#i actually did a lot but it doesn’t feel enough cuz something something assholes drilled that in

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 4: Misjudgments and Saviors

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Sorry it's later than normal! I procrastinated the fuck out of the last half of this chapter and just got it finished. This chapter was originally going to include way more than just the interrogation, but the word count got away from me. Not a ton of Hotch in this chapter, but fear not, you will be fed next week ;) Also dark!Hotch hits different, you cannot change my mind. I hope you enjoy, thank you to everyone who takes the time to follow me, share my fic, and send me such kind messages. It means the world! <3

Summary:  You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 4, Misjudgments and Saviors

Chapter Summary: The team interrogates Ellory Matthews and discovers that just because a killer is easy to catch, doesn't mean he's easy to predict.

Words: 2929

Rating: Explicit, 18+ (REMINDER: I don’t use chapter warnings to avoid spoilers. Assume violence, smut, etc. are possible in all chapters. Check AO3 for more exact tags <3)

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You threw on your work clothes and clambered into the back of the SUV in the dark, silent hotel parking lot. Morgan and Hotch were sitting up front, Morgan looking as exhausted as you felt and clutching a steaming cup of coffee like it was his lifeline, Hotch looking as startlingly unfazed as ever.

You caught a glance of the car’s clock up front between them and shook your head. Two in the morning - not an optimal time to interrogate anyone, much less try to force a confession out of a man desperate to avoid the consequences of a triple murder. If you were lucky, he’d fold quickly and the bulk of the paperwork could be pushed off until tomorrow when you’d all had more than a few hours of sleep.

After a blessedly brief drive (Hotch had a habit of ignoring speed limits, even in non-emergencies) and arriving at the police precinct, the three of you stood in the windowed room looking into where Matthews was being held. A police officer - you forgot his name, but he was one of the same ones who briefed you when you’d first arrived - gave you the rundown of his arrest.

“He was back on campus,” the cop said. “We stopped checking everyone in who entered through the gates after 10, so he must have waited until after then. Campus police were on a patrol when they heard screaming. He tried to grab a girl walking home from the library and got his ass pepper sprayed.”

You suppressed a snort at that. For someone who’d gone to such over-the-top measures to subvert the authorities after murdering three women at once, he was continuing to prove your initial theory, unprofessional though it was - he was an idiot.

Hotch thanked and dismissed the officer, who left after shooting one more glance of barely-suppressed disgust through the one-way window. Just the three of you now, you stepped forward, looking at your subject.

The first thing you noticed was his youth - he was young, around your age, which shocked you despite already knowing that information. He was big, too; not overly fit, but he certainly looked strong enough to have had the upper hand on nearly any female victim he chose. His face, inflamed and dripping with tears from the effects of the pepper spray, was his defining feature in that it wasn’t particularly defining at all. The structure was mildly unattractive - too-big nose, downturned eyes - and the symmetry just off enough that the absence of a stellar personality to compensate would render him nearly invisible to the opposite sex. That, you supposed, combined with a predisposition towards instability and a repeated lack of success with women, had created the perfect storm of obsessiveness and delusion that produced the three (almost four)-time rapist and murderer that sat on the other side of the glass.

“We need a confession,” Hotch said, breaking you out of your internal analysis, “but we also need to know if he’s done this before. Garcia put together a list of missing women that fit the victimology here as well as in Arizona and Nevada. Considering he dumped bodies there, we can assume he has some degree of comfort with those areas.”

Morgan grabbed the aforementioned list from Hotch and shook his head. “There’s dozens of names on this list.”

Hotch nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. That’s why I’d like to get closure for as many of the families as possible. But first, let’s focus on the three we know about.” He turned to you. “Morgan and I will go in first. We may have some success with intimidation from male authority figures, but I don’t see us piquing enough interest to get a confession. Normally, I’d send Prentiss or JJ in a situation like this, but I have full faith you can handle it.”

He paused, inspecting your face, no doubt gauging your reaction. “How do you feel about interacting with him?”

You felt sick, to tell the truth, knowing you were an exact match for his preferences. More than that, you felt woefully unprepared to conduct your second-ever interrogation under the scrutiny of two of the BAU’s experienced agents, including your boss. Especially your boss, whose gravelly voice and piercing eyes seemed to be occupying much more of your mental real estate than you were comfortable with.

