𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 — centre stage

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 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 utterly disappointed by the lack of, well, anything within the Clurman's home. After watching Hotch simmer down a riled-up Mrs. Clurman, Selena had joined the CSI team in scouring the home for any little detail that could possibly pertain to Gil Clurman's involvement.

 The home was bare of anything worthwhile, that is, until Selena and Elle had weaselled their way into the dreary old garage. Amidst the air that smelt of damp, and behind a few rotten-looking shelves, Selena had pointed a gloved finger through a variety of old tackle boxes and tool compartments until she came across one that certainly piqued their interest.

 Elle was all too happy to pry it open, sharing a wry glance with Selena when their beady eyes landed upon a book stuffed beneath old wires titled, nails and miscellaneous shrapnel 'The Anarchists Companion'. However, their one pitiful lead was soon quashed beneath Selena's pristine Mary Jane's when Elle had called Mr. Clurman's nephew in Dallas, who soon professed that it was his — he was just a bored kid looking for something fun to do.

 Selena and Elle had slunk their way back within the home, shaking their heads in dismay, while Hotchner did the very same. They had come up utterly empty, and thus they fled back to the station to ponder over what little information they had.

 Selena had almost hoped that Clurman was the bomber, for things would have been far easier if he had been. He would have had a perfect motive, he would have been caught in a snare set by his own fingers... but Gideon had called mere minutes after Selena had stepped through the humid atmosphere of the station and shattered such a childish hope immediately.

 Clurman, while in pain as he cried out for his missing limb, had shown signs of genuine emotion. He'd been empathetic for Barabara Keller, he'd joked about Joe Reese when Gideon had wondered if he could have, in any way, been linked to the matter at hand. If Gideon said that there wasn't a chance in hell that Clurman was the bomber, then Selena believed him.

 Only, that put them back at square one — No leads, no new information, and no suspects.

 Selena huffed as she slumped in a particularly uncomfortable chair. She'd rolled her sleeves to her elbows to try and stave off the heat presently cooking her alive and cast her sights back to the papers scattered on the floor; Gideon's team had yet to disturb them.

 She spun in place atop her rolling chair, eyes glued to Clurman... like that, every theory they'd concocted was flushed away. She peered at the rest of the team — Elle who had a firm frown painted over her defined features as she glared holes into the articles beneath her fingertips. Gideon sat as still as a stone statue in his seat. His eyes were narrowed, a tell-tale sign that he was trying his utmost to fit what few puzzle pieces they had together.

 Doctor Reid lingered before the whiteboard, a red marker pinched within his fingers... but after he'd jotted down the most notable aspects of the case, even he had stilled and simply stared as though willing the next piece of evidence into existence.

 "You'll get frown lines if you keep staring like that, Reid," Elle murmured as she spared a swift look at his terrible posture. He was bent at the waist, looking like a deckchair that had begun to fold in on itself. Elle snorted, "And you might just get stuck that way."

 He cracked a smile, straightening himself, "I'm just..."

 "Trying to make evidence magically appear?" Selena provided, a lighter tilt to her voice as she slid Mr Clurman's face from out of her view, "I've tried, I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed."

 He parted his curled lips once more, only to be silenced as Aaron Hotchner stepped through the threshold, garnering every set of eyes in the room. He was dutifully followed by the lead detective; Detective Morrison.

 Hotch set down a laptop on the table, ushering everyone to gather. Upon the screen were four images, all of them bombs, all of them exactly the same. From the metals used to the signature cylindrical tubes coiled within blue and red wires — Selena took a breath, sparing a peek at Gideon.

 Selena could recognise such a contraption anywhere — she'd followed the case of Adrian Bale the moment Gideon had set out to catch him. He was a bomber without a single shred of guilt. He was a bomber who crafted his explosives the same way each and every time, and certainly in a way that had never been seen before.

