The Cure
Title: The Cure
Characters: Elle, gen
Rating: G
Prompt: Ocean (via cm_het_drabble) & pen (via my crimeland prompt table)
Words: 242
Warnings: spoiler for The Boogeyman
"The cure for everything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea." - Isak Dineson
After Elle turns in her badge, she does the only thing she can think of to do: she gets on a plane and heads back to Seattle. She takes a carry-on bag with underwear, a toothbrush, and her wallet shoved inside, and she leaves her apartment and her cell phone and her daddy's grave behind her.
The Puget Sound is complicated. It meanders. It meets itself then backs away. Its depths teem with life and with the mystery of the sea. It weeps with her, she thinks, as she digs in to its strange, unstable bottom with her toes and the water washes up the hem of her pants.
On her third day at its shores, still in the same seaweed-smelling jeans and faded t-shirt, she writes to Hotch. The letter goes through five different versions, and she tears them all up and sends them into the Pacific. Finally, she takes a handful of sand and stuffs it into a Ziploc bag she buys from a convenience store and puts the whole mess into an envelope.
The note says only this:
Hotch --
I am sending you some of the peace I've found. I think you could use it.
-- Elle
PS: Tell Reid that this isn't his fault.
She kisses it closed with her chapsticked mouth and smiles as she drops it in the slot.
Characters: Elle, gen
Rating: G
Prompt: Ocean (via cm_het_drabble) & pen (via my crimeland prompt table)
Words: 242
Warnings: spoiler for The Boogeyman
"The cure for everything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea." - Isak Dineson
After Elle turns in her badge, she does the only thing she can think of to do: she gets on a plane and heads back to Seattle. She takes a carry-on bag with underwear, a toothbrush, and her wallet shoved inside, and she leaves her apartment and her cell phone and her daddy's grave behind her.
The Puget Sound is complicated. It meanders. It meets itself then backs away. Its depths teem with life and with the mystery of the sea. It weeps with her, she thinks, as she digs in to its strange, unstable bottom with her toes and the water washes up the hem of her pants.
On her third day at its shores, still in the same seaweed-smelling jeans and faded t-shirt, she writes to Hotch. The letter goes through five different versions, and she tears them all up and sends them into the Pacific. Finally, she takes a handful of sand and stuffs it into a Ziploc bag she buys from a convenience store and puts the whole mess into an envelope.
The note says only this:
Hotch --
I am sending you some of the peace I've found. I think you could use it.
-- Elle
PS: Tell Reid that this isn't his fault.
She kisses it closed with her chapsticked mouth and smiles as she drops it in the slot.