CHAPTER 4:
NO REST FOR THE WICKED
(5x9: 100)

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        A STORM. OF THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, unspoken words. Bess sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs positioned in a strict row by the wall facing Erin Strauss' office, fighting this storm. Waiting for Morgan to finish inside and swap places with her, so the section chief could continue her interrigation with her. More like torture. Reliving every second over and over again. But of course, she didn't have to go into the woman's office for that. She was reliving it right now, sitting in that chair. A bad movie without a pause button. She just couldn't make it stop.

        But how exactly did she end up sitting in that chair? It had all started three weeks ago, right after that case with the Fox. When in that interrogation room of the Supermax Prison Hotch got to know that George Foyet had decided it was time for him to lose everything. He hadn't realized it then, but the hourglass had already been turned. And the grains of sand that held his family's precious time were slipping away faster than he could grasp.

        Bess, of course, didn't get a hold of this until the next morning. She was too preoccupied with Rossi that night—not like Hotch had asked for her help anyway. With the intense taste of the scotch lingering on her tongue, she drank the senior agent's every word like it was the water essential for life. It had been past midnight when he finally left, and he taught her more in those few hours than she could have wished for. And it was just the beginning.

        Remaining faithful to their deal, Rossi came over again. He came almost every night, and before Bess could stop it, she found herself drawing closer to him. Not in a romantic way, but more in a strange bond that she hesitated to call friendship. She should have kept her distance. She knew better than that. But spending so much time together made it inevitable not to open up to one another. And to tell the truth, she liked it. The long talks spiced with laughter; it was a relief with what was going on in the office.

        Before the memories could overwhelm her once again, the door of Strauss' office opened up and Morgan stepped out. His eyes locked with Bess' for a second, then without saying a word to her, he turned on his heels and walked off in the direction of the bullpen. Bess let out a tired sigh as she rose from her seat, and entered the section chief's office like they were pulling her teeth.

        "Agent Sinclair, please, take a seat." Strauss gestured towards the two chairs facing her large office desk, and Bess did as she asked, sinking into the chair farther from the door, crossing her legs as she leaned back comfortably. The blonde woman reached forward to push a button on the recorder, saying, "Please say your name and rank for the record."

        The corner of Bess' lip twitched as she watched Strauss sit down on the other side of the desk, then spoke up in a clear voice, "SSA Elizabeth Sinclair, Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia."

        "You took over the unit five weeks ago because Agent Hotchner's ability to lead the team had become compromised, am I right?" Strauss asked, folding her fingers on the tabletop.

        Bess remained silent as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her silver cigarette case and lighter. "Do you mind?" She held up the two items with an eyebrow raised, causing Strauss' eyes to narrow.

        "Yes, I do mind."

        The redhead rolled her eyes but put everything away, running her tongue over her teeth in annoyance. "That's what I was told, yes."

        "You think there was a different reason?" Strauss probed with an eyebrow raised.

        Bess smiled as she surveyed her. "It's above my pay grade to answer questions like that."

        The section chief chose to leave her mocking response without an answer. "How would you describe Agent Hotchner's recent behavior? Was he acting agitated or unreasonable?" she moved on to her next questions instead, causing Bess to snort as she shook her head. "Something wrong, Agent Sinclair?"

        "Well, it would be much better if you let me smoke. No, I just don't understand what you're trying to achieve here, to tell the truth," she replied, holding Strauss' ice-cold gaze.

        "Agent Sinclair, your entire team is on the line if I cannot reconcile an adequate account of Agent Hotchner's investigation into George Foyet. So, answer the question. How would—"

        "I describe Agent Hotchner's recent behavior? It depends. Are you asking before or after Foyet put a bullet in her ex-wife's head?" Bess scoffed, making a face as she started to get furious at the implications of Strauss' words. "Do you think just because you make him into a scapegoat, all of this will magically go away? Please, even you can't believe that." She shook her head with a bitter laugh. Life wasn't that easy.

        Strauss shot back, "I'm not making him into anything."

        "Sure. You've just asked us here for tea."

        Strauss reached forward and pushed a button on the recorder, causing Bess to raise an eyebrow. "I don't like your tone, Sinclair. You keep talking to me like that and I'll have to replace you. Believe me, I will gladly do it," she threatened her, but Bess was past the point when those kinds of words could scare her.

