AN: surprise! im back again

TW:
• mentions of drug abuse
• mentions of child abuse

i think that's it? if i've forgotten anything, please let me know so i can add them

im acc so excited for you guys to read this one bc there are some major plot points being set up here for the future of lilah and liv🫶

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"we don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain." - charles bukowski 

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Delilah paced up and down the bathroom of the BAU floor, door locked to stop anyone from coming in. As far as she knew, everyone had already left for the night after the jet landed them back in Virginia. Even JJ had gone home, though she'd gone with Penelope because Delilah had disappeared.

She was always good at disappearing, and she didn't need JJ with her tonight.

Tonight, she needed answers, and she intended to get them.

Delilah took a deep breath and unlocked the bathroom door, avoiding the cleaners as she hurried down the hallway. She unlocked Penelope's office with the key Penelope had given her, slipping inside and locking the door behind her.

Delilah flicked the light on, taking another deep breath as she moved over to the computer, quickly signing into Penelope's account to have Penelope's firewalls protect her as she went through the databases.

Delilah opened up the database Penelope used to find people, tying slowly as her hands trembled.

Elijah James Bellerose.

She scrolled through the results until she found the right one, clicking on his name and watching every single detail of his life come up on the screen. Well, almost every detail.

Delilah knew there wouldn't be everything she was looking for. She didn't even really know what she was looking for. Perhaps an idea of why her father had mentioned her brother in her nightmare, but that wouldn't be in the government database.

Delilah chewed on her bottom lip as she scrolled through his files.

Born 1969, died in late 1999 at thirty years old from a drug overdose. History of previous overdoses. No history of rehab. Marriage certificate. No jobs listed.

Marriage certificate?

Delilah frowned. Eli didn't get married.

She clicked on it, rolling her eyes when she saw that it was from Las Vegas and from when Eli was twenty five. Clearly a dumb fucking drug induced idea, or maybe he was actually sober and manic, considering the listing of bipolar disorder on his medical conditions.

Well, that explained a lot about her brother.

Delilah wondered if Liv knew about the bipolar thing. Delilah wondered if she knew about this mysterious Las Vegas wife.

Her name was Talia Roberts.

Delilah typed her into the database with Eli as a reference, finding the marriage certificate on her records. She clicked on her entire profile, starting to read through the information.

Born 1976 in Nevada. History of drug addiction from 1994-onwards, starting from around the time she presumably met Eli. No rehabs, but several overdoses of her own. Two children. Serving time in Nevada Women's Correctional Facility for intent to distribute drugs and for having a meth lab in her basement.

"Two children?" Delilah muttered.

Delilah scrolled through the medical records until she found two different birth certificates. One was from 1995, and another in 1998. A girl, a boy.

Zepp Roberts and Ziggy Roberts. No father listed on the birth certificates. Ziggy's birthday was Halloween.

Delilah rubbed her face tiredly, tasting blood on her tongue from chewing a hole into the inside of her cheek. She clicked on Zepp's records, scrolling through the new information offered to her.

A death certificate caught her eye. Delilah's stomach dropped, mouse moving slowly on the screen as she clicked on it.

Zepp Roberts, died 1999 at age four from getting hit by a drunk driver while playing in the street in front of her house.

Delilah swallowed down the tears burning in her eyes, not knowing why she was almost crying. Not only did she not ever meet this kid, she didn't even know if Zepp and Ziggy were Eli's kids. This could be her niece's death certificate, or it could just be her brother's stepdaughter's death certificate.

Eli may not have even still been in touch with Talia in 1995 when Zepp was born. The wedding was January and the kid was born in May. But, if Eli was her father, Zepp's death may have been the reason he overdosed.

Still, Delilah knew he talked to Liv in the three years before his death that he ignored Delilah's existence, and she'd never mentioned him having kids before. Wouldn't Eli have told Liv if he was a father?

Or did Liv know and just not tell Delilah because of how much Delilah hated Eli?

She knew her hatred was valid. Addiction was a disease, yes, but he had blamed her for Dylan's death and told her that it should've been her who died, instead. Delilah held Liv as she sobbed over their brother hating their little sister. Delilah was the one who kept Liv together when he overdosed after refusing their countless offers for help.

She was allowed to hate him. But, this? His potential child dying? Delilah couldn't help but feel guilt over how much she hated her brother. He didn't deserve all of her hatred. She'd been so focused on her own trauma that she'd been blind to his.

Though, he'd never given her a chance to see. She'd been eight when he left for college and he'd been a ghost for the three years before that after their mom died. When Delilah came back, they were two entirely different people and couldn't find common ground.

