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Fic: The Blurred Line Between Evil and Justice
The Blurred Line Between Evil and Justice - Criminal Minds - Gen (Spencer Reid, Team) - Words: 2,602
Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Serial Killers
Summary: They do the jobs they were destined to do, just not in the way the law intended. AU.
Content Notes: Off screen character death, hallucinations, references to drug use, references to child abuse, discussions of killing people. R.
On AO3: The Blurred Line Between Evil and Justice
The warehouse was dark when Spencer arrived. He carried a typed card in his pocket with the address, one that had shown up yesterday morning. It was a full week after the card that designated the day and time of their meeting had appeared tucked inside his mailbox. He carried both cards with him, even though it wasn't wise if he were to be unexpectedly apprehended, but the cards gave him the reassurance he needed that he'd been invited and was expected to be there.
Only a small bank of lights at one end of the storage facility was turned on and he stayed as far away as he could and still technically be in the meeting place. Hotch was already there; he was alway the first there, it was a control thing. Hotch dipped his head ever so slightly in Spencer's direction. It was an acknowledgment as well as a warning that he'd been spotted.
Someday, Spencer thought, he was going to show up and find FBI waiting for them. Their meetings were infrequent, maybe three or four times a year at most, and they collaborated on jobs even less frequently than that. It was as safe as it could possibly be and safer still than not showing up. With Hotch doing the planning and organization everything would go off without a hitch, it always did. In a roundabout way they all trusted him probably more than they trusted anyone else.
And it wasn't as if a police officer wasn't already in their midst. Morgan approached the group, less shy than Spencer about seeing and being seen, with Garcia at his side. They both worked for the Chicago PD, something that Hotch had warned them time and again wasn't worth the risk they were taking. Morgan would throw a couple of curses at Hotch about working as a lawyer and the argument would end as quickly as it'd begun. The warnings and insults were given more out of ritual now than anything else; it was amazing, part of Spencer analyzed, that even with their infrequent meetings they'd bonded enough to have social norms in their group.
Hotch nodded at both of them, his eyes falling to the gun and the badge that Morgan wore before acknowledging Garcia. Morgan eyed the holster that only barely showed beneath Hotch's suit jacket but jerked his head in return. Garcia actually smiled, her hair died a deep red now instead of the sandy blond she'd worn for the last four meetings.
Morgan and Garcia were the only pair that were invited to the meetings. Spencer kept up with their work in the trade papers, as it were. He made it a point of professional interest to read newspapers and police reports and track most of the serial killers who were active in the areas he traveled. Part of it was security for himself, he kept away from any hot zones where heavy police and FBI presence were likely, but most of it was because he found them fascinating. He had quite a complicated backstory built up for most of the serial killers he'd met in addition to profiling them and their kills.
Morgan and Garcia were actually a very unique pair, neither of them truly taking the dominant role. Garcia located their targets, usually by electronic means, and Morgan took them out. Garcia kept them safe from authorities and was the eyes and ears while Morgan provided the muscle and physical security. Spencer wondered how much trust was actually built up between them because despite the easy affection between them he didn't believe that their relationship was sexual. Considering how Morgan's target of choice was child molesters and he almost always killed by stabbing that spilled into the realm of overkill, Spencer had his doubts about Morgan's capability to be involved in a sexual relationship. Not that he was stupid enough to actually say such a thing, but he suspected that Hotch had likely come to the same conclusion. Out of all of them, Hotch was the only one who saw even half as much as Spencer did.
Spencer was about to calculate the percentage of meetings Garcia attended and what hair style and color she'd worn but his father stepped forward to catch Spencer's attention. Father motioned to the way Hotch was standing before looking directly into Spencer's eyes.
"I saw," Spencer spoke softly, careful to move his lips as little as possible. Father was always insistent that Spencer knew where all the weapons were despite Spencer's lack of ability to do anything about it. He knew that Hotch favored an ankle holster on his right, had known that since the first time he'd seen Hotch walk across a short distance in their second meeting which had been five years ago and in a warehouse 147 miles from their current location.
