a/n: Skipped a day, but now we're back. There are a couple of references to my fic History, as well as the one-shot that takes place directly before this, Aftermath, so if you haven't read those, now might be a good time. :)
Enjoy! Lemme know how it's goin for ya.
when they held up the bank in Mobile
they finally made it on the evening news
she's a Georgia peach, never within reach
he's a felon from Baton Rouge
Better Than Ezra, "Southern Thing"
The ride to the Landry estate was silent, and Jackson could feel Rossi and Hotch guarding their thoughts from her. Probably an entire round of I told you so and recriminations on her unprofessionalism. And maybe they were right. She hadn't been thinking clearly. Gabriel was sexy and fascinating and she enjoyed his company. She hadn't felt that way about someone since Taj, and it had been nice, and while the only obstacle was professional optics, it had been somewhat acceptable within her personal code of ethics, but now?
If he turned out to be an accomplice then their entire case could be compromised. All because she'd gotten her head turned by a pretty face and a smart mouth.
Story of her goddamn life.
She looked up to find Hotch watching her in the rearview mirror. She lifted a brow, and his eyes flicked back to the road. Did he know there was something she wasn't telling him? He wasn't a mindreader, but he was damn good at his job, and he knew his agents well. She felt his dark, penetrating gaze like a physical touch, a sort of flaying-by-glare that left her feeling more exposed and vulnerable than if she'd actually stripped naked in front of him.
Being held accountable by Aaron Hotchner was no easy burden to bear.
"According to Garcia, the Landrys are old money around here," Rossi said, interrupting the silence and the spiral of Jackson's thoughts. "Patricia Landry is the fourth Landry mayor St. Martinville has had in the last fifty years."
"The Borgias of St. Martinville," Jackson muttered.
"With Jonathan as their own personal Cesare," Hotch said.
She hadn't realized she'd said it loud enough to be heard, but she shouldn't be surprised. Hotch and his bat ears.
"They still live in the same home the original Landry built here in 1806," Rossi continued. "It used to be a rice plantation, but the levees constructed along the river in the thirties cut off most of the fresh water supply. They switched to sugar, and they've continued to grow their fortune since."
Jackson made a low noise of disgust, and this time Hotch's rearview mirror glower clearly said behave. Her spine straightened and her cheeks went hot as she blushed. She supposed it wasn't very professional to declare a class war against the formerly slave-owning rice-and-sugar dynasty with a two-century stranglehold on the parish. At least not until they'd caught the UNSUB and were safely back in DC.
"Oh this is good! The name of the plantation?" He paused a beat to gather their interest. "White Magnolia."
"Oh God," Jackson said.
"There are…a lot of magnolias around here," Rossi said.
"I'm sure that's exactly what they meant by it," Hotch said, his tone so dry and flat Jackson couldn't smother her snort of amusement.
"Isn't there a St. Landry Parish around here somewhere?" she said.
"Northwest adjacent," Hotch said. "I guess the Landrys get around." He pulled into the long, oak-lined driveway behind Sheriff Willett's squad car, and all three of them craned their necks to get a better view.
"Wow," she said, impressed in spite of herself. "Did you know that the median household income for this parish is less than twenty-five thousand a year?"
"And here they are, smashing the curve all to hell and back," Rossi said with a low whistle as the house came into view. It was a classic antebellum Greek Revival mansion, with the soaring white columns and the wraparound porches. They all expected to see Scarlett O'Hara and Ashley Wilkes enjoying sweet tea on the gallery.
Hotch parking in the circular driveway and they met Willett at the base of the wide front porch. "Sheriff," he said. "I'll let you take the lead to get us started."
"I just wanna warn you, Agent Hotchner: Jon Boy is heir apparent around here, and the Landrys protect their own. They'll lie for him. Cheat. Anything they gotta do. I'm not surprised my daddy didn't try to go after him. It's a losin' battle."
Hotch lifted a brow. "Within the parish I'm sure it is. Luckily we're outsiders."
