"So the house on Rushman was a bust," Reid caught Jane up, just the two of them in her office – keeping Jane occupied as McCrae was transported. She knew her team too well. "Garcia's going over the photos on the wall, but nothing so far. He knew that he was going to run, so he cleaned up after himself."
Jane kept pacing, restless. The trials of the last week were visible, with deep bags under her eyes and an unhealthy sheen to her skin – the scars Foyet gave her standing out starkly against her pallid skin. Her mind was clearly running a mile a minute, and Reid couldn't blame her one bit.
He knew he had looked just as bad, when Maeve was missing. Jane had been the levelheaded one for him, then. Now he had to return the favor – to be the grounding influence that Jane needed right now.
"What did he say about Hotch?" Jane asked, again. "I know – I know you said. But –"
"He said that Hotch was alive," Reid stressed once more, reaching out to snag her wrist. "Focus on that."
"No, but that's not all," Jane shook her head, fisting her fingers in his coat sleeve. "You said that JJ said that He said that he was gonna starve to death. If we don't find him soon –"
"Jane, do you know what it means that McCrae said Hotch would starve?" Reid stopped her, taking both her hands in his. "It means that McCrae didn't leave him with a bullet in his lung, or with a knife in his back. That means that he's not burned or hanged or poisoned or suffocated or injured in any of the other horrible ways that McCrae could be torturing him. Just starvation."
"There's nothing 'just' about starvation," Jane tightened her fingers around his. "Spinner –"
"You're right, it's still horrible," He cut in gently. "But Jane – this is the best case scenario we could've hoped for. You know that, don't you?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
"Yeah, I know," She whispered, voice barely audible.
"We're gonna find him," He promised her, the words heavy at his lips. "I promise you, Jane, that we are gonna find Hotch, okay?"
"You don't mean that – you can't promise that," Jane tugged her hands away, a frown heavy on her lips. "Don't make me promises you can't keep."
"How are we doing this?" JJ asked the moment the interrogation room door was closed behind her. "Hotch is alive. And this – this fucker has killed every other lead we have. If we're getting Hotch's location at all, it's gonna be out of him."
"Let me in there with him for a couple minutes – I'll get it out of him," Morgan growled, violence thrumming in every fiber of his being. "C'mon, Rossi. It's Hotch."
Dave didn't immediately answer. Because he had a more pressing thought on his mind.
"Why is he here?" He asked his teammates – made them pause, made them think.
"He was dealing with loose ends," Blake supplied. "He killed Meadowes, and Morgan caught him – he got sloppy, just like he did during the Massacre."
"But he knew we were coming," Rossi pointed out, studying McCrae through the glass. "If he saw that we'd caught onto him, he would've known our first stop would be picking Meadows up – why would he still be there when we arrived."
"... Good point," JJ acknowledged. "What are you getting at?"
"Morgan, what exactly was McCrae doing when you arrested him?" Rossi turned to the younger man.
" … He didn't put up a fight," Realization crossed Morgan's face in a flash. "He was sitting at the study, sipping at some expensive brandy. No weapon – he didn't even try to hide the body."
"He wanted to be taken in," JJ's eyes widened. "He was waiting for us."
"Not just that," Rossi crossed his arms. "He wants Jane. That's what he's after – with Hotch in an unknown location without food or a way out, he knows he has leverage over us. He's using it to get to Jane."
"We can't give him that," Blake immediately protests. "We can't! Not only would it be incredibly damaging to Jane – Hotch would actually kill us if we traded her for him."
"Maybe …" Rossi was struck by an idea. "We need to convince him that Hotch's death is the worst thing that could happen."
His team exchanged looks – but Dave's brain was in overdrive, staring down at the heartless psycho on the other side of the mirror.
"How are you gonna do that, Rossi?" Morgan asked, tone dripping with skepticism. "McCrae has deluded himself into seeing Hotch and Arthur Ryden as the same person – Arthur, who was his rival in all things since childhood. He has wanted to give Ryden a slow and painful death for decades now – you're not gonna be able to convince him to give up his revenge now."
"If we can't convince him to give up his revenge – " Rossi smiled, a sly grin slipping over his lips. "Then we break the delusion."
Hotch felt fingers combing through his hair gently, sweeping sweaty and greasy locks off his forehead with soft strokes. They were feather light – a welcome distraction from the throbbing pain all down his back and the dull ache in the pit of his stomach.
