harrowgate | for Hotch, and Shannon later

Elsewhere in the city this morning, a man had been found most gruesomely murdered. Among the photos and videos scattered around the macabre scene, a lifetime's collection of exploitation and horror, were photos of a red-haired boy around eleven or twelve. Thin, pale, almost heart-breakingly pretty even in sickening postures and positions, he could have been anyone among the dozens of anonymous children depicted.

Anyone, if the close-up photos of him gagged and frightened had not clearly shown one unusual amber eye, and one dead-pale blue eye.

Felix Harrowgate, of course, had no idea that Emmett Whitfordshire had been murdered and found in a coffin decorated in part by photographs of himself as a young boy. It was a perfectly normal day for him, arriving at the office which served as the public face of the Mirador Consulting Group. Neither the general public nor the group's exclusive clientele were ever allowed past the facade of reception and glass-walled conference areas into the workrooms beyond, so it was not terribly unusual to be summoned to the front of the office as part of one's day.

When told he had a visitor at reception, Felix emerged within just a few minutes, impeccably-dressed as always in pin-stripe trousers and waistcoat over a wine-red shirt. His sleeves were partly rolled up; he'd just come from crafting a new spell. The receptionist -- one of the newer apprentices, a recent member of one of Felix's own classes on spell grounding -- escorted him down to the lobby. Felix recognized Agent Hotchner immediately, and hesitated, sending the apprentice away with a small shooing motion.

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Hotch was grave, carrying a file folder held to his chest protectively. He watched Felix approach and though he'd heard from the man's own mouth that he'd suffered abuse, the photos he had now in his possession made it all too real.

He hated these child cases. He always thought of his son, of his brother. He couldn't help it.

But he watched Felix come closer and he had to view him as not only a victim but as a potential killer. This was unofficial, a courtesy. Scotland Yard hadn't identified all the children yet but Hotch had known. The eyes, the hair, he'd taken all the photos and said he'd build the profile.

And so he stood before Felix, his eyes hard and accusing.

"I need to speak with you privately," he said with force and urgency.

Aaron Hotchner was perhaps the last person Felix expected to see waiting for him, and that look in his eyes when Felix approached became a cold, leaden weight in his chest. He stopped up short, lifting his chin and cooling his welcome, defenses snapping into place at the other man's accusatory stare. Felix had the distinct impression that whatever Agent Hotchner held in that file folder, he had absolutely no desire to see it.

"Certainly," Felix answered, unfailingly polite, if cool. "This way."

With a small gesture, he led the way to a clutch of small conference rooms down a hall from the reception area. Although these, too, were glass-walled, when Felix opened the door he touched a control just inside the door, and privacy shades whispered down between the double-paned glass. He brought up the lights, and as he welcomed Aaron inside, silently triggered the magic that would dampen their voices and keep any intelligible sound from drifting out.

It was a small room, intended for private conversations like this, with only four leather chairs around a glass-topped table, and a silent video screen set in one wall. Felix closed the door behind them once Aaron had entered. "What is so urgent that you had to visit me at work, Agent?" Felix asked, not unpleasantly, but not warmly, either.

"I want to make it clear I'm not here in any official capacity, Felix," he said, purposely using the man's first name to lighten the weight. He opened the folder and pulled out an eight by ten close up of the dead man, the head wound visible, as was an assortment of images of naked children.

"Do you have an alibi for your whereabouts last night?" he asked. And then rather than explain his reason for asking he laid down a glossy photograph of a young Felix.

Felix heard the words -- official capacity, alibi -- but Aaron's meaning was swept away in a crashing wave of horror at the sight of that first photograph. He physically recoiled, pulling back a step away as if the gruesome photo might come to life.

But when the second picture came out, all the color drained out of his face, and one tattooed hand jerked back, as if Felix's first instinct were to lash out in a blow. Only there was no one to strike, save Aaron... or his own younger face, staring up at him with that wounded-sultry gaze that Lorenzo had named his little slut expression with such sickening affection.

"What. The fuck. Is this," Felix hissed through clenched teeth, pretense to gentility utterly abandoned.

Hotch had interviewed many killers- psychopaths as well as people who had killed in passion or on accident. He had seldom seen such a visceral reaction and he knew immediately Felix wasn't his killer. Though proving that could still be difficult.

"Emmett Whitfordshire was found dead this morning," he replied. "He died of blunt force trauma to the head."

He was smart enough to know to with hold the rest- not just because of the official reasoning but because Felix didn't need to know. It would help nothing.

