❝Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?❞

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

✩

4.1 : what we had to do

OR

season 5, episode 8 : outfoxed (ctd.)

IT'S SEVEN HOURS BY CAR FROM HAMPTON TO POUND, WHERE THE SUPERMAX PRISON IS, BUT ONLY AN HOUR AND A HALF BY PLANE. They take the jet, and Hotch spends the entire flight briefing Fin on every aspect of Karl Arnold's life and personality, so she knows him as well as any of the others.

"You should know that Karl has a big ego," Hotch says in the elevator down to the lowest level of the prison, speaking for the first time since getting off the plane. "He's going to want to answer every question with a question. He'll try to gain the advantage with me by asking why I'm not wearing my wedding ring." As they step out of the elevator and into the dark hallway, led by a burly guard, he looks down at her. "And then he'll turn his attention to you."

"Is that why you brought me along?" Fin asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the white top she chose to wear. It's nothing unusual; a tight-fitting, good quality long-sleeved top with a square neck that doesn't show too much, but now, knowing what she knows about Arnold, a sexually confident and motivated sadist, she wishes she'd worn a turtleneck.

"Your presence will throw him off guard," Hotch replies. He pauses, then says slowly, "Then he's gonna want to describe to you in graphic detail every sexual act he committed with the families."

Fin's stomach churns uncomfortably. They stop in front of a metal door with the guard. "Because he wants to make me uncomfortable?"

"Because he wants to pull you into his fantasy."

"Control, open on 16," says the guard into his walkie, and a buzzer sounds. The door unlocks and slides open.

As they walk through, Hotch stays behind Fin and mutters, "Keep your eyes forward."

The inmates on every side are shouting at her, jeering, ogling her, and Fin does as Hotch says–until one large man bangs on the window between them, shouting something indiscernible.

She flinches, unwillingly, and a hand presses against her back, steadying her. "More than anything, he'll want to see photos of the children," Hotch says quietly, keeping his hand on her back, holding her beside him. It's a signal to the men that she isn't to be messed with and a signal to Fin that she's safe with him. She appreciates both.

"We can't let him see them, right?" asks Fin uncertainly, focusing on the floor in front of her.

"We have to give him something or this whole trip will be worthless," Hotch replies grimly.

The guard pauses in front of another door, and a man leaps against the glass, barking and licking it. Fin flinches again, and Hotch's hand tightens on her waist.

"Is that–?"

"Garrett Pain." Hotch nods, eyes focused ahead of them, and then, slightly quieter: "It's reinforced glass."

"I know." Fin takes a deep breath. "I know. But he still murdered fourteen women."

"Open on 15," says the guard in front of them.

Without turning to him, Fin whispers, "Hotch, I'm nervous."

Hotch drops his hand from her back, keeping his eyes on the door. "You're going to be fine."

"But what if–?"

"I won't let him touch you."

The door buzzes and slides open to reveal a pseudo-conference room, with two chairs on one side and a single chair on the other.

Sitting in the single chair is a man, bushy red hair and beard, wearing a blue regulation jumpsuit and smirking snidely. Fin's stomach churns as she joins Hotch in front of the table.

"Hello, Karl," says Hotch in a monotone.

"Agent Hotchner." Arnold nods to him, still smirking, and stands up to meet them. "I didn't know you were bringing a, uh..." His eyes drift to Fin, raking her up and down. She resists the urge to cover herself or turn away, instead meeting his eyes bravely. Finally, he turns back to Hotch. "They just said two agents."

Hotch nods. "This is Agent–"

"Hazel," Arnold interrupts him, that smirk returning, "Finley. I've heard about this young lady."

He sits down, gesturing with his cuffed hands to the chairs in front of them. "Please, have a seat."

Fin waits for Hotch to sit and then sits, very slowly, keeping her eyes on Arnold. Something about him makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she wills her hands not to shake, instead placing them on the table in front of her, showing she's not afraid of him–even though she very much is.