The sound of heels caught Spencer's attention and he and father both looked up as Prentiss walked over to them. In a skirt that showed more than Spencer was comfortable with and her low cut blouse, Prentiss was someone who was used to having all eyes on her. Spencer found it strange yet intriguing that she spent her time in the social spotlight in New York city and her kills were almost all politically motivated and in similar circles to her own, though sometimes out of the country. Out of all of them, Prentiss had the most impressive range both in styles and methods as well as targets and locations. Versatility was her strength, though she wore a gun at her hip as well.
Father took a step in between Spencer and Prentiss, even though Spencer was still far enough in the shadows that he doubted Prentiss even noticed him there. With the metaphorical light shining so brightly on her, Spencer doubted Prentiss noticed anything that she wasn't forced to, which was where Hotch came in. He held the reins on all of them; some of them accepted this more grudgingly than others, but they all accepted it in the end. Spencer side stepped and leaned his head around father. Prentiss wasn't a threat to him, not in the way his father thought at least. Father gave Spencer a disapproving frown but let Spencer keep his line of sight.
Rossi and JJ showed up at the same time although they approached from opposite directions. There was a moment where weapons might have been drawn before they all saw empty hands and took a step back.
Rossi carried a gun almost as inconspicuously as Hotch, his laid back demeanor belying the easy way he could draw and shoot before anyone had realized what had happened. Spencer had seen it happen once which had been enough to impress upon him that Rossi was not someone to take lightly. He had almost been rogue, on the verge of bringing the FBI, the media and everyone else down on him when Hotch had stepped in and brought him in line. Rossi followed Hotch's directives now, still on a tight leash in regards to his targets instead of taking down whoever appeared in the crosshairs of his scope.
JJ was still something of an enigma to Spencer. He'd seen her at a few of the meetings but he hadn't done much research, partially because he was having some difficulty locating her kills. She didn't carry a weapon that Spencer was able to locate and tended to stick to the edges of their meetings. Despite this, she didn't have trouble meeting any gaze and answered questions with a cool and firm tone. JJ wasn't shy, Spencer decided, but she didn't need the attention that Prentiss did and didn't require the level of control that Hotch demanded either.
He wondered what was wrong with JJ, why she was one of them. She could pass just about anywhere, a mother maybe or a business woman. But they could all pass with varying degrees of success, using their various skills and assets as urban camouflage. Hotch and Morgan hid behind their professional responsibility; anyone who looked at them wouldn't be able to help but see men who were more than capable of killing, so they used their jobs to convince the world they were on the side of the law. Garcia and Prentiss were social creatures, talking their way in and out of situations as well as deflecting with feminine fashion that ensured they wouldn't even make a suspect list. Rossi was a watcher, he'd made his way on not being seen. No one would remember him as more than a nondescript older man who happened to pass through the area around the time of the carnage. But JJ was a little like Spencer himself; the appearance of utter harmlessness and helplessness kept anyone from identifying them as a threat. Spencer suspected that if JJ ever got caught she could sit in front of a jury and be found not guilty in a heartbeat, no matter the evidence they held against her.
Hotch took a step forward, effortlessly gaining the attention of the entire group.
Spencer's eyes snapped around to take in everyone who had arrived. It was close to their average size, though they were one member smaller than the last time they'd met. He wondered if Hotch had found it necessary to take out the woman who'd joined them three months ago; a blonde woman called Seaver who had inherited the occupation from her father. Hotch had taken out Elle years ago, as soon as she'd become uncontrollable; what Hotch couldn't control he removed. Spencer agreed in theory - when one of them drew the attention of the FBI it was bad for all of them - but he had liked Elle, as much as he liked anyone at least, and still automatically looked for her presence at the meetings. Gideon, of course, had been gone from the meetings for years.
Gideon had been the one who had mentored Spencer: taught him to shoot, taught him how to not get caught, taught him when to use what he was feeling in order to make the kill and when to put all emotion aside so he could function. Spencer had killed Gideon with the Glock 17 he'd taught him to shoot with. After that, Spencer had changed his gun to a revolver even though he rarely carried it.
