chapter twenty-four / season three episode nineteen.

"BYE MOM," Amelia held the phone to her ear and pressed the hang up button after having been speaking to her mom for a little less than a half hour. It was becoming a common occurrence for Amelia to sneak off for a little bit of time and check up on her mom, on most days it would only be fifteen minutes but on treatment days Amelia managed to find half an hour to speak to her mom.

Amelia never called her dad's number, she always made sure it was her mom's. Thomas would prefer to shout down the phone that whilst Amelia is making the weekend trips to DC, it isn't enough. He expected her to time off from work, preferably quit her job altogether. Stay home for another two years and just drop everything.

Amelia did that once. And when she was nineteen it was easier. She had less responsibilities, she didn't have her dream job and she didn't have any friends.

Amelia had all those things now. And she couldn't quit because she needed this job. Her job here guaranteed that she'd see her friends faces, that she'd save someone... Amelia couldn't give that up just because Thomas asked.

Martha didn't want her to give it up, anyway. Anytime that Amelia mentioned the possibility of taking extended time off her mom would wave her hand, shrug the suggestion off. Martha already had her hovering husband, she didn't need her hovering daughter. (And the last thing she needed was for the pair to get into arguments when she already felt weak.)

Amelia couldn't imagine not having this job. The job she'd dream of for so long, and now she had it. Amelia thought that any other father, any ordinary father, would understand that she couldn't just give it up.

"Oh!" Penelope squealed, "there you are, we thought you got lost."

Amelia may have gotten good at communicating with her mom, calling everyday. But, everyone else at the office didn't know that. Strauss and Hotch knew. But, the information of her mom's cancer hadn't stretched any further than that. For once, it wasn't Amelia's fear of them knowing. This time it was her fear of the pity they'd show her, she wasn't good with pity and no doubt their pity would lead to wanting to look after her.

Cook her meals, freeze them, buy her drinks and make sure she was eating enough in the first place. Their pity would mean that they show up unannounced at her messy apartment that had laundry flung around the place, she'd been traveling so often that the washing never got done.

Amelia swore she'd worn this shirt at the beginning part of the week, and it hadn't yet reached the washing machine.

She hoped no-one noticed.

(Someone already had, but he'd been busy on a phone call this morning so he had yet to enquire further.)

Amelia slipped her phone into her back pocket, looking at the piece of paper in Spencer's hands in amusement, "Who is that?"

Emily sighed, "Alright, very funny, guys. Very funny."

Amelia looked between the photo of Emily in high school, and the current Emily sat opposite her. "No way! That isn't you!"

Emily snatched the picture out of his hands, "Okay, what did you do to it?"

"Do to it?" Penelope reiterated.

"You obviously altered it in Photoshop, or something. That hair..."

"Oh, no, pussycat. That's... that's all you." Penelope responded.

Amelia rounded the desks, to peer over Emily's shoulder, her mouth gaped, "No way. That can't be you, Emily. How did you even get your hair like that—?"

"Garfield High, class of '89." Amelia couldn't tear her eyes away from the photo of Emily in High School. The hair. The outfit. Clearly, Emily had been going through it that year.

"You really didn't change anything?" Emily mumbled.

Amelia squeezed her shoulder, "I think you look cool. I wish my hair could do that."

"You don't remember rocking that look?" Penelope asked and Emily shook her head.

"Maybe you experienced a dissociative fugue in your adolescence. It's a shame you can't remember it, though, I wanna know if people thought it was cool or not."

Emily looked up at the woman standing behind her, "Sunshine, I imagine other people didn't enjoy this look as much as you did."

Amelia frowned.

Agent Hotchner approached the group, and Emily hid the High School photo from him, and asked him what his phone call was about. "Brian Matloff."

Amelia, although confused, examined the Unit Chief closely. His thumb was rubbing against the pad of his finger, and the crease in his brow was harder than normal and he seemed uneasy. He'd been slow in his pace walking down the stairs and Amelia worried for him.

(She could pity others, but she could not take pity for herself.)

"Who?" Penelope asked the question, that Amelia also wished to know the answer to.

"A.k.a the Blue Ridge Strangler."

Penelope frowned, and Amelia kept watching Hotch, "Right, that was like four years ago."

