Chapter Text
In the BAU roundtable room, the team sat around looking at photos of the latest spree of killings in Boston.
“Do you think it’s The Reaper?” Garcia asked Derek.
“Sure looks like it,” Rossi said. “I had already left but that was Aaron’s first case as lead profiler. He didn’t get it solved, but it kept eating at him.”
“Aaron Hotchner? The congressman?” Reid asked.
“Of course kid,” Derek answered. “Who else would be be talking about?”
“I just thought...I mean I know he is a legend, up there with Gideon,” Reid stammered.
“Which is well earned, believe me,” Rossi added.
Prentiss frowned. Hotch was a politician, and Emily hated politicians. Why the hell would someone leave this job to run for congress? Not to mention the fact that her mother couldn’t stand him.
“Why did he leave?” Reid asked. He didn’t miss the look that passed between Rossi and Morgan. “What?”
“He didn’t really give one,” Morgan answered. “But that’s not the point. He said he could help us. Someone needs to go interview him while we head to Boston,” Derek announced looking around the room.
“Don’t look at me,” Emily protested.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. And I need Rossi’s experience and JJ to deal with the press. So that leaves you Reid.”
“What? Me?” Reid squeaked.
“Yep. He’s agreed to meet with you at one today. Everyone else, wheels up in thirty.”/p>
Spencer sat on the couch outside of Hotchner’s office, bouncing his knee up and down, which he did when he was nervous. After passing three searches and having his gun secured, he was finally ushered to the congressman’s sitting room.
Aaron sighed deeply and massaged his temples. It was at times like this when he missed profiling the most. Chasing down the killer in a standoff, gun drawn, eyes focused on the target. Delivering the profile to the LEO’s. Interrogating an UnSub, reuniting families, bringing them peace of mind. But he had given all of it up. After Haley had Jack, she had put increasing pressure on him to leave the BAU and return to law, eventually running for public office. It was supposed to save their marriage.
It hadn’t. After two years of pretending, they finally split up; six months after he was elected to office by a landslide, beating out his republican counterpart by obtaining 71% of the vote. Turns out, she had been fucking his campaign manager for almost a year.
Whatever. He’d been seeing Beth Clemmons for the past six months, but he’d ended that too; citing the pressures of the job not allowing him any time for a relationship. Truth was, he just wasn’t interested.
Now he was the Honorable Aaron Hotchner, representative of Virginia’s eighth district, no party affiliation. When you took a side, you were almost bound to their rules. He had his own beliefs. Like the Democrats, he didn’t believe it was the government’s place to dictate who could marry whom, and supported women’s rights to choose and not be labeled a ‘slut’ because they wanted contraception. Even though he didn’t trust women. He wasn’t a misogynist, but after Haley burned him for the last time and thinking back on his relationship with his mother and his boss, teachers, and colleagues, he was weary of them.
But many of his other views were conservative; earning him the famous ‘swing vote’ title. He was also a member of the Homeland Security Committee. But deep down, he was always a profiler. So when he got a call from the Detective Tom Shaunessy with a deathbed confession he had an intense feeling of dread. Now as he waited for Morgan’s ‘youngest and smartest’ agent to interview him he wondered how much he should reveal. He pulled the file from his secret locked drawer. He had continued to work on the profile after Shaunessy had sent them home.
Knock Knock. “Sir? Dr. Reid from the FBI is here to see you.”
Here goes.
Aaron didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t who walked through the door.
A tall young man, almost as tall as him. Lanky, with brown hair that brushed his cheeks and curled at the end. Converses with mismatched socks. Hipster dress. Eyes the color of honey. But what most stood out were his lips. Pink, supple, and totally kissable.
“Sir, I’m Doctor Spencer Reid from the BAU. Morgan said you might have something for us?”
Voice a soft alto. Thin, smooth, enticing.
He stood. “Of course. Do come in.” As they shook hands, Spencer’s breath hitched.
Spencer was frozen in place. He’d seen pictures of Aaron Hotchner, but it was nothing like meeting him face to face Tall. Dark. Eyes the color of rich dark chocolate, or maybe black coffee. Lines etched on his face not by age, but experience. Then he spoke. His deep, smooth, rich voice turned Spencer into putty.
“So you’re the agent Jason touted so much about.”
“I...I guess.”
“According to him, you’re a certified genius.”
“...” Spencer was at a loss for words.
“I believe I had been gone a mere six weeks before you graduated and entered the BAU. I would have been your boss,” Aaron observed.
“I suppose so, sir.”
“Please,” Aaron waved his hand. “Call me Hotch.”
“I thought-”
“That I don’t allow people to call me that? Normally I don’t. Only a select few from the BAU.” Aaron smiled, revealing his dimples. Spencer’s mouth went dry.