When Gideon had 'retired', leaving nothing more than a note for Spencer to find when he went looking for him, Spencer had started a hunt of his own. The rest of his kills before Gideon had been embarrassingly disorganized. Not in the kill itself, of course. He'd always been very good about not leaving behind evidence. But the disorganization was in the way he found his targets and hunted them. Gideon had taught him how to track and how to observe. And when he'd left Spencer, he'd turned those same skills back on him.
It had been one of the first times father had spoken to him. He'd told Spencer to let Gideon go, that Spencer didn't need Gideon because father was there. "You don't need to kill Gideon," father had said.
And Spencer had spoken back: "I killed you, didn't I?"
Spencer had been searching for Gideon for two months but after that conversation it had been impossibly easy to track Gideon to his cabin in Maine. He'd almost laughed at the cabin because he'd always considered it a cliche for serial killers to have a cabin in the woods. Then he'd shot Gideon and made it look like suicide; Spencer had plenty of practice, he'd arranged his father's body in the same way when he was only eleven. He was a prodigy after all.
Half lost in thought, Spencer tracked the conversation. It was mostly the same as usual; warnings to increase their radius, move their home locations in order to make geographical profiling more difficult, vary times between kills. There was a target coming up that Hotch wanted to put a team together to take down, someone bigger than he wanted to take alone. It wasn't that he couldn't, but it was more risky to do the entire task himself. Spencer thought about making his way back to Vegas, maybe take the long way around so that he wasn't following the same roads he'd taken on his way East last year. He could visit his mother and take down a target or two in his hometown for nostalgia's sake. Spencer made a quick update to his tallies when Hotch spoke about media coverage and connections between kills; 87 percent of his kills were fathers, 4 percent were mothers, and the rest were targets he'd taken down at Hotch's behest.
"Watch him," father spoke softly and Spencer looked up to find Hotch's eyes focused on him.
Spencer's mind rewound the conversation as he pushed aside father's voice. Hotch had asked about reduction of kills to what was necessary and about their numbers. "I kill who I need to," Spencer said, his eyes flickering to father to make sure he'd said the right thing.
Hotch nodded, his own eyes moving to where Spencer's had gone before resuming the conversation.
The rest of the meeting went quickly, their exits staggered despite their haste to get away. Being in Hotch's line of sight was never comfortable and being around other serial killers sent off warning bells for all of them.
"Are you in control?" Hotch asked when he'd approached Spencer. He'd stopped far enough away that neither of them would feel threatened and pitched his voice so that no one left in the warehouse could overhear their conversation.
Spencer thought about it for a moment, thought about how his father was by his side more frequently lately and how he heard his voice more often than wind and ambient noise could account for. "I am," he answered, forcing himself to not look to where father was standing next to him.
Hotch had made him an agreement. Spencer was doing good work; Hotch himself had started with fathers, after all, before moving onto bigger targets. But Hotch also knew that Spencer wasn't always in touch with reality and had let him know in no uncertain terms that soon as that connection was gone he would remove Spencer to prevent him from endangering them all. He'd even come close once; instead he had locked Spencer in a basement until he'd detoxed and had hunted the man who had left Spencer broken and desperate. Spencer vowed to keep his end of the agreement, he would let Hotch know when he lost control and Hotch would end him humanely. He wouldn't suffer.
"Good," Hotch said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're heading toward Vegas?"
Spencer nodded, not in the least bit surprised that Hotch had such a good grasp on his travel habits.
"Be back in DC by fall. I need you on the team," Hotch turned away without waiting for a response.
It was Spencer's turn to leave and he crept from the warehouse and walked toward where he'd left his car. He was already rearranging his itinerary, his drive would have to be cut short if he was to be back to DC by September, but it had never crossed his mind to not follow Hotch's order. Spencer was more than willing to let Hotch kill him when the time came, but he still had a lot more work to do before then. He slid into the driver's seat of his car and drove back to his apartment, 32 miles away, with his father whistling tunelessly beside him.
Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Serial Killers
Summary: They do the jobs they were destined to do, just not in the way the law intended. AU.
Content Notes: Off screen character death, hallucinations, references to drug use, references to child abuse, discussions of killing people. R.
On AO3: The Blurred Line Between Evil and Justice
The warehouse was dark when Spencer arrived. He carried a typed card in his pocket with the address, one that had shown up yesterday morning. It was a full week after the card that designated the day and time of their meeting had appeared tucked inside his mailbox. He carried both cards with him, even though it wasn't wise if he were to be unexpectedly apprehended, but the cards gave him the reassurance he needed that he'd been invited and was expected to be there.
Only a small bank of lights at one end of the storage facility was turned on and he stayed as far away as he could and still technically be in the meeting place. Hotch was already there; he was alway the first there, it was a control thing. Hotch dipped his head ever so slightly in Spencer's direction. It was an acknowledgment as well as a warning that he'd been spotted.
Someday, Spencer thought, he was going to show up and find FBI waiting for them. Their meetings were infrequent, maybe three or four times a year at most, and they collaborated on jobs even less frequently than that. It was as safe as it could possibly be and safer still than not showing up. With Hotch doing the planning and organization everything would go off without a hitch, it always did. In a roundabout way they all trusted him probably more than they trusted anyone else.
And it wasn't as if a police officer wasn't already in their midst. Morgan approached the group, less shy than Spencer about seeing and being seen, with Garcia at his side. They both worked for the Chicago PD, something that Hotch had warned them time and again wasn't worth the risk they were taking. Morgan would throw a couple of curses at Hotch about working as a lawyer and the argument would end as quickly as it'd begun. The warnings and insults were given more out of ritual now than anything else; it was amazing, part of Spencer analyzed, that even with their infrequent meetings they'd bonded enough to have social norms in their group.
Hotch nodded at both of them, his eyes falling to the gun and the badge that Morgan wore before acknowledging Garcia. Morgan eyed the holster that only barely showed beneath Hotch's suit jacket but jerked his head in return. Garcia actually smiled, her hair died a deep red now instead of the sandy blond she'd worn for the last four meetings.
Morgan and Garcia were the only pair that were invited to the meetings. Spencer kept up with their work in the trade papers, as it were. He made it a point of professional interest to read newspapers and police reports and track most of the serial killers who were active in the areas he traveled. Part of it was security for himself, he kept away from any hot zones where heavy police and FBI presence were likely, but most of it was because he found them fascinating. He had quite a complicated backstory built up for most of the serial killers he'd met in addition to profiling them and their kills.
Morgan and Garcia were actually a very unique pair, neither of them truly taking the dominant role. Garcia located their targets, usually by electronic means, and Morgan took them out. Garcia kept them safe from authorities and was the eyes and ears while Morgan provided the muscle and physical security. Spencer wondered how much trust was actually built up between them because despite the easy affection between them he didn't believe that their relationship was sexual. Considering how Morgan's target of choice was child molesters and he almost always killed by stabbing that spilled into the realm of overkill, Spencer had his doubts about Morgan's capability to be involved in a sexual relationship. Not that he was stupid enough to actually say such a thing, but he suspected that Hotch had likely come to the same conclusion. Out of all of them, Hotch was the only one who saw even half as much as Spencer did.
Spencer was about to calculate the percentage of meetings Garcia attended and what hair style and color she'd worn but his father stepped forward to catch Spencer's attention. Father motioned to the way Hotch was standing before looking directly into Spencer's eyes.
"I saw," Spencer spoke softly, careful to move his lips as little as possible. Father was always insistent that Spencer knew where all the weapons were despite Spencer's lack of ability to do anything about it. He knew that Hotch favored an ankle holster on his right, had known that since the first time he'd seen Hotch walk across a short distance in their second meeting which had been five years ago and in a warehouse 147 miles from their current location.