When he opened his eyes, he knew it wasn't real.
"Starvation can lead to various neurological symptoms," Hotch croaked softly, his throat perpetually parched no matter how much water he drank. "I suppose hallucinations are a mild way to start my final decline into death."
"Don't be silly," Haley laughed lightly, nails still carding through his hair. "You're not gonna die – not just yet. You still have so much to do, Aaron."
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand," Jane looked between JJ and Blake, extremely confused. "You want me to do what?"
"I know it's a strange plan, but we've thought this through," Blake reassured her, as if that was the problem.
"No – the plan I get. Yay plan," Jane tiredly waved a fist in the air with faux enthusiasm. "No, it's me needing to wear a dress that is tripping me up. Do you know the last time I willingly wore a dress, you guys? Cuz I don't – and I mean that. No idea."
"That white dress means something, Jane," JJ speaks gently, as if she's afraid Jane's gonna melt into a puddle of mental health issues with one wrong word. "He put you in a white dress – of all things – after Foyet attacked you. We need to capitalize on that."
"I don't remember –" Jane starts, but Blake interrupts her.
"We don't need you to remember," The older woman smiles reassuringly at her, clearly a card carrying member of the 'Don't Let Jane Poke at Her Memories' club. Hopped right on that bandwagon. "This man is convinced that you're in love with him. Now, if we had our way you wouldn't be near him at all – but if we're going to make this work, you're going to have to be. You wearing the white dress makes the most out of the shortest period of time."
Jane nods, because she gets it – but she's not sure she can do it.
"I'll panic," She tells them, because it's true. "You put me in a room with him? I'll panic, I'll guarantee you that."
"It won't be in the same room – you won't even have to look at him," JJ reassures her. "You just need to be talking to Rossi while he's crossing the bullpen. He'll be looking around for you, so just a glimpse and the sound of your voice will be enough."
" … I'm taking a xanax," Jane declares. "I'll do it, but I'm taking a xanax."
The profilers exchange a look. Blake shrugs.
"That's fair," JJ allows, a dry smile on her lips. "Before or after we get the dress from evidence?"
"Right fucking now is when I'm taking it," Jane snarks, already diving into her bag. "Good fucking luck stopping me."
It was decided that Reid would handle the escort, because Rossi was otherwise occupied and if Morgan was left alone with McCrae there would be bloodshed.
If his numbers were correct – which they were, which they had to be – then McCrae would need a restroom break in the next half hour. It barely took five minutes for Garcia to arrange for the nearest bathroom to be closed and out of order – creating the perfect excuse for Reid to need to lead McCrae past the bullpen to the second closest facility, just past the glass doors.
The clock was ticking.
He didn't have to wait long.
"Ah, Dr. Reid," McCrae greeted him cordially when he opened the door. "Perfect timing – I was hoping to exercise my right to the toilet, if you would be so kind."
Spencer said nothing, just undid his handcuffs long enough to unchain him from the table and resecured them swiftly thereafter behind his back.
"Oh, am I not privy to one of your lovely rambling profiles, Doctor?" McCrae teased as they started down the hall. "I hear they are something to behold – quite rude of you not to indulge me."
They came up on the out of order bathroom.
"Sorry, Reid," Anderson chimed in as he passed by in a perfectly timed aside. "You'll need to use the one down the hall."
Reid tightened his shoulders, broadcasting his irritation and discomfort. McCrae clearly clocked it. Relished in the inconvenience, and the tiniest bit of extra rope they gave him.
Enough to hang himself, hopefully.
Cue the show.
Reid picked up the pace as they passed the bullpen, as if to drag him by as fast as possible –
"– Dave, you're being unreasonable. The cases are piling up."
McCrae's eyes were locked on Jane hungrily, slamming the breaks and craning his head to get a better look. To get more than a glimpse.
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Rossi snapped, towering over Jane – Jane, who looked so small with her scars and the sundress barely brushing at her calves. "I have work to do – we both do. You may not care about getting Hotch back, but he's my friend. He's our boss."
"I exist outside the chain of command, Rossi, he's no boss of mine," Jane snapped back, dismissive. "Whatever – I still think you're wasting resources. Elton may have said that Hotch was still alive, but I think he's just messing with you. He's clever like that."
