echoes still - part six
Jun. 28th, 2011 09:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weaselettTitle: echoes still: part six
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
weaselett
Artist:pe1804
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Type: Gen, mentions of femslash and het: slightly AU from canon
Rating/Warnings: 15 (for descriptions of violence and some language)
Word Count for this part: 5864
POV Character: Ashley Seaver
Spoilers: Spoilers up to Season Six episode 10 (what happens at home).
Summary: There's a serial killer in New York, one who leaves no evidence behind at the crime scene and always seems to be one step ahead of the team investigating the murders. Their best chance seems to lie with the BAU, for whom the case brings back old memories. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
casestory.
For full warning see masterpost here
BAU Jet, 2010
Leaving the prison had taken longer than getting in, but that hadn’t been a surprise. That was how prisons were supposed to work. It had been a tense thirty minutes, and all Ashley had done as they’d made their way back to the jet was play her father’s words over in her head.
“Saunders,” Hotchner said, “she was the witness that came forward after Charles Beauchamp’s last murder.”
Ashley watched the two video screens, as Rossi leaned back away from the camera and Garcia typed in the name. She thought that Saunders would already be on their list; Garcia had been searching for anyone from Mountrail County living in New York. It was a surprise to her that neither Rossi nor Hotchner had considered Saunders before.
“She said she ran after she saw him drag Hannah off the road,” Rossi said, frowning, “she didn’t know the details.”
“She lied,” Ashley said, “she watched all of it.”
Hotchner nodded, “Beauchamp said that he knew she was watching, he could see her.”
“But he never said anything?” Morgan asked. “She was the only witness.”
“He pled guilty, he didn’t know what she’d told us.” Hotchner answered, “He knew that a girl watched him kill, he thought she’d told us the truth.”
“Saunders, Marie was a resident of Stanley North Dakota until she was twenty, then she vanishes,” Garcia shook her head, still typing, her gaze fixed on another screen. Ashley was a little in awe; her paperwork would get done a lot faster if she could only type that fast.
“Vanishes, Garcia…” Morgan sounded less worried than Ashley felt; she hoped that was a good thing.
“Ah, no doubting my awesome powers mortal, Marie Saunders vanishes, and Ashley Champion comes into being. It seems she legally changed her name, then moved around some.” Garcia looked at the camera, “She’s been in New York for the last three years.”
“But she’s only just started killing.” Rossi said, frowning, “What happened in the last year, what triggered her to start killing?”
“Ashley Champion?” Ashley repeated the name, horrified. Hotchner reached out across the table, gripping her wrist lightly, his dark gaze sympathetic.
“It makes sense, if she’s obsessed with your father…” Reid went quiet after Prentiss elbowed him, a flush covering his cheeks. Ashley clenched her fists beneath the table; she could guess what he had been going to say.
“To answer Rossi’s question, there doesn’t seem to be anything trigger-y in her records, no losses, no traumatic events of any kind, nothing,” Garcia said, sounded apologetic, “I have her address, and her place of work and I’m sending them to you all.”
“What about the list from the prison, of people who tried to contact Beauchamp?” Hotchner prompted.
Garcia pointed her fluffy pen at the screen, typing with her other hand, “Ashley Champion is on that list, she tried to see Beauchamp on three occasions, and has written a whole scary lot of letters to him. Does not wanting to be ignored anymore count as a trigger?”
“It can.” Rossi answered, sounding grim.
Garcia winced, “In that case, you, boss man, may have just put your finger on why this girl went all stabby.” She paused, still reading from her other screens, “That is however, about all I can find this quickly on your girl, I shall keep digging and let you know if I find out anything else.”
“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotchner said, and Garcia smiled, bowing her head before her screen went dark. “If you follow up on her, go to her workplace and home, see if you can bring her in.”
The BAU all nodded their understanding, all of them but Rossi and Jareau moving out of sight of the camera.
“See you in two hours,” Rossi said, before the second screen went dark as well. Hotchner reached out and closed the laptop, then pushed it to one side, turning his attention to Ashley.
“You did a good job,” he offered her a faint smile.
She shook her head, “I got lucky.”
Hotchner sighed, “After he was arrested, your father didn’t tell us very much. You got more from him in fifteen minutes than Rossi managed in a week.”
Ashley frowned, “Why?” She shook her head. “I mean, I understand that he seems to want me to forgive him, or still love him despite what he did, but, he’s so willing to tell me everything now.” She ducked her head and stared blankly at the table in front of her. She should probably re-read the files, see if there was anything that might help, but it felt like she’d gotten everything from them that she could.
“When you were a child, he would give you everything you asked for.” Hotchner’s voice was soft, and Ashley looked up at him despite herself. She had asked, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Not really.
“Pretty much everything.” She agreed, not wanting to talk about the things he hadn’t given her.
“If you had asked, if you had known to ask then, he might have told you.”
Ashley frowned, “Might have?” She didn’t want to believe that. She might have painted a picture in her head of her cruel father, who had hidden so much from her and had cost her innocence, but she had never thought that he would have told her. She couldn’t imagine him sitting her down one afternoon and telling her about the women he had killed.
“He wants you to understand.” Hotchner said, and Ashley flinched, closing her eyes.
“I don’t think I ever will,” She said. “But if he wants a daughter who understands..” She cut herself off, ducking her head. She shouldn’t have said that out loud. Not to Hotchner.
He let the silence stretch out for a few minutes before he spoke again, “There’s a possibility that is how she sees herself.”
Ashley frowned again, looking up at him, “That doesn’t make me feel much better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
Ashley closed her eyes, forcing herself to try and look at the whole thing like ‘Ashley Champion’, the woman who just might have been attempting to be Charles Beauchamp’s perfect daughter. It was crazy, but Ashley knew that reality, the truth, wouldn’t matter to the woman. “What would make her think that?”
“It’s likely that she doesn’t have a very good relationship with her own father.”
“So she decided that a serial killer would make a better dad?” Ashley couldn’t be detached. She was angry, she could admit that, and she knew it was aimed more at Saunders than her father. He might have killed people, but he had never wanted that part of himself to be a role model for others.
“Your father.” Hotchner paused, watching her for a moment, “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but after he was arrested, he did what he could to make it easier for you.”
Ashley met his gaze, “He talked about me didn’t he?”
Hotchner nodded, “Not much, but he made it clear he wanted you and your brother kept away from the trial. He could have fought, but he didn’t. He gave us all the evidence we needed to put him in jail, when he could have used you as an alibi.”
Ashley smiled, though there was no joy in it, “People always try to use their family for alibis.”
“A lot succeed.” There was a story behind those words, Ashley could tell, but she didn’t want to ask. She had enough on her mind as it was.
Ashley raised an eyebrow, “Denial is a powerful thing.”
Hotchner nodded again, “So is love.”
“Yeah.” Ashley looked away, staring out the window. She wanted a way to help but it seemed likely that, by the time they were back in New York, the others would have arrested Champion. “Do you think she’ll confess when they catch her?”
