Author's notes:
- The Golden Rule, although it has many variations, essentially states: "treat others the way you want to be treated."
- Riker's Island is New York City's main jail complex.
- Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!
Scott felt like shit.
There was no other way to describe it. He felt like shit; a big steaming pile of dog shit.
Actually that was inaccurate. People actually cared about dog shit, at least enough to scrape it off the bottom of their shoe.
He had never actually thought about it before, but now he realized that there was something people considered even worse, something no one would touch even with a ten-foot pole – a suspected sexual predator.
That was the key: 'suspected'. Not proven, not convicted, but 'suspected.' That constant question of 'did he or didn't he.' He says he didn't do these things…they couldn't prove he did, but supposing he did…
Scott understood, for the first time, how innocent people were compelled to confess to crimes they didn't commit. Panic, fear from threats of harsh punishment if they didn't cooperate, being thrown in a cage like an animal; all things that could break a person's will to resist. Much like torture, they'd be willing to say anything to get it to stop. Guilt had nothing to do with it.
The tiny cell he'd been placed in was part of a large brightly-lit room that housed about a dozen identical cells. Long florescent lights lined the ceiling. There was barely enough room for him to walk two strides either way. The only things in the cell were a metal cot that was harder than the floor and a steel toilet and sink combination. He'd have expected, this being New York, for there to be other occupants in the cells, but he was completely alone in the room.
He was grateful for the solitude; being watched on video camera while he relieved his bladder for the first time in over half a day was humiliating enough. He didn't need a live audience.
Sitting on the bed, grimacing every time he shifted, his mind was a whirlwind as he tried to figure out something that could get him out of this situation. Now that he could think without that detective and the FBI agents telling him what a sick monster he was, he hoped he might be able to come up with something solid.
What could he do now? Fabricate another story? That hadn't gone over so well the last time; they already knew he was lying and would likely use that as further evidence against him. Remain silent and refuse to answer any more questions? Agent Jareau had said that they could detain him as long as they wanted without charging him or allowing him access to a lawyer. He didn't know whether or not that was true, but then again what good was it to refuse to answer questions if they could hold him indefinitely?
So what did that leave? Telling the truth? Scott shifted uncomfortably on his bed. That option seemed to be the least desirable of all. Not only would he likely not be believed, but he'd be putting someone else in a very awkward spot – someone who never asked to be put in it.
Agent Prentiss knew he was innocent. She could prove it. Yet when he saw her briefly before being taken away, she'd said nothing. Her face was as blank as when he'd first met her. Could he really blame her though, considering what would likely happen as a result? There would likely be consequences for her should she come forward. There was nothing to stop him from talking - trying to clear his name - and yet here he was, keeping the secret of a woman who'd once called him an asshole and threatened to break his arm this morning.
I'm so screwed.
As Scott hung his head – it felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds - he was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice right in front of him. "We need to talk."
Looking up, he was startled to see the woman in question standing on the other side of his cell in the hallway. Her body was positioned sideways, away from the door, and she leaned with one hand on the bars. Her dark hair was rumpled, as though she'd just walked for miles right into the wind. Her eyes were serious, and even if they didn't contain the harshness and accusation that his accusers had, there was no doubt she hadn't come to exchange niceties with him.
Emily took in the sight before her. Even thought it had only been an hour since she'd last seen him, she was shocked at the change in Scott's appearance. The energetic young man full of life she had known previously was now pale and downtrodden; his shoulders sagging, his arms hanging loosely down between his legs, his face ragged and unshaven, giving him an unkempt look. He had the air of someone who'd had his whole world yanked out from under him and then placed on top of his shoulders. She remembered the devastation in his face as Brighton and JJ hammered him mercilessly, accusing him of being a serial killer, rapist and kidnapper. Anyone who was more suggestible and less hard-headed might have already cracked. Another session like that while he was in this state, she thought, might very well cause him to break down and confess.
His face barely changed when he saw her. "Great, where do you wanna start? Weather? Sports scores? How important the Golden Rule is?"
"I'm trying to help you. The least you could do is pretend that you care about your life enough to make it easier to do that."
"Right, because suddenly you're concerned about my well-being." He made a move to walk towards her. "After you almost bent my arm like a pretz-"
"Don't move."
He froze in the middle of getting up. "Why?"
