Sophokles / The Batman (2022), Matt Reeves / Robert Cavalli Leopard Silk Dress, pYSLrada (Twitter) / Anything, Adrianne Lenker / Knives Out (2019), Rian Johnson

✷ Filth teaches filth  /  (I am what you made me).

Natasha Ryan has this jade bangle her mother gave her when she was just fifteen and a dragonfly tattoo bordering the pit of her elbow that she's had since the ripe age of eighteen.

It's ironic. She doesn't really remember much from her life. Whether that be a selective choice or just the fault of her own shifty memory, she can't really say for sure. Even then, she remembers milestones. Memorabilia.

And Natasha knows she can remember because she can recite it perfectly to Hotch when he asks her about the story behind this bangle and the tattoo.

The team is on the plane back to Virginia, and if Natasha can recall correctly, this is the first real conversation they've ever had. Derek and Spencer are both asleep, seated in the two-seater a few foot away from her. Reid is mumbling drowsily, and occasionally Derek has half the mind to wake up and pinch his lips together to stop the noise. And as for Gideon, she couldn't really say what his state of consciousness is, but even if it was asleep, she was sure he could still pick up on everything that has been said and repeat it verbatim.

Natasha had just manage to nab her third unsub, successfully Found the final piece herself and tackled him to the ground when he tried to find the coward's way out. It felt good to put the cuffs on that monster's wrists. It's not news she feels quite literally on top of the world. Not with that giddy smile that works its way up her face as she gazes out the plane window.

Of course, once she catches the scrutinizing glare of Hotch, she swiftly wipes it off.

He's ready to talk. She tried not to led it tie her down, but at the scene of the crime, he was only yelling. Maybe because he was mad. Probably because of the blaring sirens. Definitely because of the adrenaline. That's certainly why she had the nerve to yell right back.

It's always the same thing. Hotch never fails to remind her that he's her superior and for good reason. Whatever sense of justice Natasha holds up is completely undermined by the fact that it acts as a target. Not just for herself but for everyone on the team. Morgan has to eventually break two of them apart. Natasha don't know what compels her to yell at her boss. She really doesn't. Natasha thinks of yourself as a person of reason, usually. But from behind Hotch she can make out the unsub's head held up high, still proud. And not far from him, his victim. A teenage girl being rolled into an ambulance.

He's watching her. And he's smiling.

It's make her blood boil; her ears ring. No matter what Hotch says and despite the nagging feeling he might pull her from the team, the sight of the unsub being driven away to his sentence is enough to satiate you from whatever injustice plagues the world and, in turn, plagues her.

When the feeling inevitably leaves Natasha, like it always does, she just hopes it's not for the last time.

She fully expects him to ask for her resignation. At least he respects her enough to ask for it when everyone else is asleep. But instead,

"You never take off that bracelet." It's not a question. It's not even really a statement. Just an observation.

Natasha's lips part as she glances down to the bangle. "Oh," she begins, "My mother gave it to me when I was fifteen."

"That's nice of her," he says.

She can't help but scoff. Not that he would know or anything, but it's ironic Hotch says so. He seems to catch on as he tilts his head in questioning.

"She gave it to me after this big fight," Natasha explains, beginning to grow this grin balancing between the lines of bitter and sweet, "I locked myself into my room, and she came in without a single word and shoved the big ole' thing on."

Natasha recalls taking it with a begrudging hand, an eye roll, and a muffled groan. She swallowed the urged to tell her mother to go away, but that would really be playing with her own life. Her mother took her hand sharply as if to get her attention, and then she lifted it upright, beginning to wedge the thing onto Natasha's wrist like a chain with no key.

The pain was surprising and a fight between her limb and that stubborn piece of jewelry. She remembers letting out a harsh moan as the bangle knocked against her bones, getting caught on the thick side of the thumb. Her mother, ever unrelenting, keeps working it down until it pops out on the other side. And just like that, as if it never even struggle, it sits loosely around her limb, leaving a wake of red, pulsing skin.

Natasha's mother did this wordlessly. And if she ignored the insufferable pain, she swore her mother almost appears proud of her work.

"I'm assuming it can't come off," Hotch observes as he eyes the bangle.

"It's not meant to." Natasha shrugs. "She didn't say anything other than that it would protect me."

Now it's Hotch's turn to scoff, "Well, that explains your... zeal."

The way he says it is bordering a joke. No, it is a joke. His own, monotone version of one. Natasha is just so used to his tight-lipped, straight-brow behavior she practically misses it. She completely writes it off. In fact, she's staring at him right now, trying to fight the urge to give a tiny smile.