“If she’s really doing this as a way to be closer to your father, she’ll want him to know.”
“That’s a yes.” Ashley said, not caring at that moment that Hotchner was a superior, someone she was meant to respect. This whole case just seemed to keep messing with her emotions. Maybe joining the FBI hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
New York, 2010
They made it back to New York just as it was getting dark, and the drive to the field office was silent. Ashley wished she could just ask to go home, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to see this through, had to know for sure this woman wasn’t going to kill any more people.
It was the only way she could even start to deal with it all.
She’d thought, misguidedly, that she was over it. That her father wasn’t a part of her life any more, and he couldn’t affect her. She just hadn’t even considered that someone might decide to drag her back to where she had started.
She had no trouble with hating Ashley Champion/Marie Saunders.
Donavon and Rossi were waiting for them in the foyer, their expressions grim, and Ashley started a mental list of things that could still go wrong. It was a lot longer than her emotional state would have her believe.
“Ashley Champion didn’t make it to work today, and she hasn’t been home.” Rossi informed them as they headed for the elevator.
“We’ve got people keeping an eye on the apartment, but from what her neighbours said, she hasn’t been home in a few days.” Donavon added, moving to allow Hotchner to walk beside Rossi. He reached out and gave Ashley’s arm a quick squeeze. She was grateful he didn’t ask her how she was doing.
“Garcia has been doing a check on Champion’s bank records, but she hasn’t found anything yet. MacTaggart is working on getting us a warrant to search Champion’s apartment.” Rossi added, and Ashley wondered why she had thought it would be easy.
Just because her father, once he’d been made an official suspect, had made it easy for them to catch him didn’t mean Champion would do the same. Champion probably didn’t even know that her idol had done so, it wasn’t recorded anywhere, none of the people involved at that point had spoken about it. Until now.
“Have we got anything to connect her to the victims?” Hotchner asked.
“Not yet, they’re working on the camera footage. They might be able to track her from her home or work to the crime scenes, but it’s going to take a while.” Donavon answered, throwing a look at Ashley. She knew as well as he did the cameras were as much of a hindrance as they were a help. They didn’t cover everywhere and the angles were sometimes awful.
“We need a way to draw her out.” Hotchner made it sound easy. Ashley had a bad feeling that she would be thrown another emotional curve ball before the day was done.
It took an hour of discussion on the conference room, with Ashley and Donavon acting more as observers than participants, before they came up with a plan they all thought would work. Ashley wished they could have come up with a plan that didn’t involve her.
Ashley stared at Jareau for a long moment. She knew that she had to resemble a startled deer, but it was all she could do not to run in the other direction. “You want me to make a statement?”
That wasn’t her job. It was Jareau’s. It wasn’t a job that Ashley wanted.
They wanted her to stand in front of cameras and announce to the world that she was Charles Beauchamp’ daughter, and she couldn’t say no; saying no would mean risking Champion killing again before they could catch her.
“We need to force her hand,” Rossi said, his tone even. It made her want to punch him. But she didn’t.
“I’ll talk you through what to say,” Jareau said.
“What about the questions?” Ashley asked, surprised at how remote she sounded. She knew there would be a lot of questions, that people would approach her and ask for interviews. If she did it, she would open herself up to all the things her mother had protected her from. All the things she had worked so hard to avoid. She closed her eyes and just breathed for a while, not really hearing the answer to her question.
A hand pressed against the back of her neck, urging her to lean forward, to put her head between her knees. It helped with the dizziness, but it didn’t make the sick feeling go away.
Jareau had taken her home, once the panic attack had passed, and had spent the night on the couch. Barnaby had been less interested in the new visitor, but Jareau had at least fitted on the couch a little better than Morgan had.
Mellie hadn’t commented, other than to ask if there would be another FBI agent staying the next night. Ashley had thought, maybe, under different circumstances it would have been funny. As it was, Ashley hadn’t answered. She had given up trying to predict how things were going to go.
Jareau picked clothes out for Ashley to wear, and Ashley dressed without arguing. She would take as much advice as the other woman had to offer.
If she had to do this, she should at least do it well.
She glanced at her phone, wishing that she could call her mom and warn her. It wasn’t just Ashley who would be affected by what they were asking her to do. Mellie pulled her into a hug, squeezing hard before she let go, then taking a step back, and meeting Ashley’s gaze steadily, “You are doing the right thing.”
Ashley laughed despite herself, “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
Mellie shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”
Ashley smiled at her girlfriend, the tension in her shoulders releasing, just a little, “Thanks.”
Mellie hesitated, glancing towards the bedroom door, “If you want, I could be there?” Jareau, JJ, had said enough that Mellie knew that Ashley was taking in part in a press conference.
Ashley shook her head, “No, it’s ok. I need to do this myself.”
Mellie watched her expression for a moment before she nodded, somewhat reluctantly, “Ok, just, if you need me call?”
Ashley nodded, “I will, promise.”
Mellie smiled, giving Ashley a little push, “Go on, the sooner you leave, the sooner the hard part will be over.”
Ashley managed a smile, even as she mentally disagreed. The press conference would be the easy part, living with it would be the hard part.
Daire pulled Ashley to one side as she walked into the bullpen, JJ at her side. JJ gave her a little nod before retreating to the conference room, where the rest of her team were waiting. There was still an hour until the press conference, but Ashley wished she had longer.
“I want you to be sure.” Daire said, “There are other ways to force Champion’s hand, and we still can’t be certain she is our killer.”
Ashley shook her head, “I think they’re right, and this is the best way to get her to come forward, without putting anyone else at risk.”
“Anyone but you.” Daire corrected, anger showing in her dark eyes, “I’m not happy about putting one of my agents into a situation as the target for a serial killer.”
Ashley swallowed, her legs feeling a little shaky. She wasn’t sure if it was because Daire was concerned about her, or because she’d been reminded she was about to paint a target on her own back. “I’ll have two agents with me at all times,” She recited Hotchner’s promise from the night before.
“There’s the personal risk as well,” Daire said, “Not just from Champion.”
Ashley frowned; it took her a minute to catch Daire’s meaning. She sighed, pressing her fist into her thigh to resist rubbing a hand over her eyes. “It was going to happen one day.” She had always expected it, had always been prepared for it, she’d just never actually wanted it to happen. She had liked having a choice whether people knew.
She just hoped, once Champion was caught, the attention would shift to her and people would forget the FBI agent whose father was a serial killer.
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Daire didn’t back down.
Ashley nodded, “I’m sure.”
Daire nodded sharply, “We should finish getting you prepared.”
Ashley gripped the dais hard, squinting against the various camera flashes. She wondered if hell in any way resembled a press conference. JJ stood, tall and unmoved, at her side. Ashley wished she had the other woman’s composure.
