Eddie remembers being fourteen, hugging his mom for some reason or another. He’d been taller than her for some time, but something about it then, all awkward limbs and teenage awareness, had made the moment standout. There was something strange about it; maybe the markings from child to adult, comforting his mother instead of being the one comforted. It’d been expected of him with his sisters, Adriana in particular since she was younger. This had been new.
And he liked it, was the thing. For that moment, at fourteen and all the times before with Adri, it’d been Eddie to offer peace and steadiness.
“It’s okay,” he manages, voice thick. “It’s okay,” he repeats. The words are worthless, he thinks.
and i am more than these bones (i feel love) for @diazbuckleyeddie
Characters: Emily Prentiss, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, David Rossi
Relationships: Prentiss/Hotch, Prentiss & JJ
Genre: fluff
Summary: Prentiss and Hotch have been dating for eight months now, and the team is none the wiser. That changes when Prentiss and JJ share a room after a case, and Prentiss wears one of Hotch's shirts to bed.
Word Count: 2k
Prompt was #20 on this list by @whump-town.
Fic below the cut, or read on ao3.
__
"Okay, so," JJ begins, coming back from the receptionist counter to address the team. In her hands are three room cards. "They're booked and we're here on short notice. They've only got three rooms they can spare us. It was originally two, but one of the customers with a reservation cancelled last minute." She fans the cards out in front of her. "Who's sleeping where?"
"I'm not sleeping with Reid," Morgan chimes in almost immediately with a smile. Reid looks mock-offended, but doesn't protest.
"I'll share with the kid," Rossi says with a heavy sigh.
"I'm not that bad," Reid protests.
"Last time I shared a room with you, you kept me up until four am with rants about sci-fi movies. And don't think I've forgotten the Red Bull incident, either," Morgan says. He pats Rossi's shoulder in condolence. JJ hands the older agent the key card.
"Morgan, room with me," Hotch offers. Morgan nods, and JJ hands their boss one of the remaining key cards.
"That leaves you and me," Prentiss says, but while her voice is heavy, her eyes are anything but. They sparkle with quiet mirth.
"Thank god," JJ jokes. She loops her arm through her friend's.
They make their way to the elevator, all of them, then as they reach the third floor, the pairs go their separate ways. Reid and Rossi are already engaged in a deep conversation, neither of them noticing as Prentiss studies them. Hotch and Morgan look ready to pass out as they make their way over to their room. The two of them are roomed closest to the elevator, she notices.
"God I'm tired," Prentiss says as she and JJ enter their hotel room. She's tempted to faceplant straight onto the bed, but she's still dressed. The case is over and the plane is leaving at nine-thirty tomorrow, meaning she has a chance to get some proper sleep tonight. It'll be more comfortable to get out of the suit she's wearing.
"Only one bed," JJ remarks. Prentiss lifts an eyebrow.
"You handed out the key cards. Did you do that intentionally?" Her friend laughs.
"No. Truth be told, all three rooms are singles." Prentiss makes an amused face.
"Scandalous. And just imagine the boys' reactions." She lounges on one side of the bed, watching absent-mindedly as JJ methodically strips off her outer layers.
As if on cue, their phones ding with a text notification. Prentiss reaches for hers as JJ pulls out a clean shirt.
"Get changed," the blonde suggests, snagging the phone playfully from Prentiss. Prentiss rolls her eyes, also playfully, and gets up. She begins digging through her go-bag for any sleepwear she might have brought, and failing that, something clean and appealing to wear.
"Hotch is checking that everyone's alright and knows what time we're leaving," JJ reports, reading the text.
"That sounds like Hotch," Prentiss says, tossing an old shirt onto the bed. It's a little worn, but it brings her no small amount of comfort. She throws a pair of shorts after it. JJ frowns at the shirt, but doesn't comment.
Prentiss pulls them both on and climbs into bed beside her friend. "JJ. Get under the blankets."
"Sorry," JJ says automatically, still staring at Prentiss' phone. She turns off the lights and gets under the blankets automatically as well, then hands Prentiss her phone back.
"Who's your boyfriend?" Prentiss freezes, then realises that JJ had looked at who she had sent texts to recently. One of the conversations was simply titled '<3'. "Or girlfriend," JJ continues. "You know I don't care that you're bi, beyond supporting you unconditionally." She props herself up on one elbow, smirking as she looks down at Prentiss. "So. Who is it?"
