❝It's a dark pain, this urge of wanting...❞

FORUGH FARROKHZAD

✩

2.1 : sweater vests

OR

season 4, episode 9 : 52 pickup (ctd.)

(tw: mentions of trauma, dudes being stupid and way too sexual)

"THIS MAN IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, BUT HE IS ALSO CHARMING AND SEDUCTIVE, WHICH IS WHY WE'RE ENCOURAGING WOMEN TO BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THIS MAN." Fin's not used to the cameras and microphones; they make her nervous. She holds up the sketch of the unsub, newly decorated with a scar over his left eyebrow. Cameras flash as reporters take photos.

"He's been seen at Club Omega and Suffragette City. We believe he'll attend other night clubs in the Midtown district, as well." Just a few minutes ago, Spencer told them all that he believes the peacocking the unsub's been doing has been to hide something identifiable above his left eyebrow, a scar or a birthmark. This is the key to unlocking his identity, making him screw up. "He may have a scar or a birthmark above his left eye."

"Based on witness accounts," Fin continues, trying not to look at one camera for two long, "our unsub is white, in his mid-to-late twenties, and again, has a scar or a birthmark over his left eye. Please remain vigilant, and if you have any information regarding this case, please call the Atlanta police department. Thank you."

And before the press can ask any questions, she turns and walks back into the building, making sure her hips sway with every step. Confidence is key.

"You did great." Morgan's waiting for her in the hall, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. "You're a natural."

"Honestly, I don't know how JJ does it." Fin rubs her temples, sighing. "It's exhausting and the cameras give me a headache."

"You want some coffee?"

"I'd love some."

"How do you take it?"

"I've worked here for how many months and you still don't know?" Fin shakes her head, grinning.

"Ooh, I know." Morgan's smirking, which isn't a good sign. "Why don't I ask Pretty Boy, since he seems to know every little thing about you?"

Not this again. Fin rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

"Morgan." Hotch steps out into the hall, accompanied by Emily. "Time to go."

"Where are we heading?" Morgan asks, standing up straight and all of a sudden serious.

"To see one of those self-help jerks," Emily replies, holding up a newspaper article and making a face. "Meet Viper."

"Okay. I'll drive." Morgan blows a goodbye kiss to Fin and then leads the way out into the sunlight.

✩

Emily was right; Viper is a jerk. Fin can't believe she didn't kill him right there for the way he talked to her. They're still keeping tabs on him; he's too close to the profile to just let go with no other thought.

Hotch and Rossi just finished talking to a woman named Melissa Foster, a former prostitute who said she gave the unsub the scar. That's the stressor, and it's the key to finding this guy.

"Our unsub is a confident alpha male," Emily says now, standing next to Hotch and looking around at the entire police department. "He's white. He's between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. He's in excellent physical shape to overpower women and also to feed his self-image."

"He has an obsession with cleaning," Rossi continues. "He probably works in some service industry, wiping up after others, convinced everyone looks down on him. His change in himself and his victimology reflects that."

"This is the kind of guy who wants to stand out in a crowd." Morgan leans against the desk Fin's sitting on, hands in his pockets. "He's taken a class in how to pick up women, so he'll repeat a series of well-rehearsed lines and mind games."

"He may be uneducated, but he's by no means stupid," Hotch says. "Taking this class has given him the ability to read verbal cues and body language."

"Which is a lot like what we do," Fin adds, shifting to face the officers now. "He's learned basic profiling, which will make him extremely dangerous. He knows what he's doing, and he knows how to charm people into thinking something they never would've thought before. This doesn't just extend to women, although it's all he's tried for now."

"One classic routine the Viper promotes is called the push-pull," Spencer says, stepping forward. "He'll insert himself between two women and immediately after complimenting one, he'll deliver a subtle insult, then pay attention to the other." His eyes meet Fin's, and the butterflies erupt in her stomach as they drift down to her collarbone. "That's a really pretty necklace. I like it on you."

Fin knows he's just doing it for the profile, but she's still flattered. He could've picked any woman out of the room and he chose her. "Thank you, Spencer."

He nods, nonplussed. "My grandmother wears a lot of fake jewelry, also. It looks nice."

And there it was. Fin knew it was coming. There's some quiet laughter amongst the officers, and Spencer looks back at the officers. "Ignoring the one woman puts her in direct competition with her friend and causes the other to pursue you more aggressively." He glances at Fin, grimacing. "I was just demonstrating, Fin. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Fin says quietly, so just he can hear. He smiles.