She swallowed hard before she forced herself to straighten up. She had a statement to make, and then she could go find a bathroom and lock herself in a cubicle for a little while. She had her gun back, she would be able to handle it if Champion somehow managed to track her down.
She took a deep breath, then started speaking, not letting herself think, just reciting the statement that Hotchner and JJ had walked her through. “My name is Ashley Beauchamp,” the room went absolutely silent, almost eerily so, “my father, Charles Beauchamp, is the man you know as the Redmond Ripper, and I am here to ask you for help.”
The rest of the statement was easy, and she managed to remember it all, pausing at the right moment and never once looking away from the mass of press representatives. Once the words were out, the ones that she said so rarely, the name that she hadn’t used in years, the rest was nothing.
She finished the statement, then thanked the press and the public, and stepped off away from the dais, walking the short distance to the door slowly, not rushing. Morgan pulled the door open for her and she stepped through, and out of sight, then slumped down against the wall.
She was never doing another press conference. Not if she could help it.
Donavon brought a pack of cards with him for his shift of Ashley-watch, dealing them both cards without waiting for her permission. “Figured you’d appreciate a rest from paperwork.”
Ashley gave him a look, “You mean you figured you had an excuse to get away from your paperwork?”
Donavon shrugged, “Our girl hasn’t shown yet; I figure she’s waiting for you to leave the building.” Ashley’s eyebrows rose and Donavon kept going, “It’s traditional to play poker with the condemned woman.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ashley said, resting her chin on her hand.
“He’s right.” Prentiss, who was sharing the shift with Donavon, commented from the far end of the table, lowering the file she’d been reading to the table top. They had taken over the break room. It was a better position, more because it wasn’t as open as the bullpen, and didn’t have a picture window like the conference rooms.
“I don’t think poker is traditional,” Ashley said, and Prentiss grinned.
“No, you’re right, it should be chess.”
Ashley frowned, then shook her head, “I don’t think I want to know.”
Donavon snorted, “The things you don’t know.”
Ashley took her cards, letting the comment drop. At least her keepers all seemed to get along. She made a face as she took in her hand; she hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. She stood, crossing to the cupboards and hunting out supplies.
There was no point in playing poker if they didn’t have anything to bet with.
Hotchner and Daire had claimed the last shift of the day. She wasn’t going home, she had been told that much, though there were uniforms watching her apartment, and Mellie, just in case. She had a night in a hotel suite to look forward to.
She walked out onto the street, Hotchner in front of her, Daire behind, and crossed her arms over her stomach. It was the only way that she could put her hand on her gun without it being obvious. It was getting dark, the street lights already on. Ashley watched Hotchner idly, wondering how he could be so calm. It hadn’t been so long since he’d walked out of the same field office, down the same street, with the SAC of the New York field office. The only difference was, Daire’s SUV was parked closer to the office.
Ashley knew there was one place that Champion would choose, if she were really to sit waiting for Ashley to leave the field office, and they were already coming up to it.
Ashley didn’t look, she followed Hotchner’s example, keeping her eyes forward, pretending she wasn’t expecting someone to jump out at her as she walked past. She felt Daire drop back, enough so she wouldn’t be visible until it was too late for an attacker to react.
Ashley tensed and turned away as soon as she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She thought, for a moment before the silk scarf was wrapped around her neck, that Champion was disappointingly predictable.
Then Ashley was reaching into her pocket for the pocket knife she’d grabbed before leaving her apartment that morning, flipping it open before raising it to her neck. She slipped it under the scarf, as much as she could, barely noticing the flash of pain, then pulled, sawing at the scarf.
It was hard to focus when she was struggling to breathe, kicking out with one leg at her attacker, just as the scarf loosened. She heard Hotchner shout a warning, followed by a female voice yelling something at him. She pulled hard, using the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to grab behind, grasping the scarf were it gathered at the back of neck. She leaned forward, using her weight and taking advantage of Hotchner and Daire’s presence, and managed to yank the scarf from Champion’s grip.
Ashley staggered forwards, ripping the scarf away from her neck and taking deep, desperate breaths. She forced herself to turn, to straighten up, to face the woman who had tried to kill her.
Marie Saunders. Ashley refused to think of her by the name she’d taken, with her dyed blonde hair and dark clothes, struggled against Hotchner, screaming insults and spitting. He didn’t let go, forcing the woman’s hands behind her back and holding them there while Daire cuffed her.
Ashley stiffened as Saunders looked at her, eyes so full of fury, “You don’t deserve to have him as a father.”
“No one does.” Ashley replied.
Ashley sat on her desk, watching as Donavon lead Saunders off to the holding area, rubbing her neck idly.
“You should go to the hospital, get checked out.” Ashley jumped, turning to look at Rossi as he approached.
She felt her face heat up and ducked her head. He’d caught her, but she didn’t want to leave yet. She was ok, better than the other woman Saunders had attacked. She would recover, there would be no lasting effects of her experience; no physical ones at least. “I’m fine.” She winced at how raspy her voice sounded. He wasn’t convinced.
“You had a silk scarf wrapped around your neck,” he motioned towards her, “hard enough that it’s already started to bruise.”
Ashley winced, raising her hand and hunching her shoulders to hide her neck from view. She didn’t feel up to being examined by a doctor. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep in her own bed, without there being another FBI agent asleep on her couch.
She might even take Barnaby for a walk in the morning, a chore Mellie normally did. It would be nice to be outside for a while, and Barnaby would dissuade anyone who decided to try and talk to her; he was good like that.
“I’m fine, really.”
Rossi snorted, shaking his head, “No, you’re not, and that’s ok.”
Ashley sighed, lowering her gaze, “Could you not profile me right now? Please?”
He hesitated, hovering over her. She winced; all that he was doing was reminding her of the day they’d met. He’d hovered over her then as well.
She didn’t want any more reminders.
“We got the warrant; Morgan and Prentiss were on their way to her apartment before you guys headed out.”
Ashley took the bait, knowing that he wouldn’t go away if she didn’t. There was something he felt he needed to say, whether she wanted to hear it or not. “What did they find?”
“Not a whole lot; we’re guessing she has a second location that she’s been using.” Rossi answered, and Ashley wondered why he’d felt it was so important.
“Oh.” It was just another thing they were going to have to chase down, and Ashley wasn’t feeling especially thrilled at the idea of more work on the case. She wanted it to be over.
“Even if we’d been able to get the warrant sooner, we wouldn’t have had any more to work from.”
Ashley smiled faintly, “The press conference was the right call, I know, even if I did end up getting attacked on the street.”
Rossi shrugged, “I think we’ve covered that, you’ll live and we caught the killer. She won’t be killing any more women.” He hesitated before he moved, sitting down in her desk chair, “You know that we found evidence in your house? That he kept everything there or in his car?”
Ashley caught on then, “I know there are differences, between her and my father. I don’t see them as the same.”
“Really?” Rossi asked.
