Sra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sarcasticsra) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-07-16 04:12 pm
sarcasticsra) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-16 04:12 pm
Olive Drab, 9 + TARDIS Blue, 25 + eraser + portrait + mosaic.
Author: Sara
Colors: Olive Drab, 29. “Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice. Pull down your pants and slide on the ice.” + TARDIS Blue, 25. Hello. I'm the Doctor. Basically...run.
Supplies: Eraser (Criminal Minds Crossover AU),
Style: Portrait, Mosaic (Crossover with Criminal Minds!)
Word Count: 6200
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Sociopathy, references to murder and rape, attempted rape that goes rather poorly for the would-be rapist.
Story: Polyfaceted (crossed over with the CBS show Criminal Minds), title of this is Under Oath.
Summary: The BAU asks for assistance from an unlikely source.
Notes: Um. Hi? Jesus, it’s been so long since I’ve posted here. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything that could be posted here. Poor neglected Corlionis. *pats them* Anyway, I guess… have a random self-indulgent crossover? XD I’ve been binge-watching Criminal Minds lately and this has been a random in progress thing for quite a long time, and suddenly… it just happened. Who even knows, you guys. Anyway, this takes place in a timeline that makes literally no sense, because Corlioni-verse-wise it’s roughly 2033 but Criminal Minds-verse-wise it’s S7. Let's just assume wormholes are at work. Thanks for looking it over, Kelly.
“Really? Chains? I require chains?” Maria asks, amused, as she’s secured into a chair at the roundtable. She estimates she could be out of the entire setup in approximately six minutes, which isn’t even that impressive. Vito could likely do it in four. “Should I wait for everyone to arrive before I start listing all the reasons this is absurd?”
“We know them,” Agent Hotchner says, and fair enough—she can hear the dryness in his response. “Inside the building, certain protocol needs to be adhered to.”
“Ah. Theatre. My favorite,” she says. “Will it break the suspension of disbelief if I point out that my being here in the first place already steps on protocol? I think David in particular has repeatedly crushed protocol underneath the left heel of his expensive Italian shoes.”
“These are reasonably-priced Italian shoes, thank you very much,” David says as he enters the room, sitting down at the table next to her.
She smiles at him. He’s her favorite, and not just because he looks like family. “Custom-made shoes are rarely reasonable in price, David.” She pronounces his name the Italian way on purpose. “I have nine brothers. I recognize Mr. D’Antonio’s work when I see it.”
“I get the old friends discount,” David replies. “Funny, he’s never mentioned your brothers.”
“D.C. isn’t far enough from New York for that to be a good idea.”
Agent Hotchner clears his throat. He’s been watching them carefully during this entire interaction, she’s well aware. Good. Let him do his research. She (subtly) begins the process of getting out of her ridiculous chains.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Ah. There’s Agent Morgan.
“Seriously?” he continues. “I thought this was a joke. We’re actually going to bring along our own personal psychopath, because we don’t run into enough of them?”
“I prefer the term ‘sociopath’, actually,” Maria says.
“Morgan,” Agent Hotchner interjects, on purpose. “We have a case where she’ll be useful. Take a seat.” That’s his don’t argue with me tone. She’s seen him use it before—it’s generally very effective.
Agent Morgan eyes her suspiciously all the way to his seat, making sure she sees his weapon. She considers yawning, or rolling her eyes, but decides she’ll be nice and not antagonize him, instead merely meeting his eyes with a question: really?
Garcia is next in, followed shortly by Agent Jareau and Agent Prentiss, and Dr. Reid is last. Garcia is mildly terrified of her, which is easy enough to see, and Dr. Reid always looks at her like he wants to dissect her brain and study it. She approves of both of these reactions—they’re sensible. Agents Prentiss and Jareau and treat her presence with a cooler version of Agent Morgan’s suspicion, tinged with curiosity. Still somewhat silly, in her estimation, but entirely understandable.
“Garcia, if you would,” Agent Hotchner says, and Garcia nods and jumps up, beginning the presentation. It’s immediately obvious to Maria why she’s here: serial rapist-slash-murderer, five victims, three of whom are dead, no leads, and the police are desperate.
In other words, her specialty.
She waits until Garcia is finished—it’s only polite—to say, “Did you want to put the poor elephant in the room out of its misery, or shall I?” She directs this to Agent Hotchner.
Agent Morgan snorts. “I, for one, would definitely like to know why she’s here and not behind bars where she belongs.”
“Garcia?” Agent Hotchner prompts.
Garcia’s next presentation is equally fascinating—seven separate cases involving serial rapists, cops with no clue, but then the rapes just abruptly stop, each coincidentally coinciding with its own John Doe murder. A couple of industrious cops linked one of the dead John Does to his rape victims and managed to identify him, but the others went cold.
They’re all hers, of course. “I’m impressed,” she says to Garcia, sincerely.”You found nearly half.” There’s not enough to prove anything, of course, but she’s unearthed a clear pattern, and proof has to start somewhere.
Garcia’s eyes widen. “Half?”
“Mm, there were—nineteen in all. I cover my tracks very well—connecting these must have taken a lot of work. It’s impressive.”
“It did,” she says, faintly. “Days on end. Nineteen?”
“I’m very, very good,” Maria says. “That’s why I’m here, Agent Morgan. Serial rapists are my specialty.”
“You found all these guys,” Agent Prentiss says.
“I did,” Maria says. “Rapists are deplorably easy to outsmart, to tell you the truth. They’re so fixated on power, they actually give up their control. I detest those who crave power but have no idea what it really is. It’s why I gravitated toward killing them—they’re easy to spot, fun to bait, and they each provide their own method for their deaths. No muss, no fuss.”
“You must have been a real hit at show and tell,” says David, and she grins.
“I was a well-behaved angel of a student with perfect attendance and excellent grades. Ask any of my teachers.”
He snorts. “I have no doubt.”
“Now that we’re all up to speed, wheels up in thirty,” Agent Hotchner cuts in, his tone final. The rest of the team disperses, but she stays put, and so does he. Once they’re alone, he eyes her. “How long have you been out of the chains?”
“Only the last ten minutes or so,” she says, standing and letting the chains fall to the floor. “They really are absurd, you know.”
“I know,” he admits. “But like you said—theatre.”
“I have always enjoyed it,” she says, smiling. “Shall we?”
---
David sits next to her on the plane, during and after the briefing, which is fairly short: the women who were killed were strangled, no foreign DNA left behind, and they were all killed in their homes. The two surviving victims were interviewed to little avail. It’s easy to see why the police in Mill Valley are at a loss.
Agent Morgan makes a point of moving as far away from them as possible as soon as he’s able.
“I know you probably don’t care, but Morgan will come around,” David tells her.
She blinks at him, surprised. “I do care, actually. Not for the same reasons you might, but it’s a kind of caring,” she says. “And while I admit I find his attitude tiresome and slightly silly, he is the only one reacting the way one might actually expect a federal agent to react upon being forced to work with a convicted serial murderer. It’s understandable, if counterproductive.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” David says. “Morgan knows that too. It’s the counterproductive part that will make him come around.”
“Not my charming personality?” she asks dryly, and he snorts. “Although, that does bring up a question. How would you like me to proceed when we land?”
He raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“I mean, how would you like me to present myself?” she asks. “I can do enthusiastic and ready to be helpful,” she says, smiling and making it genuine, “or would you prefer cowed and repentant, showing that I’ve seen the error of my ways?” She gives him sad eyes, even bites her lip just a bit. “Perhaps something more sympathetic, something that expresses I feel your pain?” she asks, turning her gaze concerned and compassionate.
David stares at her for a second. “That was a little weird,” he notes. “I mean, I know you just affected all of that, but damn, Maria, if I didn’t--” He shakes his head. “I think you should just be like you are with the team.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, skeptical. “That sort of impassivity tends to disturb people. Law enforcement types are more likely to get defensive in response to it. That would also be counterproductive to our purposes.”
“They know who you are coming in,” David points out.