Detective Harding, who's smirking at the two of them, adds, "Well, we've mapped the hot spots he hits, and he frequents the same clubs that the Viper does, so we need eyes and ears in every single one."

"Circulate the sketch as widely as possible." Hotch crosses his arms, all business. "We need everyone aware that the killer's out there. Thank you very much."

As soon as all the cops are gone, Spencer makes a beeline for Hotch. "I think I might just stay home and man the tipline tonight," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. "Clubs aren't really my thing."

"Not a chance, kid." Morgan pats him on the shoulder, grinning. "I need a wingman. Come on now."

"Spence, normally I'd tell you to lighten up, but I'm with you on this one." Fin mimes gagging. "Clubs are awful."

"Actually, there is another angle we need to pursue." Rossi interrupts before Fin can say anything else.

Hotch nods. "We still don't know what made the unsub change his victimology, what made him stop killing prostitutes and move into the clubs."

"The answer might be something in Viper's class," Rossi continues, "but to figure that out, we need to profile the teacher."

"You need to bait him, then," Morgan says, shrugging, "with someone he sees as a challenge."

Spencer has a surprisingly evil look on his face. "We need to study his style up close and personal. It's gonna take someone he's already attracted to."

Both he and Morgan look directly at Emily. Fin stifles a laugh. This would be Emily's worst nightmare.

Emily looks between them, and then it dawns on her. "Oh," she sighs, closing her eyes and wincing. "This is really gonna suck."

"You have fun with that." Fin pats her on the shoulder. "I get to man the tipline-or woman the tipline, I should say."

"Uh-uh. No way. If I have to go out there and endure an hour of agony, so do you." Emily's grinning evilly, too, now. "Time to go shopping!"

"What? No!" But Fin's already being dragged out the door, and she turns around just in time to see Spencer's shocked and slightly pained expression. She's probably wrong, but she imagines she detects a little jealousy in there, too. But then again, it was only for a split second.

✩

Has Fin ever mentioned that she hates shopping? Well, it's not that she necessarily hates shopping, per se-she loves shopping for new baking ingredients; it's like watching a kid in a candy store with her-but the feminine stereotype of shopping, that she hates. Giggling around a shoe store with other giggly girls and spending an hour looking at stuff you'll never buy? Fin would rather die.

But shopping with Emily, she'll admit, was fun. They picked out dresses for each other to try on, chatting the whole time, and for the first time in a while, Fin felt comfortable with another woman, like friends. It's hard for her, but Emily makes it easy.

"You are going to look so sexy in that dress," Emily says now, shrugging off her blazer and hanging it up inside the locker in front of her. "Seriously." She's already curled her hair and it looks amazing; Fin tried to curl hers, and honestly, she's not a fan.

"I hope so, since that's the point of wearing it." Fin rolls her eyes, grinning. "God, I can't remember the last time I wore a dress like this."

There's a gentle knock on the girls' locker room door. "Prentiss? Finley?"

"Yeah, come on in!" Emily calls, making sure her earrings are in place.

The door opens and Hotch pokes his head in the door, slightly apprehensively.

When Emily sees him, she says, "Hey, we're ten minutes away."

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. Fin notices he looks almost worried. She adjusts the large hoops in her ears; they feel strange. She's not usually a big hoop gal, but she has to admit, they look damn good.

"You're both okay with this, right?" Hotch asks suddenly, looking up at them.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Emily replies, nodding encouragingly.

"Unfortunately, I've dated guys worse than this dick," Fin adds, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Shit, sir, I'm sorry." Dumbass.

Hotch purses his lips, almost smiling. "It's fine."

"Um, Emily, I'm gonna go change," Fin says, noticing the look Emily's giving Hotch. There's something going on in that look that Fin's not a part of. She grabs her garment bag and heads around the corner, into the bathroom, and starts to undress, but Emily's voice, despite being lowered, echoes on the cold tile, and Fin can't help but overhear.

"Is something going on with Fin? I-I'm not trying to pry or anything, but ever since you came back from the Holdens, I've noticed some...tension."

Fin's hands freeze on the third button of her blouse. Please don't say anything, please-

Hotch sighs. "She mentioned something to Mrs. Holden, to help us get in the door... Something that wasn't in her file."

"Did she misrepresent the Bureau?" Emily asks quietly.