Hotch reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a file, one he picked up from the warden. It's full of the contents of the two letters sent to him in the past few days. Hotch spreads them out in front of him, rests his hands on the table, and says, "Karl, it appears you have a fan."

"Admirer," Arnold corrects him softly, leaning back in his chair. "Not a fan. Big difference. Right?" His eyes cut to Fin, who just stares right back.

"Is this the first time this 'admirer' has made contact with you?" she asks after a moment, keeping her tone calm and even. He's just another guy, nothing special about him. This is a job, and she's damn good at it.

Arnold turns to her, slowly, and looks her up and down again, scoffs, and looks back at Hotch. "I have many fans."

"I asked you a question, not him," Fin says, fighting to keep her voice even. "I'd recommend you answer me."

Arnold doesn't even look at her, just keeps talking to Hotch. "Even my own website. Don't you?"

When Hotch doesn't respond, Arnold chuckles a little and changes tactics. He looks back at Fin and says, "You'd be astounded at some of the questions they ask. I make a log of all of them. Would you like to read some?"

"First, I'd like you to answer my question, Karl," Fin replies sweetly.

"She's a feisty one, Agent Hotchner!" Arnold snickers. "Alright, sweetheart, these are the first letters from someone who called themselves an 'admirer'."

"Thank you." Fin forces a sugary smile, one she hopes looks real. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Arnold smiles back, a smile that's more like a leer. It makes Fin shudder internally. Then he gestures to the leatherbound journal beside him. "Now, would you like to see?"

Fin, not thinking, reaches across the table to grab the book–

Hotch pushes her back into her seat, but it's too late: Arnold got what he wanted. He inhales the scent of her hair, smiling greedily. "You smell like cinnamon, Hazel."

Fin winces at her name, something only Spencer calls her now. The way Arnold says it, it sounds like a dirty word. When Spencer says it, it sounds like poetry. "Fin, please. My friends call me Fin."

"Karl, your 'admirer' has taken wedding rings from each of the crime scenes," Hotch says, before Arnold can respond. "But maybe not for the same reason as you."

"Like how you took all of mine," Arnold replies, a little spitefully. "You took mine." Then a smile creeps onto his face as he looks at Hotch's hands. "But I see... you lost yours."

"Eight rings, four families," Hotch says, ignoring him. "Or was it one ring for each family?"

"How'd you come to lose your ring?" Arnold leans back in his chair again, clearly savoring this. He giggles a little. "Wait, don't tell me. An affair with this beautiful specimen here? I saw you touching her out in the hallway. Or–I bet it was a casualty of the job?"

"My job is what put you in here," Hotch replies quietly.

"True." Arnold nods. "But then, it's the children who suffer most. Wouldn't you agree?"

"You'd know more about that than me." Hotch's eyes never leave Arnold's.

"Which is why you came to me," Arnold says quietly, sounding proud. He pauses, then says, "And I can help you with that, Agent Hotchner. I certainly can." His eyes flit to Fin, and then to the stack of files between them, the files that hold the photos of the dead children, the ones Fin wishes he didn't know about. "But I'll need to see those photos. May I?"

"Hotch, can I speak to you?" Fin murmurs softly, scooping the files into her arms and hugging them tightly to her chest. Somehow, it feels like she's protecting the children, protecting sweet Lucy, who died so vulnerably in her swimsuit, from the man who makes even her uncomfortable.

"Is there a problem, Hazel, dear?" asks Arnold, his voice disgustingly syrupy.

"There's no problem, Karl," Hotch replies, and he leads the way out of the room.

The minute the door shuts, Fin looks up at Hotch pleadingly. "Hotch, you know we can't show him these." She gestures to the files she's still holding tight to her chest.

Hotch closes his eyes, sighing softly. "This images will be his undoing and our way in."

