"She hasn't said a word since we brought her in. I figured you might have better luck."
Hotch nods gratefully, turning to look at you through the mirror. You sit in the chair, your hands handcuffed to the table with no room for movement. You've been deemed highly dangerous, and to be treated as such. Hotch frowns at your dazed state, the way you stare aimlessly at your blood-stained hands.
Your brain racks the last of your memories, to work out how the fuck you ended up here. It's all hazy, almost like you dreamt it, all the blood everywhere. Your stomach churns at the thought, but you push yourself to remember, to remember where it came from. You have to know.
Just like you have to know; where is Rossi?
"No, no, no, no..." You're a muttering mess as you press the material deeper into the wound, the blood seeping through it and coating your hands. You apply firm pressure, even with your shaky fingers trying to stop the bleeding. But it just won't ease up.
For the first time in hours, you move, looking between your palms in an attempt to decipher the last memory. Who was that? Who's blood is this? A wave of panic crashes over you, your eyes darting to figure out if it belongs to you; nope.
You don't hear the door into the interrogation room opening, nor do you acknowledge the two agents that situate themselves opposite you. You glance down, your eyes wide at the dark splotches ruining your clothes.
There's blood everywhere...
"Agent Y/L/N," Hotch starts, his voice low.
You blink up, locking eyes with your unit chief. Confusion spreads across your features; what is he doing here?
"Little girl?"
You avert your gaze to Derek, relief flooding you. Sure, you trust Hotch with your life, but there's something else with Derek. There's no judgment, no need to justify yourself. You're closer to Derek than Hotch.
"Derek, what happened? Wh-what am I missing?"
Your voice trembles as you struggle to piece together the last couple of hours. It's frustrating.
"Tell me the last thing you remember." He answers softly, refraining from glancing down at your bloodied hands.
You swallow, turning your attention to your handcuffed wrists. "I-um," Your eyebrows crease in concentration.
"You took everything from me." He seethes, walking toward you with a menacing look. "Now, it's my turn."
Your eyes widen in shock, your feet planted to ground and your brain screaming at you to do something. But you can only watch, as Angelo pulls his gun from behind his back, shooting Rossi.
"David," You murmur. "David!" Your eyes are wide in terror as you glance between Derek and Hotch. "Where is he? Is he okay?!" You ramble, so many words tumbling out before you can even finish a sentence. "Please tell me he's alive."
"We don't know." Hotch fesses.
You open your mouth and close it, unable to form the correct sentence. "What do you mean, we don't know? It's either he's dead or alive?"
"Y/N, I need you to focus."
You shoot Hotch an incredulous look. "Focus? Focus on what?" Your voice begins to rise, promoting Derek to reach across and rest his hand over yours, despite his hesitation of the blood.
"Little girl, look at me." He soothes, working on calming your anger. "Look at me," He repeats. You listen, panic flashing in your eyes. "We want to try and do a cognitive interview, you think you're up for that?"
You nod your head without a second thought. You need to know what happened. Derek and Hotch share a look, before Hotch stands up and quietly exits the room to stand behind the mirror, along with the rest of the team.
Derek sets you up, going over what you heard, smelt and felt, and finally digging into your last memory. "When he shot Rossi, what did you do?"
Everything slows down, your heart pounding against your chest as your surroundings fade out and the only thing you see is Rossi, gripping his side as he slides off the chair. Someone lets out a strangled scream, and it's only a moment later you recognise the voice to be yours; you scream.
You do the only thing you know, reaching into your pocket and grabbing your glock.
"I shoot Calvano, and then Angelo."
Emilio Calvano lands with a thud, blood pooling out of the hole between his eyes. With precision you spin and fire at Angelo's leg, stalking toward him as he falls onto his ass, clutching his injured limb.
Murderous thoughts cross your mind as you stand before him, your breath ragged and your hands shaking with rage. You ponder shooting him, but that's too easy. Putting your gun away, you step over him and fist his shirt, pulling him up to you.
"Y/N-" He begins. You don't let him finish his sentence, pounding your fist into his face.
"I start punching him over and over until he's coughing blood."
You release his shirt, resting on your knees and pummelling his flesh with your knuckles, blood exploding around your fists. He can't move, paralysed and unable to comprehend the thought of getting away. He can only take the punches.
Angelo cries out in pain, his nose and eye socket shattered. You don't ease up, if anything hearing him fuels your rage.
"Punching him doesn't do anything, so I-I," You pause. "I grab my knife,"
Your fingers grip the handle tightly, plunging the blade into his chest. Blood trails down his cheeks and pools on the ground, his grunts falling on deaf ears as you pull the knife out and stab it into his stomach, his body twitching.
A strained shout leaves your lips, your hand repeatedly hitting his chest as you submerge the blade. Your eyes lock on his, and you stop. Angelo's lifeless eyes gaze up at you, dull and unresponsive.