You reassured him that you’d be fine, though, because looking like you were scared of interviewing a serial killer cast doubt on your ability to actually, you know, do your job . And if you watched Morgan and Hotch enter the interrogation room while really hoping that Hotch was underestimating their ability to crack him, well, no one needed to know.

Morgan swung the folding chair around, sitting with his arms propped on the backrest, directly across from Matthews. Matthews’ gaze, however, was glued to Hotch, who was standing with his arms crossed diagonally behind Morgan. You couldn’t see Hotch’s face, as his back was to you, but you knew what it looked like - jaw taut, lips pressed tight, frown even more pronounced than usual. Intimidating to anyone he came across, probably even more so if you were someone he was about to interrogate on suspicion of murder.

They made their introductions and began.

“Listen, Ellory, I’m gonna be straight with you here,” Morgan said, leaning forward. “This is not looking good for you, my man. We got you on attempted kidnapping at the same school three murdered girls attended. We have friends of these victims say they talked about a creepy teaching assistant in their classes. You’ve got piles of criminal psychology textbooks hidden in your house with notes that match what happened to these girls exactly. Put this in front of a jury, you’re getting convicted no question. At this point, it’s a matter of whether or not you wanna work with us and make this a little easier on you. You feel me?”

Matthews mumbled something indistinct, looking at his feet.

“Speak up,” Hotch commanded. You’d seen this before, what Morgan jokingly called the “good cop, bad drill sergeant” routine, but it always amazed you how easily they slipped into the roles.

Matthews looked up then, defiant. “They’re not mine.”

Morgan scoffed. “What aren’t? The books? C’mon man, they were under your mattress. In your house. No one’s buying that.”

“Well, it’s true,” Matthews mumbled, looking back down at his hands. “Don’t know how they got there.”

“And the girl?” Morgan asked, obviously unconvinced. “How you wanna explain you trying to kidnap a girl who fits the exact profile of three other girls who got kidnapped and killed in the same week?”

He whipped his head up at that, furious. “I wasn’t kidnapping her. She needed a ride. It was late.”

Hotch spoke up, his tone cutting. “Then why did she taze you?”

“She didn- look, she was confused, okay? I don’t know.”

“Sounds to me like she was pretty fuckin’ ungrateful,” Morgan offered. You cringed. You knew what he was playing at, but it was hard to hear nonetheless.

He continued, “Pretty girl like her, it wasn’t safe walking around that late, right? And you try to be a gentleman, try to help, and she freaks out and attacks you. That’d piss me off too, man.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Matthew responded, eyes flicking between Morgan and Hotch, seemingly unsure.

“Don’t worry about him,” Morgan said. “He’s just here cuz he has to be. Listen. We’re on the same page here. I’m you, I’m nice to these girls, I offer them rides, I treat ‘em like a gentleman. They turn around and act stuck-up, like they’re too good for me, right? That makes me mad.”

He paused, waiting for Matthews’ reaction. Matthews nodded, hesitant.

“So, what? Maybe I see them after they graduate or leave the college and confront them or something; tell them off for being such assholes to me when I was their TA. Maybe it gets heated, I gotta defend myself, someone gets hurt. Now, that’s not my fault, right?”

Matthews nodded again, more enthusiastic this time.

“Is that what happened to those girls, Ellory?” Hotch asked.

The room fell silent, waiting on his response. You leaned forward, nose almost pressed against the glass, praying it would really be this easy.

Matthews opened and closed his mouth, unsure. Morgan had worked him up, you could tell - his face was red, his hands balled up into fists on the table. He took a deep breath…

…and shook his head.

You cursed, stepping away from the glass. You heard Hotch and Morgan exit the interrogation room and come in behind you. You turned to face them.

“I thought you had him for sure,” you groaned to Morgan.

“Me too,” he replied, “but we got close. She going in next?” he asked Hotch.

Hotch looked at you. “He’s close to cracking. Act like he’d be doing you a huge favor by confessing, like you’d be in his debt. He wants to feel powerful, important. Convince him he can be.”

Catering to a man’s ego was a skill you’d fine-tuned after years of studying under, working with, and existing alongside them. Most men you’d had to flatter didn’t inspire quite so much disgust, however.

Just pretend he’s another idiot at a bar.

