a/n: Hi again, friends. A new day, a new chapter! doesn't let you tag fics like ao3 does, but if I could, this would be tagged SLOW BURN. The SLOWEST SLOW BURN. Who's burnin'? Guess y'all have to stay tunes. But it's kinda obvious. :D

Enjoy, and I'd love to hear from y'all!

and on the other side, why should we deny the truth?
we could have less to worry about, honey, i won't lie to you
Hozier, "Nobody"

It was a chilly and misty, still dark, when Jackson set out on her run. She put her earbuds in, turned up the volume on her music, and set off along the route Gabriel had recommended. She'd taken the same route yesterday, and he'd been right: it passed by some truly spectacular natural sights.

She loved the arched oaks with their trailing Spanish moss. The smell of earth and moss and the bayou. She kept her eyes peeled for gators (though it was really too cold for them to venture out of the water much this time of year), and after an easy two miles, she swung around to retrace her path.

She stopped at a particularly huge oak right on the edge of the water. Its roots formed a natural hollow where a small memorial had been set up. Some days candles burned, and there was a cross with writing too faded to read. She didn't know what had happened here, but the sense of melancholy lingered, and the spot drew her every time she passed it.

She stretched her arms above her head and arched her back. Bent to touch her toes and did a few lunges. She'd warmed up in the cool morning, so she unzipped her hoodie to reveal the scant tank top beneath. Below that, clearly visible through the thin white material that sweat rendered transparent, was a dark sports bra that matched her dark running leggings.

She bounced on her toes and took a pull of water before she tugged her earbuds out and settled down on one of the tree's huge roots. Several deep, slow breaths as she watched the barely-moving water and she felt some of the tension drain out of her. She tried not to think about last night, the food or the company. The dancing or the kiss. And especially what she may or may not have gleaned from Mendoza's mind.

Maybe she could quietly ask Garcia to do a little deeper digging into Mateo Mendoza. She'd say she was working on a theory she wasn't sure she was ready to share yet, and she needed some help fleshing it out. Garcia would do it. She loved intrigue.

It didn't feel right. Keeping important information from the team was exactly what got her in so much trouble when Taj died. If she'd come clean from the beginning about Parachinar and everything that happened before and after, maybe things would've been different. Daniel wouldn't have gotten the drop on JJ and Prentiss and he'd still be alive now.

Not that she particularly mourned Daniel Talbot. Not the version of him she'd come to know at the end.

It would be nice if just once she could have a normal relationship, one not complicated by secrets and lies and work. Days like this she missed Taj. He'd lied to her, but she understood why, and she had a feeling he'd called her after so long because he was finally ready to come clean about all of it—and Talbot had killed him before he could.

She shook off her dark thoughts and pushed to her feet. She was about to put her earbuds back in when she heard the sound of footsteps. Close. Sounds didn't carry far out here. She ducked behind the tree to let the person pass, but instead he stopped, as she had, and when she peeked she saw it was Hotch.

"Is someone back there?" he said.

She felt silly now. "Um, hi," she said. "It's just me."

Tension left him as he recognized her. His penetrating eyes flicked up and down, taking in her appearance in one quick perusal, and his expression hardened into a frown. "EJ. What are you doing out here?"

She lifted a brow. "Same thing as you, based on your outfit. Running." He wore a t-shirt and shorts, and expensive running shoes.

"I didn't know you ran."

"I didn't used to. Picked up the habit during my time off." She waved toward the tree. "Deputy Mendoza recommended the route."

His glower deepened. "Deputy Mendoza."

"Ye-es? Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not." He turned away to stretch and she frowned at his back.

"Hotch? If you've got something on your mind, I'd rather you just say it."

His hands landed on his hips and his chin dropped to his chest. She crossed her arms and waited. Clearly he did have something to say, and she wasn't going to beg him to tell her.

Finally he faced her again. "I'm concerned about the closeness between you and Deputy Mendoza."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, the closeness?" Did he know about dinner last night? Had Reid ratted on her? No, of course not, stupid thought; he might just know, because he was Hotch and he rarely missed a beat.

