𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 — some things never change

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 Gideon had stayed true to his word, and within mere minutes Selena's inbox had chimed with the presence of new mail. One click had been all it took for the case that had Jason's blood thrumming to appear before her eyes... Selena cracked a small smile as she peered at the signature from the 'tech girl' as Gideon had so graciously called her.

 The signature had hardly been more than a delicate swirl; one in which was scrawled over paper in glittery pink gel pen before it had been scanned and pasted into each of her outgoing emails. P. Garcia, it read, with the smallest of pink hearts used to dot the I.

 Selena had scoured the pages time and time again; three victims including Barbara Keller, a wheelchair-bound seventy-four-year-old, and Jill Swenson, a thirty-four-year-old housewife who lived right across the street from the final, surviving, victim; Gil Clurman.

 Selena had landed just five minutes ago and was already swamped in Floridian heat and gaining raucous stares from the locals the moment she parted her lips to speak. A strong RP British accent flowing within each of her enunciated words always seemed to have Americans staring utterly dumbfounded... before they asked her to pronounce 'water' or perhaps declare her 'posh' despite having sauntered the grotty streets of London for years prior.

 The lead detective on the case had been kind enough, though certainly befuddled, to guide Selena into their quietest room and disappear for a short while as he was sent to scour for a bundle of red string. Now, just moments after he'd disappeared again all in the hopes that the BAU had finally shown, did Selena splay the papers she'd printed.

 Two bombings, both in a residential neighbourhood in Plam Beach... Selena clambered atop the table the moment she'd shed her shoes. She tiptoed along its edges, increasingly aware of the eyes peering through the window... nobody would ever get used to her methods.

 "A pipe bomb packed in a cardboard box... Package bombs." Selena murmured, leaning further over the table she towered atop. She brushed a stray strand of blonde behind her ears, and the strawberry earrings dangling from her lobes chimed like a bell, "Mercury activated... all they'd have to do is tilt the package, so no mail delivery — the bomber hand-delivered them himself."

 Selena stood upright, tapping her sock-clad toes against the lacquered wooden table. It was a strange and certainly ineffective way to carry out such a crime; having to deliver the bombs yourself, to risk someone stealing even a single glance at your face... and then there was the deadly question of, 'what if the target tipped the damned package before the culprit could leave?'

 Who would be willing to risk it all?

 Selena trailed her eyes to Gil Clurman, the only survivor of the attacks. She brandished her mobile and scanned the email from Garcia; Gil Clurman was 'badly injured', the man had been covered from head to toe in bruises and cuts, and there were blisters on the cheeks from scorching flames... the man had even lost his leg. Still, even a single living victim was a miracle in such a case.

 "So..." Selena breathed, "Clurman was a partner in a ten-million-dollar condo development deal in which Keller, the first victim, was an investor." She craned closer to the papers on the ground, coming dangerously close to losing her footing at toppling from the table altogether, "It all went bust three weeks ago." Selena felt her brows hike, "The land was on methane, rendering it absolutely worthless, shit."

 Selena took a step back, the ball of her foot bobbing up and down, the fingers by her side flexing as she stared at the ceiling... She had the most crucial pieces of the puzzle, but Selena Hayes hadn't met anyone who started a puzzle from its centre. It was time to start from the beginning, the edges and corners... Start with the basic facts of this particular type of offender before any theories came into play, after all; It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.

 Bombers were known to be predominantly male, and were typically loners with a steady history of criminal activity... around fifty percent of bombings were usually just the simple product of vandalism, and the three factors that often tend to instigate mist bombs were power disparity, malic, and mental illness... though, of course, the incentive to bomb was scarcely limited to just one of those factors.

 "Clurman," Selena said, Spinning to look at his black and white photograph. Every piece of information from his height and weight to his occupation was already written below his face, "The only male victim. The only one who didn't get hit at his own door —"

 "— I see some things never change."

 Even with her back to the door and her mind cranking and churning away, Selena would never be capable of forgetting Jason Gideon's voice. There was a stern strain to it, power and grit lamenting his tone and yet if you listened carefully enough, you could spy that he wasn't at all egotistical. His tone, while a lower drawl, was soft and inviting.

 Selena departed a heavy sigh, keeping her back to her mentor, "And I surmise that some things do... I can hear from your voice alone that you've gotten old."

 "You saw me not three months ago," He responded, shoes tapping against the ground as he approached her tidal wave of papers.

 Selena turned then, finally facing him with a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "Time flies."