 Bale was meticulous enough to place himself in harm's way just to craft the bombs, let alone to take time out of his day to add his signature to each and every single one... a signature that glared upon the screen as though sunlight had poured in and flooded their eyes, blinding them with the daring truth. Bale. It was Bale... except, it wasn't, was it?

 No, it wasn't Bale, it couldn't have been... because he was sitting in a dark and dingy cell likely replaying each of his explosions within his mind. He probably sat there for endless hours with an easy smile that came alongside the ability to steal lives just because.

 Selena looked at Gideon, the way there was the slightest furrow to his brow, the most minute crease by his eyes, the littlest tick that tugged his lips closer to the ground. Selena wondered if the others would be able to spy it — if it positively glowered at them as it did at her.

 She flashed her eyes back to the documents Agent Derek Morgan had provided them... her eyes had glossed over the screen as quickly as the mouse, quicker, in fact. The words were implanted within her brain like an iron branding until she decided she didn't want them. The pictures and their complexities, their astounding similarities; they were there too, stamped on her noggin with permanent ink.

 Selena hadn't at all listened to Hotcher as he recanted his and Morgan's brief conversation; the Agent back in Quantico insisted that the pictures would speak for themselves, and they did. They screamed and bellowed like a beast, like an explosion.

 "But they're identical," Spencer muttered over the top of his hand now pressed to his chin in thought. Selena had expected him to reach his conclusion sooner — or perhaps she really had spent that long staring at 'AGENT GIDEON'S DOWNFALL' when she should have closed the tab altogether, "They're all made with —"

 But Spencer's words wilted atop his tongue like a thawing piece of ice. His throat bobbed as his eyes passed Selena, catching for a moment before he too, looked to their shared mentor.

 "Adrian Bale." Gideon's voice was plain as he stood there entirely unmoving. His eyes were usually filled with an uncommon hint of warmth, one that crept below the flow of dark brown so eerily similar to the pits of a cup of black coffee; now they were steel and ice. They were cold and set. The man that tricked him, the man that had promised things would end... the man that implanted nightmares within Jason Gideon's brain had come back to haunt him like a spectre in the night.

 It was evident that Detective Morrison was the only one in the room who didn't understand the magnitude of such a name; his eyes had narrowed in confusion, arms unfolding as he asked the question, "Who?"

 Hotchner readjusted his cuff — he had been the only one not to spare a glance at Gideon for he knew what he would have found. Everything and nothing all at once. Nothing within the facade Jason Gideon displayed to his team, yet everything in that nothingness and what it meant — it was a shield, and that alone was everything.

 He was the first of them to speak, "He held our agents in a standoff in Boston last year." His face turned to stone, voice lowering until a baritone thrum filled each inflated word, "He took out six agents and a hostage with one of his bombs."

 "So you're thinking he's behind this?"

 Selena shook her head, "While it's possible that Bale's feeding someone information, holding them like a puppet... He's in prison. He has quite the cult following, so it's possible a fan has come out of the woodworks to recreate his crimes — we might be dealing with a copycat."

 It was enough for the room to deflate just a smidgen. The thought of Bale himself orchestrating the chaos surrounding them had been enough for hairs to stand on end. Selena stepped closer to the computer; she could hear the poor thing huffing and puffing like a hoover while it heated like an oven.

 The bombs were the same, not even the slightest difference. How could a copycat have managed to get every minuscule detail correct without having the information handed to him on a silver platter? Adrian Bale had to be involved, "There's only one way to find out —"

 Detective interrupted her with vigour, clearly having missed the venomous glare Selena directed at the computer the moment words died on her tongue, "— Yeah, let's put the screws to this guy."

 "Let's not," Selena stated, and Gideon was swift to finish the thoughts lingering in her head upon her prompted silence.

 "Bale's too smart," He started, hands dragging down the stubble lining his cheeks, "If we want information from him, we have to handle him carefully, and even then, you have to assume that road will lead to nowhere."

 Selena was sure Detective Morrison was close to throwing his arms in the air, "You're saying the connection to Bale doesn't help us at all?"

 "No. I'm saying let us handle Bale."