“Yes, but that’s more irrelevant than you think it is. I’m very convincing.”
“I can see that,” he says. “But I still think it’s better this way. People don’t like being lied to, and even if they never figure it out, you’d make us all party to it.”
“Hmm, fair point,” she says. “I suppose I don’t really think of it as lying, merely preparation. But I do see what you mean. Also, of course, Agent Morgan’s enmity would work against it.”
“Plus, Reid is a terrible actor,” he says, and she smirks in response.
---
Maria makes a quick study of the police station when they walk in; most of the law enforcement personnel are attempting to force casualness and calm, but the atmosphere of stress and fidgety anticipation shines through. She supposes that makes sense; Mill Valley has a population of just over 14,000 (thank you, Dr. Reid) and they don’t get cases of this severity very frequently. Add in the arrival of the FBI, not to mention a sociopath, and she can see why they’re on edge.
Despite David's advice, she finds herself questioning whether or not it might be wise to soften her natural lack of affect somewhat.
“Captain Barnes,” Agent Hotchner says, shaking the hand of an older man, likely mid fifties, with a touch of grey at his temples and a crooked nose too large for his face. He has sharp, intelligent eyes, and his mouth is twisted into a relieved, if grim, smile. “I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Rossi, Dr. Reid, and Ms. Corlioni. The rest of our team has gone to examine the latest crime scene and talk to the M.E. Is there somewhere we could set up?”
“Yes, just over here,” Captain Barnes says, leading them to a room set up with a whiteboard and table. “I’m glad you guys could come out. We’ve had no luck--it’s starting to get to all of us.”
“We’re happy to help,” David says. “The latest victim was murdered, correct? But he has left two of them alive?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We’ve interviewed the two living victims, but unfortunately he traumatized them pretty bad. They couldn’t tell us much.”
Maria walks over to where Dr. Reid is sorting through the box of files on the table, taping a map of the town to the white board and beginning to chart a geographical profile. She picks up one of the files and begins to read about the second victim, Mary Williams, left alive. One of the pictures is curious. “Did either of them mention the lipstick?”
Barnes glances her way, his expression souring, but he only says. “Lipstick? No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s not traditionally her shade,” she says, indicating the photo. “She has twin degrees in fashion merchandising and photography. She’s very conscious of her image and likely wouldn’t have chosen it.”
“All of the victims were very image conscious,” Dr. Reid adds, opening the other four files and quickly scanning through them. “Veronica Telly also had the same shade of lipstick on when she made her report, but none of the three he killed did.”
Given the few conclusions they were able to arrive at on the plane about his high levels of intelligence, sadism, and need for dominance, this detail clicks instantly in her mind.
“He’s married,” she says, shaking her head.
Barnes stares at her. “How the hell do you know that?”
“It’s his wife’s lipstick,” she tells him. “His wife is the dominant one in their relationship, and because he is a weak-willed halfling of a man, he’s decided the way to regain his power is to rape and kill other women. Such a cliche. Luckily, he’ll be easy to catch.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, visibly bristling, “and the only reason we haven’t yet is because we’re all idiots around here?”
“Of course not,” she says. “But neither are you sociopaths. You look at this man and see a monster. I look at this man and see a victim. They’re very different approaches.”
“A victim?” he scoffs. “In what way is he a victim?”
“Oh, that was unclear. I should have specified--a potential victim. Were I not currently in federal custody, I likely would have already found and killed this man, and carefully painted his lips with that lipstick he hates so much.” She considers this for a moment. “I think I wouldn’t stab him or slit his throat. Garroting seems more appropriate under the circumstances.”
“You are fucked up,” Barnes says, but it’s pretty matter of fact, all things considered. Perhaps David was correct after all.
“I am, yes.”
“On that note,” David interjects, “we should have J.J. talk to the two survivors. If she can get us something about the lipstick, it’ll probably lead us right to him.”
“The rest of the team should be on their way here shortly. I’ll let them know what we’ve found,” Agent Hotchner says, leaving the room.
Dr. Reid is still staring at her, fascinated, as he has been throughout her entire exchange with Captain Barnes, but finally he shakes his head. “I’m almost done with this,” he says. “We’ll soon have a better idea of where to focus.”
Maria gazes at the map, thoughtful. She knows Agent Jareau is good at cognitive interviews, but equally she knows that trauma goes deep. They’re going to need a backup plan.
“David,” she says quietly, while Barnes gets into a discussion with Dr. Reid on the merits of a geographical profile, “may I borrow your phone?”
He eyes her steadily for a moment. She makes no attempt to hide her intentions, as easily as she could, and it seems to work, because he nods and hands it over.
She smiles at him. “Would you like to escort me to the restroom?”
“I’ll wait outside the door,” he says. “Captain. Where are your facilities?”
Barnes looks over. “Turn left, all the way across the bullpen. Want me to send a female officer in with her? There are some windows she might be able to get through.”
Maria doesn’t bother to hide the offended look that crosses her face. “I assure you, Captain,” she says coolly, “if I were thinking about escape, I would have a far better plan than sneaking out a bathroom window. I’m not an amateur.”
David snorts. “I think it’ll be fine,” he says, and leads her to the bathroom.
Once inside, she makes sure it’s empty, and then dials a familiar number. “It’s me,” she says. “Maria. I have a favor to ask.”
---
Once Dr. Reid has finished with his maps, Maria studies them for a moment. She already has a pretty good idea of the best place to spring a trap, should that be necessary, and his profile helps her narrow it down even further.
Maria keeps an eye on the time. Once roughly an hour passes, she nods at David, who stands and says, “I’m going to go take a smoke break. I’ll have Maria stay with me.”
She stands, watching as David and Agent Hotchner have a quick, silent discussion with their eyes, which she enjoys. It reminds her of several pairs of her siblings. After it’s through, they head outside and just across the street, to the park. They settle on the bench and wait; it isn’t long before a familiar Mercedes pulls into the parking lot.
Nicoletta hasn’t changed much in the intervening year since Maria last saw her. She still exudes both elegance and danger as she exits her car and moves toward them.
Maria smiles at her. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re my little sister,” she says dismissively, eyeing David with suspicion. “He looks like Zio Alessandro,” she says in Italian.
Maria, knowing full well that David also speaks Italian, says, “He knows.”
“How are the bastards treating you?”
David cuts in. “Only some of us are bastards, as it happens, and we treat her just fine.”
At Maria’s nod, Nicoletta acknowledges that grudgingly. “I got what you asked for.” She waves them over to the trunk of her car.
“Which is what, exactly? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about details,” David says pointedly.
“Clothes,” she says. “Makeup. The shade of lipstick he hates. I’m going to need them to lure him out.”
David gives her a look. “Assuming Hotch lets this happen, which he probably won’t, we could have gotten you what you needed.”
Nicoletta snorts. “Not if the guy has any brains in his head.” She opens her trunk. There are two garment bags, three boxes of shoes, and an entire case of expensive, high-end makeup. “Unless you were willing to shell out fifteen grand, whatever cheapass Walmart crap you got her would’ve been a huge fucking tipoff.”
“You know we’re going to have to inspect every single thing in here, right?”
“Feel free,” Nicoletta says with a grin baring her teeth.
Maria smirks as David meets her gaze. They hold it for a few seconds until Maria says, “We should probably get back, David.”
Nicoletta raises her eyebrow at that, and now it's Maria's turn to have a silent conversation, as she conveys to her sister what she can in a look. Nicoletta nods once afterward, and Maria and David grab the bags, shoes, and case.
Nicoletta shuts her trunk with a solid click. She looks right at David. “You keep my little sister safe,” she tells him with a ferocity most people quail in the face of. “I don’t give a shit if you’re a fed--anything happens to her, you’ll fucking regret it.”
David looks at her, then at Maria, and says, “Yeah, I think I understand.”
Maria knows David well enough to know that he’s not only talking about Nicoletta’s threat.