Prentiss clicks off her phone. "None of your business," she says, the words coming out like she's trying too hard for casual. JJ pokes her shoulder.
"If you don't tell me, I'll find out anyway," she teases warningly. Prentiss smirks at her.
"Good luck." And with that, Prentiss rolls herself in her share of the blankets, facing towards JJ as she turns her phone on again. This way, the screen is angled away from her friend. JJ rolls her eyes, but she still looks amused.
"I see how it is," she says, and rearranges her pillow until she's content. She lies on her back and closes her eyes. Prentiss sends off a text to the partner JJ had just asked about.
Emily: JJ's getting suspicious. She saw I had our private messages labeled with a heart.
Aaron: Morgan has some questions as well.
Emily: Chocolate thunder wants to know who you're texting when you should be sleeping?
Aaron: You don't have a healthy sleep schedule either. I told him it was a friend.
Emily: Did he believe you?
Aaron: Yes, but he suspects it's something more. I've appeased him for now.
Emily: I know we've discussed this before, but we should tell the team soon. It's been over eight months.
Aaron: I agree. If we keep this from them much longer, they'll lose trust in us.
Emily: That, and I hate keeping this kind of secret from my best friend.
"Go to sleep, Emily," JJ mumbles, one arm tossed over her eyes. "It's bedtime."
"In a minute."
"Your mystery person can wait." Prentiss glances at her.
"He's my boyfriend." JJ moves her arm and cracks an eye open to look at her.
Aaron: What, that you're dating your boss?
Emily: That I'm dating at all. Speaking of which, I just told her I have a boyfriend.
Aaron: How'd she react?
"Since when?" JJ asks, sounding a bit more awake. "And why didn't you tell me an' Penelope on girls' night or somethin'? We're the people who hype you up for dates."
"We uh, we decided it was best not to say anything," Prentiss says, trying to keep her composure.
Emily: Fine. She wishes I'd told her and Garcia I was seeing someone.
JJ gives her a long, drawn-out, suspicious hum, then turns onto her other side and goes back to sleep. Prentiss is left staring at her friend's back.
Emily: How's Derek doing?
Aaron: He's asleep. Like we should be.
Emily: Sleep is too mainstream for me.
Aaron: ?
Emily: Don't worry about it babe.
Aaron: Riiiight. Goodnight.
Emily: Goodnight, love you.
Aaron: Love you too, Emily.
Prentiss clicks off her phone and sets it aside, then moulds herself around JJ's sleeping form. Her friend presses back against her a little, and Prentiss wraps an arm around the blonde.
She lies awake for a long time, head still buzzing from the case. She compartmentalizes well, but it still sometimes takes her time to wind down. This case wasn't particularly bloody or long, but it did involve an abnormal amount of guesswork and haste, because the unsub was moving from city to city, state to state, then killing and moving on again within a matter of hours. The team's home base had become their SUVs as they chased.
Luckily, the victim count was low, all things considered. But it had been one hell of a few days.
Around one in the morning, the rain starts. It taps familiar patterns against the glass, and she's finally able to doze off as the noise drowns out her thoughts.
*
JJ's alarm goes off, and Prentiss wants to strangle her. The blonde shuts off the noise before it gets to be too unbearable, but by then, Prentiss is already awake. JJ, as usual, is awake before her and is already stirring a cup of hotel coffee, giving it a disappointed look.
"Is it that bad?" Prentiss asks from where she's lying in the bed, blankets ending at her ribcage. JJ just shakes her head slowly.
"It's awful, and not in the good way. Shitty police coffee is one thing, shitty hotel coffee is another." She takes a sip regardless. "Also, we're leaving in half an hour, so you might want to get up." Prentiss groans, but drags herself out of bed. JJ gladly hands her a cup of the hotel coffee when she approaches, then smooths Prentiss' hair out of her face where it had tangled in the night.
Prentiss takes a sip, and makes a face. "Uch. You weren't kidding." JJ laughs a little. They drink in silence, JJ studying her more intensely than usual. Prentiss is about to ask her what's going on when JJ's eyes widen in realisation.
"That's Hotch's shirt," she says, pointing at what Prentiss is wearing with her free hand. Prentiss looks down at her shirt in a mild panic.
It is, in fact, one of Hotch's old shirts that she's wearing. She had swiped it from him, along with a sweatshirt, when they started dating. It's old and faded, but very clearly Hotch, and it brings her comfort to wear it.
