Archive of Our Own

"Aaron Hotchner?"

She wasn't sure why she asked; she knew who he was. It was perhaps for courtesy's sake that she phrased it as a question rather than a demand.

"Good morning." He placed his book to the side and stood up.

"Afternoon, actually," she corrected him, eyes scanning his face for some clue to his thoughts. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she gestured towards the empty chair.

"By all means, go ahead."

She sat, settling her bag on the floor gently, and when she was seated Hotchner returned to his own chair. Apparently she couldn't keep the curiosity off her face entirely, because he answered the question she hadn't asked.

"It's polite to stand when someone else enters a room."

They had told her he was perceptive.

"Is that important to you? Manners, politeness?"

"Does that surprise you?"

She saw no point in lying about this. "Yes."

"Etiquette becomes habitual," he replied, raising one eyebrow. "Once you're used to a certain set of behaviors, you hardly even notice."

She thought he might be making a jab at her, so she suppressed the urge to clear her throat and said, "I'm afraid I might be neglecting my own manners. I haven't introduced myself yet."

"I know who you are." Without breaking eye contact, he placed a piece of paper in the book he had been reading and closed it.

"You do?"

"You're one of Jason Gideon's people." Her shoulders tightened the moment she heard her boss's name but she tried to release the tension. She knew she was good at concealing her emotions, but either her cover was slipping or he was even better at reading her than she'd thought he'd be. "We haven't met before so you must be new. My guess is they haven't sent you out on an assignment like this before – you're nervous."

"Nevertheless," she said, pleased with how calm her voice was, "don't you want to know?"

He considered this for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Emily Prentiss."

"A pleasure to meet you, Agent Prentiss."

"You probably know why I'm here."

"Well it isn't for the view," he gestured at their dismal surroundings. "So it must be for the company."

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm here to interview you," Emily stated, to be sure that he was clear on this.

"Of course. I'm just surprised they've sent you."

"I assure you, Mr. Hotchner, I might be new but I am qualified for this position."

"I'm sure you are. You're probably the best possible candidate for the job; I just hadn't thought Agent Gideon had the self-control to make that call. I guess I shouldn't underestimate him."

Emily frowned. "It's not the first time you made that mistake."

Even now, his face was blank. "True."

"Mr. Hotchner, if we could perhaps start from the beginning – "

"No."

That threw her. "No?"

"I don't intend to have my time wasted like this. I'm sorry that you made the trip out here for nothing."

"Mr. Hotchner – "

"Call me Hotch."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "It's been a long time since anyone called me Hotch."

Emily debated how to respond to that. She didn't want to let him think that he could boss her around, but at the same time, she thought it would help to prove that she was willing to cooperate. "Hotch," she said, and paused. "You knew why I was here when I came in. If you didn't want to be interviewed, why didn't you just send me away?"

"Because you are an exceedingly lovely woman."

"You wanted to talk to me because you think I'm attractive?"

"It's not a crime to appreciate beauty."

"So appreciate. Just let me ask you a few questions while you do."

"I'm not going to subject myself to a psychological dissection simply because you're attractive. Goodbye, Agent Prentiss."

Feeling insignificant and humiliated, Emily stood and walked out, not looking behind her as Hotch picked up his book and continued to read. There had to be some way of making him talk, but she wasn't going to figure it out now. Perhaps if she came back tomorrow she would have another chance.

In the meantime, she could figure out how he had managed to be the one with the power.

-

"What do you want?" Emily said, with more hostility in her voice than she had intended.

"I – I'm sorry. Is something – Is this a bad time, Em – ah, Prentiss?"

Emily leaned back and let her head touch the hotel room's wall. She wished she'd taken a moment to check caller ID before she'd picked up her phone; she would have controlled herself better if she'd known. Reid sounded hurt, and she could picture the apologetic look on his face, arm wrapped around himself defensively. She felt like she'd just kicked a puppy.

"No, Reid, it's fine," she sighed. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's all right," except it wasn't, because 'Prentiss' had only recently changed to 'Emily,' and now it had changed back. It had taken more time and effort than she'd thought possible to get anywhere close to Dr. Reid, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to make him push her away again. She didn't want to give him an excuse to.

"What's going on?" she asked, trying to sound friendly and casual.

"I just finished the consult I was working on and I wanted to call and see how you were doing. I mean, if everything was okay."

Now she felt even worse. "Things are going...badly."

"How so?"

"He refused to talk to me."

"Did he say why?"

"Just that it was a waste of his time."

"Hmm." She wondered if he was thinking that this was her fault; that if Gideon had sent him, or come himself, Hotchner would have consented to the interview. She couldn't blame him if he were; she was starting to think the same thing.

"I guess it's got me a little stressed out," she confessed.

"Are you going to try again?"

"Yeah, I'm going back tomorrow. It'd be a waste of a plane ticket otherwise."

