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darkomoth · 10 months

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Insomniacs

Chapter 1: Violets

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You and Hotch are both workaholics, but when you start showing up earlier and staying later, he starts getting concerned. A case will give you something to preoccupy yourself with, but something goes severely wrong.

Cause when doesn't it?

Notes: I recommend getting the InteractiveFics extension for chrome! It's really good and will replace the y/n and l/n with your name :)

Also uploaded on Ao3 under the same title

Word count: 9.7K

Ch. 2 Ch.3

It was another night of not being able to sleep at all. Not that you hadn’t tried. After the plane touched back down in Quantico, you should’ve felt relief at the thought of home and a comfortable bed to lie your head, but you felt nothing other than anxiety at the thought of nothing to do.

You got to your apartment, dumped your used go-bag clothes into the washing machine, showered, cleaned up the dishes that cluttered in your kitchen, even vacuumed up a bit in the living room. You looked over at the clock on the end table by your couch, it read 3:33 am. With a sigh, you decided to give rest a shot.

Your bed was made perfectly already, not wanting to mess it up, you decided the couch was good. You grabbed a blanket and pillow and turned on the TV, volume all the way down. The time passed achingly slowly. Seconds crawled by and the silence was unbelievably deafening. You looked at the clock once again, 3:39 am. Another attempt to close your eyes and you were met with 20 minutes of tossing and turning.

“That’s enough.” You mumbled to yourself before throwing the warm blanket off your body and getting up. You made a pot of coffee, moved your clothes to the dryer, and packed a new go-bag. 4:05 am. It was agonizing, every second you waited for your phone to ring. You watched it, the dark screen with no new notifications taunting you. You sat on your couch, watching the characters on your screen move and laugh silently, your eyes drifted closed once or twice, but never long enough for it to be called sleep.

You sipped your coffee, hot and caffeinated and perfect. 4:17 am. When the drink went cold you decided it would be a good time to get ready for the day. You got dressed, black slacks and a dark blue long-sleeved button-down. You brushed your hair and did your makeup. 4:29 am. You considered whether to just go straight to the office, ultimately deciding it best to grab some food first.

You arrived at the building at 5:02 am. It wasn’t too early, you decided. After all, there have been nights that you’ve seen your boss not leave until past 5:00 in the morning. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the parking lot this morning, however. That was good, it meant he was getting sleep and time with his son.

The bullpen was dark, you decided to only turn on one light, enough for you to see. The case report on your desk was already finished since you worked on it during your team's flight back home, but there would be no harm in going over it. You wouldn’t classify yourself as a perfectionist or even a workaholic, though you presented that way to others. You just didn’t enjoy doing nothing like other people.

Footsteps coming from your left made you pause what you were doing and look up.

“Good morning.” You said as Hotch came walking into the bullpen with that perfectly pressed suit of his. The time on your watch read 5:30 am, he was very punctual.

“Good morning.” He said, with that usual furrow of his brow and the tight-lipped look that meant a question was coming. “You’re here early.”

Okay, not really a question.

“So are you.” You say, too tired to engage in your typical banter.

Hotch only nodded once in response, then took a few steps towards his office before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Did you actually go home last night?”

“Yes.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers beneath your desk. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” He hummed in response. “Don’t burn yourself out, we need you alert.”

“Do we have a case?” You asked, maybe a little too quickly.

“Not until the rest of the team gets here... but yes.”

You nodded and any trace of tiredness from the night dissipated. Blood pumped in your veins and your anxiety disappeared, anticipation for the new work ahead of you completely replacing it.

“Okay, would you mind if I got the case file now? I have nothing else to do.” You asked.

Hotch studied you for a moment with that serious frown of his, “I’ll make copies now.”

“Thank you.”

Sometimes you felt like Hotch was the only one that understood you. Maybe it was because he was the resident workaholic in the department before you showed up, and he still is, but it feels deeper than that. Most days you come in at the same time, leave at the same time... honestly the only time you don’t see your Unit Chief is when you’re home. You hated being home.

In the very late hours when the whole building was quiet and not a soul lingered, you would see that one light from Hotch’s office and feel comfort. His blinds would be open, and you could see him reading and writing, looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Since the death of his ex-wife, Haley, he’s stayed later and later, coming in earlier, only departing when he knows Jack needs him. It’s a heartbreaking thing to watch.

But often you would be sitting at your desk, getting lost in the paperwork as your eyes strained to read every bit of information in the dim lighting, when a warm hand would land on your shoulder. Hotch’s soft, tired voice telling you to take a break, rest your eyes. It made your chest warm, and body relax if only for a few minutes. He knew better than to try to get you to go home, it never works out. Unless of course, he leaves at the same time. It was a very rare occurrence, to say the least.

Right now, Hotch is in his office making enough copies of the case files to be passed around to the team when they get in. You tap impatiently on your desk, drumming your fingers along to a song that only exists in your head. When you can’t stand it anymore, you get up and make your way over to him.

You knock once on the open door, “What is it?”

Hotch turns to you with a serious look. “You’re very impatient this morning.”

“I know. So?”

With a sigh, he hands over a manila folder with the FBI logo.

“Three women in three weeks, all were strangled and beaten to death, abducted from their homes. Last victim was found 4 days ago.”

“That’s a strict timeline... and they’re just calling us in now?” You ask.

“Local sheriff thinks it could be even more and I’m inclined to agree. So far, this presents as organized. No one starts out like this, there are no hesitation marks on the bodies and no DNA was left behind on the scenes.”

You nodded along as he spoke, already going over the possibilities of this unsub in your mind. Organized means older, that rules out teenagers and younger. No hesitation could mean psychopathy, lack of remorse, etc. Most likely white given the victims were, possibly sexually frustrated.

