fbi yo

Scrolling through my dash and Neal Caffery came up so my brain went well, guess you’re having White Collar AU thoughts now.

I’m imagining a world where Dirk Gently is a criminal informant for FBI Special Agent Farah, who successfully tested into the FBI on her first try and ended up as head of the Seattle White Collar Division at the ripe young age of thirty. She’s got a string of arrests under her belt and her team both respect and fear her with equal intensity, her superiors keep making vague noises about moving her up the chain of command but she’s very much okay staying where she is, thank you but no thank you, she’s here to make a difference and that’s what she intends to do. She wasn’t heavily involved in the case that put Dirk behind bars four years ago (it was mainly a CIA affair, he’d steadfastly maintained his innocence right through the trial and sentencing until the very last minute, she remembers his face when the judge pronounced him guilty and it still haunts her sometimes) but she’s familiar enough with the details that the authorities feel comfortable calling her when Dirk goes missing from his jail cell with only three months left to serve on his sentence.

She ends up finding him in the woods, fifty miles from the supermax prison where he was being held. He’s vaguely confused about why she’s there but he’s adamant that it was just a misunderstanding, he opened the wrong door and got lost in the woods, he ended up where he needed to be despite the fact that it really wasn’t where he intended to go.

“Dirk, it took you an entire day to walk here”.

“There’s a barricade along the road Farah, I honestly didn’t even notice that I’d left the prison”.

So she goes to take him back to his cell (she calls her boss on speakerphone to update him, Dirk uses it as an opportunity to ask weird and personal questions until Farah threatens to put him in the boot of the car) but then Dirk’s yelling that they need to pull over, they need to pull over right that very second. Farah does, and they end up stumbling over a box containing the very evidence that the FBI needed to close a particular case that has been stumping Farah for months.

Dirk mutters something about having a hunch, that’s all, and suddenly Farah is inspired. He doesn’t deserve another four years in a cold lonely cell, he’s a lot paler and thinner than last time she saw him, and he looks bloody awful in his orange jumpsuit (she can’t work out why no-one called the authorities about a dude in prison garb wandering down a major Washington State highway, she’d think that the universe wanted him to escape only that would be ridiculous).

He’s not a huge fan of the ankle monitor but he’ll take what he can get.

For the first couple of months their interactions are generally Farah asking “how could you possibly know this detail about this crime we’re solving, why do you have connections to the city’s biggest crime syndicate, why do you own all these missing goods?“ and Dirk avoiding all questions with “I have the right to remain silent” (and occasionally “please can I go back to my cell now, there was less murder there”). The CIA keep trying to headhunt him and Farah joked about it once until she saw that he’d gone white as a sheet (she makes a note to look into it later, but they’re snowed under with cases and she never quite finds the time).

Farah’s team end up doing a bit of work with the local Missing Persons unit, she keeps trying to Estevez for the FBI but Estevez just wants to find missing people. It turns into a running joke every time they see each other. Farah surreptitiously pins FBI badges on Estevez’s jacket while he’s not wearing it. Estevez refusing to bring her coffee in the morning because the FBI has a budget double that of Missing Persons, she can buy her own damn coffee if she needs caffeine that much. Zimmerfield used to do The Eyebrows™ on rare occasions but it turns into a weekly occurence once they start working with Dirk on cases.

The Rowdy 3 are a vigilante gang that aren’t even under Farah’s jurisdiction (she does white collar cases, not these-dudes-trashed-a-laundromat-that-ended-up-being-a-front-for-literal-Nazis cases) but they somehow keep getting away, and even manage to acquire another member in the shape of a tiny brunette in a too-big leather jacket (Farah’s traitorous mind keeps going to call her adorable, she’s not adorable, Farah is a Special Agent and Special Agents do not use words like adorable to describe violent anarchist ex-drummer punks). But she does her research and then she realizes.


Amanda’s last name is Brotzman.