Natasha attempts to search for any words to defend yourself; it simply ends with her sputtering and laughing quietly at the jab. She takes a warm glimpse at the bracelet again and exhale. She suppose there is some truth to it. Or maybe it's all just some self-full-filling prophecy. A coincidence.

"And the tattoo?"

Now, she's getting a little suspicious. Natasha brings her attention back to Hotch. Is she crazy, or if does he feel just a little bit bad for yelling at her? Again.

Natasha complies nonetheless. "Got it the moment I turned eighteen. I assume. I can't really remember much from that night."

The memory must amuse him because his lip twitches. "And how did your mother react," Hotch pondered.

"She tried to scrub it off with a sponge."

"Looks like it didn't work."

"Unfortunate for both of us."

There's a lull to the conversation as Natasha tries to put your guard back on. It's unusual, and she attempts to wrap her head around the possible fact that Hotch may be amused by her teenage rebellion. Even by just a bit. Even more than he probably initially thought.

She wonders how it may contrast his in anyway.

Hotch dislodges a deep sigh from his chest. One of many, she's sure. "I understand where you come from. And I don't mean to be hard on you."

Natasha quirks a brow. "Well, I do. But-"

She butts in, "It's okay, Hotch. I can handle it-"

"It's not for nothing," he finishes, "I don't like the possibility of waking up one day and realizing I'm seventy, and you're still twenty-three."

Natasha ponders, "Sixty is generous."

He says her last name in warning.

She catches the sharp change in the conversation. "I get it, Hotch. Really. I do."

"Do you? Because every time you run in head first, I think you forget." Natasha doesn't say anything. She tries to play it off as anything but her being rendered speechless. "I know you think I don't understand the feeling, but I do. I want to help as much as everyone else on this plane, but you can't help anyone if you're dead, laying in a pool of your own blood because you thought playing it safe was a waste of time."

It's too much to meet his eye, so she settles for looking out onto the skyline, hoping it'll calm her down. It doesn't. "I've waited my whole life to help, Hotch. I feel like if I wait any longer, it's gonna slip out from under me."

He sighs. "I know. These people we catch... They are as dangerous as you and I. If not more. I sleep better at night knowing you all get home safe."

She supposes he is right.

But it's not enough for him. He looks at her pointedly.

Natasha rolls her eyes. "I want to help people, but I obviously can't do that dead." She stresses the obviously part to mock him

Hotch gives a satisfied nod before going back to the files laid out before him.

Natasha shrugs. "I mean it hasn't caught up to me yet."

Without even moving an inch, he looks up to meet her playful eyes, "You are the worst case of insubordination I have ever seen."

"I aim to please."

"That's gonna catch up to you some day."

"I'll outrun it."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Just don't say I told you so."

"No promises."

( ... )

Natasha is only twenty-three years old when she finally meets her match.

Enter Dottie Sutton.

Dottie, or Dorothy Sutton, as she was born, was a textbook psychopath. A murderer that went hand in hand with her insanity. She was a bad person, and that was a simple as she could put it without making her sick right to the gut. She'd slit men's throats and send the BAU letters littered with kiss marks inked in her victim's blood.

A charming calling card.

It's not long into the case when she starts addressing Natasha separately.

She doesn't know what she could've done. Gideon assures her there is nothing that could've been done to prevent it. One action and Dottie latches on with sharp claws and bares her teeth in order to not let go.

It arrives on her desk with little to no suspicion. She's already peeved. Natasha is staring down at a man's corpse. Battered and bruised. A man who had a family. A man who had a life. And even through six cups of coffee and one energy drink she still can't make sense of it.

It's like Dottie somehow sensed Natasha's frustrations.

The team watches over her as she inspects the piece of note. It's finely pressed, not a single crumple. And of course, her signature kiss marks, but rather than dry like her previous ones, they're still wet. A sign of a fresh kill. It even leaves marks on the envelope.

"Why would she sent this to me?" She grits out.

I hope you're enjoying this. I know I am, she writes.

At this point in the game, Natasha is still fresh meat. Eager and ready to jump the gun. Lady Justice has given her her mighty sword to swing, and it's this perceived righteousness that mirrors Natasha with Dottie. Supposedly. Only she is not a crazy psychopath that believes killing is the right way. The only way.

And she knows all this because Hotch nails it into her head. The moment she steps back onto that plane after having picked up another scent, he warns her. Don't be rash. Lean on the side of caution. She's after you. You have to be careful.

Telling her all the ways she can die basically.

