Summary: All the team is cycling alongside the sea when Dave noticed that Jessica is far behind them. He makes a stop to wait for her and maybe have a little chat with her.
Characters: David Rossi and Jessica Brooks
Contents: angst, anger, grudge, misunderstanding, sadness; mention of what happened between Hotch and Foyet.
This is a text written for the CM Summer Time challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.
To be honest, the dialogues have been written two years ago for the same challenge, but the text is know ready to be published. :D It'll have 13 chapters.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
Read on AO3 / lire sur AO3
___
Dave was riding quietly on the road that went along the coast, some distance behind the leading group. It didn't matter to him because he knew it was a straight line anyway and that they would all end up in the same place in the end. Then, as he said the day before, he was on vacation. He ran enough the rest of the time, so he wasn't going to deprive himself of the chance to stroll, enjoying the scenery, the warm breeze, and the sound of the waves. He also noticed that Jessica was pedaling even slower than him.
He hadn't followed all the events, but he understood that she had clashed with the other women in the group on the first day. And, obviously, this had led to the scene they had experienced the night before, when she had clearly shown her disapproval of their behavior towards the agency director. He thought he could see the reasons for this knee-jerk reaction and, in a way, understood why she was angry with them; but he also knew that there were some things she didn't understand.
“Oh, don’t wait for me,” she said, realizing that he had stopped before her. “I’m not used to do biking.”
“Good, me neither. We might as well struggle together.”
She smiled and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from her helmet and was falling over her nose.
“And you can call me by my first name,” he added, starting up again beside her.
“I know,” she blushed. “It’s just that… I know how important you… you are for Aaron.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. The student has long surpassed the master,” he affirmed, honestly.
He hadn't seen his disciple for years and was able to see how much he had progressed when he left his retirement lair. And his mind, already sharp when he recruited him, had become even more refined than he had imagined.
“You… you should tell him.”
“I think he already knows it.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
He frowned. He knew that Aaron was blind to his own qualities. That wasn't really what bothered him.
“… Is everything okay?” he inquired cautiously.
“What?” she croaked, surprised. “… Yes. Why?”
“I feel like you’re angry.”
She turned her head away, focusing on her handlebars and biting her lower lip. A dilemma was playing out in her mind. On the one hand, she wanted to pour her heart out about what was getting her down, but on the other, she couldn't ignore the fact that she was going to be talking to someone who was part of her ex-brother-in-law's team. Someone very close to those who were getting on her nerves.
“… Annoyed, rather,” she admitted after a long silence.
“Well then, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I… It’s not my place to discuss it.”
“You’re still mad after what happened yesterday, aren’t you?”
Without warning, the young woman slammed on the brakes and came to a sudden stop. Dave was slow to react and stopped a little further away. However, he made the effort to back away when he saw her shining eyes.
“… It's just that...” she began, before letting go of the handles to straighten up. “Aaron is full of praise for his team. Given what he told me, I expected to meet people who... who would hold him in as high esteem as he holds them. And instead, I'm faced with people who can't even call him by his first name!”
That was what he was thinking. She couldn't understand why the other agents kept such a distance from their superior, even though he behaved almost like a mother to them. It was a complex dynamic, influenced by many unspoken issues and misunderstandings.
“I see and understand that their behavior bothers you but know that the relationship you have with Aaron is quite unique.”
“What do you mean?” she raised an eyebrow, disconcerted.
“You're probably the only person I know who isn't impressed by him.”
The branch manager stood at six feet tall, wore tailored, understated suits, and was always clean-shaven and well-groomed. Added to this was an expressionless face and perpetually furrowed eyebrows, which tended to put people who didn't know him off. Witnesses regularly cowered when he approached, and suspects thought twice before attacking him. And the man was aware of this imposing stature that genetics had bequeathed him and spared no effort to appear smaller than he was, with varying degrees of success.
Even within the FBI, few could suppress a shiver when he walked toward them. This was especially true given that a rumor was circulating about him in the corridors of headquarters and Quantico, which further dehumanized him. Someone, one day, had nicknamed him the Iceberg, and the nickname had spread like wildfire throughout the Bureau, to the point that even agents who had arrived since then had heard about it and used it themselves. To everyone who didn't work with him, he was a block of ice on legs. An uncompromising and cold monster, incapable of smiling or feeling the slightest empathy.
It was completely untrue, of course, but the reputation stuck with him. The profilers had also heard about it and should have ignored it, but that was not easy. Because, despite all his kindness, he remained a serious, austere giant, attentive to ensuring that certain rules were followed to the letter. As a former prosecutor, he was well aware of what could create loopholes in criminal cases and became stricter as soon as his flock strayed too far. And, although very lax on certain points, others were not open to negotiation.
“You’ve been working together for years,” Haley’s sister replied logically.
“Yes, and so we know that he's not mean despite his gruff exterior, but I can assure you that the whole gang clenches their buttocks as soon as he raises an eyebrow.”
“So, what? Does he yell at them whenever they call him Aaron?”
“No. But they still have to dare to do it.”
“Aaron wouldn't hurt a fly,” she said before turning pale. “Well, as long as you don’t…”
Her throat closed up before she could finish her sentence. Dave knew what she was referring to. Despite his impressive stature and powerful voice, the giant was as gentle as a lamb and always took care not to hurt anyone inadvertently. He only raised his voice as a last resort or when his interlocutors touched on a sensitive issue. But, generally speaking, he was pretty harmless. The only outburst of rage they had ever seen from him was against George Foyet. The love of his life’s murderer. Jessica had not been told the details, but she knew that he had been killed by her ex-brother-in-law, and she had seen his damaged hands. She was smart enough to put two and two together.
“I know,” he went on. “But it remains a barrier that they find difficult to overcome.”
“On the other hand, when it comes to insulting him for no reason, they obviously don't mind,” she flared up, suddenly regaining her confidence.
“I wasn't there that day, but I imagine they panicked. They improvised based on how they felt at the time, and not in the happiest way, I grant you.”
“And they never apologized.”
Her gaze was fixed on him, provocative. She challenged him to find fault with that. However, he lacked the information needed to respond.
“… What did Aaron told you about that?”
“Nothing,” she slammed. “I discovered that at diner yesterday evening. But I see how he behaves outside Quantico, and some of his... apprehensions are becoming very clear now.”
“Which apprehensions?”
She raised her eyes to the sky. For her, it was so obvious. For the novelist, it was more subtle. His superior compartmentalized his professional and personal lives so thoroughly and walled off his emotions so easily that it was difficult to know what he might be hiding.
“Didn't they ever wonder why he never invited them to his birthday party?” she asked haughtily. “I know he goes to theirs because he asks me to babysit Jack on those evenings—or he takes him with him—but I also know that the reverse is not true.”
That was the truth. Aaron celebrated each of his subordinates' new earthly revolutions but never organized anything for his own. He didn't make a big deal about his birthday and usually made sure he wasn't available on that day. He had always attributed this to his disastrous childhood, which had left him with no fond memories of this date—combined with the fact that he hated being the center of attention—but it was possible that there was another reason after all.
“Well, imagine that they ask themselves this question every year.”
“If they need an answer, I can provide one.”
“Jess, I think I understand what you're getting at,” he said with a sigh, “and like you, I'd like to set things right. However, there are two major obstacles standing in our way.”
“Which ones?” she spat, doubtfully.
“First of all, the three agents concerned are certainly very kind, but they also have a certain pride that means apologizing for saying a potential truth—while glossing over its hurtful aspect—is not one of their priorities.”
“A potential truth?” she repeated in a threatening tone.
“Aaron and Hotch do not necessarily behave in the same way. In this case, he is indeed exigent and very demanding. As for Emily saying he was macho, I can't go into details but know that the context of that conversation lent itself to that kind of shortcut. At present, she would no longer make the same statement.”
She took in the arguments, mulled them over in her mind, and pouted before continuing:
“…What is the second obstacle?”
“Aaron himself. You know him as well as I do: when he has an idea in his head, he can't think of anything else. And once he is convinced of something, it is extremely difficult to make him see that he is wrong.”
Especially when it was a negative concept concerning him. His extremely low self-esteem prevented him from seeing his qualities, even with a well-argued speech.
“So… there’s nothing we can do. That’s it?”
“No. It will take time and a lot of energy, but little by little—small gestures after small gestures—he will eventually see reason.”
She looked away, lowered her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. Dave didn't know exactly the nature of his disciple’s relationship with Jessica, but he guessed that the two were very close and that the pain of one caused the other to suffer.
“I… I so much wish it was already the case.”
“Me too,” he agreed, before steering the conversation toward a more cheerful topic. “Otherwise, everything is going well with Beth?”
“Judging by the silly smile he has every time he talks to her on the phone, I'd say yes,” she replied, smiling too.
“Good.”
“The last time I saw him like that was…”
Her words were crushed before they could leave her mouth. This new beginning must not have been easy for her. Somehow, this meant to her that their bond was now only held together by Jack. The Brooks were nothing more than a page turned in his past, one he would only revisit because his son was genetically linked to them. But time would cause this thread to become thinner and thinner, until it might break. Beth represented a new adventure, new relationships, and, since she was restless, a possible new life elsewhere. However, the co-founder of BAU knew one thing for certain.
“… He won’t forget her, you know.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes brighter than ever.
“I just want him to be happy. I just want them to be happy.”
Her tears began to roll down her cheeks and she began to sob, her face hidden in her hands. Rossi immediately took her in his arms to calm her down.
___
First chapter >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/791125045952069632/4th-of-july-113?source=share
Next chapter >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/798135699491766272/4th-of-july-1213?source=share
Summary: It's time to take the plane to discover the house by the sea where the team will spend the next three days.
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, JJ, Will LaMontagne Jr. and Henry LaMontagne.
Contents: mention of food, alcohol, abduction and mosquitoes.
This is a text written for the CM Summer Time challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.
To be honest, the dialogues have been written two years ago for the same challenge, but the text is know ready to be published. :D It'll have 13 chapters.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
Read on AO3 / lire sur AO3
___
Friday arrived both very quickly and very slowly, depending on everyone's tastes. In any case, it was now time for everyone to meet at the airport. Derek quietly made his way to the rendezvous point, bag slung over his shoulder, confident he'd be early. But his eyes widened when he caught sight of the tall, gaunt figure waiting at the spot.
“Pinch me, Spencer arrived first.”
Usually, the multi-graduate was more the type to arrive last – or second-to-last, Prentiss being good enough to show up half an hour behind schedule – having forgotten to comb his hair or put on his clothes properly. There, it wasn’t the case at all.
“I didn't want to miss the plane,” he explained factually.
“What? Are you in a hurry to go swimming?” mocked the ex-policeman, a toothy grin on his lips.
“Swimming? No, what a question!” he replied, revolted. “I’ll stay in the house, far away from the sea, from the sand and from the sun.”
“Tell me again why you are coming with us.”
“To be with you,” he answered, in a tone of the obvious.
Morgan smiled and ran a hand through his hair:
“Good answer, handsome.”
Penelope appeared in turn, dragging two brightly-colored suitcases covered with fluorescent stickers.
“Look at that! An angel fallen from heaven,” exclaimed the explosives expert. “Hello Miss, on which flight are you boarding?”
“Same as you, I hope," she quipped at once.
They burst out laughing. Then she turned to Reid.
“Where are your sunglasses?”
“What for?” he asked, as if this were nonsense.
“He's not planning to leave the house,” Derek huffed at his longtime accomplice.
“That's what you think,” trumpeted the young woman, looking determined. “My program calls for everyone to take part in outdoor activities.”
“You never talked about that before.”
“Because she knew that you would have said no otherwise.”
“It's okay, Spence,” she reassured him, patting his arm. “You will survive.”
The youngest member of the group didn't seem at all reassured by her words. For the time being, he was perhaps even less sociable than the agency head; his shrimp-like appearance and extraordinary skills having brought him more problems than happy memories. Fortunately, the wheel has been turning since he joined the BAU.
“Here's Dave,” Morgan announced as the ex-retiree walked toward them.
The Italian American quietly approached them, in an outfit similar to what he wore to the office, neither more nor less formal, but not necessarily suitable for a beach holiday.
“Rossi,” the anxious Spencer accosted him; “Garcia has outdoor activities planned for all of us.”
“I’ll lend you some sunscreen.”
The Las Vegas native frowned, puzzled, as the other two laughed behind his back. Emily showed up in the meantime, looking distressed.
“Everything’s fine?” enquired the luscious blonde.
“Sergio made a scene. He's upset that I'm not there to watch the fireworks with him.”
She'd wanted to give him one last cuddle before leaving, and he'd deliberately hidden himself where it was hardest for her to get to him: under the bed, right in the middle, so that she couldn't reach him from either side. She was worried because the tomcat didn't appreciate the noise of the explosions and the bright lights of the fires at all. He usually spent this traumatic moment holed up at the back of the wardrobe, but he was more appeased when she was around. He must have sensed his mistress's anxiety and made it clear that he didn't agree with her decision to abandon him.
“The one in Washington DC has been postponed until next weekend,” declared Reid.
“I'll send him a message right away,” she said, grabbing her cell phone.
Her colleagues laughed and she smiled, relieved by this news. They then waited a few moments to see if the last of the gang had arrived, then headed for the baggage check-in area. One by one, they passed the airport staff to check in their tickets and, for those who needed it, had their hold luggage sent off. And they waited around, scanning the area for familiar faces, regularly checking the time on their watches or phones.
Finally, JJ appeared in the distance, Will and Henry behind her. The couple hurried in their direction as Penelope waved to them.
“Hurry up! Check-in is almost over.”
“Sorry,” apologized the mother, her cheeks flushed. “Impossible to get our hands on his comfort plush.”
“At least everyone's here,” Dave pointed out to ease the tension.
“No, Hotch is missing,” remarked Derek.
“He had a meeting tonight, so he'll join us in the morning,” explained Garcia as the last three arrivals slipped through the security cordons.
Morgan raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the young woman, who held his gaze, confident in the manager's words.
“… I’ll believe it when I’ll see him.”
“He promised me,” affirmed the analyst, eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah…”
“He promised Penelope,” Rossi added facetiously.
Once the last pieces of luggage had been placed on the conveyor belt, the whole team crossed the airport to the boarding area. The flight was a hop, skip and a jump, and they spent more time going through airport formalities than they did above ground, but they arrived safely. They then found a rental vehicle that could accommodate them all: a midnight-blue van, into which they crammed their suitcases and bags as best they could. Derek took the wheel, and the organizer of the trip entered the GPS coordinates of their vacation spot.
Following the on-board computer's instructions, they drove for almost an hour and a half before coming to a halt in front of an impressive construction. Surrounded by a vast, exuberant garden, the house had a single story but stretched over some ten meters. Large bay windows pierced the first floor walls, adorned with thick cyan-colored wooden shutters. On the second floor, some of the windows were embellished with beautifully crafted balconies and the same shutters to prevent heat from entering the building. The slightly sloping roof was covered with slate-colored tiles.
“My friends, this is our home for the next three days.”
“Wow!” commented JJ, mouth agape.
“I couldn't have said it better myself,” added her partner.
They passed through the high sliding gate painted in the same tones as the shutters and approached their rental. They had rolled down the windows of their van to get a better look at the details of their accommodation, and the sea spray hit their faces.
“Okay,” resumed Emily. “I think I can ask this question on behalf of everyone: how much did it cost you?”
“Please, let's save the material questions for the end of the stay,” Penelope evaded. “Enjoy the moment.”
Her bracelets rattled as she waved her arms in the air.
“I'm not sure that argument works on Aaron,” Dave declared.
“Hotch? Why?”
“That's the first question he's going to ask you, baby girl,” Morgan seconded, maneuvering to approach the access road. “And he won't let you go until he gets the answer.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
“Where the pool?" suddenly worried Henry, sitting upright in his seat like a meerkat.
“Here’s an interesting question.”
With the car parked in front of the entrance, everyone got out and paused to admire the edifice more closely. The ex-hacker urged all her friends to step into the house, and they were on the stoop in no time. They landed in a huge hall, which also served as a living room, with tables, sofas and other armchairs scattered around. On their right was a vast kitchen and its outbuildings. To their left, a corridor led to a bathroom and two large bedrooms. A staircase, visible from the living room, led upstairs to other bedrooms and bathrooms. Everything was elegantly decorated. It was simple, natural and not at all ostentatious.
