╭──╯ . . . . . VIOLENT DELIGHTS ܴೈ

✧.* ONEERTAXEA . . . . . ╰──╮

february 17th, 2010

the hours bleed into the night, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders as i sit at my desk, poring over files that seem to have no end. the quiet hum of the bullpen is broken when i see penelope, rossi, and hotch storm out of hotch's office, their expressions sharp and urgent.

"everyone, gear up," hotch calls out, his tone brooking no delay. "there's been threats of a riot downtown. it's escalating fast." adrenaline kicks in, pulling me to my feet as we prepare to leave. the streets are chaos when we arrive. the suv doors slam shut behind us as i tie my hair back, stepping into a scene that feels like something out of a war zone. swat officers form a line across the street, their fogged-up shields braced against the angry crowd pushing forward. shouts and chants fill the air, punctuated by the sharp cracks of glass bottles shattering on the pavement.

"mortier, your vest." hotch's voice cuts through the noise. i glance down and realize, with a pang of embarrassment, that i've missed fastening a velcro strap at the back. fumbling to fix it, i feel his hand reach past mine, his fingers brushing my torso as he pulls the strap tight. "hold still." he murmurs, his voice calm despite the chaos.

i glance at him briefly, the world seeming to be still for just a second before he steps back and secures the flap. "um, thanks." i mumble, feeling the warmth of his presence linger even as he moves away. "stay focused, riots like this can escalate quickly." he says, his eyes meeting mine before we split off into small groups.

the tension in the air is electric as we move through the crowd. people are being dragged away in handcuffs, their anger spilling over into shouts and curses. the sharp smell of burning fills my nose as a molotov cocktail arcs through the air, smashing into the street just a few yards away. i flinch, instinctively stepping back as flames erupt, licking hungrily at the nearby asphalt.

a car parked nearby becomes an unintended casualty, the flames climbing its hood. before i can fully process it, rossi steps in front of me, his presence a protective wall between me and the sudden wave of heat.

"you good?" he asks, his tone steady but laced with concern. i nod, swallowing hard. "yeah. i'm fine." he gives me a quick once-over before turning his attention back to the scene, his hand hovering briefly on my back as if to anchor me. the chaos doesn't let up, but with the team scattered and working, we move as one—methodical, focused, and determined to hold the line. 

february 18th, 2010

the night drags on into the morning as we watch the arrests unfold, the scene chaotic and heavy with tension. people scream and shout, desperate to hold onto their phones as officers confiscate them, searching for evidence of who incited the riot. garcia traces two of the phones to potential instigators, but the local police remain uncooperative. their frustration spills over, and we're caught in the crossfire of their anger.

"we're done here." the detective snaps, his words sharp and final. hotch's voice is calm, unyielding. "this isn't over." "no, but you are." andrews replies, kicking us out.  back at the bureau, the atmosphere is quieter but no less charged. hotch instructs garcia to keep monitoring police channels, and we pour over files, photos, and scraps of intel, trying to make sense of it all with our limited access.

at my desk, i spin in my chair, pen tapping rhythmically against the surface as my eyes scan through riot photos. it's a mechanical motion, a way to focus, but my thoughts keep drifting. the shouting faces in the pictures blur together, and i wonder how things got so out of control—how we got pushed so far out of the investigation.

then it clicks. i straighten, my chair stilling. the unsubs weren't at the riot, but they'll respond to it. they're angry, and this will fuel them. it doesn't take long to be proven right. news breaks of a massacre at a bar. we're there within the hour, stepping into a scene drenched in blood and cruelty. bodies are sprawled across the floor, the bartender's hands nailed to the bar like a grotesque centrepiece. the metallic tang of blood mixes with the sour stench of beer, clinging to the air and turning my stomach.

