ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 ❜

chapter no. 053!

❪ 𝚃𝚆 ⠀ : ⠀ 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙲 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴,
𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳,⠀ 𝙰𝙽𝙳
𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽⠀⠀𝙾𝙵⠀ 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵-𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙼. ❫

❝ BACK TO THAT NIGHT. ❞
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﹙ FEBRUARY 22ND, 2018 ﹚

     LITERATURE PUNS WERE THE KEY TO GETTING CARA VALENTINE TO LAUGH AND SPENCER REID HAD JUST FIGURED IT OUT. He felt quite cretinous for having taken this long to figure it out, but he was grateful he had. An arsenal full of literature puns was stored in his mind, and he finally had someone to share them with. What made it better was that person understood the pun's true meaning. It was nice.

     The entire walk back to their apartment had been filled with shared laughter and a sense of tranquility. Neither of them could recall the last time their chests had felt this light and forced smiles hadn't basked their faces. For a small chunk of time, their worries were out of sight and out of mind. Particularly Cara's.

     Her ever-looming paranoia had taken a backseat for the first time in a while. She could breathe and have the air reach her lungs without getting caught in her throat. And it felt good.

     Laughing as Cara unlocked her apartment door, a happy smile rested on her face. She twisted the doorknob, ready to head inside, and bid Spencer a 'goodnight' when she felt him tug gently on her elbow. Leaving the door cracked open, she turned around.

     "I uh..." He stuttered nervously, fingers still wrapped around her arm. "I don't know what's going on with Hotch, Cruz, and Rossi... but I know that you've been in a dark place." Cara's smile slowly faded. "I'm not going to ask because I know that you don't break promises, and if you could, you would tell me."

     Their eyes remained locked as he took a step forward. Cara shifted her footing and stood straighter, unsure of where this conversation was heading.

     "I-I don't like seeing you upset," Spencer muttered, dropping his hand. "I just... I need you to know that I'm here."

     Immediately, she nodded. "I know you are," she whispered, frowning.

     "I care for you... a lot, and so does everyone else. Don't forget that."

     "I won't," she replied, pausing as a thought came to her mind. This was her last chance to give him one more puzzle piece. Her last chance at warning him. "W-What I'm about to say isn't going to make sense right now, but I promise it will eventually." She closed her apartment door and stepped away from it. Spencer's brows drew in, confused. "As humans, we change as we grow, and our mistakes can be overcome. This is one of the main themes in Persuasion. The other themes are love and war. While war can bring two people together, it can also be their biggest threat.

     "The main characters, Anne and Wentworth, know that what brought them back together was ultimately war. What they also know is that if their romance has taught them anything, it's that you can't entirely trust an ending to stay ended. The book concludes with that sobering reminder that the navy is part of the military, which means that if war should come again, they're the first to be affected. Wentworth will be taken away again to return to the battlefield." Cara let out a heavy breath as she came to a stop.

     Spencer replayed her words over in his head as he stared at her, perplexed as to why she was telling him any of this. Of course, her words could be a metaphor, but for what? He wasn't sure.

     Cara could see the gears churning in his head as his eyes never left hers. "I perceive the navy and war, in Persuasion, similarly to Milton's second circle of Hell in Paradise Lost. As well as my connection to the Red Scorpions. Both are inevitable but nearly impossible to predict." The volume of her voice had lowered incredibly.

     The mention of the second circle of Hell and the Scorpions caught the doctor's attention. "The second circle of Hell is almost here, isn't it?" His question was unanswered as the sensation of someone watching the blonde returned. "Ara?"

     At the sound of the nickname, she blinked. "As I said, what I told you will make sense eventually," she replied quietly, careful of her phrasing. One wrong word and she'd jeopardized his life right then and there.

     Something was up. That much Spencer could deduce.

     "Uh, by the way," she paused, stepping back, "I appreciate the compliment."

     Spencer's eyes widened, cheeks flushing. His suspicions had been abruptly tossed to the side. Could she be referencing what he said on the jet? "T-The uh," he stumbled, clearing his throat as he glanced away. "The what?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

     A rare, but beautiful laugh left Cara's lips as they spread into a smile. The sight of it made Spencer's heart race. "I like it," she admitted quietly, shifting awkwardly at the curious gaze he gave her. "When you're flustered. It's cute." His face flamed red. "And there we go," she mused, pointing at him knowingly.

     "Cut your cheeky shit and shut up," he muttered, swatting her hand away.

     Cara's jaw dropped. "Hey! Get your own catchphrase," she scowled, ignoring the grin he was sporting. "Is this one of those infrequent occasions where Spencer Reid curses?"

     "I think it is," he answered, trying not to reach for her hand. "Today on the jet, and this is the most you've talked in six days. I missed your voice."