        She let out a chuckle, leaning forward as she eyed the blonde woman with a devilish smirk. "I'd like to see that. I'm sorry to break this down to you, Strauss, but you're not untouchable. You can be replaced just as easily as everyone else," Bess sneered, noting with satisfaction how the section chief's face turned pale. She clearly didn't expect this. "The director put me in this position. Do you really believe that he can't give me, let's say, yours instead? Please. I thought you're smarter than that." Bess leaned back in her chair, letting her words sink into Strauss' brain.

        It was all just a big, fat bluff. She didn't have a card like that in her pocket. But Strauss didn't know that. And Bess kept her poker face on, enjoying how the section chief's confidence dispersed into nothing. "Is this a threat?" she hissed, but Bess noticed the doubt in her eyes.

        She smiled. "No, of course not. Just a simple... fact."

        Strauss didn't speak more as she tried to find a way out of the deep hole she pushed herself into, but there was not a single root she could have used to climb back up. Finally, she cleared her throat, saying, "Go on, Agent Sinclair." She reached forward and pushed the recorder button once again. "Tell me your side of the story."

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        THANKFULLY, BESS HAD STUDIED THE Reaper's case the night before joining the BAU, wanting to know what made it possible for her to join the team as their leader. Thus, she was more than familiar with George Foyet and what he had done over the years to become one of the most famous serial killers of all time. In the original string of killings, the man had stabbed himself multiple times in an effort to paint himself as a victim and throw the BAU off the investigation, resulting in him needing to take extremely strong medications to recover from his injuries.

        This was the only lead they had on Foyet—some dead bodies could do the trick too, but fortunately for the living, and unfortunately for the BAU team, there weren't any—so they delved into searching for any kind of patients over the country that matched the combination of the medications that Foyet himself had taken, trying to locate where he was hiding.

        Sadly, luck wasn't in their favor. Garcia couldn't find a single match anywhere. Trying to pinpoint where the postmarks were applied on the letters Foyet had sent Karl Arnold was a dead end too—though they managed to locate the cities: Fredericksburg, Virginia, and Westminster, Maryland—just like getting any prints or DNA off the letters. Foyet didn't want to be found. Hence, he wasn't.

        Then, after more than two and a half weeks of running in circles, JJ came upon something promising.

        While collecting the prescriptions for her ill son in the pharmacy, she learned from the pharmacist woman that there were a lot of over-the-counter medications that could be substituted for prescriptions. Apparently, the dosage of the medications mattered more than the brands that had been prescribed. JJ figured that this might have been their problem. They were tracking the entire combination instead of checking over-the-counter meds too, which Foyet must have bought to cover his purchases.

        Wasting no more time, Garcia teamed up with her boyfriend, Kevin Lynch—who Bess later learned was another technical analyst from the 4th floor—to track the drugs that couldn't be emulated with over-the-counter drugs and could only be dispensed by a pharmacist in the two cities the letters were sent from, meaning that Foyet couldn't avoid buying them. Pretty soon they came up with a result. There was no substitute for Tapazole, which was used to treat hyperthyroidism—weight loss, hand tremors, and irregular heartbeat among other things.

        While they made this discovery, the rest of the team worked on the geographical profile. "There're approximately 115 miles between Fredericksburg and Westminster. Why mail the letters from two cities?" JJ asked as they stood in the conference room, staring at the large map projected on the TV screen.

        "Maybe it's purely a forensic countermeasure," Morgan guessed with a shrug. "He knows that mailing letters close to home would lead us right to him, so he drives far away to mail the letters to throw us off his scent."

        Reid agreed with him, "Yeah, the Unabomber did that. So did the 2001 anthrax suspect."

        "He could have gone anywhere, but he's trolling the DC area," Rossi noted with knitted eyebrows as he surveyed the map.

        "It makes sense to stay close to Hotch," Emily explained, "He stuck around Boston to watch Shaunessy deteriorate. Not that you're—" she cut off the rest of her sentence, giving the man an embarrassed look.

        "It's all right. I know he's been watching me. It's part of the reason I stepped down, so he'd think I was falling apart," Hotch muttered, tearing his gaze from the TV screen and accidentally looking right at Bess.

        She surveyed his face before glancing at JJ, who noted, "Okay, so what are we gonna do about the two cities? Usually, we need three different points to get an accurate geographic profile."

        "That's all we got right now," Morgan let out a weary sigh, while Emily took some wild guesses by listing possible places where Foyed could be hiding. They just had no idea which one was right, and whether they were good guesses anyway.