"You'll probably find that he's thought it over and changed his mind. If nothing else, the interview should provide a distraction and intellectual stimulation, not to mention a personal connection. Sending you away was a dramatic gesture on his part, to show that he still had some control, but if you give him another chance he won't have the strength to throw that away twice just to make a point."

"Thanks, Reid."

"For what?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"Never mind." If he didn't understand that just being himself was anything special, she wasn't sure she could explain it to him. "I'm going to get something to eat, okay?"

"Sure. Call me back if you need anything."

She ended up reviewing the case file for another hour before going out for lunch.

-

"You're persistent."

Hotch was already standing this time, facing away from her and looking out the small window behind him. He turned his head sideways to address her but looked away again when he was done to let her know that this wouldn't be a long conversation.

"It's my job."

"Your job is to track down criminals. Once the arrest is made, your responsibility for them is over. Why are you here?"

"We need to better understand your case, Mr. Hotchner."

He turned halfway to face her again, raising an eyebrow, and she corrected herself. "Hotch." It gave her the creeps to call him that, but she didn't want to go back to Quantico empty-handed, even if it meant feigning rapport with a serial killer.

He turned back to the window.

She kept her tone level, as though curiosity and not desperation were prompting her. "You're not getting out of here, not in this lifetime. You've already confessed. What do you really have to lose by talking to me?"

"My dignity," he replied. "This is my decision, Agent Prentiss. Good day."

Emily swallowed hard, pushing away her frustration and disappointment. She had been so sure that Hotchner would talk to her on the second day. The desire to give up and fly back to Quantico was nearly as strong as the desire to reach through the bars and grab Hotchner, to make him talk to her. She didn't want to fail the team, not on this one.

Third time's the charm. She gritted her teeth and promised she'd be back tomorrow, and that she'd find a way of making him say something to her. She turned and took a few steps away.

She stopped.

It was probably a horrible idea, but she had to ask anyway.

"Hotch?"

He made a small noise to acknowledge that he had heard her.

"You said yesterday that I was probably the best person to interview you."

"I did."

"Even though you won't answer my questions."

"Yes."

She didn't blink, didn't lick her lips, didn't show any of the hesitation or doubt that was churning in her belly, making her feel nauseous. God, this was probably a horrible idea.

"Why do you think that?"

Hotch was silent for just long enough to make her think he wasn't going to answer. He did speak, though his tone remained flat and he remained facing away from her. "Because you have no emotional investment. Agent Gideon is good, but I think even he would let anger cloud his judgment – I'm surprised that he had the foresight to realize that for himself, given how he likes to take personal responsibility for everything involving his team. If he might lose his temper, Agents Morgan and Rossi most certainly would. And I think that the young Dr. Reid would be too scared to focus. You're the logical choice because you're the only one who can be trusted to keep a level head."

She wasn't sure what to make of that. It felt wrong to talk to this man about her teammates, and she found herself more unsettled by his answer than before.

It wasn't until she'd left the prison that she realized his answer, carefully empty of emotion as it was, had given her an idea.

-

This time the phone call didn't catch her by surprise, nor did it catch her in a bad mood.

"Hey Reid, what's up?"

"Mmm, nothing, really. Slow day at the office. I'm bored."

"You wouldn't be so bored all the time if you didn't go through your paperwork so quickly," she pointed out.

"So my alternatives are to be bored from having nothing to do, or to be bored from doing paperwork? I can't say I'm thrilled about either choice."

"I'm pretty sure making personal phone calls isn't an option."

"I'm on a coffee break," he said defensively.

"Hiding out so Morgan doesn't fob his excess work off on you?"

"Something like that. You're sounding better than you did yesterday, by the way."

"I'm feeling better than I did yesterday."

"So it's going well?"

"I'm making progress." She wanted to keep things vague for now, just in case.

"Has he said why?"

"Not yet."

"Oh. Okay, yeah."

He still wasn't saying it, and after two days of disappointment with Hotchner, Emily just wanted to be able to talk openly about something. "Reid, I know you don't think I can do this - "

"I don't! I mean, I don't think that, I think you can."

She didn't believe him. She remembered how he'd acted when Gideon had handed her the case file and told her the name of her subject.

It had meant nothing to her, but Reid had dropped his coffee mug and didn't even care that the hot liquid splashed across his legs.

"Aaron Hotchner? Really? Ah, do you think – are you sure –"

"Prentiss is handling this one, Reid." Gideon's tone made it clear that discussing the matter further would change nothing; his mind was set.

Reid nodded and started cleaning up the mess. It was a convenient excuse to not make eye contact with either of the other profilers.

Emily had thought it was a little strange, but it hadn't really bothered her until later when Gideon called her into his office to talk to her about the assignment. He'd hardly said two words to her before Morgan stormed in, Reid following guiltily behind him.

"You're giving this interview to Prentiss?" he demanded, and Emily had felt hurt by his tone – complete disbelief at the thought that Gideon would even consider letting her handle this.

"Morgan." A warning and an explanation.

