The BAU bullpen felt wrong without Elle's presence.
Her desk sat in its usual spot, covered with paperwork that no one wanted to file and case folders that no one wanted to touch. The team moved around it like a wound they were afraid to examine—present, acknowledged, carefully avoided.
I sat at my own desk, pretending to read reports while my mind cycled through scenarios that all ended badly.
[FOCUS POOL: 65/75]
[DREAD METER: 20]
[NOTE: WORK FUNCTION PROVIDES STRUCTURE — RECOMMEND ENGAGEMENT]
The system was right, for once. Work was the only thing keeping me functional.
Three weeks of hospital visits and sleepless nights had taken their toll. The bags under my eyes had earned comments from Garcia—"Mystery Man, you look like you're auditioning for a vampire movie"—and careful glances from everyone else.
But the cases kept coming. The world didn't stop producing monsters just because one of ours was wounded.
"Mercer."
Hotch stood in his office doorway, expression unreadable as always.
I followed him inside.
"Close the door."
I did.
"How are you holding up?"
The directness caught me off guard. Hotch wasn't usually the type for personal conversations.
"I'm functional."
"That's not what I asked."
I considered lying. Decided it wasn't worth the effort.
"I'm worried about Elle. I'm exhausted. I'm angry at myself for not being faster, for not preventing what happened." I met his eyes. "But I'm functional. And I want to work."
Hotch nodded slowly.
"The Fisher King case is closed. Randall Garner was killed during apprehension three days after the attack on Elle. Gideon's shot." He paused. "But you knew that."
"I knew."
"Elle's officially on medical leave. There's no timeline for her return. When she's ready, we'll evaluate her fitness for duty." Another pause. "If she wants to return."
The if hung in the air between us.
"She'll want to return," I said. "It's all she knows."
"Maybe. Or maybe she'll decide she's had enough." Hotch's expression softened slightly. "People respond to trauma differently. Some come back stronger. Some come back broken. Some don't come back at all."
"Which one is Elle?"
"I don't know yet. Neither does she." He picked up a folder from his desk. "What I do know is that we have cases. People who need us. Can you give them your full attention?"
"Yes."
"Even with everything else?"
I thought about Elle in her apartment, alone, rebuilding herself from fragments. Thought about the secrets I carried and the guilt that wouldn't fade.
"I can compartmentalize," I said. "It's what I was trained for."
"Then here." He handed me the folder. "Arson series in Detroit. Five buildings, three deaths, escalating. We wheels up in two hours."
"I'll be ready."
I turned to leave, but Hotch's voice stopped me at the door.
"Mercer. Whatever's between you and Elle—that's your business. But if it affects your work, it becomes my business. Understood?"
"Understood."
I returned to my desk and opened the folder.
Detroit. Five fires in two weeks. The pattern suggested a mission-oriented arsonist—someone burning for a purpose rather than pleasure. Three fatalities, all homeless individuals who'd been sheltering in the targeted buildings.
[PATTERN RECOGNITION: ACTIVATING]
[ARSON PROFILE: MISSION-ORIENTED, VICTIM SELECTION DELIBERATE]
[HYPOTHESIS: SOCIAL CRUSADE — TARGETING VULNERABLE POPULATIONS]
[FOCUS: -3]
The analysis helped. Gave my mind something to chew on besides the endless loop of Elle's face in that hospital bed.
Reid appeared at my desk with coffee.
"I wasn't sure how you take it," he said, "so I brought sugar and cream on the side. Statistically, most people prefer some sweetener, but the exact ratio varies significantly by cultural background and—"
"Black is fine," I said. "Thanks, Reid."
He hovered awkwardly for a moment.
"I wanted to say... if you need to talk, I'm not very good at it, but I can listen. Statistically, verbalization helps process trauma. There was a study published in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology that showed—"
"I appreciate it."
"You do?" Reid looked genuinely surprised. "I mean, good. That's... good."
He retreated to his desk, but the gesture lingered. Reid trying, in his own awkward way, to offer support. The team looking out for each other despite everything.
Maybe that's how we survive this. Not by being okay, but by showing up anyway.
The jet was scheduled for 4 PM. I had three hours to prepare—review case files, coordinate with Detroit field office, pack a go bag I'd neglected for weeks.
My phone buzzed.
Elle.
Watching bad TV. Eating worse food. Still breathing.
The message was mundane. Ordinary. The kind of text millions of people sent every day without thinking.
To me, it was everything.
I typed back: Same. Minus the TV.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then: ��
One emoji. Something Elle had never sent in all our months of communication. A small rebellion against her own severity.
I stared at it for longer than I should have, something loosening in my chest.
She's trying. She's still in there.
Maybe that's enough for now.
Morgan dropped into the chair across from my desk.
"Ready for Detroit?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"That's not exactly confidence-inspiring." He leaned back, studying my face. "You look like hell, by the way."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept more than four hours?"
I tried to remember. Couldn't.
"Point taken."
"Sleep on the jet," Morgan said. "I'll cover the briefing. You need to be sharp when we land."
"I can handle—"
"I know you can. But you don't have to." His expression was serious. "We're a team, Mercer. That means carrying each other when someone's struggling. You've been carrying a lot lately. Let us help."
[RELATIONSHIP STATUS: DEREK MORGAN — BROTHERHOOD BOND]
[NOTE: SUPPORT OFFERED AND ACCEPTED STRENGTHENS CONNECTION]
I nodded slowly.
"Okay. Thanks, Morgan."
"That's what family does." He stood, clapped my shoulder. "Now get your go bag. We've got fires to chase."
The jet took off at 4:15, climbing through gray winter clouds toward a city I'd never visited. Below, Virginia spread out in patches of brown and white, roads cutting through landscape like veins.
I settled into a seat near the back, the case file on my lap, my phone in my pocket with Elle's emoji still glowing in recent messages.
The work was waiting. The monsters never stopped. And somewhere between the fires and the darkness, I had to find a way to keep moving.
[PHASE 2: RECOGNITION — ONGOING]
[DREAD METER: 20 → 17]
[NOTE: ROUTINE PROVIDES STABILITY — RECOMMEND CONTINUED ENGAGEMENT]
Reid was explaining arson psychology to JJ, something about fire-starting compulsion and childhood trauma indicators. Morgan was reviewing tactical approaches for the Detroit field office. Gideon sat alone, staring out the window, probably thinking about the shot he'd taken to end Randall Garner.
And I sat in my seat, eyes closed, trying to sleep while images of Elle's pale face cycled through my mind.
She's alive. She's communicating. She's trying.
That has to be enough.
Because right now, it's all I have.
The plane banked toward Detroit, carrying a wounded team toward the next disaster. Fire awaited. Killers to catch. The endless cycle of violence and justice that defined BAU life.
I opened the case file again.
Five buildings. Three victims. An escalating pattern that suggested the worst was yet to come.
Work the case. Catch the killer. Save who you can.
That's all any of us can do.
Detroit appeared through the clouds—a city of contrasts, of abandoned factories and gleaming towers, of hope and despair existing side by side.
Somewhere down there, a monster was setting fires.
And somewhere back in Virginia, the woman I loved was fighting a different kind of battle.
I couldn't be in both places.
So I chose the one where I could make a difference.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes .
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!