Unfortunately, Hotch used to wear the shirt before she asked him out. Around the team, sometimes. Which means JJ knows it.
"No way," the blonde says. She sets her coffee aside, and Prentiss is quick to do the same. "Don't tell me you're dating Hotch."
"Um-"
"Oh my god, you are." An incredulous laugh escapes JJ's throat. She pressed her hands to her mouth in disbelief. Prentiss examines her reaction, but nothing screams hostile. Surprised, a little offended that she wasn't told, sure, but nothing hostile. Mostly surprised. "Wow."
JJ grabs Prentiss' wrist and pulls her to sit on the bed, grinning. "So, what's he like outside of work?" Prentiss raises her eyebrows.
"You mean, in- in private?" JJ makes a 'keep talking' gesture. Prentiss laughs a little. "I'm not telling you what he's like in bed."
"So you've slept together?"
"We have," she confirms. "We've been together eight months now."
"When were you going to tell the rest of us?" Prentiss shrugs.
"I don't know," she answers honestly. "We were planning on doing it soon, but an opportune moment just never came up." JJ grips her hand.
"Em," she says softly. Prentiss looks at her. "Please know I'm happy for you."
*
"We need to tell them," Prentiss says to Hotch as soon as they have a moment alone. The rest of the team has disappeared down to the lobby, and the two of them have a few minutes before their teammates grow suspicious. She and Hotch are standing outside the door to her room. "JJ already pieced it together."
"Will she tell the others?"
"I don't think so. I think she knows it's our secret to tell, and I told her that we'd been planning to reveal it soon." Hotch nods. They're both dressed formally again, in what attire they had worn yesterday for the flight home.
One of Hotch's hands comes up to rest on her jaw. Leaning into his kiss is easier than breathing. Both of them are loathe to separate.
"They'll be waiting for us," Hotch murmurs as she trails kisses along his jaw, pausing to nip the very edge of it before continuing. "Prentiss."
"I know," she says against his skin. She slows, ending with another kiss to his lips.
Hotch's hand grips hers as they walk to the elevators, throwing caution into the wind as they talk, planning together what to say and when to say it.
*
On the flight back to DC, everyone is awake. It's unusual for them to have an opportunity for a full night's rest the night before. Usually, they fly home in the evening. It means that when Hotch stands up, everyone looks over.
"Prentiss and I have an announcement," he begins. JJ breaks into a grin, knowing what's coming. Rossi looks like he's hiding a smile as well. Reid and Morgan just look confused.
"We uh, we meant to tell you guys before," Prentiss says, continuing where Hotch left off. "We're dating." A second of silence. Then:
"Congratulations!"
"I'm so happy for you guys!"
"Reid owes me five bucks," Morgan says with a grin. Reid groans good-naturedly, then looks at Prentiss and Hotch.
"If you guys had waited another four months, Morgan would've owed me ten," he says, and the team can't help but laugh with him.
“You’re breaking up with me,” it slips out. Not even a question. Eddie doesn’t have to wonder; this is no worse case scenario, this is reality.
“Eddie,” Buck’s voice is equal parts forlorn and exasperated.
If he were any less of a coward, he’d look up to watch Buck’s face.
He'd see in real time, in bright technicolor, the emotions play out. Buck's always been an open book, has broadcasted every emotion no matter how brief or fleeting. But - maybe not. As open as Buck is, he’s deceptively good at keeping things hidden. The kind of hidden where Buck can dominate a conversation, twist and turn it so you feel just as included even if you choose not to contribute many words, spin so many different details and connections that it isn’t till later, hours or days or whatever, where you realize Buck hasn’t said much at all.
Hello friends. I already posted chapter 1 weeks ago, but I've finally gotten around to making a post about it.
Written with permission off this post by @sapphicdeath (my main is @strung-by-fate).
[Masterlist]
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Summary: A day in the office. Nighttime sets the stage.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Words: 1.9k
Read below the cut, or on ao3.
__
The office was never empty, not even early in the morning as Hotch arrived. Already there were other employees there, setting up for their days or ending their nighttime shifts. He made his way to his office, nodding a greeting to those he passed.
He set up his desk, arranging the papers he would need to go through according to importance, as he frequently did. Occasionally, there would be a file he would go through first that wasn't overly important, but he would still go through first for other reasons.
It was easy to sink into the headspace he needed for the motions of reading each document and filling out what needed to be. A glance at the clock showed him it was eight. The team would likely be some time still.