"Three victims in the Blue Ridge Parkway." Emily recited the information, Amelia feeling grateful that someone was filling in the blanks of this case for her.

"Allegedly, he was never convicted." Spencer said, "He slipped into a coma before he could be tried."

"Looks like they're finally going to get their chance. He just woke up." The words were softly spoken from his lips, but he portrayed something of the opposite. His shoulders were tense as he walked away and Amelia pitied the fear that seemed to take hold of him.

This case had been on hold four years, and she knew Hotch worried that they wouldn't be able to pin this man for his crimes.

And Amelia was sure they were going to get him.

✺

Matloff was an interesting unsub. He had an obsession with Native American mythology and that was why he'd buried his victims face down to trap the soul and prevent it from haunting the killer.

"It turned out Matloff worked at the Parkway for the Forest Service. He had free rein over the entire park." Derek informed them.

JJ flicked through her file, "It says there he was raised Polish Catholic. Any idea what led him to identify with Native American culture?"

Derek shook his head, "We didn't get that far."

Amelia sighed, with furrowed brows. She understood Hotch's tense shoulders now, and his anxious tell that he'd fallen into since receiving the phone call, this case was headache inducing, it was going to be painful. Everything was circumstantial, nothing was solid evidence that Brian Matloff had killed three women in the Parkway.

The only evidence that was solid was his memories, but now they were all gone.

Amelia's phone buzzed atop of the table, all the agents around being able to see her father's contact appear on the screen. Amelia stared at it. She stared at it so long that his call had gone unanswered.

Thomas Levine was only ever allowed to call Amelia when something went wrong.

Derek watched her tense, in the seat opposite her, "Go take the call, sunshine." He'd noticed that as of late her phone was always close at hand, on-top of tables and not shoved in her back pocket like before. A month or so ago, Amelia was careless with the device didn't give a damn what happened to it. Now, she guarded that thing with all her life. Made sure it next to her, that the vibrate was on or her ring tone.

Derek noticed she was taking more phone calls, excusing herself for long periods of time. She spent a lot of weekends away. Amelia hadn't told him or Penelope what her secrecy was all about, and he couldn't understand why.

"You sure?" Amelia asked, nervously. And she couldn't decide whether that was because her father called, or because people would start worrying now.

It happened all the time to her at the BAU: when they saw her phone screen light up with Thomas Levine's name appearing on the screen, they all seemed to stiffen, watch her closer as if they were just waiting for to burst into tears at his harsh words.

Amelia knew better than to cry at work. Clara had caught her once, and so had her past Unit Chief. Amelia never wanted that to happen again. She knew to cry at home, into her glass of wine.

Where she knew no-one could pity her.

A text message soon followed from her mom, telling her not to answer her father's calls. Amelia couldn't help but wonder why, although a larger part of her was glad that she didn't have to speak with him.

Amelia turned her phone over, "It's alright I don't need to answer it."

The other agents exchanged subtle looks, as they continued looking through their files. All searching for just something, even the smallest piece of evidence, that could put Matloff in prison.

And they just kept coming up empty handed.

✺

Evidence was low, but Matloff had a visitor in his comatose state. JJ and Emily had been sent to the hospital to find out more about the visitor.

Amelia had joined Aaron at the courts. The case files sent her head spinning and she was glad she was at the courts not sitting, sifting through words on paper.

Amelia couldn't focus on this case. She had tried really hard, because she wanted this guy to get sent to prison so that the families could get justice and Hotch could relax. But, she was proving no help so far. Words got jumbled up on the papers, and coffee didn't seem to keep her away anymore. She was exhausted, wearing the same shirt she wore yesterday because she'd ran out of clean ones and the jet lag and traveling was catching up to her.

It was a horrible feeling, this exhaustion. Amelia had tired herself out before, and Conrad James hadn't cared.

A part of Amelia worried Aaron wouldn't either.

She stuck close by him, hoping he'd see the signs because she was too afraid to tell him herself. She couldn't bring pity upon herself. Right now, she was watching him take the stand in the courtroom, after the defense attorney just called profiling a pseudoscience.

Amelia couldn't stand people who did that. (Thomas Levine.)