Her sister gets back into her car, gives her one last wave, and then peels out of the parking lot. David turns to look at Maria and says, “You know, she kind of reminds me of one of my sisters.”
Maria smiles. “I’m not at all surprised by that,” she says, and they head back across the street.
“How did you know she’d be on this side of the country, anyway?”
Maria shrugs. “She frequently visits Napa Valley this time of year.”
“Ah, wine country,” he says, dryly, and they walk inside the station.
---
David is the one to smooth over their sudden acquisitions with Agent Hotchner, who doesn’t look happy about them. Although, Maria supposes, he never really looks happy about anything--one of the reasons she’s glad she doesn’t have to experience real feelings. She knows about some of what he’s been through (she remembers reading about George Foyet and being very unimpressed; serial killers who name themselves are only to be disdained, in her opinion) and finds it unfortunate. He’s probably her next favorite, after David.
“Was Agent Jareau able to find out anything?” she asks Agent Prentiss when she comes into the temporary headquarters of the investigation. She can hear the rest of the team delivering the profile to the assorted officers, and wonders why Agent Prentiss has chosen instead to come in here. She’s still sizing her up, Maria knows. Perhaps she wants to guarantee they’ll be alone.
After a moment of contemplative silence, Agent Prentiss answers her question. “Not much,” she says. “They’re both too traumatized, even with our methods. It’s understandable, considering what he did to them. He’s a sadist.”
“Yes. I thought so,” she says. “Tell me, why do you think he killed three of his victims but left two of them alive?”
“He thinks it gives him more control,” Agent Prentiss says. “That he’s not compelled to kill them, that they live or die at his whims. But he’s wrong.”
“Oh, he’s very wrong,” Maria agrees. “Leaving them alive is probably taking all his willpower. He’ll want to double back for them, but he’s too smart for that. Which means he’s going to need another victim--and soon.”
Agent Prentiss eyes her. “And you think you should be the one to lure him out? Why not me, or J.J.?”
“You’re both good at your jobs,” she says. “You probably could do it without too much trouble. But putting yourself into this mindset takes a toll, especially since you’ll have to allow him to prey on you. You and Agent Jareau will feel it,” she says. “Whatever the toll, you’ll have to endure it, emotionally, mentally, perhaps even physically. I won’t. This man can’t wound me, unsettle me, or get inside my head. This man can’t leave a lasting scar, even if it is a small one. The worst this man can do is kill me, and I have no fear of that. Surely you see the advantages of having me assume the role? It’s all a game where I’m concerned. One I’m very good at, and frequently win. Why not allow me to play?”
“You want to protect us,” Agent Prentiss says in response, after a moment. “Why is that?”
She shrugs. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”
“Which makes us--what, a whim, maybe? A curiosity? An itch to scratch?”
“Ah, yes. Borne of impulsivity, of course--a key trait. I work hard against that one, as you know. And if you insist on a few cold calculations, I can give them to you: I’m here, being entertained, and not locked in a tedious cell with insufferable inmates I’d be all too tempted--and all too likely--to kill. Fair game, you see. That might be entertaining in a limited respect, especially since it would be tricker to do so undetected, though no doubt I could I accomplish it. Still, it’d get repetitive; I must say I prefer this.”
Agent Prentiss regards her again, clearly coming to some kind of judgment. “You like us, huh?” she asks, then adds, dryly, “Even Morgan?”
“Another key trait,” she says, smirking. “Sociopaths are excellent judges of character.”
It’s then that the door bursts open, Captain Barnes storming in angrily, followed by David, Agent Hotchner, Agent Jareau, Dr. Reid, and Agent Morgan. “You can’t be fucking serious,” Barnes is saying, shooting a disgusted look her way. “You want to let the criminally insane go play dress up? What’s the guarantee she won’t just bolt? Or tip this guy off?”
“We know her profile. We know the kind of men she used to target, and this man would be one of them. She doesn’t associate with rapists, and would have no reason to alert him,” Agent Hotchner says stoically, like he does most things, though he does glance her way ever so slightly, and she takes that to mean theatre. It would make her smile, if she were not artfully controlling her expression, displaying only mild interest.
“No reason?” Barnes says. “She’s killed shittons of people, she needs a reason? Why not just to screw us over?”
Agent Morgan snorts. “You know, I kind of want to know the answer to that myself,” he says. “We get a case with a rapist, fine, so now we just tote along a serial killer like we can trust any damn thing she says or does? What if this is just the opportunity she’s been waiting for?”
Agent Hotcher shoots Agent Morgan a look that very clearly says you are not helping, but Agent Morgan ignores it.
“Maria,” David says at last, and she almost beams. Of course he’s the one to address her: Agent Morgan and Captain Barnes are genuinely angry, and Agent Hotchner is playing a part. “How many times today could you have killed me if you’d wanted to?”
“Five,” she says, without missing a beat. “On the plane, there was a ballpoint pen within my reach. Puncture the carotid, you’d have bled out before anyone could have done anything. No exit route, I grant you, so it would’ve been something of a draw. Here, when we walked toward the bathroom, I passed three letter openers and two pocket knives within lifting distance; I could have stabbed you, subdued you, and killed you quickly inside the bathroom. Probably no one would have noticed for at least ten minutes, plenty of time for me to stroll quickly out the door. On our walk to the park, with any of the aforementioned items I might have stolen; when we collected our items, even easier with help and a means of disposing the body; as we walked back, same as the walk there. I probably would have feigned an illness and moved us out of any obvious lines of sight for either of those.”
“Damn, I counted four. I didn’t see the pen--where was it?” David asks.
“Oh, it fell out of Dr. Reid’s pocket. It was sitting next to my left foot most of the plane ride, until I kicked it closer to him.”
Agent Morgan frowns deeply, and she knows why; he was sitting right next to Dr. Reid on the plane, and he watched him pick up his mysteriously appearing pen.
“And you want to let her loose?” Barnes says, clearly not convinced. “After she fantasized about killing you five different times today alone?”
“Not fantasized,” David says. “Considered. And then dismissed. Maria can no more not consider how to kill someone than a painter can not envision her next painting. It’s proof that she can control her impulses, and that to some degree, she can be trusted.”
“Did you just compare a sociopath to an artist?” Agent Jareau asks, eyebrow raising.
Maria grimaces. “I have to agree, David. The ones who think they’re artists tend to be pretty insufferable.”
“It was just an example!”
Captain Barnes sighs heavily. “I don’t know. Do all of you agree we should try this?”
“I do,” Agent Prentiss says. “I think she knows what game this guy’s playing, and she’s the most equipped to beat him at it.”
Agent Jareau gives her a slightly surprised look, and they have their own version of the silent conversation. Afterward, Agent Jareau nods. “Agreed,” she says.
Dr. Reid once again looks like he wants to dissect her brain and analyze it. It’s adorable. “I think it would be an interesting angle to attempt, even if unsuccessful.”
“We know where I stand,” David says, shrugging.
“It does have risks,” Agent Hotchner allows. “However, I’m convinced that it may be our best option at this point, especially given what we know about our unsub and how likely he is to strike again soon.”
Everyone looks at Agent Morgan, who is still frowning deeply. Finally, he says, “If we try this, we have to do it carefully. Everything has to be as authentic as possible. This guy’s smart. One whiff that this is a setup, he’ll bolt, and we might never find him. You think you can go off leash that long?”
He’s baiting her, of course, and it isn’t particularly subtle. What is subtle is the note of concern underneath--he’s prepared that their perpetrator might have time to kill her before they can intervene, and he’s conflicted about that. How perfect, then, that the correct way to answer on both fronts is precisely the same.
She gives him one of her most blank, unsettling smiles and shows her teeth. “Woof.”
---
Maria is left alone in the bathroom to change into the clothes that will attract their unsub, and she takes her time doing so, thinking about the character she’ll be playing. Serena, she decides her name is--a snob of the highest order, prefers only the finest things in life, and considers most men to be below her station. When the unsub approaches, she will be dismissive, clearly indicating that she believes she’s better than him. He’ll loathe her on sight.
