Bruce returned home for Christmas in the small town in northwestern Pennsylvania that Mrs. Jones left for him. He had fulfilled his promise with Lily and spent a sweet Christmas with the little girl.
Although he had stopped running the dessert house for a long time, he didn't hear any complaints from Lily about his dessert skills. This was probably due to the fact that he would occasionally bring some homemade desserts to the office to share with his team members.
Reid especially liked lactose, Garcia preferred tiramisu, and the other two ladies, Prentiss and JJ, preferred low-sugar cookies. Morgan would mock his sweet taste while eating. As for Hotch and Rossi … Bruce still remembered the silent atmosphere when he passed by Hotch's egg tarts. Rossi inexplicably changed the topic to cooking, praising his cooking skills and leaving the untouched dessert box behind. After that, the two of them were on his dessert blacklist.
Bruce would take advantage of the holidays to practice his swordsmanship in the back of the mountain. He would occasionally think of his team members and smile. It had been a year since he joined BAU. His team members, who he spent almost all his time with, had unknowingly gained weight in his heart.
Due to his injury, Bruce managed to have a Christmas without any interruptions. Yesterday, he received a complaint from Reid, saying that the serial killer did not know to give them a holiday.
On Christmas Eve, Bruce refused Mrs. Wilson's invitation and didn't want to disturb their family gathering. He sat alone by the window of his bedroom, looking at the dim lights on the street, the few pedestrians, and the falling snow. He felt a sense of loneliness that he hadn't felt in a long time. He had lived alone for a long time, but even when he was in the dimension, he rarely had such a deep feeling. This was probably because a cold person wouldn't feel colder than passing by a warm house. Loneliness was the same.
Bruce soon got rid of his depressed mood. He picked up his saber and went out. He had to pick up his swordsmanship that he had neglected for months because he didn't have a suitable practice ground.
The snow seemed to be getting heavier.
After Christmas, Bruce returned to Virginia and went to work on the first day of the holiday.
Under everyone's shocked gazes, Bruce placed his backpack on his desk and walked towards Hotch's office.
After knocking on the door and getting permission, Bruce walked in. "I've received a message. When I come back, I need to do a psychological evaluation. Is it a routine evaluation?"
"No, we were the ones who came up with that question. I believe that you will definitely get an excellent evaluation. We just want to talk." Hotch put down the pen in his hand. "Is your body okay? A week isn't enough for your wound to heal completely. Although we are very busy, we don't have to go so far as to not let the wounded go. "
Huh? Bruce noticed that Hotch's attitude towards him had changed. Probably because of his dark history, Bruce noticed that Hotch was always scrutinizing and even wary of him. Although he hid it well, Bruce was very sensitive to other people because of his unique experience. But now, this scrutiny had disappeared.
Bruce blinked. "No problem. The stitches have been removed." He sat down at Hotch's signal.
"Then, tell me how you feel about the previous case." Hotch crossed his fingers on the table and looked straight at Bruce.
Talk about what? Bruce was a little confused. Although he was injured, he still submitted the report. Was he going to ask about the party he attended? So, he briefly told Hotch about how Bellanck brought them to the house for the party and how the team members who were shot and asked for help arrived.
Then, he asked, "By the way, what happened after that? I think that the servant doesn't match the profile. Also, he was panicking and expressed a lot of emotions towards the person who wanted to harm him. It doesn't match the coldness of the victim's body that was originally found."
Hotch looked at him for a while before saying, "He pleaded guilty. The New York police were under a lot of pressure and quickly closed the case. There were no similar cases after that."
"This …" Bruce wanted to say something but stopped. It was the first time he had encountered such a situation since he joined BAU. He believed in their profile and their judgment. The team members must have explained their conjecture to the local police. The murderer was still at large, but the case was closed.
But, what did this have to do with him? He didn't care that there might be more victims in the local police station. He even wanted more victims to prove that their judgment was correct. He only cared that his team members' efforts and suggestions were ignored. Bruce's expression was very cold.
"Sometimes, this kind of situation can't be avoided," Hotch said. "But I don't want to talk about this. I want to talk about how you feel about the life-threatening injury that almost made you lie on the operating table forever."
"I don't feel anything." Bruce was expressionless. This was the truth. He didn't even feel or know that he had almost died. The injury on his body was indeed not a serious injury to him.
"This is a necessary procedure to determine if the agents are suitable to stay in this place," Hotch said in a serious tone. He tapped the paper on the table with his hand. "I also need to submit a report to the higher-ups."
The atmosphere was inexplicably relaxed. Bruce rubbed his hair with his hand, looking a little distressed. "But I really don't feel anything. If Reid didn't tell me, I wouldn't have known that I almost …" Then, he said righteously, "It's my duty to fight crime. I'll work hard to stay in my post and fight a battle of wits and courage with serial killers. I'll bring them to justice no matter what happens."
There seemed to be something wrong, but so be it. Even though he didn't remember much, he still had to thank the reports he had read before.
"…" Hotch picked up a pen and lowered his head to write something. After a while, he asked, "Why did you refuse the injection of anesthesia for the operation?"
Sure enough, he couldn't avoid this question. Bruce wailed in his heart, "Just think of it as me being allergic to anesthetics."
Hotch raised his head and looked at Bruce. "Your dagger was smeared with a high concentration of anesthetic. Your precise throw to the murderer's arm caused him to lose control of his hand, causing the gun to drop and remove the threat to the hostage." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I remember that you … ingested anesthetic before."
'Is he talking about me licking the dagger?!' Bruce swore that he saw a hint of mockery in Hotch's expression.
"Oh right, aren't daggers reimbursed? I've already used a few of them for work. Why would I need a custom-made one? "Bruce evaded the question.
Hotch raised an eyebrow. "There is a weapons department. If you need it, you can write a request for me to forward it."
"… Okay, it's not an allergy. I admit that there is a special reason why I didn't inject anesthesia …" Bruce held his forehead and then said seriously, "If I get injured in the future, don't inject me with anesthesia or sleeping drugs." He didn't want to expose himself as different from ordinary people.
Hotch agreed. "But, Jones, you should know that pain shouldn't be related to reality or other means."
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