╭──╯ . . . . . VIOLENT DELIGHTS ܴೈ

✧.* ONEERTAXEA . . . . . ╰──╮

october 21st, 2009

we touched down in quantico around 3am, and the exhaustion hit all of us the moment our feet hit the ground. will was there to meet jj at the airport, his arms wide open as she practically melted into him. the sight made me smile, happy for her, even though a small pang of grief and sadness tugged at my chest. emily and spencer left together, both realizing recently that they lived just a block apart. i knew their cab ride home would be filled with chatter about books or the latest indie film. garcia had already disappeared—she never sticks around long after we land, especially when it's dark out. morgan, with his tired eyes and stiff posture, drove home straight from the airport.

that left me and hotch. we both had unfinished business at the bau, him with his endless paperwork and me with... well, nothing. it wasn't like i had anything or anyone to rush home to. we grabbed a ride back together, the office quiet as we walked in. hotch headed straight for his office, the glow of his desk lamp illuminating the stacks of files that seemed to never end. i stood there for a moment, watching him settle in, his expression already tense from the weight of responsibility.

i knocked on his door softly. "hey," i mumbled, taking a seat across from him as he pushed a stack of files aside. "you planning on staying long?" i asked, leaning back in the chair that was far too stiff to be comfortable.

"i have to get these done by monday. strauss will be expecting them." his voice was weary, the fatigue evident in every word. "let me help." i offered. anything was better than going home to my quiet, lonely apartment. he shook his head, resisting. "no, no. it's alright. get home, get some sleep."

"i don't mind," i insisted. "it's not like i have anything better to do. i'd just be ordering in thai and watching bad soaps." i smiled, trying to make light of it. after a moment, he relented, handing me a small pile of files. i smirked and grabbed a few more. the hours passed quicker than i thought they would, the two of us working in silence, the occasional conversation breaking the quiet. we talked about cases, about jack—how proud hotch was of him, how fast he was growing up. i could see the pain in his eyes when he mentioned jack, the toll that the separation from him and haley's divorce was taking on him. 

by the time i finished my last file, my hand ached from writing, my back sore from sitting in the hard chair for so long. i stretched, glancing at the clock. it was late. really late. "see?" i teased, smiling at him. "if i hadn't stayed, you'd be here all night." "thank you," he said, his voice sincere as he signed the last paper. "really, thank you."

"anytime," i shrugged. "it's better than being at home." the words slipped out too casually, and i saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. "i'm sorry." he murmured, his brow furrowed slightly.

i waved it off, shaking my head. "no don't be, it's late, and i'm just... tired, i don't know what i'm saying." i stood up, stretching my stiff legs. "you didn't have to stay," hotch said again, gratitude heavy in his voice. "this wasn't your responsibility." "it was no problem," i replied. "you'll be okay getting home? it's pretty late." i added, offering a ride just in case.

"i'll be fine," he assured me, standing as well, his exhaustion showing in his posture. "thank you, though. i'll see you in the morning, madelyn."

we shared a small smile, the kind that lingers for just a moment before the weight of reality sets back in. as we parted ways at the elevator, the late-night quiet of the bau seemed heavier, more isolating. i watched the doors close behind him, feeling the distance between us, even though we'd just spent hours side by side. 

i get home, the lights from the city glowing into my apartment. i flop down on the couch, kicking off my heeled boots. suddenly my phone dings. i check the screen, it's hotch. 'thank you again for staying. i meant to ask you today, but strauss had assigned me to interview an inmate on death row in north carolina. she asked me to pick a member of the team to accompany me. if you are interested, be at the office for 9 a.m. bring a bag for at least two days. i will have the case files ready for you to review in the car.' he texts.

'of course! thank you for the opportunity. i will see you at 9.' i respond, a bit excited. by the time i catch a few hours of sleep, pack up, and get myself together, i hop in the car and meet hotch in the parking lot of the bau. he hands me the case files and i read them over as we drive. he explains the protocol and the method he's taking for this interview.

october 22nd, 2009

we arrive at the prison and immediately get thrown into safety checks. they strip us of our weapons and brief us on security. we meet with the warden who excitedly brings us to the interrogation room. he explains the door locks from the outside and to knock when we are finished.

"are these the crime scene photos?" the warden asks, picking up a few photos hotch had just set down. "uh, some of them, yes." i answer. "god... i knew what he did, of course, but i... you know, never saw... 23 victims like this." the warden adds. hotch looks up at me and i can tell he's bugged by the warden's prying.

