❝I am a collection of dismantled almosts.❞

ANNE SEXTON

✩

2.3 : that couple from dirty dancing

OR

season 4, episode 16 : pleasure is my business

"DOES ANYONE KNOW WHY HOTCH WAS CALLED IN FIRST, BEFORE US?" FIN ASKS, SIPPING HER COFFEE AND LOOKING AROUND AT THE OTHERS. It's really strange that Hotch is in Dallas days before them, and only calls them up now. It feels oddly empty without him on the plane, although having JJ back makes it feel a little more normal. Fin's also extremely grateful that she doesn't have to do the media shit anymore. It was cool, but definitely not her thing.

 Morgan shrugs. "No. All the information we have right now is that the unsub is a woman, and a high-end prostitute at that, which means her kills have something to do with sex."

Fin's heart clenches and she takes another sip of coffee, pulling up her therapist's system from years ago. Breathe in. You're okay. Breathe out. No one can hurt you.

Morgan's phone rings and he pulls it out, looking at the screen. "Speak of the devil–it's Hotch." He puts it on speaker and sets it in the middle of the table, so everyone can hear. "Hey, Hotch. You've got all of us."

"All right," says Hotch, "let's talk about what we know."

"Female serial killers are a fascinating field," Spencer says from across the table. His hair is curling more than usual today, probably from the humidity, and Fin thinks it looks really, really cute. "We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window."

"How so?" asks Fin, although she probably knows everything he's about to say.

"Signature, for instance," he replies. "They don't torture or take trophies."

"Because there's no sexual gratification when a woman kills," Morgan says.

"Exactly." Spencer nods. "Murder is the goal; they don't have to do anything extra."

"So basically women are more efficient at killing," JJ says, and Fin can tell she's fighting back a grin.

"Historically, they have had body counts in the hundreds," Spencer replies ambiguously.

"So assuming that the job is the stressor," Hotch cuts in, "what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?"

"Money, drugs, post-traumatic stress disorder," Morgan lists.

"Revenge," Fin adds, more quietly than she intended.

"At some point, every call girl, no matter how well paid, gets coerced into an activity she didn't consent to." Rossi fiddles with the ring on his right ring finger thoughtfully.

"Aileen Wuornos used to purposefully stage paid sexual encounters as an excuse to murder men she thought would rape her," Emily adds pointedly.

"But Wuornos was psychotic and disorganized," Hotch replies. "I–I think this girl's poisoning them before she has sex with them."

Spencer looks down at his file. "She's using tetra-methylene-disofultetramine."

"Try saying that five times fast," Fin says, grinning.

"It's a popular rat poison in China, easily soluble in alcohol, and I would crush you at tongue twisters." Spencer directs this last part across the table at Fin, a smile playing on the edges of his mouth.

"Children, behave." Rossi rolls his eyes at the pair of them, and continues, "Poison is the perfect M.O. Quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming, because they think they're getting lucky. Does that mean something to you?"

"Well, at $10,000 dollars a night, these men are paying for discretion as well as sex." Hotch's tone is thoughtful, pensive.

"She probably has a history with them," Fin says, closing her file. Breathe in. It's not the same. Breathe out. No one can hurt you.

"They see her repeatedly." Rossi nods at her approvingly.

"She didn't decide to kill them in the moment," Hotch says slowly, like he's having a revelation. "She walks in with the intent to kill them and she's doing it before she sleeps with them."

"So she's not just organized," Spencer muses, "she's also methodical."

Breathe.

"She decides early which one of her clients are worth killing and which aren't, and she plans accordingly." Morgan looks almost impressed. Fin feels slightly sick.

"Maybe the victims all share the same fetish?" Emily suggests.

"Both victims were in their 50s, highly visible." Morgan shrugs. "Careful about their image. I mean, if they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it."

"And we're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out." Hotch sighs.

"Actually, I had some luck there," JJ pipes up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She cut almost a foot off last week and Fin thinks it looks really badass. "Hoyt Ashford's wife isn't too happy with how he died."