Delilah blamed Eli for not being there. Eli blamed Delilah for surviving. Maybe he could've buried his trauma with his sister if she'd died.

Delilah wished it was that easy. She knew it didn't work. She'd done the same thing by killing Isobel Milner and turning herself into Delilah Bellerose.

Some things, some people, you could never bury them and let them die. They just kept coming back.

Delilah rubbed her eyes for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, shoving it all deep inside the locked box in the back of her mind. She had to focus to find out what happened to Ziggy, to figure out exactly what was going on here.

Ziggy was in foster care, and there was a photograph of him. Delilah almost gagged when she saw it.

He was the spitting image of what she remembered Eli to be like when she was a little girl. The same messy black hair, the same glare on his pointed face, the same look in his eyes that begged for someone to just see him.

Delilah knew what that look was, now. She hadn't known it when she and Eli were kids.

It was undeniable, now. Ziggy was Eli's son, and Zepp was probably his daughter.

The reports showed that Ziggy had been in foster care for almost a year, had a history of running away and making trouble, was no contact with his mother after she almost blew him up with her meth lab, and had several hospital records for broken bones from the age of five upwards.

Two police notes on his record, so far. Shoplifting and arson.

He was eight years old, almost nine.

"Ah. Traumatic childhood, arson, foster care. Our next serial killer, ladies and gentlemen," Delilah muttered to herself, then felt tears sting in her eyes.

This was her nephew. She was projecting her anger at Eli for keeping these secrets onto the poor kid who she only learned about five minutes ago, and it wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

How was Delilah supposed to go about her life like this hadn't changed everything she remembered about Eli? Like this didn't change everything she thought she knew about her brother?

God, this made her question everything she thought she knew about her childhood. If Eli had kept this family from her, what had other people kept from her?

Or was her brain just tricking her, again? She knew the months in captivity that she didn't remember were because her brain knew she couldn't handle what happened. So, she blocked them out subconsciously and it was almost impossible to get them back, now. And that nightmare made her question everything about what happened regarding her dad and Dylan.

Why had he been talking about creating replacements with her when Delilah's training as a profiler and her memory made it clear that Elliot Milner only liked little boys?

Delilah shut down the searches and cleared the history from the database, logging out of the computer. She turned the lights off and left the office, locking the door behind her as her feet moved on autopilot, leading her out of the FBI building and down the cold streets towards nothing in particular.

She just needed to walk and clear her head. It was too loud, right now, and she needed to know what was real or not. She needed the cold air to wake her up from this nightmare because this couldn't be happening to her.

Everything was supposed to be over. How was her past still coming back to haunt her at every chance it got? Why couldn't she just be free?

•

•

"Good morning," Hotch greeted Delilah as she walked into the conference room for their case briefing.

"Is it a good morning when I wake up and get to see dead bodies before coffee?" Delilah countered.

"One's already made for you," Emily said, nodding at the coffee cup in front of the empty seat at the table.

Delilah was the last to arrive, possibly because she'd been in the gym working out with her phone in the locker when Hotch called her and had gotten the message twenty minutes after everyone else.

She'd taken the time to shower, too, before coming to work. She'd spent four hours in the gym to clear her head and she didn't think stinking of sweat was professional or appealing to anybody in any way, shape or form.

"I adore you," Delilah said, sinking into her seat and scooping up the coffee. "So, what horrors are we dealing with, this time?" she asked.

"We've got a serial killer in New Orleans who killed at least three men pre-Katrina. Until now, the New Orleans police department believed that the serial killer died in the storm," JJ said.

"What's happened to tell them otherwise?" Derek asked.

JJ clicked the remote, a photograph of a body coming onto screen.

"A fourth body was found in the french quarter last night. Same MO. Another male. Throat slashed, eviscerated," JJ said.

"A year and a half? That's a long cooling-off period. Are we sure this is the same unsub?" Emily asked.

"He claims to be. He sent a letter to William Lamontagne. The head detective on the case," JJ said.

"Does Lamontagne have any leads?" Gideon asked.

"He died in Katrina. His son is actually leading the case now," JJ said.

"Hmm. That can't be easy," Derek said.

"Well, we need to pour over the evidence from the first three murders and determine the pattern," Hotch said.

"Katrina washed everything away. The three victims we know of, their autopsy reports, witness statements. DNA test results," JJ said.

"So, basically, all we have to go on is the latest victim?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah. Until he kills again," Hotch said.

"Ominous," Delilah commented, sipping on her coffee.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.

"It is," she said.