"No. That's the thing. I don't doubt that she was telling the truth. But she's never mentioned it before, and it's not in her file."

Emily lets a small chuckle slip. "Hotch, she'll never mention anything to us about her private life. Haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"She's always on her guard. She never talks about her family or her friends, she's never gone anywhere with us outside of work, and she exhibits all the basic signs of someone who's been emotionally or physically traumatized. Humor in times of severe stress, self-deprecation, closed-off emotions, all of it. Hotch, we don't know her, and I honestly doubt anyone does. But she's a damn good agent and a damn good profiler, so I don't think it matters."

Fin can't believe Emily profiled her. She thought there was a moratorium on profiling your fellow agents. If Emily's been profiling her, who else has? And even more worrying is the fact that Emily's right. A chilling thought appears at the forefront of her mind: What if Spencer's come to the same conclusion?

So she waits until Hotch leaves, the door shutting softly behind him, to walk out and ask Emily to zip her up. She pretends she hasn't heard, makes a joke about wearing stilettos, and admires her reflection in the mirror on the wall. I look like a badass.

Emily, of course, looks beautiful in her black dress and black heels, and when they walk out into the main hall, where everyone else is waiting for them, Morgan whistles at them, grinning. "Damn. You ladies clean up!"

Fin wrinkles her nose at him. "So you don't think I look this nice every day? Ouch, Derek."

"Ha, ha." He rolls his eyes at her, then proffers his arm. "May I escort you to the car, madam?"

Fin looks over at Spencer-she's been dreading this-and the butterflies do a little dance at the look on his face. He's staring. His mouth is open slightly. And the way he's looking at her does not say "just friends".

But she can't be distracted, and neither can he.

Not tonight.

So she looks away, loops her arm through Morgan's, and walks out the front doors.

✩

Spencer always knew Fin was pretty. You'd have to be blind to ignore it. Her smile is infectious, her eyes always sparkle when she laughs, and anyone who enjoys 19th-century Russian literature is always ten times more attractive to Spencer. But tonight, he realized for the first time that Fin could be sexy.

She's wearing this strappy purple satin dress that fits her perfectly, showing off her legs, her arms, and-Spencer's surprised to admit that he noticed this-her collarbone. (He very much likes her collarbone? Why, he has no idea. It's just...nice.) And she curled her hair, and she's wearing this large hoop earrings that she'd never wear otherwise, but it's not about what she's wearing; it's about how she's wearing it. (It's a little bit about what she's wearing.)

Fin is confident tonight, and Spencer wishes he didn't find it so attractive. And to make matters worse, he's in the same club with her, forced to watch her and Emily flirt unashamedly with that asshole Viper. And he can't seem to give out any of his fliers.

Sighing for the umpteenth time as the latest group of girls leaves, Spencer makes his way over to Morgan, weaving in and out of gyrating adults holding various glasses of alcohol. Morgan looks up, sees him, and raises his eyebrows. "So? How's it going?"

"Not good," Spencer replies, adjusting the large stack of fliers underneath his arm. "I gave the profile to one woman and she asked if I was the unsub. How are you doing?"

"Well, I gave out all my fliers," Morgan says, with faux-nonchalance.

Spencer raises his eyebrows. "How many phone numbers did you get?"

Morgan shakes his head. "None. I'm working a case here, kid."

Spencer gives him a yeah-bullshit look, and then he sighs, grinning. "Okay, four were offered, but I didn't take any of them."

Spencer has no idea how he does it, and Morgan starts to say something, but then Spencer sees a flash of purple above them: it's Fin. She's standing across from Viper, leaning on the edge of the table, staring into his eyes unblinkingly. Her bottom lip is between her teeth and her eyes are saying things Spencer can't repeat out loud. Spencer has a sudden, primal urge to take Viper's head and smash it into the balcony railing.

"Kid? Hey, Pretty Boy." Morgan snaps his fingers in front of Spencer's face. "You still with me?"

"Yeah-yeah." Spencer shakes his head, trying to clear it. His face feels warm. Don't they have air conditioning in here?

He opens his mouth to change the subject, but it's too late: Morgan's already followed his gaze and his mouth is open in an O. "Oh, Reid."

"It's-it's not-Don't even-"

"Reid. If you think no one knows, you're bullshitting yourself." Morgan lets out a low chuckle. "Are you jealous because she's chatting it up with Viper?"

"No." Yes.

