With A Whimper
Disclaimer: I only own the idea. No touchy!
A/N: Prologue here. I will post spoiler warnings as needed, but right now there will definitely be major spoilers for Season Two's Aftermath. I know most of you have seen that though.
Morgan clenched his fist in anger as he took in the sight before him. Hotch's back was to the two-way mirror, allowing the observation room full view of the brunette woman in her early forties sitting opposite him. The years had not been kind to her: her previously luscious dark curls now hung in stringy, grey-flecked imitations of what they used to be, and her face bore considerably more wrinkles than for an ordinary forty year old woman. But Derek Morgan felt no sympathy for her. She had killed twenty four people, injured another seven, and left one young man in a critical condition before they were finally able to identify and apprehend her. Her spree had lasted two whole years; mostly because she had very cleverly committed the crimes across state lines, leaving no forensic trace of her whereabouts. The only reason they had managed to catch her was because she had grown sloppy, hunting closer to home and killing those closer to her.
Morgan was wrenched from his thoughts at the sound of the door opening. Hotch looked defeated – it didn't take a profiler to spot it. Morgan could understand. Hotch had been there at the woman's first killing. He wasn't there while the act was committed, but he had been with her afterwards, and he had known what she had done. He had let her go, because he had no evidence. It was clear he was wondering what would have happened if he had only tried harder, if he had only pushed what he knew. He would have saved twenty four lives, possibly twenty five, if the man in the hospital didn't make it.
"I think I'm going to give Rossi a try," Hotch said quietly, for once not meeting Morgan's gaze. The younger man had never seen his boss so defeated. "She knows the system… knows how to keep her mouth shut, especially around me. Rossi might have a better chance… I'll send him in with Prentiss later."
"C'mon, Hotch," Morgan pleaded. "She'll open up to me. You know she will. She always did. You've got to let me in there!"
"No," Hotch said in a quiet but firm voice.
Morgan let out a brief huff of air, placing his hands on the table in front of the mirror. The woman was just sitting there, sitting as though she hadn't a care in the world. Morgan hated that.
"Why does it matter?" Hotch asked suddenly, and Morgan looked back up at him. "Why is it more important to you that you nail her to the wall for all she's done than it is for you to be there for Reid?" Morgan looked down again, and Hotch sighed. "Forget her," he continued. "There's no way she's getting away with what she's done; the evidence is overwhelming. Forget her and forget what she used to be; we've managed that all these years so far. Just go to the hospital; I'll join you once Rossi gets here."
Morgan nodded, still staring at his hands on the table. How did they not see this coming? Now Reid was stuck in a critical condition in the hospital and that woman… that devil who caused it was just sitting in there without a care in the world. Well… she did care. She cared that her victim pool was about to dry up.
With no warning, Morgan pushed himself off the table and walked purposefully out of the room. Hotch watched him go before turning back to the woman behind the glass, sitting patiently at the table. "God, Elle," Hotch murmured, "how the hell did you come to this?"
A/N: Any interest? All comments are deeply appreciated.