You straightened your cardigan and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Remember,” Hotch said, “we’re right here. If you get too uncomfortable, just leave. This is a lot to ask of you so early in your position; I won’t blame you if it doesn’t go to plan.”

You nodded again and tried your best to smile. “Gotta learn sometime though, right?”

Morgan held out his fist to bump, and you obliged. “That’s my girl,” he said. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Hotch looked much less enthusiastic, but opened and held the door for you anyways. You took a deep breath and entered, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face. Matthews looked up, surprised, and returned your smile. He looked so normal in that moment, it was hard for you to reconcile that this was the same man who stalked, raped, and murdered three women and led authorities on a purposeless goose chase to divert suspicion.

Taking a seat directly across the table from him, you introduced yourself. “I’m the new intern at the BAU. I asked my boss if I could come talk to you. I just don’t feel like they really understood you, ya know?” You grinned, hoping the flattery would stick.

It appeared to, as Matthews leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, as if he was confiding in you. “I know how guys like that are. They think they’re the shit. Women always fall for that, though.” He looked at you intensely, and you started to realize very quickly why his victims had found him unsettling. “You don’t fall for that, right? That alpha male stuff?”

You forced out a laugh. “No, I prefer more sensitive guys. Ones that you can have a conversation with.”

“Are we having a conversation?”

“Wh-what? I’m sorry?”

“Are we having a conversation?” he repeated, still holding intense eye contact.

“Well, yes, I would say so,” you replied. “On that note, um, I wanted to be honest with you. It would really mean a lot to me if the families of -” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “- the three girls we’ve been talking to you about could get closure.”

“How do you mean?” asked Matthews, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“I just mean, they don’t know what happened to them, you know? And if we could tell them that whatever happened to them, it was a misunderstanding, and the person who did it feels bad, I think that would help a lot.”

Matthews’ beady, swollen eye twitched at that. “Feels bad?”

Oh, fuck.

“Sorry, I don’t know if bad is the right word, just that they didn’t want that to happen. For them to die.”

He paused. Seemed to make a decision.

"Who said I didn't want them to die?"

You had misjudged him - in that moment, you knew that. You had assumed the fatal ends to the encounters with his victims were born out of shame. That he felt remorse. That he didn’t want to mutilate and discard their bodies, and that the purposeful distractions from his true psychological profile had been a desperate attempt of an unintelligent man to throw the police off his trail. He was a creep, he was a stalker, he was obsessive and dangerous, and he was unintelligent. But he was also a sadist.

Realizing how pathetically unprepared you were to deal with this new diagnosis, you pushed back from the table and moved to stand - slowly, like you were trying to avoid startling a wild animal. Trying. But it all happened so fast.

Matthews shot up from his seat the instant you did - uncuffed, because he wasn’t supposed to be a threat, not like this - and grabbed you by the neck, dragging you across the table, scraping your legs against the hard metal edges. You screamed for help (really just screamed Hotch’s name over and over) until he had you too tight and you couldn’t anymore. Your hair was in your face, obscuring your vision, but you heard the door crash open seconds after he moved. He wrenched you closer to him, trapping you in the crook of one elbow, cutting off your breathing. More than cutting off your breathing, he was squeezing, much harder than he needed to simply choke you, and amidst the haze of your hair in your face and the blood rushing in your ears and the muffled sounds of Hotch and Morgan yelling, you had the wild thought that he might actually detach your head from your shoulders.

They can’t shoot, you thought, your last clear notion before your mind started to go fuzzy. He had you too close; the space was too small. A loud crash, presumably the table being launched against a wall, cut through the pounding in your head. You felt a sharp jerk - Matthews trying to move away - a sickening, dull crack, and the vice holding your throat was released. You dropped forward onto your hands and knees, hacking desperately, tears streaming onto the ground.

Morgan grabbed you by the shoulders and sat you up. “You ok? Hey, look at me, you ok? Can you breathe? Breathe for me, ok, come on.”

Coughing out a raspy, “Yes,” you pushed your hair out of your eyes and wiped your sleeve through the snot and mascara streaking your face. You looked to your left, trying to see what happened to Matthews, and nearly stopped breathing again.

He was dead, collapsed into a pile on the floor like sodden laundry. There was no blood, no apparent evidence of what happened, until you looked to his head and saw how grossly contorted his neck was. You looked up at Hotch in shock, who was standing over the body, hair askew, breathing heavily.