"No way, Gideon. She is not taking this. It's not her case."

"It's not your call." His tone was conciliatory, but Morgan wasn't going to let it go so easily, and he seemed to take the words as a challenge.

"One of us should be interviewing this bastard." She hadn't known then that this case had been personal; she just knew that, after the last few months of hard work, fighting for acceptance, she was still being cast as the outsider.

"Morgan, I need you working a consult in Richmond. JJ can fill you in on the details."

"And that's more important than Hotchner?"

"Hotchner is none of your concern. Prentiss can handle him. Go talk to JJ." Seeing the rebellion on Morgan's face, Gideon's attitude changed. "That's an order, SSA Morgan."

It was like he'd slapped Morgan; everyone in the room froze for a single, shocked second. He'd never sounded so angry with one of his agents. Morgan recovered quickest, turning around and hitting Gideon's door before storming out. Reid muttered something indistinct that sounded apologetic and chased after him.

Emily took another few seconds to get her mental footing back. She stared after her coworkers until Gideon coughed, drawing her attention. "Get him to talk victimology," he continued from right where he'd left off. He didn't mention the incident, and she didn't ask.

Shaking her head to clear out the memory – just because she understood it better didn't mean it didn't still sting – she challenged Reid. "If you really think I can do this, why'd you and Morgan make such a big deal out of it?"

"I am sorry about Morgan, really. I didn't realize he'd be quite so, ah, vehement. I just..." he sighed, voice trailing away for long enough that Emily doubted he was going to continue. "I just have to know," he said. "I'd finally accepted the fact that I was never going to know why, and then – and then Gideon said we were going to interview him and I thought that I was going to get my chance to find out, and then he gave you the file...It felt like I lost that chance. I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't do it. I have faith in you."

It thrilled Emily to hear that, but considering what she was planning, she wasn't sure it was such a good thing.

-

If she could just get Hotch talking about something, anything, she could steer the conversation towards his case; and even if she couldn't, his conversation could be revealing in ways he didn't intend. So far, he'd shown no sign of interest in talking to her – except when he'd been talking about the team. The thought was disturbing, but she balanced the perceived betrayal against the cost of failure – they needed this interview. They needed his answers, needed to understand what they'd missed during the investigation. Hoping that she was making the right choice, Emily Prentiss returned to the prison on the final day of her trip to Seattle.

"Agent Prentiss," Hotchner greeted her, sounding oddly upbeat – but of course, he was expecting another victory.

"Good morning, Hotch."

He raised an eyebrow very slightly. She knew that he could see through her attempts at appeasement, she figured it was still better than alienating him.

"Surprised to see me?" she guessed, keeping her tone light.

"Impressed, maybe. I'm starting to realize I shouldn't be surprised by anything you do."

It was strange, how that compliment actually seemed to mean something. Maybe it was just how sincere he was; maybe she was just unused to receiving compliments. She had to remind herself of where she was to stop herself from thanking him.

"So what is it this time?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Your new angle. The last two attempts failed; what does the profile tell you to do now?"

"Hotch, if we had a profile, I wouldn't be here."

"But you have a plan; you like having control too much to come in here without one. It would be giving me too much power over the situation."

Emily smiled blandly, not confirming or denying any of what he'd said, and leaned forward slightly. "I'm not here so we can talk about me."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"Why's that?"

"You expect me to tell you everything about myself and you don't plan on sharing."

"Oh, I'm not that interesting."

"I beg to differ."

"And why's that?"

He watched her very carefully before answering. "I might have underestimated the BAU," he told her, "but they underestimate you."

She'd expected that he would try to play her while she was trying to play him, but she pretended to be caught off guard anyway; she needed to go along with Hotchner's game if she was going to get any information out of him. Blinking a few times and breaking eye contact quickly, she looked flustered – but just a little. If she overdid it, he'd see through her act, and in any case she didn't really want to feel that vulnerable in front of him. "What makes you say that?"

"You were overly defensive the first time we met. I hadn't questioned your qualifications but you made sure that I knew you could do your job, because you're used to people treating you like you can't."

That stung more than she had anticipated, and she started to realize just how dangerous this game could become. She wasn't going to back out now, though, and she just changed her tactic a little. "You know, you seem pretty interested in profiling," she said, perfectly composed once more. "We always say that unsubs make the best profilers, and we've seen it happen before, but this is more than that – you're good."

Hotch shrugged, showing modesty, of all things. "Psychology and behavioral science are hobbies of mine."

"And of course it must pay off in the courtroom, if you can read a jury, tell them what they want to hear...read witnesses, get them to say exactly what you want them to."

"It's been useful in my work," he answered, "But I'd rather talk about your work."

"How we catch serial killers?" she asked. "Or how we caught you?"

"I already know how you caught me. I got sloppy, left evidence behind."