"Lucky y'all. A'right, here we go." He led the way up the steps and rang the doorbell. A Creole woman in an actual, honest-to-god maid's uniform answered the door.
"Sheriff," she said, her accent thick like honey even with that one word, "Mrs. Landry is expecting you. I see you brought friends." She stood back and gestured them all inside. "May I take your coats?"
"No, thank you," Hotch said.
She gave him a brief, appraising look, and then led them to a high-ceiling drawing room. A tea service was laid on the table. The uncomfortable-looking Louis XIV furniture was upholstered in powder blue satin damask, and the walls had what looked like hand-painted silk wallpaper. Mounted to the ceiling was a series of fans that could be manually controlled at the wall, and a chandelier surrounded by Adam-style plaster molding dripped with light-refracting crystals.
It was a beautiful room. Elegant. Expensive. Understated, somehow, despite the ormolu.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable. Mrs. Landry will be in shortly."
Hotch stopped her before she could close the wide pocket doors behind her. "We're specifically here to see Jonathan Landry."
Her head tilted, and something in her eyes told him she knew exactly what sort of matter brought them here to see the Landry heir apparent, but she just smiled. "Mrs. Landry will be in shortly." She slid the carved doors closed and they were alone.
"Well," Jackson said on a breath.
"You can say that again," Rossi said. He crossed over to study a portrait of a woman in a filmy white dress. She had a large, drooping hat and her arms overflowed with roses. It was very Rococo, like the rest of the room.
A smaller door set in the east wall opened and a petite woman with a helmet of perfectly coifed blond hair strode into the room. Two patrician men with florid faces and expensive suits followed her. Lawyers, clearly. This was going to be harder even than they'd expected.
"Why Sheriff! How lovely to see you this mornin'. It is a nice surprise when we public servants have time to get together to discuss the state of our fine town and parish. And you've brought company!"
"Mayor Landry," he said with a tip of his hat. "This is Agent Hotchner, Bureau Chief of the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI. With him is Agent Rossi and Dr. Jackson."
"Looovely to meet all of y'all," she said. She shook Hotch and Rossi's hands and smiled at Jackson. "I had no idea the FBI was quite so handsome! Please, take a seat. I'll ring for tea and we'll chat. Don't mind these gentlemen. Barrow and Hodges have been Landry family solicitors for generations; I barely make a move without callin' them first!" She gave a merry little laugh, but her eyes were pure cold steel.
"We aren't here for tea, Mayor," Hotch said.
"Darlin', this is the South. Y'all have your way of doin' things up in DC, but down here we move a little bit slower, and we like to appreciate the finer things in life. That means we have tea like civilized people, and then we'll discuss whatever messy business brings the FBI to my door." She gestured for them to sit, and after a moment's hesitation, they all did.
The lawyers took chairs set against the wall rather than joining the party.
She rang a silver bell at her elbow and offered them a beatific smile.
"You have a beautiful home, ma'am," Rossi said in his most ingratiating tone. "Did you decorate yourself?"
"Well aren't you the sweetest thing! No, sugar, the house came this way. It's on the register of historical places, you know. We change things very little. Of course it's been modernized with electricity, central heat and air, and we redo areas like bathrooms and the kitchen every five years or so. But the public spaces in the home have hardly changed in over two-hundred years."
The same woman who'd answered the door returned pushing a cart laden with a pot of hot water and a silver tower of finger sandwiches and small tarts. She parked it next to Mrs. Landry and poured the water into the porcelain teapot already on the coffee table. She placed the tower at the center, returned the teapot, and left with the cart. All of this was done silently, and so elegantly that it was like a dance.
Mayor Landry poured for each of them and passed the cups around. She indicated the cream and sugar, and encouraged them all to take a bite to eat. Jackson was never one to pass up free food, so she selected a cucumber sandwich and a tart topped with what looked like a fan of razor-thin slices of plum.
"We had to hire a new cook a few months ago," Mrs. Landry said. "I had a devil of a time finding one to suit, and then of course there's all the training and breaking-in time. Meals are finally getting back to normal! What an ordeal!"