He broke his fucking neck.

Morgan could’ve done it, of course, but by the way Hotch looked up and met your eyes, you knew that wasn’t the case.

They gathered you up and wrapped you in a jacket. You saw paramedics almost immediately who cleared you medically (“No permanent tracheal damage, just expect bruising and soreness.”), met with internal investigators who questioned you about the incident, spoke to the rest of the team on a video call, spent 20 minutes on the phone with Garcia trying to reassure her between coughing fits that you were all alright, and finally, you were cleared to leave. The whole time, though, you were paying less and less attention to what was going on around you and more time thinking about the way Hotch looked when you looked him in the face.

You knew he had to have killed before; working this job for as long as he did made that a certainty. What you didn’t expect to see on his face was a complete lack of remorse. Disgust, even. He looked down at Matthews like he was scum, his lip curled and his jaw set. It was only when you made eye contact that you saw the slightest bit of emotion, of panic, before they whisked you away.

Morgan interrupted your cyclical musing. “You need someone to stay with you?”

Right, he was dropping you off at your hotel room.

“No, thank you Morgan,” you whispered, throat feeling more raw by the minute. “I’ll be okay.”

Morgan looked unconvinced but refrained from debating you. “Alright, but you know to call if you need anything, right?”

You nodded and managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

____________

Later that day, you took a commercial flight back, alone. Morgan and Hotch were staying for a few more days to finish closing the case, but they insisted you go home and rest. You were too drained to argue.

When you closed your eyes to sleep that night, in your own apartment, you expected to see Matthews, jeering at you from across the table. You expected to feel his arms wrap around your throat, to smell his stench, to wake up in a cold sweat thinking he was standing over you, ready to attack you again.

None of those things happened. In fact, when you closed your eyes, Matthews wasn’t the man you saw at all.

#hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #agent hotchner #hotch smut #hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds headcanons #thomas gibson #thomas gibson fanfic #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #david rossi #spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds #dom!hotch #sub!reader #d/s dynamic #fanfiction #writing #ao3 #slow burn #slow building romance #daddy!hotch #standards of performance

[venii-vidii-vicii]

I'm back for the third time. Sorry if I'm annoying you with all my questions, I just think you have a fun way of answering. Thank you for answering them. (Also who else can we talk to about the Hardie boys lol) I agree with a lot of your points about Titus! He's indeed charming. This time I wanna ask; I noticed you ship Titus/Glen, and not just ship it, but it's your favorite ship. Why? Also I saw your post about backstories, Do you have any HC backstories for the HBs?

Trust me I enjoy talking about DA BOYS so it's no bother at all 💜

Hmm guess I'll start with the backstory question cuz then it's easier to explain the ship lol

Long post and spoilers ahead, obviously.

Alain basically has the most "backstory". We know he spent his entire life in and out of prison, being a part of gangs and basically fighting the system cuz he's edgy. (I kid. I love u Alain.) I guess things got really bad for him so he fled to Martinaise where he eventually met Titus and became a part of the Hardie boys.

Theo seems to be a veteran of sort. He's good with guns, he was the original leader of the Hardie boys, and he doesn't hesitate to put a bullet through you. His personality to me says that he's been through some shit that made him a little cold and somewhat detached.

Angie is probably just a kid who wanted to fit in. He had skills that benefit the group, and benefit them he did. But seeing how he lacks self-esteem and confidence, and how he suffers from severe anxiety, I would say Angie lived a life of being picked on and made to feel worthless, which clearly the Hardie boys try to fight and reassure him that he is important and loved.

Shanky just sounds like a fuckin thug to me idk what he's doing here. He's an actual asshole.

Eugene... big mystery. I honestly think about his story a lot but we literally have little to nothing to go on except his guitar pick. And he does play cuz sometimes he'll say he wishes he had his guitar:

My first thought about him was that he's probably not from Martinaise, but maybe he was a travelling musician or something and just has no where else to go. But also the fact that he's a good detective makes me think there's more to him than meets the eye. He's introverted, quiet, and honestly he might as well be a spy. Who fuckin knows. I think that its kind of weird when you notice the plectrum you say "forget it it's not important" but the fact that it was mentioned made me think it's actually very important, maybe it is to him. Maybe there's a certain skill that tells you why. If someone knows something, please tell me 😔 I love Eugene and I wanna know more about him

Glen and Titus: I think they have history. At least I like to think so. I imagine them being childhood friends. Two kids with big dreams, wanting to be something greater than this broken life they had.