        Later, Garcia joined them in the conference room with good news. "Okay, me and the boy found a thyroid medication that has no substitute over the counter. You've gotta get it from a pharmacist, but a lot of people are on it," she explained as she put down her laptop on the shiny surface of the round table and continued typing on its keyboard.

        "Find the midpoint between the two cities and isolate names in a 25-mile radius," Rossi suggested, but it only narrowed down the list to 153 names.

        "Well, he's not gonna use his own name, is he?" Bess remarked as she crossed her arms, then raised an eyebrow in question. "What kind of aliases should we be looking for?"

        "Well, he could have easily stolen someone's identity," Emily replied, but Hotch shook his head.

        "No. He's a narcissist in love with his own mythology. He'd use a name connected with the case."

        Rossi questioned, "A victim, maybe? A cop?" He watched Garcia conduct the search using those parameters, yet none of the names from the list of 153 were flagged.

        "Wait a minute, guys," Reid chimed in, standing up from his seat with the help of his walking stick—it was about time to get rid of the crutches—and stepped in front of a whiteboard. "Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The Eye of Providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him. Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."

        Bess raised an eyebrow. "Like an anagram or something?"

        The boy didn't respond as he picked up a marker and wrote the name 'George Foyet' onto the board, then started playing off different algorithms in his head while crossing letters and writing them down in new orders again. Once he paused, Morgan asked, "You see something, Reid?"

        "Not yet."

        "Reid, he named himself the Reaper," Hotch commented, so the boy added that name to the board too, and lo and behold, he got a result.

        "Peter Rhea," he said, stepping back, so everyone could take a peek at the alias name he brilliantly put together.

        Garcia was quick to type on her laptop, replying, "There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington."

        They found him.

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        "ONCE THE TEAM LOCATED GEORGE Foyet's potential apartment, why didn't the BAU enter immediately?" Strauss asked, sipping on a glass of water while observing Bess over the rim.

        A mocking smile appeared on the redhead's lips. "Only someone with no field experience asks a question like that," she noted, fidgeting with her ring. "It's funny, isn't it? Somehow always those people get into high positions who don't have any idea what it's like to be out there. But who's judging, right? I'm sure you're different." It took all of Strauss' self-restraint not to respond, and Bess finally revealed the answer, "We had to be sure he was there. If we went in and he wasn't, he would know we found him."

        Under the first lights of dawn, Hotch and Emily set up surveillance in a civilian car close to Foyet's apartment building, while the rest of the team made camp on the same level in the old building opposite, from where they could notice any movement in the flat. The street down had been completely cleared of civilians, leaving only FBI undercover agents present. This was a job that Bess had done more than a thousand times already, surveying the two windows for long hours didn't leave a mark on her enthusiasm. If only she could see into the apartment, but the curtains were closed.

        "SWAT's getting antsy," JJ noted when she approached, making Bess let down the binoculars she was holding.

        "I'll tell them when it's time to go. Right now we sit tight. Let them know," she told the blonde woman, watching her walk back to the SWAT guys with a drained sigh. She could understand JJ's lack of spirit. Surveillance wasn't for everyone. "These guys are trained to move, not just sit around. I can't really say that I blame them," she muttered, lifting the binoculars to her eyes again.

        Reid noted, "He may not even be there anymore."

        "The longer we sit here, the further away he gets," Morgan grunted, causing Bess to look at him.

        "We have only one chance here, Morgan."

        Rossi chimed in as he played with his empty coffee cup, "You make the best call you can, Sinclair."

        Morgan just shook his head at the senior agent's reply, and Bess didn't respond either as she raised the binoculars to her eyes again. All morning, she had been replaying countless scenarios in her head, trying to find the best strategy in order to play this game of chess correctly. They could only do this once. It had to be checkmate right away, or they lost. But maybe Reid was right and Foyet wasn't in his apartment. There was only one way to find out. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do."

        The plan was simple, it shouldn't be raising Foyet's suspicion at all. They dressed one of the SWAT guys in a superintendent's clothes and sent him to inform Foyet about the leak in the apartment above. When there was no answer to his knocking, the man quickly assembled an infrared camera he had brought and used it to check what was inside the apartment through the gap under the front door. Bess and others were following the live feed from the camera on their laptop screen, not noticing anything out of the ordinary—the untouched food on the table should have raised an alarm—until they spotted his dropped mail lying on the kitchen floor.