The sound of heels caught Spencer's attention and he and father both looked up as Prentiss walked over to them. In a skirt that showed more than Spencer was comfortable with and her low cut blouse, Prentiss was someone who was used to having all eyes on her. Spencer found it strange yet intriguing that she spent her time in the social spotlight in New York city and her kills were almost all politically motivated and in similar circles to her own, though sometimes out of the country. Out of all of them, Prentiss had the most impressive range both in styles and methods as well as targets and locations. Versatility was her strength, though she wore a gun at her hip as well.
Father took a step in between Spencer and Prentiss, even though Spencer was still far enough in the shadows that he doubted Prentiss even noticed him there. With the metaphorical light shining so brightly on her, Spencer doubted Prentiss noticed anything that she wasn't forced to, which was where Hotch came in. He held the reins on all of them; some of them accepted this more grudgingly than others, but they all accepted it in the end. Spencer side stepped and leaned his head around father. Prentiss wasn't a threat to him, not in the way his father thought at least. Father gave Spencer a disapproving frown but let Spencer keep his line of sight.
Rossi and JJ showed up at the same time although they approached from opposite directions. There was a moment where weapons might have been drawn before they all saw empty hands and took a step back.
Rossi carried a gun almost as inconspicuously as Hotch, his laid back demeanor belying the easy way he could draw and shoot before anyone had realized what had happened. Spencer had seen it happen once which had been enough to impress upon him that Rossi was not someone to take lightly. He had almost been rogue, on the verge of bringing the FBI, the media and everyone else down on him when Hotch had stepped in and brought him in line. Rossi followed Hotch's directives now, still on a tight leash in regards to his targets instead of taking down whoever appeared in the crosshairs of his scope.
JJ was still something of an enigma to Spencer. He'd seen her at a few of the meetings but he hadn't done much research, partially because he was having some difficulty locating her kills. She didn't carry a weapon that Spencer was able to locate and tended to stick to the edges of their meetings. Despite this, she didn't have trouble meeting any gaze and answered questions with a cool and firm tone. JJ wasn't shy, Spencer decided, but she didn't need the attention that Prentiss did and didn't require the level of control that Hotch demanded either.
He wondered what was wrong with JJ, why she was one of them. She could pass just about anywhere, a mother maybe or a business woman. But they could all pass with varying degrees of success, using their various skills and assets as urban camouflage. Hotch and Morgan hid behind their professional responsibility; anyone who looked at them wouldn't be able to help but see men who were more than capable of killing, so they used their jobs to convince the world they were on the side of the law. Garcia and Prentiss were social creatures, talking their way in and out of situations as well as deflecting with feminine fashion that ensured they wouldn't even make a suspect list. Rossi was a watcher, he'd made his way on not being seen. No one would remember him as more than a nondescript older man who happened to pass through the area around the time of the carnage. But JJ was a little like Spencer himself; the appearance of utter harmlessness and helplessness kept anyone from identifying them as a threat. Spencer suspected that if JJ ever got caught she could sit in front of a jury and be found not guilty in a heartbeat, no matter the evidence they held against her.
Hotch took a step forward, effortlessly gaining the attention of the entire group.
Spencer's eyes snapped around to take in everyone who had arrived. It was close to their average size, though they were one member smaller than the last time they'd met. He wondered if Hotch had found it necessary to take out the woman who'd joined them three months ago; a blonde woman called Seaver who had inherited the occupation from her father. Hotch had taken out Elle years ago, as soon as she'd become uncontrollable; what Hotch couldn't control he removed. Spencer agreed in theory - when one of them drew the attention of the FBI it was bad for all of them - but he had liked Elle, as much as he liked anyone at least, and still automatically looked for her presence at the meetings. Gideon, of course, had been gone from the meetings for years.
Gideon had been the one who had mentored Spencer: taught him to shoot, taught him how to not get caught, taught him when to use what he was feeling in order to make the kill and when to put all emotion aside so he could function. Spencer had killed Gideon with the Glock 17 he'd taught him to shoot with. After that, Spencer had changed his gun to a revolver even though he rarely carried it.
