#about to bail on the caps and go visit them tbh

[hugyourgoalies]

friends, jakub vrana and richard panik have both now scored today for the red wings

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter three

Hi hi hi! I wanted to go ahead and post this one because this is more of a filler for the case than anything. Not much Hotch x Reader interaction here (sorry!) because he’s busy being a little shit tbh

Chapter title is from the song “Fine Line” by Harry Styles!

Chapter warnings: talking to victims’ families, so suicide is mentioned a lot, Reader does mention having past suicidal thoughts of her own, talk of self-harm, mental health struggles, the works

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Three: Put a price on emotion, I’m looking for something to buy

Walking into the police station, you find Morgan and Prentiss are back from the crime scenes. You’re leaning more toward taking Morgan with you, but Prentiss might be the better idea.

“Here you go,” you hand the files off to Reid. “This has all of their academic history in there if you wanna have a look.”

“Thanks,” Reid replies, almost seeming excited as he opens the first one.

At least he’ll have the files memorized for all of you.

Hotch is looking at all of the photos JJ must’ve tacked up while you were on campus. You decide not to try talking to him anymore for the rest of the day. You’ve had enough of him, and clearly he’s had enough of you.

Turning, you go to find Morgan or Prentiss. Morgan is the first that you find getting coffee, so you slide in next to him, grabbing your own cup.

“Wanna go talk to some distraught families?”

“Ooh, I think I’m good,” Morgan chuckles. “Hotch isn’t going with you?”

“He bailed,” you murmur, stirring some creamer into your coffee. “He’s still in a mood.” You toss your stirrer in the trash, but apparently you do so a little too aggressively, because Morgan stops you.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, taking a long sip of your coffee. But Morgan is persistent and stares at you. “It’s nothing,” you repeat. No way in hell are you telling Morgan that Hotch was somewhat fine until the mention of and encounter with your ex-boyfriend. You don’t need anyone following that rabbit hole more than your brain already has.

Because there’s only one explanation, right? He must feel something for you, or he wouldn’t have been so jealous.

Or maybe you’re reading far too much into this. Damn Tracy for putting thoughts in your head.

“You think Emily will wanna go with me?”

Morgan backs off of the other subject for now and nods. “Probably.”

Emily says yes, so ten minutes later, you’re on the road to visit the victims’ families. And coincidentally enough, they all live around the corner from one another.

“How does it feel being home?” Emily asks.

“It doesn’t even feel like I’m home, if I’m honest,” you chuckle, tapping the steering wheel. You opted to drive this time since you’re used to these roads. You don’t need directions and you know the fastest routes, even if Hotch grumbled about it earlier.

“I understand,” Emily sighs, looking out the window. “It’s so pretty here. Growing up must’ve been nice.”

“It was the best,” you admit. “A lot of people don’t leave for that reason. It’s comfortable.”

“Why did you?”

“I knew I wanted to work for the FBI,” you shrug. Somehow it had always seemed as simple as that. “There’s obviously not an office anywhere near here, so I had to leave to find it.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty big goal.”

“It was. Still feels like a dream that I’m actually here.”

“I bet.”

The small talk comes to an end as you park on the street by the first house.

Kelly Chase. A normal girl with a normal life. Mom and dad, married for thirty years now. No siblings, which is different, but not unusual, because you’re also an only child. She graduated high school in the top five percent of the class.

You almost feel guilty for not knowing her -- or the other two. You barely remember graduation night. You went for your mom, and you remember feeling suffocated by your cap and gown.

“God, I hate doing this,” you whisper, mostly to yourself, but Emily nods in agreement.

“It never gets easier.”

“At least we aren’t breaking the news to them,” you say with a shrug. There is always a silver lining, no matter how small.

“Let’s hope they’re up for some questions,” Emily murmurs, reaching up to press the doorbell.

A dog barks inside, footsteps on hardwood, deadbolt sliding out of place, door knob unlocking. The front door slowly opens to reveal Kelly’s mother, Christine.

“Can I help you?”

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Y/N L/N--”

“I know who you are, dear,” Christine says firmly, startling you.

“Oh, um...well, this is Agent Prentiss, we’re with the FBI. We’re-- We’re looking into Kelly’s death.”