Half an hour later, he looked up to see most of his team spilling into the bullpen, talking and laughing together. JJ was absent, but then, she had spoken yesterday of her son's fever and how she and Will were worried. He would give her until nine, then call.
Hotch watched in silence as they settled into their desks, getting ready for the day without ever truly ending their conversation, save for Rossi, who found his way to his own office. It always felt distant, viewing them from behind the glass as he was now. He was part of the team, but there were times he wondered if he was truly part of it in anything but name. Mornings were some of those times, more often than not.
A knock on his door stirred him from his reverie.
"Come in."
"Hey, Hotch," Morgan said, opening the door. "Saying good morning."
"Good morning."
"You looked a bit lonely up here this morning. Anything you want to talk about?"
"I've been thinking," Hotch said. Morgan made a disbelieving but amused sound.
"Alright, man. But if you do ever want to talk, I'm always here."
"I know. Thank you." Morgan shut the door and walked off. Hotch returned to the work in front of him.
*
"You know, we don't actually know how many-" Reid began, only to be cut off by Prentiss.
"JJ, there you are. Everything alright? You're usually as early as Hotch." The other agent was rarely late, and yet it was almost nine. Hotch had been in the office for likely more than an hour, from what the others knew of his schedule.
"Yeah, everything's fine," JJ said, waving away her friend's concerns. "Henry has a fever, Will's watching him. I left a bit late because of that and hit traffic."
"Henry okay?" Reid chimed in from his desk.
"He will be," JJ assured the group. "He's warm but not dangerously so. We're just worried over how frequently he gets sick."
"That's not uncommon," Reid said. "The average child Henry's age tends to get several fevers a year, not to mention seven or eight colds. So I really wouldn't worry about it unless it's rather severe." He tapped his pen against his fingers, as he was wont to do. JJ nodded, a bit off-kilter
"Thanks, Reid."
*
"Prentiss." Her name being called grabbed her attention away from the report she was filling out as Morgan and Reid bickered behind her, and she turned. Hotch stood outside his office, waiting for her to turn. "I need to speak with you."
It wasn't only her attention that he had. Reid and Morgan were watching intently as well. She rose and made her way over, frowning.
"Something going on?" Hotch opened his door for her in answer. She entered, and he shut it behind them.
"You're not in trouble," he said once he had taken a seat at his desk and she was sitting in the chair across from him. "It's just some routine training. Seven months is a long time to be gone from the team. The Bureau needs to know you're still sharp."
"What do they need from me this time?" The retraining and assessments had been continuous since she had returned to the Unit. Hotch slid a form and a pen towards her.
"For you to fill that out, then report to the mats tomorrow. Morgan and I can cover your paperwork." She nodded.
"You can return to your desk. And, Emily. It's nice to have you back." She stood and moved to the door, then paused with one hand on it.
"Hotch?" He looked up questioningly. Prentiss smiled. "Thanks." She got a small smile in return.
*
Lunch was a remarkably quiet affair. Even Hotch deigned to join them, which was unusual in itself.
"Is anyone doing something interesting this weekend?" Garcia asked.
"A friend and I have plans to go strawberry picking up in Pennsylvania,” Prentiss offered, which gained some approving nods around the table.
“Let’s hope nothing comes up, then.”
“You know, the garden strawberry is originally from Brittany, France, and is a cross of two other breeds, one from eastern North America and the other from Chile. It replaced the woodland strawberry, which had been around since the early 17th century,” was Reid’s contribution.
The talk after that shifted to work, and what had come up in reports. Some members were more vocal than others. Hotch was frequently observant but largely silent when there wasn’t a case, staying in his office and working alone. Rossi preferred to observe as well, but tended to be more active in the conversation.
*
Towards the end of the day, Hotch knocked on JJ’s door.
“Come in,” was the call he was greeted with. She looked up in surprise as he entered, hands pausing on the file she was looking over. “Hey, Hotch. There’s nothing demanding we fly out, though there are a couple of cases that we should offer a consultation on.” He made a small, dismissive gesture.
“I’m not here to discuss cases yet. I trust your judgement.” She smiled.
“Um, thanks. Why are you here, then?”
“Checking on you. You’ve seemed distraught today.” JJ gave him a tight smile.
“It’s nothing, really. It’s this job. It’s my son being sick. I’m fine, Hotch.”