        An entire arsenal of agents rushed into the empty apartment. They had no idea what, but something must have tipped Foyet off about their arrival because he left everything behind and fled the scene before they could get to him. It informed them about two things. One, he was not coming back. And two, there was nothing in the apartment that could have led them to him. Not a single breadcrumb. The laptop on the kitchen table seemed useless too, he wiped off the hard drive like a pro.

        Nevertheless, they assigned Garcia to restore any information she could find on the laptop, and her high-tech expertise quickly revealed the reason they now stood in an empty apartment. When Reid uncovered Foyet's alias, Peter Rhea, the man had earlier set up an Internet alert on the name, so whenever it popped up in a search, he would receive a notification, giving him more than enough time to disappear before the police arrived.

        Fortunately, Garcia was able to recover some photos that Foyet had gone to great lengths to delete. Among these, there were some of a man familiar to all of them, except Bess. The US Marshal who had been assigned to Hotch's family. Sam Kassmeyer. And with him gone, the walls of the labyrinth now became transparent to Foyet, revealing a clear path to Haley and Jack.

        It was a sucker punch that pressed the air out of their lungs. It was the moment when Hotch realized they were running out of time. Foyet had obtained information they never thought possible, not even in their wildest nightmares. And the sand in the hourglass just kept slipping away, even faster than before. Death was coming. And it was coming fast, leaving no chance to outrun it.

        "So, you left for Marshal Kassmeyer's house immediately?" Strauss questioned, earning an approving nod from Bess. "Wouldn't that be a job for a tactical team?" she mused, causing Bess to snort.

        "Earlier you questioned me why I didn't let the team enter Foyet's apartment right away. Now you have a problem with us making that same move?" She let out an incredulous laugh with a shake of her head, then took a sip from her glass of water. Strauss couldn't be serious. "We were running out of time. Getting authorization for another operation would have taken too long. We didn't have that much time on our hands."

        "We? Don't you mean Aaron Hotchner was the one pressing to make a move at once?"

        Bess shook her head with a smile. "You just won't give up, will you? We all agreed to go to Kassmeyer's. It wasn't just Hotchner. All of us wanted it. But we were... late."

        The tires screeched on the pavement as the two large SUVs skidded to a sudden halt in front of US Marshal Sam Kassmeyer's house. Bess went with Hotch and Rossi, entering through the front door, meanwhile, Emily, Morgan, JJ, and Reid circled around, slipping into the home from the back. They didn't have to search long, Kassmeyer lay sprawled on the living room rug, covered in his blood. Rossi immediately called for an ambulance, then moved through the house with Bess and the others, clearing each room methodically.

        It was no use. The house was empty. Foyet was long gone.

        Hotch didn't know what to feel. Despair, knowing the fate of his family was now hanging on a thin rope, or disappointment, because the only person who he relied on more than anything failed him. Yet he showed none as he knelt down beside Kassmeyer, trying to keep the man's hopes up, "Sam, we're getting an ambulance. Just hang on."

        "I tried. Hotch, I tried. I'm sorry," the man whispered, barely able to breathe as the pain pressed on his chest. He didn't even feel the burning in the place of his missing fingers that Foyet had cut off, his entire body was on fire.

        His every word was a punch in Hotch's gut. "What are you sorry for?"

        "I-I tried," Kassmeyer panted. "I tried."

        "Are Jack and Haley safe?" Hotch forced his voice to stay cool, but the man didn't answer. It meant the worst scenario that could happen. He felt it. "Sam, tell me what happened."

        Bess followed the two men's conversation from a few feet back, learning every little detail of how things went down. Kassmeyer had no idea how Foyet entered his home without setting off the alarm, but he did, surprising him the second he entered the living room. He shot him in the leg, demanding the location where Hotch's family lived now. Kassmeyer's silence earned another bullet in his other leg, sending him onto his back on the rug. Lying didn't help either, it just got him another bullet into his foot. Foyet didn't care much.

        Before they could find out the rest, the paramedics arrived and swiftly loaded Kassmeyer into an ambulance. Hotch jumped in to ride along with him and learn the rest of the tragic story. Apparently, it didn't matter that Kassmeyer didn't tell Foyet anything. The man discovered his work phone and started calling every number until he found the one he was looking for. Haley's.

        He scared the woman to death by telling her that Kassmeyer had been killed and her new location had been compromised. Then, as the icing on the cake, he dropped a bomb on her by saying that Hotch had been killed as well.

