the night is young

by masterwords

Summary:

Derek ate The Chili. You know exactly which chili I'm talking about, too. Unsurprisingly, the chili made him sick...very very sick. Sick enough to die...but don't worry, he didn't die for long. Now he's back and better than ever, minus one very important thing.

A heartbeat.

(Santa Clarita Diet AU - this is not a crossover and will have it's own uniquely CM storyline but totally in the vein of SCD)

Notes:

I have nothing to say for myself. This idea popped into my head because I love SCD SO MUCH and I thought about how fun it would be to put Hotch & Derek into that situation. It's almost unfair how much easier they would have it, knowing how to dispose of bodies, having all of the resources, etc. But that's not to say it won't come with it's fair share of trials and tribulations...wanna come on this insane ride with me? I have no idea where it's going but it's going!

Note about timeline: This starts around S3e8 - Lucky, obviously. Sorry about that. And then I stretched out some time between that and "Penelope" so we could deal with the whole undead situation before turning the dial up to 11.

Chapter 1

2007

“That's...a lot of vomit.”

Hotch was staring at his bathroom in horror. Derek had told him his stomach hurt while they sat on the jet, but it seemed to go away. One minute he looked like he was going to cry, hands pressed to the stabbing pain in his side, the next he was just fine. Looking at Hotch like he was overreacting. Like his eyes had deceived him. “Must have just been gas,” Derek said with an air of nonchalance that made Hotch nervous. Then he farted, and JJ moved down a few seats in disgust and Derek laughed.

“That smells like something crawled up your butt and died,” she muttered, covering her face. Hotch smirked and shook his head. Just gas.

He was fine.

Until now. Until his bathroom was painted in vomit. And Hotch couldn't blame him, he'd emptied the contents of his own poor stomach into the police station bathroom, and then again somehow back at the hotel. Where is Tracy Lambert? He heard those words over and over, and his mouth filled with saliva and he tasted bile. It was that bad. And he hadn't even eaten the damn chili, Tracy Lambert was not in him...but still, he couldn't help the overwhelming nausea.

That was nothing like this. This was...

“Derek?” he asked, peering around the door apprehensively. The smell was overwhelming. He threw his arm over his nose and pushed slowly into the room, taking in the full scope of the situation. Green and yellow dripped from the walls like something from a horror movie, aliens and their green blood exploded all over the room. He'd never seen anything like it in his life. Didn't even know how it was possible. It took him a full minute of just staring to come to grips with the fact that all of this...whatever this was...came out of the man he loved. And as that occurred to him, he wondered dimly where Derek was. The shower was running, steam poured over the top of the curtain, and his eyes caught there for a moment before trailing down to the tub, and finally to the ground.

There, just outside the running shower, Derek was slumped over and definitely not breathing. There was no question in Hotch's mind about that. The panic that coursed through Hotch at that moment tore away all the rest of the world. He didn't care that he was slipping through vomit, that he was sitting in it, that the smell was enough to make him sick. He pressed his fingers to Derek's throat and felt no pulse.

“Derek?” he asked in a voice so bleak he barely recognized it as his own. He'd been riddled with fear for years over a moment like this, but it always involved an unsub and a gun or a knife. Not chili, not vomit, not...this. “Derek?” He pulled the man with no pulse, no heartbeat, into his arms and cradled him there, rocking back and forth with tears in his eyes. He could do CPR, he knew he could start it, but how long had Derek been in here unconscious while he unpacked their bags and made some coffee and otherwise occupied himself with the minutiae of settling back in at home? At least ten minutes, it had to have been. Long enough for the coffee to percolate and the shower to get hot and...he held Derek tighter against himself while he wept silently over what came next.

CPR was likely to break ribs but not to save him.

Still, he had to try. He had to. So he lay Derek down and started anyway, clinging to whatever shred of hope he had left that it hadn't been too long. Forgetting entirely that he should call 911, it seemed like such a distant and pointless thing to do. Not when he had two hands and the will to try and save the man he loved.

He poised himself above the lifeless body and began compressions. It was so damn slippery, Derek's body kept moving, kept sliding so he had to climb up on top of him and straddle him, pressing his knees hard into Derek's hips until he felt the bones bruising the tender flesh on his knees.

He counted in time with the BeeGees in his head, you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man no time to talk...one hundred beats per minute, and he wept. Derek still lay there motionless beneath him, no change, no movement, nothing.

Until he didn't. Until his eyes shot open and he bucked Hotch off of him, scrambling upright and gasping for air. Or at least going through the motion of it while he pounded at his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he nearly screamed in alarm. Hotch froze on his back and felt his own heart thud dangerously fast and hard, slamming into his sternum. The speed at which he'd been thrown and the strength in it had stunned him, his back ached, his head throbbed.

“I uh...” Hotch stammered, hands slipping in the mess on the floor as he tried to sit himself up. To look at the man who had been dead seconds before. Really, truly dead. The kind that CPR doesn't help. “You were dead.”

“What? No.” Derek paused and looked around at the state of the bathroom, slowly remembering what had happened just before things went dark. Very dark. Darker than anytime he could remember. “Fuck. Was I really dead?”

“Y-yes.” Hotch had always had a bit of a stutter, ever since he was a child. “You w-w-were dead.” Endless speech therapy had helped him disguise it enough to be mostly undetectable in his day to day, but in a situation like this he didn't even bother. He was rattled to his core. Derek didn't even flinch.

“Well,” Derek started, staring at a reddish brown lump of...something...beside his leg. It looked wrinkled and sticky, like a strange little brain. He couldn't look away. “Thanks for saving me, then.”

Hotch followed his eyes and found himself staring at the little red ball too. Was it an organ? What the hell was it? Neither of them seemed to know. The smell of the room was starting to creep back into Hotch's conscious though, and for that he was both thankful and angry. “What is that?” he asked, finally. The silence was getting too much.

“No idea, but it looks like it came out of me.”

(x)

Derek showered in the small upstairs half-bathroom while Hotch hosed down the main bathroom. That was all he could think to do: just hook up the hose outside, run it through the window hoping none of the neighbors got too suspicious, and spray the whole room down before using the shopvac to suck up all the water on the floor. After that it was huge fans and an open window and hoping for the best. Derek probably would have had a better plan but he was otherwise disposed, showering and coming to terms with the fact that he'd died on the floor in a puddle of vomit. No, not a puddle. An ocean. Hotch could still smell it faintly beneath the disinfectant. He might never stop smelling it.