"Look, Reid, she's not into him. You should've heard her and Prentiss in the car; to be honest, I'm surprised they haven't killed him already. She's just really damn good at playing a part."

"She plays a part with all of us," Spencer blurts before he can stop himself.

"Huh?"

"She-she's always acting," Spencer mumbles. He's never said this to anyone before, but it feels more true now, out in the open. "She lies through her teeth like-like it's normal. About her family, her past."

"Reid, everyone knows that," Morgan replies, his expression softening. "She's hiding things, sure, but we all do. There's some pretty traumatizing stuff in her past, and it's gonna take a lot longer than a few months for her to open up." He glances around, then nods, satisfied. "I'm gonna give you a chance to distract yourself. Come here."

Spencer follows Morgan toward the bar, a little apprehensively, and sucks in a breath when he realizes Morgan's headed right toward the bartender, a cute redhead who's way out of Spencer's league. She's confident, assertive, and definitely not the type to be interested in a nerd like him.

"Excuse me, sweetheart," Morgan says, leaning one elbow on the bar. "Whenever you get a chance."

She nods, hands a woman a tall glass of beer, then looks up at them-at Spencer. "Hi. What can I get you?"

Spencer doesn't want to talk to her; he wants to talk to Fin. But he's stuck now. "Hi. Uh, we're with the...uh, FBI. We're looking for this man." He pushes a flier toward her. "Does he look at all familiar to you?"

The bartender glances at it, then looks back up at them, unimpressed. "It's not much of a picture."

Morgan pats Spencer on the shoulder, and then leaves, which Spencer really isn't happy about, but he adjusts. "You know what might help, actually-" He pulls out a pencil and stabs it through the paper- "He has a scar on his eye, right about there. We also know that he's taken classes where he's learned how to distract and charm his victim." He slides the paper and pulls the pen out, leaving no hole.

The bartender raises her eyebrows, grinning. "Okay, how did you do that?"

Fin would probably have rolled her eyes, said something about how magic is super nerdy, but then praised him and asked him to show her how. Spencer's paying just enough attention to say, "That's privileged information," but his heart isn't in it.

"So...what do I do if I see him?" the bartender asks. She leans on the counter strategically, giving Spencer the best view down her shirt. He blinks twice and endeavors to make eye contact and only eye contact.

"You should call us. Even if you just think you see him, you should definitely call us."

And then, very, very faintly, Spencer hears a woman say, "If you don't get your hands off me, I'm going to cut your balls off," and that woman sounds incredibly like Fin.

The bartender's asking if she can still call him, even if she doesn't see the unsub, and he fumbles in his pocket, throwing one of his business cards onto the bar between them. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Excuse me."

Spencer turns away, leaving her stunned, pushes past Morgan and the rest of the undulating crowd, and hurries up the stairs in the direction of Fin, Emily, and Viper.

Viper's got a fistful of Fin's dress, right at her hip, and is standing way too close to her, his eyes on her mouth. Emily's hand is resting just above her thigh, where Spencer knows she's got a gun. Fin's got that murderous gleam in her eye as she stares right back at him, and just as Spencer clears the top of the stairs, she says, "I swear to God, Paul, I could have you arrested for assault on a federal officer. Let go."

"There's a connection here, sweetheart, if you just give in," Viper mutters, licking his lips.

Spencer steps between them, and Viper jumps, his hand slipping from Fin's dress. "Leave her alone," Spencer says quietly, and then, before Viper can say anything, he pushes Fin through the crowd and toward the restroom sign behind them.

The hallway leading to the restrooms is quiet, and once they're out of view, Spencer lets go of Fin-and then she shoves him up against the wall. "What the hell, Spencer?"

"He was-"

"I had it under control," Fin bites through gritted teeth. "You might've just lost us our edge. What were you thinking?"

Spencer doesn't understand why she's angry. He barely opens his mouth to speak again when her eyes widen and she steps back, looking hurt and even more angry. "I can't believe you. You think I needed you to save me, that I'm just some damsel in distress who's hopeless until a big strong man with a badge shows up and tells the dick making a move on me to piss off. Really, Reid, I thought you were better than that."

The use of his last name really stings, more than anything else she said, but Spencer sighs exasperatedly. "Fin, I know I'm not a 'big strong man'. I'm not delusional."

"I can take care of myself!" Fin runs a hand through her hair, shoulders tense. "I don't need your help!"

"I know."