"So, through this process of linkage analysis, you concluded that all three murders were perpetrated by one man?" Cece Hillenbrand asked Hotch, a prosecutor who was a friend of Hotch's.

Amelia also found out that Aaron had previously been a prosecutor, but had quit because he wanted to get ahead of the cases so he joined the BAU. She liked that about him.

Amelia also liked the way he was able to carry himself on the stand, and in general. He told so much with so little expression. His hard face demonstrated his seriousness and a willingness to do whatever it takes to solve a case. But, Amelia had also seen the softness to his face, a softness she swore only she saw. A softness in which his brows weren't furrowed and he laughed just quietly.

She liked that.

She liked it a lot.

"Yes, that's correct."

"And you believe that man is Brian Matloff?" Amelia sure hoped it was, because if it wasn't there was a killer on the lose and the BAU had no evidence to even suggest another person had committed these crimes.

Hell, the BAU didn't even have evidence to suggest Brian Matloff had done them himself.

"Yes, I do."

"Can you tell us how you came to that conclusion?" Cece asked him.

"Along with agents Reid and Morgan," Amelia had also learnt that Derek twisted his ankle on this case four years ago, she'd laughed at him. "We began to analyze the behavior of the unknown subject as manifested before, during and after the commission of the murders. Our goal was to generate a suspect pool, a list of names which we'd eventually narrow down to one person."

"This deduction revealed to us how the killer gained satisfaction from his crimes." Matloff was able to revisit his victims and relive the acts over and over again by having his victims buried in the park.

"Still, I imagine there are a lot of people who work for the Forest Service." Cece goaded.

1,718 employees to be exact. Reid had told Amelia that before she left with Hotch this morning. But, their unsub wasn't new to the job he'd been there years, inserted himself into the investigation. And Penelope had cross checked the list of witnesses and employees and there was only one.

Brian Matloff.

Amelia understood more about this case now. She understood it better when the words weren't jumping out at her, and the blinds in the room were open and she was near enough blinded by the sun. Hotch's voice and the bright sun were keeping her awake.

Cece said she had no more questions, people trickled out of the room and Amelia stayed put in her seat. Aaron and Cece made quiet conversation before Aaron stopped at the end of Amelia's bench.

"You don't have to sit here if the sun's blinding you." He said, and even if he'd been on the stand just moments ago with his straight face, the corners of his lips curved upwards for Amelia. "C'mon, don't wanna spend all day in here."

He held out his hand, as if persuading her to follow him out. And Aaron knew she would, or that's what Amelia thought. He knew she'd crumble at the invitation of a warm, open hand.

Nobody had ever offered her their hand to hold until she got here, in the BAU. And now, she was a sucker for them.

She grabbed onto Aaron's hand, ignoring the slight dizziness that came from standing up too fast and the lack of food she'd consumed today all combined with the fact she was exhausted—

"You eaten today?" He asked, they'd came to a stop in one of the corridors.

Amelia wondered how he'd known. "I haven't had time—"

Aaron nodded his head, "That's okay." His hand reached into his pocket, almost like he'd been waiting to offer her this, "You can have it. I don't like them and Jack's suddenly decided he doesn't like apples, so I've got to give them to someone."

He shrugged. It was the truth. But, he was glad he was giving it to Amelia. She needed it. Aaron was glad that she was happier, that she had found a suitable way to look after her mom and work everything out. But, he wasn't glad that she was neglecting herself in doing so. She was skinnier, her eyes growing darker underneath and she was wearing the same shirt she'd worn yesterday, which was the same shirt she'd worn at the start of the week.

Amelia saw a glint of something in his eyes. And she worried that it was pity.

"You go home this past weekend?" Another weekend was approaching, and Amelia was working up the courage to tell her mom she couldn't make it this weekend.

Amelia nodded her head, unwrapping the breakfast bar and finding it much more enjoyable than she thought she would. It was probably because it was the only food she'd consumed so far today.

Aaron knew her last unit chief had exhausted her. It was something that plagued his mind very often when he thought of Amelia (which was also very often) and he couldn't aid into that exhaustion. Sure, Amelia was exhausting herself looking after her parents, making sure treatment went well and trying to be a good daughter. But, Aaron needed her to look after herself.

For reasons he wasn't quite sure yet, but for now he would blame it on trying to look after his worker.

