You were an investigative reporter, specializing on BAU cases. And you were good. Really good.

Too good. You somehow knew details about cases that were not yet released, knew cases that the BAU would take on sometimes before the BAU even knew, and sometimes were even ahead of them when it came to profiling.

You were an anomaly. And it was so damn frustrating.

Especially because no matter how many warrants Aaron got, no matter how many times he interrogated you, you always were able to leave scott free.

You were squeaky clean.

Squeaky damn clean.

…

The BAU was called to yet another case about an invasion and homicide in DC. They had suspected it had to do with gentrification going on in the area. After yet another murder with no witnesses, they finally figured out there was more than one unsub.

Except you also found that out. Somehow two hours before they did.

This was the final straw. Hotch was going to figure out how you were doing this.

And that’s how you found yourself here, handcuffed in a cold interrogation room.

Again.

You look up at the ceiling and sigh in annoyance as you wait for somebody to come and interrogate you already. It had to have been an hour at this point. You knew what they were doing, turning the temperature down, making you wait. You read the books. They were trying to make you sweat.

But just like last time, it wasn’t going to work.

After what felt like hours, Aaron Hotchner finally comes in. He sits down across the metal table from you and slaps down a file.

He was pissed.