dragged me out of bed!”
She’s sure he’s playing with her. Either way, he’s not doing a very good job. “Where's the victim's head?”
She gets a little too sarcastic. “Well, I must have dropped it on my way in here.” She huffs. “Come on, you know that I have nothing to do with this. I'm an American FBI agent. I'm here on vacation, man! I'm the police, just like you.”
“Are you the ‘her’?”
What? “Excuse me?”
“The ‘her’.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about, amigo.”
The conversation goes on in circles a bit more, and part of her is wondering if he’s trying to get her to confess to save himself some paperwork.
Then, he changes tack.
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Around midnight... I think. I don't really know. It was late.” She wasn’t exactly checking the clock when she climbed into bed.
“Were you alone?”
“By the time I got back to my room, yeah.” She’s half tempted to mention Curt, just to get him in even more trouble, but she holds herself back. She’ll save him for Penelope.
She’s very grateful when Hotch walks into the room. She’s never been so pleased to see him in her life.
“Detective St. Pierre, I'm SSA Hotchner. I'm Agent Greenaway's superior.”
“We're not finished here.” Hoo-boy.
It seems that Hotch is in prosecutor mode. “Agent Greenaway only arrived in your country yesterday afternoon.”
“So?” St. Pierre would never pass the detective’s exam in the US, she’s sure.
“I brought a forensic expert and he's examined the body at your morgue, and he's put the time of death at no less than twenty-four hours ago. Now this is based on advanced rigor mortis and the contents of the stomach which contained a meal that he ordered from room service two days ago. Your coroner concurs with the findings. What this means is that Agent Greenaway wasn't even here when this man was killed. Now, I appreciate that you have a difficult situation, and agents Morgan and Greenaway are happy to cooperate in any way that they can, but they'll do it from our offices in Quantico, Virginia.”
St. Pierre sighs, and practically tosses the key to the cuffs towards her as Hotch shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it across her shoulders.
If it were anyone apart from Hotch, she swears she’d feel less exposed.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just…let’s get out of here.”
Hotch nods, and pretty soon they’re on their way back to the airport.
She’s never wanted to be out of a place more.
***
She changes on the plane, and she walks into the BAU sleep-deprived, but determined.
“You guys are sure you don't want to go home and get some rest? Take a shower?”
“Like Hell!”
Derek’s a little more diplomatic. “I'm good.”
Hotch frowns at her. “How much sleep have you gotten in the last twenty-four hours?”
“Hotch, I spent half of the night in an interrogation room. I am not sleeping until I find this Frank Giles.”
JJ walks up to them. “Frank Giles left Jamaica last night on the red-eye. He flew to Florida, then got onto another flight to Virginia.”
“Virginia? You mean that son of a bitch is from here?” If she wasn’t in front of her boss, she’d be a lot less reserved.
“I don't know if he's from here, but this is where he flew to - Arlington. He's got a long criminal record. Manslaughter, robbery, rape.”
“What about the victim, Marty Harris?”
“He's a two-time convicted fetish burglar, registered child sex offender.”
Gideon walks over. “And we have his head. CSU just positively identified the one delivered to my cabin.”
She barely pays attention to the rest of what they say, except for wanting to stand up for Garcia when Gideon calls her stupid, until they’re on their way to Frank Giles’ apartment.
It’s yet another weird crime scene - this time, the body’s got a sword buried in its chest.
There’s Medieval English written on the wall in blood, and they’re trying to work out what “hour be none” means, when she hears a familiar voice.
“Three PM. Garcia told me where to find you.” God, she is so glad to see him.
“Three PM?”
“It's medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals. The canonical hours of the breviary. Prime, six AM. Terce, nine AM, sext, welcome noon. None three PM. And vespers - six PM.”
“Reid, do not ever go away again.” He blushes, and looks away, but she is really just so pleased to see him.
“Medieval. That's why the language changed. Everything this guy does is a clue.”
“Ok, but, guys, it's four thirty-five. What do we do? Leave the blade in 'til three PM tomorrow?”
“Not if we can block that window out.” Their resident genius seems to have an idea. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?”
“Sure.”
Elle makes sure to thank the tech as she walks out. “Thanks, Jane.” She doubts the rest of them know the tech’s name.
Well, except for maybe Morgan.
Reid’s information leads them to a music box playing something called The Trout Quintet, and they find a lock of blonde hair, and she’s now sure she’s left her reality and is now in an Indiana Jones movie. They also find a DVD.
When they get back to the BAU, they watch the video.
This guy knows their names, their addresses, everything.
He has photos of them, too.
Gideon storms out, and Hotch follows, before coming back a few minutes later. They all look at him, but he just shakes his head.