“Any sign of sexual assault?”

“We’ll go over everything when the team arrives.” Hotch states firmly.

“When were they called in?” You asked.

“If you check your voice mail, you’ll see.” He says with a small smile. “Look, go to the conference room and read over the files some more, I’ll make some more coffee.”

You want to argue, but you know he’s right. You were definitely getting ahead of yourself here. With a grateful nod, you head to the conference room.

The pictures were gruesome, but when aren’t they? The girls were pretty when they were alive, their faces were mutilated during the attacks. Could have something to do with the unsub’s view of women. You turned over theory after theory in your head and before you knew it, Hotch was back and sliding over a mug filled to the brim with coffee, just the way you like it.

“Thank you, Hotch.” You say, taking a sip. He nods and sips his own cup.

“How long were you here before I came in?” He asks you, glancing up from the file in his hands.

You shrug and say, “Not long... half an hour?”

“You need to rest.” He says, in his usual commanding tone. It makes you smile a bit, though you try to suppress it.

“I know, and I will.” You look him in the eyes to try and convince him, but he looks doubtful. “Promise.”

Hotch nods, seemingly satisfied for the time being. You knew he was just checking in on you out of concern for a team member, but you hoped it was just a little more than that. Anytime he looked at you, it made your heart rate pick up a little. You weren’t as sure of yourself as usual when you were around him.

Five minutes later the team starts filtering in, first is JJ, then Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid. Then it’s Garcia, who did not seem very happy to be awake at 6:30 am, followed by Rossi. When everyone finally gathered into the conference room, you could feel your body relax. Your work could finally start for real.

After the initial ‘good mornings’ and bantering, Hotch started to present the case to everyone. You suggested the same preliminary profile traits from earlier and most everyone agreed.

“Well, if this unsub has killed before, it will most likely not be in the exact same spot.” Reid says. “We should widen the range to a fifty-mile radius to see if there were any similar murders in the past couple years or so.”

“I’m so on it.” Penelope says.

“What else did the unsub do?” Prentiss asks, looking at the photos of the victims’ neck wounds.

“A call was placed to each of the victim’s significant others, a voice modifier was used but the message remained the same. ‘Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.’” Hotch says. “He keeps them for at least a day, given the various stages of healing with the victims bruises.”

“Well, that’s definitely sadistic, torturing not only the victims but those close to them as well.” You add.

“Was the call placed before or after their deaths?” Rossi asks.

Hotch’s eyebrows knit further together, “Before, according to the coroner's report.”

“Which gives the victim’s family hope only for that to be snuffed out almost immediately.” Reid says.

“If this guy’s seasoned in his kills, why risk dumping the bodies in such a public way?” Morgan asks. “All of the victims, Susanne Yearly, Brenda James and Larissa Buckly were all found in public parks, somewhere he could’ve easily been seen even at night while disposing of them.”

“Maybe there’s a part of him that wants to get caught? Wants people to know that this was his work.” You say.

“If that’s the case, we’re dealing with a narcissist.” Rossi adds.

Prentiss jumps in again, “Yeah, but this level of body mutilation feels personal. Their faces were left nearly unrecognizable, I’m willing to bet his stressor involves a woman that has similar features.”

“The families are distraught.” JJ says. “They confirmed in the police reports that all the girls lived alone, having just moved into new places weeks or even days before their abductions took place.”

“Well, that’s certainly a connection.” Hotch states. “Chicago PD will be expecting us when we arrive, wheels up in 30.”

Arriving less than three hours later, Hotch orders you and Reid to establish a timeline in the precinct while Morgan and Rossi take the newest crime scene where Larissa’s body was found. Hotch has JJ speaking to family members and Prentiss goes with him to the morgue.

Garcia’s on the speaker with Reid, “I did what you asked and widened the range for possible attacks fitting this creeps M.O., however absolutely nothing came up. Soooo, I changed the parameters. Hotch and L/N mentioned that most likely this guy wouldn’t have been as confident as he is now, meaning the kills may not have been as brutal. I included any and all deaths as a result of suffocation from the last ten years surrounding the Chicago area and wouldn’t-ya-know-it I got a hit. Well, hits.”

Garcia explains that there were at least 5 possible victims, all of them died of various forms of suffocation. You and Reid went through the past reports of the deceased women and ruled out two of them since they both drowned, which didn’t fit this unsub’s specific fantasy. That left you with three girls, one found in an alley behind her work with a bag around her head, no other injuries except a hit on the head with a blunt object. The other two were covered in bruises and strangled with rope. Since then, the unsub’s gotten smarter, switched from rope to wire making it less bulky and conspicuous. He’s also leveled up his damage to their face and body, becoming more intense with each kill.

You and Reid explain your findings to Hotch and Prentiss when they return from the morgue. They corroborate the theory with their own findings, since each body was more disfigured than the last. The thin lines on the necks of the victims were so deep, you wondered if that’s what the unsub focused on the most.

“There was no sexual assault present on the bodies.” Prentiss states. “But there were marks on their wrists and ankles, they were most likely tied to something while the unsub beat them.”

“Which means the act of killing is more than enough for him,” Hotch adds. “He derives all of his pleasure from brutalizing the women, then watching them die in front of him.”

“The bag around the head on the very first victim, Miranda Jall, along with the hit on her head suggests a sort of de-personalization.” Reid says. “He didn’t make a call to her fiancé and there was no abduction. He hit her over the head as she walked out of her workplace, and the bag obscured his view of her face, he couldn’t have gotten off on it.” He says.

“It was practice. He was figuring out how he was going to incapacitate his victims.” You say. “He probably felt a rush after the initial hit, and realized he wanted more of that aspect.”

“So, he amps up the beatings.” Hotch adds. “He isn’t satisfied with just the kill, he wants more time.”

