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codename-mom · 1 year

Text

Panic in the elevator

Summary: the team was about to leave the sixth floor of Quantico after they solved a new case. All the team? No, the youngest one is missing and he seems to have a good reason. Or maybe not.

Characters: the BAU (Blake era, without Reid) and Beth Clemmons

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch's smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and his dark gaze immediately turned to his nearest neighbor.

“What do you mean by: “Reid has a girlfriend?” he repeated, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, yes! Morgan smiled. While you’re foraging, someone is growing up.”

Behind the giant's back, Garcia and JJ stifled a burst of laughter. It had to be said that their superior's appearance didn't quite match the verb chosen by their colleague.

“I don’t forage and since when Reid has a girlfriend?”

“You’re disappointed because you didn’t see anything, aren’t you?” Agent Jareau scoffed, temporarily regaining her seriousness.

The BAU director's attention immediately focused on her.

“Of course I'd noticed something strange about him lately, he defended himself. Well, more than usual…”

“Hey!” The technical analyst belched, ready to pounce on him.

“Penelope, I hired Reid precisely because he's strange, he soothed her, before resuming. But I thought it was his migraines that had returned.”

Some time ago, the unit's youngest agent had been plagued by virulent headaches, forcing him to flee the light and retreat home more than ever. Terrified that he was beginning to develop the first symptoms of schizophrenia – his mother's illness – he had undergone a battery of tests without obtaining any convincing results to explain his condition. And then things seemed to have settled down on their own, and the doctor of philosophy had returned to normal activity. Or almost.

“No. Apparently, he's found a way to fix it," said Blake, with a smirk.

“Which one?”

“How curious you are.”

“Yes, by the way, what have you done with Jack?" wanted to know Derek, a mocking eyebrow raised in his direction.

Since meeting Beth, Hotch had been spending more and more weekends in New York, and the question of what was happening to his only offspring in the meantime genuinely arose.

“I sold him on E-bay.”

“What?!” Chocked the bespectacled blonde.

“I’m kidding, he admitted in the same tone as his previous reply. He is with his cousins. He will spend the week-end in an amusement park.”

“Without his father?” frowned JJ, bewildered.

“Curiously, yes. He’s the one who insisted I shouldn’t be here. According to him, I'm too much of a safety freak. And a diet freak too, he explained, without quite managing to conceal his disappointment. But can we go back to Reid? Who is this girl?”

Aaron Hotchner hates to talk about his private life, so he didn't surprise anyone by quickly redirecting the conversation to the primary topic. But the rest of the discussion didn't take the direction he would necessarily have liked.

“I haven't the faintest idea," confessed the ex-policeman beside him, without losing his good humor.

Obviously, feeding his boss's anguish outweighed his concerns for the youngest of the bunch.

“What do you mean? Replied Hotch facing them suddenly. You don't even know her name?”

“We don't even know what she looks like, said Blake, before adding. Neither does he.”

“What? Does she even exist?”

The titan's face, usually so impassive, clearly expressed his anxiety about the information his team was delivering. His affection for the two most sensitive agents on Quantico's sixth floor was an open secret, even to the latest arrival, who tried to smooth things over.

“He talked to her on the phone many times.”

“But he never saw her?”

“No. It’ll be the big premiere tonight.”

“Okay. I go upstairs.”

With disconcerting speed, given his tall stature, the former federal prosecutor turned around, ready to swoop on the upstairs sign. Morgan, JJ and Garcia all rushed to hold him back.

“NO!”

“Let him fly on his own," interposed the strongest of the three, putting his arm between his supervisor and his objective.

“Reid is a chick fallen from the nest, he doesn’t fly. He will be eaten alive.”

“You see, Alex, murmured Penelope, leaning towards the new recruit, it's Hotch who turns on Mommy mode.”

“No, that's got nothing to do with it, recited the interested party, who had heard everything. I just want Reid back at the briefing table Monday morning in one piece.”

“That's what we say," joked Derek.

