╭──╯ . . . . . VIOLENT DELIGHTS ܴೈ

✧.* ONEERTAXEA . . . . . ╰──╮

march 12th, 2010

i sit in one of the large fbi boardrooms, the air in the room feeling suffocating despite its size. erin strauss is seated across from me, flanked by a few other board members whose faces i don't recognize. their expressions are unreadable, their eyes scanning me as if dissecting every part of my being. i clasp my hands tightly in my lap, trying to keep them from trembling.

"please state your name and any previous and current ranks for the record," strauss says, her voice crisp and formal. i clear my throat, forcing myself to sit up straighter. my voice is steady as i speak into the small microphone on the table in front of me. "supervisory special agent madelyn mortier, field agent for the behavioral analysis unit in quantico, virginia, and intel field agent for interpol, the overseas division in moscow, russia."

i catch a flicker of acknowledgment in one of the board members' eyes, but strauss's expression doesn't change. "how long have you been a member of the bau and interpol?" she asks, her tone measured but probing. "i've been with the bau for six months, ma'am, and i served as an agent for interpol for five years before that." my voice is calm, but inside, my nerves are coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap.

"and during your time at the bau, you've worked under agent hotchner for all six months?" she presses, her gaze unwavering. "no, ma'am," i reply, shaking my head slightly. "there was a period where agent derek morgan was our acting unit chief." "who took over the unit because agent hotchner's ability to lead had been compromised." strauss interjects, her words sharp and deliberate.

the accusation in her tone ignites something in me. "i don't believe that's the reason." i respond quickly, the words slipping out before i can stop them. "you have a different opinion?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "it's not just an opinion." i say firmly, my voice steady despite the heat rising in my chest. "you have a different understanding?" she pushes, her tone growing more pointed.

i take a breath, forcing myself to remain composed. "ssa hotchner stepped down so we could do our jobs unhindered." i explain. her lips press into a thin line. "how would you describe agent hotchner's current behavior?" the question catches me off guard, but only for a moment. "driven." i reply without hesitation. memories flash through my mind—hotch's determination, his focus, the weight he's carried these past months.

"driven?" strauss repeats, her tone skeptical. "agent mortier, your team is on the line if i cannot reconcile an adequate account of agent hotchner's investigation into george foyet." her words feel like a slap, but i hold my ground. "we were all investigating the reaper," i say, my voice firm. "ssa hotchner wasn't the only one. especially after foyet sent us that calling card—the newspaper articles he mailed to karl arnold, an unsub we were dealing with at the time."

strauss's expression shifts slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "two letters from two different locations," i continue. "it got us all going again." she leans back slightly, her pen poised above her notepad. "start from the beginning." she says, her tone softer but no less insistent.

i take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. "foyet had done extensive damage to himself during his original string of killings, making us believe he was one of the victims. as a result of those injuries, he became dependent on various medications. after searching for a long time, we finally used those dependencies to track him." the memory is vivid in my mind—foyet's meticulous planning, the frustration of hitting dead ends time and time again.

"we stormed the apartment foyet was hiding in, only to find he knew we were coming," i continue, my voice tightening. "he had internet alarm software installed on his laptop that alerted him the moment we searched the name peter rhea, his current alias." strauss's gaze narrows. "do you think agent hotchner was acting agitated or unreasonable during this time?"

the question sends a surge of anger through me. i straighten in my chair, meeting her eyes directly. "no, ma'am. he was afraid for the well-being of his family. given what occurred, i think that fear was entirely reasonable." my tone is sharper than intended, but i don't regret it. the room falls silent for a moment, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air.

as strauss studies me, i can't help but wonder if my words will make a difference. i think about everything hotch has sacrificed, the burden he's carried to protect his family and lead this team. i won't let him be painted as anything less than the dedicated leader and father he is—not while i have a voice in the matter.

february 24th, 2010

we stand in foyet's empty apartment, the air heavy with the eerie stillness of a place recently abandoned. a small laptop sits on the table, its screen dark but humming faintly, as if it knows it's about to become the center of our attention. suitcases lie half-open on the bed, the contents hastily packed, and the closet doors hang ajar, revealing empty hangers swinging slightly. on the kitchen counter, an untouched meal sits, the scent faint but enough to remind me how close we came. foyet knew we were coming.