Ashley nodded, then winced, “The only reason this case is getting to me, is she thinks they’re the same. I don’t know what it is that made her kill, and I don’t really understand what made my father kill either, but I do know it’s different. That they are different, in ways beyond the fact that she used a scarf; he used a tie. She’s a woman, he’s a man.”
“And you know it’s not your fault,” Rossi added, and she stopped, staring at him before she sagged, just a little more.
“Maybe, but there’s a big difference between knowing that, and feeling it.”
“There is.” Rossi smiled, “Come on kid, let’s get you to the hospital, the others can finish this without us.”
Quantico, Virginia, 2011
Ashley could remember when she was a cadet and she’d spent every free minute was she wasn’t sleeping on the assault course. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, watching as a group of cadets rounded the last corner.
It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been one of them.
She rubbed her thumb against the scar on her neck. It was a scar she’d given herself, at some point during her struggle to get the silk scarf off her neck. It had taken her a while to notice the blood running down her chest at the time, too distracted by her attacker and being able to breathe freely.
She hadn’t learned enough from that brief struggle, she thought ruefully, as her head started to throb again. It had been two weeks since, during a raid on the house of a suspected murderer, she’d forgotten to check behind the door once she was in a room and had been clocked over the head by an angry old woman.
She’d been lucky, Donavon had reminded her, between comments about being beaten up by an old lady; she could so easily have been killed. That was why Daire had sent her back to the academy, there was always more training to be done. Ashley had two more weeks of advanced training courses before she was due to return to New York.
She needed to learn to think, to not allow her heart to lead her head so much, something she’d thought she’d learned, before she’d been forced to face her past head on. She couldn’t let it control her, and she couldn’t let it eat at her either.
“What do you think they should do?”
Ashley jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, turning to face Hotchner as he stepped up beside her, nodding to the cadets below, an eyebrow raised.
Ashley blinked, glancing back at the assault course, listening as the instructor told them what they needed to do. “They should tie the mannequin’s arms together, put am arm through them then lift it onto their shoulders.”
She glanced back to him, watching as he nodded. She shifted her weight, not sure what to say. The last time she’d seen him had been at Saunders’ trial. He’d been the only one of the BAU to give evidence, and she’d heard more from him that day about her father’s case than she’d ever heard.
Ashley had sat in the back of the court, watching the defense attorney question him, had watched him use his calm against the other man, and she’d been a little in awe. She still hadn’t decided if it was a good thing, her tendency to look up to her superiors, wishing that she could just be like them.
She wondered if it made her like Saunders. Looking for someone to copy, someone else to be.
That thought alone made her want to be herself, to learn from instead of imitate. But it was going to take her a while to get there and she knew it would be a hard road. She’d spend a lifetime looking to other people, doing as they did for fear that if she didn’t, they’d learn her secret. She’d convinced herself that she didn’t want to be her father, and the only way to do that was to be someone else. Someone good.
And she’d needed someone to use as an example.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what are you doing here?”
He turned to her, turning his back on the cadets, who were still struggling with their task, “Agent MacTaggart mentioned you were here.”
Ashley frowned. She hadn’t known that they spoke. Hadn’t even known they got along well enough for that, but then, they were both hard people to read. “Aren’t you too busy to visit?”
Hotchner shrugged, “I didn’t get a chance to talk you, after the arrest, or the trial.”
Ashley blushed. She had been careful not to hang around, partly because she hadn’t wanted to give the press anything to talk about, and partly because she’d known he wanted to talk to her. She’d had time, between the BAU leaving and the trial, to process everything. That included the first time she’d met Aaron Hotchner.
She hesitated, before she straightened, “Could we walk?”
He smiled, a tiny upward quirk of his lips, and nodded, letting her lead the way.
She waited until they were alone, standing on a deserted path, before stopping and turning to face him, “Your father wasn’t a serial killer.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Hotchner agreed, “but I know what it’s like, having the past get in the way of a case.”
Ashley looked away, shifting her weight. She had wanted to ask, she hadn’t needed to be there when he gave his evidence, but she’d been toying with asking him. She hadn’t been brave enough in the end. “It’s,” she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of the right words, “you say that, but I don’t believe it. I get that, there are people in law enforcement who hate murder cases where a kid witnessed their parent’s death, because that’s what happened to them. There are others who were raped, and have problems dealing with rape victims. It’s just, all of those things, they’re more personal.”
“No,” Hotchner said, “it isn’t. If you’ve been a victim of something, seeing another victim is hard. It doesn’t matter if there are differences; it’s the reminder that’s hard. Suddenly you’re thinking about something that you’ve tried to bury.”
Ashley felt herself flush. He was right, and she was annoyed with herself for not seeing it. She was still letting her emotions get into the way, acting like she was the only person to have to deal with what she was dealing with. She sighed, closing her eyes, “I wasn’t a victim; I’m not a victim. I feel like I don’t have a right to feel like this.”
“You were a victim. People might not think it, or treat you like it, but you were.” Hotchner reached out, touching her shoulder. “You had your father taken from you.”
Ashley looked up, meeting his gaze, “My mom still has your card; she told me, after the trial.”
“The number doesn’t work anymore.”
Ashley smiled, “I don’t think she expects it to.”
Hotchner’s expression was solemn, “You can use it, the way you feel. It’ll help make you a better agent.”
Ashley shook her head, “It feels like it it’s making me a worse agent.”
He sighed. “Either you use it, or it will break you.” They were words weighed down with experience, and it made Ashley think about the things she’d read. Mellie had encouraged her to read up on the BAU after New York. She’d also offered an ear, for whenever she felt like talking about things. It was a better offer than a therapist.
Ashley let out a sigh of her own, “I think using it is harder.” She’d done it, facing down her father, she’d used it.
Hotchner shook his head. “Unless someone else decides to use your father’s MO, it’ll get easier. When there are differences, it’s easier to separate yourself from it, and the more often you do, the less it’ll weigh on you.”
“Is that your way of telling me that I should stay in the FBI?”
Hotchner’s phone beeped before he could answer her, and he frowned, pulling it from his pocket. She waited, not saying anything as he read the message. She could guess what it was about; the BAU were almost constantly fielding requests for help, and she’d heard about Jareau’s reassignment. It was good for the other woman, considering her new job, but Ashley suspected it had had a negative effect on the team she’d left behind.
He looked up after a moment, looking apologetic and she smiled. “You’ve got a new case.”
Hotchner nodded, “In New Mexico.” He didn’t move to leave. “To answer your question, yes, I think you should stay in the FBI.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He watched her for a moment longer before he pocketed his phone. “I hope to see you around Agent Seaver.”
Ashley smiled, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again for a while.”
“I don’t know,” He met her gaze, his expression solemn, though she could see amusement in his eyes, “given your life experience, you might make a good profiler.”
-
Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other.
Joseph Joubert
When one has not had a good father, one must create one.
Friedrich Nietzsche
-
Extended End Notes for anyone who is interested in reading them.
