in which a criminal is brought in for an interview after getting arrested.
she's the key for cracking a case the fbi had been working on for years.
but will she talk or will she continue hide, trying to run from her memories?
or
in which Spencer ca...
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▆ time ticking
▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
﹙so desperate to hear my voice﹚
A PERSON CAN RUN.
Run until their lungs give up and their body falls limp on the ground. Exhaustion lacing in their features, every muscle aching, and the bones feeling bruised.
But they will never get far enough to hide.
What is chasing them will always be faster. It will never fall, break, or stop.
Not until what they're chasing falls first.
Verity hadn't fallen yet. Her lungs could still breathe, even if her muscles were sore.
She knew she still had it in her to run, but she wasn't sure for how much longer. The exhaustion was starting to take over her, crippling her brain and making the information threaten to spill.
She focused her mind on the timed ticking of the clock; with each passing second, she could feel an ounce of weight lifting off her chest; they were always closer.
However, she had to wait, her job was calculated, and everything had its time– so until the time came, she had to keep her mouth shut.
"I'll ask for the last time," Hotch warned, his eyes burning on the woman in front of her. It had been almost an hour since they had shown her the photographs of the couple—almost an hour since she had given them anything seemingly to be information.
He had tried every tactic he could use, even the softer ones. In which he introduced himself and told her nothing could've happened to her if she talked, that maybe, just maybe, the judge would've reduced her penalty (both knew it was a blatant lie), but nothing worked.
"Did you know them?" he asked, carefully watching her as she kept her eyes trained on the gray wall in front of her, her lips pulled into a tight line.
She hadn't moved a muscle since the last images were displayed in front of her, if not for occasionally blinking her eyes. Her abilities to dissociate herself from the present were impressive, almost frightening.
For her, instead, it was the norm. She was used to it; she just needed to focus on something and the world around her faded into background noise.
The screams became whispers, and the touches transformed into a light breeze (if she used her imagination enough). This time, she focused on each passing second, keeping count.
"You know, not answering is only going to make things worse."
ten.
Hotch sighed at her defeating silence, his chair sliding roughly against the cold floor as he stood up.
nine.
He stepped around the table, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his eyes never leaving the woman.
eight.
He posed his hands on the metal surface of the table, and she could see from the corner of her eyes, his head tilting to the side as he analyzed her like he had been doing for hours.
seven.
"Do you really want to play this game?" he threatened.
six.
She felt shivers running down her spine when his tone reached her ears; it was cold, and she knew she didn't have it in her to play this game. The only thing keeping her playing was the thought that it was ending.
five.
"I'm going to ask again; maybe you'll change your mind."
four.
She kept her silence, her eyes not wavering.
three.
"Did you know them?"
two.
Verity looked at him through her lashes; their eyes met, and she had to ignore how her hands were threatening to shake with fear.
one.
"Wow. You, agent, are so desperate to hear my voice, aren't you?"
five o'clock.
Her voice was hoarse, not having used it in hours. Her attentive gaze didn't miss the way his eyes filled with relief.
"What. Do you like it, Aaron?" She tilted her head, folding her hands over the table; she couldn't stretch them too far, the tight (almost too tight) handcuff refraining from doing so. She stretched her lips in a smirk, lifting her head completely.
He hadn't said his first name, and it was stupid for him to suppose that she hadn't done her homework on the team before walking into this situation.
He took a step back, as if he were trying to take a better look, his mind trying hard to figure her out.
"You like it?" She taunted, her voice soft and delicate, a blunt contrast to what she was accused of. "Does it remind you of Haley's?" His face fell at the mention of his dead lover, taken aback. "Or do I just look like her?" A chuckle left her lips, seeing her taunt working as he clenched his jaw.
"The second phase will start at five o'clock. It will be short, but you have to be careful," he ordered, adjusting a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, his rough hands brushing against her cheek. "Talk, but don't give them actual information."
He continued, posing his hand on her cheek. "Taunt them, confuse them... play them; that's what you need to do." Verity averted her gaze from his eyes in a silent agreement, letting him continue. "That's until we shut every security system down and come for you."
Hotch responded easily to her provocation, his feet dragging him back to the table and his hands slamming on the desk hard enough to make her back straighten.
"What did you say?" His eyes were full of fire. Verity would've felt threatened, even scared. But she had looked into the eyes of the devil; his couldn't faze her.
She opened her mouth, the words about to roll out of her tongue, but the door opening didn't let her. "Hotch," a woman, her raven black cut just a few inches under her shoulders, cut the tense atmosphere, making Hotch turn around.
"Matthew Blair has escaped," she announced.
Hotch cracked his neck to look at Verity, his eyes flashing with horror when she smirked back at him.