"Which was completely uncharacteristic," Emily pointed out. "You were always so careful about how you killed them, where you hid the bodies – you went virtually undetected for months and stayed at large for months even after the BAU got your case – and then you left fingerprints at the scene? That's more than just sloppy, Hotch. If I didn't know better I'd say you wanted to get caught."

"That was never my intention."

"What was?"

"What's yours?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're smart, determined, good with people. You could have done any of a number of things – politics, business – but you chose the FBI, and not just the FBI, the BAU. Why?"

"Because I want to make the world a better place?" Emily suggested.

"It's more than that. You want to make your world a better place. People don't get where you are without being broken in some way."

"I had a good childhood, I was never abused, I've never even had a bad breakup," she told him. "I'm fine."

"People can be broken in all kinds of ways," he assured her. "Take a look at Dr. Reid, for instance."

"What about him?"

"If he were in the private sector, he could make a fortune. Instead he's earning a government salary to pay off student loans for – how many degrees does he have? He's trying to prove something."

"Which is evidence of some insecurity, maybe, but 'broken'?" Emily shook her head. "That's a stretch."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "And have you ever heard him talk about his family?"

Emily frowned. This had been the point, get him talking, but she was disturbed by the possibility that he knew the team better than she did. "What do you know about his family?" she asked.

"Only what I've figured out," Hotch shrugged.

In a way, that was worse; he might not have inside information, but he was a lot better at this than she'd given him credit for – and each time she thought she had him pegged, he proved her wrong again.

"So he's not on good terms with his family. Neither are you."

"Are you using me as some sort of indicator of normalcy?"

"All right, maybe you've got a point," Emily conceded. "But one person doesn't make a pattern."

He smirked, like he'd been waiting for her to say that. "What about four?" he asked, and didn't give her time to answer. "Agent Morgan is a bully." She opened her mouth to contradict him but he raised his hand and cut her off. "You've seen him in interrogations, chases, you know that it's true. But something happened to him, someone bullied him badly enough that he doesn't want to be like that person. Since he can't change himself, he went to work for the FBI, where it's 'heroism' and 'bravery' instead of bullying. And then there's Agents Gideon and Rossi, each their own bundle of bad experiences and messed-up relationships, so alike and so different that they can't stand each other. None of them are going to walk away, because they feel at home with each other, more comfortable than they would be surrounded by normal, unbroken people.

"And then there's you. You wanted to be in the BAU; so what's wrong with you? What messed you up so badly that you feel at home with them?"

"What messed you up so badly that you became a serial killer?"

"I asked first."

"What happened to chivalry? Hotch, I thought you were polite."

"Am I really so messed up?"

"Most people can get through the day without feeling the urge to strangle someone to death. You're a smart guy, Hotch, don't try and pull this 'I didn't know any better' crap. Your parents taught you right from wrong, same as everyone else."

"True. But the message gets a little confused when it's accompanied by a beating."

"The 'my daddy beat the shit out of me' defense isn't a whole lot better."

"I thought you wanted the truth."

"So tell me the truth."

"Once I do, I have no further assurance that you'll tell me anything."

"You know, I was going to say the same thing."

"Well. As long as we're having these trust issues, I'm not really sure we can accomplish anything by talking." Hotchner crossed his arms and leaned back slightly. In a minute, he was going to tell her to leave; she knew it. She'd come closer today than she had before, but she still hadn't gotten anything, and she couldn't afford to get sent away for a third time.

He really was too good at this.

"You wanted to know why I didn't go into politics, or business, or some other self-serving profession," she started, sighing and asking herself why, exactly, she was doing this. "My mother is a career politician. An ambassador. And growing up, I got a really good view at what that sort of thing does to people. The constant manipulation, the power games, the distrust and false pleasantries...and it's not just at work. Things like that become habits."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing happened, not any one thing. But watching your mother slowly change, so that 'Ambassador Prentiss' is really the only person who exists there anymore, until she treats her husband and child like foreign diplomats instead of family...it poisons a person's mind toward politics."

"And family, and relationships in general, I'd imagine," Hotch added.

Emily said nothing. He'd gotten as much about her as he was going to, and he realized that as the silence stretched on. "The 'I blame it all on my mother' defense?" he asked. "I'd expected better from you."

"I kept up my end. What about you?"

"I never actually said that if you told me what I wanted to know, I would return the favor, you just assumed that. I think it's hardly fair of me to do your job for you, especially since you seem so eager for a chance to prove what you can do."

"So you want me to profile you?"

"That is why you're here, isn't it?"

"Well yes, but up until now you've been opposed to the idea."

"Maybe I'm intrigued to see what you'll come up with."

"All right, but I'd hate to think you were underestimating me again, Hotch."

"Of course not." She had an idea that he was mocking her, but couldn't tell for sure.

"You're highly organized," she started. "No witnesses, no evidence, and you injected yourself into the investigation – the prosecutor, keeping tabs on the FBI to see when you might have a viable suspect to put on trial. You have a higher than average intelligence and you're good with people. You're a convincing enough liar to get your victims to let you into their homes at night, when they're alone, even though they didn't know you."