“And then he switches to rope so he can see their faces.” Prentiss says.

“The two victims that were strangled with rope still have yet to be identified. He started out by blitz-attacking his victims in isolated areas, where-as now he targets newly independent women inside their homes.” Reid says.

JJ walks up with a look on her face that you all know means bad news, “The victims' families have no idea who the caller could be, all the young women appeared to be well-liked, in stable relationships. They can’t think of a single person that would want to do this to their daughters.”

Just then, a call comes through to Hotch’s phone. “Hotchner.” He listens for a moment and then nods, “Okay.” He hangs up. “Morgan and Rossi found violets at the crime scene.”

“The flower?” Prentiss asks.

“Yes.”

“Was that present at the other dump sites?” You ask.

“If it was, it wasn’t mentioned in the files.” Hotch answers.

“If he’s leaving flowers for his victims, it could potentially be a sign of remorse.” Reid says.

“This guy isn’t capable, he’s narcissistic and psychopathic, the flowers have to mean something else.” You say, frustrated now.

So far all you’ve really gotten is the confirmation that this guy has killed at least six women, and not a whole lot else. You decide to call Garcia.

“Speak and be heard by residing genius PG.”

“Hey Garcia, can you get me everything on the early victims? I think the unsub knew one of them personally.” You say.

“What makes you think that?” Prentiss asks.

“Well, if the first kill was a trial, maybe he was practicing for a specific target. He could have already gotten who he wanted and now he’s chasing the same high.” You reply. “While you’re at it Garcia, see if you can find any mention of violets being present at the crime scenes.”

Everyone had converged back to the precinct nearly an hour ago. The last victim, Larissa Buckly, was found 4 days ago. If the unsub is continuing at a consistent rate with no sign of slowing down, the police will be finding a new body in 3 days.

You all knew this, the stakes were high and given the profile of the unsub, he wasn’t someone that was going to stop unless he was behind bars. Still, the team needed sleep.

“Alright, we’ve done all that we can for the night. The profile is out there, the press conference warned women of Chicago to remain vigilant, you all can head to the hotel.” Hotch says.

Hotch could tell that the team wasn’t in high spirits and exhaustion wasn’t going to make it any better. It’s usually a good idea to take a step back, take a break, and come back with fresh eyes. And yet, as the profilers filed out of the precinct, still talking back and forth about victimology and M.O., he noticed not all of them were leaving.

Y/N stayed planted where she was at the round table, eyebrows knit together in frustration or confusion. She tapped her fingers the way that she does when she's nervous or focused, or both. Hotch takes a step towards her, his arms crossed, and a frown set on his face.

“I said you all can head to the hotel.” He says pointedly.

“Yes, I heard you. I’m not tired.” Y/N says, still not meeting his eyes.

Hotch’s jaw tenses a bit. She can be incredibly stubborn and, in some cases, it was an asset. Not right now, though.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, L/N. Go get some sleep, come back tomorrow morning with everyone else.”

“Are you going to sleep?” She asks, finally snapping her head up and meeting his stoic gaze with her own.

“Yes. I have to do a few more things here, and then I will be heading back to the hotel.”

“I’ll leave when you do.” She says. It was a challenge, he knew. He was used to it. It was also extremely frustrating.

Hotch swipes a hand across his face tiredly, “Y/N. You haven't slept since our last case. It’s been over 48 hours, and our judgement is severely impaired after 24 hours without sleep. You can become drowsy and irritable, your memory is affected, your coordination will be off-”

“You think my judgement is impaired?” She asks, sounding offended. That would be the part that she focuses on, Hotch thinks. “Hotch, I have been trying to put all of these puzzle pieces together for over 12 hours now and nothing is going to get done if I’m knocked out.”

Hotch understands where she’s coming from, truly, but right now, he doesn’t care. “L/N I am giving you a direct order, leave the precinct. Go to the hotel. Do not come back until at least 6:00.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath, and it’s hard to not find that a little bit cute. The thought makes Hotch feel guilty, that’s definitely not what he should be thinking about right now. Before he can dwell on it though, Y/N is gathering up all of the papers that were scattered around the table.

“No- leave it.” Hotch commands with his hand coming down on top of the file so she can’t take it, brushing her hand in the process. It spreads a warmth through him, but he thinks he does a good job at not showing it. “I know you won’t sleep if you take these with you.”

Y/N’s angry, he knows by the way she doesn’t even respond, just shoots him a look and grabs her bag to leave. It’s fine though, if that’s what it takes to get her to finally rest. Hotch lets out a long sigh once she’s out of sight, taking a seat at the table and finishing collecting all of the papers on the table. That’s when he notices an image of one of the Jane Doe victims, she’s wearing a necklace, gold and dainty around her slim, pale neck. It was blurry, hard to make out, but certainly a cursive “V” pendant hung in the middle.

“Violet?”

Hotch ordered you to leave the precinct, so you did. But he didn’t say you couldn’t make a detour on your way to the hotel. A yawn overcame you as you drove towards Grant Park, where Larissa’s body was found. You knew that if Hotch found out about this you would be in a lot of trouble, but the thought didn’t really faze you when faced with the alternative. How could you sleep when there was a serial killer out there hunting for his newest victim? A young woman was going to be dead in less than 72 hours, who were you to sleep at a time like this?

At the same time, you can’t condemn your friends for needing that sleep. You wished you functioned like they did. You wished you could take a step back and rest and come back refreshed with a whole new outlook. But the truth was that you just couldn’t handle the nightmares.

They started not long after joining the BAU. It was only natural; you were assured by Morgan as he noticed how off you’d been after a few months with the team. He also suffered from nightmares. They were fewer and further between now, which was good. You weren’t so lucky. For some reason they came in waves. Each case you worked on added to your memory storage of gruesome death and horrific imagery that was reflected back at you anytime you closed your eyes.

