❝you're in danger here, spencer.❞
❝we'll worry about that later. right now all that matters is you and me.❞
hazel finley is afraid. afraid of being alone. afraid of losing the people she loves. afraid of making mistakes. afraid of falling back into...
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❝What cannot be said will be wept.❞
SAPPHO
✩
1.2 : the sounds of grief
OR
season 6, episode 18 : lauren (ctd.)
FIN WATCHES AS ROSSI HELPS A BOSTON OFFICER DRAG A RED-FACED MAN WITH A BANDAGE OVER HIS EAR THROUGH THE DOOR. He's shouting about how he's the man and they should know who he is, struggling against Rossi's tight grip. From here, he couldn't look like more of a nobody. It's ironic. Fin wishes she could laugh.
"Who's that?" asks Hotch, as Rossi joins them. The man's not strong enough to need two escorts to the interrogation room; Fin can tell that from here.
"Jack Fahey," Rossi replies. "Irish mob. He called Easter's cell phone twelve times in six hours."
"Any connection to Doyle?" Hotch asks, brow furrowed.
"Boston PD says he's low-level." Rossi shrugs. "But the Irish mob has long-standing ties to the IRA."
Hotch nods grimly. "See if you can get anything out of him."
"Where are you going?" Fin asks, as Hotch turns to leave.
"To get Clyde Easter to talk," he replies over his shoulder, pushing the double doors out. They swing once behind him and lock back into place.
"I could use your help with Fahey," says Rossi quietly, drawing Fin's attention back to him. "A woman in the room might make him more susceptible to questions."
"Hang on a second." Fin might have a better plan. "Grab Spencer. I have an idea."
Fifteen minutes later, Fin's adjusting her shirt outside of the interrogation room. Funnily enough, it's the same shirt she wore when she and Hotch visited Karl Arnold, aka the Fox, back in Virginia. Strange, that it would do the same job in two dire situations. It makes her nauseous. She wishes she hadn't had that last cup of coffee.
"You ready?" asks Rossi, staring dutifully at the wall, ever the gentleman.
"As I'll ever be." Fin glances up at Spencer. "Spence? You ready?"
He nods, pursing his lips, and Rossi opens the door, leading the way into the room, where Fahey's sitting at the table, looking highly uncomfortable. His leg is bouncing up and down anxiously, and he's chewing on his lip, a manic glint in his eye.
"The infamous Jack Fahey," Fin says softly, immediately drawing Fahey's attention. She lets the Mississippi accent return, words dripping off her tongue like Grandma's honey, roping Fahey in like a dumbstruck cow. "Wow. You look just how I imagined you."
