∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

loving you isn't the right thing to do

the crime scene crew swarmed hotch's apartment quickly, their movements efficient and purposeful. the faint smell of chemicals filled the air as they dusted for fingerprints, swabbed bloodstains, and snapped photos from every angle. standing in the middle of the living room, i felt a heavy stillness settle over me. my phone buzzed in my hand, and i answered without hesitation.

"talk to me, garcia." i said, my voice tight with anticipation. "okay, so i called around to local hospitals, just in case hotch got himself admitted." she began, her words coming out fast. "and?" i pressed, my grip on the phone tightening. "he's not listed as a patient," she said, her tone shifting, "but... someone dropped off a john doe at st. sebastian hospital. and the person who dropped him off? registered under the name fbi agent derek morgan."

that stopped me cold. "that doesn't make sense." i said, shaking my head. "i know," she replied. "do you think they got their creds mixed up?" i froze as realization hit me like a freight train. "the reaper," i whispered. "foyet took morgan's creds." i add. garcia inhaled sharply. "but why would he leave him at a hospital?" "what hospital did you say?" i asked, already moving toward the door. "st. sebastian." she repeated.

"i'll call you with an update when i get there." i said, ending the call as i rushed out. the hallway blurred around me as i sprinted to my car, my mind racing. throwing the car into drive, i sped through traffic, weaving between lanes as the city lights streaked past. when i arrived at st. sebastian, i barely paused to park before rushing inside. flashing my credentials at the receptionist, i said, "i need to know where the john doe that was brought in is. now."

security accompanied me to the icu after i explained who hotch was, where a nurse guided me to his room. the sight of hotch in the hospital bed hit me harder than i expected. he was unconscious, his face pale and drawn, machines surrounding him with an endless symphony of beeps and hisses. i clenched my jaw, trying to keep my emotions in check. "what happened?" i demanded, turning to the doctor.

"he was stabbed nine times," she explained. "none of the major arteries were hit. it's a miracle he's alive." "when will he wake up?" i asked, my voice softer now as i sank into the chair beside his bed. "the anesthesia should wear off within the hour, but he'll be groggy for a while. are you his wife? i have some documents you'll need to review." i shook my head quickly. "no. i'm a coworker—a friend," i corrected. "may i stay?" "of course." she said, offering a kind smile before leaving the room.

i sat there for what felt like hours, curled up in the chair with my knees pressed to my chest, phone in hand. the steady rhythm of the machines was the only sound in the room. restless, i reached for the chart hanging at the foot of his bed, scanning it. my heart skipped when i saw his name hastily scribbled next to the crossed-out "john doe." in bold red letters, underneath it was the abbreviation l.c. my breath caught. l.c. the unsub's signature in the barton case.

i grabbed the chart and stormed out to the nurse's station. "excuse me," i said, holding up the chart, "what does this mean? l.c.?" the nurse glanced at it and replied casually, "living children. it's an administrative note we use when a patient might go on life support without a dnr order." my stomach dropped as the pieces clicked into place. pulling out my phone, i called reid. he answered on the first ring.

"lc, on the unsub's note—it stands for living children." i said, pacing the hallway. "are you sure?" spencer asked, his tone cautious. "it's a hospital term," i explained quickly. "it's used when they're afraid a patient might end up on life support and there's no dnr." silence hung on the line, and i frowned. "reid?" i asked, my voice sharp with urgency.  "what if the unsub was trying to tell dr. barton that he's the real target," reid says through the phone, his voice tense, "and that he's going to leave his son without a father?"

i hear him call out barton's name sharply in the background. the sound of urgency prickles at my nerves. "reid?" i ask, waiting for a response. silence. "spencer?" i call again, the air around me growing heavy with dread. and then, a gunshot. "reid! answer me!" i shout, panic tightening my throat. nothing. just dead air. "shit." i mutter, fumbling to switch lines. dialing local dispatch, i force my voice to stay steady.

"this is special agent madelyn mortier from the fbi," i say quickly, the words tumbling out. "i need police and an ambulance to 120 kensington road, mclean, virginia. shots fired. federal agent possibly down." after hanging up, i sink back into the chair, my leg bouncing nervously as i pick at my nails. the weight of the situation presses on me from all sides. not just hotch—now reid, too. my team feels scattered and vulnerable, and it's eating away at me.

a few minutes later, i catch movement in the hallway. rossi, morgan, and jj are walking toward me, their expressions grim but purposeful. i stand and meet them halfway. "he's not conscious." i say quietly, gesturing toward hotch's room. "you're sure it was foyet?" rossi asks. "he had morgan's creds," i reply. "it has to be him." "did they catch him on the security cams?" morgan asks, crossing his arms. i shake my head. "not really. there was only one angle—just enough to see him drop hotch off and walk away." "it doesn't make sense for him to leave him at a hospital." jj says, frowning.

"we know foyet thrives on power and control," rossi offers. "maybe what he wanted was for hotch to know his life was in his hands." "he could've done that without risking a hospital visit." morgan counters, skepticism thick in his tone. before we can continue, a nurse approaches me. "agent mortier, he's waking up." i glance back at the others, then step into hotch's room, jj, morgan, and rossi lingering in the doorway. hotch stirs, his eyelids fluttering open weakly.

"where am i?" he asks, his voice rasping. "you're at the hospital." i answer softly, sitting beside his bed. "how did i get here?" he asks, his eyes slowly focusing on me. "foyet drove you. can you remember what happened?" i ask, keeping my tone gentle. his brow furrows and his voice gains a sliver of urgency. "what did he take?" "what do you mean?" rossi asks from the doorway. "the reaper always takes something from his victims." hotch says, his tone weighted with experience.

"there was a page missing from your address book," i explain, watching his face carefully. "the 'b's section." his expression falls, dread etching lines deeper into his face. "what did he leave?" he asks next, his voice barely above a whisper. i shake my head. "i don't know. i looked over your whole apartment—nothing seemed out of place." "where are my clothes?" he asks, his gaze darting to the room.

i grab the clear evidence bag with his bloodied clothes and hand it to him. he rummages through it, pulling out his wallet. a photo of haley and jack slips free, fluttering onto the bed. hotch stares at it, his jaw tightening as he leans back. "haley's maiden name is brooks," he says, his voice strained. "i always listed her in the 'b' section in case it fell into the wrong hands." jj, morgan, rossi, and i exchange a look, the realization settling in like ice in our veins. "he knows where they live." hotch says, his voice hollow.