"True," Hotchner replied. "But Gideon figured all this out before he even met me."

"But there was a lot he couldn't figure out. They never did make sense of the victimology, and then of course there's the problem of Haley."

His reaction was very slight, but she could still see it; the way he held his breath for a second at her name. "And what do you think?" he asked. "About Haley."

"Before I saw you, honestly, I thought she was your first victim. But I don't think you could have hurt her even if you wanted to. I think her unsolved murder was the stressor that started you killing."

"The reasoning being?" he prompted, as though they were having an intellectual conversation.

"She was too important a part of your identity," Emily started, her thoughts and observations about Hotch starting to line up now that she was being forced to articulate them. Had that been why he asked? She couldn't imagine why he'd help her. "You're from a socially upstanding family – mother from old money, father worked his way out of poverty into a respected position in a law firm – and that's a lot of pressure on a child, particularly an oldest son. You grew up in an environment that didn't tolerate imperfection or abnormality. Some people reject that when they leave home, but you? You're in prison and you look more professional than some of the people I work with. You stand up when I come to talk to you. You accepted your family's values, you internalized them, and you went to live them out – good school, good job, perfect home – which includes a wife. Haley completed the picture. Once she died, everything fell apart for you. You wouldn't self-destruct by killing her."

"I loved her."

"I'm sure you did," though Emily suspected 'You needed her' would be a more accurate assessment.

"But that's not why you think I didn't kill her."

"Between domestic disputes, extramarital affairs, child abuse...I'm not sure that love stops anyone from hurting anyone else."

"Cynical worldview for someone so young. I thought you said you'd never had a bad breakup."

"I see things."

"Like an affair? Did your father get tired of being married to the ambassador? Or did she want someone with a little more power and life, someone a little more exciting?"

"Reaching again, Hotch."

"Someone hurt you, and I'm going to figure out how."

"Not if I figure you out first," she warned him.

"You're still guessing. You don't know that I didn't kill Haley."

"You just said – "

"I said I loved her, but as you point out, people hurt their loved ones all the time."

"Did you learn how to do this, or have you always been this evasive?" Emily asked, letting some exasperation show on her face.

"It's come in handy on more than one occasion," he half grinned at her. "I can talk for hours without really saying anything."

"Right. Why doesn't that surprise me?" Emily knew how often words like charm and charisma could show up in a profile, but having them turned on her like this was strange in ways she didn't really want to consider. Of all the serial killers to be likeable, why did it have to be this one? It was better not to think about that. "What's the good of making me tell you the profile if you won't even tell me if I'm right or not?"

"Well for one thing, I know if you're right."

"And you don't think it's impolite not to share?"

"Maybe we can make a deal."

"Didn't we try this already? I believe you were the one who said it wouldn't accomplish anything."

"I've reconsidered, under certain conditions."

"Oh? And what would those be."

"Yes or no questions."

Emily just stared. "You're joking."

"I'm not," he said, and he sure looked serious. "We confirm or deny theories, but we don't offer information."

"All right, fine. I accept. So was I right, or did you kill your wife?"

"You were right."

Emily allowed herself a very slight smile – just a twitch at the corners of her mouth. "I guess it's your turn, then."

"I think..." Hotch mused. "I think you had a child."

"Interesting use of the past tense," was her only reaction. "What's the logic there?"

"A child and its mother have an intense emotional connection, and you don't have anyone who's that close, anyone you can love that openly. But the way you defended Dr. Reid just screams 'maternal instinct' – you had a child and lost it, or you want a child but never got one, and you think it's too late now to have that emotional connection to another person."

"Interesting," Emily commented simply, "But wrong."

"What part?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"These are your rules, Hotch, you can't go breaking them."

"Right. Next turn, then. What's your latest theory?"

She knew her assignment; get him to talk victimology, Gideon had said, and this seemed like her chance. Unfortunately, she didn't have a theory about how he'd chosen his victims; no one did. She'd have to say anything and hope that he might give something away.

She tried very hard not to think about how unlikely it was that he would slip up, or that failure would give him another chance to ask about her.

"Your victims," she started slowly, stalling for time. "We were never able to complete your profile because we couldn't pin down the victimology. Men, women, single, married, different socio-economic classes, religion, occupations...they had nothing in common that we could discover."

"Let's see if you've surpassed Agent Gideon, then."

"They weren't victims of opportunity. You chose them," she said. "And you had a very good reason."

"Oh?"

"You wouldn't do anything without a very good reason."

"Is there a question?" he prompted, sounding like nothing so much as an attorney making an objection in court.

She wasn't going to get it this time, but she might as well say something. "Did anyone ever tell you to kill? Voices, maybe?"

For a second, she thought he was going to laugh. "No, I am not delusional. I really expected better; that doesn't fit the profile."

"The standard profile, maybe," she defended, even though she agreed with him. "But it's been known to happen, and you are not exactly a standard killer."