"Don't play obtuse, EJ."

"I'm not. I'm just wondering how my personal life is your business."

He looked briefly taken aback, like she'd called him out and he hadn't been expecting it. "It isn't, unless it interferes with the job. Deputy Mendoza is involved with this case. Any sort of personal relationship is—against protocol."

"Against protocol," she echoed. She said the words like she was tasting them. "But that's not the same as against the rules, right?"

His lips thinned. "No, it's not."

"And has anything Deputy Mendoza or I done compromised the investigation? Have I not done my job? Hasn't he done his? If you're unhappy with my work—"

He held up a hand to forestall her. "No, your work is excellent as usual." He sighed and stepped closer. "One of our agents personally involved with local law enforcement isn't a good look, EJ. It sends the wrong message."

Her chin tilted. "So this is about optics? Did you have this same conversation with JJ when we were in New Orleans?"

"JJ understands the optics better than any of us."

"Mhmm. So did you?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched. "This isn't about JJ."

"Okay. Does that mean it's about me? Because you just said my work is excellent. Why are you singling me out in particular?"

"Elliot—" He broke off with a quick shake of his head. "Did it ever occur to you that this is about Deputy Mendoza?"

That surprised her into momentary silence. "I don't understand," she finally said, though she thought she did. She just didn't want to admit it.

He glanced up and down the empty road, then took her by the elbow and led her closer to the water. "You know what we discussed yesterday. You know the UNSUB is using forensic countermeasures. Dave and I talk about it, and we think it's not just to destroy physical evidence, but also to throw off the profile. Whoever our UNSUB is, he knows what we look for, and he's working against us every step of the way."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then widened again. "You do think it's a cop," she said.

"It's a possibility. Until we know more, we all need to be extra vigilant."

"And you're worried about Deputy Mendoza in particular because of what he said about the dumpsite." She frowned. "Did you know he'd be the one to take me out there?"

He didn't reply to that, just gave her a long look through his steady eyes. In this light they looked more olive than brown, something she hadn't really noticed before. But then she'd had little occasion to stand staring into her boss' eyes. Which made her wonder why she was doing it now.

"Morgan told me you and Reid were interviewing a witness with Deputy Mendoza," he said, his tone even.

She went very still. "That…was why. You wanted me to go to the dumpsite with him and see if I got anything from him. Hotch—"

He lifted his hand again. "I know what you're going to say."

"Do you? Enlighten me, because I'm not entirely sure myself."

He glowered. Turned and paced away a moment before he came back to face her. "I took a gamble, possibly with your safety. I also was relying on you to use your ability in a way you don't prefer to do, and in a way I've told you in the past I wouldn't ask you to do." He paused, brow furrowed. "I should have been more straightforward about my motives, but I wanted you…unbiased."

"Unbiased," she murmured, and that was all.

A silence fell between them, uneasy and rife with things unsaid. He had set her up, used her, but wasn't that his job? To deploy his agents in a way that best utilized their talents? Reid's mind, Morgan's deduction, JJ's interpersonal skill, Rossi's experience, Prentiss' street knowledge…they all brought something.

She shoved a bit of hair escaped from her ponytail back behind her ear. "Was it just because—?"

"No."

"Then why—?"

"Clearly you were the one most likely to get something out of him, mind-reader or not. Don't make me explain this to you again, EJ." The words were harsh, but she could hear the plea in his voice. It didn't help.

"No, Hotch. I think you need to explain it again. And again. And again, until I can finally stop feeling like—this. Used, like this."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "If I had asked Reid to go, because of his ability to see patterns where the rest of us can't, would that be using him? If I'd asked Morgan, who can get into the head of an obsessive killer better than anyone I've ever known, would it've been the wrong call? What about Rossi, with his knowledge and experience and bonhomie? You have a skill, Elliot. I wish you wouldn't be so afraid to use it."

She jerked away so that he couldn't see her face, but the tight, furious lines of her body broadcast louder than any words.