That decided, she begins assembling her… costume, for lack of a better word. Serena’s outfit is first and easiest: a tight, sleeveless, curve-hugging red dress that flatters her ass and chest. She does her makeup carefully, artfully, and slips on the pieces of jewelry Nicoletta wisely thought to put in the makeup case. The lipstick is next.
Lastly, she opens each box of shoes, and while instantly she knows she’ll be wearing the four-inch strappy silver stilettos, she looks thoughtfully at the blue pair: five inch heels that, curiously, are too wide for her purposes. She picks up both of them, examines them closely, and then sets one down; from the other, she extracts the small hairpin dagger securely hidden inside the heel, smirking.
Her sister thinks of everything.
---
This is a bar with delusions of grandeur; it calls itself an intoxication experience, and all of the liquor is imported. It’s decent enough alcohol, she gathers, but she’s pretty sure the pretension dripping from every pore of the place would be enough to give even Leo pause.
In any event, she’s drinking water but pretending to drink alcohol; she tells the bartender about her spiritual quest to transcend the physical need for actual intoxicants, which is clearly not something that even ranks on his list of Top Ten Pieces of Utterly Nonsensical New Age Rich Idiot Babble, because he doesn’t bat an eyelash at pouring her water and acting like it’s vodka. It probably helps that she is both paying and tipping as though she were ordering actual vodka, to enhance the verisimilitude of the journey.
Maria hates Serena enough that she is tempted to kill her, she has to admit.
It takes longer than Maria thought it might, but not actually that long at all, before a handsome, dark-haired man walks into the bar, expertly put together. He scans all of the patrons quickly, but Maria can feel the assessment even without looking. It’s clear that he likes-slash-hates what he sees in Serena, and he chooses a seat next to her.
Maria/Serena glances over, idly, and gives him nothing but the tiniest, most disdainful twitch of her lips in acknowledgement, painted as they are in that lipstick he loathes.
His eyes cloud slightly, barely noticeable, and she knows then that she has him.
---
They go back to ‘her place,’ which is actually an upscale, furnished convo that the FBI has commandeered for the evening. She plays tipsy, but haughty, making him work for everything, and she can tell it’s gearing him up nicely. He’s actually very good at hiding his intentions, but there are little tells--the way his hands are just a touch too forceful as he guides her up the stairs, for instance.
“Home sweet home,” she drawls, opening the door and gesturing inside. He has her pinned up against the door not a second later, hand already at her throat, eyes hungry. “What, no foreplay?”
“You’ve teased me long enough,” he says, kissing her roughly. It’s not a bad kiss, all things considered; she’s had worse, which she thinks is probably rather sad. He gropes her, not gently, unsurprisingly, but then she knew it wouldn’t be. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he growls into her ear. “You act like you’re above it all, above everything, but what you really want more than anything in the world is to be fucked so hard you can’t walk, fucked like the whore you are.”
His grip returns to her neck, much more firmly than just pressure; she imagines this is where his victims generally start pinging that something’s off, so she lets a hint of fear creep into Serena’s eyes.
“You’re going to beg,” he says, pressure increasing on her neck, and it is starting to make her a little dizzy. Her hand slips under her dress and she grabs the dagger taped to her thigh. “You’re going to do exactly everything I tell you, and if you’re lucky, I won’t kill you.” She takes one last gulp of air before she can no longer breathe, and moves fast; the dagger slides into his stomach, but she’s aimed carefully--it won’t be fatal. It’s enough to shock him, though; the pressure lessens on her neck, and she slams him to the ground, knee on his throat.
She can just reach her bag where it fell when he pushed her against the door, and when she does, she pulls out the lipstick and a compact from her bag. After tapping on the bug they placed inside the lipstick case, she says, “Lipstick,” which is her codeword for the FBI to join them. (If she failed to activate it within ten minutes, they were to be en route regardless.) She looks down at him, letting every bit of the Serena mask fade away, and examines her neck with the mirror. “That will probably bruise,” she notes idly, and then she reapplies the lipstick effortlessly, giving him a terrifying smile. “You lose,” she says, and that’s when the federal agents burst in through the door.
---
Maria is sitting by herself in one of Mill Valley’s two interrogation rooms, scrutinizing her appearance in the two-way mirror. Her neck is very red, and slightly swollen, and she tries to imagine how it’ll look when it turns to purple. That should be amusing.
To her slight surprise, Agent Morgan is the one who finally enters the interrogation room. She’s been waiting for at least an hour, after the paramedics cleared her. Captain Barnes was less than pleased about the brand new stab wound she gave their perpetrator, which is absurd, in her opinion. She only damaged him a little, hardly enough to kill him, and even if she had it would have been textbook self-defense.
Well, maybe not textbook.
That thought makes her smile to herself, and Agent Morgan clears his throat. He doesn’t sit down across from her, just leans against the wall next to the mirror.
“How can I help you, Agent Morgan?” she asks.
“That hurt?” he asks in return, gesturing to her neck.
She shrugs. “It’s tender. I’m sure it’ll look much worse than it is. What really brings you here?”
“Our guy confessed. His name is Grant Rutherford. He kept souvenirs--pictures, trinkets from each of the victims. Found it all in his house. We’ve got him dead to rights,” he tells her. “Milly Valley PD isn’t going to charge you with anything,” he adds. “Not even a weapons’ charge.”
“You can if you’d like,” she says. “I was in illegal possession of a weapon, at the very least. I’ll even plead guilty if you want.”
“Why?” He frowns.
She glances at the handcuffs on her wrists. “I’m already in custody, Agent Morgan. If I wanted to escape, I would have done so by now. You’re all very capable, but I’ve been honing my skills since I was twelve. I don’t have any intention of going anywhere.”
There’s a long pause before he says, “You didn’t kill him.”
It’s not a question, so she merely lifts an eyebrow in response, waiting.
“You had plenty of opportunity. He’s your type. You’re extremely skilled with a knife. If you didn’t kill him, you didn’t just happen to miss anything vital--you missed on purpose. Why?”
“The deal we made was for arrest and capture, not sanctioned murder,” she says. “Now don’t get me wrong, had it been for the latter, I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest--but it wasn’t.”
“And that’s just enough for you? Because you made a deal with us, you’re going to stick to it?”
“The spirit of it, certainly. As you may have noticed, I did find several loopholes, but then I am both a sociopath and a lawyer. You’ll have to learn to expect that.”
Morgan snorts at that, clearly caught somewhat off guard. He shakes his head. “You really like Rossi that much?”
She blinks. “David’s my favorite, I admit,” she says, “but I like all of you.”
He eyes her for a long moment. “Why?”
“You’re very different, with core things in common. You’re all intelligent, you work together well, and all of you are both stronger and weaker than you let on. On some level, the success of this unit makes no sense whatsoever, yet it’s undeniable. You’re strange and fascinating, functionally dysfunctional, and in many ways you remind me of my family.” She shrugs. “Perhaps that means nothing, being as I don’t understand love or loyalty the way you do, or even the way my family does, but maybe there’s something that goes even deeper, something that can still manage to make it to me. Who knows? I certainly don’t. But that’s why I like you.”
“Fealty,” he mutters, probably without meaning to, and she smirks.
“If you insist, my lord.”
He gives her an unimpressed look and says, “Come on. We’re headed out. You can stop pretending you’re still handcuffed and help us pack everything up.”
Maria smiles as genuinely as she can, quietly setting the handcuffs on the table and standing. “I was in here for an hour,” she points out. “Even my brother’s eight-year-old wouldn’t need that long.”
“Yeah, all right, I get it.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re a master criminal, from a master criminal family, but do I have to point out that we caught you?”
Amused, Maria gives him a dry look in response. “I suppose,” she says. “However, I’m the one who chose to remain that way.”
Morgan snorts as they walk through the bullpen, but he doesn’t contradict her. She knows why, of course: he’s finally realizing that for all her deception and affectation, it’s the whole truth.
Or, if not the whole truth, at least a good portion of it.