Hotch's smile was acidic enough to curdle milk, but he sipped his tea and stayed silent. Jackson nibbled her sandwich to occupy her mouth, because otherwise she just knew she'd say something rude and get them all kicked out.
"We're actually here to talk to Jon Boy, ma'am," Willett said. "He's home from school now, I heard."
"That's right. Our Jon is up at Duke law," she said specifically to Jackson, her tone both confiding and boastful. "What kind of doctor are you, dear? Something to do with criminals, I suspect?"
Jackson offered a thin smile and put a strong measure of the South in her voice. "No, ma'am. I have double doctorates from Georgetown in religious history." That wasn't exactly right, but she didn't feel like getting into it. "The FBI thing was just a backup."
She looked momentarily nonplussed, but then tittered in amusement. "My how interesting! Isn't it nice of these gentlemen to let you tag along?"
Hotch's lips thinned even further. "Dr. Jackson is actually our boss," he said. "She's the one letting us tag along."
Rossi smiled and sipped his tea. "The FBI is very big on advancing young talent. Dr. Jackson has a long and promising career ahead of her. Maybe Director one day."
Hotch set down his teacup a little harder than strictly necessary. "I think we've covered enough small talk, Mayor Landry. We need to speak to your son regarding the nine women abducted here in St. Martin Parish."
Her perfectly-painted mouth formed a little o. "Those poor girls! What in the world could Jon Boy know about that? He went to private school in New Orleans and college at Tulane. He's been in North Carolina since August! He didn't know any of those women."
Those women, Jackson thought. Not exactly Jon Boy Landry's social circle.
"We'd like to hear that from him directly." Rossi spread his hands in a what can you do? gesture. "It's protocol. I'm sure you understand."
She narrowed her eyes at him and her head tilted thoughtfully. "You look so darn familiar to me, Agent Rossi! Have I seen you on TV?"
"It's possible," he said. "Sometimes I'm on The View or Regis and Kelly promoting one of my books."
Her hand flew up in the air and came down on her thigh with a crack. "That's right! David Rossi! You write those books about serial killers! My goodness, my husband loves those books! Oh just wait till I tell him!"
"If you have a copy of one around here I'd be happy to sign it for him."
"Would you really?" She clapped her hands in delight, like an excited school girl. "You come on with me, Agent Rossi. I'll show you the library. Bobby," she said with a wave at Sheriff Willett, "Jon Boy's outside at the tennis court. You know the way."
The lawyers looked confused about who to follow, and in the end they split up: the older one went with Rossi and the Mayor, while the younger one followed Sheriff Willett, Hotch, and Jackson. Willett led them down a wide hallway to a set of French doors that opened onto the backyard. A flagstone terrace led down to a wide green lawn bordered by sculpted hedges, and several yards in the distance they could see a fountain that looked more suited for Versailles than someone's back lawn.
"As Mayor Landry said, young Mr. Landry has been at school in North Carolina since August. I believe the last young lady went missing only a little over a month ago. It's impossible for him to be involved," the lawyer said as they walked.
Hotch and Jackson exchanged a look. They hadn't missed that detail, either, but it was possible he could have abducted her when on a break from school. It wasn't a long flight from Raleigh-Durham to Baton Rouge.
Willett had just reached them when Marie appeared, a look of distress on her face. "Did Mayor Landry say y'all could come back here? I thought you were havin' tea."
"It's fine, Marie," Willett said. "She sent us to find Jon Boy. She said he's playin' tennis."
She couldn't smother a snort. "If that's what you can call it." She gestured for them to follow her and pointed out the doors. A figure was sprawled out on a lounge chair on the back veranda, and he appeared fast asleep. His mouth hung open and his thin blond hair waved in the light breeze.
"Looks more like sleepin' it off to me," Willett said.
"Somethin' like that." She cut a look at the hovering lawyer. "But of course I'm sure Master Landry could explain better than I could," she said with a sweet smile. She stepped onto the back terrace and walked over to the chair. Stood for a moment watching him snore, then clapped her hands as loudly as she could. "Master Landry!" she cried. "Some people here to see you!"