Author:
weaselettArtist:
pe1804Fandom: Criminal Minds
Type: Gen, mentions of femslash and het: slightly AU from canon
Rating/Warnings: 15 (for descriptions of violence and some language)
Word Count for this part: 5864
POV Character: Ashley Seaver
Spoilers: Spoilers up to Season Six episode 10 (what happens at home).
Summary: There's a serial killer in New York, one who leaves no evidence behind at the crime scene and always seems to be one step ahead of the team investigating the murders. Their best chance seems to lie with the BAU, for whom the case brings back old memories. Written for
casestory.For full warning see masterpost here
BAU Jet, 2010
Leaving the prison had taken longer than getting in, but that hadn’t been a surprise. That was how prisons were supposed to work. It had been a tense thirty minutes, and all Ashley had done as they’d made their way back to the jet was play her father’s words over in her head.
“Saunders,” Hotchner said, “she was the witness that came forward after Charles Beauchamp’s last murder.”
Ashley watched the two video screens, as Rossi leaned back away from the camera and Garcia typed in the name. She thought that Saunders would already be on their list; Garcia had been searching for anyone from Mountrail County living in New York. It was a surprise to her that neither Rossi nor Hotchner had considered Saunders before.
“She said she ran after she saw him drag Hannah off the road,” Rossi said, frowning, “she didn’t know the details.”
“She lied,” Ashley said, “she watched all of it.”
Hotchner nodded, “Beauchamp said that he knew she was watching, he could see her.”
“But he never said anything?” Morgan asked. “She was the only witness.”
“He pled guilty, he didn’t know what she’d told us.” Hotchner answered, “He knew that a girl watched him kill, he thought she’d told us the truth.”
“Saunders, Marie was a resident of Stanley North Dakota until she was twenty, then she vanishes,” Garcia shook her head, still typing, her gaze fixed on another screen. Ashley was a little in awe; her paperwork would get done a lot faster if she could only type that fast.
“Vanishes, Garcia…” Morgan sounded less worried than Ashley felt; she hoped that was a good thing.
“Ah, no doubting my awesome powers mortal, Marie Saunders vanishes, and Ashley Champion comes into being. It seems she legally changed her name, then moved around some.” Garcia looked at the camera, “She’s been in New York for the last three years.”
“But she’s only just started killing.” Rossi said, frowning, “What happened in the last year, what triggered her to start killing?”
“Ashley Champion?” Ashley repeated the name, horrified. Hotchner reached out across the table, gripping her wrist lightly, his dark gaze sympathetic.
“It makes sense, if she’s obsessed with your father…” Reid went quiet after Prentiss elbowed him, a flush covering his cheeks. Ashley clenched her fists beneath the table; she could guess what he had been going to say.
“To answer Rossi’s question, there doesn’t seem to be anything trigger-y in her records, no losses, no traumatic events of any kind, nothing,” Garcia said, sounded apologetic, “I have her address, and her place of work and I’m sending them to you all.”
“What about the list from the prison, of people who tried to contact Beauchamp?” Hotchner prompted.
Garcia pointed her fluffy pen at the screen, typing with her other hand, “Ashley Champion is on that list, she tried to see Beauchamp on three occasions, and has written a whole scary lot of letters to him. Does not wanting to be ignored anymore count as a trigger?”
“It can.” Rossi answered, sounding grim.
Garcia winced, “In that case, you, boss man, may have just put your finger on why this girl went all stabby.” She paused, still reading from her other screens, “That is however, about all I can find this quickly on your girl, I shall keep digging and let you know if I find out anything else.”
“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotchner said, and Garcia smiled, bowing her head before her screen went dark. “If you follow up on her, go to her workplace and home, see if you can bring her in.”
The BAU all nodded their understanding, all of them but Rossi and Jareau moving out of sight of the camera.
“See you in two hours,” Rossi said, before the second screen went dark as well. Hotchner reached out and closed the laptop, then pushed it to one side, turning his attention to Ashley.
“You did a good job,” he offered her a faint smile.
She shook her head, “I got lucky.”
Hotchner sighed, “After he was arrested, your father didn’t tell us very much. You got more from him in fifteen minutes than Rossi managed in a week.”
Ashley frowned, “Why?” She shook her head. “I mean, I understand that he seems to want me to forgive him, or still love him despite what he did, but, he’s so willing to tell me everything now.” She ducked her head and stared blankly at the table in front of her. She should probably re-read the files, see if there was anything that might help, but it felt like she’d gotten everything from them that she could.
“When you were a child, he would give you everything you asked for.” Hotchner’s voice was soft, and Ashley looked up at him despite herself. She had asked, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Not really.
“Pretty much everything.” She agreed, not wanting to talk about the things he hadn’t given her.
“If you had asked, if you had known to ask then, he might have told you.”
Ashley frowned, “Might have?” She didn’t want to believe that. She might have painted a picture in her head of her cruel father, who had hidden so much from her and had cost her innocence, but she had never thought that he would have told her. She couldn’t imagine him sitting her down one afternoon and telling her about the women he had killed.
“He wants you to understand.” Hotchner said, and Ashley flinched, closing her eyes.
“I don’t think I ever will,” She said. “But if he wants a daughter who understands..” She cut herself off, ducking her head. She shouldn’t have said that out loud. Not to Hotchner.
He let the silence stretch out for a few minutes before he spoke again, “There’s a possibility that is how she sees herself.”
Ashley frowned again, looking up at him, “That doesn’t make me feel much better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
Ashley closed her eyes, forcing herself to try and look at the whole thing like ‘Ashley Champion’, the woman who just might have been attempting to be Charles Beauchamp’s perfect daughter. It was crazy, but Ashley knew that reality, the truth, wouldn’t matter to the woman. “What would make her think that?”
“It’s likely that she doesn’t have a very good relationship with her own father.”
“So she decided that a serial killer would make a better dad?” Ashley couldn’t be detached. She was angry, she could admit that, and she knew it was aimed more at Saunders than her father. He might have killed people, but he had never wanted that part of himself to be a role model for others.
“Your father.” Hotchner paused, watching her for a moment, “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but after he was arrested, he did what he could to make it easier for you.”
Ashley met his gaze, “He talked about me didn’t he?”
Hotchner nodded, “Not much, but he made it clear he wanted you and your brother kept away from the trial. He could have fought, but he didn’t. He gave us all the evidence we needed to put him in jail, when he could have used you as an alibi.”
Ashley smiled, though there was no joy in it, “People always try to use their family for alibis.”
“A lot succeed.” There was a story behind those words, Ashley could tell, but she didn’t want to ask. She had enough on her mind as it was.
Ashley raised an eyebrow, “Denial is a powerful thing.”
Hotchner nodded again, “So is love.”
“Yeah.” Ashley looked away, staring out the window. She wanted a way to help but it seemed likely that, by the time they were back in New York, the others would have arrested Champion. “Do you think she’ll confess when they catch her?”