Hotch was just glad it had happened at Derek's house and not his apartment. He couldn't imagine how he'd have cleaned this mess up there. As it was, he threw away the clothes he'd been wearing and dragged himself through a shower, hot enough to turn his skin red, and he let out what he hoped was the last of the tears over holding Derek's lifeless body in the mess. More than once he turned the shower off just to hear Derek humming and walking around upstairs, just to be sure it was still real. He was still alive.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, after wiping down the shopvac and putting it back in the garage. His hair was still damp, his hands raw and red from all the bleach. Derek was sitting naked on the bed putting lotion on his arms and Hotch couldn't help the brief flood of gratitude that washed over him at the sight. At the soft smell of sandalwood. He'd held Derek's lifeless body in his arms not long before and that feeling might never leave him.

“Sorta,” Derek replied quickly. Too quickly. It made the hair stand up on Hotch's arms. “Well, yeah. I mean, actually...I feel great. At first it was hard to move, like my bones were made of lead, but after a few minutes it was like...I don't know how to describe it. I feel like I could run a marathon and still have energy left at the end. But...” he struck out his arm and frowned. “Check my pulse?”

Hotch did. He put his fingers on Derek's wrist, and while he could feel the delicate bones and the tendon, there was nothing coursing through the radial artery. He dug a little deeper, still nothing. Alarmed, he moved to Derek's jaw, placing his fingers just beneath it, feeling for anything, and when that came up empty he placed both hands on the sides of Derek's face expecting to feel something pounding at his temples. It was a long shot, but he suddenly felt he had to do it. He had to try.

Nothing.

“I can't feel my heart at all. Is that weird?”

Hotch didn't bother to answer that, because of course it was weird. He could feel his own heart right now scrambling to climb up into his throat. Apprehensively, he placed his hand over Derek's chest, and then crouched so he could press his ear there. It was one of his favorite pastimes. He would lay with his cheek on Derek's chest every night listening to the rhythm of his heart, like the world's most soothing metronome.

Nothing. Like it had never been there. Derek's chest expanded with breath, but there was no thrumming of his heart to go along with.

“Do you hear anything? Am I just losing my mind?”

“I don't...” Hotch muttered, frowning. He didn't understand it. He was a man who relied on logic, who relied on law and reason and justice. And he was staring up at the man he loved who, at least for the time being, had no pulse. No heart pumping blood through his body. And yet...he was alive. A trickle of icy fear shivered down Hotch's spine. “I think we should go to the hospital.”

“What are they gonna do? I feel great, Aaron. I feel amazing, not sick at all, and I don't have a pulse...they're gonna lock me up somewhere and throw away the key. You're gonna see my face on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries or something.”

“I don't think that show is on anymore...”

Hotch frowned and sank back on his haunches, suddenly feeling faint. Before he could think, before he could do anything, he felt Derek's grip on his biceps pulling him up and toward him. Into his lap. The look on Derek's face was dripping with lust. With hunger.

It started with a kiss. Just one kiss, soft and searching, and when Hotch couldn't find it in him to pull away, Derek pressed in harder. Deeper. His tongue darted over Hotch's teeth, he nipped at his lip, and Hotch could no sooner stop it than he could a speeding locomotive. He was driven by the desperation of feeling Derek lifeless in his arms, driven nearly mad by it.

The kissing led to hands roving, to pants being undone, to Hotch's mouth wrapped around Derek's erection. It seemed to come out of nowhere, this carnal force. Derek was bucking against him, hips rolling slowly forward and backward, and Hotch struggled to keep up. To move in time. His tongue searched for the veins, for the feel of blood rushing, pulsing, but felt nothing where it should have felt everything. He wanted to stop, but he also didn't...he couldn't...his hands gripped Derek's thighs and fingers dug into flesh and the world ceased to exist. Derek might not have had a pulse but there was no question in Hotch's mind at that moment whether he was alive.

It happened three more times before either of them could get anything else done. Hotch volunteered to go to the medical supply store, to get a stethoscope, grasping at straws. But not before Derek wanted Hotch's mouth on him again. He couldn't seem to get enough.

“My jaw hurts,” Hotch whined after the third time in as many hours. He rubbed at the sore joint. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, or that it wasn't working for him too...he'd had to change his pants just as many times...but he could feel the ache at the hinge of his jaw and it was starting to give him a headache. Derek might not have a pulse, but Hotch did and it was making him sick. “I need a break.”

“Then take your pants off...” Derek growled, grinning wildly. There's more than one way to skin a cat, as they say. Hotch sighed and did as he was told.

(x)

In bed later, after the medical supply store adventure led to yet another predictable defeat...neither of them quite knew what to say. The hope that they would miraculously find what they were looking for had been entirely dashed to bits. The only thing left was to figure out why, or how, or what to do about it.

“You died,” Hotch said. He'd been on a loop, repeating that fact over and over. It was the only concrete thing he knew, and yet the knowledge brought him no comfort. The accepted laws of the universe were failing him. “You died, and I did CPR but you don't have a heartbeat so...” So the CPR isn't what brought him back. The CPR did nothing.

“What difference does it make?” Derek asked finally, running his lithe fingers up the back of Hotch's neck. Hotch shivered as the skin on his shoulders erupted in goosebumps. He knew where this was headed and his body ached at the mere thought of it. He had to keep Derek talking.

“I don't know.” He paused briefly. He knew it made a difference, a really fucking big one. A heartbeat wasn't just a minute detail. It was kind of the biggest detail. But how could he really say that if Derek was lying warm beneath him, breathing air into his lungs or at least going through the motions of it? How could he say that when Derek was downright insatiable, had the stamina of a gazelle, and was simply...amazingly...still Derek? Still funny and smart and kind, still loving, maybe even more of those things. It was like himself but exaggerated.

And it was a little exciting, if not completely terrifying.

“You really want me to go to the doctor?”

“I don't know.” Now he didn't, not really. He was starting to see Derek's point there. If he really didn't have a pulse, he would be locked up somewhere. Poked and prodded. Turned into a living experiment. “No. I suppose not.”

“I think we should call Reid,” Derek said after a few minutes of strained silence. Hotch didn't want him to see a doctor and for that he was glad, but he could tell that questions were still nagging at him and he would have to put them to rest. “He'll have something. He'll know something.”

“You want to tell Reid that you vomited yourself to death and are somehow still alive? You think that's going to go over well?”

“The kid knows everything about everything. If he can't answer the questions we have, who else could?”

(x)

They had a plan. A script. It would start with Floyd Feylinn Ferrell and that damned chili, if it even was that...and from there, well, they had decided the only way to actually get answers was to be as honest as possible, though Hotch would prefer to leave out the sex. Derek didn't think they should.

“It's important,” Derek said while rummaging through the cupboards, nearly ravenous. He'd almost been sick again when he pulled out a carrot and started to eat it, spitting it right into the trash can with disgust. An apple went the same way.