“Honey, can you pinch me?”
“You, first.”
“And wait until you see the view,” said Penelope, encouraging them to cross the room.
In line with the front door, two large French windows opened onto a shaded terrace with a new table and a dozen chairs around it. As they stood there, they saw the garden suite spread out in front of them, with its swimming pool and its bevy of deckchairs, its hard-built barbecue and, above all – above all – a breathtaking view of the beach, the ocean and the orange sky as night fell.
“No, seriously, how much did it cost you?” asked Derek, no longer smiling at all.
“It's funny, I've had tinnitus for some time now. You said?”
“Very funny. I’m serious, Penelope.”
The luscious blonde was the lowest paid member of the team, despite their boss's best efforts to get her a salary commensurate with her abilities. But unlike them, who had special agent status, she was “just” a technician. Hence their concern as to how she could have obtained such a jewel.
“We'll do the accounts at the end of our stay,” she dodged again.
“And as a first expense, I suggest we do groceries because, this is all very nice, but the fridge and cupboards are empty,” Emily informed them as she walked back towards them.
“Okay. Who’s volunteer?”
“Me,” affirmed Morgan raising his hand.
“I’m in.”
“I'll pass,” said Dave. “Just bring me some edibles.”
“We'll take care of unpacking the suitcases with Will.”
“Okay,” said the Chicago native. “Spencer, you’re coming with us.”
“What? Why?” the tall, lanky man choked, taken aback.
“Because you are the most picky of us when it comes to food.”
“Really?”
“If Derek says so...” JJ asserted, a mocking smile on her lips.
Since the younger had no say in the matter, the group split into two and went about their business. The suppliers negotiated at length in the aisles of the local supermarket, the couple settled in their belongings and those of their offspring, trying to make him understand that repeating “we go to the pool?” every thirty seconds wasn't going to make it go any faster, and Dave reclined on a deckchair, drink in hand, jacket hanging off the back and toes out in the open.
As evening fell, they all gathered on the terrace to dine under the stars. Before attacking the meal, Garcia raised her glass of mint diabolo and declared:
“To what promises to be a memorable weekend!”
“To Penelope, for suggesting this great idea,” JJ continued, imitating her.
“To my beauty, who didn't tell us she'd won the lottery.”
“To all of you for inviting me,” Will thanked them, delighted to be here.
“To those who have chosen this excellent vintage,” said Dave, his wine glass in hand.
“To the pool!” exclaimed Henry, sitting on his father's lap.
They burst out laughing. Emily ruffled his hair, and he received a kiss on the cheek from his mother.
“Did you know that mosquitoes are much more active at night?”
“Spencer!” scolded Penelope, JJ and Derek.
“We're going to be eaten alive,” he moaned, nervously scanning the air around him.
“At least...” ironized the eldest of the group.
Everyone laughed, except the main man, who was the only one to have kept long sleeves on his arms and legs.
“In any case, thank you all for coming.”
“We wouldn't have missed it for the world,” confessed the former liaison officer, only too happy to be reunited with the members of the BAU and to enjoy their presence in an informal setting.
“There's just one who'd rather be in a meeting than here.”
“Derek!” snapped the instigator of this stay, always quick to defend the director.
“What? It’s true.”
She was about to reply when one of her phones rang. Although she had promised to disconnect, she couldn't bring herself to abandon her Smartphones in Virginia. Still, she agreed to bring only one to the table.
“Speak of the devil...” hissed Morgan, taking note of the caller's name.
Garcia glared at him but hurried to pick up the phone. Everyone around her fell silent – including Henry – and listened, hoping to hear the words of the only one missing.
“Hello?... Yes… Okay… Yes, we’re in the garden, we were about to eat the diner.”
“It's mostly us who are eaten,” grumbled Reid, without being particularly discreet.
“What's going on?” continued the analyst, rolling his eyes at him.
“I'll bet my dessert he's not coming,” tossed Derek, no less loudly.
“Okay,” followed JJ, holding out her hand to seal their pact.
Penelope felt like punching them but held back to place a finger in her ear and concentrate on her interlocutor's words.
“… No. Do… don’t worry… Anytime. A… Yes, that’s it. Good night.”
She hung up and all eyes swiveled in her direction, impatient.
“So?” dared Rossi.
“He… In fact, he was asking me if Jessica could come. She had originally planned something else, but her plan just fell through. And since there are lots of rooms in this house, I said yes. I… I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least,” declared JJ, before retrieving his neighbor's fruit salad plate from across the table. “Here, Will, you've earned an extra dessert.”
And her husband gladly accepted, to the laughter of the profilers.
“Yeah, well, have fun while you can. When the Big Guy gets here, you won't be laughing so hard,” the loser grunted.
“Derek, don’t be disparaging. Hotch is perfectly able to have fun.”
“Yeah? Where’s your evidence?”
“I spent thirty-six hours locked up in a basement with him and I keep a very good memory of it.”
“What?” Henry's father interjected, taken aback.
His wife then explained that shortly after their adventures in New York, and following a gala organized by the FBI, the head of the agency and the technician had been kidnapped and held captive for almost two days. By the time the team had managed to track down their colleagues, they had seemed more complicit than ever.
“Since then, despite testing the waters regularly, we still don't know what really happened in this cellar.”
“Here's an interesting challenge,” he said, rubbing his chin.
“Good luck,” threw Emily, who had exhausted all her tactics to no avail.
___
First chapter >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/791125045952069632/4th-of-july-113?source=share
Next chapter >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/792393409076903936/4th-of-july-313?source=share
Summary: The team is gone for a new investigation under Morgan's command. They found themselves in a small hotel where they have to share bedrooms and Hotch and Prentiss end up in the same one. When they start to act weirdly after the first night, their colleagues start a side investigation.
Characters: BAU team (Prentiss era)
Contents: post-Foyet assault on Hotch, but it's never mentioned (it's just for the record). It's a case-fic but with no graphic depiction of anything. Mention of alcohol and that's all. The story is mostly gossiping. :D
This text was written with the classical "there's only one bed"-prompt.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
Read on AO3
___
The BAU was stranded in a small town, with only one hotel and very few bedrooms available. The establishment was being renovated, and the owners made do with the rooms that weren't being refurbished to keep their business going. In the rush of their late-night arrival, the manager's son had handed out the keys at random, and Prentiss and Hotch had ended up together. Again.
Their colleagues, always on the lookout for exciting news, watched them closely the next day. And they quickly noted that the two agents were not in their normal state.
“Is it just me, or does Emily keep yawning?” whispered JJ to Derek as eleven o'clock struck.
“Ah, you noticed it too?”
“It’s hard to miss it. This is at least the fiftieth time she’s yawped since this morning,” declared the liaison officer, before adding, “and then she looks completely out of it.”
As well as struggling to keep her eyes open, the female profiler seemed lost in thought, reacting very slowly or not at all to prompting and playing with her pen, her hair, anything, with an absent air.
“It's obviously been a rough night," Morgan laughed.
“I’ll ask her.”
She moved away from the coffee pot and headed for the meeting room.
“Hey, you tell me then?” the ex-policeman snapped at her before she got too far.
“No worries. I'll keep you posted.”
And so, she moved closer to her colleague, who appeared to be immersed in reading the current case.
“Short night?”
“What?” flinched the brunette, surprised.
JJ sat down next to her with a smirk that she hoped wasn't too mocking.
“You keep yawning.”
“Oh, it’s…” - she smiled and swatted away an invisible fly with her hand. “Hotch snores. And when asleep, it’s impossible to wake him up. I even hesitated to call his cellphone to make him stop. Since it’s the only thing that wake him up.”
She rolled her eyes, apparently annoyed.
“Did you succeed to sleep a little?”
“Not enough. I feel like this day will never end.”
Her confidante stayed with her a little longer to give her support, then decreed that she had to let her work. Prentiss didn't even pretend to object and plunged back into her police report. Derek hadn't moved a muscle and was waiting impatiently for his accomplice to return.
“So?”
“She’s lying.”
“What did she say?”
“She blamed everything on Hotch's snoring.”
The explosives expert frowned, puzzled. With good reason.
“He doesn’t snore. At least, he didn't the last time we shared a room.”
“Yes. And, curiously, she didn't ask for a trade.”
She'd had ample opportunity to do so during their interview. JJ had ended up with Spencer, and she wouldn't have found it suspicious if her colleague had suggested a barter. That she didn't, when she'd pulled an all-nighter because of her roommate, on the other hand...
“It’s all a bit fishy,” judged Derek. “Let’s take a look at Hotch.”
“What do you have?”
The giant's cavernous voice startled them. Absorbed in their low masses, they hadn't seen him coming up behind them.
“Nothing! We've got nothing!” exclaimed JJ, stiff as a board.
“Why do you think we’ve got something?”
The colossus stared at them blankly for a – very long – second, unsettled by their reaction; then resumed:
“… Didn't you do the neighborhood survey?”
This was the mission they had been given after breakfast.
“Ah! Yes. Yes,” confirmed the blonde, catching her breath.
“Of course,” agreed her partner, trying to regain his usual relaxed attitude.
“And then?”
The duo glanced at each other in panic, their skulls suddenly emptied of all substance, and Morgan babbled:
“Uh… no one saw a thing.”
“The neighborhood is so bad that the few residents don't pay attention to anything anymore,” JJ finally remembered, after a considerable effort of memory.
“To them, it must have been just another guy on the prowl, turning over garbage cans or disposing of stuff somewhere other than the dump.”
“There.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
And Hotch walked away, his phone already in hand to manage the rest of the investigation. The budding detectives breathed a sigh of relief as their hearts began to beat again.
“Good thing he sucks at analyzing the behavior of people who aren't sociopaths,” Derek pointed out.
“For sure.”
“It’s not nice of you to say that.”
The agents jumped again. This time, it was Dave who had arrived behind their backs, without making the slightest noise.
“Even if it's true,” he conceded with a wry smirk. “Why this sudden interest in Hotch's floating clairvoyance?”
The two snoopers didn't even bother to discuss or look at each other to decide whether or not the ex-retiree should be taken into confidence. Rossi loved gossip as much as they did.
“Actually, it's more Prentiss's state of fatigue that concerns us,” clarified Morgan.
“She's been struggling to keep her eyes open since this morning and she said it's because of him.”
“According to her opinion, he snores.”
“Which is not true,” remarked the novelist, who had shared more than one room with the director.
“I know. That's why we're going to watch Hotch now.”
Dave raised a doubtful eyebrow. According to him, the young people had forgotten one element in their equation.
“You know he won't yawn, even if he hasn't slept all night.”
“Yes, that's why we'll have to pay close attention,” declared JJ.
“Or you can ask him.”
“What? What he made with Emily last night, so she'd sleep standing up?” spat Derek, sarcastically. “I doubt he’ll answer this kind of question.”
“You're forgetting your current status.”
The Chicago native looked at him quizzically before realizing what he was talking about. Two weeks earlier, the BAU had changed management, the giant having been ordered to step down after making several legally dubious decisions and incurring numerous complaints. And it was he who had been chosen as his successor. A role he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He appreciated being able to give orders and steer his own ship as he saw fit, but the job came with heavy responsibilities and a lot of administrative and political dealings that drained his energy. Not to mention the fact that his predecessor was one of his subordinates.
“We all know it's just to appease Strauss.”
“Not for Hotch,” Rossi contradicted him, knowingly. “For him, you’re the boss.”
Morgan sighed. Their elder was right. The colossus hadn't fought the section leader's injunction, especially from the moment she'd told him that people had complained about his behavior. He had given up everything on the spot, even leaving his office, and during the ensuing investigation had obeyed the instructions of the man he had hired without balking.
Derek looked up at the glass room where they had been seated. The father had been standing in front of a map of the city for long minutes, perfectly still. After taking a deep breath, his superior entered the room and approached cautiously.
“Hotch.”
The person concerned did not react at all. His eyes, wide open, stared at the board without blinking. The ex-policeman wondered if he wasn't literally sleeping standing up. Which wouldn't have surprised him.
“Hotch!”
The titan flinched and turned towards him.
“Morgan?”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Sorry,” he apologized on the spot. “I… I observed the map, trying to extract a particular pattern.”
“A pattern?” he repeated as he was discovering that word.
“The suspect takes the trouble to place the victims' bodies in distinct locations, exactly one mile from where they live,” he began, turning his attention back to the map. “For the last victim, we know that the killer obtained material from this address, which happens to be equidistant from the victim's address and the place where she was dropped off. And we know how important this equipment is for the suspect.”
He hadn't noticed this fact but wasn't surprised that his interlocutor had. Like Spencer, he could easily focus on small details, insignificant to most people.
“Do you think he bought the equipment for the three previous murders in the same place?”
“No. That he bought it in another place, but always respecting this equidistance.”
The city wasn't huge compared to DC, but big enough to have several DIY stores. That said, he couldn't see where he was going with this thought.
“We already know that the suspect is meticulously planning the murders. What's in it for us?”
“First, more physical information can be obtained if sellers remember the buyer. Secondly, if the suspect does indeed follow a pattern, this attests to autistic behavior, which would greatly reduce our search area.”
“But?” he asked as he sensed the doubt in his voice.
“We're missing some elements,” he admitted. “I'm waiting for Garcia to come back, and I think Reid will be more effective than me on the subject. His ability to detect patterns is superior to mine. And to anyone else, for that matter.”
He felt like telling him that he surely wasn't that far behind, but held back, his gaze fixed on the evidence. His mind wandered. He knew he had to react to this new information, reorganize the team's tasks, revive their technical analyst... in short, do his job as agency manager. But his brain kept bringing him back to the reason he'd entered the room in the first place.
“What? Is my reasoning absurd?”
“No! Not at all,” he said, getting back into reality. “I… I think it’s good. I… I had another question, actually.”
“Which one?”
“Everything went well with Prentiss?”
“When?” he asked without hesitating.
“Last night.”
“Yes, why?” he continued, eyebrows slightly frowned.
“She has a hard time keeping her eyes open.”
“I saw, yes,” he admitted, resting the felt-tip pen in his hand on the edge of the blackboard.
“She said it’s because of you. Because you were snoring.”
“Oh. Uh… it’s possible. I… Sorry. May… maybe she should do the switch with Reid.”
Morgan returned to his companions, puzzled. He had scrutinized Hotch's reactions throughout the interrogation. He didn't seem to perceive the sexual undertone of his questions – which was half a surprise, as the giant seemed so detached from such considerations – but he remained true to himself throughout. Why had Emily's accusation upset him so much? Had she deviated from the planned alibi?
“So?” Dave interrogated him.
“He looked surprised to discover that he snored. But, according to his opinion, everything went fine with Emily last night.”
“Why would he say otherwise?” remarked JJ.
“Let's take it easy on the dubious speculations,” tempered the Italian-American, who was no stranger to scabrous allusions. “It's definitely not Aaron's style to do this kind of thing.”
“Even now that he's no longer officially an agency director?” pointed at Derek, incredulous.
He agreed with him that Hotch was nothing like those bosses whose hands were wandering and whose gaze was more often plunged into their employees' cleavage than into their accounts. But he was still a man, with needs that had gone unsatisfied for over a year; and their colleague was a beautiful woman.
“I bet my best bottle of Scotch that you're kidding yourself.”
“Then how do you explain Emily's fatigue?” insisted JJ, who didn't think any less of it than the former policeman.
From the day she set foot in the BAU, she knew she had nothing to fear from the colossus. Not because he was married – that often didn't matter much – but because he didn't look at her as a piece of meat. He regarded her with as much deference as the male agents under his command. However, she had noticed the gradual rapprochement between him and her colleague since his divorce.
“And I had to call out to Hotch twice to get him to react to my presence,” related Morgan. “I know that when he's focused on a task, the world could collapse around him and he wouldn't even notice; but in this case, I think I've mostly woke him up.”
“I wouldn't be surprised if he could sleep standing up.”
“I'll investigate, but I'll take the bet,” Rossi insisted, convinced that he was right.
***
An hour and a half later, Hotch and Prentiss found themselves on a stakeout near the house of a witness who hadn't turned up at the police station as agreed. This was not surprising, on the contrary; but according to his neighbors and the locals who used to bump into him, he had been discreet and nervous of late. The young woman yawned ostentatiously.
“Gosh, we really need to get some sleep tonight,” she said, rubbing her face in an attempt to wake up once and for all.
“Yes. By the way, why did you say I was snoring?” inquired her teammate, whose features were as drawn as hers.