"Among the numerous photos, videos, and files were pictures of you. I collected them all and came here," he said. "They were photographed for evidence so I have to log them. I'm sorry for that. I know you'd like this to...not exist," he said gently. "Do you have an alibi?"

The name did not register with Felix when Aaron spoke it, looking sharply away from the photographs. In the corporate anonymity of the conference room, they were an obscene splash of color and horror, and there was hardly anywhere else to look. Something like panic had taken hold of Felix, edged with the bite of his temper. He wanted desperately to run away.

"Do I have an..." Felix turned away, running his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture. His response came in an icy snap, cold as winter. "I was out. Are you honestly suggesting that I could have done this?"

"We don't know who did it. There is very little forensic evidence at the scene. And so...people who may be involved become suspect. That's the way these things work. Were you out with Shannon? Could he verify?" Hotch asked. His voice was warm and gentle, everything about him calming and understanding. Not an ounce of him suspected Felix of this but he was well versed in how criminal investigations played out.

Perhaps it was only Aaron's tone that kept Felix from completely abandoning his rational sense and losing his temper in a fit of fury. He was on the verge of it, though, every muscle taut and tense with adrenaline.

"No. No, it wasn't Shannon, it... " Felix cut himself off, then said tartly, "I'm afraid I didn't get the gentleman's name."

"I need to know where you were, Felix. There's enough CCTV...if we can only confirm..." Hotch said. Then he was quiet for just a moment. "I know these are intrusive questions but I'm trying to save you any official investigation."

Felix choked on a disbelieving, wordless exclamation, turning back to face the agent. "Official investigation? How could they even... I'm not, I don't..."

He had been a different person in those photos. That person, that Felix -- no official last name, no identity, no birth certificate -- no longer existed. That was the story that Felix Harrowgate had been made to learn and to live in order to have the life that Malkar had created for him. He had to believe it, even when he knew it wasn't true.

Burying his face in his tattooed hands, Felix muttered the name of a rather posh gay bar and dance club in a very fashionable area of London, where anonymous sexual encounters in the back halls were commonplace. He frankly didn't care if Aaron knew about that.

Hotch sighed with relief. "There will be cameras at the entrance. That will remove all doubt. Thank you Felix. And...I'm sorry to be the one to bring this to you today."

While Aaron looked relieved, Felix failed to sympathize with that emotion. It was far from simple, for him. "Agent Hotchner, is this... Is that who sent those photos to Shannon?" Felix asked, making a vague gesture toward the first picture, the one he could not bring himself to look at again.

"Is that why... Is that why you're here?"

Hotch nodded solemnly. "We have reason to believe he was sending the pictures to Shannon but the motive is unclear right now," he said simply.

"So...you can see why Scotland Yard is going to suspect you. It'll be cleared as soon as they check your alibi but there will be other officers coming around. Soon."

"Coming here?" Felix's voice climbed a register, and he clenched one fist where he hoped Aaron couldn't see, digging his nails into his palm to re-focus himself. "No. No, impossible. I can't be arrested here. They can't..."

A stab of bewildered fear shot through him, and he tightened his fist, his nails almost drawing blood now. "My registered address is still Shannon's flat."

"You could leave with me. Now. I could radio it in that you've volunteered a statement," Hotch said. "It'll keep them from coming to get you anywhere."

He was sensitive to the young man's plight. Victimized as a child, a position now that could easily be toppled by scandal, and Shannon to think of as well. Hotch was more than ready to handle this delicately.

If Felix were inclined to pray (he was not), he might have gone to his knees just then to beg for any alternative other than leaving the Mirador in the custody of an annemer agent, and an American to boot. He thought of how Robert Hermione, still bitter at Felix's seat on the ruling Curia council of wizards, would sink his teeth into this news if he learned it.

"If I give you my word that I won't flee, would you mind terribly if I met you at the side entrance in five minutes?" Felix suggested, working to smooth back his hair, unnecessarily adjusting his suit jacket.

Hotch could see Felix was under duress but he was a good judge of people and he was sure the man would indeed meet him. He gathered everything up and nodded once.

"I'll see you outside, Felix," he said, then touched the man's arm. "This will all get sorted out."

Felix remembered that Aaron was a man who tried to make a personal connection, and did his best to do no more than glance toward the brief touch. His own aversion to being touched took on a much darker background, considering what the other man knew of his past, and that unsettled Felix quite a bit.

"Thank you," he said, only somewhat stiffly, "for this opportunity. I'll meet you, shortly." He moved to open the conference room's door back onto the lobby for Aaron.