“JJ, if you want to talk, I’m here. And if you need to take some time off, no one’s going to think less of you.”
“I know that.”
“But?”
“But I can’t bear to.” She sighed, quietly. “I can’t step away from this desk and these files, knowing that if I take even a day off, they’re going to pile up and by the time I get through, there’s going to be more bodies. They aren’t my fault, and I know that, but some days it weighs on me more heavily than others.”
She looked up, studying his face. “I can do this job.”
“I know.”
“I just have bad days.”
“Look at me.” JJ lifted her eyes, meeting his own. Hotch continued softly. “You go through files detailing some of the worst acts human beings have committed every day. You have to choose who we try to catch, knowing that the others that you don’t pick are going to keep on killing. Of course this job weighs on you. I want you to know that you have my respect. You’ve always had it. If you need anything, I’m here for you.”
She smiled, teary-eyed.
“Thank you, Hotch.” She slid him a file. He took it.
“The evil in the world is not your fault,” he reminded her as he opened the door to leave.
“Nor is it yours,” she said.
*
It was unusual for any of them to, towards the end of the day, find themselves with a light enough load of work to begin thinking about heading home. It was unfortunately common amongst members of the team to stay far later than was healthy in order to finish filling out some form or report, or to finish reading through a file.
The time was approaching eight by the time Rossi wrapped up the final file he was reviewing. He shook out his wrist, stood, and began packing up.
Then, as was custom on the nights it was just the two of them left, he made his way to Hotch’s office.
Hotch looked up as he entered. “Budget reports,” he said in answer to the questioning look. “HR wants to make another cut and Strauss has me looking over the proposal in case they go through with it.” Rossi dropped into one of the chairs opposite Hotch’s desk.
“What’s it look like for the team?”
“There’s no threat of downsizing this time.” Hotch made another mark and kept reading.
“Well, that’s good, at least.”
Rossi watched in silence as his friend continued to make his way through the report, his usual frown etched on his face even now, in the quiet stillness when it was just the two of them.
Hotch set the file aside some ten minutes later. He took his things as well, then Rossi opened the door for them both and they headed out.
The elevator ride and the walk to the main entrance passed in a blur, and before long, the two of them had reached the parking lot and their cars. They had parked beside each other, something that had started out being convenience (they tended to leave late, and together), and had turned into a habit both were unwilling to break.
“I’ll see you tonight?” Rossi asked as they stood face to face, closer than was perhaps appropriate for two colleagues. Hotch’s hand found his waist.
“Tonight,” he agreed. “An hour from now, my place?”
“Works for me,” Rossi told him. The kiss they shared was brief and chaste. Nothing else was safe, and even that much was too much for a place like the parking lot of Quantico.
*
An hour later, Hotch had seen Jack safely to bed and now opened the door to admit his partner. Rossi entered, and they found their way to the kitchen, trading soft words and sure hands, at ease with each other.
Their relationship was far from new, after all. They had been working with each other for a little over two decades and had been friendly throughout. Their romantic involvement was shorter, but still had several years on it.
Hotch took Rossi’s free hand as they drank, and Rossi could feel the cold of the ring Hotch wore against his skin. They both wore the rings signifying their relationship, though what exactly the rings signified he couldn’t say.
“I’ve been wondering,” Hotch said into the quiet. They had never dared to go further than what they had. A serious relationship between two employees, especially two senior employees, was enough risk as it was. Marriage was out of the question for more than one reason. Anything more than friendship was already putting the team at risk. If one of them was injured or killed on a case, the other would be more vulnerable than was safe with their job. Relationships were a risk, always had been. Unfortunately for them and countless others, their hearts had never cared.
“We have plans to not go further until we’re retired.” Hotch paused, turning the words over in his mind and finding the right ones. “But if we could safely, Dave, would you marry me?”
“Yes,” was the answer that fell from Rossi’s lips, before he sealed them over Hotch’s again. He tasted desperation and the wine they had drunk. The glasses found their way onto the counter as he wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him close as Hotch did the same.
"Buck -" But whatever fight Eddie has left in himself, whatever energy, is at it's last dregs.
He's exhausted. So, goddamn exhausted.
"Please, Eddie. Just - just promise you'll think about it. At the very least. Consider it." Buck begs - and he's heard plenty of men beg for their lives before, one last final push for their life, but this strikes him differently. Hurts in a way Eddie's been trying not name, to acknowledge.
