❝Tonight, once more, life sinks its teeth into my heart.❞

SIMONE de BEAUVOIR

✩

0.7 : not the same

(tw: mentions of abuse, death)

"I KNOW YOU'RE EXHAUSTED," HOTCH SAYS, THE MINUTE FIN CLOSES HIS OFFICE DOOR. "But I need you for just a little longer. Ethan's driving down from D.C. with a CID team, and he wants both of us at the safe house to walk through it with him again."

Fin sighs heavily. "Again? Hotch, I already-"

"You cleared it," Hotch interrupts her. "And then you panicked when you saw the photos."

"I didn't panic-"

"You had an emotional reaction to the fact that Esther is stalking the team." Hotch narrows his eyebrows at her. "You didn't walk through it objectively. I'm asking you to do that with me now."

Fin runs a hand through her hair, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Of course she lied about having breakfast with Jo, and Spencer probably knew it, but that doesn't mean she wasn't anxious to get back to the safe house and go to bed.

"You know her best, Fin," Hotch says gently, leaning forward across his desk. "If you can't go back, I understand, but you're our most valuable asset right now."

"I'm fine. I'll go." Fin shakes her head before he can say any more. "I can do it."

"Okay." Hotch nods, although there's something in his eyes, a flicker, a glint of doubt, but the minute he turns to grab his coat, it's gone. "I'll drive."

The drive to downtown Quantico is entirely silent, the only sound Fin's occasional yawns as she stares out the window. Hotch is driving his own personal car, not one of the FBI SUVs; those tend to be fairly conspicuous, especially with the government license plates, and Fin smiles a little when she sees the sticky note just beneath the air vent that reads I LUV YOU DADDY in childish handwriting. It's the only personal thing in Hotch's car, a testament to what's truly important to him.

Hotch parks the car on the street across from the abandoned store, and Fin's surprised at the lack of squad cars or black government SUVs, but then she remembers: that'd be kind of conspicuous. Ethan said the goal is to give Esther as little recognition as possible, give her the illusion that Fin either doesn't know or doesn't care, to anger her into making a mistake.

"The local PD is running with the story that the upstairs floor collapsed," Hotch says in a low voice, lifting the yellow caution tape so Fin can duck under. "Just in case anyone happens to ask."

They enter through the same side door, and despite the unassuming nature of the scene outside, the interior of the store is crawling with agents, all wearing blue jackets that say CID in large letters on the back and latex gloves, all looking extremely official. Fin feels diminished in the vintage Nirvana t-shirt she so unwisely chose to change into on the plane. She pulls her coat tighter around her.

"Ah, good. You're here." A familiar voice, calm and stereotypically British in every way, echoes from the opposite side of the room. A tall black man in a perfectly pressed gray suit pushes his way through the crowd of agents to where Fin and Hotch are standing by the door.

"Detective Inspector Chamberlain," Hotch says, shaking hands and nodding.

"SSA Hotchner," says Ethan, nodding back, and then his eyes fall to Fin, and they soften just a little.

"Hi, Ethan." Fin forces a tired smile. "Anything new?"

"Well, we've determined exactly what you said before," Ethan says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Esther certainly hasn't been here in quite a while, or if she has, she's covered her tracks quite well. There's no DNA on the doorknobs, lightswitches, or anything else for that matter. In fact, the utilities have been cut off for at least ten years, so it's unlikely she used this building for anything other than storage or the occasional night on the run."

Fin glances toward the curtained window and three CID agents instantly whip around, clearly attempting to mask the fact that they were staring at her. God, is this what the survivors feel like, walking out of a hostage situation? It's awful.

"What about the truck?" Hotch asks.

"Stolen from a long-term storage facility in Midway Island two months ago," Ethan replies. "Which explains the expired plates, but not why she would've dumped it. My best guess is she's playing her cards carefully. She was in prison for over a decade, so I guarantee she picked up some tips on how to avoid detection."

That fits, Fin thinks. Esther was a rage-filled alcoholic who took her anger out on defenseless kids, while she spent her focus and energy on methodically murdering sex offenders. Every crime she ever committed was a puzzle, into which every piece fit perfectly. The only mistake she ever made involved her family. She let them get in her head.

That's how they'll get her to make a mistake this time.

"So you think this was just a message?" Hotch sounds slightly skeptical, brow furrowed just a little.

"Prudent of you to bring that up," says Ethan, in a way only Ethan could, and gestures to the stairs. "Follow me."