Raw ground beef, on the other hand, was among the best things he'd ever tasted in his life. And now he was standing naked in his kitchen with a package of raw ground beef, shoving it into his mouth, telling Hotch that they had to talk to Spencer Reid about their sex life. There was a brief moment that Hotch considered that maybe this was a dream, a nightmare. He'd fallen asleep on the jet and was having a nightmare. That had to be it.

Except it wasn't, and he knew it.

“I've always been into it, but never like this right? I wanna bend you over this damn counter right now. I can barely contain it.”

Hotch hadn't stopped staring at the meat. It was turning his stomach. “I'm going to pass on that...” he muttered, horrified by the way Derek was finishing off a pound of raw meat like it was a bag of potato chips. Derek just laughed.

“We can lead with the heart thing, and maybe this weird raw meat thing, but he'll probably need to know about the sex. We'll save it for the end though.”

“What do you think he's going to say?”

“I got no fuckin' clue.”

(x)

“A zombie?”

“I'm not sure you need to use that word. Throughout history there are many examples of undead, mostly ghost stories told to frighten small children into being compliant with familial rules. Going to bed on time, not wandering into the woods, eating their vegetables. There are a few instances, though, that seem to be based on reality. Viruses, usually, that mimic the act of dying while not completely dying. Or appearing to die but not staying dead.”

“But you're saying I died? And that I didn't really...fully...come back?”

“More likely you didn't completely die,” Spencer said, shocked at the words coming out of his mouth. “That you nearly died, and the process was stunted somehow. But more to the point, the undead, historically, are known to be ruled entirely by their id. Taking that into consideration, it would make sense that you would be...” Spencer paused, licking his lips like he had to prepare the passage of the words he was about to say. “That you would want to spend so much time having sex and uh...eating meat. They're your most basic instincts.”

“What are you saying, pretty boy?”

“I think he's just saying that...” Hotch started, but Spencer raised his hand to stop him. He wasn't finished.

“I don't think the sex is the main concern here. You can control that, and you can do that all you want in your home without arousing suspicion. But you said most food repulsed you, that you couldn't choke down an apple but you wanted to eat raw meat?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you thought about how you're going to hide that?”

The three of them sat in stunned silence, each of them stopped short on a different aspect of life. Hotch was still reeling from how calm Spencer had been about this, and some part of him was jealous. He wished he could be so calm about it. Or just one part of it, but it was all just too much to take in. It went against everything he thought he knew.

Derek just wanted to throw Hotch into bed and could barely contain himself.

Spencer was wondering how much things were going to change now, and thinking about how badly he hated change. There were plenty of reasons he could think of not to believe what was happening, but facts were facts and he'd done every test he could think to do. He'd hunted for vital signs, he'd asked all the right questions, and came up with one simple fact: Derek was dead. Or, not entirely dead. Mostly dead. He didn't quite know what to call it, but it was definitely not alive.

“I think we need some time to,” Hotch's voice sounded weak and unsure, and before he could continue he watched as Derek began rifling through a drawer, finally producing a steak knife. He took a step back. There was a sudden burst of fear that came out of nowhere. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to wait until I heard what Reid had to say before I showed you guys...” He poised the knife over his hand and glanced at each of them. “Don't freak okay? I'm fine.” He began to run the serrated edge of the knife over the meat of his palm, a deep cut that produced nothing at first but a very clear incision. Separated skin. “See? No blood.”

Hotch felt sick. He looked at Spencer who simply looked fascinated, who leaned forward to inspect.

When Derek squeezed the wound, something thick and black and tar-like began to ooze out. “I'm fine,” he repeated. Hotch felt dizzy, the room spun around him, and he thought about saying he wasn't fine but the way his knees buckled and his head slammed into the floor made the point for him.

“What is that?” Spencer asked, momentarily too fascinated by the substance oozing out of Derek's hand to realize or care that Hotch had fainted.

“Aaron?” Derek asked, wiping his hand on his pants and dropping to his knees to help Hotch sit up while Spencer poured him some orange juice. There wasn't anything in the world he wanted less than to put something in his body, food in his mouth, but he knew he needed the spike in his blood sugar or he was likely to faint again so he drank it. Unhappily. It tasted like bile.

(x)

It turned out not to be terribly difficult for Derek to hide the raw meat. In fact, it came a little too easily. He told everyone he was on some really intense macro diet while he trained for the FBI Triathlon, and he even committed enough to sign he and Hotch up for the race. That way he could drink his bright pink smoothies and no one really questioned him. And he wasn't lying. Most people might calculate their macros and require fruits and vegetables, but as it turned out, all he needed was protein and fat. That was easy.

“Are you eating any solid food?” JJ asked, curiously. A little too curiously. “What's in that anyway? It smells awful.”

“Strawberries, kale, fish oil...” he rattled off ingredients, trying to find things he knew would account for the color and smell.

“Gross.”

“I feel great. I drink these smoothies all day and eat a full dinner at night.”

It wasn't a lie, either. He felt better than he ever had. Hotch couldn't keep up with him when they ran together anymore, and it was like he almost couldn't even slow his speed to keep pace with the slower man. It got to the point that Hotch told him to just go on ahead and they'd see each other at the car. He was a great runner, had always been better at long distances than Derek, but now he couldn't keep up and it was disheartening.

What was worse was that Haley had been trying to get him to take Jack for a week so she could have some time to herself and he was running out of excuses. He wanted to see Jack badly, he missed him so much it hurt, but the situation with Derek worried him. He and Spencer had been talking in hushed whispers over coffee about the distinct possibility that eventually Derek might change. “It seems okay right now,” Spencer said, moving his knight. They were playing chess in the park on a deserted, quiet Sunday morning. “But you know how fast things can change.”

“Things are good right now.” Really good. Derek was better than ever. He was working Hotch under the table, so much so that Hotch wasn't having to stay late at work as often as usual and Derek was seeing things so clearly that he was able to do twice as many consults as usual and the BAU was on top of their case load for maybe the first time ever. The most challenging part was making that somehow look normal. Derek chalked it up to the clarity that came from his new diet. Not being weighed down by junk food, and most of the people he interacted with believed him.

Most, but not all. Penelope was overwhelmed with suspicion, and as she was working up the courage to confront him about what was really going on, she met a cute guy and forgot all about it.

Until he shot her on her front steps and put her in the ICU, and Derek found that it was a lot harder to control his rage in the same way it was harder to control his libido.

“We've gotta catch that sonofabitch,” Derek growled behind Hotch's closed office door. Of course Hotch agreed, but the look in Derek's eye, the untamed unhinged look of pure rage frightened him a little. The undead are ruled by their id, Spencer had said. Well, what was Derek's id telling him now?

Things had been good, so good, but Spencer had said they needed to be prepared for things to change. He figured they had time.