He manages a nod, some vague approximation of a promise whistles pass his lips. It's enough for now, he thinks. Hopes.
send me a pairing, a sentence, and i’ll write the next five sentences!
Summary: Or: Reid was left alone to fight with his addiction. Here are his thoughts.
Warnings: drug use, addiction
Words: 599
Ao3
"You think I asked for this?"
He's back in the barn, the ceiling disappearing into shadow above him. Tobias Hankel (or maybe he's Charles now) looms above him, contorted with anger.
It passes. He weathers the storm. His body aches and he loses feeling in his wrists from where they are bound, but he weather's the storm.
The chair tips. He chokes. Gideon's voice is a long way away, and maybe it's only a memory after all.
A needle presses against his arm. Breaks the skin despite his pleading.
Pleasure and pain course through his veins, and he would scream if he had the strength. As it is, his mind whirls, his stomach heaves, and the world is blissfully silent.
"Because I didn't."
Hankel is dead and as are Charles and Raphael. Need burns in his veins. As grateful as he is to see the team, as much as their faces fill him with relief, they do little for the burning.
He ducks back, and pockets the dilaudid.
He burns with shame, but his body protests more than his mind. He is too tired. Too worn out and shaken to fight this fight now. The vials go in his pocket, and he joins the others.
Morgan throws an arm around him, holding him up and keeping him moving. He should be grateful, but all he feels is light-headed. The lights of the cars are far too bright. They consume him.
"So why aren't you helping me?"
He waits. He waits, and waits, and waits with ever-dwindling patience. He hides it poorly. They are profilers, as is he. They are his friends.
They should be helping him.
One of them should reach out and ask him if he's alright. Should see through the lie he wears.
They see the shaking in his hands, the dark circles under his eyes, the unkempt hair. They see the sneaking off and the secrecy, the mood swings and the irritability.
They see, and they do nothing.
He shakes with pain, both from the burning and from his heart.
"I trusted you," are the words that long to fall from his lips, only he is afraid of what the response will be.
"You're my team. My family."
He recovers. Slowly. It is a long and painful process, but he fights through it. The team pretends not to see. Hotch and Gideon factor in his inconsistency and pain, and work around him. They do not answer his cries for help.
He turns away from them.
The rest of the team is no better. Prentiss fights fire with fire, answering his temper with witty remarks and a flair for conflict. Morgan worries from afar and treats him the same as ever. JJ and Garcia are distant, more so than before.
His family has turned their backs. He is alone.
And he fights.
And pulls through, somehow.
A kind man gives him a 1-year token when he is at 10 months, for good luck and for strength. Two months later, he receives his own, and returns it.
There is hope in that exchange.
A man who is not his family keeps him afloat when no one else will. He is grateful beyond what words can say.
"And if I can't count on you, I've got no one."
One day, some time after he is clean and fine, and Prentiss is alive again and he has fought with JJ, he looks at the team. He drowned in silence and pain while they kept quiet.
And when it comes to it, the only word that falls from his lips is, "why?"
Summary: A case comes in for a series of decapitations in Iowa.
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, including strangulation, decapitation, and getting shot
Pairing: Hotch/Rossi
Word Count: 12.2k
Read an excerpt below the cut, or read the full chapter on ao3.
__
Two weeks earlier…
The moon was away. The world was silent. He stood quietly in the alley, gun in hand. He had gone driving around that night looking for his target, and now, finally, he had found him. The man had entered a corner store, but it would only be a matter of time.
He waited, biding his time by watching the corner store intently, watching every movement.
And sure enough, his target emerged. He kept himself together long enough to grab his target’s jacket as he walked by. There was hardly time for a startled cry before his gun struck the back of his target's head, and he collapsed. He hauled the body to his car, which was parked outside the alley. His left leg protested horribly, bone creaking and groaning under him.
He drove. He drove quickly, and he drove quietly. No one could bear witness to this fact. Not now, when he finally had him, there, tied up in his trunk because to leave him in the back seat would mean witnesses, and to leave him unbound would be foolish.
He turned into the grass, ignoring the sign at the gate. He drove. The moon was shrouded tonight, its light thin and pitiful through the crowds. He didn't pity it. The darkness covered him like a friend. He didn't fear it, either. He was the thing that hunted in the dark.
He turned off the engine and climbed out, cursing and gripping the roof of the car when his leg did not want to hold his weight.