Sleepless nights were clearly out of their time.
“What?” she croaked confused. “Ah, yes. JJ wanted to know why I looked so tired.”
“And that was the excuse you found?”
“What's wrong with that?”
Thousands of guys were snoring, keeping their companions awake.
“I don’t snore. And Morgan, Reid and Dave know it well.”
He was tempted to add that she knew as well as they did, since they'd already shared a hotel room, but the message had got through.
“Yes, well,” she grumbled, ”what did you want me to say? The truth?”
“No. Something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he blew. “I can’t think since this morning.”
“Welcome to the club.”
Silence fell in the cabin. They were exhausted as much as each other.
“We should have drawn up a strategy before we left the room,” he continued, disillusioned.
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Because right now, I can tell you that the game is very, very badly played.”
“Here is Terry Walters. Let’s go!”
Their target had just appeared in front of the car, ready to go home. The man was more desperate than ever.
***
At the police station, Spencer's nose was practically glued to the map on which so many colorful sticky notes had blossomed. His colleagues returned to him, with the exception of the pair who had gone off to find the missing witness.
“What it’s like?” Dave asked, curious.
“Hotch was right,” announced the multi-graduate cheerfully as he moved away from the board. “There’s definitely a pattern emerging. Now, it's hard to know what this means for the suspect without knowing more about his past.”
“I'm working on it,” assured Penelope, on the phone with them.
“JJ, come with me,” ordered Morgan. “We'll go and interview the two sellers. Maybe they'll remember something.”
“Okay,” nodded the mother, following suit.
They had just left the police station to return to their vehicle when they spotted Hotch and Prentiss in deep discussion in the parking lot. The duo was too far away for them to hear its words, but only a few centimeters separated their counterparts.
“Who'd have thought these two would ever be as thick as thieves?” laughed Derek.
“What do you think they are talking about?”
“Maybe they're consolidating their alibi.”
“There’s only one way to know.”
They reduced the distance between them and their peers, who were still whispering.
“So?” their current boss called them out.
“Nothing!” they affirmed in unison.
They exchanged a reproving glance, then met the inquisitive gaze of their colleagues.
“Walters didn’t show up?” imagined JJ.
“What?” retorted the brunette before she caught it. “Yes! Yes, we… we even succeeded to talk to him.”
“So?” asked again Morgan.
“He claims to have seen nothing, heard nothing, although he confirms his presence at the scene,” summarized the giant, with a dejected air.
“He’s lying.”
“He looked scared,” Emily corrected. “Maybe the unsub saw him and threatened him with reprisals if he talked.”
“Or maybe he knows them,” assumed the liaison officer.
“This is also a possibility,” added the former prosecutor.
All this, however, did little to advance their investigation, contrary to what the youngest member of the team had proclaimed.
“By the way, Reid confirms your pattern hypothesis.”
“Garcia has tracked down the other salesmen?” he bounced back, not in the least flattered by this assertion.
“Yes. We were about to interview them.”
“Give us one of the addresses, we'll cover more ground that way.”
“Okay.”
The interim manager texted the information to his predecessor, who then got back in the car, immediately followed by the female profiler. They started up and rolled out of the parking lot, watched by their team-mates.
“They're in a hurry to leave, both of them,” Derek pointed out, a smile reaching his ears.
“It’s shady, without any doubt.”
Professional, the pair fulfilled their part of the contract before returning to the police station and hurrying back to their elder to tell him what they had witnessed. He was in the meeting room, studying the forensic reports.
“Dave,” interrupted Morgan, “I think you can leave us your bottle of whisky now.”
“Really?”
He was far from sounding defeatist. Mainly because he knew Aaron well and couldn't imagine him crossing that line for a moment.
“Clearly there's something fishy going on here,” JJ exclaimed ecstatically.
“We caught them plotting in the parking lot and they behaved like two teenagers caught in the act when we approached them.”
“Not to mention that they ran away the first chance they got.”
“Who are you referring to?”
The two plotters froze as they heard the disembodied voice of the BAU analyst emerge from the telephone on the table. In their haste to reveal everything, they had not paid attention to the green light indicating that a communication was in progress.
“Hello?”
“Aaron and Emily share the same hotel room, and Emily looks like she hasn't slept all night,” reported Rossi with a mocking sneer.
“She doesn't look it: she hasn't slept all night. Nuance,” corrected JJ, confidently.
“Oh, my God!”
The novelist replaced the file in his hand in the box it had come from.
“Wait! Hold the horses. I’m sure that nothing happened between them.”
“Yet this would be the most logical explanation for their strange attitude since this morning.”
The ex-retiree sighed. His young colleagues wouldn't give up until they had concrete proof that they were at fault.
“Penelope, can you tell me where they are right now?”
They heard a keyboard clicking on the other side of the country, then Garcia replied:
“… At the drugstore.”
“No, we sent them to the hardware store,” Derek couldn't help but retort.
“Yes. Well, they are at the drugstore just in front of it.”
All eyes turned to Dave, dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it. There had to be an explanation other than the hypothesis hammered home by his cadets. He had to know for sure. So he jumped out of his chair when he saw that his disciple's SUV was parked again in the parking lot later that day. He arrested one of the policemen, surprised not to have seen the duo pass by.
“Haven’t you see Agent Hotchner, please?”
“Yes. He went into the locker room. With Agent Prentiss,” added the officer, with a bored air.
“With…? For how long?”
“I’d say twenty minutes. Maybe more.”
“O… okay. Thanks.”
Absorbed in his reading, he didn't immediately notice the return of his counterparts. Nor did the others, focused as they were on the investigation. What had the two agents been up to all this time, when the hunt was on for a serial killer?
He headed straight for his destination and was about to knock on the door when Emily appeared in front of him. She readjusted her belt on her hips.
“Rossi?”
“Prentiss?”
They were both on the alert.
“Uh… Is there a problem?” she asked, careful.
“What? No… uh… Morgan's looking for you,” he stammered, flabbergasted.
“Where he is?”
“In the meeting room.”
“Okay. I go.”
She thus distanced herself from him. He watched her go for a few moments, then decided to enter. Hotch was there, without his suit jacket, buttoning his shirt. A wave of heat passed through his chest. He was furious. Disappointed, no doubt about it, but also angry at the man he thought had integrity to the core. In the end, he was as weak as the others. He, who had been proud to be able to present the giant as the most reliable person in the world, realized that he had been mistaken all these years.
“Dave?” pronounced the former prosecutor finishing to put his clothes on.
“Uh… could I know what were you doing?”
His tone had been more disapproving than intended. He knew that with his three divorces and his epicurean lifestyle, he was not the best person to give sermons. But if they had actually done what the team was thinking about, it would not be good for any of them. He appreciated them very much and, in other circumstances, he would have been more than happy to know them together; but the context was not in their favor.
“Who?” answered Hotch, genuinely.
“Prentiss and you. She had just left the locker room so don’t say that you didn’t know she was there.”
He crossed his arms on his torso. His interlocutor lowered his eyes and adjusted his tie.
“She… she needed a hand for… something personal.”
“Something personal that implied to pass into a drugstore?”
“How…?” he hiccupped, surprised. “What are you talking about?”
Rossi uncrossed his arms and put on his most serious expression. It was not the moment to beat around the bush.
“Look, Aaron, the situation is a bit worrying.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s happened between you and Prentiss last night?”
“Nothing,” he assured, visibly uncomfortable. “We… we slept. What do you want us to do?”
“Emily hasn’t slept. She’s a zombie since this morning. She’s barely able to stand up.”
He was deliberately biting. The agent in front of him had been trained to withstand pressure and usually hid his emotions very well. But when people he cared about, people he trusted completely, suddenly turned against him, he lost his composure. And the two co-founders of the BAU were the closest thing he had to a father figure. This reprimand made him take a step back.
“Well, I… I don’t know. You have to ask her.”
“It’s already done and she lied,” he revealed, scathingly. “So, I ask again: what happened?”
“I… Is that that important?”
He was getting back on his feet. The writer had to make him understand what a mess he was running into.
“Yes, it’s important, Aaron. You have no idea what the team is currently imagining about you two.”
“About…? What do you want them to imagine?”
Dave sighed, torn between empathy and exasperation.
“Aaron, I know you’re a little short in some topic, but don’t pretend to be dumber than you really are.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Okay. I’ll give you the script, tell me what you concluded from it. Two individuals of opposite sex, single and heterosexual as far as we know, find themselves sharing the same bed in a hotel room. The night passes and the next day, both seem to have all the difficulty keeping their eyes open. Your conclusions?”
His opposite quickly made the deductions that everyone else had made before him and immediately appeared offended.
“… Prentiss is my subordinate.”
“Not right now,” Rossi reminded him, having expected that answer. “Derek is the unit chief. Emily and you are on the same level.”
The colossus opened his mouth to reply, than closed it. He ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment, looked around for an escape route, and finally sat back down on the nearest bench.
“Aaron?” worried his colleague and friend.
“I assure you, Dave, that nothing has happened between me and her.”
“I’ll believe you if you explain to me what really happened.”
He exhaled loudly and gave in.
***
The bedroom was pitch black and nothing was moving. Hotch and Prentiss, side by side in bed, carefully separated by about ten centimeters, were on the lookout. Eyelids open, ears pricked, they listened for the surrounding noises. But not those of the other human in the room.
“Prentiss?” said the first after almost an hour of stony silence.
“Yes,” immediately replied the young woman, perfectly awake.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I turn on the light to take care of it?”
“They love you too?”
“Too much.”
“Go. I’ll give you a hand.”
“Careful, I light up.”
The ex-director flicked the switch on his bedside lamp and a yellow light illuminated a good half of the room. For her part, his neighbor imitated him, chasing away as much of the darkness as possible. Soon, she found herself standing on the bed while her colleague hovered around the mattress. With their noses in the air, they scanned the area more carefully than ever, ready to strike. Suddenly, the titan stretched out a finger towards a tiny point above the frame overhanging the pillows.
“Over there! I can see it!”
“Seen!” exclaimed Emily, grabbing the pack of tissues from the bedside table.
She threw it on the wall.
“Missed! Where is it?” she growled, searching for the infernal creature that was keeping them awake.
***
Rossi had settled down beside Hotch to listen, and a broad smile now split his wrinkled face.
“Did you get it?”
“No,” grumbled Aaron. “We ended up falling asleep around four or five in the morning, exhausted.”
Dave felt like bursting into laughter, but held back, aware that this was really not the right moment.
“Why the drugstore?”
“Because it has eaten us alive! And with our outfit, the urge to scratch is unmanageable.”
As if to illustrate his point, he scratched his neck, struggling to find an access point under the collar of his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the elder's mocking expression and glared at him.
“I forbid you to laugh.”
“It seems to me that you’re no longer the director.”
“I hate you.”
Shortly afterwards, the two men joined the meeting room where the rest of the team was working. The younger of the two looked as defeated as the other was hilarious.
“Why the smile?” enquired JJ, troubled.
“Because I keep my bottle of Scotch.”
“And why that?” snarled Derek, suspicious.
“Because I know everything and it’s not what you think it is.”
“Hotch!” cried Prentiss, outraged. “We said the honor of the FBI was at stake!”
A chuckle escaped the keeper of their secret when the image he had formed of the scene reappeared in his head. Indeed, if the brass at the Bureau learned that two of their elite agents had been ridiculed, in their pajamas, by a nocturnal Diptera, they'd have something to choke on.
“I know,” flogged the culprit. “I cracked.”
“But then, what happened?” moaned Penelope, frustrated at not being there with them.
“What are you talking about?” interjected Spencer, totally lost.
___
And if you wonder when did Hotch and Prentiss end up together in the same room, it's for another chapter currently in progress. ^^;
Summary: JJ is pregnant and as she was worried about the health of her fetus, she made some research on Internet. A thing leading to another, she has made a curious discovery on one of her coworker. And when Prentiss joins her, the question of telling him or not rises.
Characters: JJ and Emily Prentiss
Contents: mention of pregnancy (obviously), but this chapter is most of all about my hc that Hotch is autistic. If you disagree, just don't read please.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
JJ brushed her rounded belly. Now seven months pregnant, she was gradually preparing to give up her position temporarily. A prospect that made her anxious, she had to admit. However, two days earlier, after a grueling case, she had experienced severe abdominal pain and, driven by Will, had rushed to the obstetric emergency room. Ultimately, her test results came back positive and the gynecologist's speech reassuring. Like everyone else, he had asked her to take it easy, but all was well with her fetus.
Nonetheless, concern for her unborn son remained, and she hadn't been able to sleep a wink the night before. In desperation, she left the bed and went into the living room, where she sat down in front of her computer. Guided by a single obsession, she began a search that kept her awake for long hours. In the end, she'd barely slept when she reached Quantico. Troubled by one of her discoveries, she had returned to one of the websites she had visited the day before and completed a questionnaire, taking time to reflect between each answer. The conclusion disconcerted her so much that she didn't notice Prentiss when she entered her office, smiling, mug in hand.
“Is everything all right?” she worried, perplexed.
“Oh,” reacted her coworker, flinching. “Hello, Emily.”
“Why so long face?”
The profiler stepped into the room after closing the door behind her.
“Uh… nothing. I… Nothing serious,” stammered the tenant as her visitor took place in front of her.
“Nothing serious?” repeated Prentiss. “That means that there is still something.”
JJ sighed. Sometimes she forgot who she was working with. However, she wasn't sure she was in her right by broaching the subject that was bothering her with the first person she met. Even if she was a friend and confidant.
“No, I… I probably have made a mistake. It’s… False alarm.”
“What are you talking about?”
All the issue was there. She wasn't talking about anything at the moment and had no real knowledge of what was troubling her, but she knew it wasn't harmless. That it wasn't something trivial that could be taken carelessly. She herself would have liked to ignore it, so as not to prejudice the accused individual; but the fact was, her brain couldn't dismiss the question out of hand.
“JJ, are you okay?”
She rose her eyes to her opposite who was watching her with an anxious face.
“Yes. Yes, it… it’s not about me.”
Emily placed her mug on the desk, between two stacks of files, and stretched her arms out in front of her.
“Okay. It's too confusing, you'll really have to tell me more.”
The liaison officer sensed that this confession would trample on the freedoms of a man dear to her. She couldn't tell how much of it was reciprocal, but she was sure he wouldn't appreciate the conversation. On the other hand, perhaps the dark brown hair agent would be able to help her untangle her thoughts, muddled as they were. Her gaze kept returning to the numbers on the screen, which said too much and too little at the same time. She took a deep breath and said:
“Fine. Promise me you’ll keep it for yourself.”
“JJ, I want to, but I don't even know what it's about.”
She understood her reluctance to give here word, given what the BAU was working on. The team was swimming in a lake of confidential information, some of which could filter outside its walls under certain conditions, and some of which would never come to the surface. And the lives of their fellow citizens depended on many of them.
“… I went to see my obstetrician yesterday. I… I had very painful cramps and was worried about the baby.”
“Is he all right?” inquired Emily at once, her black beads swiveling toward her round belly.
“Yes. Everything was normal on ultrasound and the results of the latest tests arrived this morning. Clean.”
“Everything is fine then?”
For her and the fetus, yes.
“I… I spent the night surfing the Internet to find out what the consequences of these pains might be and...”
“What?”
“Did you know that autism can be diagnosed in adults?”
“What?”
Same interrogation, two very different tones. The brunette’s confusion was understandable. A little contextualization was in order.
“I… I was afraid the baby could be autistic, so I made research on the subject. To prepare myself, you know,” she added, uncomfortable. “And… I discovered that there were online tests. For adults especially.”
“If it was to find out if Reid was autistic, there was no need for a test,” joked her colleague, smiling.
She had clearly relaxed now that she knew neither her neighbor nor the offspring she was carrying were in danger.
“I didn’t do it for Spencer.”
For whom the question didn't really arise, indeed.
“For who, then? You?”
“Hotch.”
Emily tensed immediately. JJ was aware that the two agents had an on-again, off-again relationship. Initially stormy, it had since calmed down and, as far as she had been able to tell recently, it was now at an all-time high. At least, from what she could make out of the giant's behavior, who shut his emotions and feelings behind very high walls. One of the reasons she'd pushed it so far.
“… Oh. And?”
“Well, we've never been confronted with certain suggested situations, so I've sometimes had to answer at random, and some answers are biased by the fact that he's been trained to analyze people's behavior...”