"She's agreed to talk to us?"

"Yeah, but because every silver lining has a dark cloud, uh, the hedge fund released a statement." JJ looks down at her file and reads: "'Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.' They're already trying to close ranks."

A tragic accident. Died instantly. A blow to the head. Playing football.

Spencer's got his genius expression on, which means there's about to be some Reid-style breakthrough. "Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?"

"What do you mean?" Hotch asks.

Spencer shuffles through the papers on the table between him and Fin. His fingers brush hers and she resists the urge to pull away. He clears his throat a little too loudly. "The press release from the first victim. Um, 'according to company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home.'"

"Prentiss and Morgan, start with the wife," Hotch says. "See if you can get her to open up. Rossi, Reid, Finley, set up at the police department, and JJ, call the lawyers and tell them I want to meet with both of them."

"You want to play them off each other?" asks Rossi.

"I think one of them wrote both press releases. Let's see which one calls us back."

✩

No, Fin has not forgotten about Austin, in case you were wondering. She definitely hasn't forgotten about her. In fact, just the other day, she caught Spencer on the phone, talking to her. It kind of hurt.

But Austin lives in Atlanta, and Fin knows he hasn't been down there to see her, and out of sight, out of mind, right? As much as she'd love to strangle that woman, she is a professional. And anyway, she and Spencer are friends more than anything, so she'll keep her feelings to herself. (She also hasn't forgotten about what JJ said a week ago. About Spencer liking her.)

Spencer parks the SUV in front of a house with a sign in front that reads Margold Investment Properties, and Fin gets out, squinting up at the nice suburban home in front of them. "Are you sure this is the right address?"

Spencer, who's already outside and leaning against his door, nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Positive."

"I don't get it." Fin shrugs. "I thought Hotch said we were going to meet a madam here."

"Actually, there's a lot of overlap between real estate and sex work." Spencer starts walking toward the house, lowering his voice, and Fin follows. "Property is a safe and inspection-free investment for large sums of cash. Emily's brownstone used to be owned by a gigolo."

Before Fin can even process this strange new information or wonder how and why Spencer knows these things, a middle-aged woman in a nice red suit walks out with a smile plastered on her lips, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. "Well, hello, you two!"

Spencer looks mildly taken aback. "Uh, are you the–?"

"Isn't this neighborhood just fabulous?" the woman asks, interrupting him. "And you're gonna love this house." She takes both of them by the elbows and pushes them inside, and once they're in the door, she mutters, "You two need lessons in faking it. I teach a class."

"Sorry," Fin says, not quite sure how to respond. "I just–I'm not sure–You're the madam we're supposed to meet, right? You arrange...dates for...escorts?"

"All I arrange are meetings," says the madam curtly, brushing a strand of her auburn hair from her forehead with a long nail. "What happens between two consenting adults when that meeting is over is something I'm not liable for. Now, who wants a scone?"

Spencer gives Fin a very cute "well-if-we-must" look, and they follow her into the kitchen, where she serves them chocolate chip scones to go with their police department coffee and Spencer explains the profile of the woman they're looking for. Apparently, when Hotch went to meet the lawyers, a consultant who's dealing with the press showed up instead, and she gave him this madam's name to look into.

The madam introduces herself as Lauren–Fin knows enough to not ask for more information–and when Spencer finishes giving the profile, she turns up her nose haughtily. "Oh, yes. We all know about this woman. She's terrible for business."

"I guess there's only so many men that can, uh, afford the service you provide," Spencer says, twisting the coffee cup in his hand. Fin tries not to smile; he looks so damn cute today, in his blue dress shirt and brown sweater vest, his hair curling behind his ears.

"Well, that's certainly true," Lauren replies, slightly mollified. "But the way she's behaving, she's only hurting herself."

"Uh, why is that?" asks Fin, frowning.

"An escort's client list is the most important investment she has." Lauren clearly has a lot of pride for what she does; it's clear in her tone that this is a big deal to her. "It's her daily income and her retirement package when she sells the list."