     This time it was the blonde whose face burned red. "That now makes two compliments I want to thank you for," she took a step backward. "I do regard her as one who is too modest for the world, in general, to be aware of half her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty to be natural of any other woman," she recited, biting the inside of her cheek.

     The hallway filled with a particular silence as nothing else needed to be said. They both knew his favorite quote from Persuasion was a reflection of how he viewed her. And it meant more to Cara than she would ever let on. Both the quote and the fact that even though he knew bits of her past, he still highly regarded her.

     Before she could think twice about it or stop herself, she made her way back to him. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage as she inched closer, and she felt a tad out of her element. Once they were face to face with less than a foot between them, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek.

     Every part of Spencer's body froze and he tensed, eyes wide again. This was the most affectionate form of physical contact she'd ever initiated with him.

     Only two seconds passed until she pulled away. Upon meeting his stunned expression, she felt her stomach twist. "Thank you," she choked out, forcing the words out of her mouth. It wasn't just the compliments she was thanking him for— it was for every small, minuscule thing he'd done for her— it was for saving her— it was for paying attention to her and taking the time to get to know her. This was her last chance to express her gratitude, and she needed to before it was too late.

     Spencer numbly nodded, unsure, yet again, of what to do as they'd only ever been this close once. And that hadn't gone all that well, particularly on his end.

     Without realizing it, Cara brought her left hand up and cupped his cheek, running her thumb over it softly. He relaxed. Blinking, Spencer darted his eyes to her hand and back to her face, brows furrowing slightly. Why did this feel so right and natural to him? Perhaps it was because he was beginning to acknowledge and validate his feelings for the woman in front of him. Perhaps Morgan was right in what he said months ago. He was more ready than he'd realized until now.

     Their eyes remained locked, neither daring to break or increase the distance between them. It was as if they were at a standstill, frozen in time.

     The longer Cara stared at him, the more she accepted that she didn't want to do this. She didn't want to imagine what it'd be like to go more than a few days without seeing him or the team. She didn't want to learn to live without them as much as she knew she could if push came to shove. She didn't want to re-learn the lifestyle of the Red Scorpions. She didn't want to play Le's inescapable game. She never wanted to be called Clementine ever again. She didn't want to have to go another day seeing those greedy green eyes piercing her soul every time she shut her own. She didn't want to experience another hand-crafted hellscape nightmare or wake up hyperventilating and crying.

     She was tired of the paranoia and sleepless nights. She was tired of feeling powerless and as if every day held no purpose for her because she knew she'd eventually be taken back to British Columbia. She was tired of not knowing how many days she had left. She couldn't take having an invisible time clock hovering above her anymore. She was done sleeping with a goddamn frying pan, hammer, or kitchen knife. She was done looking over her shoulder or in the rearview mirror, paranoid she was being followed.

     She wanted to be able to talk to Spencer and not hide things in fear of his safety. She wanted to trust the rest of the team and learn how to open up more. She wanted to buy another cactus so Hartley would have a friend without fear of the cacti dying because she wouldn't be around to care for them. She wanted to get to a place where she felt an indefinite sense of peace within her. She wanted to learn to live.

     She wanted to stay. She didn't want to disappear.

     She wasn't ready and never would be. However, the longer she prolonged the inevitable, the more danger she'd bring to her friends' lives. If anything were to happen to them because of her, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. And for that reason, she let her hand fall back to her side and forced her feet to back-peddle. It was either them or her.

     When her fingers eventually wrapped around a circular object, Cara blinked. Spencer stood across from her with an unreadable yet endearing expression that made her stomach twist again. She didn't quite decipher what he was thinking or feeling, but she engraved the image of him standing there into her mind nonetheless.

     "Goodnight, Spen," she said quietly, opening the door to her apartment.

     "Uh, goodnight, Ara," he replied, struggling to process their interaction.

     Right before the door closed, Spencer got one last glimpse of that heart-warming, small smile on Cara's lips. However, it didn't quite reach her eyes this time. He didn't have much time, though, to notice the wistful look she was giving him. The door shut, and he stood there befuddled, wondering what the hell just happened.

     On the other side, Cara locked it with what would become a permanent frown. She momentarily leaned her forehead against the wood.

     They were there. She knew they were there.

     And they hadn't even been subtle about it. They'd turned on the kitchen light, its rays strong enough to bask the kitchen and crawl a few feet into the living room. When Cara had left for the case four days ago, every light in the apartment had been turned off. Not to mention Oh, My Darling Clementine was playing on the TV softly.

     What a beautiful reunion song.

     It played as Cara remained still, waiting until she heard the faint sound of a door closing in the hallway to speak. "What'd I do to deserve all this?" she called out, readying herself for what she was about to encounter. "Are we making up for Valentine's Day?"