It’s true that you hated the nothingness of your home life, the boredom of being alone with nothing but your thoughts, but that was only part of it. You figured, the longer you could stay awake, the less you’d have to worry about the nightmares bleeding into your reality.

When you arrived at the spot where Larissa was found, you saw yellow crime scene tape wrapped around trees and some blood on the floor where the body had laid in the center of it. She was positioned laying face up, arms at her sides, clothes intact. No overtly sexual displays, no attempt to cover her up, just a corpse.

Without the files to work off of, you only had your memory of the crime scene photos. You closed your eyes and imagined you were the one dumping Larissa’s body.

“I would scope out the area first, without the body.” You say to yourself. “Take note of how many people were here during the day, how many at night... but I’d have to seem inconspicuous. Can’t be in a black hoodie standing still and staring at people. Someone would notice.”

“So, I don’t cover my face... people saw me, interacted even. I’m not standing out, I’m moving. Maybe running?” You sigh and open your eyes. All that means is that this guy will be harder to catch than most. “What was with the violets...” You walk in circles around the scene, looking from every angle possible. You take note of the shrubbery, all green grass and occasional daffodils, nothing even resembling violets in the area, so the unsub definitely brought it with him.

Before you had a chance to continue, you heard some movement from behind you. You quickly spun around but saw no one.

You moved carefully from where you stood, a hand resting on your hip where your gun was. Taking careful steps towards the parking lot, you glance at your watch. 1:34 am. Anyone out here at this time is either a stoner or a serial killer, you found yourself almost hoping for the latter.

Once you reached your car, you still saw nothing. “FBI, if someone is there come out now and show me your hands.” You said as loud and clear as possible.

Nothing, only crickets sounded in the night. With a sigh, you thought maybe Hotch was right, your judgement was seriously impaired, and you needed some sleep.

As you reached for the handle of the driver's side door, you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head, and everything went black.

Hotch felt confident in his theory that the third victim, Jane Doe #2, was the unsub’s intended target from the beginning. The first kill was fast and sloppy, he didn’t move the body and her face was practically untouched. The second, Jane Doe #1, was also blitz-attacked, but it was in a grocery store parking lot at night, somewhere higher-risk where he could have been caught. So he was getting bolder, he hit her more, but still didn’t take her anywhere new. Just left her body where she was strangled. The third though, that’s when things shifted.

Jane Doe #2 who wore the ‘V’ necklace, was found in a public park, but that isn’t where she died. Hotch has been referring to her as violet for the time-being, since he didn’t know her actual name. No “Violet” was ever reported missing in the area, which means it could most likely be a nickname. Her real name would potentially still start with a V, he thought.

On the phone with Garcia, he relayed all of this information and was waiting for something to turn up on her end. “I did what L/N asked and tried to find everything I could on the first three victims. Miranda Jall, like you said, was a victim of opportunity and a trial-run. Jane Doe #1 though, while similar to the first, was beaten more and found more quickly. Jane Doe #2 was unrecognizable, I mean like, her face was so swollen from being beaten it’s surprising she was found in one piece.” Her voice was tight and rushed, like the words in her mouth made her feel physically sick.

“I know,” Hotch says. “Which is why I need everything you can find on her, search for missing persons from the past few years again, but narrow it down to only women whose first name started with a V. She would’ve been in a relationship, either long-term boyfriend, fiancé, or new husband.”

“Okay, stay on the line aaaandd.... there are four women, Venessa Traer, Veronica May, Victoria Jennings, and Valerie Hill. None of them look like the other victims.” Garcia says, clearly frustrated. “Traer was an elementary school teacher in her late forties, May had gone missing during a boating trip out-of-state and presumed dead, Jennings was reported missing but turned up a few weeks later, apparently on a spontaneous vacation with her friends, and Hill was an elderly woman who was suspected to have left her care-facility of her own free will.”

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, until a thought struck him. “What about middle-names that start with V?” It was a long shot, he knew it, but he would try anything at this point.

A few seconds passed as he heard Garcia’s furious typing on the other end, “Aha! Sir, you are in fact a genius. Samantha Vivienne Garner, reported missing only eight weeks ago. She’s a spitting image of the other women, her name shows up on a lease for a newly remodeled home with one Riley Perkins, her soon-to-be husband.”

“Garcia, I’ll need an address for Perkins.”

“Already being sent.”

“Oh...” She said, sadly.

Hotch’s frown deepened, “What is it?”

“Perkins had posted an image of Samantha saying yes to his proposal, it was in the middle of Millenium Park.”

“Where Jane Doe #2’s body was found.” Hotch said, now 100% convinced that his theory was correct.

Hotch knew that he would be at the precinct all night, the irony of his situation with Y/N not lost on him. She was dedicated, maybe too dedicated, but the same could be said of him.

“Good work, Garcia. We’ll call you when there’s another update.”

“Oh, just one more thing, sir.”

“What is it?”

“L/N had asked me to look into whether there were violets at the other crime scenes and the answer is yes and no. It wasn’t reported or even see as a connection because the first Jane Doe had bought a bouquet of violets from the grocery store, which seems like a coincidence, but Susanne, Brenda, and Larissa all had violets show up on their doorsteps after they were found dead. They were presumed to be condolence gifts from friends, but now...”

“Alright, we’ll look into this further, thank you.”

Hotch ended the call and checked the time. 3:00 am. Three more hours before the rest of the team would show up. He was already setting up in his mind where everyone would be assigned once they got here. Hotch wanted JJ to get in contact with Samantha Garner’s parents, Morgan and Reid would pull the missing person's report and find out the details of that. He would keep Rossi and Prentiss in the precinct to dig into Garner and Perkin’s lives with Garcia. He wanted L/N with him to interview Perkins himself, if he had gotten the very first phone call from the unsub about Samantha, why didn’t he identify her?

