Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter nineteen: bittersweet revelations

The wind was static tonight, still as a sepia photograph stuffed between the pocket of a wallet. In front of you stood Vera, a vile grin slapped across her mouth as she chuckled cooly.

"For profilers, you guys have done a shitty job," she divulged rather cheerily, the flick of her smile settling in the air uneasily. Her words floated in the dead air, heavy static between the two of you. "It's pathetic, honestly, considering how much Aaron had boasted about his team to me, about you, in particular, Y/N."

Hotch's gun was still leveled up at her, finger firmly settling up on the trigger as he took a step closer.

"Put the gun down, Vera. It's over," Hotch commands, and although every feeling in him reminded him to remain calm as his hand gripped the gun, there was a sort of rage, maybe even regret, tinting his voice.

"Gladly," she answers appeasingly, dropping the gun at the heel of her shoe and slowly standing back up, a tiny strip of her hair coming undone as she looks back at you. There is no inkling of fear in her eyes, which, for some reason, scared you more.

Slowly, Hotch neared her, kicking her gun toward you as you scrambled to grab it, the scratching of the metal against the concrete breaking the silence.

"I trusted you," Hotch confides regretfully in a broken whisper as he grabs her wrists and pins them back. He nods over to you to call the team. You studied his microexpressions under the faulty moonlight, the vertical lines forming between his brows, lips firmly pressed up against each other.

Her smug grin consumes her face, as she looks over her shoulder at Hotch. "Trust is a silly thing to believe in, Aaron."

You dial Derek's number, prompting him to come meet you quickly with the rest of the team. You spare him the details, unsure of even how you would explain it over the phone.

Soon enough, you hear the wailing of the police sirens come down the street as Prentiss and Derek run towards the three of you in confusion as their eyes glaze over the blonde figure.

"Vera?" Prentiss asks, unable to mask her surprise.

You nod apprehensively as Derek goes to handcuff her, bringing her to the back of a police car as you all join together in the middle of the sidewalk — tongue tied.

"Boy, were we wrong about the profile," Prentiss states, exasperated. Hotch doesn't answer, still in deep contemplation.

"At least we have her in custody now," Derek says as a sign of comfort, noticing how displaced you looked at the realization. "This mess is finally over."

The same woman you had dinner with at Rossi's was the same woman plotting your death?

You saw Vera staring out from the car window, deep in thought behind the tinted windows. "We don't have any evidence, remember? We need her to confess," you remind distastefully, a sour taste ruminating in your mouth.

"Bring her down to the Bureau. I'll handle interrogations. No one is to talk to her," Hotch demands with a characteristic flash of authority you hadn't seen all night.

At the BAU, the entire team gathered around the round table trying to come to terms with Vera sitting in the interrogation room.

"What's the plan?" Rossi asks. "We can't hold her for more than 72 hours without any evidence."

"It's interesting, actually," Reid begins, speaking with his hands. "Typically, a female serial killer this organized and methodical wouldn't work with a cunning narcissist like Foyet. There would be an inherent distrust for men, yet she claims she's his partner."