"So this woman isn't working with a service?"

Lauren shakes her head slowly. Fin's starting to catch on.

"No madam would be okay with one of her escorts killing the clientele. I see."

Spencer clears his throat. "What about the, um, type of work your employees do?" he asks, semi-awkwardly. "We're sort of operating under the assumption that this escort is, um, killing men who...make her perform a...specific sexual act?"

Fin stifles a laugh, watching the tips of his ears turn red as he struggles through the question.

"What'd you have in mind, sweetie?" asks Lauren shamelessly.

Fin can almost see Spencer's stomach tie itself into a knot. He shrugs faux-nonchalantly. "I–I don't even–I don't know–"

Lauren just laughs. "If I may, I think you're looking at this all wrong."

"How so?" Fin's confused; she thought they were going in the right direction.

"Start with this question: why would a man pay a woman five figures?"

"I'm guessing it's not just for sex," Fin says slowly, watching Lauren's face to check her response.

"Of course, you've got to be good in bed to be successful. But that's the easy part."

"And the hard part?" Fin asks.

"What men want," Lauren continues, "more than the no-strings-attached sex, is a therapist. Someone who will absorb the worst parts of their personalities."

Spencer nods slowly. "Their fears and their insecurities. Everything they can't take home to their wife."

Lauren smiles approvingly. "That's what I groom my girls to do–how to talk to these men, how to listen. Don't get me wrong, deviancy comes with the territory. I can't tell you how many men need to be submissive as an outlet from their extremely stressful jobs. I can tell you that if the sex was the reason she was killing these men, she would've broken long before she charged $10,000."

"So it isn't how these men act in bed," Spencer says slowly, nodding, "it's how they act out of it."

They bid goodbye to Lauren, and on their way out the door, she gives Fin a knowing look and mutters, "By the way, when I said you two were terrible at acting, that wasn't just about my cover. You two are like that couple from Dirty Dancing; I could cut the tension between you with a knife."

And before Fin can protest, Lauren pushes two chocolate chip scones into her hand and shuts the door behind her.

✩

And their unsub strikes again. The victim was a man named Joseph Fielding, the CFO at a massive company. And of course, it was while they were sleeping. Hotch woke everyone up at four a.m., which Fin isn't super pleased about. He, Rossi, and Morgan went to the crime scene, while JJ, Spencer, Emily, and Fin went back to the police station to get coffee, breakfast, and get started on the profile to present to the other agents.

Around six, Hotch shows up with new information, and they call Garcia, who's already downloaded all the information the lawyers have on Fielding and faxed it to the station. Hopefully, it'll give them some insight into what the hell is going on in their unsub's brain.

"Eighteen cars, six houses, and three boats." Spencer wrinkles his nose at the paper he's reading. "Can you even boat in Dallas?"

"You know, when you're talking about that much money," Emily says, pinning the latest crime scene photos to the evidence board, "ten grand for a call girl is like deciding where to go for dinner."

Fin rubs her temples with her index fingers in the hopes that it'll make the caffeine kick in faster. God, she hates these hours.

"Are you there, Garcia?" Hotch leans over the speaker in the middle of the table.

"Affirmative," Penelope says, far too cheerily for this early in the morning.

"I have half a million over here for something called the 'Bat Cave'," JJ says in a tone that clearly echoes her disgust. "Oh, and here's a picture of him as Fetish Batman. That is wrong."

"So he's definitely kinky." Fin sighs and drops her head onto the table. "Gross."

"Is there anything this guy didn't like to spend money on?" Spencer asks quietly. His soft semi-morning voice makes the butterflies in Fin's abdomen do advanced gymnastics.

"Yeah," Hotch replies. "His ex-wives. Fielding was married four times. He didn't have pre-nups with the first two, but he did everything he could to cut off his ex-wives."

"Are there children involved?" Emily asks, sitting down next to Fin and pulling the Advil bottle in front of Fin toward her. Fin resists the urge to say, "Headache buddies!" in a sarcastic voice. Hotch probably wouldn't appreciate that.