"The cameras in here record video but not audio," she said. "As long as we stay in these positions, they can't see our mouths moving."
It seemed remarkable and amazing to Scott that she would know something like that. Then again, she was a profiler, trained to spot small details most people would miss. No wonder he'd followed her last night, he thought; a woman like that didn't come along very often.
"So if you let something slip that you don't want overheard, they can't find someone to lip-read the tape back," he guessed, sitting back down.
It was true enough, she thought; the last thing she wanted to do was leave a bigger trace of what happened here than she wanted to. She figured she'd already risked enough by bluffing her way past the officers guarding the entrance to the holding cells. No need to call more attention to herself.
"You know, I really wish I had your poker face," he was saying. "I guess you have to perfect it because showing any kind of emotion is considered a weakness in your job. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were laughing your head off behind that mask."
And again Emily's temper rose. Who the hell did he think he was - 'if I didn't know you better?' One night and already he thought he knew her? Arrogant bastard. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" she demanded.
"Let me guess: enough that you actually decided to talk to me?" His tone grated further on her nerves. "Cause that's, like, totally the most serious thing that could happen!"
"Let me spell it out for you so you'll understand." She leaned forward. "You. Are. In. DEEP. SHIT."
Scott snorted. "Really? That's what you came to tell me? Hold the presses, she's told me something I didn't know! For the record, I think I'm way beyond deep shit at this point."
"Wow, that's the smartest thing you've said all day!" she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I know. Genius, isn't it?"
"Well, since you're so smart, you'll understand the nature of the charges you're facing." She started counting them off on her fingers. "Murder, multiple counts, first-degree; acts of terrorism resulting in the deaths of U.S. nationals, multiple counts; rape; torture; kidnapping; obstruction of justice… Do you know what that means, Mr. Jackson?"
"You forgot 'interfering with a federal investigation.'" He replied blithely. "That one's gotta rank right at the top."
"It means – to put it in a way even you will understand – you're screwed."
"And by recounting all that, you're trying to 'help' me. Remind me never to give you a reason to hinder me." He gave a mock shudder.
"Will you stop being such a goddamn smartass?!" Emily whispered as furiously as she could. She gripped the bars to the cell tightly. "Do you know legally, you could be declared a 'non-person' that could be sent anywhere in the world with no legal protections? And that's for terrorism. If they decide to go through with the other charges, you won't stay here; you'll go to Riker's. How long do you think you'll last in there?"
"Gee, your confidence in me is overwhelming," he said sarcastically.
Emily felt like banging her head against the bars. Remind me again why I'm trying to help him? Oh yeah; because if I don't, his nosy neighbour will scream from the top of the Empire State Building that he and I screwed like rabbits last night.
"This isn't about confidence. This is about you in jail for crimes you didn't commit."
"Not according to the official FBI point of view, it isn't. According to them, I'm a terrorist, a serial killer and a sexual predator. So you're not telling me anything I haven't already heard. Unless, of course, do you know something they don't."
"Why did you say you got on a bus last night? Did you really think they weren't going to call you out on it?"
Scott looked at her like she was stupid. "Well, it's kinda hard to think on the spur of the moment when you have three cops who look like they all have poles shoved up their asses hounding you."
"So first you tell a blatant lie and then you make up the weakest, most unverifiable alibi possible?"
"Would you have preferred that I tell them the truth?"
Emily was silent. Was that really what she wanted? In essence, yes – she wanted the best result of him telling the truth to happen – but she couldn't pick and choose what the outcome would actually be. It was only thinking about this that alerted her to something else – the description of the woman he said he was with last night was the exact opposite of her.
"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" she asked.
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I'm not the one in jail!" she snapped. Taking a deep breath, she went on. "You could have told them where you really were and it could have been corroborated. But you didn't. Why not?"
Scott stared at her for a moment. "Maybe if it was just my life on the line, I would've. But as it so happens, there was someone else involved – someone who never asked to be put in this position. I don't like being accused of being a murderer, but I also don't believe in ratting out someone before you've had a chance to talk to them. It's not just my life, it's theirs."