     "Not really. Your date isn't here." A familiar voice replied.

     Shivers raced down her spine, and she blanched.

     "Shirzad," she breathed, holding in a heavy sigh. "How was your trip back from Millhaven? How's Owen?" Slowly, she turned around to face three men. There, standing in front of her, were Konaam Shirzad, Matthew Johnston, and Stephen Leone. They all wore identical smirks as if they'd been waiting their whole lives for this moment.

     "I see someone caught wind of my resurrection," Shirzad winked. His eyes traveled up and down her figure, and he licked his lips in a way that made Cara want to punch him. "Hello, beautiful."

     Chest tightening with dread, she placed her belongings on the ground next to the door. "Bold of you all to show up here," she mused, wavering her pointer finger between them. "Did the Three Stooges get tired of sitting on the sidelines?"

     Stephen Leone scowled. "Watch that mouth of yours, baby cakes."

     "Watch yours. Your teeth look like speckled corn," she cringed, gesturing to his mouth with a countenance of disgust.

     "All right. I've had enough of waiting," Shirzad grumbled, marching forward. It was time to get to the point; they couldn't be there too long.

     Each footstep of his was soundless, and that's when Cara realized that none of them were wearing shoes, only socks. The intent was to make as little noise as possible since she had neighbors on the floor below. Her heart wanted her to make as much noise as possible during this encounter, but she knew the repercussions that would entail. She had no desire to bring anyone else into this mess. It was her business and hers alone. That didn't mean she was going to go quickly and easily, though.

     A fist was thrown her way, and she dodged it. Pulling her right knee up, she extended her leg out and slammed the heel of her boot into his chest. The wind was knocked out of him, and Shirzad stumbled back.

     Johnston shoved him aside, ready to get a lick in. The thirst for revenge mixed with the lust he felt toward the blonde was overpowering. Seeing her after all these years did something to him, and he knew he would get a taste of her, whether she wanted him to or not. It didn't matter if it was in a violent manner or sexual. Just so long as he touched her.

     Identical to the man before him, Johnston swung at Cara, and she leaned back, missing the hit. Jumping up, she brought her right leg up again and kicked him in the chest. As he stumbled back, he accidentally collided with Shirzad and sent him to the ground.

     Cara took the opportunity to walk forward and bash her fist into the bottom of Johnston's chin. He bit down on his tongue at the force of the blow and growled. Using her left hand, she managed to score a punch across the face. She smirked when she saw a crimson liquid fall from his mouth.

     For a third time, she raised her leg and swung it up in between his legs. A howl of pain echoed, and she delivered a strike to the head. He misstepped and tripped over Shirzad, sending both of them to the floor.

     "My turn, baby cakes."

     Cara glanced up just in time to see a flash of silver slice through the air. Jumping away, she saw that Leone was holding a knife. A flash of Leone pressing a blade to her throat while there were chains around her wrists and legs came to mind. It was a memory from years ago, but it still haunted her from time to time.

     All right, if she wanted to continue fighting them off until she couldn't, she needed to get away from the front door. The longer she stayed there, the higher the chance of them jumping her together was.

     Sprinting around the couch in the living room, she did her best not to step so hard on the floor that a thud reverberated. Leone followed and managed to intercept her before she could make it to the kitchen. The knife he was holding fell and slid toward the couch as he dived at the blonde. He grabbed her waist and pinned her body to the wall. To his right was the flat-screen TV on the wall playing Oh, My Darling Clementine on repeat, and he could see Shirzad and Johnston's reflections in it. They were taking their time to stand up since he was taking care of her.

     A gasp escaped Cara when Leone's hands traveled from her waist to her neck. There was a crazed look in his eyes and he rested his forehead on hers. Slowly, he tightened his grip, and she grunted. Swinging her left arm up, she struck her tricep against the arms that kept her pressed to the wall. Not expecting her to put up more of a fight, Leone's hands loosened. She did it again and swiftly dragged them a few feet from the wall.

     Grabbing onto his shoulders, Cara yanked him toward her. Just as she knew it would happen, Leone's balance was thrown off. She bent her knees and grasped one of his arms before lifting him directly over her body.

     There was a loud thud as he was dropped to the ground, and the wind was immediately knocked out of him. The neighbors below, if they were home, likely heard that, but Cara couldn't be bothered to care. It wasn't enough to warrant extreme concern. That, and it was three against one. She needed at least one of them down; she had no intention of making this easy.

     Raising her foot, she stomped down on Leone's chest. He wheezed and jerked up. Then, he slumped on the floor and clenched his eyes shut in mild agony.

     It was risky going for the knife. Cara knew that the moment she saw it was less than three feet from Shirzad. Johnston was nowhere to be seen, and a chill raced down her spine. "Fuck," she muttered, shaking her head. It's now or never. Time couldn't be wasted, not right now.