"And-" She stops. Stares at him incredulously. She wasn't expecting that.

"I know you can take care of yourself," Spencer says, taking a step toward her, and he doesn't know where this is coming from. "You're one of the most capable women I've ever met. But that doesn't keep me from being angry when-when assholes like Viper try things like that."

Fin's just staring, openmouthed. "You-you-" She can't seem to finish a sentence. Spencer feels like running away and hiding.

"I'm sorry," he says, his mouth very dry. "But I can't just-I can't just watch when he's touching you like that. I can't."

Fin's got this fiery look in her eyes that makes Spencer's knees want to buckle. She steps closer and grabs a fistful of his sweater vest and shirt. The air is gone from the room. He can't breathe.

"If you're gonna be undercover," she breathes, gesturing to his torso, "lose the vest. And untuck your shirt. Look like you're not a genius profiler for once."

"Because girls don't like sweater vests?" Spencer asks, trying desperately to keep his eyes on hers, instead of staring at her mouth.

"Most girls don't like sweater vests," Fin corrects him, a grin tilting the corners of her lips. "At least, the girls in these clubs."

"What about you?"

"I think they're hot."

She says it with so much confidence that Spencer feels like he might fall over. Her hand's still got a grip on his shirt, her face is tilted up to his, they're inches apart-

"Fin! Spencer!"

They leap apart like they've been burned. Fin almost falls over in the stiletto heels she's wearing, but recovers just in time to face Emily, who's hurrying toward them. "Our unsub knew Vanessa Holden," she pants, skidding to a halt. "Come on."

✩

"The bouncer saw Austin go out the back," Spencer says, holding the door for Fin. "She likes to smoke back here."

Austin? Who the hell is Austin? Fin should absolutely not feel jealous, but that's the only word she knows to describe the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He just mentioned her name, you dumbass. Chill out.

"Well, based on the witness description, it definitely sounds like the unsub was here," Morgan says, scanning the ground around them, looking for any evidence. "We got unis at her apartment, but no one's home."

Spencer's pressing numbers on his phone, and then he holds it up to his ear. He has her number? Fin bites her lip and looks away from him, scanning the flowerbed beside the door.

"It keeps going straight to voicemail," Spencer sighs. "Maybe we could have Garcia try to triangulate where she is based on the-"

"Spencer." Fin rummages in the flowers and holds up a vibrating red cellphone with his phone number flashing on the screen.

"-cell phone." Spencer's mouth forms an O at the sight of it. "He has her."

Morgan pulls out his phone, pursing his lips, and calls Hotch. Minutes later, they're in an SUV, wheeling toward 932 Pryor Street, where the unsub has Austin and is probably in the process of killing her. Spencer has a white-knuckled grip on his arm rest and Fin is biting her lip so hard she thinks it might bleed. She didn't even think about the fact that she's in a dress and heels.

They skid to a stop in front of the house, where there are already half a dozen squad cars, and leap out of the SUV. Emily's there, with Hotch, Rossi, and Detective Harding, and she hands Fin a vest and a pair of sneakers wordlessly. Fin nods her thanks and puts them both on as fast as she can, struggling a little with the shoelaces, then follows Spencer and Morgan toward the front of the house.

The front doors are French, with mottled glass, but Fin can still make out clearly the outline of their unsub, Robert C. Parker, standing over a figure that must be Austin-with a knife in his hand.

Morgan wastes no time. He punches through the doors, shouting "FBI!", and before Fin and Spencer are even in the room, Morgan and Parker are on the floor and Morgan's cuffing him as aggressively as possible.

The girl on the floor-Austin-is sobbing around the duct tape on her mouth, and Spencer kneels beside her, pulling it off ever-so-gently and then moving to the tape around her wrists. Fin lowers her gun, her insides folding in on themselves.

"I called you," Austin chokes, leaning against his shoulder.

"I know," Spencer says softly, helping her to her feet. "I know. Fin, can you help me-?" He looks up at her, his eyes pleading, and she knows that no matter what other girls there are, she can't say no to him. So she takes Austin's other arm, loops it over her shoulder, fighting the urge to say something snippy to Spencer, and helps him lead her outside to the waiting ambulance.

They drive back to the police station, Fin changes out of the damn purple dress, and Harding thanks them for their help. The sun is just rising when the plane leaves the airstrip, and Fin watches the sunrise all the way back to D.C.

~

sweater vests are hot