Your chest heaves, your breathing ragged as you drop the blade and slowly stand. You don't recognise the body beneath you, Angelo's face gaved in and his torso torn open.
"I killed him. I used whatever I had nearby and didn't stop until he was dead."
Derek shifts uncomfortably. He's seen the tapes, the security footage from the building. It was the first thing Hotch requested. He watched what happened, but hearing you remember it, a shiver runs down his spine.
Someone coughs behind you, and you turn to see Rossi pressing his hands into his waist. You forget about Angelo, sprinting over to him and falling to your knees.
Pulling Rossi's shirt out from under your pants, you tear at the edge and use the fabric to bunch it over the bullet wound. "No, no, no, no..." You're a muttering mess as you press the material deeper into the wound, the blood seeping through it and coating your hands. You apply firm pressure, even with your shaky fingers trying to stop the bleeding. But it just won't ease up.
His hand brushes yours, trying to capture your attention. You blink down at him, your vision blurring. "You're okay, you're gonna be fine David." Your fingers caress his forehead and cheek, your words more for yourself than him.
"I love you." He chokes, his other hand trying to help with stopping the blood but with each second he grows weaker.
"No! Don't you dare!" You sob.
"I'm applying pressure to the wound, trying to stop the blood but there's so much. So much blood. And there's no one to help me."
"This is not goodbye. You are not leaving me David."
"I hear sirens and flashing lights through the windows and I know that he's going to be okay. Because he still has a pulse, he's still talking."
Derek smiles pitifully, his grip tightening over your hands reassuringly. He can't even begin to imagine the pain your going through. Those images are going to haunt you for the rest of your life, and he wouldn't wish that upon anyone.
"You hear that baby? You're going to be okay." You murmur, your hand now in his hair and your forehead resting on his. "They're coming for you." You close your eyes, your stomach twisting at the overwhelming sense of emotions.
You don't know how to feel, what you feel. There's so much going on you can't concentrate properly other than making sure Rossi stays with you. You don't even want to think about the possibility of him not being here.
The first officer aims their gun at you, unaware of the situation. "Hands up!"
"Help him! He's been shot in the side and losing a lot of blood." You cry, a small wave of relief washing over you. He isn't out of the wind yet.
"The officer calls for the medics and when they arrive, he pulls me away and next thing I know I'm in handcuffs being dragged into a police car as David is rushed off."
You sniffle, removing your hands from Derek and leaning your head down to wipe the tears away. "Please Derek, I have to know if he's alright."
Derek's heart breaks at the sound of your voice; broken and hopeful. He clears his throat, leaning back into his seat. "The only thing we know is that he's in surgery. They'll let us know when he's out."
You nod you head, looking down at your hands. Derek promises to return, standing and leaving the room. It feels like hours but really it's only minutes, before he enters again, this time with Hotch.
"Let's get you cleaned up." Hotch murmurs, folding his arms over his chest as Derek unlocks your cuffs and slides them off.
You follow them into the main room, ignoring the stares of the L.A officers and meeting Emily in the women's bathroom. She hands you your go-bag, reassuring you that she'll be right outside once you finish your shower and dress. You send her a small smile, not quite meeting your eyes.
Sliding underneath the steaming water, you bow your head and watch the blood fall off your body and swirl around the drain before disappearing. Your hair plasters to you face and neck, your knuckles almost black and purple.
Scarily enough your thoughts are quiet, as you slowly begin to wash yourself and remove the filth. Getting out of the shower, you stare back at the woman in the reflection, unable to recognise her. She has your eyes, hair and complexion, but she looks lost, her sense of purpose demolished.
You close your eyes, shaking your head and opening your go-bag to slip into fresh clothes. You comb through your wet hair, leaving it to air dry and slipping out the door. Your eyes fall on Emily who leans against the wall, standing straighter at the sight of you.
"We just got word that he's out of surgery and they're just waiting for him to wake up." She informs you, gingerly taking the bag from you. "You should know, he coded on the way to the hospital."
You falter, shooting her a bewildered look. "Why would you tell me that?"
"Because you'd hate me if I didn't." She tells you truthfully, and you know she's right. You just weren't prepared for it.
It's one of the many things you value in your friendship with Emily, she blunt, straight to the point and she doesn't walk on eggshells. She tells it how it is.
Your stomach churns as you enter the hospital, the corner of your mouth twitching. You've noticed that it's become a habit, one of Rossi's traits. You can't resist the smile on your face, as you tuck your knuckles away and practically run toward the room.
The ache in your hands turns numb as you round the corner and release a shaky breath. Only one person is allowed to see him, and the team knew it would be you. Emily rubs your back, patiently waiting for you to step inside and every fibre of your being is pushing you to go in, but your brain is petrified to see him.
To see the damage you've done.
Pushing the door open, you scrunch your nose at the smell and the horrid monitor sounds, even though they alert you he's alive. You rest your back against the door, your body shaking tremendously as you let your eyes fall on his sleeping form.