“If she’s really doing this as a way to be closer to your father, she’ll want him to know.”
“That’s a yes.” Ashley said, not caring at that moment that Hotchner was a superior, someone she was meant to respect. This whole case just seemed to keep messing with her emotions. Maybe joining the FBI hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
New York, 2010
They made it back to New York just as it was getting dark, and the drive to the field office was silent. Ashley wished she could just ask to go home, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to see this through, had to know for sure this woman wasn’t going to kill any more people.
It was the only way she could even start to deal with it all.
She’d thought, misguidedly, that she was over it. That her father wasn’t a part of her life any more, and he couldn’t affect her. She just hadn’t even considered that someone might decide to drag her back to where she had started.
She had no trouble with hating Ashley Champion/Marie Saunders.
Donavon and Rossi were waiting for them in the foyer, their expressions grim, and Ashley started a mental list of things that could still go wrong. It was a lot longer than her emotional state would have her believe.
“Ashley Champion didn’t make it to work today, and she hasn’t been home.” Rossi informed them as they headed for the elevator.
“We’ve got people keeping an eye on the apartment, but from what her neighbours said, she hasn’t been home in a few days.” Donavon added, moving to allow Hotchner to walk beside Rossi. He reached out and gave Ashley’s arm a quick squeeze. She was grateful he didn’t ask her how she was doing.
“Garcia has been doing a check on Champion’s bank records, but she hasn’t found anything yet. MacTaggart is working on getting us a warrant to search Champion’s apartment.” Rossi added, and Ashley wondered why she had thought it would be easy.
Just because her father, once he’d been made an official suspect, had made it easy for them to catch him didn’t mean Champion would do the same. Champion probably didn’t even know that her idol had done so, it wasn’t recorded anywhere, none of the people involved at that point had spoken about it. Until now.
“Have we got anything to connect her to the victims?” Hotchner asked.
“Not yet, they’re working on the camera footage. They might be able to track her from her home or work to the crime scenes, but it’s going to take a while.” Donavon answered, throwing a look at Ashley. She knew as well as he did the cameras were as much of a hindrance as they were a help. They didn’t cover everywhere and the angles were sometimes awful.
“We need a way to draw her out.” Hotchner made it sound easy. Ashley had a bad feeling that she would be thrown another emotional curve ball before the day was done.
It took an hour of discussion on the conference room, with Ashley and Donavon acting more as observers than participants, before they came up with a plan they all thought would work. Ashley wished they could have come up with a plan that didn’t involve her.
Ashley stared at Jareau for a long moment. She knew that she had to resemble a startled deer, but it was all she could do not to run in the other direction. “You want me to make a statement?”
That wasn’t her job. It was Jareau’s. It wasn’t a job that Ashley wanted.
They wanted her to stand in front of cameras and announce to the world that she was Charles Beauchamp’ daughter, and she couldn’t say no; saying no would mean risking Champion killing again before they could catch her.
“We need to force her hand,” Rossi said, his tone even. It made her want to punch him. But she didn’t.
“I’ll talk you through what to say,” Jareau said.
“What about the questions?” Ashley asked, surprised at how remote she sounded. She knew there would be a lot of questions, that people would approach her and ask for interviews. If she did it, she would open herself up to all the things her mother had protected her from. All the things she had worked so hard to avoid. She closed her eyes and just breathed for a while, not really hearing the answer to her question.
A hand pressed against the back of her neck, urging her to lean forward, to put her head between her knees. It helped with the dizziness, but it didn’t make the sick feeling go away.
Jareau had taken her home, once the panic attack had passed, and had spent the night on the couch. Barnaby had been less interested in the new visitor, but Jareau had at least fitted on the couch a little better than Morgan had.
Mellie hadn’t commented, other than to ask if there would be another FBI agent staying the next night. Ashley had thought, maybe, under different circumstances it would have been funny. As it was, Ashley hadn’t answered. She had given up trying to predict how things were going to go.
Jareau picked clothes out for Ashley to wear, and Ashley dressed without arguing. She would take as much advice as the other woman had to offer.
If she had to do this, she should at least do it well.
She glanced at her phone, wishing that she could call her mom and warn her. It wasn’t just Ashley who would be affected by what they were asking her to do. Mellie pulled her into a hug, squeezing hard before she let go, then taking a step back, and meeting Ashley’s gaze steadily, “You are doing the right thing.”
Ashley laughed despite herself, “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
Mellie shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”
Ashley smiled at her girlfriend, the tension in her shoulders releasing, just a little, “Thanks.”
Mellie hesitated, glancing towards the bedroom door, “If you want, I could be there?” Jareau, JJ, had said enough that Mellie knew that Ashley was taking in part in a press conference.
Ashley shook her head, “No, it’s ok. I need to do this myself.”
Mellie watched her expression for a moment before she nodded, somewhat reluctantly, “Ok, just, if you need me call?”
Ashley nodded, “I will, promise.”
Mellie smiled, giving Ashley a little push, “Go on, the sooner you leave, the sooner the hard part will be over.”
Ashley managed a smile, even as she mentally disagreed. The press conference would be the easy part, living with it would be the hard part.
Daire pulled Ashley to one side as she walked into the bullpen, JJ at her side. JJ gave her a little nod before retreating to the conference room, where the rest of her team were waiting. There was still an hour until the press conference, but Ashley wished she had longer.
“I want you to be sure.” Daire said, “There are other ways to force Champion’s hand, and we still can’t be certain she is our killer.”
Ashley shook her head, “I think they’re right, and this is the best way to get her to come forward, without putting anyone else at risk.”
“Anyone but you.” Daire corrected, anger showing in her dark eyes, “I’m not happy about putting one of my agents into a situation as the target for a serial killer.”
Ashley swallowed, her legs feeling a little shaky. She wasn’t sure if it was because Daire was concerned about her, or because she’d been reminded she was about to paint a target on her own back. “I’ll have two agents with me at all times,” She recited Hotchner’s promise from the night before.
“There’s the personal risk as well,” Daire said, “Not just from Champion.”
Ashley frowned; it took her a minute to catch Daire’s meaning. She sighed, pressing her fist into her thigh to resist rubbing a hand over her eyes. “It was going to happen one day.” She had always expected it, had always been prepared for it, she’d just never actually wanted it to happen. She had liked having a choice whether people knew.
She just hoped, once Champion was caught, the attention would shift to her and people would forget the FBI agent whose father was a serial killer.
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Daire didn’t back down.
Ashley nodded, “I’m sure.”
Daire nodded sharply, “We should finish getting you prepared.”
Ashley gripped the dais hard, squinting against the various camera flashes. She wondered if hell in any way resembled a press conference. JJ stood, tall and unmoved, at her side. Ashley wished she had the other woman’s composure.
