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Aaron prided himself on his ability to read people. As a profiler, he liked to think he could see past people’s lies and masks and directly to their core.
That was how he knew the officer was suspicious. Knowledge of the crimes that wasn’t in the files. Decisions so bad they almost seemed to be intentional. Somehow always away when they got the call about another crime.
But Hotch knew it for sure when it was just the two of them, in the station after dark. He showed Officer Grady a particularly graphic crime scene photo, and there was *no* missing the reaction it gave him. His crotch had tented *immediately*. Reliving his kill, getting pleasure from it.
(*Not* that Aaron was paying undue attention to the man’s crotch!)
Grady wasn’t stupid, catching on and hurrying to sit down, but it was too late. Hotch was onto him, and he knew it.
“Missed you at the profile briefing,” Hotch said, faux-conversationally, stalking up to the man. There was no point—they both knew where this conversation was going.
“Had things to do,” Grady shrugged, demeanor scarily cool. His eyes were fixed on the photo of the victim, and a small smirk graced his lips.
“Things? Like stabbing Harry Black in the throat ten times,” Hotch was fully looming over him now, hissing in his face, “then leaving his naked body to be found in the river? Like an animal?”
Grady wasn’t intimated by Hotch in the least, looking up at him with a massive grin and breaking into a cackle.
“Congratulations, Agent Hotchner! Only took you two days of working with me day and night and three dead bodies to crack the case!”
“Stops at three,” Aaron’s hand was on his gun, but it wasn’t fast enough. Before he knew it, Grady had punched him in the stomach and shoved him back onto the table, pulling Aaron’s gun from its holster and tossing it across the room, out of his reach.
“Impressed as I am that you’ve caught on, I can’t very well let you expose me. Bad for business, you get it—"
“The only way *that* will happen is if you kill me too." Aaron locked eyes with Grady, hoping he wasn’t projecting fear: because in all honesty, he was afraid of the man. He’d seen what he did to his victims, and they were completely alone. The team had gone back to the hotel, and there was no one to hear Aaron scream.
“Why would I *kill* you?” Grady’s voice was saccharine, and sent a chill down Aaron’s spine, “that would invite questions. I’m not a *brute*, I can accomplish my purpose perfectly well without resorting to violence.”
When Grady’s hands went to his belt buckle, Hotch found himself wishing for a bullet. He’d been tied up at Phillip Dowd’s mercy, nearly strangled by Vincent Perotta, almost blown up in New York, and *this* was the most dread he’d ever felt. And it had barely begun.
He looked around in vain for anything he could use as a weapon, stared at the door as if willing hard enough could make help appear, but finally realized he had no escape. He was facing down the barrel of Grady’s gun, and the man had no qualms about pulling the trigger.
His last hope was repeating to himself that they hadn’t profiled any sexual component to the unsub’s crimes.
It didn’t save him when Grady finished undressing himself, and the pervert reached for Hotch’s own belt: rough, cold hands forced his pants down and left him standing exposed, in the middle of the station.
He knew he could never understand exactly how their victims felt, but he truly hadn’t been able to imagine the sheer terror and disgust this man inspired in him. Every touch made Aaron want to scream, cry, peel away his skin until no trace of him remained.
He should’ve gone back to the hotel when the team did. He’d be in bed right now, relaxing after a hard day.
As a child, Aaron’s father had been quick to anger. To survive, he’d had to learn how to dissociate himself from the beatings: a fist would land, and then he would come to his senses thirty minutes later, bleeding on the floor but not having fully experienced what happened. It was a skill that served him well, now.
He was distantly aware of the pain, but he forced his mind to dwell on anything else. He played back one of Spencer’s long rants in his head, really turning over every word. Emily had told him a story about living abroad—he tried to picture it in graphic detail, devoting all of his brainpower there. He and Dave had attempted to help Jack with his math homework, but to their embarrassment there was a problem even two adults couldn’t figure out—he concentrated on trying to crack it, letting the shape of the numbers replace his ability to sense the outside world.