When Gideon had 'retired', leaving nothing more than a note for Spencer to find when he went looking for him, Spencer had started a hunt of his own. The rest of his kills before Gideon had been embarrassingly disorganized. Not in the kill itself, of course. He'd always been very good about not leaving behind evidence. But the disorganization was in the way he found his targets and hunted them. Gideon had taught him how to track and how to observe. And when he'd left Spencer, he'd turned those same skills back on him.
It had been one of the first times father had spoken to him. He'd told Spencer to let Gideon go, that Spencer didn't need Gideon because father was there. "You don't need to kill Gideon," father had said.
And Spencer had spoken back: "I killed you, didn't I?"
Spencer had been searching for Gideon for two months but after that conversation it had been impossibly easy to track Gideon to his cabin in Maine. He'd almost laughed at the cabin because he'd always considered it a cliche for serial killers to have a cabin in the woods. Then he'd shot Gideon and made it look like suicide; Spencer had plenty of practice, he'd arranged his father's body in the same way when he was only eleven. He was a prodigy after all.
Half lost in thought, Spencer tracked the conversation. It was mostly the same as usual; warnings to increase their radius, move their home locations in order to make geographical profiling more difficult, vary times between kills. There was a target coming up that Hotch wanted to put a team together to take down, someone bigger than he wanted to take alone. It wasn't that he couldn't, but it was more risky to do the entire task himself. Spencer thought about making his way back to Vegas, maybe take the long way around so that he wasn't following the same roads he'd taken on his way East last year. He could visit his mother and take down a target or two in his hometown for nostalgia's sake. Spencer made a quick update to his tallies when Hotch spoke about media coverage and connections between kills; 87 percent of his kills were fathers, 4 percent were mothers, and the rest were targets he'd taken down at Hotch's behest.
"Watch him," father spoke softly and Spencer looked up to find Hotch's eyes focused on him.
Spencer's mind rewound the conversation as he pushed aside father's voice. Hotch had asked about reduction of kills to what was necessary and about their numbers. "I kill who I need to," Spencer said, his eyes flickering to father to make sure he'd said the right thing.
Hotch nodded, his own eyes moving to where Spencer's had gone before resuming the conversation.
The rest of the meeting went quickly, their exits staggered despite their haste to get away. Being in Hotch's line of sight was never comfortable and being around other serial killers sent off warning bells for all of them.
"Are you in control?" Hotch asked when he'd approached Spencer. He'd stopped far enough away that neither of them would feel threatened and pitched his voice so that no one left in the warehouse could overhear their conversation.
Spencer thought about it for a moment, thought about how his father was by his side more frequently lately and how he heard his voice more often than wind and ambient noise could account for. "I am," he answered, forcing himself to not look to where father was standing next to him.
Hotch had made him an agreement. Spencer was doing good work; Hotch himself had started with fathers, after all, before moving onto bigger targets. But Hotch also knew that Spencer wasn't always in touch with reality and had let him know in no uncertain terms that soon as that connection was gone he would remove Spencer to prevent him from endangering them all. He'd even come close once; instead he had locked Spencer in a basement until he'd detoxed and had hunted the man who had left Spencer broken and desperate. Spencer vowed to keep his end of the agreement, he would let Hotch know when he lost control and Hotch would end him humanely. He wouldn't suffer.
"Good," Hotch said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're heading toward Vegas?"
Spencer nodded, not in the least bit surprised that Hotch had such a good grasp on his travel habits.
"Be back in DC by fall. I need you on the team," Hotch turned away without waiting for a response.
It was Spencer's turn to leave and he crept from the warehouse and walked toward where he'd left his car. He was already rearranging his itinerary, his drive would have to be cut short if he was to be back to DC by September, but it had never crossed his mind to not follow Hotch's order. Spencer was more than willing to let Hotch kill him when the time came, but he still had a lot more work to do before then. He slid into the driver's seat of his car and drove back to his apartment, 32 miles away, with his father whistling tunelessly beside him.
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So so so much love for this!!!
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Thanks for the comment!
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Which is...a really grey area and I would really love some kinda fic where...anyone I guess...crosses that line for whatever reason or maybe some kind of angsting where one of them feels them self heading over the edge and they kinda want to stop it but they also don't. or whatever.