 Gideon could only shake his head; she'd changed through the years. What had once been a young girl as stoic and cold as a lump of ice was now a woman who had to allow the cracks upon her mask to surface — she hadn't entirely understood back when she was just fourteen that emotions were integral. They were needed to profile, they were needed to squeeze information out of unlikely suspects and victims.

 There were walls surrounding her, as far as the eye could see... But Selena Hayes allowed the gates to open, she allowed feelings and emotions to scuttle through, to cross the rickety bridge over the moat. She let herself feel, no matter how much she believed that one day it would bite her viciously in turn.

 "Doctor Selena Hayes," Gideon just barely faced the few people gathered behind him; the remaining members of the BAU. He held out a hand, aged fingers gesturing as he spoke aloud their names. "This is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner,"

 Selena's eyes met the man; he certainly looked the part — from his forbearing gaze and the lines beginning to creep around his features, to the plain yet professional suit he'd draped over himself. His back was as straight as a board, his face hardly flickering as she hopped from the table with enough grace to tell each of the profilers that she did it often. More than often.

 Selena approached, eyes never straying as she held out a hand. She had mastered such a skin-crawling gesture; that is, holding out a hand that would soon be smothered in the strawberry-scented sanitiser tucked safely within her go-bag. When he took ahold, Selena nodded once, "Gideon speaks of you."

 Like she'd taken a tweezer to the Unit Chiefs' face, Aaron Hotchner's face flinched with something that had been hidden behind his own towering walls. She surveyed him, a handsome man in his thirties with a frock of dark hair brushing over his forehead. He had built shoulders and a strong handshake... There was a flash of coldness against Selena's skin — a wedding ring.

 "He does?" There was an edge of amusement within Hotchner's voice as he peered over Selena's head, raising a brow at Gideon, "Good things?"

 "It's neither here nor there." Selena chimed, trying to match the tone of his voice — a hidden touch of mirth. She evidently succeded, for the Unit Chief's demeanour ceased long enough for a short chuckle to part his previously thinned lips.

 "This is Elle Greenaway." Jason continued, and Selena followed suit and held out her already itching hand to a young woman who didn't once hesitate to smile with a particular type of warmth. She was likely happy there was somebody new to break apart the testosterone she was evidently drowning in.

 Then, before Gideon could say his name, Selena turned to their youngest member. He was tall, obscenely tall and had roughly the same stature as a string bean. His almost shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind his ears and his odd smile almost made Selena snort. She'd met people like him before; the nerds, the outcasts... a group she'd have been stuffed within had she not been capable of slathering on a glare like a predator.

 She'd seen him swallow as she approached, wiping his clammy palms against his trousers that had to have been at least two sizes too large.

 Selena lifted her arm and folded her fingers inwards until a fist was formed.

 "Doctor Hayes," Gideon started, "This is Doctor Spencer Reid."

 Doctor Reid. She'd heard that name time and time again. Jason wasn't reluctant to speak of their very own genius; the boy with three PHD's, the kid he'd hand-selected to join the BAU. Apparently, he decided to leave out that the lanky thing was a germaphobe.

 "The prodigy," Selena mused, watching the way his cheeks grew a rather flattering shade of pink. He, like both of his companions, wasn't at all terrible to stare at. His face was far more angular than she'd have expected, but then, with her height, she had a splendid view of his sharpened jaw. His eyes were soft; a deep shade of honey and whiskey — like a doe. Selena grinned like a shark, "Germaphobe?"

 He cleared his throat once... then again as he swiftly bumped his own fist against Selena's, "Well I — Yes. Did you know that it's actually — actually safer to kiss, considering the staggering amount of pathogens passed during a handshake?"

 Selena hummed, watching his eyes dart this way and that, "Indeed. The abundance of fat-laden crevices smothered over our hands act as an immaculate breeding ground for microbes... Though not a good substitution for those with cold sores or tooth decay."

 "Exactly!" He suddenly brightened, voice shattering like glass in the process, "Saliva can —"

 "Let's not talk about your saliva, huh, Reid?" Elle prodded him with her elbow, a chuckle still dangling from her tongue like sweet honey, "So," she said, "A Doctor? You can't be any older than the boy-genius."

 "I'm twenty-two."

 "And?" Elle prodded, a smile still tugging at her lips.

 Selena glanced towards Gideon and the man swiftly walked forth, "Selena has PhD's in Psychology and Criminal Justice, as well as a Masters in international relations," He then paused, one foot out of the door, "And she's wrapping up her Bachelors in Sociology. Get moving."

 It hadn't taken more than a glance from Gideon for everyone to filter into the black Chevrolet Suburbans. Selena had swiftly pucked her shoes from the ground and hopped along as she stuffed her toes back within.