He'd never fed any other employee a breakfast bar when they were hungry. Aaron might've just gave them the money to get something from the vending machine. But, Aaron felt a worry subside when he saw Amelia finish the breakfast bar in record time.

"I can't tell you what to do, Amelia, but you should stay home this weekend." He told her, gently. He could be so soft spoken with her. "You're exhausted. And if you don't catch up on that lost sleep, you'll become a liability in the field."

She'd been that once before.

"And I'll have to send you to desk duty, or even worse a session with the therapist if Strauss catches wind of it—"

"I'll stay home."

It was an instant response. One he hadn't expected from her, not so quickly anyway. It was fearful her cut off, fearful of having to sit on an overpriced, leather couch and talk about her feelings.

Aaron had been thinking about suggesting Amelia some sessions for a long time. There was some greater need in him that desired to know she was okay, that she was handling the heavy load she'd been dealt. That she was coping. Aaron couldn't be her therapist, he enjoyed the conversations they had in his office but the worry for his agent stemmed further and further, it grew with every passing thought of her.

Aaron had a need to know that Amelia was safe, and coping.

Now, he knew better. Her reaction to the mere mention of therapy was insightful. It told him all that he needed to know.

"Good." He nodded his head, stiffly. If possible, he felt more concerned for Amelia.

✺

The defense was now having their turn asking questions at Aaron, "Now my client ran from the police, a behavior that you called, 'A strong indicator of his guilt'."

The door creaked open to the courtroom, and Spencer came sneaking in, sitting beside Amelia and fighting the urge to ask about her shaking leg.

She glanced up him, a tight lipped smile on her face. "Nerves." She whispered. She wasn't lying, Amelia was nervous. Nervous about the case, and nervous that Aaron thought she was crazy.

Only crazy people go to therapy.

That's what her father had said anyway. And if Amelia was crazy, she'd lose her job and people would look at her with pity and she'd be forced to go back home.

"Yes, that's correct." The Unit Chief's hard voice pulled her out of her spiral, she was holding onto that voice with all her might. Aaron was the only thing stopping her from falling down the rabbit hole of thinking she was crazy.

Amelia didn't know why she latched onto his voice, when he was the one who had proposed she was crazy in the first place.

"Now, were you aware that he had an outstanding warrant at the time of his arrest?"

"Yes, I believe it was for an automobile accident, hit and run." Hotch answered.

"So, isn't it possible that Mr Matloff fled not because he was guilty of murder, but because of this other warrant?"

Amelia didn't like the defense attorney. She didn't like many of them, actually. She understood it was their jobs, their livelihoods and someone had to defend the bad guys but she knew she could never do it herself.

"There were eight law enforcement officers in bulletproof vests. I doubt any reasonable person would assume..."

"A yes or no answer will do." The defense interrupted Aaron. And Amelia found herself hating him even more.

"Yes. It's possible."

"So, you've stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my client's door that night."

Aaron nodded, "Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes."

"And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings in Atlanta?" Amelia stiffened. Defense attorneys often liked to pick apart profiling, slated its name, but never really realize how important it was. Aaron confirmed his question. "And was that suspect you identified, Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?"

"Objection, relevance?" Cece objected, and Amelia was glad because she was about to get up from her seat and shout it herself.

"It goes to the credibility of the witness and his field." His field. Defense attorneys will pick the handful of cases that the BAU got wrong, but neglect the large stack of cases they got right. The lives they actually saved.

The Judge allowed it.

"No, he was not convicted." Amelia cracked her knuckles in the silence that followed Aaron's question. (And he knew it had been her.)

"Because, he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man." It happened. Sometimes. Very few times.

"Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park bomber, Eric Rudolph you'll see that our profile was dead on." Aaron explained.

"Well, how about if we look at the Baton Rouge Killer?" Amelia was annoyed that he kept picking their cases where they went wrong. "Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was black and from the suburbs. You said the Dennis Rader, the BTK killer, was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids."

Cece injected again, and the Judge requested a question to be made by the defense. "Having been wrong on those cases, isn't it possible that you are wrong about Brian Matloff?"

"No." Aaron shook his head. He looked less bothered than Amelia did. He didn't show his annoyance at the cases they went wrong on being revealed to the court.