He let out a terrific snort and almost fell out of the chair. "What?! Marie, what?" He rubbed his head and glared around at them with a befuddled expression. "Jesus Christ, Marie, what the fuck?"
"Like I said, Master Landry. Guests."
"Then call my mother! Why the hell are you bothering me!?"
Jackson let out a sigh. She knew this was exactly why Hotch had brought her along instead of Morgan or Prentiss. She was about this idiot's age, and she'd not missed how his glance had paused on her, just for a moment, before resuming its crawl. He didn't see her as a threat; he saw her as prey.
More fool he.
She stepped forward. "Mr. Landry, I'm Dr. Elliot Jackson with the FBI. My colleague Agent Hotchner and I would like to speak with you regarding the eight murdered women in this parish, and the recent kidnapping."
His jaw fell open. He blinked at her, then his cornflower blue eyes went hard. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about." He glanced at the lawyer. "Mr. Hodges, what the hell is this?"
"The FBI and Sheriff Willett have a few questions for you, Jon Boy. I'm sure it's just routine. If they ask anything untoward we will of course end the interview immediately, but in the meantime I suggest you cooperate."
"I don't have any problem cooperating," he said. "I just don't know what she's talking about."
Jackson smiled, borderline flirtatiously, and the set of his shoulders changed. Widened and eased. "Mr. Landry—"
"Please, call me Jon. All my friends do."
Her smile deepened so that the dimple emerged in her cheek. "Jon. Your mother told us you're attending law school up at Duke."
"Yeah, that's right. She loves tellin' everybody that, but it's not really a big deal. I got in at Harvard, too, but Boston's too cold for my blood." He flicked his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his chin that was designed to look effortless, but that he'd probably practiced in the mirror a thousand times before perfecting it.
"Mmm. Harvard and Duke. Well, based on the average LSAT score required to get into either of those schools, I know you must be very intelligent."
He looked startled, as though his intelligence were rarely praised, but after a moment his face eased into a pleased smile. "Well, you know, it's not gentlemanly to brag."
"No, of course not. All I meant was—someone of your intelligence and capability—I find it hard to believe you've missed all the banners, billboards, and posters plastering the entire parish. Surely you've heard the talk about town about the missing girls. I know you've been away at school, but this has been going on for eighteen months. You were here over the summer, weren't you?"
He scowled and rubbed his palms on his trousers. They were a pretentiously faded coral color. "I do know about it," he said. "Of course I do. I just meant—I don't know any details. I didn't know any of them, or about anything that happened."
She made a low noise of disagreement. "Mr. Landry—Jon, sorry, silly me—we know you've been to the Red Rooster. We know many of these women used to frequent the Inn as well. We also know it's a small town, and whatever rarefied circles you may run in, I doubt you've never met any of the nine."
He cast the lawyer an uncomfortable look. "Um…do you think we could talk…the two of us? Away from…?" He nodded toward Willett and Hodges and ignored Hotch altogether.
She glanced over her shoulder at the men and then back at Landry. "Of course we can. Why don't you take me over there and show me that fountain? It's gorgeous."
"Oh, sure." He stood up and paused a moment to rest a hand against his head, then he gestured for her to join him. Hodges started to follow, but Landry waved him away with a curt, impatient gesture that stopped him in his tracks. Together he and Jackson strolled down the steps onto a crushed gravel path that led to the fountain.
Willett cast Hotch a nervous look, but he held up a hand. "She knows what she's doing," he said. But still he watched them through narrowed, probing eyes, and his posture was tense. He was ready to extricate her at the slightest indication of distress. If the little shit made any sort of move on her.
She seemed to be holding her own, which didn't surprise him, but he was relieved. She tossed her hair, laughing at something he said, and he eased toward her like a predator. Hotch watched her take note of it and subtly move away. Casually brush her blazer back so that her gun was visible and then hidden again.