“JJ,” interrupted her guest, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction.
“Okay. I obtained a score of thirty-five on fifty.”
“And above how much are we supposed to be autistic?”
“Twenty.”
A silence fell over the room, during which Prentiss seemed to cogitate intensely, as she had done before.
“Well, that would explain a lot,” nodded the profiler.
“That would explain everything, you mean,” she corrected on the spot. “His hyper-fixation, his inability to realize when he's hungry or thirsty, his difficulty in expressing his emotions, his inability to break rules or the fact that he imposes them on himself... all this falls completely within the autism spectrum.”
“Just like staring at people, disliking physical contact or spitting out excerpts from books he read over twenty years ago,” Emily pursued, enthusiastically. “Like Reid does.”
“Reid that he understands faster than anyone else.”
All the pieces of the puzzle fitted together so easily after these results appeared. She was relieved to hear that her thoughts were shared by someone more knowledgeable than herself in the field. She was also relieved to see that the latest recruit wasn't frightened or repulsed by this hypothesis.
“It’s so obvious. Why are we only noticing it now?” the latter continued, dumbfounded.
“Because we thought he was just… uptight.”
A realization that twisted her insides. And to think that for all these years, she and her colleagues had been making fun of him and his strange habits and inconsistent attitude, when in reality, he had no control over it.
“Morgan won't like it when he finds out he's not doing it on purpose,” Prentiss resumed, with a mocking sneer.
“We won't tell him,” JJ objected, serious. “Nor him nor anyone else in the team. And even less so to the principal concerned.”
Although a lover of gossip, she considered this information to be the last to circulate in the corridors. In fact, it should never leave this office.
“Why?” frowned her coworker. “It could be important for him to know it.”
“I… I’m not sure he’ll take it very well.”
Truth be told, she'd known him long enough to be sure he wouldn't like this news at all.
“Why not?” insisted the brunette. “He hired Spencer, which proves that it's all right with it.”
“Emily, we're talking about someone who runs a unit that specializes in tracking down serial killers,” she reminded her. “If you were in his shoes and you learned that you were in fact incapable of understanding the most basic social codes, or that you didn't even realize you needed to go to the bathroom, would you stay on?”
The profiler remained silent for a few moments, but it didn't take her long to answer:
“… No.”
If only to avoid endangering his subordinates, he'd hand over his badge and gun right away.
“And if Strauss were to find out, she wouldn't even take the time to listen to us before kicking him out.”
There was no doubt in her mind that the fifty-something was doing everything in her power to get him fired. An enmity whose origin she had never understood.
“Okay for Strauss and him, but the others?”
“Spencer already has his own problems to deal with, so let's not burden his mind with a secret he can't keep.”
“Penelope would insist on telling him.”
And would leak the info the second she got tipsy, she prolonged in thought. If she wasn't outright trying to organize a party to celebrate the news and encourage him to accept it – which was exactly everything the agency director hated.
“And Derek wouldn’t even believe us. For him, Hotch is intentionally annoying,” she assured, lucid about the ex-policeman's lack of discernment towards their superior.
“Left Dave.”
The man who had known the unit leader the longest. The one who had gotten him hired at the FBI. A relationship closer to friendship than to a professional bond existed between the two.
“Yes. I hesitate to talk to him about it,” she confided. “Maybe he already suspects something.”
In any case, he never seemed to mind the colossus' wanderings.
“But?” bounced Emily, suspicious.
“It’s just online tests,” she underlined. “It is clearly stated that the results must be confirmed by further examinations, with specialists, etc. Not to mention the fact that traumatic past experiences may be at the root of autistic behavior, without the person actually being autistic.”
She didn't know much about the titan's childhood, but her colleagues suspected a violent past had forged his unexpressive personality.
“Given our work, I think he has a few in reserve,” Prentiss added.
“Besides, I didn't have the answers to all the questions,” she also admitted.
“So, his score may be much lower.”
“Or much higher.”
A new silence passed, during which the two women digested all this information and this potential news that cast a different light on the man who commanded them.
“In your opinion,” she went on, “would that explain why he can't take a hint when someone makes a pass at him?
“Totally.”
___
This is my birthday gift to all the people who have the same hc.
I hope it won't offend anyone, because it was not my intention (as much as I love the idea of him being autistic, I'm pretty sure he will freak out learning it. Not for him, but for the people he cares about).
Happy Autism Awareness Day to all the neurodivergents around! ^_^
Summary: The BAU, now lead by Prentiss, has to investigate on a armed attack in a supermarket. And when it's time to interview the employee, she may have recognized one of them.
Characters: Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner and Penelope Garcia
Contents: it's a case fic without being one, so there's few intel about the case, but not too detailed. It's a little bit angsty, with some fluffiness too.
This is a text written for the CM Undercover challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
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Read on AO3
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Emily was just starting to settle in as the BAU's new director when her team was called to Idaho for an armed robbery in a supermarket. This was the suspect's third strike and, as on previous time, he had left a corpse behind. The police were keyed up and needed help to catch him before he claimed a fourth victim. The federal agents had just arrived at the crime scene, which had been closed for the occasion, and were now faced with frightened and obviously sleep-deprived people. Few of them had managed to sleep the night before.
“Are all your employees here?” she asked the manager.
“No. Three of them are on vacation,” replied the man in his fifties, curiously more annoyed than shocked.
Clearly, he must have thought that every second spent without a customer represented a dollar less in his cash register.
“We’re going to need their name and file.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “There is Marylin Smith, Joshua Timmons and Herbert Trudeau. I'll tell HR to send you their file.”
“Thank you.”
The profilers questioned the staff, gathering as much information as they could about the man who had robbed them for no apparent reason the day before. In fact, he had not demanded any money, had shown no particular displeasure and even seemed to have chosen his target at random, a few minutes before the police arrived on the scene. Like the two attacks before, he'd taken off into the wild in record time, which made the team think he was a local and probably had a military background.
Their task completed, they returned to the police station where the files of the missing people were waiting for them, faxed by Garcia. Prentiss immediately retrieved them and opened them one by one. Her heart suddenly leapt against her ribs when she saw the photo of the last one: Joshua Timmons. All her blood left her extremities in a blink. It was him, without any doubt. The hair was longer, the face hollowed out, and beard hairs prickled his chin, but it was him. It was his eyes. She would have recognized them anywhere.
“Uh… I'm going to question this one,” she said, closing the jacket she kept mechanically against her chest. “Dave, Spencer, go to this one and JJ and Tara, go see Mrs. Smith. Luke, Matt, go see the coroner to get the most info on the circumstances of death.”
Everyone nodded, thankfully without question. She asked herself a big one for a few moments before making her decision. Protocol dictated that she should stay away from him, to avoid endangering him; but he had been clearly cited in front of all her subordinates, so his interrogation had to be on the record. She could bluff and invent an interview that hadn't taken place, but that would mean taking the risk of her ploy being discovered and the suspect walking free from his trial.
A shy smile played on her lips at the thought. A memory had arisen; a recurring worry he'd had in the past with each of their investigations: procedural irregularities. His past as a prosecutor regularly resurfaced, and the fear that they'd worked for nothing and that the crooks would go home free of suspicion always hovered around him. And now it was her turn to do the same. It must have been the job coming in.
Her throat then constricted, anguish surging through her veins. What was she supposed to do? Lewis was a dangerous opponent, perhaps even more so than Foyet. He had more means and was in better health than the latter. His chances of tracking her and her team were far from nil. Giving in to her deep desire to see him again, even for a brief moment, could lead to a catastrophe she didn't want to instigate. And, at the same time, she was dying to approach him, to catch a glimpse of him and, eventually, to touch him.
The transfer of power had not gone as well as she had hoped. Although she'd never imagined she'd one day take his place – the job seemed to have been designed just for him – logic would have dictated that he should have been there to pass on all his knowledge to her. But that hadn't been the case, and even though he'd had the presence of mind to leave notes everywhere – sticky notes, an e-mail addressed solely to her and even a letter he'd had to slip into her box himself – she hadn't had the opportunity to ask him all the questions that were still swirling around under her skull. She also wanted to tell him how important he had been to her. How much he meant to her.
Realizing that this might be her only chance to get that message across to him – which he surely needed now that he was isolated from the people he cared about – she made her decision and grabbed the keys to her SUV. She drove to the address indicated in the file and parked about thirty minutes later in a residential area where all the buildings looked alike. These were single-storey buildings with access via an external staircase. Basic housing for people on moderate to low incomes. It was a far cry from his bespoke suits and Gucci ties. The thought that he'd had to give up his Rolex, like everything else, crossed her mind.
She climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Her heart was running wild into her chest. How would he react when he saw her on his doorstep? How was he going to react when she told him that, no, he still couldn't go back to his old life? That it was by chance that their paths had crossed that day. He would be disappointed, undeniably. Not for him – never for him –, but for his son. As she knew him, he must have blamed himself every day for dragging him into this mess yet again. To have torn him away from his quiet life once again; to have deprived him of his loved ones, his friends, his comforts, and to have put him in danger once again. Having to tell him it wasn't over was crushing her insides.
But the door didn’t open. The landlord, who lived on the first floor and had heard her, told her that Joshua must be at the synagogue at this hour. Emily frowned subtly and held back a comment. She knew he wasn't a believer, and given everything he'd been through, she doubted he'd suddenly found faith. She assumed that he had acquired this habit to give the impression of his new identity. She drove to the site, taking a series of twists and turns through the alleyways to make sure no one was tailing her, and then parked not far from the temple.
She entered as discreetly as possible and scanned her surroundings with all her expertise as a former spy. The place was practically deserted. A couple stood to her left, talking in low voices, bent over a sheet of paper marked with Hebrew signs. Farther to her right, a man sat motionless on one of the benches. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Not because of him, but because she felt the weight of a look on her spince. She didn't turn around; she'd understood what it was about.
Inhaling deeply, she stepped into the aisle, suddenly regretting having worn those boots. Her heels were making a hell of a racket in this acoustically enhanced venue. But none of the individuals present reacted to this intrusion. She quickly decided not to go any further and settled behind him. In other circumstances, she would have sat next to him, perhaps taken his hand in hers to give him that human touch he must have missed so much and given him her most reassuring smile. However, she had no choice but to face the back of his head.
“Hello, Mr. Timmons,” she murmured trying to control her emotions at best.
“Hello, Agent Prentiss,” he answered calmly.
She could have sworn he was smiling. If it was the case, it was a good thing. It proved that he was happy to see her again, and that he hadn't totally given up hope that all this would ever end.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“I didn’t see anything that could help you. I was in the warehouse when it happened,” he clarified with his customary seriousness.
Hearing his voice again, at once soft and cavernous, was strange. She realized how much his absence weighed on her. Her eyes began to burn, and she had to summon all her strength not to cry.
“But you know all the same,” she remarked, focusing her attention back on the investigation.
“I heart some noise. And my coworkers talked about it.”
“I see.”
“Sorry to not being able to help you more.”
He thought it earnestly. She knew him well enough to be certain of that. The giant had always been an altruistic person, perpetually putting the well-being and desires of others before his own. Not being able to do anything to support his former subordinates must have added weight to the burden on his shoulders.
“… How are you?” she dared after a long silence.
“It depends on the day,” he affirmed, honest.
In the past, he would have said he was fine so as not to worry her, but he knew that would have been a lost cause in such a context. So, he played the sincerity card.
“How is your kid?”
“He’s growing up.”
Emily smiled. Jack was about to be thirteen in a few months. The last time she saw him, he was six. The man he was to become must already have appeared, his childlike features gradually disappearing. She wondered how much he looked like his father now. At the time, his genetic link with Haley was more than obvious: light hair, identical smile, same sunny joie de vivre. But now that testosterone was to pulse through his veins and metamorphose his appearance, his parentage with his father was finally to be revealed. She hoped so.
“How are you doing?”
She hesitated for a moment, surprised by this turn of events, then remembered who she was talking to. In the end, it wasn't all that surprising.
“It depends of the day,” she admitted when her mouth stretched.
“How are your kids?”
She smiles frankly.
“They’re more undisciplined than ever. Dave more than the others.”
“If you want some good advice, deprive him of dessert once in a while. He’ll fall right into line.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
This moment of lightness was followed by a peaceful silence. They were comfortable there, the two of them in their own bubble. She wished the moment could go on forever. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, just for the pleasure of hearing the sound of his voice. She wanted to confide in him everything that was on her mind. However, she sensed movement behind her and growing tension. His guardian angels were getting impatient.
“I’m going to leave you, Mr. Timmons. Have a good day.”
“Thank you. Good luck with your investigation,” he continued, turning his head slightly towards her.
“Thank you. I think I’ll need some.”
“You'll do just fine.”
“You think so?” she frowned, suddenly very interested by what he was thinking.
“Yes.”
“… Thank you.”
Emotion had seized her. If she'd listened to her inner voice, she would have wrapped her arms around him to let him hear how much those words touched her. Instead, she stood up, hesitated for a brief moment, then put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched and tensed before relaxing almost immediately. She then withdrew it and walked away more confidently. Behind her back, the man watched her leave, a fragile smile on his lips.
Prentiss returned to the police station right afterwards to debrief her subordinates. The team began debating the first lines of their profile, then adjourned as night fell over the city. She was about to hang up so that Penelope could get on with her research when she called out to her:
“Emily, can I talk with you? Alone.”
“Uh… yes, wait.”
All eyes were on her, concerned and intrigued, but she ignored them to retrieve her phone, leave the meeting room and move to an empty office nearby. She worried about what the former hacker had to say. She hoped nothing had happened to her last witness in the meantime.
“I’m listening.”
“How is Mr. Timmons doing?”
“Wh…?”
“I’ve seen his photo,” she explained on the spot.
And like her, the luscious blonde had made the connection on the spot with her former boss. The two agents had been very close despite their obvious differences. The youngest had found in the man who had hired her a long-lost father figure, and the branch manager had never ceased to defend the free spirit she was against all the head office snipers. United by the same empathy and singular passion for the stage, the two had formed a quirky but close-knit duo. The disappearance of this load-bearing wall had been difficult for the young woman.
“… He told me that he had known better days.”
“And Timmons Jr.?”
“He said he was growing up.”
Garcia's smile lit up her pale face and her brightly-colored glasses went up a little. Her superior continued, delighted to be able to share this secret with someone. Someone she could trust, of course.
“He also asked news from the team.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were undisciplined. It made him laugh.”
She'd seen his shoulders twitch when she'd mentioned their lack of behavior.
“I wish I could have been there. To give him a huge hug.”
“You'd probably be fried by the witness protection guys.”
“Did you see them?”
“I felt them. I'm sure they didn't miss a second of our exchange.”
“They didn’t say anything?”
They hadn't even approached her. If she hadn't had this experience of life under surveillance, she surely wouldn't have detected them.
“They must have recognized me. And I made sure I was as unfamiliar with him as possible. A… actually, I haven’t even seen his face. We… we kept our distance.”
Frustration and anguish were now competing for space in her chest. She'd followed her instincts up to a point, until she realized that more would have been dangerous, and now she realized she might have gone too far.
“Do you think they’ll make him move again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
She crossed her fingers that this would not be the case. That the father-son duo enjoy a lull in their run.
“Can’t wait to catch this creep.”
“Tell me about it.”
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Long time no see. ^^;
Sorry about that. My brain is entirely focused on IRL stuff and my Hotchniss silliness, so it's a little bit complicated to went on with that story. BUT I've planned to write at least three more chapters during the next months. Then, it'll depend of the challenges subject.
Summary: Jack is now old enough to go at school and his father has trouble to deal with this very special day.
Characters: Mostly Jack and Hotch (but some BAU members appear)
Contents: TW well, as Hotch is the king of anxiety, the text is quite angsty (mention of grief and of what Foyet did to him), but I tried to make it a little bit fluffy too.
This is a text written for the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
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Hotch stopped in front of JJ's desk, absorbed in her mission report, and saw her flinch when she realized he was standing right next to her. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“JJ. Tomorrow I'm going to be very late, he announced, looking a little embarrassed. Check with Morgan which file we need to work on and give me a summary of the briefing when I arrive.”
“Okay, she nodded, eyebrows furrowed. Is there a problem?”
“First day at school.”
“Ouch! She winced immediately. I’m weeping in anticipation. Good luck.”