Hotch waits for Fin to go ahead before entering the stairwell, and Fin sighs quietly. She knows what he's doing: If she's between him and Ethan, she can't be hurt by an unsub-or herself. Hotch is keeping an eye on her in here, and normally she'd be flattered by it, but right now, with everyone staring at her, it's starting to piss her off.

The upstairs room is surprisingly free of CID agents, and Fin doesn't realize why until she looks at the back wall, and just like last time, it knocks the wind out of her. But not for the same reason.

The photos are gone, neatly packed into plastic bags and placed in folders in a cardboard box against the wall. But apparently they weren't the only message Esther left.

COME HOME TO ME. Painted in white on the dusty wallpaper.

Bile rises in Fin's throat.

"Our technicians examined every photo," Ethan says quietly, attempting to draw Fin's attention away from the wall, "and determined that they were all taken from an upwards angle with a 150-millimeter lens."

"What does that mean?" Hotch asks.

"150-millimeter lenses are typically used for distance photography, and the angle suggests they were taken from a roof. There's no evidence that Esther took these photos herself, she could have hired a professional to-"

"No." Fin shakes her head. "Esther does everything herself. She would never trust someone else to do anything for her."

Ethan clears his throat, eyebrows raised, and continues without faltering. "Those types of lenses are also extremely expensive. They can cost up to a thousand dollars brand new, not to mention the camera she'd need. It's risky on several levels to try to acquire that kind of equipment. We're still working out ways she might have gotten her hands on it, but-"

"Stolen credit card," Fin mutters, walking over to the wall, staring at the bright white letters.

"I'm sorry?" Ethan's brow furrows curiously.

"She stole a credit card. Obviously she doesn't have any money, since she can't get a job and all of Dad's money after he died went to my grandmother, and stealing both a camera and a lens like that would be way too dangerous to attempt for somebody like her. Stealing a credit card's not that hard. She's charismatic enough to pull off a simple ruse, and if you pick a busy enough time of day, no one will check twice when you run a card on credit and know enough about photography to make polite conversation."

Both Ethan and Hotch are clearly stunned by this calm declaration, but neither of them let it show. Hotch just nods and says, "So that means she was far enough away to stay undetected."

"That's right," Ethan replies. "Getting too close would risk her position. She's got the upper hand, and she won't want to give that up too easily."

Fin stares up at the wall, Hotch's and Ethan's voices fading into the background as she reads the message over and over. White spray paint, generic and found at nearly every hardware store. Heavy pressure and diagonal strokes. Aggressiveness. Pointed letters. Anger. Slanting to the left. Egotistical. Large loops. Paranoia.

She hasn't seen Esther's handwriting in over a decade.

It's not the same as she remembers it.

COME HOME TO ME.

Fin closes her eyes. Forces herself to remember the last things Esther ever screamed at her father.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," her father had yelled. "But this is not the woman I married! The woman I married would never have hit our children!"

"Your children are little monsters," Esther shrieked, half-hidden behind the kitchen counter. "You aren't fit to take care of them without me! They'll go feral! They'll be undisciplined little brats!"

"Esther, you're sick."

"I'm not!"

"I'm taking the children to my mother's. We'll figure out some sort of arrangement. You have to get some kind of help."

"Benjamin, don't you dare take those children away from me-"

And then her father had turned to leave, and Esther had pulled her gun out, and she had shot him in the back.

He didn't even know about the murders. All he'd seen was the half-healed scar on Fin's stomach. The bruises on Oliver's legs.

Fin swallows hard. The memory is painful.

But not as painful as the next realization that comes to her.

"Oh, my god."

"Fin?" Almost immediately, Hotch is at her side. "Are you alright?"

"She's not the same," Fin whispers, closing her eyes, the message in white burned onto the back of her eyelids. "She's not the same."

"Fin, talk to me," says Ethan, gripping her upper arm tightly. "What are you thinking?"

"Something happened," Fin says, suddenly breathless. "Something happened to her in prison. She's not the same person. This-" She points to the message on the wall- "This is her handwriting, but-but it's not. She never used to slant her letters like that, and she connected her letters, I remember because I used to mix her recipes up, she'd hit me when I used a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon-"

"Fin, Fin, slow down." Hotch pulls her to face him, pulls her away from the wall. "What are you saying?"

Fin takes a deep breath. Focuses on Hotch's eyes, dark and serious. "Before she went to prison, Esther took her anger out on us. She hit us because she saw innocence in us, and that left her free to exercise control and focus in the murder of those men. But she hasn't done anything to me since she got out. She's been targeting the people around me, threatening to hurt them instead of me. Why?"