"Fact is, behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork." Amelia exchanged a glare with Spencer. "You probably couldn't even tell me the color of my socks."

Amelia swore the corner of Hotch's lips curved upward into a smirk.

The defense walked away.

But, Hotch hadn't finished.

"Charcoal grey."

A silence followed.

The defense lifted his leg up onto the table, revealing his one charcoal grey sock, "Well, look at that, he got one right."

"You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you've had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you're frugal but, in fact, you're having financial difficulties." The defense exhaled, "You wear a fake Rolex because you've pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess is to a bookie."

Amelia smirked as the defense scrambled for a response, "I took this case pro bono. I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state."

Aaron carried on, "Your vice is horses. Your Blackberry had been buzzing on the table every 20 minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from the Colonial Downs. You're getting race results, and every time you do it affects your mood in court. And you're having a very good day."

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law, by always taking the long shot."

Amelia and Spencer smiled, "You spin a very good yarn, Agent. But, as usual, you have proven nothing."

His phone was bound to buzz any second now.

And it did. Even the judge sighed.

"Why don't you tell us if your luck had changed?"

Oh. Aaron was good.

Amelia would've applauded him if he hadn't called her crazy earlier.

✺

Earlier the team had presented their evidence that Matloff had sent his birth mother the necklaces and watch he'd taken from the dead bodies. Now, Matloff had attacked his officer and ran away.

Amelia was in her vest, her footsteps silent on the ground as she approached Matloff at the waterfall. It was her and Hotch who were approaching him, the rest of the team hanging back or getting higher ground so that they could shoot him if necessary.

Aaron said he needed a negotiator if things took a turn for the worst.

Amelia didn't know why he was trusting her when he thought she was crazy.

Hotch was in-front of her, holding his gun up, "Brian? I want you to show me your hands."

"Hands! Brian."

"Stop." Brian cried, "Stop there, please."

Amelia lowered her gun, and halted her footsteps, "Brian, you need to let go of the girl. That is the only way I can guarantee to you that me and my team will stay where we are."

"If you don't raise your hands then we will be forced to apprehend you." Amelia took a small step forward. Her stomach twisting.

Brian was holding a decayed body.

"Who is she?" Hotch asked.

"She was my first." Brian answered, "The minute my feet hit the ground, I knew right were to find her. I killed them." He confessed.

"You remember?"

"Everything. Every moment, every tiny detail. I remember, but it's still not real. It's like the memories belong to someone else." Brian explained.

"Well, maybe in a way they do." Hotch said, "But, you still have to pay for what's been done."

"And, if you come willingly, Brian, it will all go easier." Amelia added on.

Brian cocked the gun.

"If I'm going to be put to death, I might as well die right here."

"Brian," Amelia took an apprehensive step forward, Aaron nearly pulling her back by her belt loops but she was too far out of reach, the unsub looked at her. "If you comply with us, if you put that gun down, the court will show you mercy. That only ever happens if you earn it. Earning it would be putting that gun down, handing yourself over to us with no fuss and showing to a court that you are willing to pay for what you've done."

"Willing to allow the grieving families the closure they need, and deserve."

"If you aren't connected to those old memories anymore, that you are the same Brian who committed those crimes you will do the right thing."

He tossed the gun behind him.

It was over.

✺

She squeezed her eyes shut as she fell onto her mattress. The blinds were already closed and her dirty laundry was shoved into the washing machine ready to be started as soon as she woke up tomorrow.

Amelia had forgotten, in her absence, how comfortable her bed was, it made her wonder why she spent most of her nights on the sofa.

She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled loudly.

She didn't have to wake up early tomorrow, she didn't even have to get dressed tomorrow! Amelia had nothing to worry about.

And yet, her mind kept swimming with the thought that Aaron Hotchner thought she was crazy. Why else would he even think about sending her to the bureau's therapist? Amelia was crazy.

And somehow it hurt her even more knowing it was Aaron who thought she was crazy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
anywho amelia scared because aaron thinks she's crazy, oh next chapter is going to be beautiful! (and explosive!)

and i think we should all just remember this

keep this silly old line in mind that the bau do you get profiles wrong from time to time 🙈🙈🥸🥸