AN: So I've been working on this little thing here for months now and i'm finally getting around to uploading it because I might as well, right? So anyway, we'll see just how well this goes.
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own these characters.
She gets the call at four am and stifles a groan into her pillow. She blindly reaches her arm out to the bedside table feeling for her phone. She slides her thumb across the screen, answering the call and brings the device to her ear.
"Blake," she says, groggily – her voice still thick with sleep. She rubs her eyes with her other hand as she listens to the voice on the other end. "Yeah….just text me the address and I'll be right there."
"Whatisit?" she hears her boyfriend mumble from beside her as she hangs up her phone.
"Just a body drop," she says, reaching over and kissing his cheek. "Go back to sleep."
Lincoln mumbles something else before rolling over and she smiles before rolling her eyes. She yawns and stretches her arms – her fingertips brushing against the headboard.
She pulls herself out of bed and forces herself to walk towards the adjoining bathroom, opting for a quick shower to get her blood flowing and to wake her up.
Once dried, she brushes her hair back into a ponytail, decides on some slacks and a sweater and shoves her feet in her nicer boots. She stops at the coat closet by the door to grab her badge and holstered gun and clips them to her belt and grabs her jacket before stepping out into the hallway.
"Here you go."
She smiles at her partner as she takes the to-go coffee cup from his outstretched hand. "You are my life savior, Miller."
"Don't need you biting my head off because you haven't had your caffeine fix yet," he retorts, playfully.
Octavia slaps his arm with her free hand before taking a sip of the warm liquid, savoring the taste as it slides down her throat. "Just lead the way to the body."
"It's in the alley," Miller begins as he turns and heads in that direction. "But according to Monroe – it's brutal."
"I'm sure it's not the worse I've—"Octavia starts but stops short when the victim comes into her vision.
She swallows thickly against the bile rising in her throat. The corpses' hands are bound and her legs were bent at odd angles, she was beaten and bruised with the initials MM carved into her cheek – the signature left on every victim.
"Jenna Lancaster," she hears Detective Miller say as he comes to a stop besides her.
She nods but silently curses herself. She thought that this time would be different – that they would find the girl before it was too late. She made a promise to a crying mother and a distraught father that she would do everything in her power to find their daughter.
But she was too late.
Two days ago, they got a call about a teenage disappearance. The police couldn't explain why or how the girl had disappeared. It was almost as if she'd just vanished into thin air. Much like a string of disappearances and murders from years ago.
Though she was just a rookie back then, she could still remember the cases; the disappearances, the disembodied bodies, the sickening feeling in the pit of the stomach when she and her old beat partner found the first body – she could still remember puking, let's just say she'll never live that down - and the solemn mood that washed over D.C.
"Detectives you might want to see this," Jackson, their medical examiner says pulling the young detective from her thoughts.
She forces herself back into the present and follows her partner's gaze. She stops in her tracks when her eyes fall on the message written in blood on the alley wall.
You'll never catch me
It's sinister and haunting and something she never thought she'd see again.
"He's back," she finds herself saying.
She's walking past her desk, holding a back full of old case files and sits it on the table they've moved to the middle of the squad room with a small thud. The table is filled with envelopes of old cases and the murder board standing a few feet away is already filled with the evidence of their newly found crime scene.
"Well this is everything we have on the mountain man," Octavia says with a sigh.
"And we're positive it's him? And not a copycat?" Monroe questions.
"All the evidence fits," Miller states. "The unexplainable disappearance, the ally body dump, the messages, the markings on the body – it's his M.O. We never released any of the finer details to the press."
"Just when I thought we'd seen the last of him," Monroe mutters.
The sound of footsteps causes the three detectives to move their attention to their captain coming towards them. His face is unreadable and Octavia isn't sure what to expect when he opens his mouth but whatever it is, it can't be good.
"Well it looks like the FBI has gotten wind of this," Captain Kane tells the three of them. "They've already sent agents over to consult with on this case."
"But," Miller starts but Kane raises his hand.
"I don't like this anymore than you," he responds. "But my hands and Chief Jaha's hands are tied. There's nothing I can do. We're just going to have to deal with whatever agents they send."
Octavia sighs. If there's one thing she hates more than anything it's working with the FBI on her cases. Every agent they've ever sent over has been nothing but full of shit and cocky as hell and she can't stand them. But of course she has no choice but to put up with them.
"When are they getting here?" Monroe asks the question they all want to know the answer to. So they'll know how much breathing room they'll have before they're bombarded with arrogance.
Octavia's head snaps up as the ding of the elevator fills the squad room and her gaze falls on the director of the FBI. Her breath hitches in her throat when she sees one of the two FBI agents who flank him on either side.
She stifles a groan.
Why, of all the agents the FBI have to have at their disposal – did he have to be one of the two that they send over?
She sighs – already knowing that this is going to be a long case. That solving this case is going to be that much more difficult and he's going to try to tell her want she can and can't do.