Colors: Olive Drab, 29. “Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice. Pull down your pants and slide on the ice.” + TARDIS Blue, 25. Hello. I'm the Doctor. Basically...run.
Supplies: Eraser (Criminal Minds Crossover AU),
Style: Portrait, Mosaic (Crossover with Criminal Minds!)
Word Count: 6200
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Sociopathy, references to murder and rape, attempted rape that goes rather poorly for the would-be rapist.
Story: Polyfaceted (crossed over with the CBS show Criminal Minds), title of this is Under Oath.
Summary: The BAU asks for assistance from an unlikely source.
Notes: Um. Hi? Jesus, it’s been so long since I’ve posted here. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything that could be posted here. Poor neglected Corlionis. *pats them* Anyway, I guess… have a random self-indulgent crossover? XD I’ve been binge-watching Criminal Minds lately and this has been a random in progress thing for quite a long time, and suddenly… it just happened. Who even knows, you guys. Anyway, this takes place in a timeline that makes literally no sense, because Corlioni-verse-wise it’s roughly 2033 but Criminal Minds-verse-wise it’s S7. Let's just assume wormholes are at work. Thanks for looking it over, Kelly.
“Really? Chains? I require chains?” Maria asks, amused, as she’s secured into a chair at the roundtable. She estimates she could be out of the entire setup in approximately six minutes, which isn’t even that impressive. Vito could likely do it in four. “Should I wait for everyone to arrive before I start listing all the reasons this is absurd?”
“We know them,” Agent Hotchner says, and fair enough—she can hear the dryness in his response. “Inside the building, certain protocol needs to be adhered to.”
“Ah. Theatre. My favorite,” she says. “Will it break the suspension of disbelief if I point out that my being here in the first place already steps on protocol? I think David in particular has repeatedly crushed protocol underneath the left heel of his expensive Italian shoes.”
“These are reasonably-priced Italian shoes, thank you very much,” David says as he enters the room, sitting down at the table next to her.
She smiles at him. He’s her favorite, and not just because he looks like family. “Custom-made shoes are rarely reasonable in price, David.” She pronounces his name the Italian way on purpose. “I have nine brothers. I recognize Mr. D’Antonio’s work when I see it.”
“I get the old friends discount,” David replies. “Funny, he’s never mentioned your brothers.”
“D.C. isn’t far enough from New York for that to be a good idea.”
Agent Hotchner clears his throat. He’s been watching them carefully during this entire interaction, she’s well aware. Good. Let him do his research. She (subtly) begins the process of getting out of her ridiculous chains.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Ah. There’s Agent Morgan.
“Seriously?” he continues. “I thought this was a joke. We’re actually going to bring along our own personal psychopath, because we don’t run into enough of them?”
“I prefer the term ‘sociopath’, actually,” Maria says.
“Morgan,” Agent Hotchner interjects, on purpose. “We have a case where she’ll be useful. Take a seat.” That’s his don’t argue with me tone. She’s seen him use it before—it’s generally very effective.
Agent Morgan eyes her suspiciously all the way to his seat, making sure she sees his weapon. She considers yawning, or rolling her eyes, but decides she’ll be nice and not antagonize him, instead merely meeting his eyes with a question: really?
Garcia is next in, followed shortly by Agent Jareau and Agent Prentiss, and Dr. Reid is last. Garcia is mildly terrified of her, which is easy enough to see, and Dr. Reid always looks at her like he wants to dissect her brain and study it. She approves of both of these reactions—they’re sensible. Agents Prentiss and Jareau and treat her presence with a cooler version of Agent Morgan’s suspicion, tinged with curiosity. Still somewhat silly, in her estimation, but entirely understandable.
“Garcia, if you would,” Agent Hotchner says, and Garcia nods and jumps up, beginning the presentation. It’s immediately obvious to Maria why she’s here: serial rapist-slash-murderer, five victims, three of whom are dead, no leads, and the police are desperate.
In other words, her specialty.
She waits until Garcia is finished—it’s only polite—to say, “Did you want to put the poor elephant in the room out of its misery, or shall I?” She directs this to Agent Hotchner.
Agent Morgan snorts. “I, for one, would definitely like to know why she’s here and not behind bars where she belongs.”
“Garcia?” Agent Hotchner prompts.
Garcia’s next presentation is equally fascinating—seven separate cases involving serial rapists, cops with no clue, but then the rapes just abruptly stop, each coincidentally coinciding with its own John Doe murder. A couple of industrious cops linked one of the dead John Does to his rape victims and managed to identify him, but the others went cold.
They’re all hers, of course. “I’m impressed,” she says to Garcia, sincerely.”You found nearly half.” There’s not enough to prove anything, of course, but she’s unearthed a clear pattern, and proof has to start somewhere.
Garcia’s eyes widen. “Half?”
“Mm, there were—nineteen in all. I cover my tracks very well—connecting these must have taken a lot of work. It’s impressive.”
“It did,” she says, faintly. “Days on end. Nineteen?”
“I’m very, very good,” Maria says. “That’s why I’m here, Agent Morgan. Serial rapists are my specialty.”
“You found all these guys,” Agent Prentiss says.
“I did,” Maria says. “Rapists are deplorably easy to outsmart, to tell you the truth. They’re so fixated on power, they actually give up their control. I detest those who crave power but have no idea what it really is. It’s why I gravitated toward killing them—they’re easy to spot, fun to bait, and they each provide their own method for their deaths. No muss, no fuss.”
“You must have been a real hit at show and tell,” says David, and she grins.
“I was a well-behaved angel of a student with perfect attendance and excellent grades. Ask any of my teachers.”
He snorts. “I have no doubt.”
“Now that we’re all up to speed, wheels up in thirty,” Agent Hotchner cuts in, his tone final. The rest of the team disperses, but she stays put, and so does he. Once they’re alone, he eyes her. “How long have you been out of the chains?”
“Only the last ten minutes or so,” she says, standing and letting the chains fall to the floor. “They really are absurd, you know.”
“I know,” he admits. “But like you said—theatre.”
“I have always enjoyed it,” she says, smiling. “Shall we?”
David sits next to her on the plane, during and after the briefing, which is fairly short: the women who were killed were strangled, no foreign DNA left behind, and they were all killed in their homes. The two surviving victims were interviewed to little avail. It’s easy to see why the police in Mill Valley are at a loss.
Agent Morgan makes a point of moving as far away from them as possible as soon as he’s able.
“I know you probably don’t care, but Morgan will come around,” David tells her.
She blinks at him, surprised. “I do care, actually. Not for the same reasons you might, but it’s a kind of caring,” she says. “And while I admit I find his attitude tiresome and slightly silly, he is the only one reacting the way one might actually expect a federal agent to react upon being forced to work with a convicted serial murderer. It’s understandable, if counterproductive.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” David says. “Morgan knows that too. It’s the counterproductive part that will make him come around.”
“Not my charming personality?” she asks dryly, and he snorts. “Although, that does bring up a question. How would you like me to proceed when we land?”
He raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“I mean, how would you like me to present myself?” she asks. “I can do enthusiastic and ready to be helpful,” she says, smiling and making it genuine, “or would you prefer cowed and repentant, showing that I’ve seen the error of my ways?” She gives him sad eyes, even bites her lip just a bit. “Perhaps something more sympathetic, something that expresses I feel your pain?” she asks, turning her gaze concerned and compassionate.
David stares at her for a second. “That was a little weird,” he notes. “I mean, I know you just affected all of that, but damn, Maria, if I didn’t--” He shakes his head. “I think you should just be like you are with the team.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, skeptical. “That sort of impassivity tends to disturb people. Law enforcement types are more likely to get defensive in response to it. That would also be counterproductive to our purposes.”
“They know who you are coming in,” David points out.
“Yes, but that’s more irrelevant than you think it is. I’m very convincing.”
“I can see that,” he says. “But I still think it’s better this way. People don’t like being lied to, and even if they never figure it out, you’d make us all party to it.”