"Hotch, they aren't just photos to him," Fin says desperately. "This is a twelve-year-old girl in a swimsuit that some guy drowned just because it was fun. This is a little girl named Lucy who had dreams and aspirations and who loved to swim, and my conscience won't let me allow this psycho to get off on her death. I can't do that."

"I'm sorry, but it's a tradeoff we have to make," Hotch replies patiently.

Fin swallows hard. "So we're going to use Lucy to bargain with a man who killed eight families with no remorse–for what, exactly?"

"To him, it's not just a photograph–"

"Obviously."

"It's much more, and we need to know what."

"It's release, Hotch!" Fin has to fight to keep her voice under control; her hands are shaking again. "He gets his rocks off on dead kids, and especially dead little girls! That's what he wants! And he knows we're just ready to give it to him! I can't do it, Hotch." Her voice nearly breaks, but she holds it steady. "I can't."

"And you don't have to," Hotch says gently, flexing his arm like he might have reached for her hand, but he doesn't.

Fin takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and looks up into his eyes. "Look, if you need me to do this, I will, but let me say this: If some cop had wanted to show photos of my brother's dead body to a creep like this guy just for information, I would've fought tooth and nail to keep any of that away from him. To protect his memory. And Lucy's family isn't here to do that for her." She pauses, then swallows again. "But if we need this, then..."

It's the first time she's mentioned Oliver to Hotch since Atlanta, what feels like so many years ago, and she knows Hotch knows it. He searches her face slowly, dark eyes unreadable, and then nods. "All right. When I think he's ready to talk, I'll leave the room."

Fin shakes her head. "No–"

Hotch does touch her arm this time, his hand warm on her wrist. "I promise, he won't touch you. I'll be right outside the door. If you're not comfortable with it–"

"No." She nods. "I can do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Hotch sounds unsure himself, but he presses on. "All right. No matter what, stick to the script. You need to sound mildly interested, like you would be on a first date. Get him talking, about anything. We need to know why he killed those families."

So they go back into the room, Hotch leading the way, and Fin steadies herself mentally, preparing herself for the conversation she's about to have.

"Stand up," Hotch commands, and Arnold does immediately. "You want to see, don't you?"

"Very much," replies Arnold, as the guard escorting them unlocks the cuffs on his wrists from the belt around his waist, fully freeing his hands.

"We're gonna show you," Hotch says, and then nods to Fin.

Slowly, Fin opens the files and pulls out the crime scene photos, laying them out on the table between them. The bloodstain in the Downey kitchen, the cracked family photo, and–Fin tries not to let any emotion show on her face–the bodies.

"This is the home of the Downey family," Hotch says evenly. "There were three children."

"How old are the children?" asks Arnold.

"Twelve, nine, and four. A girl and two boys."

"Where were they found?"

"Here." Hotch points to the photo of the taped-off shallow grave.

Arnold's eyebrows go up. "Buried. Interesting."

"Laura, the mother, and the two boys were killed in the house," Hotch continues.

"The daughter?" asks Arnold, and Fin knows this is the information he really wants, the creep.

But Hotch doesn't give it to him. He points to the photo of the kitchen. "This is where the mother and the youngest son were killed. The other boy was shot in the bedroom closet."

"Where's the father?"

"Deployed overseas," Fin replies.

"The killer knows this," Hotch adds.

Arnold chuckles a little. "Yes, he does. He knows everything about this family, and he watches their every move to be sure he achieves what he needs." He laughs again. "You have no idea how he knows the father is gone or how he targets these families and the how. That's the key. The how is how he–" He gestures to Hotch– "was able to catch me."

"You watched those families for days," Fin says quietly.

Arnold frowns, corrects her. "Weeks. I got to know them." He shakes his head. "But not your guy. He doesn't need weeks. If he did, he'd stay longer."

"Why is that?" Fin asks.