5:58 am, Hotch read his watch as everyone started walking in. They were tired, but still looking better than they did the previous night. There were only two days before the next body would be found, and if he’s keeping them for one day, he may have already taken someone.

Hotch was half-expecting (half-hoping) that Y/N would show up early. She usually did, even when it was against orders. Still, he was glad that this meant she may have actually gotten a few hours of rest. 6:00 am and no Y/N, Hotch shrugged off the pit-like feeling in his stomach.

“Good morning.” He says to the other members, who’ve taken their spots at the table. Hotch speed-dials Garcia and puts her on speaker so that the two of them can go over what they discovered last night.

“Well, then if this Samantha girl was the real target and he’s still going, there’s no telling when or if he’ll stop.” Rossi says once they’re finished.

“Exactly,” Hotch replies. He assigns them to their designated tasks and just before he can dismiss everyone, Prentiss speaks up.

“Has anyone seen L/N?” She asks.

“I called her when we got here but didn’t get an answer.” JJ says.

The group of FBI agents share some looks but no one says anything. That feeling in Hotch’s stomach has doubled.

“She wasn’t at the hotel this morning?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow together and jaw tenses when no one answers immediately.

“I didn’t see her.” Morgan speaks up.

“Me neither.” Reid says.

Everyone else only shakes their head in agreement.

“I sent her back with all of you, she tried to stay late but I wouldn’t let her.” Hotch says, fists clenched in the position at his sides. “She didn’t take the files with her so she wouldn’t have had anything to work on.”

“Well...” JJ starts.

“What?” Hotch asks.

“If she couldn’t be at the precinct and she didn’t want to sleep, she could’ve gone to one of the dump sites.” She replies.

Hotch’s chest feels tight, his breathing is shallow and can’t think straight at the moment. If that is what she did, it was very, very stupid. They had profiled this unsub as a psychotic narcissist with sadistic tendencies, there’s a good chance he would visit the crime scenes afterwards. Of course she would go straight there, he thought, what else would she do?

“Alright, the plan hasn’t changed. All of you know your assignments, go.” Hotch says, before he turns to stride away.

“Wait a second, if Y/N’s in danger, we need to find her.” Prentiss says, clearly upset and standing up from her chair.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Hotch shoots back, unable to keep the anger and worry from showing in his voice.

He didn’t give anyone else a chance to argue as he stormed out of the precinct, heading towards the car. One of the cars was gone, which means Y/N definitely left here last night, it was just a matter of which scene she ended up at.

With Garcia still on the phone, Hotch has a thought, “Garcia, send me the last location registered on the GPS of the rental car that Y/N used last night.”

“Y-yes sir.” Penelope typed quickly and Hotch’s anxieties grew with each passing second. “Uh, the-the last pinned location was Grant Park, which was where-”

“The last victim was found. Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch hung up the phone and pulled quickly out of the parking lot, heart beating out of his chest.

You were pretty sure you could feel your heart beating in your head. The back of your skull hurt very badly, but when you tried to feel for an injury you found that you couldn’t. Both your wrists and ankles were tied to a chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Your mouth felt dry, all you could think about was water. That was, before someone came walking towards you from the corner of the room.

“How are you feeling?” The man’s rough voice was too close to your ear, making you jerk back. The sudden movement didn’t help your head injury at all. “Ah ah ah...” He said, gripping your face with one large hand. “Stay still.”

He was ugly. That was honestly your first thought while looking at him. Maybe he hated women cause he couldn’t get a date.

His face was scruffy with a patchy beard, his brunette wavy hair receded away from his face revealing forehead wrinkles. He must’ve only been in his late 30’s early 40’s, but his strung-out appearance aged him.

“Where am I?” You ask as levelly as you could in your state. Looking around, the only thing you noticed was a concrete floor and barren white walls, which hung some wire. A house? Maybe a basement, given the musty smell of the air in the cramped space. It was dark, the only light source coming from a small lamp to your right.

“I thought you were the profiler.”

So, this guy knows exactly who he took. You weren’t just a victim of opportunity, but a target. “You’re right, I am. Which is why I know that you are an extremely...” You take a steadying breath in preparation, “weak individual with no genuine real-world skills who overcompensates for his lack of personality with a massive ego.” You say, staring him in the eyes. “Am I getting warm?”

The unsub pulls his fist back before it lands across your left cheek. You knew this would be the response, though. It’s why you did it. The punch snapped your head all the way to the right, where you spit out the small amount of blood that formed in your mouth. You can’t pretend it didn’t hurt; your eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Challenging a narcissist usually incurs some type of violence or retribution, but that makes them emotional which can make them sloppy and prone to mistakes. Maybe those mistakes would reveal to you where you were, or even lead your team right to you. You hoped you were right.

The stranger in front of you takes in a rattling breath and exhales in your face, making you recoil. He grips you by the chin once more, putting some extra pressure on the bruise that was sure to form soon. “You are going to die here. But first, I have to make a call.”

The man reaches into your front pocket, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. Your phone isn’t locked, it never is since you never leave it behind, ever. That of course means the unsub has full access to each number in your contact list. Your heart rate picks up at the thought of who he was about to call.

You didn’t have a significant other, maybe that meant he wouldn’t call anyone? No such luck, though. The man scrolled through your most recent calls and only one name showed up the most consistently.

SSA Aaron Hotchner.

His name made your head light and your stomach churn. This really was a waking nightmare. You pulled yourself roughly against your restraints, feeling the thick rope cut deep into your bare skin. It burned and you kept going until you received a punch to the stomach for your efforts.