Natasha is unbeaten. It just makes it all the sweeter for Dottie.

Even then, Hotch heeds you to slow down.

And of course, Natasha laughs because she doesn't listen.

Which is why she thinks she can handle going into the victim's home alone.

They are all going to lose her. She just know it; She can feel her slipping through her fingertips. Natasha arrive on the scene before anyone else. Reid leads her there over the phone, and she calls Hotch the moment she presses the brake pedal.

He orders her not to go in.

But Dottie Sutton is the bane of Natasha's own existence. A case that ends up on her desk more times than she can count. She's close but never close enough. One step forward is just five steps back. She says she knows Natasha like the back of her hand, and they've never even exchanged a word. Maybe that's why she thinks she can handle Dottie by herself.

Dottie is a killer. A torturer. A sadist. Dottie Sutton is the only one that can give her nightmares that shake Natasha to her core. She sets up a shattered, dirty mirror and make Natasha watch as she points out all similarities.

Hotch orders her to stay put. Natasha just hopes he won't blame her too much when she pulls her gun from her holster and bust down the door.

Harry Daniels is who she has captive. A widower and a father that outlives his child. Natasha tried to hold onto what little hope she had left, praying that the body she finds in the kitchen is not him. She holds her breath as she turns him over, meeting the cold eyes of Harry Daniels. She checks even if there's no point, and he gives her no pulse.

Never one to disappoint. Even if it means never abandoning her M.O.

Natasha finds her in a dark, damp room. She's waiting for her. But there's a specific uncertainty in her eye that only erases once she sees her step into the room. She must be making her happy because she lights up; she even bounces in her place with sick and twisted excitement. Even if it disgusts her, Natasha plays along. Soft, slow words to coax her onto Natasha's side as she eyes the gun in Dottie's loose grip. She flails it around like she's forgotten about it, but make no mistake, it's still pointed Natasha.

"I wanted to save him for you, but I just couldn't help myself," Dottie sputters out with a crazed grin like she'll understand, but it's the exact opposite. Natasha can't even comprehend what she's trying to imply.

Despite the fact that the both have them have guns pointed at each other, Natasha ignores her own shaky hands and focus on Dottie's. And against all odds, she empathizes.

"I appreciate that," Natasha nods and swallows harshly.

Dottie sounds like a dying pig that's about to squeal. She can't contain her morbid excitement. "Did you- Did you appreciate the letter?" She asks, "I had to be quick."

Natasha has no idea why she sounds so fearful one second and pleased the next. She's explaining herself like Natasha is her mother, and she's just caught Dottie with her hand down the cookie jar. "It was... clever."

"You think I'm clever?"

Agreeing takes the strength of a thousand men, and it feels like swallowing razor blades. "You'd have to be. To pull all this off. We've been trying to catch you for a very long time."

Unconsciously, Dottie's grip reaffirms itself on the handle. "Trying and failing," she scoffs. "But-but it doesn't matter now. My plan worked. I bet they applauded you when you found Michelle Leighton. I bet that felt nice."

Natasha's mind flashes back to that fifteen year olds face. The daughter of one of Dottie's victims. And while it was too late for him, she had a bit too much fun with holding information over his daughter. Michelle had hugged Natasha when she found her, and she didn't let go even when Natasha led her to the ambulance. Natasha held her hand all the way in until the doctor's said she couldn't. She promised to visit as soon as they'd let her.

"I don't do it for the applause, Dottie," Natasha corrects.

Dottie laughs like she doesn't believe her.

"I do it to return people to their families. To keep them safe. To give them justice."

"You think you know justice?" Dottie spits. "What I do is justice!"

"Killing fathers? Husbands? Tearing families apart? Is that what you call justice?"

"No, I've been helping you!" Dottie shakes her head like she's hitting it against the wall over and over and over again. "Just like you've been helping me?"

Natasha tilts her head as she creeps in closer. "Why would I help you hurt people?"

"I thought you understood what I did," she murmurs to herself. Shakily, a hand is lifted to her head and violently jerks it in her grasp, "I thought you appreciated what I did for you."

For you. What?

"How can any appreciate what you've done?"

Finally, Dottie meets her eyes. "It's over, Dottie. You can't hurt anyone anymore."

Her smile drops like a pin. "Maybe. Maybe not. What's one more?"

She flips it like a switch. Trigger happy is what'd Spencer would call it. She had beaten Natasha to the punch.

Dottie has this wicked smile when she squeezes the trigger like she forgets all her troubles. And it is beautiful nonetheless.