Farah’s heard the name before and it worries at her for ages until she works out where exactly she’d heard it. It was during Dirk’s trial four years ago, something about a guy that Dirk had been supposedly working with (Todd? Tim? Ted?) who they’d thought might have been involved in the case until Dirk turned around at the last minute and said that the whole thing was him, absolutely just him, no involvement from anyone else, how dare they even suggest it. Dirk’s complete about-face had seemed weird at the time but Farah hadn’t questioned it, it wouldn’t be the first time that a suspect cracked under the pressure of a high-intensity high-profile trial. Now she thinks that it might have been motivated by a desire to protect someone else (it would be a quintessentially Dirk thing to do and Farah’s heart aches for him).

Eventually she ends up discovering that Dirk was set up by the CIA. A special branch (she discovers it’s name, Blackwing, but not what it was set up to do) had requested (dictated commanded forced) Dirk’s involvement with some pretty shady activities and Dirk had complied, not realizing the extent of what he was being asked to do. When he eventually tried to escape, the CIA pinned the whole thing on him and left him to rot in a supermax prison cell until Dirk somehow had a hunch that they were going after Todd.

And Farah is pissed.


can you write an imagine where the reader and reid’s kid gets kidnapped by an unsub and they basically team up and go full mama-bear-over-protective mode and kick the crap out of the unsub and save their child?

Consider this done!  But before you continue…this is formulated just like any other angsty case story, complete with one-on-one insight between the child and the unsub.  Please proceed with caution.

Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!

“But Hotch-!”

Holding his hand up as your face flickers between your boss and the television screen, Spencer finally comes back to reality as he steps in between you and Hotch, his face stern and his eyes cold.

“You want us off this case?  You’ll have to kill us,” he growls.

“The two of you are too emotionally compromised-”

“Of course we are!  That’s our son up there!”

Motioning to the screen, the video being stilled on your frightened son’s face, your clenched fists begin to tremble as tears well in your eyes.

“The unsub has made this personal,” you say as Spencer continues to stare down Hotch, “Up until this point, it’s been all girls he’s taken.  All the girls he believes he has fathered, He’s challenging us because he knows we are on to him.  Let us play his game,” you reason.

“And we will find him,” Spencer adds, “whether we do it under your command or whether we skirt around in the shadows.”

Slipping your hand into Spencer’s as Hotch toggles between the both of you, Morgan finally steps in from the sidelines and puts his hand on Hotch’s shoulder.

“We’re wasting time, boss.  Your godson’s in danger.”


“You hungry, boy?”

As little Dale looks up from his teary-eyed stare, he focuses in on the man in front of him as he slowly shakes his head.

Remember, never eat food a stranger gives you.

As your voice echoes in his head, your son can’t help but wince at the hunger pangs raging through his abdomen.

“Come on,” the unsub coos, “Just a little bite?”

As the scary man holds out a bite of a sandwich, Dale’s little lip starts to quiver as he shuts his eyes, tears running down his cheek as he swallows hard.

“No, thank you,” he squeaks.

Always be polite, no matter how someone treats you.

As his father’s voice echoes in his head again, he yelps as a burning sensation peaks on his cheek as his body goes careening to the ground.

Crying as he curls up in the floor, he feels his overly stretched bladder finally give way, his pants soaking themselves in his urine as he cries into his arm.

“Fucking mess,” the unsub growls as he opens the door to the cell, “Fucking ANIMALS!”

And as the unsub slames the cage door shut, with little Dale curled up in the corner, hungry and dehydrated, he cries out softly for his mom and his dad, hoping that their voices echoing in his head will still ring true.

And no matter where you are in this world, your father and I will always come for you.


“He was in his home, and now that he’s strayed from his path we can assume he is emotionally and mentally broken,” Rossi states.

“Or maybe he’s just playing the game better,” Spencer offers as his voice wavers.

“No, sweetheart,” you coo as you grab his hand, “look at the video.”

“I don’t want to look at that damn video another second,” he whimpers.

“Then close your eyes and recall it,” you say as you cup his cheeks within your palms.