     Going for the weapon, she picked it up and took a few steps back. When she looked up, Cara came face-to-face with a fuming Konaam Shirzad. He was red in the face and breathing heavily.

     Moving at lightning speed, she tried to stab him, but he managed to knock the blade out of her hand. Fists were thrown, and she dodged every single one. Her feet operated with a mind of their own and she made her way toward the front door. However, this couldn't last forever, and she knew that.

     Cara ducked from another one of Shirzad's swings and threw her body into his abdomen, pushing her feet forward to drive him into the back corner of the black couch. It was impulsive and stupid, but impulsive and stupid was all she had left at this point. She was running out of ideas. When his backside hit the furniture, she elbowed him in the chest, sending him falling backward and onto the cushions. He rolled off, and the side of his forehead smacked hard onto the glass coffee table.

     Not wasting time, she spun around to grab the fallen knife but came face-to-face with Leone. He rushed at her with the blade. She waited until he was close enough to duck to the side and grab the wrist holding the weapon. Bringing her right leg up, she kicked it out of his hand. She snagged his other wrist and brought them together, twisting them behind his back with such pressure that his right shoulder dislocated as she slammed him into the wall leading into the kitchen. His cry of pain brought a smirk to her lips.

     "Daddy's little girl got stronger," Leone grunted. His words didn't phase her as she shoved her knee into the bend of his back, causing something to pop. Cries of agony echoed.

     "Le's little bitch didn't," she growled.

     Out of nowhere, a blow was sent to the right side of her body with such force that she fell to the ground. With her fingers still wrapped securely around Leone's wrists, she dragged him down with her.

     Her back hit the wooden panels with a solid thud, and she felt like the air had been knocked out of her. Next to her, Leone was out cold. He'd hit his head against the wall and then the floor when they fell. Every part of her was praying that nobody downstairs or next door heard them.

     A grunt left her lips, and she pushed herself up with her elbows to see Johnston standing there with a smirk. "Hey again, princess," he greeted, holding the fallen knife. The fluorescent lights radiating from the kitchen cast a yellow hue around his figure, and his face darkened.

     Cara darted her eyes between the blade and him, trying to decide how she wanted to play this. "Johnston," she replied plainly, drawing a blank. Impulsive and stupid it was.

     "Time did you justice," he ran his eyes over her figure, wetting his lips. "Le wasn't lying when he said you grew up sexy."

     A sick sensation churned in her gut, and Cara got up, the heels of her boots echoing. "Time clearly did you a disservice," she grumbled, noticing a few wrinkles in his skin.

     Johnston's face dropped, and he marched forward, raising the knife high. He had every intention of striking it down and stabbing any inch of her that he could.

     Cara jabbed him in the shoulder with her elbow at the same time he sliced open the side of her arm. Wincing, she kneed him in the gut and bashed her elbow into his face. The sound of bone cracking sounded, and blood seeped from his nose.

     In response, Johnston threw himself at her, and they rolled across the floor. When they stopped, Johnston was on top. He pulled back and curled his fingers into a fist. At the last second, Cara lunged forward and headbutted him.

     "Oh, you stupid bitch," he groaned, reaching for his nose.

     A smirk curled onto her lips, and she moved her ankles to wrap around his legs. Thrusting up her hips and planting her feet firmly on the ground, she flipped them over. She threw a left hook and got him square in the jaw. Getting to her feet, she felt a little lightheaded and staggered away.

     While she blinked rapidly to clear her vision, Johnston stood up and swayed side-to-side before he regained his composure. He could tell by the disoriented look on Cara's face that this was his opportunity. Bringing his leg around, he delivered a harsh blow to her chest. She was flung a few feet but rolled back over and yanked one of his legs. Falling to his knees, Johnston met her at eye level, and she quickly punched him.

     Johnston reacted by driving the end of his elbow into Cara's head. Then, he sprung up to kick her in the back. The force of the blow sent her sprawling on the ground. Wheezing, she felt something get caught in her throat, and she coughed.

     "Shirzad... Get your ass over here."

     "Watch your tone, Matt. I'm getting it."

     As Cara coughed, specks of blood splattered on the floorboards. She almost grimaced at the pain spreading along her chest and torso. It felt like someone was tightening a vise around her lungs and skull.

     Not wasting time, Shirzad retrieved a small matte black case from a pocket on the inside of his trench coat. He unzipped it and grabbed the syringe he'd filled with a combination of substances. It was guaranteed to knock Cara out and keep her unconscious for at least a day.

     Wordlessly, he walked over and crouched down. He inserted the needle into the crook of her elbow and smirked. "Nighty night, Cara Valentine." He shoved her shoulder and pushed her onto her back.