Twenty minutes later, his ordeal was over. He was in pain, he could tell he was bleeding, and he didn’t know how he was meant to walk straight to get back to his SUV, but it was *over*. He met Grady’s eye and smirked again.
“Tomorrow, I’ll tell my team what I realized. You left *evidence*, you bastard, you’re going to jail.”
Grady wasn’t fazed. “You aren’t going to do that.”
“I’m not?”
“Unless you want them to know about this. Every gory detail. How you couldn’t defend yourself. How you surrendered.”
Aaron hated that the threat got to him. He’d worked with so many victims—female, male, young, old—and assured them all it wasn’t their fault. He believed that, truly, but for some reason he couldn’t believe in with regards to himself. The Unit Chief of the BAU couldn’t fight off a common criminal, had to go into a fugue state while he was being assaulted because his daddy used to hit him? He should have had Grady’s gun and badge on his desk already, not be standing here frozen.
“Or maybe,” Grady whispered in his ear, and Aaron recoiled at how he pressed against his still-exposed lower half, “I’ll just tell them you were into it. Less embarrassing for you—don’t say I never did anything nice.”
Aaron knew his team would believe him, that wasn’t what he was worried about. If they knew what had happened, he *knew* they would give him all the sympathy in the world, because they were good, and they were smart, and they wouldn’t be fooled by the self-aggrandizing lies of a bastard like Grady.
But it wouldn’t change that they would *know*. That they would look at him as one of their victims, eyes full of pity and sympathy. He couldn’t be the strong, collected leader if they knew what he’d just let happen to him.
Smiling like nothing had happened, Grady walked out of the room, leaving Aaron truly alone in the station, pants and underwear still down.
He was frozen to the spot, not wanting to put the ruined clothes back on, but also cognizant that he couldn’t very well get back to the hotel half-dressed. And he couldn’t be in the station any longer without vomiting.
A sharp pain shot up his back and down his legs when he attempted to walk out, and he had to hobble to get to the SUV. Sitting down was another battle, and he let a pained whimper escape him as he attempted to lower himself gently onto the seat.
It felt like fire pokers were shooting up his spine when he sat down—Grady had been far from gentle. He made it back to the hotel on autopilot, nothing on his mind beyond getting into a shower.
In a tiny town, room sharing was inevitable, and they’d split up along fairly obvious lines. He hoped Dave would already be asleep, even if a tiny part of him wanted to break down and tell him what happened and allow himself to be comforted.
His wish was granted, the room dark and quiet when he crept in, and he made it to the bathroom undisturbed.
Stripping off his pants and underwear, he flung them into the bathroom trashcan with disgust—they had *that man* on them, and he never wanted to see them again. He turned on the shower and stepped inside, barely holding himself together at the blood that was running down his legs.
He let himself feel the water rush down him, focusing entirely on the pressure, but it didn’t help. He got out of the shower, still feeling soiled.
Dave had slept through the sound of the water, so Aaron tried not to wake him as he slipped into bed. As he pulled the sheet back, he noticed for the first time that his hands were shaking, and probably had been since he left the station.
He curled completely into Rossi’s chest, who by now was half-awake and wrapping an arm around him. Hotch knew he was squeezing his hand hard enough to bruise, but he needed to ground himself. Reassure himself that he was with someone he knew was safe, someone who would never hurt him.
Rossi had realized that something wasn’t right, but silently let Aaron cling onto him. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Aaron couldn’t say he *slept*, but the next thing he knew it was morning, and he’d lay in bed for hours unmoving. The only thing that jolted him back to reality was the sound of a phone ringing.
He wasn’t sure where his work cell had ended up, it hadn’t been anywhere near his priority, so the call went to voicemail. Whoever it was wasn’t satisfied with that, so Dave’s phone rang next.
“This is Agent Rossi." A few seconds to listen to the message, and Dave’s face fell. “Alright. We’ll be right there.”
