Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter eight: crashing of the waves

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF RAPE AND UNSOLICITED, SEXUAL REMARKS

ALSO I DOUBLE POSTED TONIGHT, SO IF YOU ARE READING THIS FIRST THEN YOU MISSED THE LAST CHAPTER : )

A security guard comes down to guide you, carefully instructing you on procedure and protocol in the facility. You walked through the metal detector, stripping yourself of your gun as you're patted down and signed in. Every step is planned and diligent, nothing uncalled for.

You walk down long corridors of inmates, catcalling and yelling at you obscenely. Their lewd eyes crawling all over your body. Hotch looks at you, noticing your discomfort and attempts to block their gaze with his own body, towering over you.

Fortunately, you guys reach the dimly lit interrogation room where Sanders is waiting for you, away from all the other inmates. He hadn't seen many people since solitary confinement, and you could already see his shit-eating grin from behind the one-sided mirror at this opportunity.

You standed behind the large framed glass, inspecting Sanders' body language with Hotch and one of the officers on guard beside you. Hotch turns to you, a controlled demeanor looking down at you. "Don't come in yet. I'll tap the back of my chair three times when I want you to come in. You look like his victims, so be ready for his comments. If at any point you get uncomfortable, leave the room. Do you hear me? Do not stay if it gets to be too much."

His face is frozen in emotion, but you can tell he's hesitant on letting you into the interrogation room with Sanders.

"Understood."

You watch from behind the mirror as Hotch enters the room, taking a seat with Sanders at the opposite end of the table, cuffed to the legs of the metal table. You could only see a fraction of Hotch's from this angle, but every expression of his is perfectly calculated.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the famous FBI agent Aaron Hotchner. It's been so long since I talked to someone who understands," Charles Sanders quipped maniacally, showing off the gold tooth tucked away in the corner of his mouth. His fingers lace playfully together as he stares Hotch down, trying to assert his own dominance with no luck.

"I don't have time for your games," Hotch boldly asserts. "We found this of yours," Hotch throws the journal onto the table flippantly, surveying his reaction as he does so.

Sanders rolls his eyes, indicating no worry. "Took you guys long enough. Maybe, Agent Hotchner, if they had just listened to you in the first place, all of this could have been handled earlier. But, like I said, you and I are of the same vein."

You can't figure out what Sanders keeps referring to, what keeps causing Hotch to curl his fingers uneasily.

"We're nothing alike," Hotch grates out, jaw clenched now.

"Broken families lead to broken kids. Isn't that what you learned at your little profiler school?" Sanders points out, still grinning from ear to ear. "You're not the exception, Agent Hotchner. No matter how accomplished you seem to be."

"Five girls unaccounted for," Hotch redirects the conversation, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. "And you're going to be executed tomorrow morning."

"Seems like you're still the hardass you were when you had me convicted," Sanders jokes carelessly as if death was something he wasn't afraid of. This execution meant dying in infamousy, with five girls still being tortured after their deaths.

Hotch discreetly wraps his hand to the back of your chair. You catch it quickly as he taps it three times. It's your cue.

You walk in, and Sanders' eyes immediately hook onto you. His pupils dilate, licking his bottom lip salaciously.