"um, guys, we need to get garcia on this." i say, my voice breaking the tense silence as i peer at the laptop. my stomach twists as the screen flickers to life, and files begin deleting themselves one by one, the machine essentially self-destructing before our eyes.

panic prickles at the edges of my thoughts. every deleted file feels like another door slamming shut, another lead slipping away. "garcia, we need you on this." i say into the phone, my voice firmer now. her voice comes through, bright but determined. "he is creepy good." she says, the sound of her nails clicking against keys providing some comfort amidst the chaos. "how good?" reid asks, his brow furrowed as he leans closer to the screen.

"he wiped his hard drive. he could've been in a hurry to leave." she replies, but there's a tension in her tone that makes my chest tighten. "pen, tell me you can rebuild this." i say, my voice quieter now, tinged with the fear that we're losing our trail.

"watch me work, beauty." she replies, and despite the gravity of the situation, her words manage to pull a faint smile from me. then there's a pause—a faint beeping on her end that sets my nerves on edge. "oh." she says softly, the single syllable like a pin dropping in the room. "oh?" i ask, my voice sharp, needing her to clarify. "he had an internet alarm on the name peter rhea," she explains, her words coming quickly. "it alerted him as soon as we ran it."

my stomach sinks further. "what else did he wipe?" hotch asks, his tone controlled but carrying an edge that makes me glance at him. the screen flickers, images flashing by too quickly to process. "pen, hang on," i say, pointing at the screen. my heart races as i catch something familiar. "freeze it there." i add, stepping closer. penelope's sharp intake of breath is audible. "oh my god, isn't that..."

"that's the u.s. marshal assigned to my family." hotch says, his voice suddenly colder, more focused. he pulls his phone out, dialling quickly. the realization slams into me like a freight train. foyet's been watching hotch's family this entire time. the pictures, the precision—this isn't just a man on the run anymore. this is personal.

"sam, it's aaron," hotch says into the phone, his tone urgent but calm, masking the storm i know is brewing underneath. "we found foyet's location, but he has pictures of you. call me for a meet location or we're on our way to you." his words hang in the air after the voicemail ends, the weight of what's happening sinking in.

"we're gonna need another swat unit." i sigh, my voice quieter now, the enormity of the situation pressing down on me. "that's gonna take another hour at best." jj says, glancing at hotch, who suddenly turns and strides out of the apartment. "hotch!" rossi calls after him, but there's no stopping him now.

i feel torn watching him go. part of me wants to chase after him, to tell him we'll figure this out and find his family. but another part of me knows that we can't stop him from running after them, and who can blame him? the silence left in his wake feels heavier than anything foyet could leave behind.

march 12th, 2010

"so you left for marshal kassmeyer's house right away?" strauss asks, her tone sharp, each word cutting like a scalpel. "yes, ma'am." i reply evenly, keeping my gaze steady. "wouldn't this be a job for a tactical team?" she questions, her eyebrow arching in a way that makes my skin crawl. "we felt that it would take too much time to get a go-ahead from another unit." i explain, choosing my words carefully. "we?" she repeats, leaning forward slightly. "yes, all of us." i say firmly, refusing to back down under her scrutiny.

"don't you mean agent hotchner wanted that?" she presses, her words dripping with accusation. my jaw tightens, and I feel a flicker of irritation spark in my chest. "no, i mean all of us did." i snap back, my tone sharper than intended. there's a beat of silence, the kind that stretches uncomfortably long. strauss's lips press into a thin line, and she tilts her head slightly, as if she's already decided what to think of me. "agent mortier, why don't we take a break?" she says, her voice calm but pointed, like she's trying to defuse a bomb without actually addressing the explosion.

"no," i say, leaning forward slightly, the heat rising in my chest. "you're so strung up on the truth, let me tell it to you." her eyes narrow, and i know i've crossed a line, but at this point, i don't care. i can feel the tension of the past few days—weeks, really—boiling over.