"sometimes in these interviews, they talk about crimes they were never charged with, so it might even be more." i add, looking back over at the warden. "is it ever less?" he asks. "no." hotch says sharply.

"uh, please. paying attention to these items places a kind of importance on them. when he comes in, i'd like to allow him to show us which parts of the crimes he thinks are important." hotch says, gently taking the photos from the warden's hand and setting them back down. "sorry. of course. sorry." the warden answers. "it's all right." i say as the door opens. two more officers walk in holding chester. "chains left on, right?" the officer asks me. i nod.

"that's probably a good idea." i answer, looking at chester. he's a big guy, way bigger than me. without my gun and if the chains were removed, there's a definite possibility of him overpowering me. he towers over me like a giant. "no. it won't be necessary." hotch interrupts. "it won't?" i ask, turning to face him. "mm-hmm." he hums. "you sure?" the warden asks, feeling the same way as i do.

"we're just gonna talk, right, chester?" hotch answers so nonchalantly. this was not in the briefing. "thanks for coming." chester smirks as the guards close the door. "sit down." hotch says sternly. "i'd like this window opened." chester says, walking over to the window, staring out of it. "i'll answer any question you have, but only if this window is open." he adds. i look at hotch.

"go ahead, mortier." hotch says, walking over and opening the window. "you were born april 4, 1950?" i ask, opening up a file. "does my birthdate really matter?" chester questions, not taking his eyes off the window. "it's important for us to start at the beginning. we want to try to know as much as we can about your childhood." i explain. "there's nothing to know. it was average. i lived in a nice house on a quiet street. i ate cereal. i went to school. i watched cartoons." chester says, lying through his teeth.

"i don't have time for this. you didn't live in a nice house on a quiet street. you grew up in a series of projects in east bridgeport, each one worse than the last. you spent your teenage years peeping into your female neighbours' windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance. you set 100 small fires for which you spent 2 years in juvenile detention." hotch says, slamming his hands down on the table.

"we've done extensive research, we've talked to almost everyone you've ever known including your mother." i say, knowing his mother is a trigger. "good old jean? i'll bet she was a real treat." chester chimes in. "good old jean's down the street in the state hospital. at this point, lying to us isn't really possible or helpful." i answer. "well, then, you're wrong." chester says, turning to face me. "about what?" hotch asks.

"i started a lot more than 100 fires." chester smirks. "what do you want to hear? how papa kicked me and jean's ass every single day? that the kind of thing you want to hear?" chester adds. "if it's true." i say back. "nobody gives a damn about the truth." chester spits. "the temperature's dropping." he says, turning back toward the window, his yellow jumpsuit reflecting off the glass. "it's that time of year." i say. "warm days, cold nights. it'll be summer soon." chester adds.

"but not for you." hotch says, crossing his arms. "no... not for me." chester says. "uh, let's talk about the specifics of the case. why did you choose sheila o'neal?" i ask, grabbing a few papers. "you gotta show me a picture. i don't know their names." chester answers. "is that what this is all about, some chance to relive all of this?" hotch asks, angrily.

"i have an excellent memory. i thought you wanted to hear the truth. truth is, they meant nothing to me. they were toys, a diversion, and from the moment i decided to kill them, they were dead. they begged, cried, bargained, and it didn't matter, because they didn't matter. sometimes i wish i was normal, that i'd had a regular life. but i didn't." chester explains, and i feel chills run under my blazer. "why did you ask us here?" i ask, scoffing. "i wanted to smell the air." he smirks.

"what?" i ask, incredulous. "they've got me on death watch. 24-hour-a-day isolation, and i will be until they take me to the death chamber. so i wanted to smell the air one last time before i die. thank you for giving me that." chester hums. "let's pack it up. have a nice trip, chester. you're going where you belong." i say, grabbing the files and putting the papers together.

"it's 5:17, evening yard started at 5:00. guard staff's outside with the population. there won't be anyone to open that door for... at least 13 minutes, and i can do this to her in less than 5." chester says to hotch, his expression changing to something evil as he looks over at me, picking up a photo of a victim.