Glen: I think Glen grew up in an abusive and neglectful house hold. Probably alcoholic dad, The type who threatens to gut you if you're not their image of right. The type that drilled certain ideas into Glen's head, a certain image of being a man. So when Glen realized he's not THAT kind of man, it really fucked him up. Gay, in denial, in an abusive home. It festered a lot of anger in him which eventually led him to being the unhinged "crazy homo" we see now. The guy is made of self loathing, depression, repressed homosexuality, and anger.

Titus: I think Titus had a military figure father or something like that, someone who made him feel very responsible. So he had to be "the man of the house" pretty early in his life, and look after his little brother.

He seems to have really just done a lot in his life, and he has the scars to prove it. Very ambitious, maybe a bit too ambitious that he's reaching for the sun and now he got burned. But he's clearly a fighter!

All the boys probably met through mutual interests, or at the work site. Eventually Theo might have grown too old so the leadership moved to Titus. They've been doing this for 10 years after all.

Why did the group form in the first place? I think there was a threat to Martinaise that was big enough for the group to be made. Maybe there were just way too many gangs and there was so much chaos. If Martinaise is bad now, imagine how terrible it must have been before the Hardie boys. The way Eugene describes it, it was pretty shitty

With that said, why do I like Titus/Glen?

Well first I'm a sucker for best friends to lovers trope.

Second, all the Hardie boys are close enough to shoot you on sight if you bully any of them, but Titus and Glen are obviously even closer than that. Titus loved Glen a lot, despite how "crazy" and unhinged he was. Though we personally don't see Glen at his best, and we only get hints about his chaotic personality, Titus saw something special in him. Something other than him being batshit crazy. And I like to think that Titus was his anchor that kept him from going completely psycho.

Titus is also the one who knows about Glen being gay, whether it's cuz Glen told him or because Titus just knows him that well.

Do I think Glen is as crazy as they make him sound? No. I think he's just a sad repressed gay who was exposed to too much violence, whether it was inflected on him, or just around Martinaise in general, which in turn made him aggressive and violent too. But Titus saw that Glen could use that for good, and use it for good he did. Plus, Titus is able to calm Glen down fairly easily and we see that a few times. All he has to say is "It's okay, Glen" and this bitch's demons are fuckin tamed.

Not to mention Glen kinda goes off whenever you say that Titus likes Klaasje, because naturally he's jealous. I don't mean that cuz he likes Titus or anything, it's because when you're someone like Glen and you meet someone who loves you with all your fucked up flaws, you kind of become clingy. He doesn't want to lose Titus even as his friend. The thought of Titus being close to someone else just grinds his gears.

The two of them just seem to have a strong connection, and they're each other's comfort. Titus sees Glen for the man inside the hard shell, and loves him despite his flaws. And Glen loves Titus just as much, because how can he not? He is loyal to Titus, and maybe I can even say he's even a good friend cuz something about him made Titus choose him over everyone else.

I love these two both as a platonic ship and as a romantic ship. They're positive but in a tragic way. Their (b)romance and love is unconditional. To meet someone who loves you and wants you to be a part of their life despite how chaotic you can be, despite how messed up you can be, it's a miracle and something we all wish we could have.

There's just no denying that they were incredibly close whether platonically or more.

I just think that's very cute and it's a powerful bond.

It's a lot like how Kim brings out the best in Harry and how he's his safe harbor

Glen's death almost brought Titus to tears (if he hasn't cried when he was alone of course)

Well Titus is to Glen what Kim is to Harry basically, except he's been that for a lot longer. If you had someone who is willing to go to hell and back with you, and die for you... what more could you ever need from someone?

It's just that, pure unconditional love, and a strong foundation of friendship that could make potentially the best of lovers.

So yeah. C: thanks for your curiosity anon 💜 I don't actually get to talk about my boys often so I'm glad when someone is interested haha.

#disco elysium #the hardie boys #i love my boys #theyre big and tough #but also soft #macho softness