"Flattery won't distract me from the fact that it's my turn."

"By all means, go ahead."

"At first I thought you'd been betrayed by a lover – but you said yourself that you'd never had a bad breakup. I'm assuming you were telling the truth."

"Thank you for that, I guess."

"Then I thought it was simply watching the unspectacular disaster of your parent's marriage that scarred you, but you said it yourself – some people cast off what they learn in their parents' homes, and some people embrace it. You left behind what you didn't believe in; if they'd given you such a negative view of love, you would have ignored it as just being another one of their lies."

"Now you're just trying to get me to reveal something without having to ask," she accused.

"I haven't finished yet."

"Then go ahead."

"You are the product of your personal experiences, Agent Prentiss, and while you might not have been hurt or betrayed by a lover, there are other ways for a relationship to end. You left him."

It looked like Hotch was winning. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Let's just call it, 'irreconcilable differences.'" All was not lost, yet. Hotch had been going to ask about her supposed child, but he'd changed his focus to her love life after she brought up victimology.

Hotch had loved Haley – for whatever reasons, whether he loved her as a person or as a symbol of what he wanted to make his life, he loved her. And her murder had been his stressor. That had to mean something, more than just that he was in pain and wanted to take it out on someone else. Hotch was the type of man who internalized his pain, took it out on himself – this was different. The killing had been about what so much else in Hotch's life had been about – discipline and judgment.

She was going to take full advantage of her turn this time. "A second theory about the victims," she started.

"That again?" he smirked. He didn't expect her to have figured it out.

"Yes, again, but I think you'll be interested in what I have to say this time."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're not as special as I thought, after all. You're just another vigilante."

"Only some of the victims had criminal records, and none of them had personal connections to me."

Prentiss was not going to be so easily dissuaded, especially since he hadn't actually told her she was wrong. "Don't you want to know how I came to my conclusion?"

"Why not?"

"Haley was the motivation. It was always about her – or rather, it was about her death. You didn't get any closure, because the cops never caught the person responsible – they never even had any good leads. But someone needed to be punished, and that's what you did when you killed your victims, isn't it? The careful, quick kills – they were executions."

"What sort of vigilante kills an innocent person?" Hotch asked.

"One who's good at profiling."

He didn't seem inclined to answer, so she kept talking. "When someone's already killed, all you can do is stop them and get justice for the victims. But if you know the signs, what to look for, you can find the killers before they ever hurt anyone. Ignoring the fact that you can't actually punish someone for something they haven't done yet, it's just an extension of the current legal system – an improvement on it, even. You can stop anyone else from losing their wives the way you lost Haley."

"The commentary was not strictly necessary," Hotch told her, "but you have the basic facts correct."

She had to ask, although it wasn't her turn. "Are there victims that are still unaccounted for?"

"Yes." He wasn't interested in pursuing that subject any further, though, and while she tried to figure out a way to make him reveal more – names, locations, numbers at least – his next question threw her off track. She supposed, considering how it came out of left field, that that had been his point. "Have you killed someone, Agent Prentiss?"

"Yes."

"And you think about it everyday, don't you? It gnaws away at your soul, but you tell yourself that you had no choice, that you had to do it, and for the most part you can ignore it...until you can't. Until the thought starts eating you from the inside, that someone isn't alive any more because of you and your choices and your actions. And then you start to realize that you have something in common with me."

"We're nothing alike, Hotch."

"I think that we are, and you're simply denying it because the thought makes you uncomfortable."

She counted to ten in her head, drawing strength from the old ritual. "Hotch," she made herself look him in the eye, "You killed an FBI agent."

"I had to." His composure was perfect, and Emily wondered fleetingly how he managed it. "She was reckless, impatient, insubordinate, more concerned with vengeance than justice...I've seen it a dozen times in law enforcement. She would have lost it, and so many other people would have paid the price."

"And how many people had to pay the price because you were more concerned with vengeance than justice?"

Something flickered in Hotchner's eyes for just a moment but was gone before Emily could figure what it was. He sounded exactly the same as he repeated, "I did what I had to do."

-

"Reid, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure thing. Shoot," he answered, voice slightly muffled. She shouldn't have called him during lunch, but after her latest interview with Hotch, she had to. She needed to hear a friendly voice, and more importantly, she had to ask.

"What was she like?"

It was nearly a minute before Reid answered and Emily cursed herself for not having more tact. She could, at least, have waited until the poor guy was done eating lunch.

"She was...fun," he started slowly, and her heart squeezed painfully inside her chest. "She, ah, she liked to joke around. But she always drew the line short of being hurtful. She liked to take care of me. Not that you guys don't, but it never felt like she was being...condescending." He cleared his throat, and Emily wondered how much it was costing him to talk about this.

"I think I remember...the good things, more. I know that she could be kind of impatient, that sometimes she jumped to conclusions, and that she let herself be guided by her emotions too much, particularly her anger...but that just doesn't seem to matter anymore."