"You're afraid of it. Afraid of hurting someone, or losing control. I understand that." He let out a rueful laugh. "Trust me, I absolutely understand the fear of losing control. But you're one of the most disciplined people I've ever met. I sent you out there with him because I trusted you to make the call that needed to be made. I sent you knowing you wouldn't deliberately try to read him, but that maybe, knowing how good your instincts are, you'd pick up on something the rest of us might miss. So, yes, obviously your ability had something to do with it—but it was only one part of a much large picture."

The set of her shoulders eased a fraction. Her fists unclenched, though her fingers stayed curled against her palms. She should tell him about the kiss. Tell him about…what she might have seen. But she didn't know what she'd seen, and she didn't want to lead the investigation down the wrong road. "He lied to me," she finally said.

"What?"

She looked up at him, a storm in her normally clear eyes. "I asked if he'd ever been out to that spot before this case, and he said no. I asked him again, just to make sure, and he lied again. He didn't like lying to me—maybe because he doesn't like lying, or maybe because he didn't like lying about that."

"Or maybe because he didn't like lying to you."

Her lips pursed. "Possible, I suppose."

They were quiet a moment. Then, "You said he suggested your route."

"Yes. But, Hotch, he's a cop. He wouldn't come after an FBI agent. That would be stupid. He lied, once. That doesn't mean he's a killer."

"Right, so what if he's not our UNSUB? You're out here all alone, on these empty backroads. Cop or not, there is a killer on the loose."

"This is a small town. Everyone knows who we are."

A dark brow rose. "I still don't think you should be running alone."

Her lips parted in astonishment. "Is that why you're here? Were you following me? And pretending not to?"

He didn't bat an eye at her affronted tone; this level of annoyed he could handle. "At a distance. I know you prefer to run alone, so I didn't want to intrude, but I wanted to keep an eye on you."

"How do you—? Never mind." She rolled her eyes. "Profilers."

"Elliot—"

"Aaron!" she shot back. "If you want to keep an eye on me, fine. I understand the point you're making, and if you'd made it I would've just let you run with me. But you didn't. Instead you treated me like a wayward child who can't look out for herself and who apparently is so moon-eyed over the local deputy that she can't tell a serial killer when he's looking her right in the face! Isn't that why you sent us to the dumpsite?! So I could tell a serial killer looking me right in the face?!"

He weathered the squall of her fury with a stoic expression. "Are you done?" he said.

Her eyes flashed and she looked like she wanted to say a whole lot more, but instead she scowled at him. "I guess I am."

"Good. Then listen to me, because I don't like repeating myself. I seem to recall giving you several direct orders over the course of the Taj McCall case that you chose to ignore, at the cost of your own safety. It's not that I think you're irresponsible, and I sure as hell don't think you're a child, but I do think you can be reckless. In that spirit, I chose to follow you rather than speak to you. Maybe I should have chosen differently, but I have a feeling even if I had outlined my concerns to you, you would've disregarded them and gone running alone anyway. So I made a command decision, as is my right as your superior."

She lifted her chin in that stubborn, defiant way he recognized. "Have I ignored a single one of your orders since I've been back?"

He let out a short exhale through his nose. "No."

"Have I given you pushback on anything? Have I been insubordinate or troublesome?"

He glared down at her. "No, Dr. Jackson, you've been a model agent in every respect."

"Okay, then why the hell would I start now? Goddamn, Hotch, give me some credit!" She spun away and flung her arms out in frustration. "I've worked so hard the last six months to fix it. To earn your trust and your respect again. I know I fucked up on Taj's case. I know I acted rashly and put us all in danger. I've tried to make up for that by—doing every single thing right since then, and apparently it hasn't been enough!"

She spun back, her cheeks flushed and her body taut with the force of her emotion. "What can I do? How long will it take?! Will you ever trust me again?"

"That isn't—" He scrubbed a hand down his face and took a step toward her. "Elliot, I'm sorry. That isn't what this conversation was meant to be about. You made mistakes, and I have noticed your exemplary work since then. I have noticed your—good behavior, for lack of a better term. There's a reason I insisted the Bureau hire you away from the Agency. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't trust you or respect you and your work."