Reid began to drag McCrae. He resisted.
"You're a stone cold, heartless bitch – you know that, right?" Rossi snarled. "I thought you and Hotch were meant for each other – two manipulative, conniving assholes finally with their scopes on each other. I even thought it might mellow you two out, the mutually getting laid thing. But you threw him away – forgot all about him as soon as it was too much work to get him back."
"Yeah, the sex was nice," Jane waved a hand dismissively, and Morgan took that as his cue to join Reid on McCrae's other side. "It's not like it was ever any more; Hotch played a good game, but we both knew there was never anything between us –"
And finally, Morgan and Reid dragged McCrae out of earshot.
"Haley," Hotch felt his heart wrench – couldn't stand it, because his brain was telling him that Haley was alive and whole and happy right in front of him and … she wasn't. "Haley."
"Aaron," Haley smiled down at him widely. "You've gotten yourself in quite the pickle, here."
"Haley you … you're not real," The words tumble out of his mouth – because she can't be. "You're – Haley you died. Foyet –"
"Now now, Aaron Hotchner," Haley smirked at him, tugging at his earlobe. "Don't you go getting all morose and guilty on me quite yet. Let's not have our reunion be like that."
"Still," Hotch tilted his head, soaking in her gentle gaze. "Haley …"
"I know – you're with Jane now," Haley laughed, titlting her head slyly. "I told you you could, you know – though you certainly didn't need my permission. I'm glad you're … I'm sorry that we didn't work out, Aaron, but I'm really glad you two found each other. You deserve someone relisiant like you – someone who can be with you, in a way that I never could. I'm happy for you both."
"... This is just what my brain is inventing, tricking me – I'm dehydrated," Hotch shook his head, closed his eyes against the ghost in his cell. "You're dead, Haley Brooks, and nothing you say is –"
"True?" Haley interrupted, amused. "Well, that's a rather rigid way of thinking. Who's to say I'm not a ghost? Or a vision? Because the truth, Aaron Hotchner, is if your team doesn't save you, you will die. I'm the best person to help you through that. Wouldn't you be here for me if you could, if our positions were reversed?"
"I'm not convinced you can."
"You're not convinced of a lot of things, Aaron," Haley pointed out dryly. "Yet here we are. Fine. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter – because by the time the sun goes down you'll lose consciousness, and then it won't matter."
Hotch opened his eyes.
"Are you scared?" Haley asked rhetorically. "I was. But I also knew that you would be there, to pick up the pieces. Be there for Jack. Trust in Jane, Aaron – she's his mother just as much as I was. She'll be there when you can't."
"You talk as if I'm already dead," Hotch said, quirking an eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be the encouraging Ghost of Christmas Past. Didn't know I was that far gone yet."
"There's the fire I fell in love with," Haley chuckled at his attitude, but then she grew serious. "Would it help? If I gave you false platitudes, promised you things that might not come true? I could feed you pat phrases and inspirational one-liners, Aaron, but I thought you'd appreciate the honesty of the truth more."
Well, she had him there.
"Does … is …" He struggled for words.
"The After?" She supplied. "I can't tell you, Aaron. I can't. But I will tell you this – when you pass on, today or thirty years from now, Danny and I will be waiting."
"Danny?" Hotch asked, confused.
"Daniel Vite – he's a mellow guy, despite the whole dead and murdered thing," Haley laughed, shaking Hotch's shoulder at his startled expression. "What, you think the dead don't socialize? Danny hunted me down after you and Jane got together – we bonded."
"... the afterlife is gonna be hectic," Hotch grimaced.
"Oh ho, don't you go worrying about that," She laughed, guessing his thoughts. "Danny's not territorial – and for that matter, neither is Jane. I think we'll all get along fine."
They sat in silence. For a moment longer. It was almost peaceful.
"I never stopped loving you," He told her. Because … she had to know. "I –"
"I never stopped loving you either," Haley brushed his cheek. "But you don't have to worry about me, Aaron. I'm gone. I'm gone."
"I'll be with you soon, at this rate," He laughed, but it shot stabbing ripples of pain down his back – he winced. There was a distant throbbing behind his eyes … and he felt like his head was stuffed with cotton. The sharpness of the pain exacerbated his fatigue, throwing it into sharp relief.