“Hmm, fair point,” she says. “I suppose I don’t really think of it as lying, merely preparation. But I do see what you mean. Also, of course, Agent Morgan’s enmity would work against it.”
“Plus, Reid is a terrible actor,” he says, and she smirks in response.
Maria makes a quick study of the police station when they walk in; most of the law enforcement personnel are attempting to force casualness and calm, but the atmosphere of stress and fidgety anticipation shines through. She supposes that makes sense; Mill Valley has a population of just over 14,000 (thank you, Dr. Reid) and they don’t get cases of this severity very frequently. Add in the arrival of the FBI, not to mention a sociopath, and she can see why they’re on edge.
Despite David's advice, she finds herself questioning whether or not it might be wise to soften her natural lack of affect somewhat.
“Captain Barnes,” Agent Hotchner says, shaking the hand of an older man, likely mid fifties, with a touch of grey at his temples and a crooked nose too large for his face. He has sharp, intelligent eyes, and his mouth is twisted into a relieved, if grim, smile. “I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Rossi, Dr. Reid, and Ms. Corlioni. The rest of our team has gone to examine the latest crime scene and talk to the M.E. Is there somewhere we could set up?”
“Yes, just over here,” Captain Barnes says, leading them to a room set up with a whiteboard and table. “I’m glad you guys could come out. We’ve had no luck--it’s starting to get to all of us.”
“We’re happy to help,” David says. “The latest victim was murdered, correct? But he has left two of them alive?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We’ve interviewed the two living victims, but unfortunately he traumatized them pretty bad. They couldn’t tell us much.”
Maria walks over to where Dr. Reid is sorting through the box of files on the table, taping a map of the town to the white board and beginning to chart a geographical profile. She picks up one of the files and begins to read about the second victim, Mary Williams, left alive. One of the pictures is curious. “Did either of them mention the lipstick?”
Barnes glances her way, his expression souring, but he only says. “Lipstick? No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s not traditionally her shade,” she says, indicating the photo. “She has twin degrees in fashion merchandising and photography. She’s very conscious of her image and likely wouldn’t have chosen it.”
“All of the victims were very image conscious,” Dr. Reid adds, opening the other four files and quickly scanning through them. “Veronica Telly also had the same shade of lipstick on when she made her report, but none of the three he killed did.”
Given the few conclusions they were able to arrive at on the plane about his high levels of intelligence, sadism, and need for dominance, this detail clicks instantly in her mind.
“He’s married,” she says, shaking her head.
Barnes stares at her. “How the hell do you know that?”
“It’s his wife’s lipstick,” she tells him. “His wife is the dominant one in their relationship, and because he is a weak-willed halfling of a man, he’s decided the way to regain his power is to rape and kill other women. Such a cliche. Luckily, he’ll be easy to catch.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, visibly bristling, “and the only reason we haven’t yet is because we’re all idiots around here?”
“Of course not,” she says. “But neither are you sociopaths. You look at this man and see a monster. I look at this man and see a victim. They’re very different approaches.”
“A victim?” he scoffs. “In what way is he a victim?”
“Oh, that was unclear. I should have specified--a potential victim. Were I not currently in federal custody, I likely would have already found and killed this man, and carefully painted his lips with that lipstick he hates so much.” She considers this for a moment. “I think I wouldn’t stab him or slit his throat. Garroting seems more appropriate under the circumstances.”
“You are fucked up,” Barnes says, but it’s pretty matter of fact, all things considered. Perhaps David was correct after all.
“I am, yes.”
“On that note,” David interjects, “we should have J.J. talk to the two survivors. If she can get us something about the lipstick, it’ll probably lead us right to him.”
“The rest of the team should be on their way here shortly. I’ll let them know what we’ve found,” Agent Hotchner says, leaving the room.
Dr. Reid is still staring at her, fascinated, as he has been throughout her entire exchange with Captain Barnes, but finally he shakes his head. “I’m almost done with this,” he says. “We’ll soon have a better idea of where to focus.”
Maria gazes at the map, thoughtful. She knows Agent Jareau is good at cognitive interviews, but equally she knows that trauma goes deep. They’re going to need a backup plan.
“David,” she says quietly, while Barnes gets into a discussion with Dr. Reid on the merits of a geographical profile, “may I borrow your phone?”
He eyes her steadily for a moment. She makes no attempt to hide her intentions, as easily as she could, and it seems to work, because he nods and hands it over.
She smiles at him. “Would you like to escort me to the restroom?”
“I’ll wait outside the door,” he says. “Captain. Where are your facilities?”
Barnes looks over. “Turn left, all the way across the bullpen. Want me to send a female officer in with her? There are some windows she might be able to get through.”
Maria doesn’t bother to hide the offended look that crosses her face. “I assure you, Captain,” she says coolly, “if I were thinking about escape, I would have a far better plan than sneaking out a bathroom window. I’m not an amateur.”
David snorts. “I think it’ll be fine,” he says, and leads her to the bathroom.
Once inside, she makes sure it’s empty, and then dials a familiar number. “It’s me,” she says. “Maria. I have a favor to ask.”
Once Dr. Reid has finished with his maps, Maria studies them for a moment. She already has a pretty good idea of the best place to spring a trap, should that be necessary, and his profile helps her narrow it down even further.
Maria keeps an eye on the time. Once roughly an hour passes, she nods at David, who stands and says, “I’m going to go take a smoke break. I’ll have Maria stay with me.”
She stands, watching as David and Agent Hotchner have a quick, silent discussion with their eyes, which she enjoys. It reminds her of several pairs of her siblings. After it’s through, they head outside and just across the street, to the park. They settle on the bench and wait; it isn’t long before a familiar Mercedes pulls into the parking lot.
Nicoletta hasn’t changed much in the intervening year since Maria last saw her. She still exudes both elegance and danger as she exits her car and moves toward them.
Maria smiles at her. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re my little sister,” she says dismissively, eyeing David with suspicion. “He looks like Zio Alessandro,” she says in Italian.
Maria, knowing full well that David also speaks Italian, says, “He knows.”
“How are the bastards treating you?”
David cuts in. “Only some of us are bastards, as it happens, and we treat her just fine.”
At Maria’s nod, Nicoletta acknowledges that grudgingly. “I got what you asked for.” She waves them over to the trunk of her car.
“Which is what, exactly? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about details,” David says pointedly.
“Clothes,” she says. “Makeup. The shade of lipstick he hates. I’m going to need them to lure him out.”
David gives her a look. “Assuming Hotch lets this happen, which he probably won’t, we could have gotten you what you needed.”
Nicoletta snorts. “Not if the guy has any brains in his head.” She opens her trunk. There are two garment bags, three boxes of shoes, and an entire case of expensive, high-end makeup. “Unless you were willing to shell out fifteen grand, whatever cheapass Walmart crap you got her would’ve been a huge fucking tipoff.”
“You know we’re going to have to inspect every single thing in here, right?”
“Feel free,” Nicoletta says with a grin baring her teeth.
Maria smirks as David meets her gaze. They hold it for a few seconds until Maria says, “We should probably get back, David.”
Nicoletta raises her eyebrow at that, and now it's Maria's turn to have a silent conversation, as she conveys to her sister what she can in a look. Nicoletta nods once afterward, and Maria and David grab the bags, shoes, and case.
Nicoletta shuts her trunk with a solid click. She looks right at David. “You keep my little sister safe,” she tells him with a ferocity most people quail in the face of. “I don’t give a shit if you’re a fed--anything happens to her, you’ll fucking regret it.”
David looks at her, then at Maria, and says, “Yeah, I think I understand.”
Maria knows David well enough to know that he’s not only talking about Nicoletta’s threat.
Her sister gets back into her car, gives her one last wave, and then peels out of the parking lot. David turns to look at Maria and says, “You know, she kind of reminds me of one of my sisters.”
Maria smiles. “I’m not at all surprised by that,” she says, and they head back across the street.
“How did you know she’d be on this side of the country, anyway?”