"while you were doing your research, maybe a question or two about security tones would have been a good idea." chester says, rolling his sleeves up and stepping closer to me. "i heard the tones." hotch answers, stepping closer to me. i feel my heart start to race. "so you planned to be locked inside with me, with no guns or weapons." chester smiles. "i won't need a gun." hotch says, taking his jacket off. "there's no way they're gonna execute me next week, not after i kill two fbi agents. you saved my life by coming here." chester says stepping toward me, and i step back toward the wall, my pulse quickening.

"but unfortunately for you, i'm not a 5-foot-tall, 100-pound girl." hotch says, and i bite my lip, thinking yeah, but i am. "all your life you've gone after victims who couldn't fight back. and the rest of the time you spent looking over your shoulder, worried about the knock on the door, scared that somebody like me would be on the other side waiting to put you away. at your core, you're a coward." hotch says, and chester starts to grow angrier. he raises his hand like he's about to throw a punch.

"do you want to know why you killed those women?" i say quickly, trying to distract him. "what?" he asks, pausing mid-motion. "uh, earlier you said you wish that you were different. i can tell you why you killed them, why you are what you are." i say, hoping i can ramble on and buy us some time. "you can tell me why i did the things i did?" chester asks, his eyes narrowing as hotch steps back slightly.

"i can." i say, hoping my words will keep him distracted. "your mother's bipolar and certainly an undifferentiated schizophrenic. your father suffered severe shell shock in the war. as far as i can tell, he remained clinically depressed for the rest of his life. half of all serial killers have some form of mental illness in their family. in your case, both your parents suffered psychological disorders. they beat each other as much as they beat you, so violence became a natural expression of love."

chester shifts slightly, his eyes locked on me as i continue, "there's something called the hypothalamic region of the limbic system. it's the most primitive part of the brain. it wants what it wants without conscience and without judgment. it's what makes babies cry when they're hungry, scream when they want affection, or become angry when a toy is taken away. in most children, a healthy relationship with their mother counters the hypothalamus and maps the child's brain into a healthy emotional response but your hypothalamus never learned control. it still operates on that primitive level."

chester's face twitches, his smirk faltering. "your records indicate that you display the symptoms of satyriasis, you're obsessed with sex. sex and love are cross-wired with pain. additionally, your hypothalamus won't allow you to stop seeking the desires that it wants. so you became a sexual sadist. no functioning sexual partner will ever willingly submit to the painful desires that you have. the only way you can serve them is by making a partner compliant, making sure that they do exactly what you want them to do, and you ensure that by killing them. earlier, you said your victims never had a chance. i think you know deep down you never had a chance." my voice shakes slightly, but i keep going, needing to fill the silence between us.

before chester can respond, the door swings open, and a guard steps in. "everything all right in here?" he asks, his eyes moving from hotch to me. "fine. we're done." hotch says, grabbing his coat and walking over to me. i feel his steadying presence, his hand just behind my back. as we start to leave, chester's voice calls out, a flicker of doubt in it. "is that true? i never had a chance?" i glance back at him, feeling a mixture of pity and fear. "i don't know. maybe." i say quickly before the door shuts behind us, locking chester in the empty room.

i follow hotch through the maze of prison halls as he speaks briefly with the warden. once outside, we get into the car. the cool night air fills the vehicle as hotch switches the engine on. "you alright?" he asks, his voice calm but searching. "yeah, fine." i answer, though i still feel a bit shaken by the whole encounter. "you sounded like reid back there." hotch says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. i let out a breathy laugh, trying to relax.

"yeah, i guess listening to his long rambles is beneficial." i admit, running a hand through my hair. "remind me to tell strauss to assign different agents to the next cordial interview." he adds, his tone dry as he presses the accelerator and we speed out of the prison grounds.

just then, my phone rings. jj's on the other end, explaining that they've picked up a pro bono case connected to rossi's past. "do you need us to head over?" i ask, though part of me hopes she says no. "no, we're okay for now. focus on wrapping up there. if things get worse, i'll call you guys." she answers, sounding tired but confident. after the call, hotch and i find a hotel nearby for the night. i promise jj that if they haven't solved the case by the morning, hotch and i will be on the next flight to indianapolis.

_______________︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶_______________

author's note

felt as though this was only right before hotch crashes out in a few chapters 😟

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⍣ ೋ disclaimers

this story contains sensitive subject matter, including depictions of violence, murder, detailed crime scenes, and themes of trauma, grief, and ptsd. additional warnings include references to home invasions, child endangerment, vandalism, gentrification, and socioeconomic struggles. this work is intended for mature audiences. reader discretion is advised—take care of yourself while reading.

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