CHAPTER 34: Outfoxed (Season 5, episode 8)

Character(s): Prentiss, Hotch

A/N: Some spoilers for the Foyet storyline here. References to the episodes "The Fox", "52 Pickup", and "The Performer", as well as mention of Emily's relationship with Ian Doyle when she was undercover in her pre-BAU days. Quoted lines which are in italics are courtesy of the episode's writer, Simon Mirren. Also contains a few lines here and there from "Omnivore".

"God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor – misery." — William Cullen Bryant

Emily Prentiss felt like she was going to throw up.

In part, this was due to the man sitting next to her in the car. He looked deathly pale and furious and…terrified? Yes, that looks like absolute fear in his eyes. She knew exactly whom he was thinking of at the moment (not that she could blame him, for she couldn't get that name out of her head now, either – their own variation on the "F" word, as it were), and her worry for him and his family and the team had all built up and congealed into a nasty, hard little ball that buried itself deep into the pit of her stomach and refused to go away.

Add in the other reason for her current ill mood, and she could swear her head was literally spinning. She felt woozy, discombobulated, angry, disgusted…name the negative emotion, and she probably had it. The interview she and Hotch had done with Karl Arnold back at the prison had taken far, far more out of her than she'd expected it to, and also dredged up far more painful memories than she would've liked to recall.

He knew exactly how to get under her skin, under Hotch's skin. They may have gotten the answers they needed, both for their current case as well as Foyet's whereabouts, but at that moment, Emily didn't see anything worthwhile about that outcome. The victims were exploited, they would never return to their families, and the unsub died without having to answer to the families whose lives she ruined. Meanwhile, Hotch, Emily, and the team at large could count on more sleepless nights…and more fear.

So much for the concept of justice.

ooo

"Emily? Prentiss…I know all about you."

Emily had studied Karl Arnold's case prior to joining the BAU. She was well aware of the basic outline of what he'd done to his victims. She knew that he'd killed them, the order in which he'd killed them, and that he abused the children beforehand (the fact that she had to make note of whether or not the abuse happened before or after death in and of itself…she'd never get used to having to focus on details like that).

The abuse was sexual, she knew that…yet she was more than fine with leaving the details vague. The general idea was clear enough for her. Lord knows she'd handled more than enough cases where she got a firsthand idea of what happened to children who suffered such a tragic fate, after all. There was the Katie Jacobs case (that damned doll still haunted Emily's dreams even now). The Carl Buford case (she'd never forget the pain in Morgan's eyes as he had to relive his own traumatic childhood experiences). The case in Denver with the home invasions, and the foster children (seeing Tyler, a mere child, pointing a gun at an adult, feeling such rage and loneliness at so young an age…it shook her. Hard).

When Hotch had brought her along on this interview, he did so with the intention of her presence throwing Arnold off, therefore perhaps forcing him to open up more easily as a result. Fine. She was up for that – she always did like watching male criminals squirm when they were confronted by a strong, aggressive female agent. Bring it on.

Surprisingly, though, Arnold did not react that way. Instead, he was very calm. Cool. Collected. His claim that he knew about her upon their meeting – he wanted to be the one to throw her off. He oozed arrogance, knew just what information to hold back on sharing until he was guaranteed he'd get what he wanted.

And what he wanted, Emily did not want to give him. There were many things she'd do for a job, had done for a job – they weren't always pretty, but she knew they were necessary. But exploiting children in any way, shape, or form? No. That was a line she refused to even consider crossing.

Yet there was Hotch, a man Emily otherwise considered very sane, logical, and practical, suggesting they do just that with the photos from their current crime scenes. Any attempts to debate the issue with him were quickly shot down, his only capitulation being that he could take over on that front if she wasn't feeling up to doing so. That was a compromise, and Emily wasn't in the mood to compromise. She couldn't help but think back to her comment about him from a few years ago… "You don't trust women as much as men."

"We have to give him something or we'll get nothing from him," he'd explained to her at one point. So matter-of-fact, so resigned to how this would likely play out.