It was a low, overcast day, but at that moment the breeze parted the clouds and weak winter sun flooded the lawn. She squinted and held her hand above her eyes and Hotch smiled, just a little, because though he couldn't see it from this distance, he knew the exact way her nose was scrunched, and how the sudden brightness would lighten the depths of her glass green eyes, making them as clear and verdant as springtime grass.
Frowning, he deliberately turned his back on the scene and let the sheriff and lawyer worry about it for a little while. The memory of her from this morning was strong in his mind: flushed cheeks, lean curves, the unfortunate situation of her transparent top under the unzipped hoodie. He had tried very hard not to look, and he'd largely succeeded, but one of the pitfalls of this job was the inability to turn off one's observation skills—even when they were inappropriate.
Like noticing her lack of bra the night Reid found Gideon's goodbye note.
It had been a few months since Haley had left him and he'd moved out, but they'd been lonely ones. He missed his wife. He missed his son. He missed having someone to come home to at night and wake up to in the morning. Elliot was a beautiful woman, and it was only natural that he noticed her—but that's all. Notice, and move on. Not stand gawking in the same way that Jonathan Landry was right now.
"Agent." Sheriff Willett's quiet voice cut through his thoughts, and Hotch turned again. Jackson and Landry were headed back toward them, and as she caught Hotch's eye she gave a minute shake of her head. Garcia would double check everything, of course, but it seemed likely that he'd alibied out.
They stopped at the bottom of the steps and she handed him a card, but then adroitly avoided his handshake. Interesting. She didn't like to shake hands in general, but she often would with suspects just to see what she could see. Possibly she'd seen enough of what was going on in Jonathan Landry's head.
Marie walked them back to the parlor just as Rossi and Mayor Landry arrived from wherever she'd whisked him off to and they all said their goodbyes.
"Y'all feel free to call me if you need anything else! We all want whoever hurt these poor women brought to justice as soon as possible."
"We'll be in touch, ma'am," Willett said.
"I just know you will, Bobby. Election coming up next year. It would be so nice to have this feather for your cap, don't you think?" Her eyes, the same color as her son's but so much more venomous, were bright and steady as she smiled at him.
His smile back was more a grimace, and Marie herded them to the door.
"We'll talk back at the station," Hotch said to him in the driveway. He gave a tight nod and climbed into his patrol car, while they got into the SUV. No one spoke until they were clear of the oak-lined driveway and out onto the road.
"Rossi?" Hotch said.
"She didn't give me much. Woman's wound tighter than a two dollar watch. Complete control freak. I signed all her husband's books and every time I tried to steer the conversation toward the murders, she steered it right back. She won't be mayor of a town this small for long; look for her in Congress soon."
"Surprised she's not already there," Jackson said.
"I think that might have something to do with dear Jon Boy. She didn't say as much, of course, but the library was full of pictures of him as a little boy. Right around puberty the pictures stopped, except for high school and college graduation. No prom. No football team. No homecoming court—and according to Garcia, he was all Mr. Social in high school," Rossi said. "There's some reason it changed, and I'm thinkin' that's when he started getting in trouble."
"What did you think of him, EJ?" Hotch said.
She gave a slow shake of her head, her eyes steady on the passing scenery out the window. "I don't think he's our UNSUB. Date rapist, for sure, but…he lacks the control. He's lazy. Unmotivated. Sloppy."
"She showed me his car," Rossi said. "It's a Miata. There's no way he's kidnapping women against their will in a Miata. Also it was a total mess. Looked like a bomb had gone off at McDonald's and Taco Bell."
Hotch drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel in a rare outward display of his internal agitation. "We profiled the UNSUB was good-looking and charming enough to lure these women willingly. Obviously he has the looks. What about the charm?"
Jackson shrugged. "Sure, charming enough for government work. But I don't think any of our victims would've gone with him. He's the mayor's son. Rich, spoiled, clearly trouble. Women like our victims could see a little shit like this coming a mile away."
"Unless he was a John."