"Yes, with three of the wives..." Hotch trails off, reading out of one of the files.

"Hey, the other guy, Ashford," Fin says, raising her head up off the table. "He was married more than once, right?"

"Yeah, a few times." Hotch nods.

"You know, considering that when Kevin takes me out to dinner and a movie, he defaults on his student loans, this amount of money is sick." Fin can hear Penelope typing furiously, even though her voice is soft.

"What did you find?" Emily asks.

"Well, all three of our dearly departed rich guys were embroiled in bitter court battles over how much to pay in alimony and child support," Penelope replies, "and even when the court ruled in the wife's favor–which was almost always–these three charmers just, you know, decided not to pay."

"What utter bastards." Fin sips her coffee to hide the look of disgust on her face. Some people really push her buttons, and these guys are tip top of that list.

"Garcia, can you generate a list of high-profile Dallas CEOs who are holding out on their ex-wives?" Hotch asks, leaning over the phone.

"One loaded losers list, Dallas edition, coming at ya. Penelope out!" And she hangs up.

"So why would a prominent businessman who could easily pay child support refuse to?" asks Hotch now, sitting down across from them.

Spencer runs a hand through his hair thoughtfully, which is unfortunately very hot. "For this type of overachieving personality, paying money after the marriage ends probably offends him." He can't keep the disgust out of his voice, which makes Fin all the more attracted to him.

"They're spending tens of thousands on an escort," says JJ, leaning her chin on her hand, "but they won't drop a dime on their wife and kids? That's cold."

"It definitely feeds their ego, though," Fin replies. "I mean, they all fit the stereotypical workaholic narcissist type. They want what they want, and nothing, not even the law, will stop them. It's the type of personality that could be serial with the right triggers."

"Meanwhile, most prostitutes come from broken homes," Spencer adds, nodding approvingly at Fin. A warm, glowy feeling emerges in her abdomen, which she recognizes as a mixture of pride and affection. "She's listening to pillow talk, could serve as some sort of trigger."

Emily takes a slow sip of coffee, and then says, "How their ex-wives are cheating them out of money, how their kids are nagging them."

Hotch nods. "Everything that these men take for granted and that she never had."

"She's a vigilante." Fin suddenly feels nauseous. This is too familiar. She grips the arm of her chair tightly, focusing on her breath.

"Well, should I assemble the police for a profile?" JJ asks, looking up at Hotch questioningly.

Hotch sighs. "I just don't think it's gonna help. She lives in a completely different world than they do."

Spencer rubs his eyes, blinking away sudden sleepiness. "Same with the news-watching public."

"And the CEOs who sleep with her won't admit to it," Emily adds grimly.

"Like I could even get past the team of lawyers protecting them." JJ rolls her eyes, sighing through her nose tiredly.

Fin bites her lip hesitantly, and then asks the question that's been nagging at her for days at the same time that Hotch does: "What if we give the profile to the corporate lawyers?"

"What do you mean?" Spencer asks, and Fin's stomach does a little flip at the fact that he's asking her, and not Hotch.

"Well, they've cleaned up after her," she replies, "even if they don't realize she's our unsub, or even that she's the same woman."

"Exactly." Hotch gives Fin his equivalent of a proud smile, which is basically just a tight-lipped grimace.

"But every time we've approached them, they've circled the wagons," Emily counters. "What makes you think this is going to be any different?"

"Because she's putting them at risk, too." Hotch looks over at Fin now. "Finley, you and Reid go through the list of CEOs Garcia's putting together. Pick out any that could be potential victims, men that fit the type our unsub is targeting. The rest of us will give the profile."

✩

"What about this guy?" Fin turns the paper she's looking at toward Spencer. "Trent Bamford?"

"Tell me about him," Spencer replies absentmindedly, intent on another sheet of paper in his lap.