As it happened, they didn't have as long as they'd hoped.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Ready for Derek to get a taste for human flesh? Here you go!

I can't promise quick chapters, as usual...I have 3 kids and a shit ton of sports obligations so please be patient with me. I promise I won't forget about this, I like it too much.

<3 Thank you for reading!

“I don’t think you should visit Penelope in the hospital again,” Hotch said in a voice so low, so deep it was almost inaudible. “You should go home and cool off.”

“No, don’t do this to me. I’m fine. I’ve never been better and you know it. I’m operating at the peak of my...my everything, Hotch. I can handle it.” Sounded like the plea of a desperate man, but it also made sense.

Hotch considered his options, pulling rank or just waiting it out. He didn’t think Derek looked in the mood to take orders, and if he disobeyed that then where would they be? Better to be cautious.

“Don’t go back alone. Take Reid with you.”

Reid was quickly becoming the buffer between Derek and the world. Sharing with him vital information about his new circumstances, helping him navigate things when he found it harder and harder to think.

Each day he woke up, it felt more and more like he was following his gut and less like he was thinking anything through. It scared him a little, but it also thrilled him. The hungrier he got, the harder it became to think like himself. He became single-minded, on a mission for food. He wanted to chew on something or fuck something pretty much all day. It wasn’t the worst way to live but it definitely made his job a little more challenging.

“Reid. Hospital. Get your bag.” Derek was slurping on his smoothie as he walked, taking great undignified gulps. This much anger was making him hungrier than ever. He wasn’t sure the smoothie was going to cut it. Nothing to chew on, it wasn’t satisfying in the least. It was more like a tease. “I might need to pop off at the grocery store, you cool with that?”

“As long as you don’t eat in my car,” Reid muttered, the image of watching Derek gnaw at a raw steak still haunting his every waking moment.

“Where the hell else am I gonna do it?”

Reid’s sigh was that of a man long suffering. He was glad to be included, glad not to be pushed to the outside like so many other things in his life, but this was a burden that was grating on him. It was repulsive. “Have you started um...have you started craving anything else?” He put the key in the ignition and listened to the purr of the engine while Derek thought carefully about the question at hand.

“No,” he said finally, after scrubbing whatever thoughts he could manage. “Just hungry. I tried eating broccoli salad last night. I miss broccoli. Couldn’t even swallow it.”

“But you still feel good?” What he meant, what they both heard without the words being used, was simply this: you still feel human?

Slowly, Reid pulled out of the garage and into traffic. His engine idled at the red light. He was staring straight ahead, afraid to look at Derek while he answered the litany of questions. Derek, on the other hand, was like a child staring out the window in awe and Reid wondered briefly what it was he saw.

What he saw was colors, bright shining colors. The world lit up like a Christmas tree in July. There was sunlight, crisp and warm, and then a glow on top of that. Technicolor vision. It was like Dorothy entering Oz, the way the world had looked to him before this rebirth felt dull now and he was sorry for anyone who didn’t see it like this.

“I feel great,” he said finally, eyes darting from building to building, catching rays of sunlight dashing over chrome bumpers. Life in a kaleidoscope. “Better than I’ve ever felt. You know Hotch and I…”

“Nope. I do not need to know that.”

Derek paused, an evil glimmer in his eye. “Four.”

“Stop.”

“Times.”

“Morgan…”

“Before breakfast.”

The thought of bending Hotch over his desk had been ravaging his mind all morning. It was something carnal, this rage over what happened to Penelope turning over and over, and the only outlet he could use was sex. Because what he really wanted to do was find the asshole who shot her and rip out his jugular with his bare teeth.

But that...was bad. He still knew that. Right and wrong still held court in his diminishing psyche.

“I’ll eat the steak in the bathroom at the grocery store. I need to rub one out anyway, it’s like I can’t focus anymore when it’s been too long.”

“It isn’t even lunch time…” Reid sighed, turning into the parking lot of the first grocery store he passed. “It’s been like three hours.”

Derek frowned, contemplating the statement a little sickly. This was a little out of hand, but then there was the whole id thing that Reid loved to bring up and wasn’t this just...that? He shrugged and smiled. “At least I won’t be eating in your car. Gimme ten minutes.”

Reid, shuddering at the thought of Derek rubbing one out with one hand while eating raw ground beef or chicken legs with the other, threw the car into park and stared at Derek.

“Look. I know things are wired a little differently now and I’m trying to be mindful of that, but I really don’t need to know every detail of your sex life or what you want to do with your dick. Can we just...can we just leave that out? Or at least back off a little? Please?”

“Ten minutes.”

(2)

The bathroom was spotless, gleaming white tile with an hourly cleaning log signed and updated. It was the best maintained bathroom Derek thought he’d ever seen in a grocery store, especially one where you had to walk through part of the storage area even to get to. And yet, all he could smell was the tang of ammonia, a urine soaked nightmare. He set his bag down and sniffed around, found himself on all fours searching out the culprit. What he found was that it simply existed in the toilet, that porous material holding onto the faintest of smells even if it looked spotless. He was horrified at the thought but also amazed at this new talent of his. He could smell the bleach cover it and was willing to bet this bathroom would pass a UV test, but still...he could smell it.

“Humans are disgusting,” he muttered to himself finally, standing back up and washing his hands before tearing into the plastic wrapped ground beef. Easier to eat, easier to clean up. He even nabbed a spork from the deli counter so he wasn’t eating with his hands. Reid would be so proud of him.

He did close his eyes and take a little self-guided tour through his pants, quick and efficient, while he digested his meal. The amazing thing was, he didn’t even need a fantasy now, it just happened. His body was always on high alert. But he did think about Hotch because he wanted to, because that made it faster and a lot more enjoyable. There were a lot of changes to his body and his mind, and he was trying to get used to all of them in rapid succession, but he was glad to note that nothing had changed when it came to Hotch.

He still loved him. If anything, he could see that more clearly now. He could feel it deeper. That was an unintended and very nice side effect.

“Alright, Reid, lezzzz go!” He hopped back into the car and got comfortable in the small seat.

“You washed your hands, didn’t you?”

“Nope. I licked the toilet too, got thirsty. You should try it sometime.” That joke, he knew, wasn’t going to land and he waited patiently for a hand to fly at him. Reid should swat at him at any moment, any moment...any moment…

Except Reid only scowled at him and started up the car. He had no reply, no witty retort, nothing he could say. This new version of Derek was unhinged. If he swatted at him he might find teeth sinking into his hand, or worse. Better to play it cool. He simply did his best, for the remainder of the drive, not to imagine Derek in that bathroom.

(3)

The smells in the hospital were mesmerizing. He’d been able to switch that off, focus on Penelope when he’d first seen her. His senses were all laser focused on her, but now that she was on the mend, she was going to be okay, he found it difficult to isolate any one smell or feel. His eyes almost seemed to roll around in his head he seemed so excited or agitated or both.