 "Look, once we cleared that the bomb kit belonged to Clurman's nephew, it left us with nothing. No suspects, no leads..." The Detective gestured to them all, and while it would have been ever so easy to let anger shine through, to allow a knock to the ego to control his actions, Morrison only sighed in utter fatigue, "What do you suggest my men do now?"

 Gideon's left shoulder hiked high, his face impassive, "Proceed from the profile."

 While the detective floundered, professing that he hadn't a clue that a profile had been uncovered, Selena felt Gideon's gaze set upon her. He hadn't only requested her company for moral support, he hadn't only asked for her whirring brain to seek out patterns and piece together puzzles... He wanted her to show off. That was why he'd been so silent at the scene of the latest bombing.

 The only question was... why?

 "Doctor Hayes will present the profile," Gideon stated, ignoring the way his team turned to him with various looks of confusion and bewilderment. Hotchner's lips parted, as though ready to object and yet as Selena bobbed her head and strolled out of the room, he fell entirely silent.

 Gideon hadn't yet steered him wrong, and for every hypothetical guess Selena had made thus far, none had been incorrect. She had blazed in, professed her findings as though the team was her own, and helped them. There was no hint of merely storming in to claim glory like so many others, there wasn't even a shred of evidence that Selena wanted so much as a lick of praise. She was here to do the job Gideon had tasked to her, and get it done she would.

 So Hotch remained silent and followed her out of the room, knowing that the rest of his team would soon follow his lead.

 Selena felt as though she was fourteen years old once more. There she stood, no longer draped in pink, yet still shrouded with unforgiving, judgemental gazes. This was something she would never understand; what did it matter if her face was devoid of aged lines? Why did it make a difference if she was a young woman rather than a middle-aged man?

 It would never cease to bewilder her that some people who had vowed to serve and protect, would rather judge and stare than take in the information she provided. It had happened time and time again; her age and appearance would cast a slight haze over her words when men stared back at her — it was like they were more than happy to let murderers and kidnappers continue to prowl their cities and towns if it meant they could snicker and sneer at someone lesser of their particular standard.

 Selena blinked, solidifying the cracking mask she held over her features. Rage was sucked back in, pitiful irritation forced to slither back through the jutted edges as she smoothed it over with fresh porcelain.

 Eyes had always been upon her, and Selena doubted such a thing would ever truly cease. She met each of their gazes head-on, unblinking as she let coldness seep through the greens of her eyes. Frozen fields and ice-smothered leaves stared forth as Selena took a single breath and clasped her hands behind her back — no stimming here, no release from the itch encasing her skin as her mind begged for her to place another piece of the puzzle down.

 "The typical bomber tends to display non-confrontational behaviour," Selena began, taking a single step forth, "If you were to bump into him, knock him in any way, he'd be the one to apologise even if it wasn't his fault. This bomber, based on the meticulous design of his bombs, is highly organised — above average intelligence."

 Finally, the officers before her began to take notes. Pens scribbled away atop small notepads just big enough to tuck upon one's person. They looked around, sharing glances, nodding here and there. Some even took their chances and directed their line of sight towards Gideon and Hotchner, as though they would interrupt at any second and contradict her.

 They remained silent.

 "It's likely that this bomber has a skilled job, a particular trade, one that allows him the opportunity to work alone. Isolation is crucial, given that such a sophisticated design would certainly rouse suspicion within the workplace..." Selena raised a hand, lifting a finger with each suggestion she offered, "Trades such as a furniture maker, a jeweller, etcetera."

 "A background in explosives?" Said Detective Morrison, somewhere to Selena's left.

 Selena cocked her head, a small indication that she'd heard his words while she remained steadfast in facing the sea of officers draped in that odd khaki colour they did so love to flaunt, "Not necessarily; this bomber isn't blowing things up to grant a sexual or emotional release."

 "Then what's this guy doing, huh?"