Oh, we gave him something, all right. Way too much "something".

And so it was that soon thereafter, she found herself sitting in a small, dark, concrete room across from the man, listening to Arnold describe, in excruciatingly graphic and flat out enthusiastic detail, just what all he'd done to the children he'd held captive. Horrific images filled Emily's mind then, stories that would haunt her long after this case, providing even more sleepless nights and disturbing dreams.

Now she was the one trying to avoid squirming.

ooo

"Yours was one of the first cases I studied. I've been fascinated ever since."

"With what?"

"You."

Emily shivered as the car carrying her and Hotch continued its quickened pace down the road. Was her shiver from the chill in the air outside? She didn't think so.

She still could not believe she'd actually flirted with Karl Arnold. Better to sacrifice her own dignity than that of those young, innocent victims, of course…but then again, Arnold's victims were robbed even further of their dignity thanks to her seductive attempts to draw Arnold out. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.

The scariest part of that experience, though? It wasn't difficult for her to slip into that role. No, it wasn't difficult at all. She'd built up quite a bit of experience doing this throughout the years, after all.

There was Viper, the pickup artist from their case in Georgia last year, for example. No, he wasn't an unsub, but he was most definitely a sleazeball, and one who'd heavily inspired their unsub in that case. And yet she got all prettied up for and made herself available to him anyway, in order to get crucial information. Her snarky side came out in full force during her encounter with him at the club in Atlanta, sure, but even with that defense mechanism, she still loathed the way his eyes roamed over her. Still cringed at the overpowering smell of his cologne. Still felt a chill down her spine when he threw out one of his lines or "facts" about chemistry. She'd wasted a perfectly good dress and hairdo on him!

There was also that musician, Dante, from their most recent case. When the team thought he was their criminal, she was the one called in to flirt with him as an "in". She had to act the part of the adoring fan who wanted an autograph. Thankfully, he saw right through her charade fairly quickly, was not the man they were looking for, and she'd breathed a sigh of relief at not having to continue on with that crap any further.

Then there was Ian Doyle.

He was an unsub – a terrorist, as a matter of fact, which was about as high up there in the unsub list as one could get. He traded weapons, murdered countless people, tried to groom his own son to follow in his footsteps. At first she'd tried to resist the undercover job – she clearly remembered arguing with Clyde about it a time or two.

But then she saw a photo of him, heard a recording of a discussion he'd had with someone that Interpol had managed to snag. With those piercing blue eyes, a rugged demeanor, and a thick, dangerously seductive accent…it became frighteningly easier for her to fall into her role. Seeing him with Declan only egged her on. She had a hard time reconciling how a man could be so violent towards other people, yet show such deep affection towards a child. And when she found out Declan was his son? She'd never felt so conflicted in her whole life.

Despite all her concerns, her conflicts, she dove into the role, treating Doyle as though he was James Bond, and she his Bond girl, swept up in some big action movie. She went farther with him that she'd ever gone with any other unsub before or since. She connected with Declan (if there was any upside to this job, it was getting to know that boy). She accepted gifts from Doyle. Kissed him. Slept with him.

And she played ignorant to all the activities he was involved in, or played her questions off as simple, innocent, girlish curiosity. Sleeping with him was certainly enough to make her feel guilty, no question, but the ignorant attitude…that, oddly enough, drove Emily nuts most of all. Having to pretend like she was oblivious to everything going on, talking in the sort of voice one would likely hear out of an airheaded girl…that wasn't Emily.

Of course not. That was Lauren. Emily's different, remember?

Emily wasn't sure she totally knew the difference anymore.

Now here she was again, using her looks, her "oh-so-innocent" voice, hell, using her body language, and towards whom? A child abuser and murderer. All to get information about his "admirer", and how the unsub in their current case operated, the similarities and differences between them. She had to sit there and watch as Hotch brought out photos of dead children, knowing they would excite this…this…guy. She had to play the proper, well-behaved, "don't argue" role. Again. And she hated it. How many more times could she do this? What other abhorrent criminals would she be made to use her feminine wiles on?