"you think this was all about ssa hotchner, that he's some loose cannon dragging us along for the ride? he's not. we made a decision as a team because we knew that waiting would cost lives. he's not reckless, and neither are we. we don't sit around and twiddle our thumbs while someone like foyet gets a head start." strauss's expression doesn't waver, but i see the flicker of something—surprise, maybe—cross her face.

"you want the truth?" i continue, my voice steady now, but edged with frustration. "the truth is, foyet was always a step ahead. he had planned this, calculated it. he knew exactly how to play the system, and he knew how to bait us. but we didn't stop. we couldn't stop. because the second we did, more people would die. so yeah, we went to marshal kassmeyer's house without waiting for a tactical team. because every minute we waited was another minute foyet had to hurt someone else."

the room feels heavy with my words, and i realize my hands are clenched tightly in my lap. strauss watches me, her gaze unreadable, and for a moment, i wonder if i've said too much. but then i remind myself that the truth matters more than her judgment. "if you think that makes us reckless," i say, my voice quieter now, "then so be it. but don't you dare question our dedication to saving lives."

the silence that follows feels deafening, but i don't break eye contact. i refuse to let her reduce what we did to a simple act of defiance. it was so much more than that. it was survival. it was a necessity. it was us doing what we do best—protecting people, no matter the cost.

february 24th, 2010

we pull up to the marshal's house, the tires screeching as the suvs come to an abrupt stop. before the engines are even fully off, we're out of the cars, guns raised, adrenaline coursing through every fibre of my being. i can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of my weapon steady in my hands as i fall in line behind the others.

the door is ajar, a quiet and ominous invitation. rossi nudges it open with his shoulder, his gun at the ready, and hotch pushes through first without hesitation. inside, the air is thick with the coppery scent of blood and something else—fear, despair, the residue of violence that clings to everything. "clear!" morgan calls from the adjacent hallway.

i step further into the house, and my stomach churns at the sight before me. hotch is crouched down beside marshal kassmeyer, who lies sprawled on the carpet, blood pooling beneath him. his face is pale, his breaths shallow and laboured. he's missing fingers on one hand, the stumps grotesque and ragged. blood streaks his temple, dripping onto the carpet as if it were a steady, mocking metronome. i feel a lump rise in my throat, but i push it down. focus. this is what we trained for.

"sam, are jack and haley safe?" aaron's voice is steady but strained, his tone carrying the weight of desperation he's trying to suppress. the marshal's lips move, his voice barely above a whisper. i can't make out what he's saying, but the broken, apologetic tone is enough to make my chest tighten. "tell me what happened," aaron urges, leaning closer. he's trying to keep kassmeyer conscious, his voice low but insistent. "sam, stay with me."

the marshal exhales a weak, rattling breath, his head lolling slightly. he shakes his head faintly, the motion barely perceptible, but the meaning is clear enough. he's slipping away. "dammit." i whisper under my breath, the helplessness creeping in as the sirens outside grow louder. "medics are here." morgan says, stepping into the room with his phone still in hand.

the flashing red and blue lights spill through the open doorway, casting eerie shadows across the scene. the paramedics rush in, their movements swift and practiced, but the urgency in their eyes tells me they know this is bad. "agent, we need space to work." one of them says, gently nudging hotch aside.

aaron hesitates, his jaw tightening as he stands, his fists clenched at his sides. i catch his gaze briefly, and the fury, guilt, and anguish in his eyes hit me like a punch to the gut. as the medics work on kassmeyer, i glance around the room, my eyes scanning for any signs of foyet's presence. no signs of struggle beyond the marshal himself, no evidence of jack or haley—it's like foyet's ghost lingers, taunting us with his absence.

"we'll find them." i say quietly, almost to myself, but hotch hears me. he doesn't respond, just turns on his heel and storms out of the room, his phone already in his hand as he barks orders to garcia. i take a shaky breath and follow him out, the sound of the medics' voices and the beeping machines fading behind me. the hunt isn't over—not yet.

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author's note

uh oh! also--how would y'all feel if i also published on ao3? I've recently stumbled upon it and i really like the set up over there. which website do you prefer? i would definitely still continue uploads here so dw :)

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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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