     Blinking slowly, it registered in her brain that she couldn't feel her legs and feet. Shirzad's face came back into focus, and Cara went to press her palms to the floor, desperate to get away. She couldn't, though. Instead, her hands and arm lay unmoving, too.

     A shiver ran down her spine when an empty syringe was waved in front of her. Of course, the bastard drugged her. It was the only way they were going to get her out of there without alerting civilians. She should have seen it coming.

     "Sweet dreams."

     Suddenly, a wave of fear flooded her nervous system with an abrupt tightness in her throat. Every breath turned shallow, and her heart began racing. A cold sweat broke along her forehead, and she gasped for air. Whatever he'd given her was strong. It was acting fast and being brutal in its mission.

     This wasn't her first time being drugged, and it wouldn't be her last. Michael Le would never let Stephen Leone or the other Founding Fathers kill her. He'd want to do it himself if it ever came down to it. She was his, and everyone knew that.

     Eventually, the rising and falling of her chest stopped, and she could no longer feel oxygen reaching her lungs. She was suffocating. Her lungs screamed for a single breath, but she couldn't take one. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears, and black dots entered her vision.

     Now, it felt like every nerve and her lungs was catching fire. There was nothing she could do but bask in the flames.

     Even if every fiber of her instinctively wanted to fight back, to put up some sort of struggle, she couldn't. Cara had to lie there and give in to the persistent darkness that welcomed her home. Finally, her nightmares had translated into reality.

     "And after that?" Vanessa Bouchard stared kindly at Cara, both hands in her lap.

     The short-haired woman pulled her knees to her chest and fiddled with the grey sleeves of her grey v-neck sweater. "I'm unsure of what precisely happened. Shirzad drugged me. I only remember waking up in a run-down clothing factory," she replied, watching a look of recognition register on her therapist's face.

     "Yes. The Delaplane Lace Company." Vanessa nodded, recalling the name of the factory from memory. The place had been mentioned numerous times throughout their sessions. "It's an hour out from here."

     Nodding, too, Cara cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah. That's what Dave called it."

     It was silent for a moment.

     "Well, Cara, I'm quite proud of you today," the dark-haired woman told her earnestly. The only reaction she received was a simple blink of the eyes. Today's session had taken a lot out of Cara. "This is the first time you've been able to talk through that entire night, correct?"

     Oh. Right.

     "Yes. I haven't been able to," the latter inhaled sharply, "verbally relive that entire night."

     That was true. It'd taken a few months shy of two years for the blonde to finally piece together and share that night from beginning to end.

     While she retold it, there were times when she felt like she should've been able to get to this place sooner. All things considered, that night was nowhere close to making it into the top ten worst things to happen to her. That didn't seem to matter because it was still painful to think or speak about.

     "Until today."

     Cara tried to feign a half-smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Until today."

     Vanessa gave her a knowing expression. She'd come to be able to read the woman quite well by now. There was no need to fake anything. "You've made so much progress since you came back to the States," she said softly. "I'm very proud of you and honored to be on this journey with you. Thank you for trusting me."

     "Thank you for not giving up on me despite my stubbornness. I know I've been a difficult client at times," Cara mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.

     "Intellectually challenging, I'd say," the dark-haired woman rephrased, closing her notebook.

     Averting her gaze up, Cara raised an eyebrow. "That's a more congenial way of putting it." Subconsciously, she reached for her wrist.

     A brief smile passed over Vanessa's lips, and she adjusted in her seat. "Before we close today's session, I'd like to end on a pleasant note." Cara gestured for her to continue. "What's your happy place?"

     Immediately, she received an answer. "The beach."

     "The beach?" Vanessa repeated, a little surprised at the response. Imagining her client at the beach was tough. It didn't seem like a setting that would suit her. "How come?"

     Cara suddenly caught herself rubbing her wrist and stopped. She smoothed the palm of her hands against the soft material of her jeans instead. It took a moment, but she processed the question. The answer to it was simple— the beach symbolized family.

     One of her favorite memories used to be the day that her father took her to the beach. Despite the closest beach being hours away from where they lived, they still went. She'd never been before. Her whole world had been confined to the mahogany brick, two-story oblong house that the Valentines called home. So, going to the beach was something new.

     The journey and experience were exhilarating, nerve-wracking, and enigmatic all at once. At least that's how Cara used to remember it.

     Now, when she thought back to that day, she was filled with grief and an underlying tone of compassion. The grief was for her father and knowing that Ross Valentine was no longer alive. The compassion was for the younger version of herself who was so blind to Michael Le's grooming and abuse that she brought a piece of him with her in the form of a dictionary.

     In her head back then, it was love. Le gave her the book because he loved her. But that was never the case, and she'd come to wholeheartedly accept that. The dictionary was just another manipulation tactic. It was an attempt to further gain her trust and make her feel like they had a caring relationship. That way, it was easier to train her into silence and secrecy.