"Unless that," she said. "But we know that while nearly all of the victims had some history of prostitution, several of them hadn't been in that life for years. There's no evidence they were picked up for sex work." She sighed. "Though honestly we don't know for sure how he took them."
"No evidence of physical assault," Rossi said, "but otherwise…" He trailed off with a shrug of his own.
"Besides all of that, he claims he was at school except for June and July and most of August. That rules him out for most of our abductions. He says he doesn't come home much because law school keeps him too busy, and most of his friends are in North Carolina."
"That would seem to seal the deal," said Rossi. "Garcia can take a look and see what she can find, but it looks like Jonathan Landry might be a creep, but not our creep."
"Okay," Hotch said. "Let's get back and see what the others have on David Benoit and Mateo Mendoza."
Jackson's stomach sank and she felt the vein in her forehead throb. She wanted them to be wrong about Mateo Mendoza, but she was afraid he might be who they were looking for. And that Gabriel knew it, and was doing everything he could to hide it from them.
Morgan and Prentiss were already back by the time they arrived at the station, and their news was the same: Benoit wasn't their UNSUB. "After he 'retired,' he and his wife went on several long vacations: Alaska, Hawaii, a European cruise. He's been away nearly six months out of the last eighteen. The timelines don't match up at all," Prentiss said.
"A former cop could afford lavish vacations like that?" Rossi said with a frown.
"Dirty cop," said Reid. "Garcia pulled his financials and they're a mess. We might be able to get white collar to go after him for embezzling or tax evasion, but I don't think he's a serial killer." He paused. "At least not this serial killer."
"Okay, what about the other names Garcia sent?" Hotch said. He stripped off his coat and hung it on the rack before accepting the cup of coffee JJ offered him.
Reid made a face. "There are a few I can rule out definitively. A couple who look okay for it. But no one matches the profile as closely as I would like."
"So that just leaves Mateo Mendoza. Is his brother due in today?"
"Yep," JJ said. She checked her watch. "Thirty minutes ago."
Jackson had stopped in the bathroom on their way in, and she returned just in time to hear this last exchange. She stopped short. Why would Gabriel be late for work, today of all days? Did he not want to face her after last night?
That was ridiculous. He wasn't a coward, and his job was too important to him to do something like that. The reason was bigger than her, and she didn't think it was the flu.
"Hotch," she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, "can I talk to you a minute?"
He took one look at her and knew she meant for their conversation to be private. "This way," he said. He paused to ask Sheriff Willett if they could have his office a moment, and he nodded. Hotch closed the door behind them and turned to her with a stern expression, arms crossed over his chest.
She quailed. He was not going to be happy. But she wasn't a coward, either, and he needed to know. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders, and he lifted a brow.
"It's about Deputy Mendoza," she said.
"Yes, I figured."
"I told you he lied to me about the dumpsite, that he said he'd never been there before when he had."
"Mhmm," he said, tone clipped. "I'm more concerned with what you didn't tell me."
She refused to fidget, but she couldn't stand the weight of that look one more second. She turned away and ran a hand through her tousled hair. When she turned back she was calmer, her gaze steady even as she ran the thumb of one hand across the scar on the palm of the other. "Last night Deputy Mendoza and I went to dinner." She flicked her fingers. "A date."
He was still. Far more still than she liked. As she'd pointed out during their discussion that morning, there wasn't a specific rule about what she'd done. It was one date. Arguably a decision made with poor judgment, but…
"Thank you for telling me, EJ, but—"
"Wait. I'm not done." She swallowed. "At the end of the evening I saw something in his head. I wasn't sure—what it was. I could tell he was thinking…" A sigh, this one impatient. "He was concerned about me discovering something he didn't want me to know. The one clear, solid thought I got from him was she can't find out about Mateo."
A silence fell, as hard and deep as the clap of an enormous bell. "I see," he finally said.