Arnold's eyes land on the photo of Lucy, the one Fin wishes they could have held back, and his eyes soften dangerously, joyfully. "So he can enjoy them," he murmurs, and Fin resists the urge to leap across the table and strangle him for the things he feels looking at dead little girls.

"But what I don't understand," Arnold says suddenly, tearing his eyes away from Lucy and looking back at Fin, "is why–"

"He didn't separate the children," Hotch interrupts.

"Exactly." Arnold nods. "That way, you have more control. No room for error."

"Why didn't he lock the boys in different rooms and tell them if they made noise, he'd kill their mother?" Fin says evenly.

Arnold nods, then his eyes drift back to Lucy. He points at her. "Tell me... how did she die?"

Fin can't bring herself to say it, so Hotch does. "She was drowned."

"Yet the others were shot," Arnold mutters, almost to himself.

"What's so special about her?" Fin asks, desperately wanting to distract him from the photo she knows he's caressing over and over in his mind.

"To suffocate her," Arnold replies, almost dreamily. "To feel the life leave her body means everything to the man who did this."

"To you, maybe, but not to this killer," Hotch counters. "Not in the same way."

"All I did was show them how weak fathers could be," Arnold says, directing this to Fin. "That's all."

"Every child you killed you abused physically." Hotch's eyebrows are drawn tightly together, a deep, menacing frown.

"This guy doesn't get off that way," Fin says, and for a moment, her words bite. For a moment, she says exactly what she wants–and Arnold notices.

His shoulders tense, and his eyes slide back to Hotch. "At least I spared the fathers the grief of living." And he shrugs, smiling all too snidely. Fin would like to slap that smile right off his face–

Hotch's phone rings. He pulls it out, frowns at the text on the screen, then shows it to Fin. It's a text from Morgan.

Unsub killed again. Father deployed in AFGH, daughter suffocated. We think military air maneuvers are the stressor.

Fin tries not to show emotion, but it's very difficult. Hotch gestures to the door, meaning Can I leave?, and Fin nods. She thinks she can do this.

When the door closes behind him, buzzing loudly, Arnold crosses his arms in front of him and says, "He's killed again, hasn't he? Luckily for me."

"Luckily?" Fin raises her eyebrows.

"Now I'm alone...with you." Arnold means this to be seductive, she's sure, but all it achieves is nausea.

"So you think the families don't know their killer? Why?" She changes the subject, forces him to play her game, instead of the other way around.

But Arnold seems to know what she's doing. "They want us to wait, right? You and I... Wait for my 'admirer' to send word? Because he will."

Fin bites the inside of her cheek, praying for forgiveness for what she's about to do, and then leans forward, showing Karl as much cleavage as her shirt will allow, and biting her lip instead. "You know, I've always been fascinated with you, Karl," she says. "It takes a special type of man to destroy an entire family. To take out the father, the main threat, with no resistance... You must have been so brave."

Arnold's not playing: He stares right down her shirt, grinning widely. "You think so?"

"I do." Fin brushes her hair out of her face, ever so slowly. "And to do it eight times... I'm so... intrigued by you."

Arnold's practically salivating at this point. He wets his lips, then says quietly, "Would you like to know what I did to those children?"

Fin resists the urge to scream HELL NO and instead smiles furtively. "I–I don't know if I should–" She cuts her eyes to the door on purpose, knowing Arnold will make the connection–

Arnold nods, understanding. "He doesn't have to know, does he?" He smiles leeringly. "It'll be our little secret."

Fin pauses, just enough to draw him in, and then smiles, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Okay," she breathes, and he almost moans. It's disgusting.

"Let me show you what I did," he says softly. "Let me show you everything."

"Please tell me," Fin whispers.

Arnold leans forward, his eyes boring into hers, and Fin fights against her instinct to jump away. "Children...are beautiful," he whispers. "Innocent, clean... But unguided. They need instruction. Discipline. Especially...little girls."

"Why them?"