“Shut the fuck up.” The ugly man said. Then with a finger raised to his lips as if to demonstrate to you that you need to keep quiet, he presses the call button and raises the phone to his ear. You scream at him and that irritates him enough to punch you once more in the face, harder than the last time.

You groan at the sensation, the pain from your skull and your cheek and your stomach combining to make you feel ill.

“Y/N?” You could hear Hotch’s voice faintly from your phone that the unsub still had in his hand.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.” Is all that the unsub said, before ending the call and tossing the phone away. It lands several feet behind him on the floor, and you know there’s no chance of you getting it. Not when you’re still bound to the chair.

Your eyes remain fixed on the unsub, watching as he stares you down. He was predictably irrational, moving around you like a wild animal, as if trying to decide what to do with you first.

You may not know where you are exactly, but you know that this unsub likes to keep his victims alive for at least 24 hours after kidnapping them. If he does stick to that pattern, that leaves you with about 20ish hours for your team to come find you. And while you did have complete faith in them, it didn’t stop your heart from pounding faster the closer he came.

Hotch saw the call with your caller ID, and he felt like he could breathe again. He had just stopped in the lot of Grant Park and was walking towards the yellow taped scene when he paused and answered.

“Y/N?” He asked as soon as he hit accept.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.”

Hotch felt ice in his veins as the line went dead immediately after. The worst thing that could have happened, did. And Hotch felt helpless. His jaw was tense, and his hand curled into a white-knuckled fist around the cell phone. He dropped it to his side, not able to think for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and dialed Garcia.

“Sir?”

“Can you track L/N’s phone right now?” Hotch asks, feeling the weight of what was happening in his throat as it closed around his words.

“Um, yeah, yes if it’s turned on and if it’s near cell phone towers I should-I should be able to triangulate its location...” While she spoke, she typed. Another few seconds passed without words.

“Garcia?” Hotch said as firmly as he could.

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t- if the phone was turned off or destroyed, I won’t be able to get even an approximation, nothing is coming up at all-”

“Get into contact with the rest of the team, tell them Y/N’s been taken by the unsub.”

“Oh, God. Oh my God, okay.”

Hotch hung up and pocketed his phone. He wipes his hands down his face, frustrated and so fucking angry. With himself, with this case... he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get you back. Now was the worst time to dwell on it, though. You needed the team's help, and he was going to find you.

Looking around at the scene, he noticed that the rental car wasn’t here either. That means the unsub took it with you inside. He must’ve disabled the GPS, either broke it or threw it away before leaving. Hotch immediately contacted the local Police Department’s office to put out an APB on the black SUV.

Think, think... “Okay, he had a personal connection to Samantha. Not only knew her, he loved her or thought he did. He was angry that she was getting married.”

Hotch drives as fast as he can back to the precinct where he finds everyone else, back from their assignments and looking at him for answers.

“When was she taken?” Prentiss asks first.

“And from where?” Reid adds.

“Between 1:00 and 4:00 am, from the park where Larissa’s body was found.” Hotch says, trying to remain in his usual stoic façade. “He wouldn’t have risked taking her while it was light out. This unsub is bold but he’s still a coward like the rest of them.”

“Did you find anything at the scene?” Morgan asks.

“The car was missing, the unsub had to have taken L/N in it.” Hotch took a deep breath. “He called me from her phone.”

That made everyone stiffen.

Rossi speaks now, “Same message?”

Hotch nods once, which is all he can manage. The team speaks in hushed tones as anxiety takes over. “Right now, we have to assume that she’s alive. This unsub keeps his victims so that he can... torture them so let’s get to work.”

“Yeah, but Hotch... if he knows that L/N’s an FBI agent, there’s no telling if he’ll remain on schedule.” Morgan says, obviously troubled by the thought himself if his face is any indication.

Hotch had considered it, of course. But he refused to accept it. Until there was a body, Y/N was not dead. She couldn’t be.

“What did you find out about Samantha Garner from the missing person's report?” Hotch asks, ignoring the implication of Morgan’s words.

“It was called in by her Fiancé, Riley Perkins.” He replies. “He called the police once he noticed she didn’t come home from work.”

Hotch nods, thinking that the unsub wouldn’t be stupid enough to call in the missing person’s report himself. As much of a narcissist as he is, he wanted to keep pursuing his fantasies.

“And JJ, what’d you get from her parents?” Hotch asks, fingers curled into fists as his arms cross in front of his chest.

“It’s the same story as the other parents, everybody loved her, there was no one who held any grudges.” JJ says. “Her mother did mention an admirer, though.”

“An admirer?” Prentiss repeats.

“Yeah, I guess Sam was getting love letters. Innocuous enough to not raise alarm, but still out of the ordinary.”

“Did she say who they were from?” Hotch says hurriedly.

JJ shakes her head, “No, she had no idea.”

“Prentiss and I got Garcia to dig into Sam and Riley’s relationship,” Rossi says. “They were together only one year before deciding to tie the knot.”

“They seemed to love each other.” Prentiss adds.

“Well looks can be deceiving.” Hotch says. “Garcia got his address, Morgan and Prentiss, with me. The rest of you stay and find out absolutely everything you can about this secret admirer, he’s our unsub.”

When Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss arrived at the suburban home at the end of a cul-de-sac, all three stepped out and quickly made their way to the front door.

Three loud knocks on the front door from Morgan and a few seconds later Riley came out.

“Yes?”

“Are you Riley Perkins?” Hotch asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yes, I am. What is this about?”

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, these are special agents Morgan and Prentiss, may we come in?” He didn’t leave room for Perkins to answer, as he was already stepping inside.

“Um, what-what is this about?” He asks again nervously, stepping aside to let the three of them into his living room.