Aaron's shoulders slumped, a sign that he was conceding defeat, but he tried one last kick as the elevator doors opened onto the underground parking lot.

“Do we even know where they're supposed to meet?”

“Hotch, everything's going to be fine," objected JJ, giving him her most serene smile.

“If it turns up in lots of little bits scattered around an alley, it's your fault.”

“Aaron, make sure you don't miss your train," retorted Dave peacefully, who had been observing the whole dialogue with an amused chuckle at the corner of his lips.

“Kiss Beth for us," Garcia sent him, ecstatic.

The unit manager shook his head in disappointment and moved off between the parked vehicles in semi-darkness. His team watched with some amusement as he distanced himself.

“Does he often activate this mode?" Blake worried, surprised by this sudden outpouring of emotion from him.

“As soon as one of the kids goes near a lighter," Rossi replied with a shrug.

“We get used to it," JJ reassured her as she walked over to her own car.

Later that night, in the bedroom of a New York apartment, a young brunette woman cuddles up to her lover's chest. She slipped a hand under his T-shirt, caressing the hot, sweaty skin of the man who had just made tender love to her. She would have liked to tear off the piece of cloth that hid this part of his anatomy, but the irregular bulges she felt under her fingers reminded her why he never removed it in front of her. Beth looked up into Aaron's face and saw him typing a message on his cell-phone.

“Who are you writing to?" she asked, intrigued.

“Spencer.”

“Are you serious? She gave herself airs, straightening up. Even after what we've just done, you're thinking about your job?”

“That's got nothing to do with it, Hotch replied, placing the phone back on the bedside table. He had a date with a girl tonight.”

Beth's momentary annoyance immediately subsided. Her partner had spoken to her at length about the members of his team shortly after their first official date, she noted, with an affection more paternal than professional. And Spencer Reid's case had caught her attention, as it had many others before her. Suddenly puzzled, she hiccupped:

“Oh, then her smile grew when she went back to curl up against Aaron. What’s her name?”

“I have no idea.”

“Aren’t you a little bit curious?” she retorted, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course, but the others didn't know her name and they told me about it when we were already in the elevator to the parking lot. And he wasn't there," he added, taking the wind out of her sails.

“So, what were you saying?”

The BAU director picked up his phone, turned the screen back on and turned it towards his companion, where she could read: "Still alive?”.

“What's this message? she exclaimed, dumbfounded. Can't you just ask him if everything went well, like everyone else?”

“What? Croaked Hotch, impassive. He was about to meet a girl he'd never seen before, which is a particularly risky attitude if you ask me.”

Beth watched her bedmate for a moment, who gave her an innocent look – the same one he gave when he didn't understand the inconsistencies in his behavior. She sighed and returned to his side, unable to conceal her amusement.

“No wonder they call you “Mom”.”

“Who told you that?" he reacted immediately, his muscles tense.

“I forgot," she said in return, remembering all at once that she'd been strongly advised not to mention that nickname in front of the principal concerned.

Luckily for her, her partner's cell phone vibrated at the same time, transmitting a simple "yes" from Reid. His superior hurried to answer under the gaze of his hostess.

“Prove it.”

Unseen by him, Beth's eyes rolled back into their sockets. She was beginning to wonder if all FBI agents were this paranoid or if she'd just had an unlucky draw in the Quantico lottery. But, after an interminable minute – during which her lover never took his eyes off his Smartphone – an impressively long message was displayed. The text said that starfish in the poles had developed a ventral pouch to protect their young from the extremely low temperatures on the seabed. The mistress of the premises wrinkled her nose, trying to understand the link between this answer and the question asked. A connection that Aaron obviously made without any problem, as he placed his phone back on the table, looking satisfied.

“All good, he’s alive.”

“Has anyone ever told you how weird you are, both of you?”

___

Well, I let the dots this time for the dialogues, but it's still bothering me. >_<

With this bunch of text incoming, I'll add some kind of timeline in my pinned post to help you get in which order all those stories happen. :)

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codename-mom · 8 months

Text

In name of Spencer

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. :)

Hope you'll like it better.

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