"They have so much more to lose..." Arnold's eyes are back inside her shirt again, and Fin can only think of what he's imagining. "Science proves that females can handle extreme pain so much better than males can."

"What did you do to those little girls, Karl?" asks Fin softly, pleadingly, hoping he'll believe her.

"I showed them what men, their fathers and brothers, are capable of."

"What's that?" Fin adjusts her shirt surreptitiously, and Arnold's eyes widen just the slightest. "Tell me, Karl."

"Well, once the children were dead, it always amazed me how little their fathers fought the inevitable," Arnold says, thinking slowly.

"What is the inevitable?" Fin asks, leaning forward.

"Death, Hazel, my dear. Death." Arnold relishes the word, like it's delicious to say, his tongue poking between his teeth–but it isn't cute. Not the way it is when Spencer does it. Not the way that makes Fin want to kiss him so badly.

The buzzer sounds, and Hotch enters the room again. "I never thought you'd be this honest, Karl," he says, folding his arms across his chest and standing directly behind Fin.

"It takes a beautiful woman to bring the best out in a man," Arnold says, smiling in what he surely deems to be a kind way. It's more of a leer.

"Karl, can you tell me why you killed those families?" Fin asks, attempting to sound casual.

"Hazel, please. I've told you why."

"That isn't true. You told me how. Not why."

"And the reasons why, in this case, are very different than they were for you," Hotch says. "And as you so eloquently have been pointing out to Agent Finley, all of your motivations were about sex."

"Which you learned from your daddy," Fin bites, the words satisfying on her tongue.

Arnold's head jerks back to her and he smiles–but it's not the same. This smile is dangerous. "You really think you know me, don't you, Hazel?"

"You hate yourself," Fin says, deliberately changing her tone. She's curt, almost mean. "And I can only imagine why."

"Agent Hotchner, I can see why you might have lost your ring," Arnold says, and he's trying to draw her out. "She's distractingly beautiful. I can't imagine trying to work with her."

"So you killed yourself over and over again, through those children, and then you did the same thing to your father." Fin narrows her eyes at him.

"Oh, the things I would do to you..." He licks his lips again. "I would make you beg for your life, Hazel, and you would thank me."

"That's enough." Hotch isn't loud, but his tone is commanding.

Arnold glances at Fin, at Hotch, and then leans back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "This isn't over, Agent Hotchner. At least not for you." He gestures to Fin. "Either of you."

And then Fin's phone buzzes. It's a text from Emily.

I think the unsub's a woman.

✩

Hotch stays in the room with Karl, occupying him, while Fin calls Morgan and the others, and Penelope patches herself in.

"If the unsub's a woman, that explains why we couldn't find a sexual motive," Rossi says.

"And wherever she's from, her father's got to be military," Morgan adds.

"Guys, I've got a hit," says Penelope urgently. "Interpol. Two hits. Three hits. Three crime scenes. Three different cities. The first–Zagreb, 1998. A woman and her eight-month old baby are both killed. And then, two years later, the same prints show up in Modena, Italy, and then 2007, London, England. Young couple, both shot."

"You were right," says a voice Fin recognizes to be Agent Hudson's. "She's killed before."

"Zagreb is the capital city of Croatia," says Spencer, and Fin's stomach flutters a little at his voice.

"Spence, is that important?" she asks, knowing it has to be.

"Uh, between 1991 and '95, they fought a bitter battle for independence," he replies, and she can hear the little smile on his face–he loves it when she calls him Spence.

"Yeah, Serbian forces tried to ethnically cleanse over 40,000 Bosnian Muslims," Rossi adds.

"And then at some point within the last two years, she moved to America." Morgan sounds grim, solemn. It's not like him.

"She's on the run," says JJ quietly.

"And ran right into a city filled with military families." Now it's Rossi who's grim.

"The only mass graves reminiscent of the ones the unsub's created were found all over Bosnia after the war, but none of them rival that of Srebrenica," says Spencer softly.