When Natasha dies, she dies. It doesn't feel like the day, but it is. And when she bites the dust, she's herself. Everything she's ever known and let herself be. Gun in hand, dragonfly tattoo on her bloody arm, and the bangle chipped on her limp wrist. That is something no one could ever take away from her.

If anyone else were there, Natasha would be considered a corpse the moment Dottie Sutton ran out the house's back door. And for seven minutes, she closes her eyes and is dead to the world.

It is only on her eighth minute when Natasha Ryan take a long, painful breath.

When she comes to, she can only see Hotch clutching her hand like it's a lifeline, digging the bangle into her skin, and pressing into that tattoo where the wing is, telling her she's going to be alright. The blinking light that swings overhead covers him like a halo. He's shouting things Natasha can't catch a grip on, and there's this insane look in his eye as he tries to get her to talk back to him, smoothing her hair back to keep it out of her face.

Natasha remembers sputtering some blood back up onto his face as if to say something, but all she really wanted to do was laugh and beg for him not to say:

"I told you so."

✷

Natasha Ryan          Bottom Feeder

Aaron Hotchner        Thomas Gibson

✷

Dottie Sutton             Krysten Ritter
Murphy Wright          Boyd Holbrook
Davi Flynn             Pedro Pascal

Jason Gideon       Mandy Patinkin
Spencer Reid        Matthew Gray Gubler
Derek Morgan        Shemar Moore
Elle Greenaway        Lola Glaudini
Penelope Garcia        Kirsten Vangsness
Jennifer Jareau        A. J. Cook
Emily Prentiss        Paget Brewster
David Rossi         Joe Mantegna

And more to come.

✷

             ✷ All the graphics are made by me with resources I've found in various places (Pinterest, Tumblr, Google, etc). I do not any of the resources I use. The PSDs used are 'PSD Coloring 76' by 'iunmin', 'PSD 111' by 'julella' and 'PSD 102' by 'sttoneds' on Deviantart. Please do not take credit for, steal, claim these graphics in any way. If you take major inspiration from any of these graphics please PM for permission.

             ✷ Red Herring contains many difficult topics that may be difficult for readers. Watch out for blood & gore, vivid descriptions of death and violence, rape, sexual assault, mental illness, PTSD, abandonment issues, neglect, and terrible family dynamics. If there is anything else that may be triggering that I did not add, please don't hesitate to tell me.

             ✷ I do not own Criminal Minds. This includes the TV show or anything affiliated. I do however own my characters and their storyline.

            ✷ I am quite literally in love with Criminal Minds and by extension Aaron Hotchner. Any literally ever character in that show. Please bring my love Elle Greenaway back. Please. 

                        ✷ I just want to preface this by saying I haven't even finished the series. I'm quite literally on season three, episode one as I type this, but the hyperfixation is going crazy. I've gotten spoiled a bit which is fine, so yeah I know what happens to Haley 😔. Anyway, I'm very excited to debut this fic. Natasha is a very brash, head-first, emotions are gonna lead her character. If you couldn't tell by the synopsis. Hopefully, the synopsis wasn't confusing either. At this point, it's good enough, so I'm just gonna roll with it. This obviously contrasts with Aaron, as I believe they contrast each other in many ways. And while it can lead to clashing, I think it can also lead to them fitting together like a puzzle. Idk. It's going to be slowburn, painful yearning. !!!!Someone please match my yearning!!! There's gonna be lots of denial and angst. Hehe. And Natasha will have her own background and own problems I can wait to delve into. 

                         ✷ It's hard to tell through the synopsis, but her getting shot happens before any canon. Obviously, it's fresh into her time in the BAU or with any relationship she has there especially Hotch. Of course, she was warming up to them, and just as she was beginning to feel some sense of normal it is ripped from her from her own antithesis, Dottie Sutton, a very important reoccurring character. Ultimately, this leaves her return in the beginning of the series rocky and awkward a tad. But that'll be fun (?) 🤷🏻‍♀️

                         ✷ With her and Hotch, I don't think they would seem to work on paper. She's loud, not just vocally but in her personality, her style, and the way she holds herself. She's confident and gives no reason for anyone to doubt her even herself. Hotch obviously chalks to up to youthful confidence which it kind of it, but it's also just her. They clash and fight but at their core I think they understand each other. They match each others freak you could say. She brings out a different side of him other than the drill sergeant. If you couldn't tell this fic is so obviously underdeveloped. Oh well. Enjoy :))) 

                        ✷  P.S. I didn't edit or check the synopsis so hopefully its not too littered with mistakes. I'll check it sooner or later 

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