Realization washes over Christine’s face, like for a few moments she had forgotten, and you see the guilt that comes next. It’s typical with those that are grieving, especially parents grieving the loss of a child. Small moments of bliss come when the death is forgotten, when they slip and almost believe their daughter is upstairs in her room, reading, just like she always has been. Until a reminder comes.

“Of course,” Christine whispers, her eyes glassy. “Come in.”

She holds the door open, allowing you and Emily to step inside. You wait in the hall as Christine closes the door. The distraught mother gestures to the living room silently, afraid that if she opens her mouth too soon, she’ll lose her senses.

Tentatively, you take a seat on the couch, Emily taking the spot next to you. Christine paces for a moment before sitting in the rocking chair by the window.

“You think my baby girl was murdered,” Christine says quietly, beginning to rock. She keeps her eyes focused on the garden outside. “I think so too.”

You share a look with Emily, nodding for her to ask. “Ma’am, why do you think that? Did anyone dislike Kelly? Maybe an ex boyfriend or even ex best friend?”

Christine shakes her head. “Everyone loved Kelly. Everyone.”

“Then why do you think she was murdered?”

“It’s the other two girls. They died the same way.”

“Did Kelly have any mental health issues? Did she see a therapist?” It’s a bit of a taboo subject here and you know it. There’s a reason when you went to therapy after your dad left that you referred to it strictly as “the doctor.” You wouldn’t be surprised to find out everyone in town thought you had a chronic illness of some kind. Because they’d believe cancer before they believe depression. It’s what happens in a small town.

Christine shakes her head again. “She would’ve talked to me.”

“Ma’am, I know it’s hard,” Emily pauses. “But if she was struggling, it’s possible she might have kept it from you. It’s a common thing for kids to do, especially in families like this.”

Christine’s head snaps over, eyes narrowed. “Families like this? Are you saying our family life got my daughter killed?”

“Not at all,” Emily begins, but you motion for her to stop.

“Christine…” You breathe. “Do you remember when my dad left?”

She nods slowly. “Everyone remembers. We all felt so bad for you and your momma.”

“Well, I went to therapy,” you admit, seeing Christine almost visibly grimace. Bingo. “And it really helped me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I had a big stressor. A reason everyone knew because they saw and heard when my dad left. But if Kelly was struggling and there was no reason she could grab onto -- no family member dying, no divorce -- then she might’ve kept her struggles to herself. She might’ve believed she had no reason to be feeling the way she was--”

“Are you implying that my daughter killed herself?”

“We don’t know,” you admit, which is the complete truth.

“Then what are you even doing here? The FBI doesn’t get involved in no suicides.”

“No, we don’t,” you say. “But we’re operating on the chance that these were murders. And if there’s anyone that comes to mind -- anyone at all -- that made Kelly uncomfortable, seemed to dislike her for no reason, or anything, please call.”

You place a card down on the coffee table. Christine doesn’t look up from her hands.

“We’ll show ourselves out. Thank you for your time,” you murmur, motioning for Emily to follow.

You place your forehead down on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. Emily’s hand rubs circles on your back.

“One down,” she whispers. “Two to go.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, shaking your head, a nagging thought refusing to leave your mind. “Uh, can you call Hotch?” You would call him, but you’re about to drive, and something tells you if he saw your name come up, he might not answer right now.

Starting the engine, Emily dials Hotch. He answers before you even put the car in drive.

“What have you got?”

“Hey Hotch,” you say, turning the steering wheel. You decide to just get right to the point. “Are we absolutely certain this isn’t a suicide pact?”

Emily looks over at you with wide eyes, pieces falling into place. She hadn’t even thought of it, but it might be true. It’s a possible theory.

Hotch is silent for a moment. “Why?”

His silence only causes you to doubt yourself. “Forget it. Never mind.”

“No, explain, please,” he says, almost desperate. “What are you thinking?”

“Okay, listen,” you pause. “When my dad left and I went to therapy, it was...unheard of around here. Mental health is just… They think it’s ridiculous. That there’s no reason to be depressed or anxious or fucked up in general because you’re in this amazing town.”

Choosing to ignore your f-bomb, Hotch says, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” you pause again, gathering yourself. “When I would think about killing myself, I knew what it would do to the town. That was one of the reasons I didn’t. My mom was going through enough scrutiny with my dad leaving. These girls could’ve had the same thoughts, but as we know, suicide pacts...make it easier. They know they aren’t going down alone. And it makes sense for this town to want to believe they were murdered rather than killed by their own hand.”