“I think Hotch was right,” Reid said, walking side by side with Derek just watching the way he was behaving. Like a bloodhound on the hunt. “You probably shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

“I can control myself.”

“For now.”

“Hey, stop it alright? I’m doing my best here. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t choose it and I think I’m handling it all pretty damn well so it would be really nice if you both would have a little faith in me.”

Reid nodded sheepishly and tucked a lock of hair behind his hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

(4)

He tried.

He tried really fucking hard and he just hoped that Hotch would understand.

There was no intent. He’d parked his car at the Diamond lot a few blocks down so he could walk and clear his head, a little out of his normal routine but something had driven him to do it. Some need to finally be alone, not be under constant supervision. Some desperation to commune with the night sky and the fresh air.

But there was Battle, right there, basically sitting on a silver platter. A buffet of epic proportions. It was instantaneous, he realized it was Battle and he realized he was starving at nearly the same time. Fate? No, probably not. Just good timing...bad timing...coincidence. He found (as his feet moved him forward, propelling him toward Battle like the man was waiting for him) didn’t have a preference.

Battle didn’t even have a chance to scream before Derek’s teeth were tearing at his throat, crushing and ripping at his windpipe. That was when he finally tried to scream, like it just occurred to him that’s what you do but it was too late. It sounded like a dog whistle, high and airy.

That made Derek laugh a little. He didn’t recognize the laugh as his own and it frightened some small part of him that was left from before. That part of him was quiet and afraid.

“Keep goin’,” he said with a bite full of Battle in his mouth. He heard his mom’s voice – don’t talk with your mouth full, Derek, mind your manners – and swallowed. “I like that sound. Keep it up. You’re doin’ great.”

He could see the light going out in Battle’s eyes and he wasn’t ready for it. This wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped, this quiet quick death. He had something to say. Better make it snappy, mouth full or not. “You know what I hate? Dirty cops. You’re a fucking disgrace to the badge man…” he spit a hunk of meat back in Battle’s face and laughed again.

The high wore off a little too quickly.

The human part of his brain, the part that still worried about things like right and wrong and consequences, realized what and where he was. That he was an FBI Agent and he was devouring a disgraced police officer right out in public. Sure it was dark but it’s not like someone couldn’t just come walking down the alley any minute and then what? Would he have to kill them too? This was going to get messy. He was in big trouble. With every ounce of strength he possessed, which was greater now than it ever had been, he began bending and breaking joints, gnawing at flesh and snapping tendon until the parts pulled away. It was an incredible amount of work dismembering a body in an alley with nothing more than your pocket knife and your teeth but he managed.

His hunger carried him when his own body wanted to fail. When his fingers ached and his biceps shook with the exertion, apparently even he had his limits.

By the time he finished, he was stuffed as full as he could be and Battle’s body was spread between several trash bags filled with festering kitchen refuse. The smell would blend in, and most likely no one would notice. At least for a while. Nothing else he could do for it now anyway. He ditched his bloody clothes and walked down the street in his boxers and nothing else. It wasn’t hard to stay in the shadows, to make it back to where he parked his car and get into his go-bag for another set of clothes. And to anyone who did happen to see him as he slipped from shadow to shadow barely clothed, he looked like a drunk party goer who had been given the boot after a one night stand that ended earlier than anticipated. He had plenty of experience with that, too.

His roaring twenties were a tequila soaked blur filled with plenty walks of shame.

He would have gotten away with it, too, if he hadn’t kissed Hotch as soon as he found him. If he could have controlled himself at least long enough to think about drinking coffee or brushing his teeth or something as a preventative measure.

As soon as he entered Hotch’s office that hunger came back but it wasn’t the kind of hunger that could be sated with food. He wanted to take Hotch right there at his desk, grab hold of that tie and pull tight, tie him up, bend him over…

He settled for a kiss. A quick one, the kind that they felt they could get away with at work if it was behind the closed door. Hotch had loosened up considerably since this ordeal began...there were such enormous things he was now having to manage, to come to grips with, that a stolen kiss on work time somehow felt small.

“What...you taste…” Hotch gagged. He felt the bile rise in his throat, mouth filling with saliva. Quickly he covered his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes, backing one step away hesitantly. “What is that?”

“Oh. I should probably brush my teeth huh? Gotta remember you don’t eat what I eat anymore…”

“That’s…” There was some visceral repulsion at the taste he hadn’t experienced with the other raw meat. “What did you eat?”

“Okay. Don’t panic, okay? And don’t be mad.”

People only say that when you absolutely should be mad. Hotch was a dad, he knew all about the don’t be mad line. Derek’s puppy dog eyes were not going to work on him.

“Derek…”

“Look. I happened to run into Battle in the alley behind the pizza place down the block, he was sneaking around trying to figure out how to walk in here and do some shooting. I could hear him muttering to himself Hotch.”

Justified. He was justified. That was what he needed to believe. What he needed Hotch to believe.

“Yeah…” He didn’t want to fill in the blanks. It was too much.

“I was just gonna pull out my gun, but he saw me and...I didn’t have time. I just went after him.”

It might have been true. There was an entire ten minute period of time there that he couldn’t remember now. He thought he heard Battle saying something as he passed the alley and his hearing was a little extra good these days. He thought he saw Battle’s gun in his hand...now Battle’s gun (and all other identifying items) was in his own car. This was a mess, but he believed most of what he was saying.

Hotch frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to hide the sudden tremor in his hands. Being afraid of Derek was never supposed to...this wasn’t ever supposed to happen.

“He shouldn’t have shot Garcia, man. He should have just left her alone.” That was his justification. He shouldn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel bad. But he was a little concerned by the fact that his DNA was all over the body if he was ever found. His conscience was sleeping on the job these days.

Swinging around, Hotch reached for his trash can, grabbing it and clutching it to his chest while he threw up. The violence of it was startling, it had come out of nowhere. His nose burned, his eyes welled with tears and he gagged into the can over and over again. Derek stared and for the first time since the alley felt real remorse for what he’d done...not for Battle, that piece of shit was lucky to be dinner. He deserved worse. But for upsetting Hotch so badly. For ruining all of what they had, for destroying Hotch’s faith in him. He’d said he could handle it and he was very very sure now that he...could not.

Hotch just looked at him pitifully from over the top of the trash can, caught between sick and sad, and for the first time Derek thought he detected a hint of fear in him. That he might not be safe. But he also had a hard time keeping hold of that serious thought when all he wanted to do was grab Hotch and kiss him, vomit and all. And hell, maybe that would make them even. An eye for an eye, death breath for death breath. He was just about to give in to that impulse when he thought better of it, the look on Hotch’s face wasn’t welcoming.