“Thank you, he answered with a shy smile. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”
Yes, the fateful date had arrived: Jack was now old enough to start school. An event that represented both a form of relief – for Jessica and Ada, who would no longer need to put their respective lives on hold to raise a child that wasn't even theirs – and a source of terrible anguish for the agency director.
He still couldn't believe how much his son had grown since the day he regained custody. He still had the impression of holding his tiny body in the palm of his hands, watching him stagger around the living room in search of his balance, and witnessing his chaotic attempts to learn to eat on his own. And tomorrow, he would go to school.
Tomorrow, he'd leave the nest to mingle with other kids his age, with whom he'd discover the world in all its aspects. Tomorrow, he'd be meeting human beings who wouldn't necessarily be at his feet, let alone in his pocket, with whom he'd have to negotiate, argue, discuss, and exchange to make himself heard or win his case. Tomorrow, he'd realize that life in society required bending even more rules than he'd ever known before, that obeying them wouldn't be easy, and that disobeying them would be even more damaging. Tomorrow, the cocoon in which he'd been enclosed until then would be torn apart, and his father wouldn't be there to fly to his rescue.
Aaron was unable to suppress the panic that had gripped him for two weeks now. He'd done all he could to soften it up, planning this day down to the last detail, but nothing had helped. Jack's schoolbag was ready, as were his clothes; the breakfast table was set, the car refueled, the itinerary marked, and the documents requested by the school completed. But his heart continued to drum far too hard against his ribs as he sought sleep. What he was afraid of? To be lost? It was a stone’s throw from the apartment. To be late? Even if an unexpected traffic jam came up, they could always get there on foot if need be. For not giving his offspring the keys to get by? It was a possibility, but his aunt and grandmother had had to make up for his shortcomings. That Jack has had a bad experience and never wants to go back?
A silence passed in his head as the vise tightened around his lungs. This plunge into the deep end of the pool was no small step in a toddler's life. It was almost the equivalent of a parachute jump for an adult: even with the best possible precautions, there was always a chance – tiny sometimes – that things could go wrong. He tried in vain to remember what he had experienced and felt that day, but his brain ignored his request, content to amplify the feeling of malaise that had assailed him for the past fortnight. And even if he could remember his own back-to-school experience, his descendant wasn't him. Far from it. The difficulties he had potentially encountered would not be those he would encounter. And conversely, the facilities he'd had would, logically, not be those he'd have. And he had no way of preparing him to overcome these obstacles. He had no choice but to push him into the arena and pray for the best.
An action he lived as a betrayal of the flesh of his flesh – for all he knew – and one he'd never forgive himself for if the day took a turn for the worse. He felt guilty even before anything had happened and seeing it didn't make him feel any better. Especially as another feeling wandered in his gut. He was sad. He'd imagined that moment so differently that he couldn't erase the projection he'd mentalized years earlier to update it with their current situation. At the time, he had thought that someone would be at his side to endure this heartbreak with him. That he'd have a hand to hold to help suppress his anxiety. That he would have a smile to cross to lighten the weight on his shoulders. That he would have an ear to confide his worries and questions to. But there was no one.
Tomorrow, he'd be on his own to deal with whatever came his way, and it was totally out of the question for Jack to see the stress that was devouring him by the hour. He had to put on a good show, through and through, as long as he was still in his son's field of vision. Smiling and being reassuring were the guidelines he should absolutely follow. And if he felt like screaming or running away with him in his arms, he'd have to contain himself and triple lock his emotions. Like he was doing at Quantico. Not for nothing was he nicknamed "The Iceberg" by the other unit heads. So why did it now seem so impossible?
“Put your shoes on, Jack, while I finish packing your bag,” he ordered as the kid finished pulling on his hooded sweatshirt.
The profiler hadn't slept all night, and the look on his face had given him the shivers in the mirror, but he had gone through his usual routine before waking the little boy. He, seemed to have had an excellent night's sleep and was up and about, swallowing his meal as if it were just another day. He then went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and quickly ran a comb through his fine hair, before returning to his room. He had ignored his father's suggestion of an outfit and chosen a more... Jurassic one, then gone back outside to give his sire a whole bunch of odds and ends he insisted he expressly needed. He then left to finish dressing, leaving Aaron with a light-up yo-yo, three marbles, a Playmobil, a Spiderman pencil, and an Elastic Man figurine. The giant sighed and reached for the boy's schoolbag to slip in all those treasures that would give him peace of mind if need be.
“Okay,” said Jack, taking a seat by the shoe rack.
“Both the same, please.”
“…Yes, Dad,” he grumbled, annoyed at not being able to carry out his Machiavellian plan.
Since he'd learned to put his sneakers on by himself, he'd taken great pleasure in combining the elements of the four pairs he had in any way he could. Hotch wasn't sure how long he'd been doing it, since he'd suddenly realized it in the park when his shoelaces were untied, and he had a waffle in his hands. His progenitor's expression of surprise had made the youngster laugh out loud, and obviously the frown that always escaped his control when Aaron discovered he'd repeated his forfeit delighted him just as much. By now, the director was getting used to it, but he didn't want to be given a bad label on the first meeting. He had been officially declared negligent to his wife, if he could avoid being so to his son, it would take a thorn out of his side.
“Are you all set?” he asked his son as he zipped up his coat.
“Yes,” he declared with pride.
“Ready for the big day?”
“Yes,” he repeated, with the same determination.
The titan knelt down to be level with the boy's face and took one of his hands.
“Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine. You'll make lots of new friends and learn lots of new stuff.”
“I know. You told me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before before…”
“Okay, he interrupted before he could go any further. Well, maybe we’ll go then. It'll save me having to tell you again.”
Jack's smile stretched from ear to ear, mocking. Father and son were currently living on two different planets, the first as anxious as the second was serene. The profiler could have rejoiced that the kid had obviously taken everything from his mother – both in physical appearance and in mind – but mostly he felt particularly foolish. He swallowed to try and get the knot out of his throat, without success. The duo left the scene, found the car, and climbed in. Hotch started up shortly afterwards and took to the road. Sitting in his booster seat, Jack observed the building facades, nodding his head in harmony with the music playing on the car radio.
“Try not to lose your things, please,” said his father when he stopped at the first red light.
“Why would I lose them?” questioned a puzzled Jack.
“Because when I was your age, I was always losing things. Every day, I came home from school with something missing, he revealed, as he suddenly reminded this detail. It drove you grand-mother crazy. So, if you take after me a little, it's likely to happen to you.”
He also remembered that he had absolutely no explanation to give his mother every time. He'd put them in a corner and when he came back to them, everything was gone. Of course, he didn't realize the financial impact his air headedness was having, and only thought that a new pair of gloves or a new beanie would fall right into his lap the following week. But now that he was on the other side of the fence, he understood better the dark looks Ada had once given him. His brain also reminded him of the consequences for herself, but Jack's voice short-circuited this plunge into the abyss of his memory.
“So, it’s no big deal.”
“What?” he croaked, surprised by the kid's reflection.
“You're saying I'm going to lose my stuff like you did. So that means it’s normal. So it’s no big deal.”
Aaron squinted, analyzing his son's reasoning. His train of thought was a bit far-fetched, but made sense, nonetheless. However, this wasn't going his way, so he resumed:
“…Yes, except I wish you wouldn't do what I did. Because I won’t be able to buy it all back. Okay?”
The little boy wore a worried expression that struck him right in the heart. He had never intended to stress him out and regretted imposing this rule on him from the outset when the day was already going to be rich enough in new information.
“Okay. It won't be a big deal, but just try to be careful, he recommended, diplomatically. Understand?”
Jack nodded, looking concerned.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Dad,” he replied cheerlessly.
The sadness on his face aroused his father's natural guilt, and he mentally reproached himself for this dispensable outburst of severity. He had to defuse the situation so that his offspring didn't arrive at school looking so down. The boy possessed an innate joie de vivre that regularly lifted his sire's spirits, and he was keen that his future classmates should see this aspect of his personality first and foremost. So, at the next traffic light, Hotch reached behind him to tickle the toddler's belly, who immediately began to squirm to dodge the attack. His mouth twisted, stretching into an amused smile before a burst of laughter crossed his lips. His assailant rapidly regained his good humor and started up again. A few minutes later, he parked in the school parking lot.
“Here we are.”
The federal agent got out of the car, walked around the vehicle and unfastened the seatbelt. He helped Jack onto dry land, and the latter immediately slipped his hand into the adult’s while he retrieved his bag. Then the pair joined the flow of other parent-child pairs making their way towards the headmistress. She greeted them with a broad smile when it was their turn.
“Good morning, gentlemen, she trumpeted cheerfully. Olivia Simmons, I’m the school director.”
“Hello. Aaron Hotchner and this is my son,” he answered shaking her hand.
“And what's this big boy's name?” she asked, leaning towards him.
“Jack, ma’am,” he confided, suddenly shy.
He tried to hide behind his father's legs, all of sudden much less at ease in this unfamiliar environment.
“You can call me Olivia, she said reassuringly. Welcome. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. Okay?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he did, clinging to Aaron's fingers.
“Come on. You can join your comrades over there.”
She pointed to a group of schoolchildren, all displaying the same nervousness. Those who had been there all along were just beginning to relax enough to meet the newcomers. Jack looked up at his ascendant, his eyes shining. He was scared. Hotch crouched instantly in front of him, while the headmistress moved away to address other parents. He could feel the trembling of the kid, who had snuggled into his arms as soon as possible and clung to his jacket like a lifeline. An irrepressible urge to take him away from all this arose in him that he had to fight fiercely. The moment was heartbreaking for both of them, but it was a necessary step in their life together. Soon – he was praying for it – that day would be a distant memory, leaving only a faint trace in the boy's mind.
“Are you picking me up tonight?” he questioned him, his little knuckles closed around his tie.
“I don’t know yet, Jack. Maybe it'll be Jessica,” he asserted, quickly realizing that he'd been so focused on the start of the new school year that he'd forgotten to think about when classes would end.
“I'd rather it be you, Jack confessed, turning his eyes on him. Then I could tell you everything I did today.”
He could hear the boy's plea, but all his professional responsibilities came to the fore and there was clearly no room for a mid-afternoon return to the area. Even less so if a file requiring travel was to fall on his team.
“I'll call you if I have to leave, he declared before emphasizing, Jessica will take very good care of you.”
“But it's not the same,” moaned the youngster, on the verge of tears.
Aaron felt his throat tighten, his insides liquefy, and his muscles tense in unison. This reaction was exactly what he'd been dreading, and dismay overwhelmed him. His thoughts raced through his head. They bumped, piled up, and disintegrated until they formed an unintelligible mass of words and sensations that didn't help him at all to get out of this trap. But the boy's tremors called for a response from him, and only one possibility was open to him.
“…I'll try to be there,” he said in the end.
Jack’s smile reappeared on the spot.
“But I can’t promise anything. Okay?”
“…Okay,” he replied, without quite losing his new-found good humor.
“I love you, buddy,” he confided, placing a kiss on his temple.
His offspring embraced him and said:
“I love you, Dad.”
Then Hotch kissed him on the forehead and encouraged the boy to take the first step. Reassured, he headed for the group of children, one of whom immediately approached him. The agency head was too far away to hear what was being said, but the tone seemed friendly. He got to his feet and sighed heavily to ease the tension in his muscles. Having completed the first stage, he now had to tackle the second. In two steps, he reached the director.
“Mrs. Simmons.”
“Mr. Hotchner,” she reacted, smiling.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“If it’s about allergies, we have a form to fill out for that,” she anticipated, pointing to the table set up nearby, on which several documents had been made available to parents.
“No. No, everything is fine from this side.”
“Perfect. What’s the issue then?”
He felt the cold take possession of his body and a knot formed in his windpipe. What he had to reveal was already painful in thought, it would be even more so when he had to say it out loud. Months and months had passed since the events, but he still had the feeling that it had just happened or, sometimes, that it had just been a bad dream from which he was finally waking up. The euphoria that followed disappeared as soon as he stepped into the living room and saw the portrait on the dresser, the only two plates on the dining table or the toys scattered on the carpet.
“… His mother died, he announced, his voice breaking, before adding: a year ago.”
“Oh. I'm sorry for your loss,” bounced the forty-year-old, genuinely moved.
“Thank you.”
Then he saw her frowning, puzzled.
“Excuse-me but… do I know you?”
A shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed his saliva, uneasy.
“… I hope not. Why?”
“Your face looks familiar, she admitted, before pulling herself together. Well, never mind. Go on.”
“Normally, he has understood that she won’t coming back, but it's possible that his mind is sometimes elsewhere. He may also resent being reminded by his peers that he has only one parent left.”
Even though he had coped much better with the disappearance of the woman who had given him life than he had, he occasionally caught him standing motionless in the middle of his toys, mute and with a low expression on his face, obviously prey to some questioning. It was a fleeting state that faded as soon as Jessica, he or another family member entered his field of vision, but Aaron always paid close attention. In the same way, he had noticed his envious look at the park as he watched the other children interact with their mother. He appreciated his father's presence, but missed Haley's gentleness and positivity.
“Yes, I understand, nodded the headmistress, adopting a soothing expression. Look, Mr. Hotchner, Jack isn't the first child we've taken in who's already lost his mother, so we should be able to manage.”
“Okay. If… if there's any problem, I've written my cell phone number on his card, he insisted, handing her the document. You can call me anytime.”
“It’ll be fine, I assure you.”
He was sure she was convinced by her words – and she probably had all the skills to handle this type of case – but couldn't stop his anxiety galloping through his veins. He was already ready to jump out of his chair, get back in his car, and drive to school to put his son's mind at rest. This reminded him that he hadn’t told her everything.
“One more thing. It is… – he hesitated, conscious of the image this would give of him – probable that I won't be able to pick him up tonight. Only two people are allowed to pick him up. Here is, Jessica, his aunt, and Ada, his grandmother.”
He presented her with snapshots of the two women and she retrieved them, squinting.
“Wait, aren't you the FBI agent who was stabbed to death in his home a little over... – her enthusiasm waned as her memory delivered the rest of the information – a year ago? Oh, my God! Is it… Whoever did this to you is...?”
Hotch cursed Strauss for allowing this reporter to publish this article in the Arlington daily, complete with his photo portrait and far too many details about his assault. Several neighbors had been worried for their lives, and he had had to do some explaining to get them to dare leave their homes again. Fear had reigned over the neighborhood for several weeks, before being gradually dispelled by other news. But some people hadn't completely forgotten, and his interlocutor was now shocked by his mere presence. Completely unsettled, she stared at him as if he were on his deathbed. He had to cut short this situation, which was as embarrassing for him as it was for her.
“If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure! Of course. Excuse me, she went on, distraught. I get that… Photos. Thank you. We… we’ll take good care of Jack.”
She no longer dared to look at him.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. Very good. Good… Have a good day.”
“I hope so.”
He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but her state of shock prevented her from seeing it. He climbed back into his car and drove towards Quantico. He reached the sixth floor just as JJ was settling down in front of her screen. She looked up at him and asked, curious:
“So?”
“He's surprisingly quick to forget my existence,” he observed, as the boy had ignored the last greeting he'd tried to give him.
Absorbed in a conversation with two other boys, he had obliterated his father's tall silhouette from his surroundings.
“Oops! Grinned JJ, feeling sorry for him. Are you okay?”
“It'll be tough, but I'll get through it, he joked without much conviction. What do we have?”
His heart was still pounding under his skull and his muscles were still tense from the tension built up over the last few days. He needed to take his mind off the latent anguish compressing his ribcage.
“Three men found in a river in a small Wyoming town.”
“Locals?”
“No. They were all just passing through, JJ pointed out, handing him the folder. The sheriff is under pressure; tourism is what sustains the locals.”
Reflexively, he opened the cover, but his eyes fell on the scene of the tragedy. His son's words echoed in his head.
“A problem?” inquired JJ, aware of his trouble.
“Jack would like me to pick him up from school tonight.”
“I see. What’s the plan?”
“I'm still thinking about it, he confessed, unable to make a definite decision at this hour. Let’s go.”
Within minutes, the whole team was gathered around the briefing room table, and JJ gave them a brief description of the case and the latest advances in Garcia’s research. The profilers did a series of hypotheses and deductions, concluding that an on-site presence was essential.
“Off we go,” Morgan said, determined.
Everyone left their chairs and collected the papers spread out in front of them, except Aaron, who did not move from his seat. To the surprise of his flock.