 There was a bite to his voice now — people were dying under his care and he simply wanted the perpetrator behind bars; admirable, yet with copious interruptions they would scarcely reach such a goal any sooner.

 Selena moved her gaze towards the back wall, eyes latched upon the ticking hands of a clock as though she were a leach out for blood. Eye contact was one of those things that drained her — having to wonder 'Am I staring for too long?' or, 'Do I switch eyes now?'

 It was all so trivial, and yet expected within their silly little society.

 "This bomber's goal is murder, plain and simple. These attacks aren't random;" Before the detective could silence the words on her tongue once more, Selena sifted a hand through her hair, flicking it over her shoulder so that every inch of her face was clear, "Bombers fall into a small number of categories that align with typical motives — terrorists who aim to spread fear, politically motivated bombers who made a statement by picking a specific symbolic target... and then there's our unsub."

 She stepped forth for the final time, directly at the centre of the stage. All eyes were scouring her like feasting hands, like ravenous fangs seeking her pumping veins — the officers were now within a sticky web with no choice but to listen intently.

 "This unsub," Selena enunciated with a click, "Is meticulous, his bombs are finicky and fragile... he chooses to carry them through danger all so that he can place them upon the doorsteps of our unforeseeing victims — this alone tells us that he has a direct motive, a personal one."

 Selena could almost hear the dusty cogs and gears within Detective Morrison's brain beginning to whir as he tried to make sense of the words she'd spouted like a chilly fountain. Every word had been etched with surety, signed and dotted with a type of stoicism that could only fall from somebody who pushed away the emotions of the case... the humanity.

 Selena was speaking as though she was peering down at a puzzle of a thousand pieces, rather than pictures of people who had their lives stolen from them.

 "Well, that's great and all," Detective Morrison huffed, "But how is any of this going to help us find him?"

 Selena twisted her neck, blank eyes peering at the leader of the masses digging their stares into her flesh, "There is a direct motive, a personal connection... By killing those people, our unsub had given us a way to find him."

 Something unspoken passed, and in a flash, Jason Gideon was right by Selena's side. His lips parted without words to contradict her like so many others had. Instead, Gideon closed her statement, "We find him through the people he killed. Somewhere among the three victims is a direct motive, we just need to find it. Keep digging."

 With Gideon's nod of affirmation, the station was once again bustling like a mound of ants. Officers flittered to and fro, they exchanged notes and commented on the information that had been spewed — some spared a final glance at Selena, finding that her blank gaze had remained stationary, unmoving.

 "If you have any questions," Hotch called, "We'll be around."

 Gideon seemed to deflate in a matter not entirely unlike a pitiful party balloon. His shoulders slumped, eyes sealing shut for a small moment of respite before he was to walk into the lion's den, "You'll be around," He corrected Hotch, aware of the question in the Unit Chiefs' eyes, "I'll be in prison. Somebody's got to talk to Bale."

 Selena's head bobbed in something akin to a nod. Of course Gideon would select himself to plaster before Bale like a sick and twisted painting... but then again, Adrian Bale was an egotistical man, and Selena didn't suspect for even a second that he'd spill his guts to anyone but the man he tortured from afar.

 "I'll join you." She said, without a sliver of room for a poor argument. Gideon stilled, and while Selena knew he was likely trying his utmost to appear as his nonchalant self — to appear as though he'd rather her be anywhere but before the one man that had managed to topple his resolve — Jason Gideon couldn't bring his mouth to formulate the word 'no'.

 Instead, with a minute clearing of the throat, Gideon jutted his chin towards the door, "Good. Hayes, Reid, you're with me."

 Selena drifted her sights to Doctor Reid who swiftly adjusted the small leather satchel hanging over his gangly frame. His smile was, once more, rather awkward, and yet he managed to gesture before him for Selena to stride forth, a mere pace behind Gideon — onwards to confront Adrian Bale.

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DATE: 03-09-2023

:･ﾟ★ hope you're all catching the way Selena literally moulds herself like clay when she has to talk to people; societal expectations SUCK <3

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