Emily wasn't sure how she was supposed to tell Reid that his friend was dead because of that same temper and impatience. Her throat felt tight and she could hardly breathe. She kept her distress perfectly silent, not wanting to upset Reid again. "I'm sorry," she said when she trusted herself enough to speak.

"Don't worry about it." Reid was a terrible liar.

She wanted to tell him that it would be okay, but the words sounded thin and pathetic even in her head. She wanted to say that his friend had died for a good reason, but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him, and he would find out the truth when he read her official report, anyway. She spoke without thinking, the first words she could bring herself to say, because she felt like she had to say something.

"I saw the picture, in your bag."

Reid sounded hurt, "You did?"

"I didn't mean to," Emily blurted, guilt spurring her to continue. "I wasn't trying to invade your privacy, I just needed a file. You were out, and I didn't think it was worth bothering you over." She paused to breathe in and out a few times. "She was lovely."

"She was a good friend," Reid answered softly.

"Just a friend?" Oh God, Emily needed to stop talking, but she couldn't make herself shut up. She put a hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself. "Don't answer that, Reid, I am so sorry. That's none of my business."

"It's okay. We, ah, we didn't...yeah, we were just friends."

"Reid..." The pity must have been apparent in her voice, because he stopped her.

"Don't, please. I'm okay." He paused, his breathing sounding shaky. "I still have you guys, don't I?"

"You know, you're a good friend too, Reid. She was lucky to have you. And so am I."

"Thanks," he muttered, compliments and gratitude too much to accept on top of everything else. "I have to go, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Emily wasn't sure if she should apologize again or give him some time. She hoped she hadn't broken anything that couldn't be fixed, but it looked like she'd have to wait until she got back to Quantico to find out for sure.

-

She hadn't wanted to see Hotch again, not after their last conversation, but something drew her back there. It wasn't as though this would be the only time in her life she'd pressed on when she should have walked away, and at least this time she would only hurt herself if anything got said that was better left unsaid.

"I see I was wrong about one thing," he said smoothly as she sat in the chair outside his cell. It was a few hours later; Emily had given herself time to calm down, although she wasn't sure it would do much good.

"And what is that?" she asked, nearly grateful that he had spoken. She wasn't entirely sure how to start.

"I hadn't thought you would come back."

"So why did I?" Let him think that she was testing him, and not actually trying to find an answer for herself.

The slight smirk on his face told her that he hadn't bought it. "You haven't gotten what you came for yet, and you're not going to leave without it just to spite me."

"No emotional investment," she repeated woodenly. "But I did get what I came for. You've given me more than enough information to fill in the gaps in your profile."

"That was never what this was about."

"Then what?"

"Closure. You want something to take back to Gideon and the rest of the FBI to make it okay that their agent is dead."

After her outburst earlier that day, Emily didn't see the point in hiding all her emotions any longer. The raw anger showed through clearly as she demanded, "And what could possibly make it okay?"

"Nothing."

She gaped at him, "You offer me closure, and that's all you're going to say?"

He held her gaze for several seconds. In response to Emily's emotions, Hotch was letting his perfectly impassive façade slip away and reveal his own fury. "There is no closure," he snapped. "There is no consolation. There is just death, and grief, and remembering forever what you lost."

"No."

"What?"

"No, I don't believe that."

"It isn't a question of belief. It's a fact."

"I don't accept that. There has to be something after grief. There has to be some way for people to get past it all."

"We've both dealt with murderers and victims, Agent Prentiss, and we've both seen people ruined. How can you really believe, with everything that you've seen, that people can just get past it?"

"I believe in people. And they might be capable of all the evil that I've seen, but they are capable of good, too. I think they're stronger than you realize, that losing everything doesn't stop someone from going out and finding something else to live for, and that a certain biological makeup or temperament does not condemn someone to a certain life."

"You're naïve."

"I'm free. I think you believed in people, once, and I think the day that you lost that faith was the day that you lost your freedom."

For the first time, he had nothing to say.

-

She frowned at her phone in confusion; other than Reid, who she wasn't sure was even still speaking to her, no one had called her since she'd flown out to Seattle. Of everyone who could have called, he was probably the last one she'd expected. "Morgan?"

"Hey, Prentiss, how's it going out there?"

"Good," she replied, keeping her voice upbeat. "I'm just wrapping things up, actually, and I'll be flying back tomorrow morning."

"So it was a success."

"Surprisingly enough, yes, I was able to do my job."

Morgan coughed. "Okay, I deserved that. Look, I've been thinking about it, and I want to apologize. I was out of line."

"It's all right," she sighed.

"No, it's not. You don't deserve that kind of crap, I was just pissed and taking it out on you. I'm sorry."

"Thank you for apologizing, but really, I understand. So tell me the truth, is everything falling apart there without me?"

"You know it is. Reid misses his fellow nerd so much that he's back to trying to talk to me about all that Star Trek stuff."