“Hotch,” he said, stepping closer slowly. He didn’t want to frighten him. “It’s okay. I’m not...I can control it. I know now how easily it can happen and I can control it, okay? I promise.”

“Don’t make me any promises, Derek. You don’t know. We don’t know. That’s…”

It was the first time he really considered what this meant. A few blocks away was a dismembered, partially eaten body of a wanted serial killer. They could cover it up somehow, they could keep him in the wind forever...they had every way they could possibly imagine to keep it locked up between the two of them...but it wouldn’t fix the long term problems.

And what about Jack? Would he be safe? And the team? Could any of them really be safe?

“You’re wrong. I do know. I’m looking at you and I don’t think food. I think I love you, that’s all I’m thinking. I know there are people everywhere...I was in the damn hospital without any problem...Battle wasn’t food, Battle just...Hotch he shot Garcia.”

Hotch nodded. He understood, on some level anyway. If they could leave it there he might be able to come to terms with it. If it didn’t happen again.

But what were the odds of that?

Later that night Hotch, having asked Jessica to take Jack to her place for one more night just to be safe, (he had yet to explain it all to her, but each time he thought of using the words it made him nauseous) was trying to pretend things were normal. That his entire life wasn’t crumbling around him.

Meanwhile, Derek could barely keep his hands to himself.

Hotch tried to twist away a few times in protest, not at all in the mood after the last few days, but in the end found it almost impossible to push him away too far or too hard. Some part of him had an internal alarm clock that had set itself. A timer.

A doomsday clock.

And someday, sooner than he hoped, that alarm would scream at him and his time with Derek would be up. They couldn’t keep this up forever.

But tonight, he asked Derek to brush his teeth, floss extra good and use at least half a bottle of mouthwash before finally giving in and letting him do everything he pleased to him in bed. That alarm wasn’t sounding tonight, and he was determined to make these last days...weeks...months...whatever they were the best he could.

And if that meant being uncomfortable, it simply did.

He loved Derek and he would do anything for him. That declaration was about to be put to the test in ways he couldn’t imagine.

Chapter 3

Notes:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Sorry it's been so long. Really truly sorry. Due to the nature of this story, I am going to call this chapter the final part of the foundation. I'm turning it into a series after this, which if you've gone into any of my other series you will know that this means more stories will happen and faster! Basically a bunch of one shots, not necessarily posted in a linear fashion, but they will all be set within this universe. I want to be here rolling around in this AU, and this way will be SO MUCH more fun. I promise. <3

If you have any specific episodes or points in canon you'd like me to hit, please feel free to leave comments and ask. I already have thoughts about the Mayhem and the Foyet arc, of course, but please please let me know.

The plate in front of Derek was almost entirely untouched. “Are you sick?” Hotch asked, closing the fridge door with his arms full of produce. He didn’t need to cook for Derek anymore, so he was getting pretty good at meals for one. Of course, Derek still had opinions about the contents of those meals so while Hotch would have been content with a microwave dinner that had individual little pockets of sadness and despair, he found himself instead dirtying multiple pots and pans and dishes...only to eat alone. Derek was usually done eating by the time his meal was cooked. The fact that it was untouched tonight caught Hotch off guard.

“No, I’m good,” Derek replied, looking at the plate of ground beef like it had offended him in some way. Like it had talked badly about his mom. “I just can’t eat this anymore. Maybe something else...we got any more of that deer Jess brought over?”

“Garage,” Hotch muttered. He didn’t like to open that freezer. The amount of meat, the whole small animals in there, it all made him queasy. What didn’t these days though? It had gotten so bad that he wasn’t sure when the last time he actually ate meat was – he’d become very attached to salads. Easier to clean up, and definitely light on the visuals that made him feel like he was dining in the middle of a horror movie. “Jess put it all out there.” She and Roy had gone hunting the week before and brought back pounds and pounds of meat for the two of them – Jess was aware of their situation, thanks to Haley who couldn’t keep anything from her sister, but Roy didn’t know and Hotch didn’t want him to.

“Damn.” It was the only meat he’d had any luck with. Part of him hoped it was just that the store meat was bad, that it wasn’t what he’d done the other day that changed something in him. If the deer, fresh and alive just days before, still tasted okay then it had to be the store. The gassing to keep it colored, the plastic wrap, the factory flavor. He had to hold out that hope, because the alternative was going to snap whatever fragile sense of sanity Hotch still clung to.

When he returned from the garage with his deer liver grated in a cup, eating it with a spoon like a sno cone, Spencer was standing in his kitchen behind a stack of books and papers he’d set on the counter. “Hey Morgan,” he said, clearly eyeing him. Scrutinizing every detail.

“Hotch told you.”

“Uh, yeah. And I’m glad he did. That’s...it’s not good.”

“Everything is fine. See? Deer slushie. It’s all good.”

“We left good in the dust weeks ago, Morgan.”

Hotch never stopped readying his salad while they talked, just kept his back turned to the room as he chopped carrots and celery and tomatoes as slowly and precisely as he could. He almost dropped into some kind of a trance, staring listlessly at another bowl of random vegetables that he’d pour olive oil and pepper onto and hope that it stopped the incessant rumble in his stomach that said he needed to eat something more filling or he’d collapse. Maybe he’d eat a cookie later. Or a whole sleeve of them.

“Do we know if anyone else ate the chili?” Spencer asked, rifling through his brown accordion file for a sheet of paper. “I have the sign in sheets for the volunteers...the search party...everyone who might have come in contact with Feylin’s food. Did they ever find out if he was serving more out of his truck?”

“Woah, woah kid. Slow down. I don’t know, how are we supposed to know? I mean, I definitely wasn’t the only one walking around with a bowl of that stuff, that’s for damn sure.”

“It’s just conjecture. Assuming it is the chili, there could be at least thirty or forty more people minimum who are afflicted with this.”

“Thirty or forty more zombies?”

“Like I said, that’s just the search party. If he was serving out of his truck, and it was his food that caused this…we could be looking at a full scale outbreak.”

“How do we find out?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure what we’re looking for. Maybe we can start small. Did anyone else from the team eat it?”

Hotch glanced down at his hands while they chopped vegetables seemingly without input from his brain. “I thought JJ did…”

“JJ totally did,” Derek said, chewing on a ventricle now. He’d grabbed the deer’s heart and put it into a tupperware to keep it hidden but they all knew what he was eating. Hotch couldn’t look. It seemed to be going down okay, though, there was that. No more gagging. It was like choking down brussels sprouts when you want a piece of candy. Edible but not ideal. “She’s the one who gave me a bowl, she was already eating hers.”

“Hotch,” Spencer asked cautiously. “Where is JJ?”

