A/N:
First of all I am sorry that it took me so long to update, but life is not exactly easy for me these days and this has undeniably an effect on my creativity. Anyhow... my muse seems to be back, so here is the next chapter.
Thanks a bunch for the story alerts, for favoring this story and – most of all – for reviewing the last chapter: HGRHfan35, greengirl82, radioactive460, Mydnyte Houre, Nena Cero, HPforever-after, HouseBroken.
Somehow I feel the need to explain that I – in no way – support or tolerate self justice. This is fiction and therefore (almost) everything is allowed, but in real life... no way! Having said that, of course, I'm aware that Hotch acts a little OOC in this story, but otherwise he wouldn't be the bad-ass I need him to be. He's a bad-ass with a conscience, though, you'll see... R&R please!
Disclaimer: I own some things but definitely not Criminal Minds. CBS does. I just borrow the characters from time to time and promise to give them back unharmed.
Present day...
Hotch watches Doyle come out of the diner. Alone. None of his men are around. He stumbles slightly, obviously drunk. Not the thoroughly fit and always vigilant man he used to be who would never be such an easy target without the protection of his army. Now that he killed the woman who destroyed his life – and that's what Ian Doyle still believes, that Lauren Reynolds is dead, that his revenge was successful – there doesn't seem to be much left for him to hold on to.
The alteration of this vicious and dangerous man shouldn't affect Hotch, but in a way it does. He wonders how much he has changed. Whether there is another expression in his eyes these days compared to the time before they knew all about Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds. Whether the recognition and disappointment that the lies had always been there, waiting right underneath the surface to come out and slap them right into the face, shows. They all have changed. A few months ago he would have laughed at anybody who had told him that he would chase another man around the world just to kill him.
He remembers why he is here, draws the gun and points it at Doyle, somehow expecting that the trigger will be pulled by its own will. But of course it isn't.
They are hiding behind some large containers. Nonetheless Doyle will see them sooner or later – drunk or not. He is not blind and he will recognize one of his worst enemies when he sees him. Let alone the gun that is pointed at him.
"Shoot him or watch him escape," Clyde Easter murmurs in Hotch's ear.
He also has drawn his gun and will shoot Doyle if necessary, never had any qualms to do it, albeit he wants to give Hotch the advantage.
When Hotch doesn't react, Clyde gets impatient. There are no witnesses around, they are in the middle of the desert next to a nearly untrafficked road, no car passed by within the last five hours – it is the perfect situation to get it over with and get away. But it won't always be perfect. Other people will leave the diner sooner or later or drive by. They have to act now. It is never a good thing to tempt fate when it gives you exactly what you have been waiting for.
"Don't make such a fuss!" Clyde Easter hisses. "Think of all the cruelties Doyle committed."
Sometimes simple things have unexpected effects. Unconsciously Clyde used just the phrase Hotch had heard Doyle say when he forced himself on Emily. Don't make such a fuss! And suddenly he is not in the desert anymore. He is in the middle of the recording, outside the car, has to hear helplessly what happens inside and has to stop it, needs to stop it, can't think of anything else.
At the end the trigger pulled itself, by its own will. Hotch doesn't remember doing it, although he sees the impact of the bullet. There is not much blood. It's a clean shot. It shouldn't be like that when someone dies. Not so clean and easy, even if it is Ian Doyle.
Doyle looks straight into Hotch's eyes as he falls to the ground. Perhaps he wants to say something, perhaps everything already has been said. Anyway no word leaves his mouth and then his eyes turn blank.
The sun sets. The day is drawing to a close.
A week from now...
It's dark this time. The surroundings fulfill the cliché. A hidden alley that somehow matches their usual suits. Only the sunglasses are not needed.
There's no-one else around. Rain is falling down, covering the world in a gray mist.
"Doyle is dead," Mr. Y confirms.
Mr. X nods pleased. "It was a success then," he says, referring to the recording.
They are used to half-truths and manipulation. Reality is what you make of it. Their reality requires Ian Doyle to be dead. It's the result that counts. They don't think about whether the end justifies the means.
Aaron Hotchner will never listen to the complete recording. Then he would hear Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds laughing and agreeing that it was time to drive home to proceed what they had started in the car. Doyle liked his games. He liked to feign a situation in which he seemingly forced himself on Lauren, liked her to play along. The recording, Hotch had been listening to, had been taken when Ian and Lauren already had been lovers. There had been no reason for her to hesitate and be reluctant other than that Doyle liked their foreplay that way. The men deliberately sent him the shortened version that stopped exactly at the point they wanted to. They knew what kind of emotional impact this would have on him. It was necessary to convince Aaron Hotchner that it was justified to kill Ian Doyle.
What Mr. X and Mr. Y will never know is that the part of the game when Emily, or Lauren, seemingly hesitated and tried to hold Doyle back, was the only thing that was real about their relationship. For her it felt as if he forced himself on her every time, no matter whether she had long resigned herself to this situation in which she had to play along. The role play that was meant to turn him on even more was the only moment that allowed her to show her real feelings. And that was what Hotch had heard and recognized. Her raw fear and desperation. Therefore in a way and completely unintentionally the men had given Hotch a manipulated version that was much closer to the truth than any not manipulated version could have been.
Present day...
They say that the soul leaves the body when somebody dies, but Hotch is not sure whether this is what happens, whether Ian Doyle had a soul. He is not even sure that he, Aaron Hotchner, still has one.
What he did is so utterly wrong that he can't even begin to describe it. That is what he knows though. What he feels is an entirely different matter. He feels as if he has taken drugs. He never has. Therefore this is the first high in his life. He is flying, in trance. Ian Doyle is dead.
Hotch is aware that each high is followed by a crash, that reality will catch up with him and that he will be miserable soon. Suddenly he feels sick and staggers away from Clyde.
"Don't vomit," Easter warns him and Hotch understands what he means. Vomit is DNA. So he concentrates and swallows the bile he already tastes in his throat and longs to spit out. The high is over. This is reality. He killed a man in cold blood.
Right now he is glad that Clyde Easter is there to take over. He wipes the gun that can't be traced back to them and throws it away, makes sure that they leave no trails. It doesn't take more than two minutes and they are gone. There is no need to bury the body. The desert will take care of it.
To be continued
I hope this didn't turn out too dark. And I hope I managed to give bad-ass Hotch enough of a conscience to make his actions plausible.
Originally I intended to end the story here, but somehow it didn't feel right, so there will be one more chapter. Well, what could happen next?
Review and let me know your suggestions... :)