He paused. Frowned. "I could make the same argument to you. When will you trust me? When will you stop assuming I'm trying to exploit your ability with no care for you? Possibly it's time we started trusting each other."

She studied his face, the lines scored there by worry and stress, and when the realization hit she was mad at herself for not catching on sooner. "This isn't about me at all."

He went very still. "EJ—"

"You think you failed Elle Greenaway. You're still thinking about Reid's drug habit. You missed the signs with Gideon. You almost walked away, but you came back and there's part of you that wonders—if that was the right decision. It's not me you're worried about. Or, at least—not my poor judgment. You're worried about your own. You do think you might have made the wrong call about sending me to the swamp with Mendoza. Now you're worried about the consequences."

"We are not supposed to profile each other," he said through gritted teeth.

"Call them educated guesses." She waved a hand. "You don't have to talk to me about it. It's not exactly appropriate, all things considered. Just…from where I'm standing, your judgment and the calls you made…aren't without merit." She gritted her teeth, and he knew what it had cost her to say that.

"I mean, except about following me rather than talking to me, but that's just because you're stubborn and difficult," she said, making a joke out of it rather than rehashing the ground they'd just covered.

He almost choked. "I'm stubborn and difficult?!"

She lifted a shoulder. "Birds of a feather, Agent Hotchner. There's a reason we're the only two out here running on a cold-ass November morning in the middle of a swamp. Morgan just uses the gym at the hotel like a normal person, and everybody else is still asleep, like even normal-er people."

His lips twitched. "Normal-er?"

"That's what I said." She bounced on her toes and swung her arounds back and forth to try to re-warm her muscles. "I've gotten all cold standing here arguing with you. We should get going, unless you'd rather lurk some more."

"I wasn't lurking. I was…surveilling."

"Sure, whatever you say." She bent at the knees, straightened, and bounced some more. "I guess we can start with walking."

"You could zip up your hoodie," he said, mildly.

She glanced down and immediately felt heat sting her cheeks. Not only did her tank-top-and-sports-bra combo provide less-than-professional coverage, but also it was clearly obvious just how cold she actually was. "Yes," she said. "That is an excellent idea." Now that my boss has seen my nipples. Fantastic.

He ducked his head and cleared his throat to hide a chuckle. "It's half a mile back to the hotel, and it's getting late. Shall we?"

She flashed him a too-sweet smile that always meant trouble. "See if you can keep up. Sir." And she took off.

So much for walking, he thought, and loped after her with a resigned sigh.

"Gooood mornin', mama!" Morgan said into the phone. "How's my favorite queen of the information superhighway?"

Garcia's chipper voice filtered through the speaker phone and filled their designated corner in the St. Martin Parish Sheriff's Office. "I am just peaches, tall, dark, and handsome! Is everyone there and ready to be graced with my wisdom on another fine November morning?"

"We're here, Garcia," Prentiss said. She sipped her coffee and leaned back a little in her chair. "Have you found anyone who could be our UNSUB?"

"Ohh, my raven-haired goddess of deduction, have I ever!" They could practically hear her rubbing her hands together in satisfaction. "Not only is there a fine list of ne'er-do-wells who frequent the Red Rooster Inn, but also I have any number of stinky, dirty former cops who might have reason to want these women…done in, so to speak."

Hotch's brows drew together in a hard line. "What kind of reasons, Garcia?"

"Ah, well, at least two of them were CIs, and the people they were CI-ing on? Cops, mostly. One cop in particular. I've sent you his file, and, guys and dolls, it is not easy reading."

"Jesus Christ," Jackson mumbled. "How the f—heck was he still on the force with all these complaints in his jacket?!"

"Good question, magical girl," Garcia said, "But our new good sheriff did say our old good sheriff wasn't so good." She cleared her throat. "Now, that's not all. The next one is a real doozy. Check your files, my sugar lumps."

Garcia had faxed a copy of everything, and Reid flipped through it. His finely-made face lit up with astonishment. "Jonathan Landry…wait, the mayor's son?!" he said.

"Small-town nepotism," JJ said with a cynical curl to her lips. "It never fails."