“She’s taking vacation days in New Orleans, spending time with that police officer she’s been seeing that she thinks we don’t know about. But she seemed fine on the jet, remember? And at work. Unless there are delayed reactions, I don’t think JJ was affected. Or maybe it wasn’t the chili.”

“When is she due back?”

“Next week. She’s got a lot of vacation to use up before year end and the case load was light.” Now that he thought about it, it did seem odd that she’d asked him for so much time off. And she’d done it by email. Under normal circumstances that alone would have set off alarm bells but...he’d been distracted. And she did have the time to use, he wouldn’t have denied her anyway even if it was under suspect circumstances.

“We need to go to New Orleans…” Spencer whispered. “I have a bad feeling.”

Hotch turned around suddenly, looking at Spencer for the first time. His trance had momentarily been lifted and he was nearing his limit of absurdity. It didn’t take much these days and today, well, it was barely even lunch time. “We can’t all just go to New Orleans.”

“We can if we have a case,” Derek chimed in with a mouth full of food. Hotch looked down at his hands. “Come on. Let’s just pick a case down there close by, there’s always someone being naughty down that way. Then we can take a look.”

“Anyone else from the team?”

“Nah. Emily said she hates chili, Rossi wasn’t around, you two are weirdos about food…”

“Weirdos who don’t have a zombie disease,” Spencer pointed out. Hotch let out a small sigh.

“Could we please stop using that word?” he asked quietly, his voice shaky and pale sounding. Before anyone had a chance to comment on the sudden change in his demeanor, he walked out of the kitchen. The understanding that what was happening to Derek’s body was most likely irreversible had been gnawing at him, and he knew that at some point it was likely Derek would start to decompose. He didn’t have blood, he didn’t have a heartbeat. He didn’t have any of the things that keep a body fresh and regenerating and the thought of it was more than Hotch could bear. That was all best case scenario, Derek decomposing before his very eyes...the worst case, well, that ended with a bullet from Hotch’s own gun didn’t it? His life had been a series of tragedies, and this might be the worst of them. That he would have to be the one to put an end to the life of someone he loved so dearly.

Derek could sense the change in the mood and threw the heart back into a ziplock and into the freezer, quickly washing the blood from his fingers and chasing after him.

“Hey, hey, slow down...what’s up?”

Hotch was busy folding laundry on the bed. Big hands in Jack’s little clothes, small t-shirts and tiny jeans and little socks that were always inside out. They’d had him the weekend before, though Derek had made himself scarce to make Hotch feel better. Hotch still wasn’t keen on sharing this information, and Haley didn’t want Derek around him, it was a touchy situation. Derek pleaded with Haley, practically begged her. “I’d take a bullet to the dome before I ever hurt that kid,” he said with tears in his eyes. He still had those.

“I just don’t like that word.”

“What, zombie? Nah. Come on. Don’t even.”

Hotch looked up and couldn’t mask the hurt in his eyes, couldn’t stop the tears from shining a little too bright. His lip was quivering each time he sucked in his breath to talk, and he simply couldn’t do it. Not for a long minute. Finally, he managed to compose enough of himself to bring out two words. “You’re dead.”

“I’m undead.”

“Whatever. Derek...this is...I feel like you’ve just been diagnosed with an end stage illness. I look at you and I just see my clock ticking down. There’s no treatment plan, no hospice, no anything to walk us through this...it’s just loss. Pure and simple.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ve been feeling that too.”

Hotch doesn’t know what to say. There isn’t anything he can say. So Derek grabs him by the biceps, wraps his hands around them and ,a little too forcefully, pulls him in for a hug. Their chests slam and it almost knocks the wind out of Hotch but before he could complain Derek’s arms were wrapped tight around him.

“I fuckin’ love you.”

Hotch flushed and smiled a little sadly. “I love you too.”

They didn’t get many moments, not to themselves, not anymore. In the doorway Spencer waited with his arms folded over his chest, leaning against the door jamb. He’d at least given them a minute to hug it out.

Spencer interrupted them with a smile when he thought the moment had been quiet long enough. “I found a case in New Orleans, I reached out to see if they want our help. In the meantime, tonight is the BAU Halloween party...are you two coming?”

Derek grinned, pressing his nose against Hotch’s. “Yeah. We have some killer costumes.”

That didn’t instill good feelings in Reid. Still, they would go, and he was glad for it. Some semblance of normal in an otherwise complete shit show of a situation. Things weren’t getting better and he could see it in the way Derek’s eyes burned, and the way Hotch looked so damn tired. Was he sleeping? Could he sleep beside Derek still? Spencer thought not, but he wasn’t about to ask that question.

It was predictable, at least to Spencer, when they walked in dressed as zombies. Hotch, Derek and Jack, all of them with makeup smudged all over their faces and fake blood stained clothes. He thought they looked like something right out of Night of the Living Dead, a little archaic, not over done like current Hollywood zombies. Classic. And an easy way to hide Derek’s incessant hunger.

The moment of realization hit almost everyone at one time, the moment they walked in. A family costume, but no one said anything. What would they say anyway? Spencer watched as people danced around them, watched carefully wondering how they’d missed it or glad they were finally admitting it, he could see each expression depending on the person. It was a way to announce things, sure, and a way for Derek to blend in. The three of them held cups in their hands full of pink goo, and it was easy enough to disguise when they all blended in. No one seemed to inspect Derek’s too closely when met with Aaron Hotchner sucking down a bright red slushy, his lips the color of blood. He was such a distraction just by his mere existence that no one even looked at Derek.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer,” Derek said, pulling Hotch into his office while Jack was wandering with Penelope and the other little kids, trick or treating on all the other floors of the building.

“Do what? We just announced to the entire building that we’re a couple.”

“And I appreciate that. I know what it might cost you and what you’re trying to hide.”

“It’s more than that. I don’t want to...we no longer have the luxury of time. If we don’t tell people now we may never get a chance.”

“Yeah. I got you. And I’m not trying to diminish how big that is for you...but man, I’m talking about this.” He waved his smoothie in Hotch’s direction with a scowl. “This meat is starting to hurt my stomach, man. I feel sick. I don’t think I can keep eating it.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I think I need…”

It was Hotch’s turn to look sick, though if he were being honest, at this point that was probably just his face. “Please don’t say it.”

“I don’t need to. We gotta do something.”

“Okay. When we’re down in Louisiana we’ll go meet with the ME...you know the one. She’ll have her finger on the pulse. Or the lackthereof”

Derek grinned. “You got jokes.”

“Sometimes.”

“You think I can eat…”

“it’s worth a shot. The body business is big down there. It’s not as bad as grave robbing…”

Derek’s grin grew wider, a little more unhinged. “Hotch...I didn’t know you had it in you…”

“Our time together has an expiration date and I’m not eager to make it come any sooner than it has to. As long as there isn’t any more murder.”