Aaron looked up at him, hands somehow *still* shaking. “What’s going on?”
“There was another murder last night, they just found him.”
The news was a punch in the stomach.
How could he not have thought of that? After what he’d done to Hotch, Grady had gone out and committed another murder. If Aaron hadn’t stayed silent for his own pride, or if he’d managed to fight Grady off in the first place, there was a man out there would who still be alive.
Dave silently took the keys and drove, silently understanding that Aaron was in no state. When they arrived at the crime scene, every drop of blood and lock of hair made Aaron nauseous and guilty. He needed to speak up.
Then Grady arrived, and fixed Aaron with a disgusting, lecherous look, and he fought the sob that attempted to rip through him.
He’d say he had a job to do, but what could be done? He knew who their unsub was, he was looking him right in the face, and there was nothing they could do.
“Hotch!” Derek called from inside the house, “come look at this. The unsub used blunt force for the first time, and it looks like there was a sexual component.”
Grady turned to Aaron and smirked, trailing a hand down his back. “Found something else I enjoy."
Aaron jumped away from the touch, releasing a guttural growl. “You’re *sick*.”
“And you’re covering for me. If you’d said something to your team, this nice man would be alive. But maybe, deep in your heart, you *like* our little secret."
Grady had leaned close to whisper in his ear, and Aaron shoved him off with an incredible level of force. “Get *off of me*.”
“Just *admit it*, Agent Hotchner. Or I’ll have to tell your whole team, let them decide.”
“I did what you asked,” Aaron hissed, “I haven’t told anyone. Now leave me alone."
“Why would I do that, when I know how much *fun* you are. Maybe I’ll have you meet me in the conference room when we get back. I learned last night how much I like it when my prey are on their knees."
How had Aaron not considered that? Now that Grady had leverage on him, there was nothing stopping him from exploiting it, exploiting *him*, as many times as he wanted.
He could scream out right now, tell someone, anyone what was going on, and end this. But then, they wouldn’t just know of his weakness, they’d know it was Aaron’s fault this new victim was dead.
In the back of his mind, it occured to him that there was no good way for this to end. Either he kept the secret and Grady kept killing, or Aaron’s hopes would be realized and the team would catch him, only for Grady to tell them everything anyway, when he had nothing left to lose.
His only option now was treading water, until he drowned in the inevitable current.
He and Grady had been standing off to the side for a strangely long amount of time, Grady’s hand on his waist as if they were friends, but the team didn’t seem to see anything off. Dave and Emily were dusting for prints five feet away, completely unaware of what was happening to Hotch just a stone’s throw from them.
Grady leaned down to whisper in his ear again, and Aaron violently shuddered at the feeling of his breath. “Consider it, *Agent*."
*Now* the closeness was going far beyond the normal bounds, and Aaron looked around helplessly for anyone to notice. But Grady was quick, and he was already walking away.
It made him want to throw up, seeing Grady fake sympathy as he assessed the crime scene of a victim that *he* had killed.
“I need to go make notification. These poor people…their son never had a chance. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them that no one heard or saw *anything*."
On their face, Grady’s words sounded like those of an anguished officer trying to solve the case, but Aaron heard the truth. He was proud of himself, and he was going to feed off the grief of his victim’s loved ones, while reassuring himself of his own intelligence. These people were already going to hear that their son was dead, and to salt the wound it would be from the mouth of his killer. God, he’d probably even *comfort* them!
“We can handle it,” the words were out of Aaron’s mouth before he could stop them. It might be his fault that Thomas Grey was dead, but he could at least save the young man’s parents from more indignity. Let them hear it from someone who, though he might have their son’s blood on his hands, *cared*.
Grady fixed him with a terrifying glare, but he couldn’t say anything. Making notification was widely accepted as one of the worst parts of being an FBI agent, and to *insist* would be highly suspicious.
“Come with me?" Aaron hoped the question sounded lighthearted, but he could feel his voice shake. Thankfully, Dave just nodded and followed him outside.