The house was a mess, laundry and trash littered most of the surfaces. The man himself didn’t look too good, like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“We’re here about your fiancé, Samantha Garner.” Morgan says.

Perkins shifts his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably, not making eye contact. “Did you, um, did you find her?”

“Yes, sir we did.” Morgan responds.

The man's nodding, fidgeting where he stands. “And?”

“Sir, I’m afraid she’s dead.” Morgan explains as calmly as he can.

Hotch notices the way Perkins handles the news, the tenseness of his shoulders dissipating. Not necessarily relieved by the news but accepting. Like he already knew that she was dead.

“Oh my God...” He lifts a palm up to his face and sobs for a moment.

“Mr. Perkins, I’m going to ask you once and if you’re not honest with me, trust that I will know.” Hotch states after he finally stops. The man looks him up and down and nods. “Did you receive a phone call the day your fiancé went missing?”

“I uh- I don’t remember...” Perkins says, again breaking eye contact.

“Yes, you do.” Hotch says, now invading his personal space. “It was the day your fiancé went missing, you knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home from work, you called the police. And then someone called you, didn’t they?”

“I- I mean no I don’t...” Perkins finally looks up and then sighs. “I don’t know who it was, I really, really don’t.”

“What did he say, exactly.” Prentiss asks.

Perkins looks at her and shakes his head a little, “He said... that I shouldn’t look for her, that I- I'll never see her again.” He starts crying again after that.

“Anything else at all? Was he calm, erratic?” Morgan asks.

“He was like, mumbling, I don’t know.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us, if you’re withholding essential information to interfere with a federal investigation, I will see to it that you are charged with obstruction of justice.” Hotch says, angrier by the second.

Perkins looks like he’s going to throw up and his legs give out. He slumps down onto the couch before he can speak. “He said... he said that he would kill me too if I spoke to the police again.” His head is in his hands as he talks. “I knew, I knew the second the news said they discovered a body in Millenium Park.” He was almost incomprehensible through his sobs. “They couldn’t identify her, but I knew.”

“Mr. Perkins... Riley.” Prentiss takes a seat next to him and speaks softly, trying to establish trust. “This man has killed at least five other women.” His cries stopped for a moment when he turned to look at her, a shocked expression on his face. “We need your help in order to stop him.”

“I told you, I swear, I don’t know who it is.”

“We think that you do, you just don’t know it.” Morgan says.

Hotch jumps in, “Samantha was his target from the beginning, he knew her. He may have even known you. Think, was there anyone new in your lives? Someone who seemed a little too friendly too quickly? He would have made you uncomfortable, he was domineering and egotistical.”

“Well, um I didn’t know him, I mean, I never met him,” Perkins says, “but there was a guy. Sam would complain about how annoying he was at work, a new hire. She said he talked her ear off about his life, asked too many personal questions...” He trails off for a minute looking between the three agents. “Do you think this man killed my fiancé?”

“Possibly.” Hotch replies. “I have one more question and then we’ll leave.” Perkins nods, tight-lipped. “Did she mention that this man called her by a different name, maybe her middle name?”

His face changed completely, mouth dropping open and blinking, “Yes! Yeah, she mentioned that he would call her ‘my Violet’ like every day, it bugged her.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Hours had gone by while you stayed strapped to this god damned chair. The torture felt never-ending. The unsub landed blow after blow to your face and stomach, only offering a reprieve when you had temporarily passed out from the pain. You couldn’t see very well out of your left eye and your fingers were involuntarily twitching. The blood in your mouth was metallic and awful, adding to your nausea.

“You know,” The man said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I appreciate the way you’re hanging on. It will make the ending a lot more fun.”

If you had the energy, you would recoil from his closeness to your face. His breath repulsed you, but you stayed completely still, barely blinking, shallow breaths lifting and lowering your chest.

“Mm, you really need to wake up.” He pushes your head back so that you’re forced to look at him. With his grip in your hair, he strikes you in the face with the back of his hand. “Nothin.”

You couldn’t say with any real accuracy how much time had actually gone by since you were first taken, but you had a feeling that your time was running out. Your thoughts wandered to your team.

You missed talking and joking with Prentiss and JJ, you missed Garcia’s cheery voice over the speaker phone. You wanted to hear Morgan’s stories about picking up women and Rossi’s input that made everyone laugh. You wanted to hear Reid ramble about nothing and everything. Mostly, you find yourself thinking about Hotch.

You missed walking into the BAU and knowing you would find him in his office. You thought about his stern face and wanted to know what it would be like to reach your hands out and touch him, wipe away his anger and guilt. You wanted another silent morning where the two of you would sit in the conference room and drink your coffees, enjoying the comfortable silence of the early hours.

You wanted to see his rare, but beautiful smile. The kind of thing that had to be earned; it was the best. As you thought more about him, the sadder you got. You should’ve told him, even just once, how much you liked his company... how much you liked him.

When Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss get back to the precinct, Reid’s discovered something. He and the rest of the team have been working the secret admirer angle, which they now knew was a coworker at Samantha’s law office.

“All of the bouquets of violets left at the victim’s families homes came with a note, they all said the same thing. ‘My condolences, -K.M.’” Reid explains quickly.

Hotch knows they’re running out of time, it was already past noon, and the team was restless, but this gave him a spur of hope that they were getting close. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia’s number.

“Ready and waiting.” She said.

“Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was stern if not a little shaky with anxiety, “was there anyone in Samantha Garner’s workplace with the initials K.M.?”

“Uhhhh, nine.”

“Cross-check those names with anyone arrested for minor charges, assault or something similar, he would be in his 30’s or 40’s now, white.”