 A young woman, blonde and no older than thirty had waved them off; JJ, Elle had named her. From what little snippets Selena had actually been listening to, Jennifer Jareau was the Beaurus communications liaison — the poor thing.

 It seemed that Gideon had forgone visiting the scene of the last bombing, favouring the decision to swipe Selena from the station beforehand. It was rather strange to be crowded within the back of a car beside agents under his instruction — for all Selena could ever see Gideon as, was a mentor and lecturer.

 Elle filled the ride with chatter, glances landing upon Selena as she asked a multitude of questions — she used her confidence well, allowing Doctor Reid to slump in his chair like a wilted flower as conversation erupted around him. It seemed that while Selena and Spencer were almost one and the same... he had yet to force himself upon a curtained stage and perfect the performance society demanded of the odd ones out.

 Speaking, keeping eye contact and being able to maintain an air of confidence were important traits to have, no matter how fake you were truly being.

 "So," Elle continued, dipping her hand into her blazer pocket. She managed to procure a red twizzler and peered around Spencer's gangly form slotted between them; he seemed close to disappearing into the leather seat, "What is it you do?"

 Selena tipped her head, allowing her temple to rest against the vibrating window. It was often hard to describe her role — was she a detective? Was she a pawn on a board of chess pieces controlled by her brother? Was she a lecturer or a consultant? "I tend to go wherever needs me. My role is to build relationships — hence the Masters in International Relations — and go wherever the British government see fit."

 Elle chuckled, "Working with the big leagues, huh?"

 "I suppose. But more often than not, I'm Scotland Yards show pony, and their least favourite consultant."

 "Least favourite?" Spencer chimed, hair toppling from its place behind his ear as his head twisted like a puppy.

 "I started working with them at eighteen and solved a case they'd been trying to piece together for months. Picture it; a teenage girl sauntering onto a crime scene in her pink mini-skirt and cherry-printed cardigan... do you truly think the middle-aged men with toppling egos and failing marriages appreciated that?"

 Spencer winced, "No, I guess not."

 Elle however, couldn't contain her satisfied smile, "I'd pay to see that."

 "I'm sure I can pull some strings."

 It was a day that Selena would forever recall. She'd very nearly smothered her newest set of pink Mary Janes in thick, coagulated blood that had swept the grounds like a scarlet tidal wave. The men around her had tried their best to tuck away their chuckles and mocking smiles, but as ever, Selena could spot them from a mile away; as though she'd taken a magnifying glass to their pitiful faces... Perhaps she'd shown off that day by throwing in an unnecessary 'It was hard to miss', or adding a sweet and sarcastic little 'I'm ever so glad to be working with Scotland Yards best'

 Matthew had some choice words to say about that — his dutiful lecture had bored her for the better part of an hour.

 Selena looked up, eyes peering past the headrest laden atop the driver's seat — she met Aaron Hotchner's stare. His somewhat relaxed demeanour had faded, allowing the typical alpha male, man-in-charge spark to slot back into place. With every flicker that would stray from the roads before him, he'd meet her gaze.

 "Yes?" Selena questioned him.

 "Hayes..." Hotchner drawled as though testing the name on his tongue like a bitter sweet, "You wouldn't be related to Matthew, would you?"

 "You've met him? My apologies."

 Gideon turned his gaze to the passenger window, concealing the barest twitch of a smile — even the grizzly old profiler knew that Matthew Hayes was an acquired taste at best.

 Amidst the sound of Elle's snort, Hotch shook his head, "No, but I've heard of him. From what I understand, he has communications with Quantico too. Strauss has mentioned him."

 "He's got his fingers in many pies," Selena narrowed her eyes, recalling the times in which Matthew had leaned back in his chair and professed his many accomplishments... that had all stemmed from Selena's work, "A charmer to most... a bother to the rest."

 There was a bump in the road, a particularly deep pothole that had yet to be filled; Selena was sure she'd caught Spencer smacking his head against the car roof, rubbing the assaulted flesh in dismay.

 She did her best to swallow the smile that threatened to break free and turned back to the view out of the window — a tight-knit suburban area with homes surrounded by those typical white-picket fences. They were about to arrive.

 The smell of smoke managed to seep through the cracked windows, mingling with the warmed Floridian air. Selena was going to smell like a bonfire by the time the sun would set. The air was flooded with a haze, a dull grey sweeping through, tainting every inch of the sky... they came to a stop and Selena was swift to hop out of the car and rid the queasiness of her stomach — she liked being the driver, not the passenger.