“No more murder.”

That was easier said than done. In New Orleans, it didn’t take long before they found JJ suffering from the same affliction. Hers had taken a little longer to set in, but it was there and Will was just about at his wit’s end trying to sort it out. Wondering what the hell would happen when this vacation ended and she had to go back to work. Will practically clung to Hotch when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Has she eaten a person yet?” Hotch whispered while JJ and Derek commiserated over how weird their bodies were. Hotch could faintly hear her asking Derek if he’d been extra “randy” and the way his eyes darted to Hotch a little apologetically before he answered made Hotch shiver. He turned back to Will and tried to ignore their conversation.

Will just looked horrified. “Not that I know of…”

“I think it’s best to keep an eye on her. Derek did. It was...it was the man who shot Penelope. And since eating him, he’s had…” Hotch looked like he was going to be sick. Not unusual for him at this point. “It’s been challenging for him to stomach the raw animal meat. I’m hoping a trip to the ME will be able to provide us with something sustainable.”

“I know just the one.”

Hotch and Will visited the ME while Emily and Spencer and Rossi worked the case, pretending it was why they came in the first place. It wasn’t really one that everyone was needed on, in fact the idea that the BAU had chosen that case was suspect. Emily and Rossi had a lot of doubts and were not keeping quiet. Spencer had a hard time keeping them focused until they finished up, and in the meantime he managed to convince Hotch that they had to tell the team. They couldn’t be kept in the dark, things were getting too out of hand.

As it turned out, Emily and Rossi were much cooler about it than Hotch and Will. They almost seemed to enjoy it. Emily pulled her own knife out and slicked it along Derek’s palm, squeezing and delighting in the goo that oozed out. Rossi was intrigued by JJ’s sudden ability to bench lift as much as Derek.

Unfortunately, as cool as the team ended up being (save for Penelope who would have to be told in person at home, and Derek anticipated a lot of tears there) the ME office wasn’t nearly as giving. One taste and Derek was dry heaving into a trash can, JJ following with similar results. No matter how Hotch and Will begged them, they couldn’t stomach it.

“You try choking down formaldehyde,” Derek spat, his anger turned on Hotch for the first time since everything happened. Hotch didn’t shrink away, even if he felt like it. He stood his ground.

“You promised no more murder.”

“Yeah, well, what now?”

As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long to find the answer to that question. Derek and JJ decided to get out, have some fun, be with someone who didn’t look at them like they were monsters. Yeah, so they were, but it was nice not to feel like it for a little while. Nice to feel kind of normal. Until a drunk driver slammed into them from behind, cracking JJ’s forehead on the steering wheel and slamming Derek into the window. Neither of them were any worse for the wear, but they were both angry.

“Dammit. This is a rental.” JJ’s voice was a guttural growl. She couldn’t contain herself as she flew out of the vehicle and toward the man who was getting out of his own car behind them with a gun and shouting. Like this was their fault for being stopped at a red light. JJ only looked at Derek, gave him one sideways glance, and he read it like an open book. Before the man knew what was happening, they were flying at him, taking him down to the ground and overpowering him with an ease that was frightening even to them. They covered their tracks a little too easily – it turned out, hunting serial killers for a living gave them more than a few decent insights into how to commit murder and get away with it.

Neither of them were as concerned by it as they should have been. “Reid says this is our id dictating our actions,” Derek said, wiping blood from his lips and checking himself out in the mirror. He looked like a man who had just been in an accident, rumpled and dazed. Perfect. “Guess we can add murder to the list already populated by eating and fucking.”

“You always have had a way with words. What are we going to tell everyone when we get back?”

“The truth. Hotch came out to the whole office on Halloween for my benefit, I can’t lie to him. Not after that.”

“The whole office? What did Strauss say?”

“I dunno. I’m sure he’ll be in trouble. Come on, we gotta get back. Hotch is going to be pissed...I promised, but I don’t think I can help it Jayj.”

“Me neither. They’ll have to understand. Or kill us.”

They were right, of course. They had to understand. It wasn’t their fault, their biology was unavoidable now. That didn’t save Derek from the look of utter despair on Hotch’s face. Another tick of that clock, another nail in the coffin.

“What if they don’t have to kill?” Rossi asked, the most morally gray of all of them. He was always willing to blur lines when it came to revenge, when it came to his family. Derek knew Rossi grew up amid crime families and everything he did fit that to a T, including this suggestion. Emily’s ears perked up, instantly on board with whatever Rossi was proposing. “What if an unsub...one we’re absolutely certain is guilty...just disappeared? No one is going to worry about their tax dollars not paying for a slimebag rotting in prison. Think about it. The rapists, the pedophiles…”

“The worst of the worst,” Emily chimed in. “The ones that can’t be rehabilitated. The ones that don’t want it.”

Hotch couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“It isn’t our place to be judge and jury, you both know that.”

“No, yeah, of course. But our friends need to eat and is there a better way? Like that Nazi fuck who was touching little boys and making them kill their dads last month. He’s sitting in prison for life and our tax dollars are paying for him to have three square a day. I’d rather he be three square a day for my friends than the alternative.”

Hotch glanced at Will who mirrored his own terror, then at Derek and JJ. His partner, the man he loved, and one of his closest friends. Could he choose the life of a pedophile over the lives of them? And if he could, how would he live with himself? But then, if he agreed to take lives so that Derek and JJ could live, was he any better than the murderers he hunted? The immorality of the situation made his stomach burn fire.

The choice was his, and in the end, he wasn’t sure there even was one. His soul would burn either way.

“We all have to agree. Every one of us agrees on the unsub, and it can’t be very often. It can’t be spontaneous.”

“Are y’all really talking about letting my girlfriend and your boyfriend murder people?” Will asked, chiming in for the first time. His voice was hoarse and ghostly.

“Is there an alternative?” Hotch asked sadly, knowing there wasn’t. Not really. The only alternative was agreeing to kill Derek and JJ now, and he...not yet. He wasn’t prepared for that yet. Call it evil, call it selfish, call it love. It didn’t matter. Will looked like he was giving about the most thought he could, working through innumerable scenarios, each of which led to nothing but defeat. Looking at JJ sealed it for him, her big blue eyes, her cupid’s bow. He’d barely begun to love her and he wasn’t ready to stop.

“Not that can see, no. But it isn’t right.”

“None of this is,” JJ said. “I didn’t ask to be this way. I just ate a bowl of chili. I’d give anything to go back and do it over again.”

Notes:

Heyyyyyy thanks for indulging me! How do we feel? Sick? Grossed out? Excited? All of the above?

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of lucky: a santa clarita diet au