As Spencer closes his eyes, your thumbs running themselves across his tear-stained cheeks, you take a deep breath as you begin to walk him through the video.

“Alright, now…remember the last video of the little girl that we got?” you ask.

Feeling him nod his head, you sigh.

“Remember how steady the picture was?  Almost as if it were on a tripod, until the very last scene where he would turn to cut the camera off, giving us a glimpse of his face?” you prod.

Watching his lip quiver killed a part of you inside.

“Remember how his voice was steady…like an even drone?” you whisper.

As a tear leaks out from under Spencer’s eye, you sqipe it away with your thumb as your legs begin to lock up.

“Now, recall Dale’s video,” you command.

Watching Spencer’s reddened eyes fly open, he turns his head towards the team as he begins rattling off differences.

“There was no turn at the end.  You know, the video just stopped!”

As your colleagues look on him in confusion, he takes a deep breath and gets himself going again.

“The video just stopped!  See?…which means he probably did have it on a tripod this time.  We can’t be for sure, but if he did it means his hands are no longer steady enough to hold the camera.  Coupled with the fact that his voice was wavering and emotional, not like the drone we are so accustomed to hearing with this case, and the fact that he actually allowed Dale to speak to us…i-i-it wasn’t a taunt!” he exclaims.

“It was a breakdown in his ability to ground himself in reality,” Hotch finishes.

As his optimistic glance pans over to Hotch, his face slowly drops as the realization that you had concluded before the video was even over finally hits him.

“We have to go…we-we…we have to go now!” he yells as he scrambles for his stuff.

Running for the door as your teary-eyed face follows his desperate and shaking body, he holds his arms out as his eyes widen.

“Well!?” he yelps.

“Spencer, we don’t-”

Shaking your head as your whole body gives way, your knees come out from under you as Spencer lunges, his arms wrapping around you as you sob into the crook of his neck.

“See, this is why we’re so good together, Y/N,” he murmurs into your hair as he strokes your back, “You keep my mind grounded when emotion wipes my intelligence.”

“We don’t know where he is,” you sob, your entire body giving way to your pent up fears and frustrations.

“But I do,” he whispers, “See, when you can get my to ground my intelligence, I’m an unstoppable force.”

Looking up at him as he smiles back down at you, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “And you are my immovable object.”

“Where do we need to go, Reid?” Hotch asks.

“The warehouse docks on the north side of town.  Come on.”

And as Spencer helps you to your feet, his knuckles wiping away at your tears, you reach for your gun and coat as you throw it around your shoulders, following your unstoppable force at the heel as you grit your teeth.

I’m coming for you, Dale.


Yelping as the unsub grabs little Dale by his hair, his father’s voice echoes in his head again.

Never fight against someone stronger than you.  Let your body move as it should.  Eventually you will have your turn.

Whimpering as he starts screaming at the man, the unsub grabs his arm and wrenches him towards his face.

“Your parents may be smart, but I’m ruthless,” he growls as he picks the gun up off of the desk in the room.

As Dale’s eyes grow wide with fear, a small whimper escaping his lips, the unsub wheels back around as he takes the boy firmly around his neck, hoisting him off of his feet.

As Dale begins to thrash and scream, the unsub drops him to the ground.  Standing to his feet, Dale picks up his tiny little foot and stomps down on the unsub’s toe as he balls up his tiny little fist and jams it into his groin.

As the unsub groans and buckles over, Dale takes off for the door, throwing it open as he scurries up the stairs.

“FBI!  Come out with yo-”

“Morgan!” Dale squeals.

“Oh my god, Dale!” Morgan roars as he holsters his gun and charges the little boy.

“Are you alright?” he asks as he takes a good look at the boy, seeing the swollen eye and the marks around his neck and arm.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he says as he takes the crying boy in his arms.


Hearing you yell from the end of the hallway, Spencer and you drop your guns and go careening towards Morgan and Dale as Morgan sets the little boy on his feet, his tiny, spindly arms outstretched for his mother and father.