"Maybe. I hope not," Haley returned to combing her fingers through his hair … sighing deeply, sadly. "Aaron, you're going to lose consciousness soon. And I don't want you to worry – because no matter what happens, it's gonna be okay."
"... Do you promise?"
He faded into black before she had to answer.
"Elton McCrae Junior," Rossi read from a file he had long memorized, walking into the interrogation room. It'd been close to an hour since he and Jane had staged their little argument, and while Jane was still coming down from the anxiety of the act – Rossi had work to do. "Born –"
"Oh, Agent Rossi," McCrae cut him off. "We both know that you know that whole file back to front. And considering everything in there is about me, I know everything in there too – except my blood type, I can never remember that."
"AB-neg," Rossi deadpanned, shutting the file sharply and tossing it aside. "Are you hoping to skip the pleasantries then?"
"Well, considering it's been over ten days and Agent Hotchner hasn't eaten since that caesar salad he ate in the bullpen of a NYPD precinct … maybe skipping the pleasantries would be in your best interest," McCrae smiled his charming smile – the smile that Rossi had seen across the table from him throughout his whole career. The smile that held fangs dripping with venom – the smile that was perfectly crafted, and perfectly fake. Rossi hated that smile.
"Well, if Hotch dies, you'll be losing more than any of us will," Rossi grinned sunnily at him. "I'll lose a friend – you'll lose a hell of a lot more."
McCrae's eyes flashed – the first sign of his lack of control.
McCrae may have been a software genius, and had the money to throw around to get things done, but in many ways he was sloppy. Losing Jane not once but three times, relying on patsyies and scapegoats and allies he just ended up killing … McCrae didn't have the long term charisma to play mind games, not like Bundy or Foyet or Curtis or Cyrus. And when he slipped up, he lost his temper. He saw his future slipping from his fingers, and he got mad.
Anger makes people irrational. Irrationalities make them easy to manipulate.
(Rossi hated it. McCrae wasn't the most dangerous, or smart, or manipulative, or charismatic Unsub they'd ever gone up against. He was just ruthless, rich, and delusional – and somehow he'd gotten this far on those traits alone. It didn't seem fair, somehow, that he was no Mansen or Dahmer or Kemper, and yet he still wreaked so much havoc.)
"I'm afraid you're a tad misinformed," McCrae regained his cool. "Agent Hotchner is nothing to me – merely an obstacle. And an unfortunate stain on my favorite tie. His death will be quiet and painful, but overall meaningless."
Rossi quenched his flare of fear and rage. Not the time.
"I'm not misinformed, you're just blinded to Hotch's potential," Rossi huffed, scooping up the file. "Look, with no Section Chief and Hotch gone … Jane and I are both in line to assume command. She's less emotionally compromised, so the Director will most likely assign Jane as the interim Chief, twofold. This case is closed – Jane doesn't believe that Hotch is dead, and doesn't care enough to keep looking. You have nothing we want – we'll process you in the morning."
He was halfway to the door when McCrae's voice stopped him.
"Lotus … doesn't care about Hotchner," McCrae parsed out carefully, eyes narrowed. "He claimed she loved him – that he loved her."
Rossi huffed, tucking the file under his arm.
"Look, I get it – you stalked Jane and Hotch," Rossi shook his head, letting just how done he was leak from every pore. "But you only saw them from a distance. You didn't know them – not the people they are when there aren't eyes on them. Hotch and Jane never loved each other – everyone on the team knew it, it was just the rest of the world that was fooled. Guess you got some 'misinformation' yourself."
"Why were they together, then?' The stalker demanded. "They – I saw them–"
Rossi pretended to search for his words, a hand on the back of his chair.
"Hotch is …"
"A 'manipulative, conniving asshole'?" McCrae quoted the staged argument he 'witnessed'. "So?"
"So they both are," Rossi laid the trap. "Jane and Hotch – they had this … I don't even know. Pact. Jane was empty inside – she has always been empty, as long as I knew her – and Hotch was never the same after his wife died. He got pissed, thinking he could've done more if he had just climbed higher – gotten those promotions and those pay raises, climbed the latter. She was desperate for control, after what she had lost. They agreed that a power couple was more influential than two very angry people."
McCrae studied him, taking it all in. His mind was no doubt racing, going a thousand miles an hour. His delusions were adapting, accepting Hotch's ambition and Jane's emptiness and recalibrating. Hopefully.