It was so surreal. One could say what they wanted about Doyle, at least he never abused his son. Quite the contrary, actually – he was fiercely protective of him. He would've murdered someone like Arnold if he so much as looked at Declan the wrong way. From what she'd heard, he was practically devastated when he'd been told his son had died some years ago.

A terrorist has more love and cares for his son than this guy does for children he doesn't even know. It was then that Emily realized that, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much her job taught her to do so, she never would truly understand the way the world, or people, worked.

ooo

"Getting intimate with a killer is…so different."

"It's what we do."

If only you knew, Hotch…

Was he surprised by my ability to "bond" so easily with Arnold? If so, he never seemed to show it (course, that was nothing new for him – he had one hell of a poker face). She prayed right then and there that he'd never have to question her further about that, that she'd never have to give him some very tough explanations. Some things deserve to stay in the past, don't they?

She knew what Hotch meant, of course, by his response. But still, now she found herself wondering. What does intimacy mean to a male agent? Do they ever flirt with female unsubs?

Emily was suddenly yanked from her thoughts just then as she felt the SUV veer sharply around a corner. Her eyes flitted over to the speedometer, and she tried to keep them from widening as she noticed the difference between the numbers there and the number on the speed limit sign they'd just passed a mile or so back. Her gaze moved over to Hotch then, and she noticed the tightness of his jaw (wouldn't surprise me if he were grinding his teeth), his sharp, narrowed eyes, his ever-whitening knuckles as he clung onto the steering wheel. Emily had never seen Hotch this crazed before. She'd seen him angry. She'd seen him sad. She'd seen him show concern. But this…who knew Hotch had this side hidden away? She was in awe and feeling deeply panicked all at the same time.

Not that she could blame him for his current reaction, of course. Towards the end of their interview with Karl Arnold, Hotch had found out that Foyet was the one who'd actually been in contact with the man, trying to send Hotch a message through him. Foyet had managed to keep tabs on Hotch and his family's whereabouts for the last few months…and now it seemed he had Haley and Jack, and eventually Hotch himself, in his sights.

Emily desperately longed to try and calm Hotch down, but…well…she didn't know where to begin.

"Hey, Hotch…we'll get him." No, he'd heard that one enough times already.

"Hotch, they'll be fine." She hoped that was the case, certainly wanted it to be the case. But she hesitated to promise that for certain.

"He's just messing with you." Like he has in the past. Didn't stop Hotch then. And anyway, she'd seen what usually happened when Foyet "messed with" people long enough.

Not to mention, from the look on Hotch's face, he clearly wasn't in the mood for conversation of any kind as it stood. He did seem to ease up on the accelerator ever so slightly, though, once he finally noticed her tight grip on the door handle, her other hand clinging to the back of her seat.

Foyet had known how to disappear, to make any aspect of his existence untraceable. He could slip in and out of Hotch's life totally unnoticed, and nobody would be any the wiser. As Garcia had noted in her frustrating search to dig up dirt on him, to completely erase oneself from view "takes commitment."

Indeed it does. That kind of devotion and planning was enough to make Emily shudder once more.

Foyet had reached out to a man who destroyed families. Murdered children in front of their parents. Murdered wives in front of their husbands. Left the husbands, the fathers, for last, and relished watching them give up on even trying to save themselves in the end. Emily could still picture in her mind's eye the bullet hole in Hotch's apartment. She could still recall the details of what Foyet had done to him while stabbing him. Never forgot the doctors reciting the list of injuries he'd sustained while she waited for him to wake up at the hospital.

The message had been sent loud and clear.

Emily placed a hand over her stomach, willing herself to keep it together until the two of them returned home.

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no. Not him. Not this. Not again.

Aaron Hotchner was pretty sure his brain had completely melted into mush by now. He couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. All he saw was a blinding red anger, all he felt was a deep, sickening sense of dread.

Sometimes, on cases, Hotch would get…feelings…that the whole thing wouldn't end well. Reid had even asked him about such reactions when the team was up in Canada at that pig farm not too long ago.