        Sam Kassmeyer used his last breaths to tell Hotch all of this. Foyet's plan was brilliant. He told Haley to throw away her phone and buy a disposable cell instead, highlighting not to call anyone because the call could get intercepted and that might cost her son's life. He preyed on her fear, and it worked. Haley was about to walk straight into Foyet's trap, and they couldn't warn her. They couldn't do anything.

        The poor lamb had no idea the wolf was merely biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Dinner time was coming, and sooner than anyone anticipated. This time, the story felt far from a happy ending.

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        "SO, LET ME GET THIS straight. Agent Hotchner managed to separate himself from the rest of the team," Strauss concluded, causing Bess to start laughing again.

        "Separate himself? Really?"

        Strauss sighed. "Alright, let's say he volunteered to ride along in the ambulance."

        "To get answers before Kassmeyer lost consciousness," Bess explained while starting to feel like she was trying to convince a five-year-old not to eat the candy from the sugar bowl. Why did Strauss want Hotch's head on a plate so bad?

        "Why didn't you go with him?" came the next question, and this time, Bess seriously considered abandoning her efforts to persuade her.

        "Are you serious? For what? To babysit him?" she scoffed, giving the section chief a condescending look. "Agent Hotchner is a big boy. He could make it to the hospital on his own."

        Strauss leaned onto her hands as she stared down at Bess. "I still don't like your tone, Sinclair. Agent Hotchner was looking for an opportunity to separate himself from the team and he found one. He was desperate, and he didn't want someone with a clear head to stop him."

        "Is there a question in there somewhere?" Bess sighed, slumping back in her chair.

        Strauss, seeing that she won't give in, moved on to her next question, "Tell me what happened afterward Agent Hotchner left the hospital."

        As Hotch exited the hospital, he called the team, relaying what Kassmeyer had managed to tell him before he died. In return, they updated him on the results of their search. A follow-up call with the US Marshals confirmed their worst fear: Haley was in the wind. She had dumped her cell phone, just as Foyet had instructed, leaving no way to track her. But there was a sliver of hope. Foyet had used Kassmeyer's phone to contact Haley. With that lead, Garcia might be able to trace the device and, with any luck, pinpoint Foyet's location.

        From the US Marshals, they also learned that Haley now lived in New Jersey, so they all believed that Foyet was heading there. Therefore, Garcia's discovery that he was still in the DC area came as a surprise. Hotch asked her to send the coordinates to his phone, and the moment the car Anderson had sent for him arrived, he drove off.

        "Why isn't he on his way to New Jersey?" JJ asked with a bewildered look on her face as they still stood in Kassmeyer's living room.

        "Wait, that phone's on?" Emily asked Garcia.

        "Yes."

        "Hotch?"

        "He hung up," Garcia muttered, earning a groan from Emily.

        Bess's eyebrows furrowed upon hearing some loud beeping. "What's that sound?"

        "Hotch is calling Foyet," Garcia informed the team, and they all remained silent to hear the two men's conversation.

        "Agent Hotchner," Foyet greeted the man when he finally answered the call.

        "If you touch her—"

        "Be gentle? Like I was with you? What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something." Foyet waited for Hotch to answer, but when he didn't, he continued, "Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

        Hotch grunted while driving, "I'm not frustrated. And you're more predictable than you think."

        "Am I?"

        "You didn't know where Haley was, so you made her come to you."

        "You make me sound lazy," Foyet teased.

        "Just another way for you to show control."

        "Oh, that's terrible."

        Hotch continued, "Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn't strong enough. And you hated her for that, didn't you? You decided that all women were weak."

        "Those are your words, not mine."

        "What were you, nine when you killed them?"

        "It was a car accident," Foyet declared in his hoarse voice.

        "That you couldn't take credit for. That had to be hard for you. But poor George got another chance. The little orphan was saved by the wealthy, sterile, East Side couple, the Foyets. And the story should have ended there," Hotch told him, trying to keep him at bay. The longer he stayed on the phone, taunting, the less time he had with Haley.

        "I don't believe in fairy tales," Foyet replied. "Do you?"

        "That's the thing, George. This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. You don't have to do any of this. I know you're exhausted. Always looking over your shoulder, always wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. Haven't you gotten what you wanted? You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're The Reaper. We're gonna study you and your methods for years and years."