Maria shrugs. “She frequently visits Napa Valley this time of year.”
“Ah, wine country,” he says, dryly, and they walk inside the station.
David is the one to smooth over their sudden acquisitions with Agent Hotchner, who doesn’t look happy about them. Although, Maria supposes, he never really looks happy about anything--one of the reasons she’s glad she doesn’t have to experience real feelings. She knows about some of what he’s been through (she remembers reading about George Foyet and being very unimpressed; serial killers who name themselves are only to be disdained, in her opinion) and finds it unfortunate. He’s probably her next favorite, after David.
“Was Agent Jareau able to find out anything?” she asks Agent Prentiss when she comes into the temporary headquarters of the investigation. She can hear the rest of the team delivering the profile to the assorted officers, and wonders why Agent Prentiss has chosen instead to come in here. She’s still sizing her up, Maria knows. Perhaps she wants to guarantee they’ll be alone.
After a moment of contemplative silence, Agent Prentiss answers her question. “Not much,” she says. “They’re both too traumatized, even with our methods. It’s understandable, considering what he did to them. He’s a sadist.”
“Yes. I thought so,” she says. “Tell me, why do you think he killed three of his victims but left two of them alive?”
“He thinks it gives him more control,” Agent Prentiss says. “That he’s not compelled to kill them, that they live or die at his whims. But he’s wrong.”
“Oh, he’s very wrong,” Maria agrees. “Leaving them alive is probably taking all his willpower. He’ll want to double back for them, but he’s too smart for that. Which means he’s going to need another victim--and soon.”
Agent Prentiss eyes her. “And you think you should be the one to lure him out? Why not me, or J.J.?”
“You’re both good at your jobs,” she says. “You probably could do it without too much trouble. But putting yourself into this mindset takes a toll, especially since you’ll have to allow him to prey on you. You and Agent Jareau will feel it,” she says. “Whatever the toll, you’ll have to endure it, emotionally, mentally, perhaps even physically. I won’t. This man can’t wound me, unsettle me, or get inside my head. This man can’t leave a lasting scar, even if it is a small one. The worst this man can do is kill me, and I have no fear of that. Surely you see the advantages of having me assume the role? It’s all a game where I’m concerned. One I’m very good at, and frequently win. Why not allow me to play?”
“You want to protect us,” Agent Prentiss says in response, after a moment. “Why is that?”
She shrugs. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”
“Which makes us--what, a whim, maybe? A curiosity? An itch to scratch?”
“Ah, yes. Borne of impulsivity, of course--a key trait. I work hard against that one, as you know. And if you insist on a few cold calculations, I can give them to you: I’m here, being entertained, and not locked in a tedious cell with insufferable inmates I’d be all too tempted--and all too likely--to kill. Fair game, you see. That might be entertaining in a limited respect, especially since it would be tricker to do so undetected, though no doubt I could I accomplish it. Still, it’d get repetitive; I must say I prefer this.”
Agent Prentiss regards her again, clearly coming to some kind of judgment. “You like us, huh?” she asks, then adds, dryly, “Even Morgan?”
“Another key trait,” she says, smirking. “Sociopaths are excellent judges of character.”
It’s then that the door bursts open, Captain Barnes storming in angrily, followed by David, Agent Hotchner, Agent Jareau, Dr. Reid, and Agent Morgan. “You can’t be fucking serious,” Barnes is saying, shooting a disgusted look her way. “You want to let the criminally insane go play dress up? What’s the guarantee she won’t just bolt? Or tip this guy off?”
“We know her profile. We know the kind of men she used to target, and this man would be one of them. She doesn’t associate with rapists, and would have no reason to alert him,” Agent Hotchner says stoically, like he does most things, though he does glance her way ever so slightly, and she takes that to mean theatre. It would make her smile, if she were not artfully controlling her expression, displaying only mild interest.
“No reason?” Barnes says. “She’s killed shittons of people, she needs a reason? Why not just to screw us over?”
Agent Morgan snorts. “You know, I kind of want to know the answer to that myself,” he says. “We get a case with a rapist, fine, so now we just tote along a serial killer like we can trust any damn thing she says or does? What if this is just the opportunity she’s been waiting for?”
Agent Hotcher shoots Agent Morgan a look that very clearly says you are not helping, but Agent Morgan ignores it.
“Maria,” David says at last, and she almost beams. Of course he’s the one to address her: Agent Morgan and Captain Barnes are genuinely angry, and Agent Hotchner is playing a part. “How many times today could you have killed me if you’d wanted to?”
“Five,” she says, without missing a beat. “On the plane, there was a ballpoint pen within my reach. Puncture the carotid, you’d have bled out before anyone could have done anything. No exit route, I grant you, so it would’ve been something of a draw. Here, when we walked toward the bathroom, I passed three letter openers and two pocket knives within lifting distance; I could have stabbed you, subdued you, and killed you quickly inside the bathroom. Probably no one would have noticed for at least ten minutes, plenty of time for me to stroll quickly out the door. On our walk to the park, with any of the aforementioned items I might have stolen; when we collected our items, even easier with help and a means of disposing the body; as we walked back, same as the walk there. I probably would have feigned an illness and moved us out of any obvious lines of sight for either of those.”
“Damn, I counted four. I didn’t see the pen--where was it?” David asks.
“Oh, it fell out of Dr. Reid’s pocket. It was sitting next to my left foot most of the plane ride, until I kicked it closer to him.”
Agent Morgan frowns deeply, and she knows why; he was sitting right next to Dr. Reid on the plane, and he watched him pick up his mysteriously appearing pen.
“And you want to let her loose?” Barnes says, clearly not convinced. “After she fantasized about killing you five different times today alone?”
“Not fantasized,” David says. “Considered. And then dismissed. Maria can no more not consider how to kill someone than a painter can not envision her next painting. It’s proof that she can control her impulses, and that to some degree, she can be trusted.”
“Did you just compare a sociopath to an artist?” Agent Jareau asks, eyebrow raising.
Maria grimaces. “I have to agree, David. The ones who think they’re artists tend to be pretty insufferable.”
“It was just an example!”
Captain Barnes sighs heavily. “I don’t know. Do all of you agree we should try this?”
“I do,” Agent Prentiss says. “I think she knows what game this guy’s playing, and she’s the most equipped to beat him at it.”
Agent Jareau gives her a slightly surprised look, and they have their own version of the silent conversation. Afterward, Agent Jareau nods. “Agreed,” she says.
Dr. Reid once again looks like he wants to dissect her brain and analyze it. It’s adorable. “I think it would be an interesting angle to attempt, even if unsuccessful.”
“We know where I stand,” David says, shrugging.
“It does have risks,” Agent Hotchner allows. “However, I’m convinced that it may be our best option at this point, especially given what we know about our unsub and how likely he is to strike again soon.”
Everyone looks at Agent Morgan, who is still frowning deeply. Finally, he says, “If we try this, we have to do it carefully. Everything has to be as authentic as possible. This guy’s smart. One whiff that this is a setup, he’ll bolt, and we might never find him. You think you can go off leash that long?”
He’s baiting her, of course, and it isn’t particularly subtle. What is subtle is the note of concern underneath--he’s prepared that their perpetrator might have time to kill her before they can intervene, and he’s conflicted about that. How perfect, then, that the correct way to answer on both fronts is precisely the same.
She gives him one of her most blank, unsettling smiles and shows her teeth. “Woof.”
Maria is left alone in the bathroom to change into the clothes that will attract their unsub, and she takes her time doing so, thinking about the character she’ll be playing. Serena, she decides her name is--a snob of the highest order, prefers only the finest things in life, and considers most men to be below her station. When the unsub approaches, she will be dismissive, clearly indicating that she believes she’s better than him. He’ll loathe her on sight.
That decided, she begins assembling her… costume, for lack of a better word. Serena’s outfit is first and easiest: a tight, sleeveless, curve-hugging red dress that flatters her ass and chest. She does her makeup carefully, artfully, and slips on the pieces of jewelry Nicoletta wisely thought to put in the makeup case. The lipstick is next.