But as the child runs closer to his parents, his face burying into your bosom as you wrap your arms tight around him, you feel your blood begin to boil as Spencer places kisses on his head.

“Baby?  What’s-?”

Pulling your son back as you survey his face, Spencer’s jaw unhinging as his face reddens with anger, the two of you look at each other as Morgan comes trotting up beside the three of you.

Placing your hands on your knees as you shoot up from the ground, you feel Dale slip his hand into yours as he whines for you not to leave.

“I’ll just be right back, honey,” you coo, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Stay with him,” Spencer commands of Morgan as the two of you stride down the hallway, your bullet proof vests clattering to the ground as Hotch runs up behind you all.

“Where are they going!?” Hotch breathes.

And all Morgan had to do was motion to Dale.

“Oh, no…” Hotch mutters as he hears a door burst open down the hallway.

“Mr. Buster!” you exclaim, your arms outstretched in a taunting manner as the man rears back with his filthy smile, “How nice of you to join us,” you threaten.

“And here we are,” the unsub says, his stature standing tall at a whopping 6 foot 3 inchs.

“You hurt my son,” Spencer growls.

“He pee’d on my floor,” the unsub shrugs, sloppily motioning to the cage as your eyes fall upon the shackle hooked to the floor.

And that’s all it took.

“Toooop!” you yell as you begin running towards the man, your legs heaving you off of the ground just as Spencer goes diving under you, his legs kicking out and around the back of his legs just as your chest careens into the man’s face.

Feeling yourself hit the ground, the unsub’s nose cracking under the weight of your body dropping on his face, you feel Spencer scramble as you straddle his chest, your fist rearing back as he connects with his face.

“That one’s for his eye!” you yell.

Feeling Spencer wrench the man to his feet as your body goes toppling off of him, you hear another crack as Spencer roars, “And this one’s for his neck!”

“This one’s for his arm!” you yell, cracking the heel of your foot into the middle of his back as he groans, hitting his knees as he plants his hands onto the ground.

“And this one’s for all of the little girls who you thought were yours,” you hiss, rearing your foot back and cracking him so hard in his stomach that he sputters blood as he coughs for air.

You were just pissed off because the sperm donor center called and told you your samples were worthless,” Spencer says as he grabs the man’s hair and careens his head back to look at him.

“Well, guess what?” Spencer spits.

“You are,” you finish as your fist cracks across his temple, knocking him unconscious as Spencer drops his head to the ground.

Huffing and puffing as your haggard bodies turn towards the door, you see Hotch leaning up against the frame of the door with his eyes closed.

“Am I good to open them?” he asks.


“Mom!  Dad!”

As you see your son jumping off of the back of the ambulance, his small frame running towards the two of you as fast as his little feet will take him, the two of you drop to your knees and outstretch your arms for him as he barrels into the two of you, throwing an arm around each other your necks as you and Spencer bury your faces into him.

“I knew you would come!” he exclaims as he smiles into the two of you, your trembling arms holding him close as the two of you silently sob into his bruised and battered frame.

“We will always come,” Spencer says as his voice wavers, his hand gliding over Dale’s face as he pushes his massive head of hair back from his eyes.

“Always,” you whisper as your thumb lightly swipes over the bruise on his cheek.

“Mom?  Can we go home now?” Dale asks, his eyes big and pleading.

“You know I never could resist those puppy dog eyes,” you say as you smirk towards Spencer.

“Under one condition,” Spencer says as he holds up his finger.

“Ice cream is involved,” Spencer states.

“Ooooh, yeah!” Dale yells as he throws his arms around his dad.

“Can I get chocolate!?” he yelps.

“Yes, you can,” you say as you stand to your feet, helping Dale onto his father’s shoulders as the two of you turn back towards the team.

“And could I get sprinkles?  Oo!  And could I get it in a waffle bowl!?” Dale rattles off.

And as a chuckle rises from your throat and leaves your lips, you reach your hand up as Dale places his tiny hand in yours, your graceful fingers curling around his entire hand as you find yourself saying, “You can have anything you want.”