        Foyet didn't respond immediately, giving Hotch the benefit of the doubt that he managed to get through to him. Then he finally said, "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair. She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her," he mused, and his words tied a knot not just in Hotch's stomach, but in everyone else's as well. He was already there. Wherever there was.

        Foyet continued, "Where's the little man? Oh, there he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?" Before Hotch could answer, there was the sound of an incoming call. "That's your wife. Hold, please." He answered Haley's call, then asked her to open the gate, so he could drive in. After this, he told Hotch that he gotta go and ended the call.

        "And you still didn't know where Foyet was?" Strauss questioned, once Bess finished with this part of the story.

        She shook her head. "The phone belonged to a US marshal. It was designed to bounce between towers, so we could not pinpoint his location."

        "So, Agent Hotchner was driving around aimlessly," the section chief concluded with a mocking grimace.

        Bess could punch her in the face. Yet, she forced herself to stay calm, replying, "No. He wasn't. We had Foyet's profile, and we knew if we followed it, we would know where he took Hotch's family."

        "All right, Foyet has to be in control. He had Haley come to him," Morgan noted as they tried to figure out where they should be heading next.

        "Yeah, but where would he take her?" Reid grimaced.

        "He'd want Hotch to find him. To see where he was. To see what he did," JJ listed.

        Rossi highlighted, "He said something on that call that tells Hotch where to go."

        "Reid, what did he say, exactly?" Morgan asked as he turned to look at the kid.

        Before he could respond, Bess spoke up, "Haley's hair looks good dark. She's lost some weight. It must be because of all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man? Oh, there he is. Do you think he likes Captain America because of you? That's your wife on the other line. Hold, please. Hi. Open the gate and I'll drive in," she recalled the conversation word for word, earning stunned looks from the others. Well, everyone, except Rossi, who had already discovered how her mind worked.

        "You have an eidetic memory too?" Reid cheered, and Bess shrugged in response; it would come out sooner or later anyway.

        Rossi was the first to react, "Open the gate?"

        Emily noted, "It would be someplace with the biggest emotional impact for Hotch."

        "And Haley has access to the gate," Morgan added, moving past the surprise Bess' mind caused.

        "Their house, where they lived together," Rossi made the connections, and Emily nodded along.

        "Of course, Foyet planned this all the way to the end. It's everything to him. He wants to take over Hotch's home to be in control, to prove his dominance."

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        THEY CALLED UP HOTCH EN route to his house, informing him about Foyet being there, but he had already known. When the man contacted him again, they asked Garcia to get them on the call too, so they could follow what was happening.

        "Foyet," Hotch answered the call, only it wasn't him on the other end of the line.

        Haley's breath hitched as she asked in a thin voice, "Aaron? You're okay?"

        Hotch paused for a moment before replying, "I'm fine."

        The surprise was quickly taken over by despair in Haley's voice. "But he said that... Oh, Aaron."

        "He can hear us, right?"

        "Yes. I am so sorry."

        "Haley, show him no weakness. No fear," Hotch declared in a hard tone, wishing he was there already.

        "I know," Haley whispered, swallowing, "Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh—"

        Hotch was quick to reply, "No, Sam is fine."

        "Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up?" Foyet spoke up. "Because you're a liar?"

        "Don't listen to him, Haley."

        Foyet continued, "I have Sam's service phone right here. They sent out a mass text about his death. You can take a look if you want."

        "He's trying to scare you," Hotch chimed in with a knot in his throat.

        "Did you even tell her what this was about? About the deal?"

        "He's just trying to make you angry."

        "Well, she should be. She's gonna D-I-E because of your inflated ego," Foyet scoffed.

        Hotch pressed the pedal harder, urging the car to pick up speed. "Ignore him, Haley."

        Foyet noted, "I'm sure you don't want her to know this part either. You know, all he had to do was stop looking for me and you wouldn't be in this mess," he directed his next words to Haley.

        "Don't react," Hotch begged.

        There was a pause on the call, then Haley finally spoke up, "What is he talking about?"

        No one dared to say a word as they waited for Hotch's answer, "Tell Jack I need him working the case."

        Bess shared a confused look with Rossi while he drove, and Haley sounded just as bewildered, "What?"

        Hotch repeated, "Tell Jack I need him working the case."

        The woman cleared her throat, then finally asked, "Jack, did you hear that?"

        In the next moment, the voice of the small boy came on the phone, and Bess felt her heart skip a beat. "Hi, Daddy."