"Yeah, U.N. forces turned Srebrenica into a protected city for refugees." Fin nods, remembering. "I remember watching the news in sixth grade, while it was happening. The Serbians surrounded the town for three years, and then in 1995, slaughtered over eight thousand Bosnian Muslim men and boys."

"A psychopath born in the middle of that conflict–" Rossi whistles softly. "That's not a good mix."

"She's exacting her life experiences onto the victims," Spencer says, almost whispering.

"You think this woman was there?" asks Hudson.

"Well, think about it," Morgan replies. "Langley's filling up with civilians and military vehicles, just like Srebrenica."

"Can you determine her age?" Hudson asks.

"Well, neither Lucy nor the Williams daughter was older than fifteen," Fin answers, crossing her free arm over her chest, hugging herself tightly.

"The Balkan war lasted between '93 and '95, so if the girls represent the unsub, she's somewhere in her late 20s," Spencer adds. Fin can hear him doing the math in his head; he's so much faster than she is.

"All right, Fin, thanks for your help," Morgan says. "Grab Hotch and meet us at the station when you can."

Fin hangs up and gestures to Hotch through the window. The door buzzes, letting him in, and she quietly briefs him on everything the others said.

"You know, I don't think this woman has anything to do with Karl," Hotch says finally, looking at the monitor, which shows Arnold, his arms crossed, looking bored in the room beyond.

"Hotch, I can't believe I–" Fin swallows hard– "I can't believe I actually said those things. It came so easily. I flirted with him."

"You did what you had to," says Hotch gently.

"I know. But... I feel like I need a shower." Fin forces a smile. "I feel dirty."

"It helped the case, Fin." Hotch touches her shoulder encouragingly. "If it helps, I'm proud of you. You kept your cool and you got what we needed."

"Oh, agents!" Arnold singsongs, his voice grainy over the monitor. "Before you go, there's something I'd like to share with you."

"Ugh." Fin runs her hands through her hair, closing her eyes. "Let's get it over with."

So she and Hotch walk back into the room, arms crossed, and stand behind their chairs. "What?" Fin asks, not even bothering to hide the distaste in her voice.

"So, what, you found my admirer?" Arnold's playing it safe, not giving them what they want right away. "With my help?"

"Nope. We found our unsub. Your admirer's a useless piece of shit, actually, and definitely unrelated to this case." Fin gives him a snide smile. "Sorry."

"We're done." Hotch puts his hand on Fin's arm, and they turn to leave–

"So is he." Arnold pulls a piece of paper from the table and shows it to them: the note, from the first letter. "'Look at what I have done.' It's quite brilliant, actually."

"We will find whoever sent you that," Hotch says.

"No, Agent Hotchner." Arnold shakes his head. "I rather think he's already found you."

Hotch's eyes widen and he opens the file in his hand, flipping through the photos, the clippings wildly.

"Hotch, are you okay?" Fin asks.

He doesn't respond, just keeps rifling through the file.

"You don't see what he's doing?" asks Arnold, sounding like he's enjoying this all too well.

"Hotch, what's happening?" Fin's very concerned; she's never seen him like this.

"He's torturing him," laughs Arnold.

"Who?" Fin turns to Arnold now, desperate for answers.

"It's great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner." Arnold's still laughing, still grinning evilly.

Hotch pulls out the journal, Arnold's journal, and finds the final clipping. His eyes narrow. "Foyet."

"He knew you'd come! But you–my dear Hazel." Arnold looks up at her, a rapturous look on his face. "You hate it when I call you that, because only your dear boyfriend calls you that, isn't that right?"

Fin says nothing. She won't reveal anything to him, not now.

"Well, I know that's not true, and so does someone else I know." Arnold leans forward, eyes wide, and whispers: "Esther says hello."

~

ten-ish chapters and counting from the end.

you're gonna hate the end.

i'm so sorry in advance.

but like *tension*