The drive to the Grey house was silent, but almost pleasantly so. Aaron was able to relax some, being away from Grady’s evil influence, and Dave knew something was off but wasn’t asking questions yet.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grey? We’re with the FBI."
They took the news how you would expect, Mr. Grey arguing that it couldn’t be true, his wife bursting into tears and sinking into his arms.
Even if they hadn’t, Aaron didn’t need to watch their reactions. He knew who their unsub was.
“This monster has killed *four* people, and you have nothing?” now Mr. Grey had reached the ‘anger’ stage of grief.
It went right to Hotch’s heart: they’d had something after *three*, and now he was facing down the material consequences of his silence.
“Mr. Grey, I promise you, we *will* catch this guy. But to do that, we need to ask you a few questions about your son—“
And now they were going to put the parents through a painful rehashing of their son’s life, when it wasn’t necessary. What possible excuse did Aaron have for letting this happen?
“I’ll be back—“ he breathed out, before stumbling out the door. Once he was out of the Greys eyeline, all the breath left his body, and he was double over gasping for air.
He wasn’t sure how long he was out there, falling apart on their front stoop like he was the victim, before Dave came back outside and silently guided him back to the SUV.
He drove them just far enough that they were away from the Grey’s house, then pulled over and looked at Aaron with the softest, most sympathetic look that only made him feel more guilty.
“I didn’t want to ask, but something’s going on with you. What’s wrong?"
And then, as if this day couldn’t get any more embarrassing, Aaron burst out crying.
He tried aimlessly to recover his “BAU Unit Chief” persona, to be *Hotch*, the fearless leader who never let anything get to him, but he was helpless—Grady had reduced him to Aaron, the scared kid who cried when his father got too angry.
Rossi didn’t push him to talk, just leaned over and rubbed a soothing hand down his back while he sobbed, encouraging him to let it out.
"I’m sorry,” Aaron sniffled when he regained some of control, “I…I didn’t want you to see that."
“Aaron, you’re really starting to scare me now. If something happened—“
“I know who the killer is!” he burst out, feeling like he was finally able to breathe with that off his chest, even as he feared the consequences of his revelation.
Rossi just nodded, understanding there was more to the story and squeezing Hotch’s hand to encourage him to go on.
“I…confronted him last night, on my own, which I *know* you guys are always saying I shouldn’t do, and it was stupid, I know that, it was my fault,” Aaron knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop, “and he…I wasn’t fast enough, he knocked my gun out of my hand, I couldn’t stop him. He said…he said if I told anyone about him, he’d tell them what he did to me—"
Another flood of tears, and Rossi had unbuckled his seatbelt to fully wrap Aaron in his arms while he cried.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he whispered, "Hon, do you think you can you tell me who it is we’re talking about? I’ll let the team know, we’ll make sure he can’t hurt you again.”
Aaron bristled at being coddled, at being treated with kid gloves, but he managed to squeak out: “it’s Grady."
Dave had to school the expression of rage that threatened to break free—he couldn’t have Aaron thinking it was directed at *him*. But he’d never liked Grady, and now his suspicions were being validated in the most sickening way possible.
“Alright. Thank you, for being so brave. I’m going to call Morgan really quick, and then we’ll go back to the hotel, okay?"
Aaron felt like a fool, sitting here crying while Dave handled the situation, but he could do nothing but nod. “He’ll tell them—“
“And they’ll protect you. Surviving what he did to you…you’re so strong, but you don’t have to be anymore. Let us take care of you. On my watch, he will *never* hurt you again.”
“I should’ve said something earlier, a man is dead—"
“And that’s the fault of the man who killed him. But now, thanks to you, we’re going to catch him.”
Aaron still didn’t believe it, couldn’t shake the shame of what Grady had done to him, of losing to him. But he couldn’t help but trust Dave’s repeated promises that he was safe now, even if more pain might be coming