"Wheels up in twenty," Hotch said. "Delilah, a word."

The team got to their feet, leaving the room and glancing back at Delilah. Gideon closed the door over, Hotch looking at Delilah again.

"Are you okay?" Hotch asked.

"I came from the gym, so, I am tired," Delilah said.

She knew he was trying to profile her, and she also knew that Hotch was one of the only people in the world who could figure her out if she didn't start getting her shit together. And, right now, Delilah didn't want to think about Eli.

"The gym?" Hotch asked.

"I decided to start going again," Delilah said. "In the mornings to help wake me up. Besides, never hurts to stay on top of my fitness. Derek is getting alarmingly faster than he used to be and I'm concerned he's on steroids or I'm letting myself go."

"Are you okay?" Hotch asked.

"I'm fine, Hotch," Delilah smiled.

"You're always fine. You don't have to be," Hotch said.

"I'm good, then. Seriously. Exercises releases endorphins in the brain. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people are, statistically, happier than depressed people," Delilah said.

"That's kind of the point of being happy, yes," Hotch nodded.

Delilah smiled and stood up.

"Come on. Haley text me and said you had a video of Jack you wanted to show me?" Delilah said.

"Oh, yes!" Hotch was on his feet instantly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "He's growing up so fast."

"You think Haley will let me have him come and stay with me and Liv overnight soon? Instead of just playdates or babysitting," Delilah said, the two of them leaving the room to get their things.

"She's been happy for you two to keep him overnight for months. She just didn't want to ask," Hotch said.

"I'm taking Jack soon, then," Delilah grinned. "I'm gonna teach him all about the stars and we're gonna make him some real Italian food that my dad would be proud of. I'm gonna take so many pictures of him! It's gonna be great."

"I'm sure it will be," Hotch chuckled. "We'll arrange a date with Haley after this case."

"Can't wait, boss man," Delilah said.

•

•

The team sat on the jet half an hour later, up in the air on their way to New Orleans. Delilah sat on the sofa with Gideon at the other end, one headphone in with music playing as she stared out the window. JJ and Hotch were stood at the fax machine behind her, while Spencer, Emily and Derek were sat on the seats towards the front of the plane.

"Hey, Reid. What's goin' on up there?" Derek said, tapping Spencer's skull.

"Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas... Ethan. I'm pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now," Spencer said.

"New Orleans," Delilah said, putting on the accent. "How ya doin', darlin'?" she looked at Emily with a smirk.

"Great, sweetheart. Thank you," Emily smirked back, putting on the New Orleans accent, too.

"Really? Gonna give him a call?" Derek asked Spencer, a smile on his face as he looked at Delilah and Emily.

"Grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the bureau, but... First day at Quantico, he backed out," Spencer said.

"He probably just couldn't take the heat," Emily said.

"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Spencer said.

"Right. My bad," Emily said, smile slipping from her face.

"These are copies of the newspaper articles on the murders, dating back to early august 2005. It's all we have to go on," JJ said, handing out papers to them all.

"He killed three times, he stopped for eighteen months, then he started killing again," Hotch said.

"We should have Garcia run a list of any offenders in the area," Gideon said. "Anyone who spent the last year and a half doing time."

"Or anyone that relocated after Katrina and recently moved back," Spencer said.

"What is the victimology in killing a mechanic, a real estate broker, and a cook, with ages ranging from twenty two to forty five?" Emily asked.

"And this latest is a thirty three year old taxi driver. They just don't seem to have very much in common," JJ said.

"Besides being male and walking the french quarter late at night," Derek said.

"Which is notorious for muggings off the main drag," JJ said.

"Yeah, but this guy isn't in a rush to flee the scene. A slaughter like this takes time," Emily said.

"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives and then torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero," Spencer said.

"Well, the quarter is filled with bars. That implies alcohol. Drunken men? Easy targets," Delilah said.

"The city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche," Gideon said.

"So, where do we start?" JJ asked.

"Well, with no case file there's only one place we can start. At square one," Hotch said. "Gideon, Morgan, JJ, go to the latest crime scene. Reid, Bellerose, Prentiss, the morgue. I'll set up with local PD," Hotch said.

"You got it, boss man," Delilah said, fake saluting him. "Prepare yourselves. New Orleans stinks."

"Of what?" JJ asked.

"Alcohol," Delilah said. "It's kind of endearing, after a while."

"You've been to New Orleans before?" Emily asked.

"I was homeschooled, so, my dad used to take me around America while my sister was at work," Delilah said. "It was actually quite fun."