He took the shovel from under the backseat and walked a little ways away. The ground was soft enough he could dig easily, so he did. The earth piled up beside the shallow grave he dug. The moon wouldn't tell a soul of his deeds, he knew, the clouds blocked her view. And there was no one else around. Not at this time of night.
The grave dug, he set the shovel down beside it and limped to the trunk of the car, which he unlocked. His target was still unconscious. That wouldn't do. He'd be waking soon enough, though, and that would. He needed to see the terror in his eyes as he died.
He hauled the body out of the car, and dragged it across damp grass to the shallow grave. He laid the body crudely down to rest on its back.
The man did not stir. That wouldn't do.
He waited, slapped his face, even, but he did not move. Only his breathing assured that he was still alive.
He wrapped his hands around the throat of his target, and squeezed. It would have to do, even if it was less than what he had hoped for.
The man under him now began to stir, thrashing and wheezing. But he could move little. There was another man on his chest, and his hands and feet were bound.
He looked down into his target's teary eyes.
"Why are you afraid?" He sneered. Shuddering sobs and futile pleas followed his words. "You think he wasn’t, when you killed him? You think my son wasn't?"
"I didn't…" was the faint gasp beneath him. His target's eyes rolled up into his head as he struggled to breathe. "I don't…"
The man below him went still. And somehow, the hunter knew that his prey, this victim whose chest he sat on, was not who he had been hunting. He should have seen it before. The face was all wrong.
Anger overtook him, and he raced back to the car as fast as his leg would allow. He fetched the saw from the glove box and returned to the body waiting for him in a shallow grave.
If the moon saw, she didn't say.
--
Present day / Day One
"Guys, we've got a case," Garcia said on her way past the bullpen. The four agents seated there perked up, taking in her demeanor.
"This a bad one?" Morgan asked, already halfway out of his seat. Garcia paused, considering.
"Aren't they all? Rhetorical question, Reid, I know. This one's certainly a weird one, and likely going to get worse. Technically not a serial yet, but we've been personally invited by the police force there so you guys are flying out anyway."
*
"Right, so," Garcia began, pulling various images of two men up on the board. "Two men have been decapitated in Gordon, Iowa. Earlier this morning, Seld Collins was found dead in a local park, with his head chopped clean off and thrown nearby. Eight days ago, the first victim, Kegan Woods, was found in a different park, and he was killed the same way."
"They certainly look alike," Rossi commented. Both images were of caucasian men with short, dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended.
"Well, he's willing to cross age lines: they're over twenty years apart," JJ put in. "Woods was twenty and Collins was in his mid-forties."
"Not to mention the difference in socioeconomic status," Reid agreed. "Woods was a sophomore in college working part-time as a farmhand, while Collins was a middle-class business man for a local company."
"They were found in two different parks?" Prentiss asked. The question was directed to Hotch and Garcia.
"Yes," Hotch confirmed. "Mongolia Park and Birch Grounds, respectively. Aside from the exact disposal site, the murders are identical. That's why we were called out."
"That's a pretty distinct signature," Morgan said, examining the photos before him. "And not the sort of thing you see with an amateur."
"Garcia, run the signature through VICAP. He most likely has a record or has done this before," Rossi suggested. She nodded.
"We need to get out there before there's another body," was all Hotch said. "Wheels up in thirty."
--
“Garcia, what have we got?” Hotch asked, looking up from the file he was examining digitally.
“I’ve been digging, but as of yet I’m afraid there are no promising connections between our victims.” The answer came over the videocall back to Quantico.
“But there are connections?” Morgan asked. Garcia nodded.
“It’s a small town, lover boy. Well, small-ish. There’s plenty smaller, this one’s just not big, is my point. There’s overlap between everyone. Two local grocery stores, one of which is really small and seedy-looking, one gym, a library, a school, there’s a handful of cafes and like, the two parks where our victims were found. Everyone has crossed paths with everyone, at some point.”
"Are there any places both men visited often?" Morgan pushed. Garcia nodded.
"Kind of. Both usually visited the same grocery store, the more reputable one. But, when they weren't at work or school, Kegan Woods hung out a lot at the gym and Seld Collins has an impressive list of checked out books from the library, mostly sci-fi and physics with a few self-help books."
"So Woods was physically fit," Rossi mused. "Our unsub has to be as well. Even if he used a blitz attack, and going by the similar blows to the back of head on both victims, I’d say he did, he'd still have to transport Woods' body."