Hotch is still quiet, but you hear him sigh. You can’t see it, but he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew your dad left when you were young because you’re open about relating to those with deadbeat dads. But you thinking about killing yourself? The thought makes him sick.

“None of them left notes, that we know of,” you say again, mostly to bring yourself out of the hole you just dug. “But the way their wrists were slit, the toxicology, I mean they could’ve gotten antifreeze from the garage. If they were best friends, it’s…”

“It’s possible,” he agrees. “Have you spoken to all of the families?”

“Not yet, just Kelly’s mom. We’re heading to Jennifer’s parent’s home now.”

“Good. Finish talking to the families, and then we’ll reconvene here. We’ll talk more once you get back.”

“Okay.”

Hotch knows he’s on speaker, but he’ll kick himself if he doesn’t ask. “Are you okay?”

Emily’s eyes flick to the phone and then to you. It’s not unusual for Hotch to check up on his team members, but the softness that coats his words now? That’s unusual.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you when we get back.”

Emily ends the call and stays silent. You’re grateful in that moment for her silence. It’s going to take all of your energy to talk to these next two families.

+++

Jennifer Richardson’s parents said about the same as Kelly’s mom. Someone murdered their daughter. They didn’t appreciate the speculation that their Jennifer could’ve done something like this to herself. And they were glad to see you, though they wanted you to get the FBI to “do their job.”

You didn’t bother informing them that you and the rest of your team are already doing your job.

The visit with the Richardsons was about as short as it was with Kelly’s mother. Next stop: Natalie Manners’ residence.

“Last one,” Emily says, almost sounding relieved. She reaches for the doorbell, but doesn’t find one, so she knocks.

A few seconds later, the front door is opening, revealing Eric, Natalie’s dad -- well, technically her step-dad because her biological father is the one she despises, but obviously she didn’t call him “dad.”

“Can I help you?” Eric asks, then, almost in the same breath, says, “Y/N L/N? Is that you?”

“It is, sir,” you offer a smile, even though you genuinely don’t remember him. “I’m officially Agent L/N, though, and this is Agent Prentiss.” You both show your badges as usual, though you’re positive every family would’ve probably let you inside to talk without seeing them.

“Come on in,” Eric steps back, holding the door for you two. “My wife is in the bedroom right now. She’s still…”

You nod in understanding. Behind you, Emily says, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Eric whispers, but quickly moves forward. “Um, I’m assuming you’re here to ask some questions about Natalie. You think it was murder, don’t you?”

“We don’t know yet, sir,” Emily replies slowly, testing the waters.

“Do you think your wife would want to join us?” You ask, not wanting to step on any toes by accidentally excluding her.

“I...I can ask.”

Eric disappears down the hall. You hear a bedroom door opening, a few words, and then the door closes again. The same thing happens, but the voice is different, and you realize it’s Natalie’s little sister, Belle.

Eric returns and shakes his head. “My wife says she has a headache and Belle is… She’s hurting the most, I think.”

“It’s not a competition,” you say gently. “This is a difficult time. I can’t imagine what you’re all going through.”

“Yes,” Eric wipes under his eyes and takes another deep, shaking breath. “What can I help you with?”

You nod to Emily to start. “Did Natalie have any mental health issues that you know of?”

Eric shakes his head, like all the other parents. But given the situation with Natalie’s biological father, you think it improbable that she didn’t, at some point, run into some depression, anxiety, or even something as small as anger management or abandonment issues.

But Eric swears she was fine. “She was… She’d light up a room, you know? She had such a bright future ahead of her, she--” He stops himself, clearing his throat. “I don’t think she would’ve killed herself. She didn’t leave a note.”

“Sometimes they don’t,” you shrug. “We’re investigating now on the assumption that they were murders, but we have to exhaust every option. Um, did Natalie -- besides her biological father -- have any issues with anyone? An ex boyfriend, ex best friend?”

“I don’t think Frank had anything to do with this,” Eric shakes his head, visibly upset at the mention of Natalie’s biological father. “The bastard fucked off to some country in Europe four years ago and hasn’t reached out since. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

You nod, making a silent note to get Garcia to confirm that. “Anyone else? Ex boyfriend?”