“Hotch?” Derek raised an eyebrow, concerned.
His brain was still weighing up the pros and cons of whether or not to accompany his men into the field. While his neighbors were quoting on the proposed case, he had drawn up a comparative table in his head in order to make his decision. So he hadn't listened too much of what had been said, but finally knew what he was going to do.
“Go without me. I have an imponderable here that requires my presence. But I'll be available most of the day and tonight if necessary.”
“Most of?” repeated Prentiss, baffled.
“Not between 3 and 7 PM,” he clarified, rising to his feet.
With the exception of JJ, all the agents looked at each other, equally confused. It wasn't the first time he hadn't followed them in their investigations – his layoff, his most serious injuries and the loss of his ex-wife had kept him at home – but the specificity of this time slot was surprising. They waited for further information, which their superior did not give them, considering it none of their business. He and the liaison officer exchanged glances and agreed that he wouldn't take it badly if she revealed why he'd had to forfeit this time.
“… Okay. See… see you later,” Morgan stammered before leaving the room.
“Good luck.”
Soon he found himself alone with Penelope, who questioned him in silence, unsettled by this sudden change in protocol. He reassured her with a smile and urged her to return to her post to support her colleagues already on the way. He returned to his office and stayed there for most of the day, answering calls from subordinates and others seeking the BAU’s help, relieving the workload of the team's only mother so that she could devote herself fully to the case. One thing led to another, and his employees untangled all the knots in the story, uncovering the culprit's identity in record time. Hotch had already left his office and was driving towards downtown DC when he received a message from Derek that the suspect was under arrest. At the first red light, he sent a congratulatory message to each member of his team, and then continued on to the school, a little more appeased.
When he pulled into the nearby parking lot, the gates were still closed and only two or three parents were present. He got out of his vehicle but didn't approach them any further, not daring to disturb them or impose unwanted greetings. Anyway, his mind was entirely focused on the imminent arrival of his son. He kept his fingers crossed that everything had gone well and that all he wanted to do was go back. He hoped his master or mistress would be friendly, that he would have learned lots of things that piqued his interest, and that he would even have made some friends. In short, he prayed that he wouldn't be so angry at him for throwing him into the lion's den, with the intention of repeating the gesture.
The bell went off somewhere within the walls of the building, and less than a minute later, two people came to open the doors to the street. Many more mothers and fathers had appeared since then, and they had all stiffened at the sound of the chirping. In the end, they were all moved by the same concern, which somewhat reassured Aaron, who had often been criticized for overreacting to innocuous subjects. A handful of children emerged from the corridor and rushed towards their targets at full speed. A second wave soon followed, and more pairs and trios were formed. The director felt his heart quicken as his neurons began to imagine all sorts of contingencies that could explain this absence. At the third salvo, a familiar face stood out from the crowd and was immediately spotted. Jack galloped toward him with a smile running from ear to ear, and he threw himself into his arms with a blissful expression that annihilated all apprehensions of this very special day.
___
In the original draft, there's a dialogue between the BAU team members after they left Quantico. JJ told them the truth and as Emily was asking out loud why he didn't say it to them, Derek explained that he just couldn't (because: "Boys...", you know. XD).
I cut it because it's written with Hotch's point of view, so he can't hear them. And I wanted a cuddle between the two Hotchner's boys. X3
Summary: Post-S08E12. Maeve has been killed and Spencer is at his lowest. Hotch wants to cheer up the youngest member of his team, but the task is not easy, even more when his superior search for explanation
Characters: David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, JJ, Alex Blake + Erin Strauss
Contents: this text is part of no challenge. I just wanted to write something about how Hotch deals with Reid's pain.
TW: mention of what's happened during Zugzwang episode, and pain, grief, etc.
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
“Did you call me?” inquired Dave, on the threshold of the next office.
Aaron looked up from his screen immediately.
“Yes. Did you know that starfishes have eyes at the end of their arms?”
“What?” gasped the BAU co-founder, completely baffled by this strange question.
“Did you know or not?” insisted his cadet, nervously.
“Yes. I’ve already been to the aquarium.”
“Darn! It means he knows it too.”
Disappointed, the giant turned his attention back to his computer and wondered what new query he could put into his search engine. For his part, his opposite squinted, puzzled. When he had seen his supervisor's e-mail, he had expected to answer a few interrogations about a past or current investigation, not to be tested on his knowledge of marine biology.
“… What are you up to?” he asked logically.
“I’m trying to find a fact that Reid doesn’t know.”
“Good luck. Why?”
Hotch sighed and pushed away his keyboard. Empty-headed, he had no idea how to continue the quest he had been on for several days. But maybe his mentor could give him some inspiration.
“Because… After Haley's death, Spencer would regularly send me messages about all kinds of incredible things that, of course, I didn’t know, he confessed, dodging his interlocutor's gaze. He did it not to show off, but to divert my attention.”
“And you'd like to return the favor by diverting his.”
“Beth thinks it might be a good idea.”
“And I agree with her.”
It had now been just over a week since the tragedy, and Aaron's youngest subordinate was bearing the full brunt of the consequences. Holed up at home, he didn't answer calls or messages sent to him, just as he ignored people knocking on his door. Guided by his instinct, the agency manager knew he was still alive, but imagined him curled up in an armchair, staring into space, or dragging his feet limply from one room to another, tears rolling down his unshaven cheeks. He himself didn't expect any response from him to this potential anecdote, content with the simple fact that it may have eased the young man's pain for a time.
“The thing is that I can't find anything that lives up to the fact that the northern lights are the sun's spittoons.”
“What?”
“That's it in a nutshell, but that's about it. He had written this message with a link to a very interesting video on the origin of the northern lights. We watched it together, Jack and I.”
He still remembered the moment of confusion that had seized him when he had read the SMS with this premise. Then, his curiosity piqued despite the vice that was crushing his insides at the time, he clicked on the link. And for a little less than a quarter of an hour, he had forgotten the pain that haunted him from morning to night, fascinated by this impromptu talk. He then showed it to his son, who couldn't miss a bit of it, his eyes wide at the discovery. Thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds seemed like a drop in the ocean compared to a lifetime; but in this context, it had represented a point of light in the darkness that was devouring him. A star in the night that had relieved him. And there had been plenty more after that one, which, he was sure, had kept him from getting lost in the dark. If only he could do the same for Reid…
“And how many years do you think it will take you to find it?” ironized his guest, who would certainly never have embarked on such an ambitious project.
“I can’t say. For now, I’m searching and asking people if they know.”
“And?”
“And then, not only do I not find it, but I look like an idiot.”
The novelist burst into laughter. Aaron frowned.
“It’s not funny, Dave, he scolded, annoyed. This kid is at the bottom of the abyss, and I've got nothing to help him get back up.”
Rossi raised his hands to temper his anger and, still smiling, came to sit on the chair opposite him.
“Have you thought about what he doesn't know?”
“He knows everything.”
That’s where the issue was. The young agent had several doctorates in his pocket, plus everything he'd read since he'd learned to do it. For a thirty-year-old with a passion for reading and for discovering new things, this meant that he had a wealth of wisdom that was hard to fault.
“Everyone has an Achilles heel, even him.”
“I only know one, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not the right time to talk about it.”
Formidably intelligent but completely inept in terms of social relations, Reid's love life could be compared to a very long desert crossing. In fact, his knowledge of hanks was limited to theoretical principles and all the possible deviations he had picked up in his criminology lessons. The boy was a blank page in this field who had come very close to be covered by his first story.
“… What about cooking? Bounced Dave. He doesn’t strike me as a cookery specialist.”
“True. But he’ll know that it’ll come from you. I’m not a cook myself.”
Far from it. Besides, the longer he stayed away from stoves and knives, the better it was for those around him. Unlike Rossi, who was a born chef and whose dishes delighted the agents' taste buds.
“Does it really matter where the tips comes from? After all, you don't seem to be a starfish specialist either.”
The BAU’s eldest scored a point. Spencer had surely told him things he'd learned on his own during his young life, instead of, like him, seeking information on subjects that were ultimately of little interest to him. Which didn’t do his business any favors.
“… I’ll ask the others, he announced after a sigh. They must know more than I do about what he's not good at.”
Although often on the road with his team, his subordinates were nevertheless closer to each other than he was to them. And they had all more or less taken the youngest of the gang under their wing, helping him gradually to emerge from his cocoon. Leaving his chair, Aaron made his way to the bull-pen area where Morgan, JJ and Blake were chatting over a cup of coffee. They stiffened as he lunged in their direction, but relaxed when he explained what he expected of them. The trio immediately began to think.
“Surprisingly, he's lacking in popular cinema, declared the ex-liaison officer. Or in literature for teenagers.”
“Why?” her superior raised an eyebrow, not seeing what she was referring to.
“He doesn’t know who Edward Cullen is.”
It took Hotch a few seconds to put his finger on the vaguely familiar name. The image of a sallow, unkempt teenager popped into his mind, along with all the criticisms he'd heard about the cinematic work that concerned him.
“I'd like to say it's not a big loss, he commented, raising his eyebrows, but it's mostly that he's not going to be interested in it at all. The idea is to bait him into doing further research and get him thinking about something else.”
“Sure, it's not a good idea to burden his mind with a vampire who looks like a disco ball,” agreed Derek, half-seriously.
Putting aside all thoughts of novels for young readers and their big-screen adaptations, the group fell into silence. It had to be said that the task was an arduous one, but everyone was motivated to help their colleague out of his slump.
“There's also video games, which I'm obviously better at than he is,” Dave remarked with a certain pride.
Despite his attraction to popular culture, particularly in terms of films and TV shows, Reid stayed far away from anything that resembled modern technology: computers, cell phones and games consoles. In contrast, the eldest of the BAU enjoyed his free time with controller in hand, challenging anyone who wanted to try his luck. Jack, the unit's oldest child, had already had the opportunity to confront him on several occasions, with varying degrees of success.
“I don't want to underline his ignorance either. We have to cheer him up, not shoot him in his back.”
“But we could encourage him to join an online game, with Emily for example,” suggested JJ, who had kept in touch with the current head of Interpol's London agency via Internet Scrabble games during her French run from Doyle.
“Hotchner!” suddenly exclaimed a voice from behind.
He didn't even flinch, but he didn't turn around either. Instead, he remained in position and continued:
“She’ll ask him questions and he’ll be embarrassed to answer them. She should be briefed beforehand.”
“Agent Hotchner! Are you deaf?”
Furious, Erin, who had just emerged from the elevator, circled around his imposing frame to plant herself right under his nose, forcing him to stop ignoring her.
“Chief Strauss, I didn't hear you come in,” said Aaron, in an even tone.
“Don’t push your luck, she scolded, wrinkling her eyelids. In my office.
“With all my due respect, I’ve got work to do.”
“Me too, she snapped, snarling. In. My. Office.”
Without waiting for an answer from him, she went back the way she came and frantically pressed the call button. Hotch, who suspected the reason for her anger but had no desire to discuss it, took a deep breath and followed in her footsteps, not without slipping a final instruction to his men:
“… Keep thinking.”
Without exchanging a single word, the two managers made their way upstairs to a large, dark-tinted office. Strauss took her seat and indicated the chair opposite her with a wave of her hand. Aaron settled down slowly, raised his head and, in the most innocent tone possible, said:
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes, you could say that, squeaked the section chief, her clear eyes focused on him. Why did you grant Agent Reid unlimited leave?”
“Dr. Reid.”
“I beg your pardon?” she retorted, caught off guard by this outburst.
“Spencer Reid has five doctorates.”
“He’s an FBI employee.”
“He prefers to be called that way.”
The woman in her fifties gave him a disillusioned look. The two agents hated each other cordially and did everything in their power to make each other's lives miserable at most. Hotch, who had less power than his interlocutor, played the groping more than necessary simply to destabilize her. He wasn't unaware of how important these diplomas were to Spencer, but as it stood, they weren't the reason for this summit call. Erin pouted, supporting the fixed irises of her unruly staff member, then sighed:
“Fine. Why this unlimited leave?”
“Because I’m more generous than you are.”
“What?” she reacted, outraged by this ill-timed attack.
“He has just lost someone very dear to him. His girlfriend, to be more precise.”
Strauss widened her eyelids in surprise, then frowned. Her thoughts became confused for a few moments. Should she put him in his place for his unfair reflection on the number of days off she'd given him after his ex-wife's death? She had followed protocol and offered him early retirement so that he could devote his full attention to his son. But he refused her offer and returned to his post once the time had elapsed, without making any further demands. For her, this meant that he hadn't needed much more to assimilate what had happened and reorganize his new life. And, on the other hand, this story of a girlfriend for the BAU’s youngest agent intrigued her.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“What’s happened?”
“I don’t know the details.”
“Really?” she doubted, trying to break through the stoic mask the director was presenting to her.
“I respect my men’s private life.”
Hotch saw his superior’s jaws tighten. She didn't believe for a moment what he’d said but knew that raising her voice would lead to nothing but even higher barriers between him and her. If she wanted to get at the truth, she was going to have to play it smart.
“Good. Then explain to me why your technical analyst's computers were activated on Saturday, as were your business phones and car GPS units.”
“… Another team may have used them,” suggested Aaron after a minute’s thought.
“I received an invoice from the SWAT to your name.”
“I’ve lost my apartment keys.”
A wave of fury overwhelmed the tenant's good intentions.
“Hotch! Don’t take me for an idiot! What have you been up to again?”
“Why?” he asked coldly.
“What do you mean by ‘why?’? I end up with a weekend crew using FBI equipment and an agent on leave until 2099. I demand an explanation!”
“I couldn’t go any further.”
“What...? She hiccupped before understanding what he had meant. Aaron, pissing me off won't make this conversation any more pleasant. What did you do?”
“What are you planning to do?”
Determined not to give up any information until he was certain that nothing would happen to his team, the giant walled himself up in the smoothest possible attitude, leaving his adversary of the day nothing to hang on to. Strauss knew this behavior all too well, and it irritated her to no end. Blowing out a breath to soothe her irritation, she changed her tune.
“… Look, I understand that you're trying to protect your men, but the Committee is demanding explanations, and at this time I can't give them any.”
“I can talk to them.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“It won’t be a first.”
“Yes, and they don't have very fond memories of your unit.”
In order to justify the outrageous expenses incurred by the BAU in faking the disappearance of one of their own in the eyes of an international terrorist, Hotch and his crew had to appear before the top brass of the Bureau. Fiercely arguing to defend their every move, none of them had shown an ounce of remorse or commiseration in front of this jury of the first rank. On the contrary, they stuck to their guns as if they'd been in the right from start to finish. This arrogance displeased management, who decided to take a harder line and keep a close eye on their movements.
“Don't you understand that if I don't have anything in my hands, I can't defend them and you with them?”
“I didn’t know you were concerned about us.”
“Aaron, I know appearances are against me, but I'm not your enemy. I need to know.”
She couldn't have been more right, her subordinate thought. When Gideon and Rossi had left him in charge of the unit, he had immediately gone up to the section chief to present his vision of things. And he had literally seen her change color when he had explained the scope of the project. FBI headquarters had authorized the BAU to expand following its good results, but not to the extent he had imagined. Going from two agents to six – including a technical analyst demanding expensive computer equipment – and a private jet, had given Strauss cold sweats. However, unable at the time to counter the young director's rock-solid argument, she had capitulated. Which she now regretted more than ever, given the financial sinkhole this agency had become some days. And Hotch couldn't count the number of times she'd pointed out Spencer's ineptitude, Jason's and then Dave's great age, Derek and Emily's impulsiveness, or the fact that he could handle JJ's duties just fine.
So, no, he didn't believe her when she said she was on his side. Worse still, he knew full well that he and his men had acted totally out of line, and had made countless mistakes, right up to the tragic end. In fact, confessing to her was a bit like pushing the whole team off a cliff. However, he wasn’t fooled. This insistent request didn't come from her directly, but from her superiors, who were still reeling from their defeat in the Doyle affair. And as long as they didn't get an answer to this new and costly mystery, they'd keep her on a short leash and, by extension, she'd never stop pestering him. A burden he didn’t feel like carrying around.
“… Okay. On one condition.”
“Which one?”
“I want to be held solely accountable.”
“Why am I not surprised? She sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. Go on.”
She understood that he wouldn't incriminate any of his men but gave in because she would at least know what had happened.