"what the hell are you doing here?" the detective growls, glaring at us as we enter. "you have a crime scene," hotch replies, his tone calm but firm. "and we're here to help." there's a long pause, the detective's jaw tightening, but he steps aside. inside, i can feel the weight of the room pressing down on me. it's not just the horror of the scene; it's the deliberate nature of the violence. this isn't chaos—this is control. "this doesn't fit." i murmur, mostly to myself. hotch's voice cuts through my thoughts. "what doesn't?"

i glance at him, hesitating for a moment. the tension from our earlier argument still lingers, but now isn't the time for that. "the victims were beaten mercilessly before. why use those nails now?" the team chimes in, piecing together the tools used and their implications. the idea of contractors and builders surfaces and something clicks in my mind.

"wait," i say, the words tumbling out quickly. "the home invasion—the one with the family. that didn't make sense either. emily, you said it yourself: unsubs escalate to something that extreme. what if that wasn't their first kill?" the pieces start falling into place, and soon we're retracing steps to earlier incidents, connecting dots we hadn't seen before. one townhouse stands out—a family reported vandalism months ago.

when morgan and i arrive, the couple who owns the home looks wary but cooperative. "we believe the vandalism is linked to the murders in the area." i explain as we sit down. the husband frowns, his hand tightening around his wife's. "we read the papers, but... that's not something we want to think about." "we also think your house wasn't chosen at random." morgan adds gently. the wife stiffens, her eyes darting to her husband as a memory surfaces. she tells us how their contractor stopped answering calls after the vandalism, his sudden disappearance now taking on a sinister weight.

upstairs, the nursery stands untouched. the cheerful colors and delicate decor clash sharply with the dread hanging in the air. as i step into the room, my chest tightens. they'd painted a picture of hope here, a dream for their child's future, and now it feels like a cruel mockery. when morgan asks if we can check the walls, the couple hesitates but eventually agrees.

the crime scene unit arrives, and soon tools are buzzing as they cut into the structural wall. when the saw finally breaks through, the stench hits like a wave. bile rises in my throat, but i steady myself, peering into the dark cavity. a body stares back at me.

i flinch, turning to morgan with a sharp nod. the couple flees the room, their dream home now a site of nightmares. as i stand there, the weight of the case bears down on me. this kill was different—precise, methodical. the unsub had taken the time to rebuild the wall, sealing away their secret like a sick time capsule. this wasn't just about violence. this was about power.

back at the bureau, garcia traces the subcontractors connected to the house. three names, one address. we raid the house at dawn, moving silently through the damp grass. swat breaks down the door, and chaos erupts. "fbi! hands where we can see them!" one of the unsubs is arrested immediately, his smirk a sharp contrast to the blood on his hands. "what's so awful in your life that you take it out on others?" i ask, my voice cold.

his smirk deepens. "it's fun, sweetheart." hotch steps in, his voice cutting through the tension. "get him out of here." the other two unsubs remain at large, but garcia's apb quickly narrows their location. we find them barricaded at their latest job site. suvs line the street, snipers take position, and the air buzzes with anticipation. andrews oversees the operation, but hotch turns to leave.

"he's just walking away?" i scoff, my gun raised toward the barricade. rossi holsters his weapon, his voice calm. "you've got two dozen cops itching for payback and two psychopaths ready to die. you wanna take your shot? take it."

as rossi and emily leave, following hotch's steps, the door of the home bursts open, and chaos reigns. bullets fly, the unsubs gunned down in a storm of violence. the ride back to the bau is quiet, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion. when i finally get home, the emptiness of my apartment feels suffocating. the blow-up mattress in the corner and the bare walls are a reflection of my state of mind—isolated, detached.

i sit down and think about the couple, how they'll have to leave their home just as their baby is due. i think about the families of the victims, the tears shed, the lives shattered. the thoughts swirl, heavy and relentless, until finally, exhaustion wins. i fall into a restless sleep, haunted by the faces of those we couldn't save.

author's note

fun fact: at the end of this episode, season 5 episode 4, morgan quotes shakespeare, "these violent delights have violent ends."

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