        "Hi, Buddy," Hotch's voice softened, gentler than Bess had ever heard it before. Full of love. And maybe it was the last time she'd ever hear it.

        "Is George a bad guy?" the boy questioned in his sweet, childish accent, a sound so endearing it drew an involuntary smile from Bess. Wasn't that the most adorable voice she'd ever heard in her life?

        Hotch swallowed. "Yes, he is. Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand? I need you to work the case with me."

        "Okay, Daddy."

        "Jack, hug your mom for me."

        He must have done as he was told because they heard light rustling sounds over the phone as their clothes rubbed together. "Mommy hug me too tight," Jack whimpered, causing Bess to avert her eyes as she stared straight ahead through the windshield. She wished they could get there faster.

        "I'm sorry," Haley mumbled.

        "Why are you sad?" Jack asked, and in her mind's eye, Bess could see the scene so clearly—a mother saying goodbye to her son, knowing Death was already looming over her with his scythe.

        "Oh, I just love you so much."

        "Mommy, I gotta go. I'm working the case," they heard Jack's reply, followed by the thudding of his footsteps, telling them he had run off.

        Foyet noted, "He's so cute. He's like a little Junior G-man. I'll be right up, Jackie boy!" he shouted after the kid.

        "Is he gone?" Hotch asked in a broken tone.

        Haley hummed, then added, "Yes."

        "You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was."

        "You'll hurry, right?" her voice broke, piercing a knife through Hotch's heart.

        He pressed out the words, "I know you didn't sign on for this."

        "Neither did you," Haley sighed after a second.

        "I'm sorry for everything," Hotch cried, though he tried his best not to. That was what Foyet wanted and he would have died sooner than gave him that satisfaction.

        "Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh."

        "Haley—"

        The woman cut him off, "He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. I want him to believe in love because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him. Promise me."

        Hotch couldn't reply straight away, but the moment he did, the loud bang of a gunshot shook the air, making Bess jump in her seat. Then there was another. And another. Like one hadn't been enough. Each shot stole a chance to set things right. A chance to repair what had been broken. And there went any hope of them ever being a family again.

        "I don't know what happened after that," Bess whispered, her throat tightly grasped by the fierce hand of her memories. She needed a cigarette so badly, but they weren't done yet. "When we arrived at the house, Hotchner... Foyet was dead." She shook her head, recalling the image that would surely haunt her forever. "There was this large chest upstairs. You know, the one you use to store duvets or stuff. Jack was hiding in there. Hotchner told him to go outside with Jareau. Then he... said his goodbye to Haley."

        Bess averted her eyes as the memory flooded back. She could see herself standing in the doorway, staring at the lifeless body of the poor woman. The three bloody gunshot wounds Foyet had taken pleasure in inflicting. She remembered Hotch entering the room, the sleeves of his shirt stained with blood, his dark brown eyes heavy with sorrow. On the way out, she had placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before leaving him to his solitude.

        Bess looked up, meeting Strauss' eye. "You know, I think Foyet got off too easy. There are much worse ways to go than being beaten to death." She shook her head, swiping her tongue between her lips. "Hotchner did what he had to do, and you're in no position to judge him. No one is. Foyet was a monster. He got what he deserved. And we all would've done the same, whether you believe it or not. That's all I have to say." She reached forward, stopping the recording, then rose from her seat.

        "Thank you, Agent Sinclair. The board will take what you said into consideration in their decision," Strauss said, causing Bess to turn back and look at her, anger rising.

        "And what decision will that be?" she barked, eyebrows knitted together.

        "I guess we both will know soon enough."

        Bess shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. What the hell are you doing, Bess? Writing your own death sentence? But she just couldn't let Strauss win this. "You can't fire him."

        "I told you, the board will make the decision—"

        "The board is you, damn it!" Bess snapped, taking a step closer to Strauss. "And I'm not letting you punish an innocent man. The villain is dead. Why do you want to behead the hero too?"

        "Agent Hotchner is far from innocent, Sinclair," the section chief shot back, watching the redhead circle her office desk with a look that should have sent her running for the hills. If only she could move.

        Bess came to a stop barely a few inches in front of the blonde woman, staring into her eyes. "I don't want your position. I don't want to fight a war against you. All I want is to do my job. But I swear to God, if you put that man through any more pain than he's already in, I'll make your life a living hell, Strauss. No director, no one, will be able to stop me. You'll be gone for good. I didn't threaten you before, and this isn't a threat now either. It's a promise."