 The crime scene laid before her was nothing short of a disaster. Clurman's car had been rendered as nothing more than a fragile frame of burnt metal, melted seats and broken glass. The air was clogged with the unwavering scent of gasoline; Selena took a hearty breath, feeling smoke clog her lungs, but it was far preferable to get used to the horrific smell than to hold one's breath for as long as possible.

 The blast from the bomb hadn't left so much as a shard of glass clinging to the frames in which the windows had sat, instead, they scuttled over the tarmac like volatile sprinkles. The windshield and sunroof hadn't survived either, and as Selena peered closer, almost poking her head through where a window had once resided, she could truly spy the damage done within.

 The seats had melted entirely, leaving nothing but splodges of molasses-like goo to coat what little remained of the vehicle. Glass crunched beneath her steps as she circled the car like a vulture swooping in on its prey — the drivers-side door had been forced from its hinges, laying as nothing more than scrap metal a few meters away.

 The car had been the prime scene of the bombing, not the house, not the lawn... The damned car. Clurman had obviously stepped inside, the blast shuddering through the neighbourhood all the while his door remained teetered open. He hadn't even had the chance to start his engine.

 Hotchner lingered on the other side of the car, darkened eyes scanning its dilapidated interior, "Before Clurman passed out, what he told the cops at the time was that he saw the package sitting on the stoop outside his kitchen door."

 Selena felt her face scrunch up as though someone had forced lemon juice down her throat, "That doesn't make any sense. Why didn't he take it inside? Why didn't it go off before reaching the car — It's obvious he got inside the car, and that the bomb exploded before he shut the door, otherwise that —" Selena pointed a stray finger at the dented car door lying a good few feet from them, "Wouldn't have happened."

 Hotch followed her pointer, "Joe Reese, one of Clurman's investors, was here before the bomb went off. They've ruled him out as a suspect, but he said he saw Clurman get in the car with the package."

 "Like I said." Selena cocked her head, "There's the possibility that Clurman wasn't receiving the package and that instead, he was delivering one... could have dropped it, tilted it — which wouldn't make sense, he'd have been very careful up until now —" She muttered to herself, well aware of the eyes on her twitching fingers flexing by her side, "But we can't know unless we talk to him."

 It was then, that Gideon finally opened his mouth. He nodded at her words; as usual, the nod was more than affirmation. It was something of acknowledgement, a job well done. He'd stayed silent for the entire journey, for the length of their visit to the scene all in the hopes that his own theories would be matched by his student — a mind he could rely on when his own was riddled with nightmares.

 "I'd like to talk to Clurman," Gideon addressed Hotch in his usual authoritative tone that seemed to grant his wishes whenever it coated his words, "Reid and I will go to the hospital. In the meantime, let's get a warrant to search his house."

 In a beat, Hotchner nodded and turned the other way with a phone already planted against his ear. His steps carried him quickly, swiftly up the Clurman's front garden and to their porch — he still had yet to give much away, to shed his professionalism and allow anything to peep through.

 Selena stared for a short moment, watching his set face scarcely move as he spoke — Hotchner might have only heard of her brother, but that alone was sure to have put predetermined opinions of herself into his head. He was a profiler, someone who sought all facts and minuscule details until he could tear someone apart with a glance... he'd find such a goal sorely unreachable when it came to Selena.

 She pried her sights away, landing upon Gideon, "Where would you like me?"

 "Stay here, check out the house." he turned away, Doctor Reid dutifully at his side. The genius in Gideon's tow offered something akin to an awkward smile that curled his lips and made his cheeks appear similar to those of a chipmunk. Gideon paused, head tossed over his shoulder, "And Selena?"

 "Hm?"

 "Good job."

 Her brow rose, "For what, exactly?"

 "The car door."

 "Simple, Gideon, simple,"

 "A — Actually, it's quite fascinating how you knew the door had been open at the time of the explosion —" Doctor Reid had started, his pointer finger twisting within the air to accentuate his own thoughts.

 "— It was an educated guess, Doctor. Only one door was blown from its hinges, and yet there was more damage done to the passenger side, meaning Clurman likely meant to place the package on the seat beside him... Why else would the driver's side door — the one furthest away from the bomb — have been taken off, if not for the fact it was open?" 

 Doctor Reid blinked, finger still hovering in the air as he watched the young woman turn her back. Her shoes slapped against the tarmac, thick soles echoing her departure all the while blonde swung to and fro against her back.

 Spencer turned to Gideon, somewhat starstruck.

 Yet the only slice of solace Gideon offered was a plain and simple, "You'll get used to it."

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DATE: 29/08/2023

:･ﾟ★ selena is saurrrr slay?

YES. CHAPTER ONE IS FINALLY HERE.

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