"Why are you telling me this?" The murderer asked after a long moment, clearly seeing how Rossi had the perfect window to leave … but hadn't. "What are you hoping to gain?"
"I want my friend back," Rossi deadpanned, finally sitting again. "I want Jane Hart out of the fucking FBI and as far away from Aaron Hotchner as possible. She doesn't care about him – doesn't care about any of us. She's so focused on the pain of her past that she's become heartless – dead inside. She's a liability, and I want her gone."
"And then what do you want from me?" McCrae smiled widely, a shark with its eyes on a tasty bite. "What could I possibly do for the great David Rossi? And more importantly, what can you do for me in return? And I don't just mean getting me out of here with no skin off my back."
"You got it in one, McCrae," Rossi cocked a brow. "I'm the 'great David Rossi' – I have more government contacts and famous friends and rich drinking buddies than you ever could. Let's face it, Elton, you're not the most sociable. You made your money with your brains – your reputation has much to be desired."
Another crack. Rossi was getting close.
"Here's what I can offer you," Rossi leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "You tell me where Hotch is, and when I 'go home to sleep' I'll get to him first. I clean up the scene, make it impossible for you to be tied to him, and rush him to a hospital. If I wave my badge around enough, once he wakes up I'll be there first. To fill him in on the whole shebang – from our deal to Jane leaving him for dead. He points the finger at Meadows, who you killed, and we write your killing the old man off as self defense. You and Jane hash out your domestic spat upon your release, and when you swan off into the sunset together … well, you keep Jane the hell away from Aaron, and I'll introduce you to the right people at the right time. We both win, no one dies."
McCrae considered him.
"What do you say?" Rossi sat back, languid. "Do we have a deal?"
McCrae's lips twitched, eyebrows jumping. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial slash of a grin across his face.
"Do we have a deal, Agent Rossi?" McCrae echoed – his eyes hardened. "Hell no."
Garcia wasn't the only one with hacking skills.
Jane was at her laptop, pacing behind her desk as the interrogation played – the interrogation that Rossi wouldn't let her watch. Fuck, Anderson was stationed outside her door to keep her from listening in.
Didn't think to take the technology from the desperate girlfriend? Idiot.
"Do we have a deal, Agent Rossi? Hell no."
Jane's stomach dropped.
"You spin a good yarn, Agent, but I saw how Lotus –" Her heart jumped at the nickname "– and the good Agent Hotchner interacted. He was besotted with her – pawing at her day and night like a dog in heat. If I give you Hotchner, he'll turn around and build a case against me. He's a sore loser like that."
No. no no nonononono –
It didn't work.
She had to work herself down from a panic – breathing rhythmically to slow her heart. Clenching her fingers, sucking in breaths harshly.
Jane doesn't know how long she's there, freaking out – but there's a knock at the door, and she only just had time to shut her laptop and cut the sound before Blake was sticking her head in.
One look at her face gave her away.
"... you were watching, weren't you?"
Jane didn't dignify that with a response.
"Jane –"
"He'll clam up," She cut her off with a look. "He'll clam up, Alex. We lost our chance – this was supposed to work."
"Jane, this isn't over," Blake insisted.
"He said that Hotch hasn't eaten since he was abducted," Jane laid her dead gaze on the linguist. "That's been nearly eleven days. If Rin doesn't have water, he's already dead. If he does, he's got hours left before permanent damage. This was supposed to work."
"We'll figure something out!" Blake's voice rose over her, her hand in a viselike death grip on the door's edge. "We still have a couple hours – we can do this! We can find him!"
"Stop promising me!" Jane shouted, bursting. Alex took a step back. "Stop promising me that we'll find him, that it'll all be okay – that I'll be okay. I'm not going to be OKAY."
Morgan pushed into her office, hands raised in placation – Jane wanted to deck him. Jane almost decked him.
He didn't get a word out before she was charging forward, ducking under his arm and past Blake – skittering by Anderson and JJ before either of them realized she had passed.
Rossi saw her in the hall, and he must have seen something in her face or body language because he's immediately swearing and trying to grab her – to stop her.
She was trained by Aaron Hotchner, she can dodge a swipe.
Without fanfare, she bursts into the interrogation room and stares Him down.