        Huh, another great bluff. She was on a roll today.

        Strauss didn't say anything as she stared back at Bess, and she didn't wait for her response. The woman was speechless anyway. She turned around and exited the office without a word, closing her eyes as she pulled the door closed after herself. Damn it, Bess. You just can't shut up, can you?

        She looked up, noticing Hotch sitting on the row of chairs where she had been sitting before too. He was the last one Strauss had to interview. His head was in his hands as he was leaning onto his thighs, lost in thought, unaware of his surroundings. That is, until Bess' hand gently touched his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.

        "Are you okay?" she asked in a quiet tone, watching him straighten up.

        "Yeah. No. I don't know," Hotch mumbled, reaching for his tie to loosen it up a bit. He had no clue how Strauss would decide, and frankly, it didn't matter. He had never felt this hollow before. Nothing held any meaning anymore.

        Bess watched his broken expression. "She won't fire you."

        "How do you know that?" Hotch looked up with a frown.

        She just shrugged with a smile. "Gut feeling."

        The door opened behind Bess, and Strauss called out, "Agent Hotchner."

        Hotch rose from his seat, casting one final glance at Bess before disappearing into the office, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bess let out a weary sigh as she made her way back to the conference room, where the others were anxiously waiting. She noticed the tension and exhaustion that lingered in the room, though it was partially masked by the lighthearted giggles of the small boy seated at the round table—Hotch's son, Jack.

        She chose a spot by the door, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed as the memories threatened to cloud her mind once again. Haley reminded her of her own mother. Bess was merely a year older than Jack when they took her mother away. What had seemed like a simple accident wasn't an accident at all. They killed her, leaving her motherless. Just as this boy, left now in his father's care, would grow up without a mother. She hoped Hotch was prepared for that step.

        It was a small body being pressed to her legs that pulled her out of her thoughts. Bess glanced down, noting Hotch's son hugging her. He giggled, saying, "I like your hair."

        Bess was so taken aback that no words came, her gaze drifting around the quiet conference room. Everyone was watching her. "Well, thank you," she managed to respond, forcing a smile as she knelt down in front of the boy. "And I like your shirt. Dressed like Daddy, huh?" she praised him, earning another laugh.

        "I'm Jack. What's your name?" He held out his tiny hand, and Bess didn't hesitate to shake it.

        "Call me Bess."

        "Do you want to play hide and seek with me, Bess?" Jack asked, his innocent eyes shining with hope.

        Bess couldn't help but chuckle, glancing up at the others, a bit embarrassed by the sudden request. Would she lower herself to his level just to make him laugh? But the question was more like, could she really say no to him? The answer felt simpler than she expected. She couldn't. "But just in the room, okay?"

        Bess couldn't believe what she was doing, but she chose to pretend not to notice the looks on the others' faces as she ridiculed herself by playing hide and seek with the boy. He had just lost the most important person in his life, so this was the least she could do for him. The game went on until Hotch came back, and Bess noticed his surprise as his son ran up to him, and he picked him up.

        "What did they decide?" Rossi asked, not even trying to sugarcoat his anxiety. They had quite a big problem on their hands.

        Hotch locked eyes with Bess for a second before declaring, "The case got dismissed."

        A great weight lifted from their hearts.

        Bess smiled at the others' loud cheering, then decided it was time to finally have that cigarette. She headed for the door to leave unnoticed, only to get intercepted by Hotch's hand locking around her wrist. "Wait, Sinclair," he asked, making Bess turn back. "What did you tell her?"

        She just shrugged, offering Jack another warm smile before turning her gaze back to the man. "Take the time you need, Hotchner. When you're ready, we'll be here waiting."

        Then she was gone.

author's note

Hi, guys! Here's the chapter you've all been eagerly waiting for! I originally thought about writing it from Hotch's point of view (for those of you who read my Rossi book, you might've expected it), but then I decided to go with Bess instead, giving you a glimpse into this side of her character as well. Sorry, not sorry😝

All in all, I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter, Jack is just adorable, and now we finally have the start of Hotch and Bess' storyline too! Also, the semester is over, now I only have my exams left, so I'll have more time to write! Cheers! <33

reminder

As a fellow writer, I pour an incredible amount of time and effort into each chapter, so please don't forget to vote and comment while you read! Your support means the world to me and gives me so much inspiration! Don't be just another ghost reader, please! <33