Chapter Text
“I don’t want to talk about it,” (Y/N) huffed, rounding the corner. Emily was hot on her heels, effortlessly trailing her through the maze of Quantico.
“You’re just burying it,” Emily hummed. (Y/N) almost scoffed. This really was the last thing she wanted to talk about right now.
“There’s nothing to bury.”
There it was again. That stupid fucking word.
Nothing.
She had been in a sour mood since she’d heard it. Spencer had spat it out, completely disregarding what he and her had.
The morning after the Fifty Shades debacle, Spencer had woken up before her, and only gave her a “wheels up in 30” before shuffling out of the hotel room.
And they’d barely talked since.
Sure, they had a few more “encounters” and late nate rendezvous, but they didn’t actually talk besides the polite small talk about work and the weather.
It was maddening.
And as much as she tried to avoid it, (Y/N)’s mood had carried over to her work performance. Spencer had written it off as stress from their caseload, and she didn’t have the guts to correct him.
Emily had noticed almost immediately, and had pounced. It had been a week and half now, and she had spent every single day since badgering (Y/N) about it.
How ridiculous.
“Hey,” Emily stopped her, pulling at her arm until she stopped walking. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
(Y/N) sighed. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. She wanted to yell and cry and scream and laugh and break things.
But why?
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she muttered under her breath.
Emily stroked her arms gently. “What do you mean?”
(Y/N)’s chest shook when she breathed in. “He called us nothing. And it hurt. And I don’t even know why it hurt. It just-” her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”
Prentiss pulled her into what she could only call a lover’s embrace. Soft. Warm. Needed. When she pulled away, she looked at (Y/N) closely.
“Listen, I know-”
“There you guys are! We’ve been trying to call you two,” Penelope rambled as she came around the corner, heels clicking pointedly on the tile. She took them in, their faces and postures, with a frown. “Everything alright? You guys look-”
“We’re great,” (Y/N) interrupted, not ready to face this moment again.
Penelope frowned, eyeing Emily with a weighted look.
“We’ve got a case.”
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“Four women, all strangled and left on their respective college campuses. Ligature marks around the wrist and bruising on the legs and buttocks. As well as this weird bruise on their necks and damage to the tracheas,” Penelope rattled off, going through photos on the screen quickly. “Local PD has canvassed the area and placed the campuses on curfew.”
“Good luck getting a bunch of college kids to abide by a curfew,” Emily joked. A round of nods circled the table and Hotch interjected.
“Local PD has managed to narrow down their search to a few different clubs they believe the unsub might be kidnapping the victims from. There are a few gaps in their case, however, so we are being called in to assist.”
“You know, the ligature marks look like wire, but the bruises on the neck are too thick. What would leave a mark like that?” JJ inquired, a puzzling look hanging over her features.
“That, my little band of geniuses, is why you are being called in. Police in Miami are stumped,” Garcia finished, setting down her tablet.
Reid’s eyes flew over the file in hand, reading over the entire case in a matter of minutes before speaking. “You know, besides being female, the victims have nothing common. At least, not physically.”
He was right (of course he was). All the victims were different races, majors, build, heights, hair colors, social circles, all of it.
How odd.
Hotch stood, ending the meeting with a simple, “Wheels up in 30.”
----------------------------------------------------
Hotch had been in the police chief’s office for about 45 minutes. Whatever it was they were discussing, it looked serious.
He had sent most of the team to the dump sites to look around for anything initial searches may have missed, but he had (Y/N) stay back to form a geographical profile.
That had taken about 20 minutes.
So now she was spying (trying to, at least) on what looked like a very important conversation, waiting for the rest of the team to return so they could discuss their findings.
She saw Hotch stand and firmly shake the chief's hand, spinning on his heel to head for the door. She scrambled to make herself look busy, cheeks flushing at the idea of getting caught. She had just brought a pencil down on the map when Hotch’s voice rang out.
“(Y/N), may I have a word with you?”
Fuck. Big fuck. She got caught, she definitely got caught.
A blush crept up her neck as she ducked into the private interrogation room Hotch was ushering her in to.
Was he firing her? Is that why he wanted privacy?
“Please sit down.”
Fuck, this was really it.
(Y/N) slid into one of the cold metal chairs, the steel digging into her spine which only put her further on edge. “Sir-”
“Please understand that this is a very uncomfortable conversation for me to have, and that I wouldn’t ask something like this of you if I didn’t believe it to be necessary.”
She swallowed. She wasn’t fired, but the alternative didn’t sound very promising either. “Okay…”
Hotch sighed, resting his head in his hands for a moment before sitting back again. “Local PD have made a connection between the victims, and it’s… peculiar.”
(Y/N) frowned. She wasn’t sure what this had to do with her, but the heavy crease in Hotch’s brow told her it wasn’t good.
He continued, obviously growing more and more uncomfortable as the discussion progressed. “Each of the girls had friends who claimed they had been… experimenting, if you will, with BDSM.”
Her breath caught as her mind raced to piece everything together. The ligature marks, the welts on the legs, the odd strangulation bruising…
The strangulation bruising…
“It’s collars,” she decided. It made sense. The weird shape of the marks and damage to the tracheas. It all added up.