     Once she came to terms with that, the beach became tainted and so did the only memory she had tied to it. Bits and pieces of that day with her father withered away from her mind, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

     Surprisingly, that bitterness changed a few months ago, courtesy of her newfound family. Now, it was a place that she cherished.

     Pulling the long-sleeve cover-up tighter around her body, Cara stared at the beach apprehensively. It had been over twenty years since she'd last gone. The memory of it had almost faded from her mind. All she could recall were bits and pieces of her and her father talking in the car, the rain on the way there, and the massive dictionary she'd brought with her.

     This time, however, she was with Rossi, Hotch, and Jack. It was the weekend, and Jack had finished school last week before summer break. Apparently, he'd been nagging Hotch to go, and the man had caved in. He refused for them to go alone, though, and invited Rossi and Cara to come along at the request of his son.

     Rossi, of course, said yes and had failed to tell Cara until the night of. Something she did not appreciate and protested against, but Jack had asked for her to come by name. And she didn't want to hurt the kid's feelings, so here she was in Virginia Beach— standing at the entrance of the beach with sunglasses covering most of her face and lathered in sun lotion.

     Suddenly, there was a tug on her arm and she flinched, glancing to the right. Jack Hotchner was grinning at her, more than ready to go swimming.

     "Uh hi," she greeted, having not realized that he and Hotch had arrived.

     "Are you excited, Aunt Car?" he asked, practically bouncing on the tips of his toes.

     Cara cleared her throat, forcing a small smile. "Not really," she admitted. Jack's grin dropped an inch. A pang of guilt hit her square in the chest, and she quickly added, "But I'm here with you. I'm sure I'll enjoy it." The grin returned.

     "Race you to the ocean?"

     "I don't run—"

     "Winner gets the first pick of the ice cream in the cooler."

     "Perhaps—"

     "One, two... Go!"

     Jaw-dropping, Cara scowled at the sprinting twelve-year-old. Sand went flying in the air. That little shit... "Hey! That's not fair!" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. The bottom of the beach cover-up blew back in the wind, exposing the black one-piece and shorts she wore underneath. The shorts were long enough to cover the scars on her legs, which had been the point when she purchased them.

     Behind her, Rossi and Hotch were finally approaching. They'd been standing by their parked cars talking.

     Jack came to a stop and spun around. "Come on, slowpoke!" He stuck his tongue out at her, laughing at the scowl on her face.

     Sighing, she gave in. Quickly sliding off her flip-flops, she grabbed them in one hand and ran down the sandy path leading toward the beach.

     At the sight of his Aunt speeding his way, Jack hastily turned around and headed for the ocean. Sure, she had longer legs, but he was younger. He had an advantage.

     "I'm gonna beat you!"

     "Yeah, right!"

     Cara propelled her feet forward, maneuvering around a group of people. There were only a few feet between her and Jack, and the ocean was a couple of yards away. If she wanted to, she could easily beat him, but she'd rather see him laugh and smile at her losing than frown at her winning. So, she slowed down.

     "Hah! I beat you! I get the first pick of ice cream!"

     Jack wore the biggest grin she'd ever seen as he kicked the water that rolled in from the tide.

     "Mm-hmm," she hummed, ruffling his hair once she'd made her way over. "I'd go harass your dad for some before it turns to mush in the cooler. Can you take my flip-flops with you, too?" He nodded, taking them from her.

     Both of them looked to see Hotch and Rossi setting up an umbrella in the sand. They'd set their stuff down a few yards to the right.

     In a way, this entire situation was comical. Never did Cara ever think that she'd see Hotch at the beach. Rossi, she could easily picture, but her old Unit Chief? Not a chance. Yet, here she was.

     "Hey, Dad!" Jack shouted, leaving his Aunt's side with one thing on his mind.

     A smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and she faced the ocean, admiring the dark blue waves and the sea foam bordering the shore. It was a beautiful day. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. The air smelled of salt and stuck to her skin from the humidity.

     Waves glided toward her, crashing on the sand and curling around her ankles. Slowly, the water drifted back into the sea, pulling particles of sand with it. The spot she stood at lowered an inch as the sand soaked in the leftover water.

     Closing her eyes, she bathed in the sun and the hypnotic sound of the waves. It was peaceful. Especially when she tuned out the people crowding the beach and their constant chatter.

     "Cara?"

     Humming in acknowledgment, she didn't budge.

     "How are you liking it so far?" Hotch questioned, surveying her relaxed but still alert body language.

     "I could ask you the same," she breathed, feeling his eyes on her. "This doesn't seem like your ideal place to spend a day off."

     He chuckled, positioning himself next to her. "Yours either."

