Author's Note: I've been trying to write this story for a long time. "Pleasure is My Business" is probably my single favourite episode of Criminal Minds, and I've always wanted to get into Hotch's head a little bit, to understand how he felt about the case. But this has been a really challenging story to write and I'm still not sure how I feel about it... Any feedback you have is always appreciated and remember - reviews make spring come quicker! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds and I don't have any money, so please don't sue me.
Heroes and Thieves
A moment, frozen in time. In the blink of an eye it's gone again, and tomorrow you will wonder – as you do from time to time – if it was really ever real. You feel changed, but the world around you doesn't. Sometimes you suspect you invent these memories, that they're really not all that real after all. But right now, in the moment, everything is unbelievably, painfully, undeniably real.
You will remember this case.
Not because of the level of violence you've witnessed here. Indeed, you've seen much worse before and you will again. Nor has this case forced you to peer into the face evil. You don't even identify with the victims, even though your divorce is weighing heavily on your mind and in them you see the worst possibility for your own future.
No, you'll remember this case because of her.
In the moment, velvety darkness surrounds you and you feel as if you and Megan are the only two people left in the world. There's a smell in the air that you'll never be able to articulate, though you'll smell it again and again from time to time and always be transported back here. It's the smell of moisture in the air – the mingling of what's left of the day's heat with tomorrow's dew. It's an almost tropical smell – you're reminded of California and Florida and it seems out of place here.
And there's a slight breeze. It lifts a few strands of her curls, carries with it the sound of approaching sirens and the scent of her perfume. It's light, floral – the perfume of a child, not a prostitute or a murderer.
Hold her hand in yours. She hasn't asked you to take it, yet you do, compelled, perhaps, but some innate human desire for comfort at the moment of death. She's small, delicate, fragile and you have a hard time reconciling your unsub with this woman. She doesn't look like a murderess. In fact, in her red sweater – too long, it's bunched up above her wrists – and behind her make-up, she looks like a scared little girl.
A scared little girl, who has discovered her father is not the hero she thought he would turn out to be.
Betrayed.
Have you betrayed Jack? Think of him now. In Virginia, Haley is probably tucking him into bed. He'll be begging for one more story, bartering good behaviour for a later bedtime. Is he asking about you? Wondering when Daddy will be home?
Perhaps not. Perhaps he doesn't even realize anything's changed. After all, he's been going to bed before Daddy gets home for his entire life. Maybe he sees you more of a disembodied voice on the other end of a telephone, not a real father.
How are you any different from Megan's father?
In the moment, the balcony affords a million-dollar view of Dallas. As you sit there, you find yourself hating this city and all it represents. The money, the excess, the political wheeling and dealing – all of it – has led to this moment. But you fear that in a few months – maybe a few weeks – no one will remember what has happened here.
As if she can read your mind, she speaks.
"Nothing'll change. They'll just go back to doing whatever they want and keep getting away with it."
Think about how soft her voice is, how sweet. This is not the voice of an unsub, not the voice of a killer. She's resigned but underneath that jaded façade is fear. You can hear it in her voice. Now that it's over, she can't quite believe what she's done.
Wonder what it would be like to be her father. Imagine the moment when he decided to abandon her, just as he abandoned her mother. Think about this moment long and hard: what does it take for a man to turn his back on his own child?
She doesn't know either. She doesn't understand this any better than you do. But she feels vindicated – she's finally done something bad enough to justify her father's actions.
Her next words cut into you so deeply, you feel your breath disappear.
"How could your wife have ever left someone like you? You're the first man I ever met who didn't let me down."
Hold her hand, watch her life slip away. The air, still moist, has gone cold and that million-dollar view has condensed into a distant pinprick.
In the moment it's just you and Megan – the father and the child.
"Will you stay with me?"
Promise her you will.
In the moment, the moment is gone.
The rest of the team is waiting for you downstairs. The decadence of the hotel disgusts you now more than it ever has before. The marble, the gilding, the rich wood paneling, all reminders of the kind of luxury that Andrew Kane chose over his daughter. You ignore the concerned looks on the faces turned to yours, ignore the uniformed police officers' pleas for a statement, ignore Ellen Daniels who is already in damage control mode. You just need to get outside.
It's warmer down here than it was on the suite balcony and suddenly your suit seems two sizes to small. You long to rip off your jacket, remove your tie and run. Away from this bombastic, superficial hotel, from Megan Kane's tragic life and death, from the battlefield you'll be returning to tonight. Instead you hover at the doorway. Beyond this marble portico, the press is gathering, eager to be the first to report the scoop.
Something ironic happens.
The EMTs wheel Megan's body out of the hotel at exactly the same moment that Andrew Kane is brought to one of the idling panda cars. He pauses, eyes fixed on the gurney.
"Is that…her?" he asks no one in particular.
One of the EMTs nods.
"My…" he begins, staring at the grey plastic body bag.
You will him to finish the sentence. Take ownership. Say it – my daughter.
"My God…what a mess," he mutters.
J.J. is the first to approach you.
"Sir," she says, ever respectful.
Hand her the SIM card. Press it into her hand; ensure that she does not lose it.
She looks up at you, confused. "Hotch…?"
"Work your magic," you whisper.
She knows, and she frowns, staring at the SIM card, a little metallic island in her palm. "You want me to leak the names?"
"I made a promise."
Feel what you never let yourself feel – pain, guilt, fear. And make one more promise – promise never to let Jack see you become an empty husk the way Megan watched her father.
Keep this one promise, because you won't always be able to keep the others.
Finis