Emily felt her heart skip a beat. The words of Mary Wraith came back to her, telling her about the type of man willing to put himself on the line for the reputation of a woman. So often, it seemed, in these scenarios there was a fake between them. A man would tell a woman one thing and then, after she'd believed him, act a completely different way. Or a woman would manipulate a man into doing something for her and then throw him under the bus. Could that old woman have been right about Scott? Was he really doing this – sitting in a cell facing serious charges – because he didn't want to put her in a bad spot?
"So now you have to answer me," he was saying, drawing himself up so they locked eyes. "You had a chance to say what really happened, and since I'm here I'm guessing you didn't. Why not?"
She shifted her weight to one foot. "Because it's against regulations."
He raised an eyebrow. "Telling the truth is against regulations? Really?"
"No, of course telling the truth isn't against regulations," she said, rolling her eyes. "What the truth is, that's the problem."
"And what is the truth?"
"You know what it is."
"Humour me."
Emily gritted her teeth. He wanted her to say it, she realized. This whole time they'd been dancing around the issue and now here he was, demanding that she acknowledge out loud what she'd been trying to avoid.
"The truth," she said, treating each word as if it were a piece of gravel, "is that I made a mistake."
"By doing what?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"By sleeping with a major suspect in your investigation?"
There it was. Though the words were said normally, it sounded to her as if he had shouted for the whole world to hear. Emily cast a look down the corridor, almost like she was expecting someone to be there listening. "Like I said - a mistake."
Scott looked at her. It was impossible, he thought, to know what she could be thinking at any particular time. There had to be a backstory there that she guarded well. How else could she keep such an unreadable face most of the time? Woe betide any psychiatrist that tried to get inside her head; it might be enough to drive them insane!
"Is that really what you think?"
"Yes, it is." Say it. "You were a mistake, an error in judgment." The words came quickly, the memories of them being thrown at her coming to the front of her mind. "You were a distraction, something to play with. If you weren't in this situation, I never would have seen you again."
Push. Push him away. It's the only way. She did her best to ignore the stabbing sensation in her heart as she put on her coldest voice. "You think last night meant anything? Well, it didn't. If you can't understand that, then you really are as stupid as they said you are."
Scott was silent for a moment, watching her intently. It was the same look as Mrs. Wraith had given her not too long ago and Emily suddenly realized that it was likely from her where he'd gotten it from. It drove her insane! Why couldn't they just yell and scream and swear at her? She could deal with that. This she had no idea how to handle.
Finally, he spoke. "Powerful stuff. You know what the truth for me is?"
"That you got a great lay last night?"
"No. Well, yes but it was more than that. It was with a woman who was worth every second of it. A woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. A woman who doesn't take any bullshit from anyone. A woman," he leaned forward, "who's honest, smart and, despite everything she says to the contrary, cares enough to come for an unofficial visit with a man she told to never come see her again."
He straightened up. "That is the reason I didn't tell the truth and possibly cost this woman a career that likely means a lot to her."
Emily stood in shock. Scott really was in here for her? That was impossible – no man would ever do that for a woman, especially not one she'd only known for a couple of days. But then she turned it around and asked herself what she would have done had their places been switched. Could she really say she would deliberately and recklessly spill a secret that could ruin the career of a man she really cared for, even at the cost of her own freedom or life?
A man she really cared for? Wait a minute. That would imply…
NO. Absolutely NOT.
Taking another deep breath to get her mind back on track, she said, "Look, I'm not going to promise anything. But I give you my word I'm going to do everything I can to prove your innocence and get you out of here."
He gave a smirk, one she recognized all too well on his face. "Now you sound like a defence attorney."
She repressed a groan. If there was one thing she hated more than reporters, it was defence lawyers. She understood they had a job to do, but when they're nitpicking details against a criminal who's clearly guilty – i.e. caught in the act – they could be a royal pain in the ass. "Yeah, well, whatever it takes."
A few seconds of silence passed before she said, "I should… get back. And try to work this all out."
Scott nodded. "Alright. And Agent Prentiss?"
She turned back to him. "Yeah?"
"Thanks."
A bare hint of a smile flickered over her face for a second before she nodded and walked out.
It was so easy to thank someone for promising to do something, she thought. She could bet he wouldn't be thanking her if she failed and he ended up in prison.
As she entered the hallway, she stopped dead in her tracks. Hotch stood a few feet away, his eyes focused on her.
Managing to find her voice, she said, "What's up?"
He indicated behind him. "Follow me."
TBC…