"Hotch—"
He lifted two fingers without uncrossing his arms and her mouth clamped shut. "My main confusion here, Elliot, is why you didn't feel this was important enough to tell me this morning, when I told you Rossi and I were concerned about Deputy Mendoza and his potential status as the UNSUB. We spent the morning chasing leads that turned out to be dead ends, and meanwhile you knew Mendoza was concerned about you, an FBI agent, finding out something about his brother."
"Yes," she said, wearily, "something. Anything! Maybe just that he has a record. Maybe that he works for Delhomme. It could've been any number of things."
"Of course it could have, but that wasn't a decision for you alone to make."
"I got it out of his head, Hotch!" she cried, quietly. "He was kissing me and I saw that in his head. I didn't want to tell you! It wasn't mine to tell. It wasn't any of my goddamn business, and I wish to hell I didn't know it and that I hadn't seen it. Do you have any idea what it's like to—" She threw her hands up in frustration. "I just wanted to kiss him!"
He softened, but only a hair. He wasn't sure what to say to her. Of course he had no idea what it was like to read minds. He knew what it was like to be a profiler. He knew what it was like to understand the evil that men do, and to spot the potential for that evil in anyone he met. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Gideon about the struggle in naming his son, because every name recalled a famous killer of the past.
Then he'd gone and named him Jack, after maybe the most famous killer of all.
"I'm sorry," she said. "That was—too personal. I should have told you. You're right. I've been wrestling with it all morning because I hoped it was something—like him having a record. But then after we cleared Jonathan Landry and David Benoit…" She lifted her hands again, this time in a tired gesture of defeat. "I'm sorry."
He rubbed his forehead with a large, blunt-fingered hand as though a headache were brewing between his temples. One probably was. "May I ask you something deeply inappropriate?"
Her mouth quirked, briefly. "No, I didn't sleep with him. The second I saw that I ended the evening and went up to my room. Alone."
He let out a long breath. "I didn't ask out of prurient interest."
"I know that. You need to know how deep this goes. It was one dinner. One dance. One kiss. And I think—" She broke off with a frown. "I know it sounds improbable, but I get the sense that he…not knows, but somehow weirdly suspects that there's something odd about me. Something other than average."
He huffed, a sound caught somewhere between amusement and frustration. Something other than average. "Elliot—" He stopped. Shook his head. He couldn't say any of what he was thinking, especially not right now when she'd just revealed something so intimate.
"You're a great deal more than average," he finally said. "But please, in the future, be straight with me. I need to know information that potentially impacts the case. You know that. Also, in the future, if you decide to get close with a local…you aren't required to share personal information with anyone on the team. Myself included."
She stared at him. "But the optics," she said.
"Fuck the optics, EJ. Just be discreet. And if it has something to do with a case, tell me. Understood?"
He sounded as exhausted as she felt. Their eyes met, brown on green, and she found herself taking a step closer. She clenched her fingers to keep from reaching for him, because something she saw in his face was so surprising and un-Hotch-like that it hit like a glass shard to the center of her chest.
Loss. That's what it was. Loss deeper than he knew how to handle, and he was floundering, casting about like a lost boy searching for any safe place to land.
Her lips parted as she started to speak, but she closed them again. He wouldn't want her to get any more personal than she already had. Her foolish, blathered confession about Gabriel had been more than enough, and while she sensed there was something hovering in the air, some miasma that could possibly only clear if talked about, she also knew now was neither the time nor the place…though she wasn't sure that such a time or place would ever exist for them, BAU Unit Chief and his continuously troublesome mind-reading subordinate.
Maybe he could talk to Rossi. Drink some expensive Scotch and smoke some cigars and exorcise whatever these new ghosts were that clung to him like the Spanish moss on the trees outside.
"Understood, sir. It won't happen again, and from now on, you'll know what I know."
He nodded, his equilibrium restored once more. "Thank you. That's all I ask. I have noticed how you've been trying since you've been back. I don't want this to derail the progress we've made."
"Neither do I," she said.
"Good. Then let's get back to work, and figure out what Deputy Mendoza didn't want you to find out about his brother."
oh Deputy Hotness, we're really in it now