Then Haley shows up, with Jack, and Hotch immediately leaves again before running back in with a note, covered in numbers.
At some point after that, and after JJ gives a press release, Elle crashes. She intends to go and sit in Hotch’s office to get a break, away from the frantic energy in the other room, but the next thing she knows, she’s horizontal on the couch and someone’s calling her name.
She sits up, blinking. “I'm awake.”
It’s Hotch. “I'm sending you home.”
“No.” She needs to be here-
“You need to get some rest.” She glares at him, a little. “We won't do anything without you, I promise. Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were. Get out of here. Go home.”
“But-”
“That's an order.” She sulks, and gets up.
“Let's go.”
“Anderson.” Grant’s in the bullpen. “Take Greenaway home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seriously? “No, I'm fine.” She can drive her own damned self home.
“I'll have your car brought over later.”
She’s not going to win this, is she? “All right. Come on, Anderson.” He’s already pulling his jacket on.
“Get some sleep.”
She waves behind her. “Yeah.”
Busybody.
***
The ride home is nice; she’s already friendly with Grant, and he makes good company as he drops her off. He tries to stay, but she practically shoos him back to the office, promising that she’ll be fine.
She lies down on the sofa.
And then she hears a gun cock.
She opens her eyes, and there’s a man standing in front of her. His hands are burned, but the rest of him is covered in a black coat, and his face is obscured by his hat.
She knows it’s their UnSub before he even opens his mouth.
“It was one rule.”
“No.” Oh God, no. The press release.
“One rule! Agent Greenaway-”
She interrupts him, tries to put him off, distract him. There’s a gun pointed at her head. “Stop.”
“Do you not consider that holding a press conference is going outside the team for help? Listen- one. Rule!”
“Listen to me. We can talk about -” Oh fuck, his finger’s on the trigger.
“I told you this was important!”
At the exact moment he pulls the trigger, she throws herself to the floor. Pain shoots through her, and she collapses on the floor.
Everything after that is a blur, and she dips in and out of consciousness, but when he leaves, when she’s alone in her condo again, she reaches for the phone.
The last thing she does before passing out is call 911.
***
The next thing she knows, she’s on the jet. Everything’s a little hazy as the pilot walks out to her.
“Agent Greenaway?”
“Yes?”
“Case file, please.”
She doesn’t have one. Why would she have one? “How did I get here?”
“I'm sorry, ma'am. Without a case file, you'll have to get off. The rules are very clear.”
She hears a laugh she hasn’t heard in forever, and turns around.
“Daddy?”
If he’s here, then is she- oh, oh God, no.
She can’t be.
She moves, and sits across from him.
He looks exactly the way she remembered, every single hair.
“Dad, it was hard growing up without you.”
“I'm sorry.” His eyes shine.
“No, it wasn't your fault. I just missed you so much.” He should never blame himself.
“I'm always with you.”
“What's gonna happen to me?” Is she-
“Happen? That's up to you, baby. That's up to you.”
Up to her? “I'm afraid.” She’s so scared. She’s not even thirty, how can she be here already, facing this? “What if I don't come out of it? What if I don't wake up?”
“You keep talkin' like you don't have any choice, peanut. You can choose to fight, to beat the odds. It's up to you.” She’s missed being called Peanut.
“What if I want to stay with you?”
“Well, that's a choice, too.”
It is, but she doesn’t think she’ll make it. But she knows she needs to say something. “Dad, there's something…”
“It's okay.”
She knows he’s forgiven her - he never could hold a grudge against anyone. But she needs to do this anyway. “No, I want to say it. That day...I was just mad that day. I wanted you to teach me to ride my bike. I knew that you had to work. I was just being selfish and childish.”
“Baby, you were eight.”
Eight was old enough to know better. “I said, ‘I hate you, Daddy.’” The memory has never faded, not for a second, and it’s been a weeping scar for the last two decades. “Those are the last words that I ever said to you.”
“It's okay, baby.” He’s smiling at her, even as she cries.
“I've thought so many times that I wish… I wish that I had said… I love you, Daddy.” He has to know. He needs to know.
“I love you, too, Peanut, very much.”
But this isn’t her time. “I can't stay with you.”
He knows. She can see it in his eyes. “That's all right.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
“I'll be here when it's time. I love you.”
She’s about to say it back, but then she’s ripped away from the jet and thrown into painful darkness.
She briefly blinks her eyes open, and there’s an unfamiliar face leaning over her.
“There you are. Sleep. You're gonna be fine.”
She doesn’t feel like it. Everything hurts, and she tries so hard to get back to the jet, to get one last conversation with her Daddy, but she can’t.
She sleeps, and the only thing she’s aware of for the next few hours is the gentle press of warm hands on hers.