“Only one, a Kyle Mazdin, arrested four years ago for breaking into an ex-girlfriend's home and burglarizing it, then arrested again for a bar fight where he nearly killed a man.”

“We’ll need his address immediately.”

“You’ve got it.”

20 minutes later Rossi and JJ were at Mazdin’s office, and the rest of the team was at Mazdin’s home.

Hotch screeched to a stop in the front of the seemingly normal house, “Prentiss with me, Morgan, take the back of the house, Reid through the garage.”

All of them nodded in silent acknowledgment. Morgan and Reid broke off, headed to the side gate, while Hotch and Prentiss entered through the front.

“FBI! Kyle Mazdin, open up!” Hotch yelled. They only waited a few seconds before bursting inside.

The door was unlocked, and they quickly moved from room to room on the first floor with their guns out and ready, yelling “Clear!” before heading upstairs. There was nothing on the second floor either, making Hotch exhale a frustrated breath.

“Hold on.” Prentiss said, stopping Hotch. “You hear that?”

Hotch furrowed his brows and listened. “No, I don’t-”

Just then, a creaking noise from below. Like light footsteps, moving carefully.

Prentiss and Hotch shared a look before running back down the stairs, but there was still nothing. Morgan and Reid were inside, also trying to find the source of the noise.

“The rental car is in the garage.” Reid said quickly and quietly.

“Anything out back?” Prentiss asked Morgan, who shook his head.

Another noise came from behind the team as they stood in the living space, next to the staircase. Hotch moves silently over to the cabinet door that’s connected to the wall under the stairs. It swings open and his gun and flashlight point at nothing. It’s empty save for a few coats hanging on a rack. But looking down, he sees a square-shaped covering with a latch.

Hotch motions for Morgan, who stands ready to open it. As soon as he does, Hotch points his flashlight and gun down, where he sees another set of stairs leading to a hidden basement. Hotch’s jaw tenses and his grip of the glock tightens as he makes his way down, hearing the footsteps of his team behind him.

As he gets halfway down, he sees a lamp illuminating your figure which is tied to a chair in the center of the room. Mazdin is behind you, the metal wire already wrapped around your neck, not tight enough to kill you, but forceful enough to threaten.

“Let her go now.” Hotch’s voice is strained, his anger making it hard to remain still. He can hear the rest of the team coming down the stairs and stopping by his side, also training their guns on the man. “You have nowhere to go, it ends here.”

“Yes, it does.” Mazdin says, pulling the wire tighter against your throat, making you jerk back a little in your chair.

Hotch dared to look at your face, bloody and bruised, and it made his stomach churn. You were conscious, making eye contact with him and taking shallow breaths. Hotch’s heart was beating out of his chest, unable to stop when he took a step closer to you.

“Another step and she’s dead.” The man said, keeping his grip on the wire.

Hotch’s gun was burning in his hand as it was aimed at the unsub’s head, finger twitching on the trigger. “Drop your weapon and no one else dies today.” Mazdin was taking deep, shaking breaths, debating his next move. Hotch knew the man didn’t want to die, but he most certainly didn’t want to go to jail either. “Everyone will know what you did, and why. How the love of your life betrayed you, how you got your payback... even how you managed to abduct a Federal Agent. But only if you let her go.”

Hotch could tell the words were at least getting through to him. His grip slackened, his back straightening a bit. Morgan and Prentiss took the opportunity and rushed him, immediately tacking Mazdin to the floor. He struggled and yelled, but Morgan kept him still enough for Prentiss to cuff him. At the same time, Hotch rushed to Y/N, holstering his gun.

“Get him out of here.” Hotch told Morgan, who roughly dragged Mazdin up to his feet and forced him up the staircase and out of the house where the local police had finally shown up. Reid and Prentiss followed, holstering their guns as well, only after Hotch informed them to grab paramedics for you.

“It’s okay.” Hotch was saying as he knelt down to your level, all anger dissipating and worry replacing it. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He holds Y/N’s head in his hands gently, trying to gauge the damage to her face and body. The blood coming from her nose was extensive, and the blood on his hand indicated a serious head injury. He couldn’t tell if anything was broken just yet.

“Okay, I’m going to get these off of you, alright?” Hotch asks you while tugging on the ropes, but your eyes were drifting closed. “No, Y/N, no you have to stay awake for me, you may have a concussion, the paramedics are on their way, okay?” She met his eyes finally and then smiled a little bit. It made his chest tighten in response.

“Okay.” Her voice was uneven, probably because of lack of hydration and near strangulation. It made his frown deepen, but he made sure to work quickly at untying the restraints. “Aaron.”

He stopped at the sound of his first name on your lips. It was very rare that you called him Aaron, it made his breath catch for a moment as he removed the last bit of rope from her ankles and looked up at her. Y/N was staring at him with an indescribable look on her face, exhaustion and relief but also pain. “Thank you for finding me... I knew that you would.”

Hotch didn’t know what to say. He had sent her away- their last interaction wasn’t a very good one, but she was here, alive and thanking him. It made that warmth from the other night in the precinct return. “Let's get you out of here.” Hotch gently slipped his arms up underneath Y/N so that he could lift her to her feet as the paramedics came down. Her groan of pain made his jaw tense, but he didn’t stop.

The EMT’s asked if she could walk and Y/N nodded, though she leaned most of her weight onto Hotch. He didn’t mind, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist and helping her up the stairs, into the living room. Once the two of you had made it outside, Hotch allowed the EMT’s to take her. She lay on the cot in the ambulance, and Hotch kept his hand in hers the whole ride to the hospital.

He watched as you drifted off, thinking just how much trouble they had gone through just to get you to sleep.

#aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch fic #angst #hurt comfort #kidnapping #mutual pining #insomnia #protective hotch #concerned hotch #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

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