Hotch nods encouragingly. "Go on."

"Her whole goal system changed. She wanted vindication and justice before, but now, all it seems like she wants is-" Fin gasps as a new revelation overtakes her- "She wants me and Lars to come running back and pretend like nothing happened. She-oh, my god, she thinks we need her. She's deluding herself into believing that if we come back, we can all be a family again." She turns to Hotch, grabs his arms tightly, almost dizzy, her hands tingling. "Hotch, something happened to her in prison. Something changed her entire personality, her handwriting, her endgame- We have to get into her records."

"I'll get right on it," Ethan promises, and then turns to Hotch. "Take her home."

"What? Hey!" Fin protests, glaring at Ethan. "I'm not a child! I can take care of myself."

"I know you're not," Ethan replies calmly. "But this has been an emotionally taxing week for you and you're our best asset right now. You just gave us a mountain of leads to chase, and I can't have my best asset all used up." He squeezes her arm gently. "Even being here, you're so much stronger than I ever imagined you were."

Fin wishes she could muster a smile, a thank you, but she's heard those words before. If she's so strong, why won't they let her stay?

But she's tired, so she lets Hotch walk her down the stairs and out to his car. He opens the door for her, and she slides into the passenger seat, Oliver's screams echoing in her mind for the billionth time. She invited them in, allowing that memory to come up, but it was worth it. Worth it for a crack in the case.

Hotch starts the car, pulls away from the curb. Fin's eyes land on the note from Jack taped to the dash. She remembers when she used to write notes like that for her dad and stick them on his briefcase before he went to work. Sometimes they were sweet, like Jack's; other times, they said DADDY OLLIE HIT ME, YOU SHOULD MAKE HIM EAT MORE ASPARAGUS or MOM SAID I CAN'T BE AN ASTRONAUT, TELL HER GIRLS CAN GO TO SPACE TOO.

"I understand how it feels," Hotch says suddenly, breaking the melancholic silence after a few minutes.

"Hm?" Fin turns to him, slightly confused.

"I understand what it's like to love a parent when they don't deserve it." Hotch stares at the road ahead of him, eyes never wavering. "They might get angry too often, they might drink too much, but they still raised you. You think they deserve your love just for that, but they don't, and it's too confusing to think about, so you push it away."

Fin's jaw drops. She's never heard Hotch talk about anything personal other than Haley and Jack, so this is entirely new territory.

"But the thing is, no distance or time or growth will ever change the fact that you had parents, good or bad." And now Hotch stops at a stop sign, and he looks at her, and the look in his eyes is strange and terrifying and sad. "You just have to decide if you're going to be like them or not. If you carry on their legacy or change entirely. It's your decision. And Fin, you're nothing like her."

Tears well up in Fin's eyes at his words. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, closing her eyes against the tears of exhaustion and anger and pain that threaten to spill over.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for loving her, either," Hotch continues. "It's natural. She loved you. In a twisted way, she still does."

"I don't love her," Fin says, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "I just can't hate her. Damn it, I wish I could."

"In a way, that's a gift," says Hotch with a tiny smile. "It's more painful to hate than it is to forgive."

He stops the car, and Fin realizes they're parked in the driveway of her safe house. She says a quick good night, suddenly eager to get out of this car, and hurries inside, nodding to the agent sitting in the hallway and the one in the kitchen.

A hot shower does wonders for her skin, washing away the feeling that Esther's message gave her, bringing back the true sleepiness she felt earlier. But despite her ache for sleep, Fin knows the moment her head hits the pillow, she'll be wide awake with her thoughts.

She checks the clock. Seven a.m. in Munich.

Screw it.

Fin picks up her phone and presses the call button.

Two rings. A groggy "Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Surprisingly, no." Lars laughs softly, voice thick with sleep. "But you were close. What's up?"

Fin takes a deep breath. Utters the words she hasn't said in at least five years.

"I wanna talk about Dad."

~

poor fin ;-; i have a feeling i'll be saying that a lot this time around.

also i had an idea?? part one of this story comes to a close around chapter 20 (!), and as a little celebration, i thought it would be cool if i did a q&a with spencer and fin? idk is that cool? like answering questions for them?

if it's not and i'm being an idiot pls let me know

but if it is cool and i'm not stupid drop your questions

HERE

and i will compile ALL of them into a q&a at the end of part one because i love you guys! no question will go unanswered, you have my word.