She swallowed hard before she forced herself to straighten up. She had a statement to make, and then she could go find a bathroom and lock herself in a cubicle for a little while. She had her gun back, she would be able to handle it if Champion somehow managed to track her down.
She took a deep breath, then started speaking, not letting herself think, just reciting the statement that Hotchner and JJ had walked her through. “My name is Ashley Beauchamp,” the room went absolutely silent, almost eerily so, “my father, Charles Beauchamp, is the man you know as the Redmond Ripper, and I am here to ask you for help.”
The rest of the statement was easy, and she managed to remember it all, pausing at the right moment and never once looking away from the mass of press representatives. Once the words were out, the ones that she said so rarely, the name that she hadn’t used in years, the rest was nothing.
She finished the statement, then thanked the press and the public, and stepped off away from the dais, walking the short distance to the door slowly, not rushing. Morgan pulled the door open for her and she stepped through, and out of sight, then slumped down against the wall.
She was never doing another press conference. Not if she could help it.
Donavon brought a pack of cards with him for his shift of Ashley-watch, dealing them both cards without waiting for her permission. “Figured you’d appreciate a rest from paperwork.”
Ashley gave him a look, “You mean you figured you had an excuse to get away from your paperwork?”
Donavon shrugged, “Our girl hasn’t shown yet; I figure she’s waiting for you to leave the building.” Ashley’s eyebrows rose and Donavon kept going, “It’s traditional to play poker with the condemned woman.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ashley said, resting her chin on her hand.
“He’s right.” Prentiss, who was sharing the shift with Donavon, commented from the far end of the table, lowering the file she’d been reading to the table top. They had taken over the break room. It was a better position, more because it wasn’t as open as the bullpen, and didn’t have a picture window like the conference rooms.
“I don’t think poker is traditional,” Ashley said, and Prentiss grinned.
“No, you’re right, it should be chess.”
Ashley frowned, then shook her head, “I don’t think I want to know.”
Donavon snorted, “The things you don’t know.”
Ashley took her cards, letting the comment drop. At least her keepers all seemed to get along. She made a face as she took in her hand; she hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. She stood, crossing to the cupboards and hunting out supplies.
There was no point in playing poker if they didn’t have anything to bet with.
Hotchner and Daire had claimed the last shift of the day. She wasn’t going home, she had been told that much, though there were uniforms watching her apartment, and Mellie, just in case. She had a night in a hotel suite to look forward to.
She walked out onto the street, Hotchner in front of her, Daire behind, and crossed her arms over her stomach. It was the only way that she could put her hand on her gun without it being obvious. It was getting dark, the street lights already on. Ashley watched Hotchner idly, wondering how he could be so calm. It hadn’t been so long since he’d walked out of the same field office, down the same street, with the SAC of the New York field office. The only difference was, Daire’s SUV was parked closer to the office.
Ashley knew there was one place that Champion would choose, if she were really to sit waiting for Ashley to leave the field office, and they were already coming up to it.
Ashley didn’t look, she followed Hotchner’s example, keeping her eyes forward, pretending she wasn’t expecting someone to jump out at her as she walked past. She felt Daire drop back, enough so she wouldn’t be visible until it was too late for an attacker to react.
Ashley tensed and turned away as soon as she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She thought, for a moment before the silk scarf was wrapped around her neck, that Champion was disappointingly predictable.
Then Ashley was reaching into her pocket for the pocket knife she’d grabbed before leaving her apartment that morning, flipping it open before raising it to her neck. She slipped it under the scarf, as much as she could, barely noticing the flash of pain, then pulled, sawing at the scarf.
It was hard to focus when she was struggling to breathe, kicking out with one leg at her attacker, just as the scarf loosened. She heard Hotchner shout a warning, followed by a female voice yelling something at him. She pulled hard, using the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to grab behind, grasping the scarf were it gathered at the back of neck. She leaned forward, using her weight and taking advantage of Hotchner and Daire’s presence, and managed to yank the scarf from Champion’s grip.
Ashley staggered forwards, ripping the scarf away from her neck and taking deep, desperate breaths. She forced herself to turn, to straighten up, to face the woman who had tried to kill her.
Marie Saunders. Ashley refused to think of her by the name she’d taken, with her dyed blonde hair and dark clothes, struggled against Hotchner, screaming insults and spitting. He didn’t let go, forcing the woman’s hands behind her back and holding them there while Daire cuffed her.
Ashley stiffened as Saunders looked at her, eyes so full of fury, “You don’t deserve to have him as a father.”
“No one does.” Ashley replied.
Ashley sat on her desk, watching as Donavon lead Saunders off to the holding area, rubbing her neck idly.
“You should go to the hospital, get checked out.” Ashley jumped, turning to look at Rossi as he approached.
She felt her face heat up and ducked her head. He’d caught her, but she didn’t want to leave yet. She was ok, better than the other woman Saunders had attacked. She would recover, there would be no lasting effects of her experience; no physical ones at least. “I’m fine.” She winced at how raspy her voice sounded. He wasn’t convinced.
“You had a silk scarf wrapped around your neck,” he motioned towards her, “hard enough that it’s already started to bruise.”
Ashley winced, raising her hand and hunching her shoulders to hide her neck from view. She didn’t feel up to being examined by a doctor. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep in her own bed, without there being another FBI agent asleep on her couch.
She might even take Barnaby for a walk in the morning, a chore Mellie normally did. It would be nice to be outside for a while, and Barnaby would dissuade anyone who decided to try and talk to her; he was good like that.
“I’m fine, really.”
Rossi snorted, shaking his head, “No, you’re not, and that’s ok.”
Ashley sighed, lowering her gaze, “Could you not profile me right now? Please?”
He hesitated, hovering over her. She winced; all that he was doing was reminding her of the day they’d met. He’d hovered over her then as well.
She didn’t want any more reminders.
“We got the warrant; Morgan and Prentiss were on their way to her apartment before you guys headed out.”
Ashley took the bait, knowing that he wouldn’t go away if she didn’t. There was something he felt he needed to say, whether she wanted to hear it or not. “What did they find?”
“Not a whole lot; we’re guessing she has a second location that she’s been using.” Rossi answered, and Ashley wondered why he’d felt it was so important.
“Oh.” It was just another thing they were going to have to chase down, and Ashley wasn’t feeling especially thrilled at the idea of more work on the case. She wanted it to be over.
“Even if we’d been able to get the warrant sooner, we wouldn’t have had any more to work from.”
Ashley smiled faintly, “The press conference was the right call, I know, even if I did end up getting attacked on the street.”
Rossi shrugged, “I think we’ve covered that, you’ll live and we caught the killer. She won’t be killing any more women.” He hesitated before he moved, sitting down in her desk chair, “You know that we found evidence in your house? That he kept everything there or in his car?”
Ashley caught on then, “I know there are differences, between her and my father. I don’t see them as the same.”
“Really?” Rossi asked.