“But where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, or tea?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
Aaron walked over to his personal coffeemaker. He measured out three tablespoons of coffee from a decanter and loaded up the filter. He then opened a cabinet and retrieved two navy blue mugs with ‘Aaron Hotchner for Congress’ with gold lettering.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Uh, cream and sugar sir...Hotch.”
Aaron poured them two mugs. Spencer took an appreciative sniff.
“Is this-”
“Hacienda La Esmeralda. Yes, it is. My favorite, I usually don’t share, Dr. Reid.” Reid knew why. This coffee cost more than a hundred dollars per pound.
Aaron watched him closely as he heaped sugar and cream into the mug.
“I see you like a little coffee with your sugar?”
Reid blushed. “Something like that. Morgan teases me about it.”
“I see. Now about the Boston Reaper. What do you know?” Aaron asked, switching from light and almost flirtations to serious in the blink of an eye.
“Nothing really,” Spencer admitted.
“Well let’s start with victimology,” Hotch pulled a file from his desk.
“You have a profile?” Spencer asked.
Aaron nodded. “Unofficially. After Shaunessy sent us home I kept at it. I just couldn’t figure out why this serial killer would stop killing and virtually disappear off the map.”
“He could have been arrested on an unrelated crime…”
“Logic would dictate that that could be the answer. I had been leaning in that direction until last week when Tom Shaunessy called me from his deathbed and told me the truth.”
“What did he say?” Spencer asked.
“He told me the real reason that the Boston Reaper stopped killing.”
Spencer seemed taken aback. “What do you mean?”
Aaron opened the file and pulled out a newspaper. Highlighted was an ad on the classified section “If you stop hunting me I’ll stop hunting them. To death do us part. As long as we both shall live."
“What is this?” Spencer whispered.
“Exactly what you think it is. Shaunessy made a deal with the devil.”
“So he…” Spencer found he couldn't continue.
“The Reaper promised to stop killing if Shaunessy left him alone.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The same thing I asked him. He said that we were nowhere close to catching him and he was under pressure from the city to find him. He figured he had nothing to lose by making the deal.”
“How many victims had he claimed?” Spencer asked.
“Twenty- one," Aaron answered. “Twenty two if you include Shaunessy.”
“The Reaper manipulated Shaunessy. He called all the shots and waited, biding his time." Spencer concluded. "What’s he been doing all this time?”
“Planning likely,” Aaron answered. “This killer is the most dangerous kind, an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, he has no preference, at least from what I could gather. This means that no one is safe. He feeds off the fear and panic he creates. His goal is to become infamous, like BTK or Zodiac. He’s patient, methodical, and highly organized.”
“Were there any survivors?” Spencer asked. Aaron nodded.
“One. George Foyet. He was stabbed and left to bleed out and watch as the killer stabbed his fiancee sixty seven times.”
“How did he manage to survive?” Spencer asked.
“The Reaper assumed he was dead and called 911 to report the murders.”
“Where is Foyet now?”
“Probably in hiding.”
Spencer looked at his watch. They had been talking for over two hours. Where had the time gone?
“Morgan said he would call at four,” Spencer announced. Security had also confiscated his cell phone.
Aaron handed him the file. “You are welcome to study the file until then. But I cannot allow you to take it.”
“I understand.” Aaron watch in amazement as Spencer ran his long elegant fingers along the pages, almost as if he were reading braille. Four minutes later, Spencer closed the file.
“You read it that fast?” Aaron asked, surprised.
Spencer nodded. “I have an eidetic memory and read 20,000 words per minute.”
“Very impressive. I see why Gideon was anxious to get you in the BAU.”
They spent the next half hour talking about many topics, all profiling related. Spencer was surprised by Aaron’s knowledge and passion for the science. He wished he could have worked with the Unit Chief.
Just as Spencer was about to say he had to leave, Aaron’s phone buzzed.
“Yes?...I’m on my way now. Have Gerald bring the car around.” He hung up the phone. “Well Spencer it was truly a pleasure meeting you.”
“Me too sir...Hotch.”
Aaron took out a pen and wrote a number on a blank card. “This is my personal line. If you have any other questions, call me. But don’t give this number to anyone else, not even Morgan.”
“Yes sir.”
“Spencer?”
“Yes?”
“I have a request.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not in the Bureau anymore and don’t have the right to this, but I would like you to keep me posted on this case. I really wanted to see justice for the victims and peace of mind to the victims and their families.”
Spencer thought on this. It was a breach of protocol. Morgan would go ballistic. But what harm could it do if he didn’t know? “Sure.”
“Thank you. Remember what I said, whether it’s advice on this case or any other. Call or text me.”
“I will. Thanks for the coffee. May I keep the mug?”
“Of course.”