"But Collins is smaller," JJ said, frowning at the images before her. "It doesn't make sense. It's like he can't decide on some of the traits he needs these men to share. If these are surrogates, and it looks like they might be, wouldn't he know who they were surrogates for?"
“We need to know how and why he chooses his victims, then we can find him," Hotch said. "Garcia, keep digging. We need any names that show up repeatedly for both men."
“Garcia out!” Was the reply.
“There doesn’t seem to be any excess injuries to the bodies,” Morgan added, turning one of the photos to look at it from a different angle. “Aside from the removal of the head, they’re practically unharmed. This guy’s not a sadist.”
"They were strangled, that's personal," Prentiss said. "JJ's right, they’ve got to be surrogates."
"He seems to care about his victims, at least once they're dead," Rossi said. "The way they're posed with their arms crossed on their chests indicates remorse."
"So maybe he knew them?" JJ asked. "It's not that large a town."
“The M.E. report for the first victim says that there was no sexual component, though both bodies were found naked," Prentiss chimed in.
“What about the second?” Rossi asked. She shook her head.
“They only found the body a few hours ago, this morning. There hasn’t been time for a full report yet.”
"And why naked? Humiliation?"
"This feels mission-oriented," Reid said, frowning at the photos before them, two dead men with empty eyes staring at the sky.
"And if these men are surrogates, he won't stop killing until he's gotten to his target," Hotch finished. "When we land, Prentiss, Morgan, I want you two to go to the morgue."
"If I may," Reid cut in. Hotch looked at him expectantly. “I’d like to go with them and see what state their necks are in. It’s actually incredibly difficult to decapitate someone, so how he did it could tell us a lot.” He got a nod.
"In that case," Hotch said, revising, "Reid, go with Prentiss to the morgue. Morgan, I want you and Dave to go to the latest crime scene. JJ and I will set up at the station and coordinate with the local police."
Warnings: drinking to cope; nightmare that makes it unclear what's real
Characters: Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner (flashback), Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, David Rossi, BAU team
Relationships: Prentiss & Hotch, Prentiss/Hotch, BAU team & Hotch
Genre: angst
Summary: Hotch doesn't return after Mr. Scratch. Prentiss has a drink, tries to forget, and realises she loved him.
Word Count: 4.3k
Excerpt below the cut, or read on ao3
__
"Mr. Scratch is dead," Reid tells her.There is something acutely comforting about that, and yet all Prentiss can feel is the rush of her heartbeat in her ears, and how her breath is coming too fast. Then it's over, and it sinks in that he's dead, at last, and she turns to whoever's next to her and embraces them. It's over. It's been years, but it's over.
Finally.
Her hands are shaking slightly with relief as the team regroups at Quantico. They're all there, those that are left, and while they're battered and she won't be forgetting the torture she underwent any time soon, they're alive.
They're alive.
She doesn't realize there are tears in her eyes until JJ embraces her with tears of her own.
"Take six weeks," she tells the team, voice rough but as professional as she can force it to be right now. "Including you, Alvez."
*
Stepping into her apartment, she's hit first by the silence. It hasn't been this quiet since before that last case, before they went after Scratch for good.
It's deafening, really, and she sighs aloud just to hear something. The pitter-patter of paws that had once greeted her every time she came home is absent: Sergio is with Garcia now. Emily travels too much, she can't take care of a cat, no matter how hard she had tried to fool herself into it.
"Guess I'll just be alone forever," she mutters aloud. Her voice sounds foreign. She kicks off her shoes, then sets down her bag by the front door, energy draining abruptly as she comes to the realisation that she really is home.
Mr. Scratch is dead.
She gets a bottle of wine from the fridge and takes a swig straight from the bottle. Oh, how her mother would be horrified if she could see her now. Emily doesn't care. Her mind is still a blur, and the world is dark outside her windows. She takes another long swig, then corks the bottle and puts it away again.
Her phone buzzes, then buzzes again like it has been on and off all evening. She hardly glances at the sender of the latest text longer than it takes to check it's a name and a number she knows.
How are you?
Fine, she texts back. He's dead, and that's what's important.
She staggers to her room, more from exhaustion and relief than the wine, and only just remembers to smack the lightswitch off on her way past. She puts her gun and badge on her night stand, an old habit from years of cases. It isn't always easy to accept that the case was over, when it was so personal and so long. She sleeps better if her gun is within reach.
She's asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. She's grateful when she doesn't dream.