“Reid called me late Saturday afternoon, Hotch began. He urgently needed to see me. He was under a lot of stress and had trouble speaking. I tried to find out what was going on and postpone our interview until Monday, but he then confessed that his girlfriend had disappeared.”
“I didn’t know he was dating someone.”
“Welcome to the club, he tossed out evenly. It was very recent, even though they had been communicating for just over three months.”
Strauss frowned, unsettled.
“’They had been communicating’? What that supposed to mean? They’ve never met?”
The section chief’s surprise was justified. He himself had thought he had misheard when Blake had revealed the strangeness of this relationship. However, while he had initially blamed this modus operandi on Reid's sociability difficulties, the reality was quite different.
“No. For a good reason. This woman was a victim of a stalker. A female stalker,” he added immediately.
“It exists?”
“It’s uncommon, but yes. These women often suffer from erotomania or are simply jealous. Maliciously jealous, emphasized the profiler in order to make her hear how dangerous this woman was. In our case, it’s the second option. Reid's girlfriend, Maeve, was a rather gifted geneticist. Her stalker had sent her a thesis, which she rejected on purely scientific grounds. But for this woman, it was the trigger that made Maeve's life a living hell.”
Aaron was pouring out this flood of information without taking the time to breathe, and his interlocutor had to stop him to clarify a point.
“Wait, did you discover all this during your investigation or did Dr. Reid tell you?”
“No, we found out on Saturday when we were doing our research.”
“This type of investigation does not fall within your jurisdiction, so why didn't you entrust it to local authorities?”
“Reid asked for our help.”
“So what? You know the laws better than anyone, Hotch. You knew you were doing it illegally.”
A former federal prosecutor, the director of the BAU continued to keep abreast of developments in American law whenever his overloaded schedule allowed him a little free time. In fact, he was well aware that the case he and his team had been following over the weekend did not fall within their remit. Diane Turner, though unbalanced, had not killed anyone before that day, and the police, who were unaware of the scientist's disappearance, had not asked for their help in solving the harassment that had degenerated. They had knowingly encroached on a territory that was not theirs, in defiance of all the laws that existed and that governed the tasks of both parties in normal times.
“Yes, but Reid would never have trusted anyone but us, and we couldn't have found Maeve without him.”
“Did he help you with the investigation? Realized Erin, flabbergasted. Despite his proximity to the victim? You know how quickly this can turn into a procedural error.”
“Yes. But we had no other option. Maeve was on the run, in hiding; she had become a ghost to escape her stalker. The only one who knew her and could therefore give us clues as to how to find her was him.”
“That’s why you conducted this operation undercover. To hide the fact that you've been working hand-in-hand with someone far too emotionally involved. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
The director gave him a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of this way of doing things. But he did not flinch. He didn't turn his head away or blink, proving that he was fully aware of his choices. A long stream of air escaped his superior's nostrils and she continued, as calmly as possible.
“What happened?”
“We discovered that the stalker was nothing less than the new girlfriend of Maeve's ex-fiancé. She broke off their engagement to steal her lover. To get what she had, he added, trying to get her to understand the young woman's psychology as best he could. Except she found out about Reid and Maeve. She then realized that the ex-fiancé was no longer of any use to her.”
“Did she kill him?”
The section leader may not have been a profiler, let alone a field agent, but that didn't stop her from knowing how to add two and two together. With the few crumbs her employee had deigned to throw her, she had been able to make the necessary deductions, and denying the truth would have been quite pointless.
“Unfortunately, agreed Hotch. Maeve was next on the list, but Reid suggested an exchange. Him in place of her. His plan was to present himself to the stalker and make her believe that it was she he loved after all, rather than Maeve.”
“For what purpose?” asked Strauss, eyebrows furrowed.
“Give her what she wanted: the recognition of an intelligent being. A very intelligent being.”
It may seem a trivial detail at first, but the crux of the problem lay in this aspect of the personalities of the protagonists of this sad story. All Diane had asked for was for a great mind – by her own standards – to endorse her and prove that she was not just another grain of sand in the universe. Unable to be content with her simple condition as one human among billions, she had made this quest her obsession, not hesitating for a moment to eliminate anyone in her path.
“Did she accept?”
“To meet him, yes. Alone, without gun and bulletproof vest. “
“You didn't let him?" she said, suddenly concerned.
“I did.”
“But…”
“I know it sounds absurd, but unarmed and unprotected, you seem much less aggressive, which can create a much calmer climate for dialogue.”
It was a dangerous maneuver, one that could turn into a sudden execution at the slightest change of tone or ill-chosen word, and one that only skilled negotiators were expected to carry out; however, circumstances had meant that Spencer had been the one and only potential candidate for the task. And, at this hour, knowing the outcome of this face-to-face encounter, he remained convinced that if Dave, he, or any other member of the BAU had come forward, things would not have gone any better; indeed, the death toll would have been even higher.
“And where were you?”
“Outside. With the rest of the team.”
“You left that kid alone, facing a hysterical, armed woman?”
“This plan could work; I had faith in him.”
Erin couldn’t believe it. From the outset, she had resented the presence of this tall, gangly teenager, who could barely hold a revolver and ran out of steam after only a few yards, in this unit that hunted down the dregs of humanity. In fact, she was quick to remind the man who had welcomed him that she had only agreed to validate his hiring because he should have been sitting behind his desk. And now she discovered that he had been thrown into the lion's den without even the means to defend himself. The absurdity of the situation immediately gave her a headache.
“What went wrong?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t there, admitted Hotch. We heard a gunshot and went in.”
“Had she killed Maeve?”
“No. She had shot Reid in the arm.”
Better and better, Strauss thought, repressing her urge to scream.
“Please tell me you've put her out of action.”
“No. Reid still felt he could negotiate with her. His life for Maeve’s…”
The giant fell silent as images of the scene flooded back from his memory. Like his colleagues, he replayed that evening over and over again, trying to find the moment when everything had changed. Trying to understand where the mistake had been made, so that it would never be repeated.
“But things didn't turn out as planned, did they?”
“No, he admitted, lowering his nose. Understanding how important Maeve was to Reid – unlike her – she killed two birds with one stone.”
A shiver ran down the section chief’s spine.
“… Meaning?”
“She held Maeve close to her. She aligned her head with Maeve's and pulled the trigger.”
What her imagination drew in her mind immediately made her nauseous. Within seconds, she felt as if all her blood had drained from her extremities. Although more often seated in a chair than pounding the countryside, like the man in front of her, the director knew the terrible damage a firearm could do to a human skull. Witnessing this horrific spectacle live left an indelible mark.
“… D… Dr. Reid was there?”
“Yes. We were all there.”
“And… none of you…?”
“We didn't have time to react, confessed the unit manager, not very proud of this error of judgement. We knew she had suicidal thoughts and was in danger of ending her life before our very eyes, but we didn't anticipate that she would take her target with her.”
He didn't know what it was like for his agents, but he'd clearly underestimated the extent of her neurosis. He hadn't imagined that her anger and hatred would be so great that they would combine at the last minute with her self-destructive impulses. But the mistake he'd made was surely to have let Spencer lead the conversation from start to finish, when he wouldn't have been sure himself – with the hindsight he had at the moment – of preventing her from pulling the trigger. He might have been able to save Maeve, but Diane’s frustration was far too deep-rooted in her veins for her to have listened to reason. And he was an experienced negotiator, unlike the young man who was just starting out in this field.
“… So, to sum up, Strauss resumed, fighting back her desire to raise her voice, three people died while you were unofficially investigating the whereabouts of one of them, involving an agent who was somehow intimately involved with her.”
Hotch nodded without opening his mouth. The section chief hoped this meant he realized the breaches of protocol this whole affair concealed, as well as their consequences. But to be absolutely sure she decided to emphasize the irresponsibility he'd shown over the weekend.
“Do you get that these three deceased people could have been members of your own team? You knowingly put them in danger to find someone Dr. Reid had never even seen! You're a branch manager, you're responsible for the lives of each and every one of your agents; you're not supposed to push them off the rails!”
“They volunteered,” said the profiler calmly.
“What?”
“Once Spencer had finished explaining the problem, I told them we'd have to work under the radar. I gave them the choice of leaving or staying, he explained, before adding: They chose to stay with full knowledge of the facts.”
“Of course, they stayed. You’re as close as the fingers on a hand. Your suggestion was purely rhetorical.”
Although she wasn't around the BAU agents very often, she had studied many of their mission reports and had read a lot of the information between the lines about their group dynamics. With their disparate temperaments, they were nonetheless ready to do anything to protect their peers or come to their aid if need be. A relationship that is more friendly than professional, which management could have welcomed if their actions had not flouted the established rules. She could easily imagine that they hadn't hesitated for a moment to follow their superior's plan, without even considering the possible repercussions on their careers. And she was convinced that Hotch knew it, even before offering them a way out.
“So what? What are you going to do? Cancel Reid’s leave? He doesn't even come out of his home,” he revealed, disguising his concern as best he could.
“I want a report,” she spat in an unapologetic tone.
“No. No way.”
Erin wasn’t surprised by this rebuff. She had even expected it, as well as the battle ahead. The director of the Behavioral Analysis Unit may have adopted an icy demeanor on a daily basis, but he protected the men and women who worked under him with an almost maternal ferocity. His superior had lost count of the number of times she had argued with him for long minutes – or even longer – without succeeding in obtaining the name of the culprit(s) in his team. Failing that, she'd had to fall back on him, except that he didn't seem to mind in the least. But this time, she was determined to win this face-to-face encounter, even more so now that she knew the details of this sordid story.
“Hotch, I want a mission report about this case.”
“If I do this, the others will have to do one too and everyone will pay for it.”
In fact, according to established protocol, each agent quoted in his brief was required to write his or her own version of the facts, so that all aspects of the case would be known to the higher-ups. As a result, if the file showed that mistakes had been made, the competent authorities only had to bend down to pick out the names of the culprits and punish them as they saw fit.
“You don’t have to put any names.”
“Please, no one up there will believe that I conducted this investigation alone or with complete strangers. And even less that I've managed to analyze data here, while being elsewhere.”
He had a point, but she hadn't said her last word.
“The Committee won't let me go until they really know what happened.”
“I refuse to sacrifice my team because they wanted to save someone in defiance of a sacrosanct protocol established by bureaucrats.”
“Aaron, you can't use FBI equipment for personal purposes!”
“That woman was in danger!”
Silence fell over the office following these sudden outbursts, and the two fighters stared at each other for a long moment, concentrating to keep from blinking. Strauss sighed.
“Hotch, like it or not, I need something official, in writing, to present to the Committee. Something that could justify turning on your analyst's computers, moving your vehicles, using your phones, and giving Dr. Reid unlimited time off. Without the bait, you know exactly who the piranhas are going to pounce on.”
Indeed, he could see perfectly well who was going to suffer the brunt of this backlash. That said, he knew that the result would be more or less the same whether he wrote something or not. Right now, the Bureau's top brass didn't know who was responsible for all this unauthorized activity, so their wrath could fall on anyone. However, being no fools, they would logically turn their attention to the usual owners of said equipment, summoning the unit manager as a matter of priority to get to the bottom of the whole affair. And if he gave them his report, even if he omitted the identity of those present, the brass would come down on him and demand clarification. He wouldn't supply them, of course, but this first step forward, a sign of goodwill on his part, would perhaps mitigate their desire to remove him from office.
“… How soon do you need it?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“My report is likely to be very concise.”
“Do your best.”
Without another word, she indicated the exit with her chin. Accustomed to this stinginess in politeness, he got up and headed for the closed door.
“Aaron,” she called out as he put his hand on the handle.
Without saying a word, he slowly turned around, wondering what else she wanted from him.
“How is he doing?”
Hotch frowned, unsettled. His superior rarely worried about his flock, even though she knew how difficult their mission was and what they had been through. For all he knew, she'd done nothing for JJ when she'd nearly been eaten alive by rabid dogs, nor for Derek when he'd come within a hair's breadth of exploding in a New York ambulance, nor for Penelope after she'd been shot in the chest. Why she was asking him? What did she really wanted to know? Impossible to determine as it stands, he concluded in his mind. He didn't have enough information to answer these questions and didn't intend to linger in the office any longer. What's more, even if the probability was low, it was possible that the section chief might actually be on their side this time, smoothing things over with the bigwigs at FBI headquarters. And so, he decided to play fair.
“Like a teenager who's lost the love of his life.”
___
Not my best work imo, but I like some lines here and there. :)
Summary: Rossi found a young agent working on Yates' case who could be a good new recruit for the BAU. He's eager to see the reaction of his co-worker and friend, Jason Gideon.
Characters: David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon
Contents: TW mentions of Yates' case, but they mostly talk about other things.
This text was originally thought for the Meet Cute CM challenge, but it also suits the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins. So, it's a mix-up of both of them. XD
PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.
___
San Francisco, 1997
David Rossi was tidying up the last of the documents relating to the Womb Raider case that he had scattered over the previous few days. Beside him, the federal agent who had accompanied him all along was watching him with a disappointed look.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, sheepishly.
“It’s not your fault. It's not the first time he's disappeared after being reported on by journalists. All we can do now is wait for him to kill again, unfortunately.”
It was the truth. Five years earlier, when the profiler had first come face to face with this singular serial killer, he had stopped moving as soon as the local reporters had set their sights on him. Back then, he didn't have that silly nickname – and ill-advised, according to Dave’s opinion – because he was content to savagely stab his victims. He had appeared in Seattle and, for some obscure reason, reappeared further down the West Coast after several years of silence. Then, as soon as the cameras turned on him, he vanished again into thin air. This erratic behavior was the result of the suspect's thoughts, and his alone. His pursuers were not responsible for his escape. However, this new disappearance didn't help Rossi, and he had no choice but to pack up and wait for his target to be found guilty of a fifth murder.
“Do you really think he stops killing all this time?”
He looked up at the young man, who was standing straight as an I a few steps away, scrutinizing him without batting an eyelid.
“You doubt it?”
His cadet swallowed, briefly dodged his gaze, then launched out:
“I… I've read a few books and articles about sociopaths like him, and they all agree that these people behave like drug addicts. The only way they can feel good, even for a moment, is to kill again and again, he unpacked at full speed, his dark irises focused on him. In fact, it seems strange to me that he could hold back for five or ten years before taking his dose again.”
“And yet the facts are there,” Dave pointed out, closing his satchel.
“Yes and no.”
The forty-year-old frowned. In the few days they'd been together, he'd noticed that his temporary partner's behavior was surprising, to say the least. If he excluded the fact that obviously no one had told him that staring at someone could be poorly perceived, he had noticed above all that his vision of things was far from fitting into the usual boxes of his peers. In spite of his youth – which could have led him to follow in the footsteps of his elders without question – he valiantly walked outside the lines and didn't hesitate to correct older – and more experienced – people about their working methods. On several occasions, Rossi had caught glimpses of the latter's furious looks, to which his partner had paid absolutely no attention. He had been afraid of being dragged along by a fussy, overly protocol-driven paper-pusher, but had found a curious ally who was very attentive to his thoughts and lacked the usual blinkers of his fellows. In fact, he was very interested in tasting the mixture that his brain had concocted in silence.
“… Tell me more.”
“You're only aware of what's reported to you, but there are plenty of unsolved crimes that aren't passed on to the FBI, he began without hesitation. Either because the victim is a prostitute, drug addict or has no family. Either because the bodies were never found. And if the suspect killed the first victim in one state and the next in another, the information doesn't get out because local authorities don't communicate with each other. It's hard enough in the same state sometimes, so imagine between two states who aren't side by side.”
Dave took in the stream of words and carefully digested the information. The kid was right. And since "his" killer always started by going after one party girl before moving on to the next, how many of them had crossed his path in the intervening five years that no one had seen fit to pass on the news to Quantico? And if he had buried the second – the only victim likely to attract the attention of the police – then he could have acted with impunity all this time. A momentary dizziness seized the profiler, which he concealed behind a puzzled mask.
“Tell me your name again?”
“Aaron Hotchner,” he replied immediately, without seeming in the least perturbed by the fact that after weeks of teamwork, he hadn't remembered his identity.
“You’re… a federal prosecutor, that’s it?”
“Yes, he confirmed, eyebrows furrowed. Why?”
With a friend and colleague, Jason Gideon, Rossi had set up a pseudo-agency within the FBI with the aim of tracking down all the sociopaths in the country more efficiently using the profiling method. The higher-ups openly laughed in their faces but gave them some time to prove themselves. With the results coming in, they had been offered the chance to expand their unit, which was an unhoped-for opportunity for the overworked duo. And this guy seemed to have a good predisposition for the job.