Lastly, she opens each box of shoes, and while instantly she knows she’ll be wearing the four-inch strappy silver stilettos, she looks thoughtfully at the blue pair: five inch heels that, curiously, are too wide for her purposes. She picks up both of them, examines them closely, and then sets one down; from the other, she extracts the small hairpin dagger securely hidden inside the heel, smirking.
Her sister thinks of everything.
This is a bar with delusions of grandeur; it calls itself an intoxication experience, and all of the liquor is imported. It’s decent enough alcohol, she gathers, but she’s pretty sure the pretension dripping from every pore of the place would be enough to give even Leo pause.
In any event, she’s drinking water but pretending to drink alcohol; she tells the bartender about her spiritual quest to transcend the physical need for actual intoxicants, which is clearly not something that even ranks on his list of Top Ten Pieces of Utterly Nonsensical New Age Rich Idiot Babble, because he doesn’t bat an eyelash at pouring her water and acting like it’s vodka. It probably helps that she is both paying and tipping as though she were ordering actual vodka, to enhance the verisimilitude of the journey.
Maria hates Serena enough that she is tempted to kill her, she has to admit.
It takes longer than Maria thought it might, but not actually that long at all, before a handsome, dark-haired man walks into the bar, expertly put together. He scans all of the patrons quickly, but Maria can feel the assessment even without looking. It’s clear that he likes-slash-hates what he sees in Serena, and he chooses a seat next to her.
Maria/Serena glances over, idly, and gives him nothing but the tiniest, most disdainful twitch of her lips in acknowledgement, painted as they are in that lipstick he loathes.
His eyes cloud slightly, barely noticeable, and she knows then that she has him.
They go back to ‘her place,’ which is actually an upscale, furnished convo that the FBI has commandeered for the evening. She plays tipsy, but haughty, making him work for everything, and she can tell it’s gearing him up nicely. He’s actually very good at hiding his intentions, but there are little tells--the way his hands are just a touch too forceful as he guides her up the stairs, for instance.
“Home sweet home,” she drawls, opening the door and gesturing inside. He has her pinned up against the door not a second later, hand already at her throat, eyes hungry. “What, no foreplay?”
“You’ve teased me long enough,” he says, kissing her roughly. It’s not a bad kiss, all things considered; she’s had worse, which she thinks is probably rather sad. He gropes her, not gently, unsurprisingly, but then she knew it wouldn’t be. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he growls into her ear. “You act like you’re above it all, above everything, but what you really want more than anything in the world is to be fucked so hard you can’t walk, fucked like the whore you are.”
His grip returns to her neck, much more firmly than just pressure; she imagines this is where his victims generally start pinging that something’s off, so she lets a hint of fear creep into Serena’s eyes.
“You’re going to beg,” he says, pressure increasing on her neck, and it is starting to make her a little dizzy. Her hand slips under her dress and she grabs the dagger taped to her thigh. “You’re going to do exactly everything I tell you, and if you’re lucky, I won’t kill you.” She takes one last gulp of air before she can no longer breathe, and moves fast; the dagger slides into his stomach, but she’s aimed carefully--it won’t be fatal. It’s enough to shock him, though; the pressure lessens on her neck, and she slams him to the ground, knee on his throat.
She can just reach her bag where it fell when he pushed her against the door, and when she does, she pulls out the lipstick and a compact from her bag. After tapping on the bug they placed inside the lipstick case, she says, “Lipstick,” which is her codeword for the FBI to join them. (If she failed to activate it within ten minutes, they were to be en route regardless.) She looks down at him, letting every bit of the Serena mask fade away, and examines her neck with the mirror. “That will probably bruise,” she notes idly, and then she reapplies the lipstick effortlessly, giving him a terrifying smile. “You lose,” she says, and that’s when the federal agents burst in through the door.
Maria is sitting by herself in one of Mill Valley’s two interrogation rooms, scrutinizing her appearance in the two-way mirror. Her neck is very red, and slightly swollen, and she tries to imagine how it’ll look when it turns to purple. That should be amusing.
To her slight surprise, Agent Morgan is the one who finally enters the interrogation room. She’s been waiting for at least an hour, after the paramedics cleared her. Captain Barnes was less than pleased about the brand new stab wound she gave their perpetrator, which is absurd, in her opinion. She only damaged him a little, hardly enough to kill him, and even if she had it would have been textbook self-defense.
Well, maybe not textbook.
That thought makes her smile to herself, and Agent Morgan clears his throat. He doesn’t sit down across from her, just leans against the wall next to the mirror.
“How can I help you, Agent Morgan?” she asks.
“That hurt?” he asks in return, gesturing to her neck.
She shrugs. “It’s tender. I’m sure it’ll look much worse than it is. What really brings you here?”
“Our guy confessed. His name is Grant Rutherford. He kept souvenirs--pictures, trinkets from each of the victims. Found it all in his house. We’ve got him dead to rights,” he tells her. “Milly Valley PD isn’t going to charge you with anything,” he adds. “Not even a weapons’ charge.”
“You can if you’d like,” she says. “I was in illegal possession of a weapon, at the very least. I’ll even plead guilty if you want.”
“Why?” He frowns.
She glances at the handcuffs on her wrists. “I’m already in custody, Agent Morgan. If I wanted to escape, I would have done so by now. You’re all very capable, but I’ve been honing my skills since I was twelve. I don’t have any intention of going anywhere.”
There’s a long pause before he says, “You didn’t kill him.”
It’s not a question, so she merely lifts an eyebrow in response, waiting.
“You had plenty of opportunity. He’s your type. You’re extremely skilled with a knife. If you didn’t kill him, you didn’t just happen to miss anything vital--you missed on purpose. Why?”
“The deal we made was for arrest and capture, not sanctioned murder,” she says. “Now don’t get me wrong, had it been for the latter, I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest--but it wasn’t.”
“And that’s just enough for you? Because you made a deal with us, you’re going to stick to it?”
“The spirit of it, certainly. As you may have noticed, I did find several loopholes, but then I am both a sociopath and a lawyer. You’ll have to learn to expect that.”
Morgan snorts at that, clearly caught somewhat off guard. He shakes his head. “You really like Rossi that much?”
She blinks. “David’s my favorite, I admit,” she says, “but I like all of you.”
He eyes her for a long moment. “Why?”
“You’re very different, with core things in common. You’re all intelligent, you work together well, and all of you are both stronger and weaker than you let on. On some level, the success of this unit makes no sense whatsoever, yet it’s undeniable. You’re strange and fascinating, functionally dysfunctional, and in many ways you remind me of my family.” She shrugs. “Perhaps that means nothing, being as I don’t understand love or loyalty the way you do, or even the way my family does, but maybe there’s something that goes even deeper, something that can still manage to make it to me. Who knows? I certainly don’t. But that’s why I like you.”
“Fealty,” he mutters, probably without meaning to, and she smirks.
“If you insist, my lord.”
He gives her an unimpressed look and says, “Come on. We’re headed out. You can stop pretending you’re still handcuffed and help us pack everything up.”
Maria smiles as genuinely as she can, quietly setting the handcuffs on the table and standing. “I was in here for an hour,” she points out. “Even my brother’s eight-year-old wouldn’t need that long.”
“Yeah, all right, I get it.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re a master criminal, from a master criminal family, but do I have to point out that we caught you?”
Amused, Maria gives him a dry look in response. “I suppose,” she says. “However, I’m the one who chose to remain that way.”
Morgan snorts as they walk through the bullpen, but he doesn’t contradict her. She knows why, of course: he’s finally realizing that for all her deception and affectation, it’s the whole truth.
Or, if not the whole truth, at least a good portion of it.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Haha, she does like them! And Rossi is her favorite. Because he just would be, really, lol.
The Rossi vs. Nic staredown bit was one of my favorites, esp. since Nic just reminds him STRONGLY of his sister Natalia, lol.
Thaaaaaank you!