     "Oh, it's definitely not. I'm only here because Jack wants me to be," she said, re-opening her eyes and focusing them on the water.

     "Well, he's glad you came. He was talking about it the whole drive here," Hotch told her, folding his arms over his chest.

     Raising an eyebrow, the blonde twisted her head in his direction. "No, he didn't."

     Hotch nodded in confirmation. It was the truth. Jack had been ecstatic. "He did. You're one of his favorite people."

     Cara was taken aback. "How? I have the personality of a brick wall when it comes to children. I emotionally check out."

     "You're a lot better with kids than you think, Cara." Again, it was the truth. She wasn't able to see it, but she was great with kids. She didn't treat them like children or that they weren't smart enough to pick up on emotions and double-meanings. Whenever she was with Jack or Henry, she met them where they were mentally and worked with that to build a foundation with them. Not to mention, her unintentionally dry humor made them laugh.

     Skeptically staring at him, she pressed her lips together. "Agree to disagree, but I appreciate the compliment."

     Rolling his eyes, a slight smile curled at the edge of his lips. "I'm glad you came, too," Hotch added, fixating his attention on the waves crashing against them.

     Her mouth quirked up, and Cara bit the inside of her cheek. "Careful, Aaron. If you're any nicer to me, I might start to believe that you actually like spending time with me," she muttered, softly nudging her shoulder against his.

     "Hilarious," Hotch scoffed, breaking into a gentle chuckle at the smirk she wore. "You already know the answer to that."

     And she did.

     "This is going to be such a cute picture for the family photo album." David Rossi's voice echoed behind them, and Hotch peered over his shoulder. The older gentleman stood a few feet away with his phone out, the camera directed at the pair.

     In response, Cara held a middle finger up in the air. She didn't need to turn around to know what he was doing. "Dave, put that god—"

     "Child approaching."

     "—damn camera away."

     Hotch cast the blonde a look of disapproval. "Valentine," he reprimanded, ruffling Jack's hair when the boy wrapped his arm around his dad's waist.

     "Don't last name me," she said blankly, meeting his annoyed yet slightly amused expression. Given all the time that had passed and how close she'd gotten with particular members of the team, she no longer preferred to be called by her last name. Only Blake and Morgan referred to her as Valentine, and she was fine with that.

     "Then don't curse," Hotch returned, nudging her with his arm.

     Jack's face lit up, and his eyebrows rose. "Aunt Car cursed? And I missed it?"

     Cara stood a little taller. "I can repeat it for you."

     "No." Hotch and Rossi spoke in unison, giving them looks of warning.

     Laughing, Vanessa shook her head at the short-haired woman. "Your support system is beautiful," she complimented.

     "And chaotic," the latter sighed. "But I care for them."

     To this day, Cara still couldn't utter "I love you." There was a mental block between her and those three words. She believed that was largely due to the damage Michael Le inflicted on her psyche. He manipulated, twisted, and warped those three words to mean something unspeakable. It was hard for her to let go of that, but she would get there eventually. She knew that she had love for others, and she knew who in her life she loved. It was just going to take time to come to a place where she could express that verbally.

     "I can tell," her therapist smiled. "Well, that's all the time we have for today. Thank you for sharing that memory with me, Cara. I look forward to seeing you next week. Remember to keep working on that competing response for the rubbing."

     For the last couple of months, they'd been working on Cara's subconscious rubbing of the wrist. It'd been her tell for years but had become a form of self-harm when she was in the hospital. Since then, it'd become an area of concern, and Vanessa introduced a competing response coping mechanism for her.

     Rather than rubbing her wrist, Cara was to either smooth the palms of her hands against her legs or play with the gold ring Rossi gifted to her for Christmas. Sometimes she remembered to do it, other times she didn't. She was gradually getting better.

     Releasing her legs, Cara got to her feet. Her chest felt a little lighter today. "Thank you, Vanessa." She reached for her black purse and flashed the dark-haired woman the same thumbs-up she gave after every session. "See you next week."

────

     THE SEATS AND WINDOWS SHOOK BACK AND FORTH FROM THE BUMPS IN THE RAGGED PAVEMENT, JOSTLING THE TWO BLONDES SIDE-TO-SIDE IN AN ANXIOUS SILENCE. The world whirled by in a storm of dense, muted colors from the rainy winter storm. The air conditioning pumped through a few filters in the SUV, whistling lowly. JJ had picked up Cara from her therapy appointment ten minutes and fifty-three seconds ago. There were only seven minutes of their journey remaining. They were headed to a restaurant to meet with Penelope and Tara for lunch.

     "So," Cara spoke up, squinting as she looked out the passenger window. "What is it you want to ask me?"

