❝The past beats inside me like a second heart.❞

JOHN BANVILLE

✩

2.5 : the trial

(tw: mentions of abuse)

"ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T WANT ME TO COME WITH YOU?" Spencer asks for the umpteenth time, lowering his voice as Anderson walks past his desk carrying a stack of files. It's starting to annoy Fin. As much as she adores Spencer and appreciates how much he cares about her, this is exactly why she never tells anyone about her past. They start to treat her differently, like she's something fragile, to be handled delicately, lest she fall apart at the slightest inconvenience.

"Spencer, I'll be fine." Fin pushes her sweater sleeves up, showing him her hands, which aren't shaking at all. "I promise. I can do this."

"I know you can." Spencer takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to her palm, looking up at her with soft doe-eyes. "I just worry about you. I don't want you to feel alone."

"If I need you, I'll text you," Fin says, patting her phone through the back pocket of her jeans. "Okay?"

He nods resignedly. "Okay."

"Fin!"

Fin yanks her hand out of Spencer's just in time to turn, smiling, and face Blair, who's just leaving Hotch's office, Ethan trailing behind her.

"Hey," Fin says, nodding to her and Ethan. "So...are we telling anyone else?"

Blair makes a face. "I'm leaving that up to Agent Hotchner. After what happened several months ago with Agent Prentiss, I suggested it would be wise to tell Chief Strauss, but that's his decision. And yours, to some degree."

"What happens if we don't tell her?" Spencer asks, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Likely another Senate hearing," Ethan replies curtly, before Blair can say a word. "And an in-depth investigation. With two BAU agents being targeted within the span of a year, the Bureau would have to consider whether it would be safer to split this unit up amongst the others. If you can get Chief Strauss on your side, it won't just be you versus the machine. She can advocate to keep the unit together, as well as potentially hold the Senate committee at bay."

"What he said." Blair rolls her eyes at Ethan, who just frowns, as usual. "And we're on your side, too, of course. No one, outside of us and your team, knows every detail about this case, and they won't until it's over and done with."

"Thanks, Blair." Fin gives her a quick hug and shakes Ethan's hand semi-formally. "You know, Ethan, you should stop by more often. Your smile just lights up the room."

Ethan fakes a laugh, adjusting his suit jacket. "Your sarcasm is charming. Call me if anything comes up."

Fin watches as the two of them head out the BAU doors, Blair proverbially beating a dead horse by asking Ethan to lighten up, and Ethan chiding her for her childish optimism. As much as they seem to hate each other, they have become two of Fin's dearest friends and she knows without a doubt that they would do anything for her, and she for them.

Spencer takes her hand again, squeezing it gently. "If you need me–"

"I'll text you." Fin nods, squeezing back. "I know."

Slightly reluctantly, she releases his hand and heads toward the hallway herself, pushing the heavy glass doors open and letting them swing shut behind her. Despite how much she reassures Spencer that she is fine, Fin is a little nervous about this. Digging through Esther's past inevitably means digging up her own and potentially revealing ugly scars in front of Penelope.

But that's a risk she has to keep to protect them.

No longer will fear control her.

She knocks twice at Penelope's door before turning the handle and pushing it open. Penelope is sitting at her desk, typing something on her phone, and looks up when she hears the door open. "Oh, hi! You have utterly perfect timing, because I just made tea!" She gestures to two steaming mugs sitting at her desk.

"Thanks," Fin says, sitting down next to her and pulling a mug toward her. The tag on the teabag says Lemon Ginger, and she takes a deep breath in, savoring the fresh, springy scent.

"So what are we looking for?" Penelope asks, hands on her keyboard, ready to type.

"Everything," Fin replies, wrapping her hands around the mug. It's hot and almost burns her palms, but she'd rather focus on that than the task ahead of them. "Phone records, credit card hits, security camera photos, anything you can find about her before now. I want to know how the hell she made it all the way to D.C. before she showed up on anyone's radar."

"Okey-dokey!" Penelope says brightly, hands already flying across the keyboard. "Esther...Hayward..."

"And check Esther Cameron, too." Fin sips her tea. It burns the tip of her tongue a little. "She might have used multiple names."

"Working on it..." Penelope pauses as her screen floods with articles from old newspapers. Fin recognizes a few: the Sun Herald, the Mississippi Press, the Sea Coast Echo. All featuring her mother's mugshot and the same words in bold: MERCY KILLER CONVICTED.

