The bullpen at the BAU was empty and silent as Marjorie paced anxiously. She knew the team was landing tonight, and she heard what had happened on their case. She needed to see Elle.

Finally, the elevator dinged, and the group of profilers appeared. She marched up to them, laying eyes on her dark-haired friend.

"Elle, oh my god, I heard," she grasped the woman's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Elle nodded solemnly. The rest of the team lingered for a moment, watching the interaction, before walking away and minding their business.

"Talk to me," Marjorie begged, "I know we've grown apart this past year, but I still care about you. Remember back at the academy, we promised each other that we'd be there through every success and every trauma? I'm here, Elle."

Her friend sighed, "I know... thank you. But I really think I just want to be alone right now."

With a gentle nod, Marjorie released her grip, "Okay... but you'll call me?"

Elle gave a tightlipped smile, "I promise."

Then she walked towards her desk. Marjorie watched, concerned, before feeling eyes on her. She looked around briefly, eventually catching Hotch's gaze from his office. She narrowed her eyes in confusion when he looked away. Curious, she made her way towards him.

Approaching the office door, she peeked inside hesitantly. "Could I come in, sir?" She asked.

Hotch paused what he was writing, staring at her, then nodded. "You're a good friend to have stayed so late for Elle," he said.

"I'm not one to break promises," she responded. Clearing her throat, she asked her next question warily, "Sir... What happened? I mean I know enough to be concerned—like the fact that Elle had to kill someone out of self defense—but I feel like there's more I don't know."

The man sighed "Agent Sloan, you know I can't share details of the case—"

"With all due respect—Agent Hotchner—that's not going to work with me. I am also a federal agent of the bureau, and I have worked with this unit several times. My friend just went through a trauma... I wish to know more about it. And I know she won't tell me."

There was a brief stare down before Hotch gave in, "We were hunting a serial rapist. Elle... went undercover. She was supposed to lure the unsub into a house by walking out while he was watching. We told her not to wear her gun, but when it came down to it... she didn't listen. She panicked and approached the vehicle the unsub was in, arresting him at gunpoint. Eventually, we had to let him walk because we didn't have sufficient enough evidence to hold him. Elle lashed out, yelling at me and causing a scene. I let her off for the night. Next thing I knew, she was standing beside his dead body claiming he forced her hand when she went to confront him."

Marjorie processed the story slowly, her thoughts lingering on the last sentence, "Why did you say it like that?" Hotch looked confused. "You said claiming..." She stared, confused and upset, "You don't think it was self-defense..."

She meant to ask him, but it came out more as an accusation.

The man sighed, "I simply think given the context of the case and what had happened earlier that night—"

"So not only do you think she committed murder, you think she lied about it?!" Marjorie began to raise her voice.

Hotch exhaled, then glared at the woman, "Agent Sloan, calm down. I may not be your superior, but I do have the authority here."

The woman scoffed. Opening her mouth to argue more when her phone chimed. She groaned, pulling it out of her pocket when she saw a message from the very person being discussed.

Elle
Changed my mind. Can't sleep in this house by myself.
Your offer still stand?

Marjorie paused, thinking before typing her response.

Always. Be there as soon as I can.

She looked back up at the Unit Chief in front of her. Sighing, she said, "Goodnight, Agent Hotchner." Then turned to leave.

"Sloan," he called out, causing her to pause and look back, "Listen, you're her closest friend. You know her better than any of us, therefore you know what she's capable of. All I'm asking you to do is keep an open mind. I'm asking."

There was a short moment of silence before Marjorie repeated her statement, "Goodnight, Agent Hotchner."

Then she left.

——————

Arriving at Elle's place, she went to knock before freezing in place. Opting to text her instead as to avoid startling her. Not long after sending the I'm here message, the door opened and there her friend stood.

"Hey," Marjorie said.

"Hi..."

Then they hugged. It felt nice to the blonde woman to hug her friend again. Obviously, the reason for it this time sucked.

"I saw you talking to Hotch before I left," Elle told her.

