∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

won't you listen that i'm here being for you?

the next morning feels like a blur. my phone buzzes early, rousing me from the shallow sleep i'd managed to slump over my desk. jj's message blinks on the screen, sounding urgent: 'meet at 751 harvey st, downtown. will explain there.' i groan, grabbing my bag and keys as i head out.

"we aren't working a case. why call us to a crime scene?" i ask as i step out of my car and join emily, morgan, and rossi on the curb. "we thought you'd know." emily says with a shrug. "jj just said the police requested us. it's urgent." i reply, rubbing my eyes against the remnants of sleep. "four hours of rest after that canada case—this better be." morgan mutters, looking just as worn out as i feel. the four of us make our way into the apartment building, greeted by the familiar chaos of officers moving back and forth.

jj waves us over. "hey, guys. over here. you remember detective walker." she says, gesturing toward the detective who extends a handshake. "thanks for coming. i know you're all running on fumes." walker says with a nod of appreciation, shaking each of our hands. "who's the victim?" rossi asks, getting straight to the point. "nelson martinez," walker replies. "from what we've gathered, he answered the door, was forced back at gunpoint, and shot in the chest. it's messy. very sloppy."

"no disrespect, but i don't see why you need us here." morgan said, his tone skeptical as he leaned against the table, arms crossed. walker exhaled deeply. "two days ago, a local doctor named tom barton found a note addressed to him at the hospital. it said the writer planned to kill his son. if dr. barton tried to keep his son hidden, someone else would die in his place every single day." "and you think this is connected?" i asked, leaning forward slightly.

"the note is signed 'lc.'" reid said, flipping the paper over in his hands. his sharp eyes scanned the handwriting, his voice laced with quiet concern. walker stepped in, his voice steady but grim. "yesterday, we had another victim—multiple gunshots outside an apartment complex. the shooter left a signature. lc, written in white chalk next to the body."

"so, unless dr. barton puts his son in harm's way, this unsub's going to keep killing?" reid added, his words cutting through the room like a knife. rossi tilted his head thoughtfully. "where's barton now?" "he's at home," jj said, glancing at her phone. "he doesn't know about this second victim yet." i frowned, glancing around. "where's hotch?" jj hesitated. "he's not answering his phone. i assume it's on vibrate—he'll get the messages when he wakes up."

"try him again. he can meet us at dr. barton's house." i said, exhaustion creeping into my voice. jj nodded and tried again as we headed out, the group moving with quiet urgency toward the cars. walking beside jj, i caught her muttering as she hung up after leaving a voicemail. "so weird. he always answers his phone." the drive to dr. barton's house was tense, the weight of the case pressing down on all of us. when we arrived, the doctor greeted us at the door, his stress evident in the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hands fidgeted against the doorframe.

"dr. barton," emily started, her tone professional yet compassionate, "where's your son now?" "i asked him to stay in his room." barton said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "what did you tell him?" jj pressed, leaning forward slightly. barton cleared his throat, his voice thick with strain. "i told him there's a threat against me at the hospital. i said the police didn't take it seriously but wanted me to stay here for a few days. i wanted him to stay here with me, safe." rossi, ever the one to dig deeper, asked, "and jeffrey's mother?"

barton's face fell, and he looked away, his voice softening. "she died when he was 10. breast cancer." he sighed, the memory weighing on him. "would someone actually hurt jeffrey?" he asked, his worry palpable. rossi met his gaze with grim honesty. "two people are already dead. whoever sent that note isn't bluffing." barton dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "and if i don't let jeffrey out of the house... then he's going to kill again?" his voice cracked, fear and frustration colliding in his words. 

"right now, we have to assume he's going to keep killing." morgan said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. barton shook his head, his voice rising with frustration. "my son is fifteen years old. i cannot put him in danger." "we're not asking you to," i assured him. "even if you were willing, we couldn't let him go to school, knowing that would endanger every child in that building. what we need to do is focus on what we know." my voice was steady, but inside, the weight of the situation pressed hard against me.

barton took a deep breath, his shoulders sinking as he tried to process. "i can't think of anyone who would want to hurt jeffrey." he said, exhaling sharply. "whoever wrote that note was putting you on notice. this is personal," emily said, her voice calm but firm. "he wants you to remember who he is. until you do, he hasn't accomplished what he set out to do."

morgan leaned forward slightly. "i know you've been asked this before, but i need you to think again. do you know anyone with the initials l.c.?" barton let out a frustrated sigh. "i've checked everywhere—my day planner, emails, patient lists. there's no one." "have you felt like someone's been watching you?" emily asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

barton shook his head apologetically. "i'm sorry, no." walker stepped in, his tone sharp. "both of the victims he's killed so far have been hispanic men in their forties. have you treated any patients recently who fit that description?" barton scoffed, his frustration boiling over. "i'm a trauma surgeon in d.c. i have endless patients from all demographics." rossi nodded. "then we're going to need all the records of your recent surgeries."

"of course." barton said, resigned, running a hand through his hair. as jj stepped out to call garcia for the records, i followed her, my thoughts clouded by a growing unease. "jj, is there any word from hotch?" i asked, my voice quieter than usual. "no, nothing." she said, her brow furrowed in concern. "it's just... that's not like him." i murmured, more to myself than to her. "yeah, i know." she replied, her worry evident.

suddenly, voices were raised in the other room. barton's phone buzzed in his hand, and he answered with a sharp "jeffrey?" his face paled as his son admitted he'd snuck out of the house and gone to school. chaos erupted as we decided it was safer to send agents to him rather than risk bringing him back. as the others mobilized, reid and i stayed behind with barton, pouring over files in the living room. but my mind wasn't on the case. it was on hotch. a gnawing anxiety twisted in my gut.

"look, we have a lot of files here, but we're on a time crunch," i said to spencer. "i can get to hotch's apartment and back in half an hour. another pair of eyes might help us." spencer nodded, not looking up from the papers he was scanning. "good idea." barton glanced up. "who's that?" he asked me. "our supervisor. we weren't supposed to work today, so it's been hard to get ahold of him." i explained, grabbing my coat. without another word, i left and drove to hotch's apartment.

when i arrived, i called his phone. the ringtone came from inside. a chill ran down my spine as i knocked, noticing the door was open just a crack. i drew my gun, pushing the door open slowly. the apartment was eerily still. his gun lay on the table beside his briefcase. his phone sat on the floor, next to a massive bloodstain. bullet holes peppered the wall, and shards of glass scattered across the floor. the room screamed of violence, yet the rest of the space was untouched, meticulously organized like always.

i cleared the apartment and immediately called garcia. her cheerful greeting faltered as i explained what i'd found. "penelope, something's happened to hotch." i said, my voice steady despite the panic building inside me. "what do you mean, something?" she asked, her usual playful tone replaced by fear. "there's blood. his phone and gun are here, but he's not. send police and fbi techs. now." i said sharply. "do we need an apb?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"only on hotch," i replied. "his car and keys are still here." i paused, the words hanging heavy in the air. "there's blood, but i don't know whose it is." "okay. i'm sending an army," she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "listen, garcia. you can't tell the others yet. the barton case is still a priority. they can't be distracted." i said firmly. "got it." she whispered.

i hung up and called reid, explaining the situation. he told me not to worry, that the team could handle barton without me. "just write down everything you see so we can profile it from your notes later." he instructed. with gloves on, i began to search the apartment. nothing seemed out of place, apart from the evidence of the struggle. one detail caught my attention: a page ripped from the "b" section of hotch's address book. i jotted it down, my mind racing as i pieced together what little i could.