"It sounds fun," Emily said. "Do you miss him? Your dad? I'm assuming he doesn't live in Virginia."

"No, he lives in Cali. I miss him," Delilah said. "I visit him whenever I can, though. That makes it a bit easier. And he's got a cat, now. Noodle. So, he's not on his own completely."

"Noodle?" Emily laughed.

"He's Italian. And my sister named him," Delilah said.

"That explains it all," Derek laughed.

"I still haven't met her," Emily said. "I didn't meet her when we went to that bar."

"I'll sort something out," Delilah said. "You'll like her. She's funny."

"Can't wait," Emily smiled.

•

•

Delilah stood in the morgue with Spencer and Emily, watching the coroner pull back the white sheet covering their victim. The coroner sighed.

"Four layers of fatty tissue sliced through like butter. I only seen that three other times," he said.

"You work this case initially?" Spencer asked.

"Nah. You don't forget victims like this. It's like they were dissected," the coroner said.

"I can still smell the alcohol on him," Emily said.

"This is New Orleans. Dead or alive, it' a smell you get used to," the coroner said.

"I told you," Delilah muttered, eyes scanning the body with a frown.

"The victim has no defense wounds. Meaning this is most likely a blitz attack. No hesitation marks or rapid thrusts. Cuts were methodical. Almost procedural," Spencer said, examining the body carefully.

"My guess... Whoever gutted this guy was taught to," the coroner said.

"So you think he might have some medical training?" Emily asked.

"How else could he carve around every organ and leave each one intact?" the coroner said.

"It doesn't necessarily mean the unsub is a surgeon. Coroner's learn this stuff, too. Vets learn the basic principals. It's easily transferrable to a human if you know human anatomy, too," Delilah said.

"Have any of his relatives come to claim the body? Anyone we could speak with?" Emily asked.

"No. I'll end up boxing up the poor bastard's ashes, left to collect dust in storage. All the bodies I've been through in the last year and a half, it's a wonder I still have room," the coroner sighed.

Delilah crossed her arms over her chest, eyes moving towards Spencer as he moved beside the coroner. He seemed zoned out, rocking back and forth uneasily on his feet. Delilah squinted at him, but she didn't bring it up now.

"Thank you," Delilah said.

"Yeah, 'course," the coroner said.

Delilah nodded at Spencer and Emily and they left the room, following her down the hallway.

"Hey, why would Hotch send you to the morgue if you're sick of dead bodies?" Emily asked Delilah.

"Because my medical knowledge almost rivals Dr. Reid's over here," Delilah said.

"Are you a doctor, too?" Emily said.

"I have doctorates," Delilah said. "But I don't go by doctor because my sister is a doctor, and having mail addressed to two Dr. Bellerose's will get confusing," Delilah said. "No, I read my sister's textbooks when she was training to be a doctor. And I may not have an eidetic memory like Dr. Reid, but I am quite smart."

"Skipped a few years of school, right. Penelope mentioned Spencer wasn't the only genius on the team," Emily said.

"I'm not as smart as Spencer," Delilah said. "He's always been in his own league for that."

She nudged Spencer's arm with a smile. He managed a small smile back.

Emily's phone beeped and she pulled it out.

"Hotch wants us back at PD," Emily said.

"Right behind you. I'll sign us out," Delilah said, stopping at the front desk of the morgue.

Emily nodded and headed outside, Delilah grabbing Spencer's arm before he could follow her.

"Hey," Delilah said. "Truth time. You okay?"

"Are you?" Spencer said.

"No," Delilah said honestly. "I had a bad nightmare a few days ago," Delilah said quietly.

"I've been having nightmares, too," Spencer whispered.

"Did you call Vince?" Delilah asked.

Spencer shook his head. Delilah stared at him for a few seconds before she picked up the pen and signed them out of the visitor's log in the book on the reception desk, nodding at Spencer to follow her.

"It took me six months to see Vince after I got his number from Hotch," Delilah said. "Six months of nightmares and panic attacks and meltdowns where I didn't even know what was real. It was... My mind was shutting down. And, one day, I'd had enough. I phoned him, we talked, and I slept properly for the first time in months."

"I think this is different," Spencer said quietly.

"Well, that's okay," Delilah said. "Nobody copes the same way, or nobody would have to cope at all, 'cause we'd know exactly how to fix it. Whenever you're ready, call him. And, if you can't do it alone, I'll help you call him."

"Thank you," Spencer said.

"Of course," Delilah said, squeezing his cold hands in hers. "You're my friend."

"You're my friend, too," Spencer whispered, squeezing her hand back.

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