     At the question, JJ dragged her eyes away from the road ahead and rubbed her neck. "What do you mean?" she asked, a little startled at the sudden break in the silence.

     "You're doing that odd combination of behavioral cues again," the short-haired woman pointed out.

     Throughout the car ride thus far, JJ had been displaying a variety of tells. With how long she'd known the woman, Cara was able to read her quite clearly. Sometimes her old teammates forgot that.

     "Combination?" JJ frowned, wrinkles spreading across her forehead.

     "You've rubbed your neck twice since I got in the car. People tend to do that when they're feeling insecure or stressed. Usually, you do this once to relieve stress. I can't recall you ever doing it twice. Your nose keeps scrunching up, which can be a sign that someone is either in deep thought or questioning the validity of something. Spencer does it frequently. Your shoulders are slouched forward, and that can indicate you're trying to hide something or feel vulnerable. Slouching like that closes off your neck and chest area, both of which are naturally vulnerable.

     "Not to mention, you keep opening and closing your mouth like you want to say something but are hesitant to. It's a subtle movement, but you've done it six times now. What is it you want to ask me?"

     Oh.

     Briefly, JJ was taken aback by the straightforward and blunt tone. There were times when the Cara Valentine she worked with four years ago resurfaced, and it was simultaneously comforting and chilling.

     Clearing her throat, she leaned into the leather driver's seat and corrected the slouching. "What are you doing Saturday?" She was a little confused by how nervous she felt. This wasn't that big of a deal, but at the same time, it was because this was a moment the team had been waiting for since Cara had been rescued.

     "Likely doing whatever it is you're about to ask me to do," Cara stated as if it were obvious.

     She might not want to be so willing to say yes after hearing her out.

     "Would you be willing to come into the BAU around noon?" Cara turned away from the window and toward the agent adjacent to her. "Rossi mentioned that you might be reaching a place where you're ready for questioning."

     A stringent silence filled the vehicle, and she unconsciously tensed. The interrogation portion of her case had been continually pushed back due to the state of her mental and physical health. For a while, she was deemed as not having a sound mind and could hardly speak a syllable about what she went through. However, that was changing now, and this was the first time she might be at a place where she was ready.

     "Hotch would be the one conducting the interrogation," JJ added, hoping that fact brought the younger woman a sense of comfort. "The team will be there to support you, minus Blake and Morgan. You can take as many breaks as you'd like and stop whenever you want. If you're not ready yet, that's totally okay. There's no pressure."

     That final sentence made Cara grimace. Of course, there was pressure. There always had been. The intensity of it had just been applied differently over the last eighteen months.

     It made sense why the subject was being brought up now, though. It did.

     It was nearing two years since she was found, and still, nobody had any answers. Well, Rossi did. Hotch knew a little bit, but not nearly as much. She knew that the F.B.I. and the Canadian government, including Captain Marvinhill, needed explanations for the case. So far, they'd been more than accommodating and that didn't go unrecognized.

     If she agreed, maybe she could finally take the steps necessary to end all of this.

     That thought caused Cara to sit a little taller. If she embraced the truth, just the tiniest bit, her relationship with the Red Scorpions could conclude. She could end the Founding Fathers and the power they still held over her. She could end the part of her life that'd brought her so much pain and torment. She could take back power and control of the narrative.

     Doing this— embracing and sharing what happened; confronting it, and being honest with herself and others— could heal a portion of her broken heart. There was a lot she wanted to get in life now that she was out of captivity and safe. The two main things were happiness and love and deep down, she knew she'd never fully experience those until this entire chapter was closed.

     She could do this. She could brave through it and provide all the answers necessary.

     Also, knowing the team would be there and Hotch would lead it helped. It was intimidating, too, but she knew she'd be in a safe space with them. Especially when the team included Spencer and Rossi.

     "All right," Cara breathed, shutting her eyes.

     JJ's eyebrows raised. "All right?" she echoed, unsure how to interpret the response. In the distance, she spotted the restaurant.

     "I'll do it," the short-haired woman clarified, feeling a small weight lifting off her shoulders. "I'll come in for questioning."

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹     ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC      2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the fifty-third chapter!

     cara valentine is such a goddamn fucking badass, i love her.

     i would love to hear everyone's thoughts on this chapter! did this answer any questions for you when it comes to the night cara disappeared? did that night go the way you thought it did? what other questions do you have, if any? please let me know!

     the next chapter will be filled with even more answers and revelations. the interrogation of cara valentine is finally happening and i'm extremely excited. i've been working on this particular chapter for over a year now and i cannot wait for it to be done + published! it's quite long and i'm halfway finished. i'm hoping to have it completed soon!

     lastly, thank you for continuing to read this story and being so kind in the comments. it means the world and i appreciate each of you so much. thank you.

     meme time ━━ can you tell i'm a raging bisexual?

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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