𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗘 | 𝘼. 𝙃𝙊𝙏𝘾𝙃𝙉𝙀𝙍

twenty six

'Alright thanks, there's a new case so I'll have to go- can I ring you later about it?'

'Of course, Beckett, but you should know there are many candidates and we need a definite answer soon,' the voice on the end of the line spoke.

'I promise, I'm thinking about it, I just don't know if I'm capable of leaving the team,' you bluntly admitted.

Another pair of ears listened in.

'Talk to you soon.'

'Yeah, bye!' you ended it, sighing, turning & standing in utter shock at what you saw.

'You're leaving?!' Penelope near screamed, suddenly clopping away to return to her cave.

'Garcia, wait!' you hushed, following her at a jog to her palace. She unexpectedly remained quite buoyant until seeing your face to which she felt as though was plastered with lies; why hadn't you told her? When were you going to tell her? Was it permanent? The questions bombarded your belittled feeling brain as you were now watching her pace about the pink hole she worked in.

'When were you going to tell us? When were you going to tell me?' she uttered, waving her hands about for an answer. Standing blatantly, you had not a word to say, 'Hello! Earth to Beck? What's going on?'

'Penelope, look,' you began, being finally upfront with her for the first time in a long time, 'I'm not happy, okay? I am miserable, so I reached out. I've been offered a job in Norway. Same kind of thing,' you confessed to her.

'And what? You're miserable because Hotch is here every single day?' she interrogated to which you felt deemed suspect of a crime.

You nodded.

'You have to let him go, Beck,' she almost demanded, knowing that time wasn't in your favour & that time wasn't making it any easier. Ignoring her comment, you pressed forward, checking the clock.

'Penelope, if you breathe a word of this to anyone else in the team...' you needn't finish your sentence as an icy glare was cast Garcia's way; her bejewelled hands flared in surrender.

             'So, he's slicing off their faces?' spoke Reid, still flustered with his wedding band.

'Tyler was diagnosed with severe PTSD and dissociation before his admission to the psychiatric ward,' resumed Aaron, 'It worsened significantly after he returned from Afghanistan.'

'That's more understandable; it would probably have been a method of torture in some regions, right?' questioned Morgan.

'Not necessarily. Even I've never heard of this,' chimed in Spencer again. Scanning over a page in a tatty, yellow tinged book, you streamed around the table the precinct had lent you.

'He wants to make more of himself'

'What?' said JJ.

'Tyler has dissociation. He, to himself, is not him. Follow my drift?'

Rossi shrugged, 'Not really'

'It's like a suit- a new version. He wants to be someone else if he can't be himself. He won't stop until he finds the right "one"' you spoke hastily- time was short. Hotch began dismissing members of the team, sending you and Morgan to talk to the wardens at the hospital. Letting your colleague go ahead, you tried to talk to Aaron.

'Hey, Hotch, I really need to talk to you at some point' you tried to smile the anxiousness off.

'Can it wait until this case is solved?' he requested with only good intention.

You smiled awkwardly, 'Yes, absolutely.'

Leaving, you screamed silently with a facial expression that was laughable. Jesus christ!

Upon seeing you, Morgan whipped away his phone and nonchalantly whistled into the clouds. You dare not ask & simply climbed into the SUV, buckling in and driving before he'd fully jumped inside.

'You hid your phone away fast,' you sneered, hinting that you knew he also knew.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he flashed a grin your way- no, Beck, eyes on the road. A pause floated into the car, 'Okay when were you going to tell me?'

'Huh?' you faked.

'That you've got another job!' his mouth widened, creasing in slight annoyance.

'I haven't got another job I- I'm going to kill Penelope' your grip stiffened on the wheel.

He wanted to know, 'So?'

'I've been offered a position in Norway. It has a really good outlook and-' you just gave up, he didn't want to hear it. You didn't want to tell it really.

A little more quiet, the vehicle hummed along to the hospital.

To describe them in a way that wasn't assuming possession, Tyler's room's walls were obliterated- as if a bomb of the supernatural had gone off inside. Every space, corner, nook & crannie was packed with markings of his own face as if he could see himself moulding into the walls. 'Who Who Who Who Who' was written consecutively over one hundred times- to say the least- this patient's state of mind was frail at that. Derek had his weight balanced on his heels just to be able to process the level of detail on the north wall.

'Jesus...' you cursed, still in awe of the agony in this man's head.

'We've scrubbed this wall countless times,' spoke the warden, a rather grubby looking man who you wanted to clean with some soap & water, 'He just keeps rewriting it all- same place- same amount every time.'

Derek piped up, 'How long has he been doing this?'

'3 months,' the other man guessed. Clueless. He left when a commotion down the hall made him waddle away; the door was calling out to you. Morgan could sense it too. Pulling it back with a heave from the both of you, it was full of blood. Drag lines of blood clearly chipped from his nails, obvious that he'd attempted escape multiple times. The both of you were taken back.

What was this place doing to them?

After rigorous hours of questioning, looking & failed leads, Hotch came to the conclusion it was best the eight of you slept on it. This was your chance.

Before you'd even got anywhere, he halted you in your tracks, 'Get some rest Beck, it'll be an even longer day tomorrow.'

              You tossed. You turned. You tossed & turned in the rigid bed. JJ snoozed with a mask on and Emily's hair was in disarray. How, how could you casually drop it into the conversation? 'Hey Hotch, I'm still in love with you so I'm just gonna fuck myself off to Norway- seeya!' God no, well- it would be entertaining. The thoughts in your head were definitely entertaining you, a little smirk escaping to which you covered your mouth.

The hotel bar seemed particularly inviting.

Ordering the simplest drink they had to offer, you sat in a low leather chair, swinging your leg over the other. Taking out your phone, you dialled.

'Hey Clarke, I know this is just a voicemail but you'll hear it when you're awake- listen; I've yet to tell my boss about the job- I keep trying but we've got a pretty bad case at the moment- I'm really opting to tell him tomorrow or when this one is over. Please keep the position open for me for as long as you can. Thanks, Clarke,' the phone beeped- seeming to get it out in one breath of air.

'What was that about?' asked Spencer.

Great.