Emily shook her head and decided against telling Morgan that Reid did that in the hopes of turning him over to the Dark Side. She had decided long ago against telling Reid that his overenthusiastic ramblings just scared Morgan away from sci-fi even more. It was much more fun to watch how this would play out on its own. Instead, she asked, "Have you talked to Reid?"

"Yeah. We do work together, you know." Morgan had that 'I hope you're not talking about what I think you're talking about' voice, but she deliberately ignored the warning.

Some of Emily's good humor fled at this point, and she started gnawing on her bottom lip. "I mean, have you talked to him about this interview. Since I left."

"Some. He might have pointed out that I owe you an apology."

"Is he okay?"

Morgan's hesitation told Emily more than his actual words. "What do you mean?"

"Look, I think I might have said some things that I shouldn't have, and he sounded upset. I thought I'd give him some time before I try talking to him again, but I want to know if he's all right."

"He's been a little withdrawn today." His voice became sharp and suspicious, and Emily cringed to hear herself addressed like an unsub, "Why, what did you say?"

"I...might have asked him about Elle," she admitted.

"You what?"

"I just sort of - asked, before I'd thought about it."

"Next time, maybe you could think first?"

"I know, I know, bad idea. It's just that...the way that Hotchner was talking about her...I needed to know what she was really like."

"What did he say?" Morgan had calmed down slightly, and Emily just hoped he would stay that way.

"He thought of himself as a sort of preemptive vigilante. The people he killed were people he thought could become killers themselves."

"Including Elle."

"He said that she was more concerned with vengeance than justice."

Morgan sighed. "I'm not gonna lie, she was a bit hot-tempered. And yeah, I saw her lose it with a suspect a couple of times. But she was a good agent."

"I'm sure she was. I can't see Gideon and Rossi keeping her on the team if she wasn't. But I don't know anything about her as a person."

"Does that matter?"

"Morgan, I'm going to have to write in my report that Elle is dead because of the person that Hotchner thought she was. I just wanted some knowledge that I could balance against that. She deserves to be remembered for something else."

"I get that, I really do, but I don't think that's it."

"What do you mean?"

"She's the competition. You gotta know what she was like."

"Competition – Morgan, she's dead!"

"Believe me, I know. But I'm betting that just makes it worse. Because now she's dead and no one has to remember the negative stuff, and that's gonna make it impossible to replace her."

"I don't want to replace her," Emily said numbly.

"No?" Morgan didn't sound critical; he just sounded like he was waiting for whatever she had to say.

"I don't want to replace her," Emily repeated, because it seemed vital that he understand that. "I don't want to take her place, I just want a place of my own. When you guys didn't give me that, I thought maybe you didn't like me, or didn't trust me, and then I find out it's because she's still there, her memory is hanging around...does it make me a terrible person if I say I'm jealous of a dead woman? God, it does, doesn't it." She sighed and pressed the heel of her hand against her temple, as if she could squeeze the thought out of her head. "I guess I wanted to know that you had a good reason for keeping me shut out."

"And now?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make it any easier."

"We haven't made it easy on you. God knows Gideon and Rossi aren't the most approachable people in the world. Reid isn't good at letting people get close to him, and...sometimes I forget that you might need help. You just handle yourself so well it doesn't occur to me."

"Thanks, I think," Emily said, letting her confusion show in her voice because it was safer than any of the other conflicting emotions that were pressing down on her.

"Hey, that's not an insult."

"I know."

"We all right?"

Emily felt a smile crawl back over her face. "Yeah, I think we're good. I just hope things work out so well with Reid."

"Don't worry about it. Reid really likes you, you know. You just need to give him some more time. He's used to being alone. I think sometimes he has a hard time believing that anyone really wants to look out for him."

"You look out for him," Emily pointed out, a little surprised as the slight uncertainty that had crept into his voice.

"Yeah, well, I didn't always," Morgan sighed. "Which I don't think helped Reid's trust problems at all.

"How so?" Emily asked, curious. She couldn't imagine a time when Morgan wasn't fiercely protective and supportive of their youngest team member; but then again, this whole week had proved more than ever that she didn't really know what she was talking about where her coworkers were concerned.

Morgan seemed reluctant to enlighten her, though. "I was kind of a jerk."

She decided to let him off the hook. "Well, you do a good job looking out for him now."

It was nice to hear the smile in Morgan's voice; not that it was unusual to hear him happy, but this seemed more sincere than usual. "Thanks. And Prentiss?"

"Mm-hm?"

"What you said about Gideon and Rossi not keeping Elle around if she wasn't a good agent?"

"Yeah?"

"Same thing applies to you. You're a damn good profiler, even if I forget that sometimes."

Something like relief washed over her, and she laughed slightly as she told him, "Thanks."

She hung up the phone, wondering if she could switch her ticket for an earlier plane flight. She found that she really didn't want to hang around Seattle any longer than she had to. She'd gotten what she'd come for, one way or another, and it was time to go back to the team.