Ashley nodded, then winced, “The only reason this case is getting to me, is she thinks they’re the same. I don’t know what it is that made her kill, and I don’t really understand what made my father kill either, but I do know it’s different. That they are different, in ways beyond the fact that she used a scarf; he used a tie. She’s a woman, he’s a man.”
“And you know it’s not your fault,” Rossi added, and she stopped, staring at him before she sagged, just a little more.
“Maybe, but there’s a big difference between knowing that, and feeling it.”
“There is.” Rossi smiled, “Come on kid, let’s get you to the hospital, the others can finish this without us.”
Quantico, Virginia, 2011
Ashley could remember when she was a cadet and she’d spent every free minute was she wasn’t sleeping on the assault course. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, watching as a group of cadets rounded the last corner.
It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been one of them.
She rubbed her thumb against the scar on her neck. It was a scar she’d given herself, at some point during her struggle to get the silk scarf off her neck. It had taken her a while to notice the blood running down her chest at the time, too distracted by her attacker and being able to breathe freely.
She hadn’t learned enough from that brief struggle, she thought ruefully, as her head started to throb again. It had been two weeks since, during a raid on the house of a suspected murderer, she’d forgotten to check behind the door once she was in a room and had been clocked over the head by an angry old woman.
She’d been lucky, Donavon had reminded her, between comments about being beaten up by an old lady; she could so easily have been killed. That was why Daire had sent her back to the academy, there was always more training to be done. Ashley had two more weeks of advanced training courses before she was due to return to New York.
She needed to learn to think, to not allow her heart to lead her head so much, something she’d thought she’d learned, before she’d been forced to face her past head on. She couldn’t let it control her, and she couldn’t let it eat at her either.
“What do you think they should do?”
Ashley jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, turning to face Hotchner as he stepped up beside her, nodding to the cadets below, an eyebrow raised.
Ashley blinked, glancing back at the assault course, listening as the instructor told them what they needed to do. “They should tie the mannequin’s arms together, put am arm through them then lift it onto their shoulders.”
She glanced back to him, watching as he nodded. She shifted her weight, not sure what to say. The last time she’d seen him had been at Saunders’ trial. He’d been the only one of the BAU to give evidence, and she’d heard more from him that day about her father’s case than she’d ever heard.
Ashley had sat in the back of the court, watching the defense attorney question him, had watched him use his calm against the other man, and she’d been a little in awe. She still hadn’t decided if it was a good thing, her tendency to look up to her superiors, wishing that she could just be like them.
She wondered if it made her like Saunders. Looking for someone to copy, someone else to be.
That thought alone made her want to be herself, to learn from instead of imitate. But it was going to take her a while to get there and she knew it would be a hard road. She’d spend a lifetime looking to other people, doing as they did for fear that if she didn’t, they’d learn her secret. She’d convinced herself that she didn’t want to be her father, and the only way to do that was to be someone else. Someone good.
And she’d needed someone to use as an example.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what are you doing here?”
He turned to her, turning his back on the cadets, who were still struggling with their task, “Agent MacTaggart mentioned you were here.”
Ashley frowned. She hadn’t known that they spoke. Hadn’t even known they got along well enough for that, but then, they were both hard people to read. “Aren’t you too busy to visit?”
Hotchner shrugged, “I didn’t get a chance to talk you, after the arrest, or the trial.”
Ashley blushed. She had been careful not to hang around, partly because she hadn’t wanted to give the press anything to talk about, and partly because she’d known he wanted to talk to her. She’d had time, between the BAU leaving and the trial, to process everything. That included the first time she’d met Aaron Hotchner.
She hesitated, before she straightened, “Could we walk?”
He smiled, a tiny upward quirk of his lips, and nodded, letting her lead the way.
She waited until they were alone, standing on a deserted path, before stopping and turning to face him, “Your father wasn’t a serial killer.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Hotchner agreed, “but I know what it’s like, having the past get in the way of a case.”
Ashley looked away, shifting her weight. She had wanted to ask, she hadn’t needed to be there when he gave his evidence, but she’d been toying with asking him. She hadn’t been brave enough in the end. “It’s,” she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of the right words, “you say that, but I don’t believe it. I get that, there are people in law enforcement who hate murder cases where a kid witnessed their parent’s death, because that’s what happened to them. There are others who were raped, and have problems dealing with rape victims. It’s just, all of those things, they’re more personal.”
“No,” Hotchner said, “it isn’t. If you’ve been a victim of something, seeing another victim is hard. It doesn’t matter if there are differences; it’s the reminder that’s hard. Suddenly you’re thinking about something that you’ve tried to bury.”
Ashley felt herself flush. He was right, and she was annoyed with herself for not seeing it. She was still letting her emotions get into the way, acting like she was the only person to have to deal with what she was dealing with. She sighed, closing her eyes, “I wasn’t a victim; I’m not a victim. I feel like I don’t have a right to feel like this.”
“You were a victim. People might not think it, or treat you like it, but you were.” Hotchner reached out, touching her shoulder. “You had your father taken from you.”
Ashley looked up, meeting his gaze, “My mom still has your card; she told me, after the trial.”
“The number doesn’t work anymore.”
Ashley smiled, “I don’t think she expects it to.”
Hotchner’s expression was solemn, “You can use it, the way you feel. It’ll help make you a better agent.”
Ashley shook her head, “It feels like it it’s making me a worse agent.”
He sighed. “Either you use it, or it will break you.” They were words weighed down with experience, and it made Ashley think about the things she’d read. Mellie had encouraged her to read up on the BAU after New York. She’d also offered an ear, for whenever she felt like talking about things. It was a better offer than a therapist.
Ashley let out a sigh of her own, “I think using it is harder.” She’d done it, facing down her father, she’d used it.
Hotchner shook his head. “Unless someone else decides to use your father’s MO, it’ll get easier. When there are differences, it’s easier to separate yourself from it, and the more often you do, the less it’ll weigh on you.”
“Is that your way of telling me that I should stay in the FBI?”
Hotchner’s phone beeped before he could answer her, and he frowned, pulling it from his pocket. She waited, not saying anything as he read the message. She could guess what it was about; the BAU were almost constantly fielding requests for help, and she’d heard about Jareau’s reassignment. It was good for the other woman, considering her new job, but Ashley suspected it had had a negative effect on the team she’d left behind.
He looked up after a moment, looking apologetic and she smiled. “You’ve got a new case.”
Hotchner nodded, “In New Mexico.” He didn’t move to leave. “To answer your question, yes, I think you should stay in the FBI.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He watched her for a moment longer before he pocketed his phone. “I hope to see you around Agent Seaver.”
Ashley smiled, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again for a while.”
“I don’t know,” He met her gaze, his expression solemn, though she could see amusement in his eyes, “given your life experience, you might make a good profiler.”
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Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other.
Joseph Joubert
When one has not had a good father, one must create one.
Friedrich Nietzsche
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Extended End Notes for anyone who is interested in reading them.