“She was dating some fella, James Moore, but he studied abroad in England one semester and...that was it. He packed up and went to England for grad school and I think...he’s a British citizen now.”

Another thing for Garcia to confirm, just to be sure. “Okay. Is there anyone at all that comes to mind? Even a family member? I know it’s hard to think about.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Eric sighs. “I wish I could help more.”

“It’s alright,” Emily says, reassuring.

From the corner of your eye, you see movement in the hallway. You quickly glance over, finding Natalie’s younger sister poking her head out of her door. Belle can’t be older than fourteen, and she ducks back into her room after making eye contact.

You turn back to Natalie’s father. “Would you mind if I tried to speak to her sister?”

He shrugs. “You can try. She told me she was watching a movie, which is code for ‘go away.’”

You chuckle. “I understand. I won’t bother her if she doesn’t want to talk.”

Emily asks some more questions while you venture down the hall. Surprisingly, the door to Natalie’s room is open wide. It’s clear the bed has been made, probably something her mother did, which is common. Making the bed, vacuuming the floor, getting it ready for when her daughter will return. Even though she never will.

Natalie’s room is incredibly average. Minimalistic, as well. Textbooks take up two of the five shelves on her bookshelf. Her desk is somewhat neat, a notebook left open, highlighters and pens scattered. Nothing about her room suggests that she would be suicidal, but then again, sometimes nothing does.

You turn and find Belle has closed her door after you spotted her. Gently, you knock on the door. If she doesn’t answer, you’ll slide your card under her door and walk away. But you hope she’ll open up.

A few seconds pass, and your hope dies. Sighing, you bend down to slide your card under door, only to gasp quietly when she takes it from you. So she’s there, at least.

“Belle,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling. But we-- I want to put your sister’s soul at rest. So if you know anything that might help us do that, or...even if you need someone to talk to. Call me, okay?”

It’s faint, but you hear her reply. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you smile softly, glad she at least got your message. “Take care of yourself.”

You walk back to the living room, greeting Emily and Eric with a small smile. “I gave her my number,” you tell him. “Just in case she thinks of anything or if she wants to talk. I hope that’s okay.”

He nods, almost seeming grateful. “Thank you.”

“I think that’s all the questions we have,” Emily says, wrapping things up. “If you think of anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. Anything helps, no matter how small.”

Eric nods, then stops, and nearly pales. “There is one thing.”

“What is it?”

“A few months ago, probably early March, she… I don’t know. Something happened, but she… She wouldn’t talk about it. She swore she was alright, and she looked like she was, I mean, we went on our family vacation and she wasn’t pulling away. I could just tell she was different. You know your daughter, you know? Something had happened, but I wasn’t gonna pry.”

“Okay. Early March,” you share a look with Emily. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, recovering slightly. “I’ll show you guys out.”

The first thing Emily does when the two of you get back in the car is dial Hotch.

You don’t bother with greetings when the line connects. “Natalie’s dad said sometime around early March he noticed she seemed off. She never pulled away or showed any signs of suicide, but he said he knew something had happened.”

“Early March,” Hotch repeats. “Anything else?”

“I think Natalie’s younger sister, Belle, might know something. She’s only fourteen, though, so I don’t know if she’ll talk to us. I gave her my number just in case.”

“Good. See you when you get back.” He ends the call.

You pull out onto the road, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “She’s a college student,” you start rambling aloud.

Emily finishes your thought. “What happens in early March in college? Any big tests or projects or…?”

Then, like a tidal wave, it smacks you. “Midterms.” You pause, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on the road. “But if it was just a bad grade on a midterm, then...I can see why he’d think something was off, but she’d swear she was fine. She probably got her grade up, but it just worried her at first.”

“Maybe it was a class she needed to graduate? A final requirement?”

“Maybe…” You nod slowly. “I remember being stressed about stuff like that, too. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with her death.”

“We can’t rule anything out,” Emily reminds you.

“I know, I just…” You pause. “I feel so guilty. These girls are my age, I mean, we went to the same high school. I was just so...ready to get into college classes. I never knew them.”

“The parents knew you.”

“The parents around here talk all the time. Grocery stores, doctors offices. Hell, even at traffic lights. A lot of them knew each other when they were growing up.”

“This really is a small town,” Emily laughs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “It suffocates you sometimes.”

You just wonder if it suffocated Kelly, Jennifer, and Natalie, too. 

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