And then, with a few more keystrokes, another website appears, this one with the title WATCH: MISSISSIPPI KILLER'S DAUGHTER TESTIFIES AGAINST HER. The video below the headline automatically plays, and both Fin and Penelope are frozen, staring at the grainy courtroom on the screen, at the fourteen-year-old Hazel Cameron taking the stand.

"State your full name for the record." asks the bailiff, his voice diminished over Penelope's computer speakers.

"Hazel Ophelia Cameron."

Fin sucks in a breath, hearing her own, young voice for the first time since that day. She didn't even know the trial was recorded.

Her hair is longer, her body thinner, but young Hazel is a walking corpse on August 27, 1997. Her eyes are haunted.

"Please raise your right hand," says the bailiff, and waits until young Hazel's hand is in the air. "Hazel Cameron, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

Young Hazel nods. "I do."

"Then be seated."

Though it is difficult to make out because of the quality of the video, as young Hazel sits down and the lighting changes just slightly, Fin sees that she is wearing a sleeveless top, her scars on full display for the jury. They've faded since then–at least on the outside.

"Miss Cameron, how old are you?" Their lawyer, a large, broad-shouldered man Fin remembers was called Scott–but Scottie to his friends, and to Hazel and Clara–approaches the stand, resting his hand on the edge comfortably.

"I'm fourteen years old," young Hazel replies, clearly and precisely. She rehearsed this over and over until she was sure she wouldn't stutter.

"And how old is your sister Clara?"

"She just turned nine about a week and a half ago." Young Hazel's Mississippi accent is more pronounced than Fin's; she has not yet begun the transformation into someone entirely new.

"Would you please explain to the jury how you got those scars on your arms?" Scottie asks, his voice softening, becoming more gentle. Fin remembers this conversation, when he asked her if she was comfortable talking about her scars. She vaguely remembers saying she'd strip naked and show the jury everything if it meant Esther got life in prison.

Almost emotionless, young Hazel points to an indistinguishable mark on her left arm. "This one's from when I forgot to take my shoes off at the back door and she cut me with my daddy's razor." Another scar, this one on the inside of her arm. "I stood up for my little sister when she failed a math test and she burned me with her cigarette." A particularly nasty one on her right shoulder. Fin feels her own, faded scar twinge slightly. "I asked her if I could take my sister to the park to see her friends from school. She was drunk and thought I was mouthin', so she punched me in the mouth and it knocked me back into the kitchen counter. I knocked a glass off and broke it, and it cut my shoulder. I got beat for breakin' that glass, too."

Penelope gasps and hastily presses the pause button, her eyes darting between Fin and the computer screen, horrified. "I'm so sorry, I–"

"It's okay." Fin shakes her head, desperate to quell the flow of endless apologies. "It's fine, Penelope. Really, I'm not fragile. It doesn't hurt me to see this." A lie. It does hurt, but it is necessary pain.

"I just–I can't believe you went through all of that," Penelope whispers, taking her glasses off and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "And we had no idea."

"Everyone here is good at keeping secrets," Fin replies ruefully. "I guess that just means I was meant for the job."

"How do you do it?" Penelope blinks more tears away, staring at Fin in horrified awe. "How do you live like this, knowing that–that a murderer has been out to destroy your life for years?"

Fin doesn't really know how to answer that question. She's never really thought about it. But the answer is obvious. "Because I'm not alone. Even when I thought I was, I wasn't. I always had this idea that if people found out who I really was, the baggage that I came with, they wouldn't want anything to do with me. But the truth is that I was the one pushing them away, not the other way around. I'm learning to let people help me, and knowing that I have people to trust gives me hope."

"And you're not afraid?"

"Penelope, I'm terrified." Fin shakes her head, smiling bitterly. "I have nightmares that one day, someone won't come into work. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering when she's going to pounce and who she's going to target. I have never been more scared in my life than I am now. But it won't do me any favors to curl up in a ball and hide. I might as well kick her ass."

Penelope reaches across the desk and takes Fin's hand, squeezing it tightly, a tear escaping down her cheek. "I promise you will never, ever be alone. You are not the only one with dark secrets, and I would never see you as less of a person just because you have a skeleton or two in your closet."

Fin bites her lip hard, forcing her own tears back, keeping them at bay. "Thank you," she whispers, and she truly means it. 

~

this chapter is dedicated to the memory of corey comperatore. may he rest in peace and may his family be comforted knowing he is rejoicing with the angels <3 

a little short, but there's so much going on the next few chapters, i didn't want to dump too much on y'all at once.