They're sitting crosslegged on the floor in a conference room that's slightly bigger than a closet, surrounded by at least a hundred sheets of paper on Dallas businessmen that fit the type their unsub is targeting. The only light comes from a lamp on the floor next to Spencer, but Fin would much rather be in here than out there giving a profile she's all too familiar with.

"Um, he's in his early fifties, CEO of a tech company for the past twenty years..." Fin scans the paper quickly, looking for anything that catches her eye. "Oh, this is different. His wife died of ovarian cancer eight months ago. No kids."

"He's not her type." Spencer looks up at Fin and shrugs. His eyes are the darkest brown in this lighting and she has a hard time looking away from them.

"I don't know, I've got a gut feeling about him." Fin tosses the paper onto the 'maybe' pile and picks up the next one.

There's a few minutes of silence, and then Fin's not sure what makes her say this, but she can't stop the words coming out of her mouth. "Speaking of types, how is that girl you met in Atlanta? Austin, was that her name?"

"What?" Spencer's pen clatters dully on the carpeted floor.

"Austin." Fin avoids his eyes, pretending to read the paper in her hand. Why the hell would she bring this up? "The bartender."

"Um, I'm sure she's fine."

"You don't know?"

"I haven't talked to her in a while."

Fin frowns. "I saw you on the phone with her the other day!"

Spencer looks extremely confused. "She was thanking me for saving her life... What is this about?"

Oh. "I–I just thought you two were–I don't know, a thing." Fin wants to find the nearest window and jump out of it. "Did you not like her?"

"No, I liked her. But she lives in Atlanta and I live in D.C., so it wasn't really a good fit." Spencer shrugs. "And she smokes. That's kind of a turn-off for me."

"Oh." Fin's very embarrassed, but her heart is doing cartwheels and she's also very happy for some reason.

And then she looks up at him. He's barely more than five inches from her, his head tilted to the side in confusion, his lips parted slightly. The lamplight makes his hair shine, illuminates every tiny curl, and his eyes are every color at once and Fin is love with all of them. Her brain wars with her heart, a battle of her vow not to trust anyone against the way Spencer Reid makes her feel, against the way her heart is screaming to tell someone everything she's ever known.

"I didn't mean to pry," she whispers, trying her hardest not to look at his lips.

"You weren't." Spencer's voice is quiet and she's falling in love with the way he sounds. Somehow, they're centimeters apart now, and she could've sworn neither of them moved.

"I don't know how you wear sweater vests in this heat." She touches the vest with her fingertips, the butterflies in her stomach suffering extreme cardiac arrest, and then she looks up into his eyes and her heart wins.

So she kisses him.

For a moment, everything's completely still. Nothing is real except Fin and Spencer, Spencer and Fin. Time stops to watch.

And then his hand is soft against her cheek and she tastes coffee on his lips and his curls are velvet in her fingers and no poet could do any justice to this moment–

But Spencer pulls away, shaking his head. "No."

"No?" That really wasn't the response Fin was looking for. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"We're working," he whispers, his forehead still so close to hers, his hand still cupping her face. "We can't do this now."

"What about Lila Archer?" Fin knows this is a low blow, but she's human and this stings like a knife to her chest. "You made out with her on a case!"

"That was four years ago." Spencer shakes his head. "I was young and stupid. I knew it was a mistake, just like I know that this is a mistake now."

"You think it's a mistake to kiss me?" Fin's jaw drops. She cannot believe the best kiss she's ever had was a mistake–

"No." Spencer lets out a quiet laugh. "No, believe me, kissing you is one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

That shuts her up.

"It's taking more self control than I have not to kiss you." Spencer's eyes search hers, a silent plea to make this easy. "But more people are going to die if we don't solve this case, so could we maybe take a rain check?"

It takes every ounce of Fin's strength to pull her hand away from his curls, and even more to pick up another Dallas CEO profile and go back to work. But the memory of his lips on hers is one she files away, saving it for a day they don't have to save the world.

~

y'all are welcome

also *foreshadowing* hehe i love it so much