Indeed, Hotch did actually have such a feeling then, and he had the effects from that case, and its aftermath, to prove that his premonition was right.

So the fact that that exact same feeling was creeping up again now…well, suffice to say Hotch found himself desperately wanting to believe in simple coincidences right then and there.

"He's just getting warmed up. It's just…you don't see it."

Foyet was a man who made good on his word in the past. He'd stopped killing when Shaunessy agreed to his deal. He'd started killing again the moment Shaunessy died, just as he'd promised he would. He vowed revenge on Hotch, and had tracked him down and attacked him.

He'd taken the information regarding Haley, and her maiden name. Hotch knew back then that Foyet wasn't going to let that information just linger and collect dust in his apartment. That assumption had now become a reality.

It was all so obvious. Always had been. Ever since Hotch had begun following Foyet the man had made his clues so incredibly blatant they might as well have come with flashing neon signs. The glasses at one of his early crime scenes. The girlfriend who was with him the night she died, who happened to be considerably younger than him. Just like many of his other female victims. The numbers he'd scrawled on the bus after his little massacre.

"Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times?"

He'd even stated his crimes outright when talking to Hotch and Rossi. He was practically handing the BAU a confession on a silver platter!

And yet, as always, Hotch somehow found himself one step behind Foyet. He should've known that a guy like Foyet would reach out to a killer who shared similar motifs and motives. He should've realized that the unsub on their current case wouldn't feel a connection to Arnold. Their killings were similar in terms of people targeted, but their means of and reasons for killing were different. And just as Arnold destroyed families, so too did Foyet plan to destroy Hotch's.

Hotch still couldn't get Arnold's maniacally gleeful laughter out of his head. Foyet must've done extensive research on him, for Arnold was always one of those unsubs for Hotch. The one that kept him up for a good few weeks after the case had closed. The one that made him wake up in the middle of the night, double checking to make sure Haley and Jack were still there, still safe. The one who lingered in his mind after his divorce from Haley…the day he removed his wedding ring for good, he was startled to hear Arnold's taunting words echo in his mind.

And of course, he just had to comment on that change in Hotch's life during the interview. Gloating about it, a huge smirk plastered on his very punchable face the entire time.

"How'd you come to lose your ring? Wait, don't tell me…'a casualty of the job'."

God, he really hated it when the unsubs were right.

"He knows everything about this family. He watches their every move."

Just like Foyet knows all about mine.

Foyet had kept Arnold well informed on the Hotchner developments these past few months. Hotch's son, and Haley, both had to go into hiding because of another "casualty of the job", one which had come back to bite him in a most horrific way. He was always looking over his shoulder now, wondering if today would be the day he'd strike. Dreaded returning home, wondering just what…or who…would be waiting for him there. Felt anxious every time he'd get a visit or call from the agent assigned to his son and ex-wife, hoping for the most benign and uneventful of updates.

And if Foyet was an admirer of Arnold's, surely that meant he was taking cues from the man for his own terrifying plans.

"Girls have much more to…lose…than boys. It's a fact that the female body can handle pain much better."

Hotch remembered all too well what Foyet had done to his female victims. What he'd done to his own girlfriend.

If anything happens to Haley, to Jack…if I lose both of them… He honest to God had no idea how to finish that sentence. No idea what the hell he'd do after that.

What was it Arnold had said at the prison? "At least I spared the fathers the grief of living."

Might as well…

No. He couldn't go down that road. Didn't dare. I need to focus. To regain control. Haley and Jack are depending on me. My team are depending on me.

"He's just a man, nothing more."

Hotch had long ago stopped believing that statement was true. But he had to keep those words in mind now regardless. For the sake of his own sanity, if nothing else.

"Then why can't you catch him?"

I will. You'd better believe that I will. That is a promise I'm going to keep.

Hotch was fairly certain he didn't even notice the red lights or stop signs the rest of the way home.

"From the body of one guilty deed, a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed." — William Wordsworth