Hotch nodded grimly. “It would appear so. All of the victims were reportedly going to clubs who specialize in such… festivities.”
(Y/N) sat in confusion. “Forgive me sir, but I’m not sure what that has to do with me?”
God, did he know? No. He couldn;t know.
Right?
“Well that’s where this conversation becomes very uncomfortable,” he continued, no longer meeting her eyes.
He knew. Oh my god, he knew.
“(Y/N) please understand that I wouldn’t propose this if I thought there was another option. And that I value your work as a member of my team very much, and I do not want you to think of this as demeaning.”
What?
“Sir?” she tried, completely missing where this was going.
Hotch sighed. “Agent (Y/L/N), the victims were all in college… very young. You are the youngest member of our team and the closest to them in age.” He cleared his throat. “You are a very conventionally attractive young woman, and the police chief and I feel confident that you would be a solid choice as bait in a sting operation.”
Oh.
OH.
“I see,” she spoke quietly, feeling her whole body flush. “Alright, so… What exactly does that mean?”
Hotch was all business now, easing into his role as leader and guidance. “We have learned from interviews with the victim’s friends that each girl was single, but circulated through men on their nights out. We believe the unsub targets young women already engaged with other men.” He paused for a moment. “We would ask you to go into these clubs and pose as one of them, (Y/N).”
Her head was spinning. There was a knot that had settled in her throat and it seemed no amount of swallowing would clear it.
This was…
God.
“Alright,” she agreed before she had a chance to back out of it.
Hotch looked relieved. “Thank you, (Y/L/N). I don’t think you understand how important your role here is.”
(Y/N) tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. She went to stand, but Hotch stopped her with a raised hand.
“There is one other thing,” he continued. “In order to ensure your safety and prevent interference from other patrons, we have decided to also place undercover agents with you to pose as…” he paused. “Objects of your affection.”
Fuck.
She felt the lump grow, trying like hell to speak around it. “And who might that be?”
“Morgan…”
(Y/N) breathed a small sigh of relief.
Morgan she could handle.
“...And Reid.”
Double fuck.
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(Y/N) couldn’t look at her team. Hotch was delivering the plan, every grimy little detail wrenching at her gut.
“(Y/N) will be posing as a potential victim. Morgan and Reid, you will be joining her.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Morgan asked, obviously confused.
Spencer was staring at her, a wild look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place.
He knew.
“You two will pretend to be patrons at the club interested in… partaking,” Hotch explained with a cough.
The team was silent. (Y/N) could feel their eyes fixated on her. It was suffocating.
Hotch broke the silence. “We’d like to start moving and do the first round of infiltration tonight. We’ll start at the club closest to the last dump site, and make our way around. If there are no other questions, you are dismissed. Morgan, Reid, and (Y/L/N)... Please stay.”
The team shuffled out, whispering amongst themselves. Emilyand JJ peeked back. Emily met (Y/N)’s eyes with an encouraging smile, but JJ was looking at Reid with what looked to be…
Sympathy?
Once alone, Morgan reached a hand out to lay it on her shoulder.
“You okay with this?”
(Y/N) took a shuddering breath. “If it gets us this guy, I’m all for it.”
Spencer was absolutely still, maybe not even breathing. It was strange to see the loud and charismatic Dr. Reid at a loss for words. (Y/N) could practically see the cogs spinning in his head.
This was so fucking weird.
“Morgan and Reid, you guys will be posing as friends flirting with (Y/N). We need two of you there to be absolutely sure she is safe, but we don’t want to overwhelm our unsub and keep him from taking the bait,” Hotch spoke with complete sincerity and disdain. “That means one of you will… participate,” he struggled, “and the other will only watch.”
“Like a traditional dominant/submissive pairing,” Derek clarified.
Hotch nodded, but grimaced. There was something else.
(Y/N) swallowed. “Everything okay?”
He met her gaze, eyes swimming with apology. “Whoever decides to be the ‘dominant’ partner will have to... “
He trailed off with another grimace. The three agents waited with baited breath, though (Y/N) was pretty sure Spencer wasn’t breathing at all.
“Hotch?” Derek tried, already sounding nervous.
A sigh. “The dominant partner would have to be physical with (Y/N).”
Derek was already shaking his head. “Hotch I can’t do that. I just-”
He looked towards (Y/N), but his eyes were staring past her.
At Spencer.
He swallowed, never pulling his eyes away. “I just can’t.”
“I understand,” Hotch consoled. “I know this is a very difficult request, but please understand I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t crucial.”
“I can do it,” Spencer blurted, seemingly surprised by his own admission.
Hotch and Morgan shared a look, speaking in that silent way (Y/N) had seen many of the team members do before. Hotch turned to her.
“Is that okay with you?”
The question felt heavy. Too heavy.
Was this okay? Was any of this okay? There was a serial killer loose and (Y/N) was worrying about whether or not she could catch him.
It felt selfish and wrong and inconsiderate to be worrying about herself.
“I trust him.”
She couldn’t even say his name.
‘Nothing,’ a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Hotch nodded. “Let’s get you guys something to wear and go over procedures.”