“You're smart,” he said, observing his interlocutor’s reactions carefully.
“… Thank you, he answered, unease. I guess.”
“Do you like your job?”
“… Yes.”
“Hmm.”
He had hesitated. A good sign from Dave's point of view, who saw it as a breach through which he could slip in.
“Are you offering me a job as a profiler?” questioned the young man, perplexed.
“You have the capacity for.”
“Really?”
His question was surprisingly sincere. Clearly, he was unaware of his abilities in this area, although he had no trouble following his elder's reasoning throughout the investigation. To establish a suspect's profile, it was necessary to draw on both a more or less in-depth knowledge of human psychology and a consequent theoretical knowledge of statistics. Added to this were logic, a little common sense, and a certain open-mindedness that many people lacked. Qualities that this Aaron undeniably possessed.
“You're meticulous, organized, intelligent and attentive to detail, affirmed Rossi, before continuing. You're not afraid to keep learning and you seem to be able to see beyond the box.”
He deliberately ignored the few shortcomings he had noted over the past few days, believing they would not affect his efficiency. But, contrary to what he had expected, the prosecutor didn't seem the least bit flattered by this portrait. Very subtly, he folded in on himself and, for the first time, looked away for a moment. He raised his eyes only to stutter out:
“… Uh… Well, it’s just that… I have to talk to my fiancée first.”
The federal agent who had just spoken was not a teenager or even a young adult; he was already over thirty years old. And yet, this line revealed an obvious immaturity that was in stark contrast to the speeches he had been able to deliver up to that point. Dave added this information to the list of things he and Jason should keep an eye on. In the meantime, he smiled and, shaking his head, declared:
“… Indeed, it’s wiser.”
Three weeks later, Rossi returned from the Quantico underworld to pick up Hotchner at the reception desk. The former prosecutor had passed all the admission tests with flying colors and would be discovering his new working environment today. His recruiter shook his hand with a smile and invited him to head for the elevators.
“Has your fiancée finally agreed to let you change jobs?” remarked the Italian American, trying to soften the ironic tone of his question.
“Yes,” soberly reacted his now colleague.
Since their last face-to-face meeting, the two men had spoken at length by e-mail and telephone in order to finalize all the details of this unexpected arrival and had therefore had time to get to know each other better. At the same time, Dave was able to glean further information about the Manassas native. Rather shy and very protective when it came to his private life, he hadn't let on anything more than the fact that his father had died many years earlier and that he'd known his girlfriend since he was eighteen. Next to that, Aaron was a tomb that would have to be worked over to discover its secrets.
“Did you explain to her that you wouldn't be home every night?” pursued Rossi, pressing the -2 button.
“Yes.”
“And it doesn’t bother her?”
His neighbor lowered his eyes again and stammered:
“She… she told me to take care of myself.”
A roundabout way of telling him that her tolerance of his absences had its limits. The question was whether the groom-to-be had grasped the implication, for, notwithstanding his clear-sightedness on some subjects, Agent Hotchner struggled on others. So it would be up to him and Jason to take care of it for him, so that this marriage in the making didn't fall apart before it even happened.
“What's her name?” he asked as the elevator doors opened onto a gloomy corridor.
“Haley.”
“Say ‘hi’ to her from me. Follow me and don’t pay attention to the mess.”
Dave entered the corridor cluttered with cardboard boxes and wobbly shelves. To express their disdain for profiling, management had given the pair permission to set up their offices in a single location: in the basement of Quantico. Where everyone piled up everything that was good for the dumpster or waiting to be repaired, sometimes for years in the case of certain items. And the newcomer didn't seem to really understand what they were doing here.
“I’m sure you imagined it differently.”
“Uh… To be honest, yes,” he confessed, stepping over a three-legged coffee table.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Then they came to a yellowish door on which a homemade sign had been stuck, admittedly a little crooked. Rossi had left his partner in charge while he left on a new business deal, and when he returned, he could only see that the damage had already been done. In some ways, Gideon reminded him a lot of the man who followed him: insanely uncompromising when it came to his work, but totally uncoordinated when it came to involving a personal part of himself in a task. He was even willing to bet that, like his long-time comrade, he'd have to use a crowbar to get him off his files when it was time to eat or go to bed. He couldn't wait for these two UFOs to contact each other.
Shortly afterwards, Hotchner entered a blind room with two cluttered desks, a blackboard covered with annotations on one of the walls – a few documents had escaped the frame, taped, or pinned to the dull paint of the high walls – and everywhere, boxes overflowing with papers. A dozen or so of them were gradually spread across the floor as the air flowed or the tenants moved about.
“Aaron, let me introduce you, Jason Gideon.”
“The child prodigy, at last!” exclaimed the latter with a smile, getting rid of his file and coming over to the rookie.
“Uh... nice to meet you,” he pronounced, snapping out of his observation.
“Welcome. Sit where you can.”
The brown irises groped around, looking for a support able to bear the weight of their owner, who stood at over six feet tall.
“Coffee?” David suggested before he had time to make a decision.
“Uh… yes. Thank you,” he said, clearly confused by the sudden appearance of the coffee pot.
His host handed him a cup and poured a generous glassful of the dark, full-bodied liquid. Italian by birth, Rossi liked his coffee strong. He requested family members living in Italy to send him regular shipments, as the product sold in the United States was not to his taste buds' liking.
“Impressed?” his colleague inquired their guest, who continued to scan the surroundings.
“… Surprised, overall. There’s just the two of you?”
“Yes.”
“For all the country?”
“Yes,” replied Dave, placing the coffee pot back on its base.
The ex-prosecutor raised an eyebrow.
“How… how is it possible?”
“The problem is that this isn’t really possible.”
“We have to make choices. And work on several files at the same time,” explained Gideon, his own mug in hand.
“Do you succeed?”
“Depends on the day,” Rossi conceded.
The territory to be covered was so vast that it was difficult for them to respond to all the requests. Every day, they took an hour or two to dive into the pile of calls for help from the country's various authorities and sorted them out. Some cases could be solved by sending an e-mail or two, while others required a visit to the site and a bit of hands-on work. The latter represented the majority, but it was undeniable that they couldn't be everywhere at once and that, here again, they had to apply a drastic selection process. An activity they disliked all the more for its disregard for human life. But with a third man at their side, their chances of saving more innocents increased.
And the candidate stood before them, searching the space with his eyes, indifferent to the wisps of caffeine rising beneath his nose. Dave, sitting next to his colleague on the edge of his desk, watched him with a wry smile. And Jason seemed to find the situation just as amusing.
“Dave told me you had some suggestions for improving our techniques.”
“What? Hotchner gasped, jumping up. Uh… no, I… I simply pointed out that not all the information was being passed on to us. Which, in Yates' case, prevents us from spotting him during his periods of silence.”
The smiles on the faces of the two companions widened as they heard the newcomer adopt the “us” form. Barely had he discovered the place when he had already become part of the team.
“Aaron thinks he's not stopping, just flying under the radar.”
“Which isn't entirely absurd, admitted his neighbor, before turning to their cadet. And what do you think can be done about that?”
The young agent swallowed, bringing the cup closer to his chest in a feeble attempt to protect himself from this impromptu offensive.
“Kid, we can see the cogs turning in your brain from here, so spit it,” shoved Dave, as curious as his fellow galley dweller.
“Okay. Uh… - he placed what he had in his hands on the only portion of the nearest desk free of paperwork. We need someone who can track down all unsolved cases, all murders with even partial similarities to the suspect's modus operandi, and all disappearances matching the killer's targets, throughout the country and over several years.”
A silence answered him, which aggravated his unease. Instinctively, he began to play with his fingers, scraping his nails with the horn of his other hand. But what he took for disapproval was in fact reflection, as the two profilers analyzed what these words could represent, in concrete terms.
“It's a colossal job,” stressed Jason, also getting rid of his container.
“Yes. But procedures are becoming increasingly computerized. With the right tools, it should be possible to extract data more quickly than by opening boxes.”
“And at what point do you request authorization from the relevant authorities?” bounced Rossi, perplexed.
“Theoretically, as part of a federal investigation, we don't need to, retorted his opposite, who was gradually gaining in confidence. The only time we won't have a choice is when we need to access paper archives.”
“… Theoretically?” Gideon frowned.
“I've checked and, for the moment, there's a legal vacuum on the issue; the laws were written before computers existed.”
Which wouldn't last much longer, Dave mused silently. With the advent of information technology, and above all the Internet, many companies and other administrative bodies began to demand that the law take a closer look at their data access rights, particularly in terms of finance and human resources. And it would be the same for police, marshal, and army archives afterwards. Even if they were to create a common base for the whole country, it would ultimately be accessible only to the police and military. Federal agents would have to be friendly and perhaps even make a few concessions in order to win their case. An unquestionable waste of time, for everyone in the end.
“Who could fill such a position?”
“Someone with remarkable computer skills who knows how to bypass firewalls and passwords.”
“A hacker, in short,” Jason deduced with a certain stiffness.
“I know it may seem like a bit of a stretch, but once we're assured of their loyalty, it would be our most valuable asset. At present, we lack information, and the administrative machinery is time-consuming.”
Gideon and Rossi looked at each other for a moment, the second one trying to assess what the former thought of this presentation and of the person who had given it.
“What?” worried the latter.
“You were right. He’s a smart boy.”
“Told you.”
When he'd returned from San Francisco, he'd spent hours going on and on about his temporary sidekick in an attempt to convince the agency's co-founder to lend him a sympathetic ear. Jason didn't seem convinced by his arguments at first, but gradually gave way until he granted him this interview. But Dave remained convinced that, up until that moment, he hadn't believed a word of his rave review. Nevertheless, his reflection indicated that his state of mind had evolved.
“What else are you hiding in your hood?” he asked, fixing his gaze on the newcomer in turn.
“… Uh…”
“Go on, kiddo. We are all ears.”
Aaron, who was now ploughing the pad of his thumb with his fingernails, turned his gaze to the side for two seconds before returning to focus it on Gideon. The fact that the latter stared at him without batting an eyelid didn't seem to bother him too much; his nervousness stemmed more from the prospect of having to reveal his ramblings to two more experienced agents when he'd only just arrived.
“Okay. I… I found out that you each work in your own corner.”
“Let's just say we share the work,” ironized Rossi.
“To cover more ground, I understand, said the new recruit in all seriousness. But I think a team would be more efficient. Several pairs of eyes are always useful for spotting more details. Not to mention the fact that everyone's experience can give them a different view of things.”
And he added, after a brief inspiration:
“And then, women should be included.”
The pair cast a discreet glance at each other, eyebrows furrowed in unison.
“… Why women specifically?” inquired Jason, intrigued.
Dave knew the reason for this questioning. At that time, the female federal agents who went into the field were minors within the FBI. The vast majority of the women who worked for the Bureau were in administrative positions where the only danger they had to face was a fall down the stairs or a hot cup of coffee. The few who ventured outside the walls of Quantico or the Washington DC-based headquarters usually had a double hat that made their presence outside useful: doctor, teacher, linguist, etc. But it was obvious that Hotchner wanted to see profilers of the fairer sex on the payroll and at the same hierarchical level as the others. Why, was an excellent question.
“Because they have a different view of the world, a different knowledge base and a different way of thinking than we do.”
“It's a dangerous job where you have to keep your emotions in check.”
“Which they're very good at, contrary to what you might think, he countered. As for danger, the fact that women have less physical strength often leads them to be more cautious than men.”
“Your arguments are interesting, objected Gideon, doubtful, but...”
“I knew you'd be reluctant, he cut him off, before dipping into the bag slung over his shoulder. So take a look at this and tell me what it is.”
He then held up a photograph and handed it to them. The object, a hollow white cylinder, lay on a bloodstained carpet tile. The duo leaned over to get a better look at the picture and, with a quick glance to the side, Dave realized that his teammate didn't know any more than he did about the identity of what they were looking at.
“You don't know, do you?” Aaron remarked with a discreet smirk.
“I give up, indeed.”
“Well, I didn't know either, he confessed, taking back his property. It was my fiancée who told me what it was when she saw the picture. And I couldn't have known because it's definitely not something we men use.”
“Did it help you solve the case?”
“Yes. And, in the same way, I managed to catch a suspect as soon as my mother pointed out that a man couldn't have written a letter like that! I've been chasing a man for days, when the attacker was the next-door female neighbor, who seemed quite shocked to learn that her neighbor had died in the night.”
“Okay, I think we've got it, Romeo, interjected Jason, before he followed up with another example. What else?”
The thirty-year-old paused for a moment, then continued:
“We… we certainly need someone from the police force.”
As he might have expected, the two men facing him instinctively winced. Undaunted, he moved his pawns forward.
“I mean, intelligent people who know how to think outside the box are to be found elsewhere than at the FBI. And having a former police officer in our ranks will undoubtedly help us to better understand the reactions of local authorities, and even to cooperate with them.”
“Cooperate?” repeated Dave, giving him a dismayed look.
“Yes. If it's so difficult to get information these days, it's also because the police, sheriffs and rangers don't appreciate our arrogant cowboy attitude. By working with them, we will be able to benefit from their knowledge of the area, its inhabitants and the files that are underway or that have been closed. This memory is indispensable, but we can only get it by being pleasant.”
Gideon sighed without any discretion. He and Rossi had always had relative confidence in the police and other law enforcement agencies. And for good reason: they often had their own protocols, sprinkled with more or less harmless – but always illegal – tricks, to which was added a powerful code of silence that slowed down their investigations. Not all of them were dirty cops, of course, but having to juggle some people's sense of superiority with everything else was exhausting and unpleasant, to say the least. In fact, they had taken to dodging them as much as possible so that they could work at their leisure. So, the idea of rubbing shoulders with them again – although not meaningless when presented in this way – didn't enchant them at all.
“And how do you plan to do that?” retorted Jason, in a tone that didn't hide his reticence.
“Well, in addition to a former policeman, we need a liaison officer. Someone who is in contact with all the country's authorities, who has their trust. Someone they can turn to without hesitation.”
“A liaison officer?”
“Yes. He or she will also be in contact with the press. Most sociopaths pay close attention to what is said about them on TV, radio or in the newspapers. Some people get angry about what's been said and commit murders that could have been avoided. And others, like Yates, vanish into thin air because they get scared. We must control what journalists say.”
The duo looked at each other again with the same circumspection. This kid had ambition and concepts to spare which – Dave had to admit – were not uninteresting. In fact, there was something enticing and, needless to say, innovative about them. The Italian American was amused to imagine the faces of the big shots if he were to say the same thing to them. However, it was obvious that the youngest had left something out of the equation.
“Anything else?” tossed Gideon, his mouth twisted into a sneer.
“Uh… no. For now.”
“So, resumed Rossi, listen, son. I think Jason and I are actually thinking the same thing about all this.”
“It’s absurd?”
“Not at all, reassured the other BAU co-founder. But you may have noticed that our resources are quite limited.”
Aaron observed the scenery once more, as if it might have changed during their conversation.
“… Yes.”
“We're the team with the fewest funds in the United States.”
“Why?” replied the confused rookie innocently.
“Because up there, continued Jason, pointing to the upper floors, they think profiling is all smoke and mirrors. A simple sleight-of-hand.”
“But... no, hiccupped the groom-to-be; it's a science based on facts, on behavioral and medical studies, on... on probabilities too, but...”
“Aaron, we know, Dave cut him off, sensing that he was going to go on and on for many more minutes. We'll discuss it with the steering committee, but don't expect a miracle.”
To tell the truth, the answer was so obvious that he wondered whether it was worth mentioning the agency's new formula at all. The newcomer must have read his mind, for he added:
“But what does it take for them to accept?”
“Prove our efficiency,” declared Jason, as if it were self-evident.
“With the means we have here,” Hotchner figured out, his eyebrows more furrowed than ever.
“Yes.”
The look of despondency on the young man's face was equal to the mountain the three of them were about to climb. Rossi approached him and grabbed his shoulder.
“Welcome aboard, sailor.”
___
And this is the first chapter of Code Name: Mom! /o/
(Yes, I'm working in no order but I've got hope to put all those chapters altogether one day. :D)
It's the first time I wrote with Dave's point of view. He's way less anxious than Hotch, it's refreshing. XD