"It just means we'll have to tread that much more carefully," Hotch said. "Does he have any connection to the Red Rooster?"

"You bet he does! I've sent surveillance pics to your PDAs of him at the Red Rooster over the summer when the locals did a big bust there. Mommy dearest got him out of trouble, but the information superhighway never forgets a face. Also, because I know it's somebody's next question: he is not related to victim number five, Sierra Landry. It's a common name in the area."

They studied the image on their handhelds: tall, athletic, blond hair, chiseled jaw.

"This kid's an Aryan wet dream," Morgan said with a snort. "The Great White Hope of Louisiana, caught with powder on his nose and his dick in his hand."

"I'm glad you said it," Prentiss said under her breath.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Anyone else look quite this good, Garcia?"

"Ahh, well…"

"What's wrong, baby girl?"

"Maybe turn the volume down a little?"

The team exchanged looks, and Morgan punched the volume button on the speaker. "Go ahead," he said. "You should be good now."

She took a deep breath. "Okay, well, the next-best suspect…" A long sigh. "You told me to look into cops, and also cops' relatives, and I've got a yet another doozy."

"We're waiting, Penelope," Rossi said, his tone gently prodding.

"Right, okay, apparently there's a deputy down there named Gabriel Mendoza?"

Hotch cut Jackson a sharp look, but she glanced away. Two spots of color burned high on her cheekbones, but otherwise she was pale. "We know him," he said.

"Deputy Mendoza has a younger brother, Mateo. Mateo Mendoza is twenty-six, dropped out of college after failing freshman year, is known to work for Herman Delhomme, and in the last two years he's had over a dozen different jobs, none longer than, like, two months. Obviously. With that many in two years."

They heard the rattle of her bracelets as she waved it away. "Anyway, their oldest brother Felipe was killed in Afghanistan when Mateo was twenty-two and Gabriel twenty-six. That's when Mateo fell in with Delhomme and the crowd at the Red Rooster. His record's pretty clean, but that might be because big brother's been cleaning up his messes."

Jackson was studying the table with intense interest. Rolling her pen around between her fingers. Cleaning up his messes. Like moving the bodies of eight women his brother had abducted and killed, but his guilt was so great he left them somewhere like a prayer.

"Cleaning up his messes, or teaching him how to clean up his own," Rossi said.

"Either/or, sir," Garcia said. "And another thing—their mother passed away right around the time the abductions started."

Jackson went still, the only external sign of her surprise. Gabriel hadn't mentioned that. Maybe because he knew what a stressor was, and losing one's mother definitely qualified. She blew out a breath that ruffled her hair and said nothing.

Rossi had been studying her carefully, and now his eyes jumped from Jackson's bowed head to Hotch and back again. Hotch gave a brief nod.

"Thank you, Garcia," he said. "You've been brilliant as always."

"It's what I do, captain my captain! Call upon me again when next you seek enlightenment!"

She hung up, and for several moments there was a heavy silence around the table. Hotch leaned forward and folded his hands. "Rossi, EJ, and I will go talk to Jonathan Landry. Reid, start going through the suspects Garcia pulled and matching them to our timeline. Morgan and Prentiss, go talk to David Benoit, our dirty cop. JJ, quietly gather as much information as you can about Benoit, Landry, and the Mendoza brothers. Be especially careful about the latter; we don't want to set the locals against us."

He looked at each of them, his gaze stern and steady. "I don't think I need to remind any of you just how sensitive this is. Our three best suspects are a former cop, the son of the town's mayor, and the brother of one of Sheriff Willet's deputies. Proceed with caution and sensitivity. The last thing we need is to be caught up in small town politics."

"Speaking of," Rossi said, "do you think we should take Sheriff Willett with us to the Landrys?"

Hotch scowled a moment. He wasn't here to play games and kiss ass, but he knew such things were necessary sometimes—and maybe Willett knew the best way to do it.

"I'll brief him," he said. "He can decide. Let's get to it. Monica Dupré is out there, and the clock is ticking."

what a list... tune in next time, when we zero in on the actual UNSUB!