Marjorie nodded, "Yeah, I wanted to know some specifics of what happened and... well, I didn't know if you were ready to talk about it so I figured I'd ask him."

Elle nodded, "That's one way to get biased information."

"Yeah, I realize that now... I'm sorry," the brunette woman gave no response, "So... you know?"

"That they all think I'm a vigilante killer? Of course, I know. That flight back all they did was stare into the back of my head as I tried so hard to fall asleep."

Marjorie sighed, "None of them were there when it happened. You know how people fill in the dots before they know the full story. It's hard to refill those dots with accurate information once they learn it. I think they just—"

"Are you defending them?" Elle cut her off.

"What? No, I'm just explaining they're behavior."

"I don't need you to do that. I'm the one who got into the BAU. I'm the profiler. Not you."

"Woah, Elle, listen, I'm not trying to make you angry."

"You agree with them, don't you?"

"What?"

"You agree that I killed him unprovoked."

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to! I see how you're looking at me!"

"And how is that?"

"With pity and- and disappointment!"

"Elle, this look on my face? It's concern. For my closest and most dear friend. You."

"Oh, bullshit, with how little we see each other anymore, there's no way you would try this hard to take care of me. Our dynamic is not the same! Stop pretending like everything's how it was when we were 25!"

Marjorie went quiet. Exhaling sadly, "Did you actually invite me over here to spend the night or just to yell at me and accuse me of being fake?"

"What are you talking about?"

"From the second I walked through this door, all you've done is scoff and roll your eyes and yell... that's not someone who asks for company. Why'd you really text me?"

"I... I needed to know what you thought."

"No, you didn't. You already decided what I thought when you saw me talking to Hotch. You weren't gonna hear me out." After no response, Marjorie shook her head scoffing. She grabbed her bag and went to leave the house, "I'm sorry this happened to you. I hope you start to accept help one day."

Then she drove off to her apartment, hot tears cascading down her cheeks. One after another, after another. When the lump in her chest got to much, she broke. Her grip on the steering wheel became so tight her knuckles turned white as snow, and she screamed. At the top of her lungs, a cry out to God—if he existed. It was short, but it was loud. Thank god no one else was on the road at this hour.

—————

At her apartment, Marjorie stood in her bathroom, brushing her teeth. When she was done, she leaned against the sink, sighing. The way Elle was acting—so defensive and untrusting—made her question everything. She loved Elle and wanted to believe her, she just didn't think it would be so hard to do so.

Climbing into bed and pulling up her thick comforter underneath her chin, she tried to fall asleep. She tossed and turned, desperate to have a clear head, but to no avail. Sitting up in exasperation, she groaned, running her hands over her face.

After sitting in silence for several minutes, she reached for her phone. Scrolling through her contacts to find Elle's, she went to tap it but paused. What was the point? She knew the woman wouldn't answer. Not even because it was almost 1am, just because it was inevitable.

Understand the contact, she saw the name Aaron Hotchner. She knew it was late. He wouldn't answer. But she needed to talk to someone, even if they weren't actively listening to her.

Marjorie took a breath before pressing the call button. It rang all the way through to voicemail like she expected, so she left a message.

"Hi, um. . . it's Agent Sloan—Marjorie—and, um. . . I'm sorry for calling so late. I guess I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you tonight in your office. It was unprofessional and uncalled for. . . . Also I just. . . I wanted to say that you were right. I don't think Elle is telling the full truth. Now, I'm not saying she murdered someone in cold blood, I just think. . . She's hiding something. If you wanna talk more about it or why I changed my mind, let me know. I'll see you, bye."

Then she hung up, tossing her phone back onto her nightstand then rolling over onto her stomach. She hoped that call would help her fall asleep easier since she got it off her chest, however that suffocating feeling was now exchanged for guilt.

She felt like she betrayed her friend. But that made her think. Did she betray Elle? Or did Elle betray her?

Marjorie thought deeply about it, hating herself for even considering either option.

————

(word count; 1658)